Sunday, June 2, 2013

It's The Little Things

If I did one of those fucking Oprah gratitude journals, which I do not, I would have to list this physical place where I live in every day's entry.
We all know that and in fact, this whole entire blog may be one of those fucking gratitude journals and if that's the truth, I'm just a fucking nitwit who is too cool for school and too cool to admit that she keeps one and I DO NOT, IT'S JUST THAT WHEN I AM GRATEFUL I ADMIT IT.

So yes, it has been a Sunday but I did not fall completely into despair but rather did the things which I only do when I'm already in a bad mood because why ruin a perfectly good mood doing things you dislike? In this case, those things would be scrubbing toilets and trimming sago palms. If you do not know what sago palms are, they are the palms in the background of the above pictures. They are not technically palms at all and I have a love-hate relationship with them. Their fronds are slightly poisonous and sharp as tiny razors and so when you trim them, you end up with itchy arms but it's not a terrible toxin. It does go away quickly. Still. It's not that much fun. And yet, they have a certain jaunty and dangerous beauty.

I do not need to discuss toilet scrubbing. We all do that. One would hope. Although I can remember boyfriends back in the olden days who obviously had no idea after leaving their mothers' homes that toilets did not magically self-clean and oh, it was not charming.
I look back on those days and can't believe that I would voluntarily enter certain of those houses or apartments without wearing a full Hazmat suit and yet I did and I survived with only the usual expected resulting problems, mostly a terribly misguided belief that these boys NEEDED me. Obviously.

Oh. The incredibly sweet and stupid notions of youth.

Anyway, yes, I scrubbed the toilets and trimmed the sago palms and did the laundry and did not mop any floors whatsoever and I took a nap.
Was it.

But Mr. Moon and I met up on the front porch for a martini and the chickens came up and I got some stale crackers to feed them and they pecked, pecked, pecked on the porch floor for every tiny crumb and seed and they made me so happy which they always do. I took some pictures, mostly of Elvis, my brave and gentle rooster. And then he jumped on one of the hens and had his way with her right there in front of us, his beautiful cape of wing spread over all so as to provide privacy, I suppose, and I wondered if our portrayals of Dracula as he spreads his cape over himself and his luscious victims while he pierces their throats and drinks of their blood came from someone's observation of just this behavior.

I do not know. I do not know shit, as I point out frequently.

The top picture is of Miss Flopsy who is way too skinny. She is my hen who sat on eggs last year, spending weeks and weeks on them, barely removing herself from her nest to eat or drink and that is what I fear for Miss Baby. I look at Miss Flopsy and I can see the dinosaur in her. She was a very fine mother and I feel very guilty that we let her and her babies out of the coop too early which led to the taking of every one of those chicks by hawks or owls.

But. Grateful for this yard which is beautiful either from the back porch or the front or the side. Grateful for my chickens with their bawk and their cluck and their hoooo as they go about their day. Grateful for  the potatoes I'm about to scrub and cook. Grateful for the man who allows me to be in a pissy mood without taking personal offense. Grateful for my clothesline and the centuries-old oak trees I am blessed to share space with. Grateful for the second fragrant bloom of the wisteria, even if it is sparse.

Grateful for the sleep and the awakening, the coffee and the vodka, the great, grand absurdity of it all. Grateful that despite it being one of those Sundays, I have not fallen into tears or paralysis. Grateful that my sagos are trimmed, my toilets, nice and clean.


  1. This is one of those statements that could be the basis for a new Philosophy:

    "So yes, it has been a Sunday but I did not fall completely into despair but rather did the things which I only do when I'm already in a bad mood because why ruin a perfectly good mood doing things you dislike?"

  2. Oh your rooster is wonderful! I love chickens. I always want to hug them. Why do i eat one once in awhile? Oh well i won't get going on that here. I love the palms in your photo. We don't have palms here in the Pac. NW, but we do have Douglas Firs and Sequoias that are equally beautiful in their own way. I love your posts, and hope you blog forever.. however long that is. :)

  3. "If I did one of those fucking Oprah gratitude journals, which I do not. . "

    How can we not love you with this as the first sentence of your post. You are so my favorite person in Lloyd, Florida. Next to Mr. Moon aka Boppy aka Bop.

  4. It is so wonderful that you love your home and its surroundings so much and from the looks of it, who wouldn't. The thing is that you truly make the most of it and take advantage of the beauty and the gardening and your chicken babies. And then you have coffee and martinis to celebrate it all. I admire that you do the lousy chores when you are feeling bad, since I just take to bed or the couch when I feel that way. TodAy is almost over. Sweet Jo

  5. Oh, the hazmat comment! I miss having our two grown sons close but don't miss their smells and messes. Too hot here to be enthused about anything. I cleaned the toilet but skipped the mopping in favor of reading.

  6. Glad to hear you managed to kick this Sunday's ass!

    wv: nCrimag Roosters :)

  7. Ms Moon,
    I have a ridiculous outfit that I wear when I'm in a pissy mood that reminds me to not waste that mood on anything but terrible chores. Like, I wander around aimlessly, and then look down and think, huh? Why am I wearing this white frilly apron, bandana, red striped corduroys and gigantic shell necklace? Oh, right! I'm in a shitty mood. I should totally clean the house.

    I think my favorite part of this post is how you and Mr. Moon met up for martinis on the porch. I would like to sit on your porch and have a martini. Cheers!

  8. It sounds like a good day. I'm grateful to be home. It was a fun weekend but lots of towing going on. Stiff and sore but that's nothing new.
    Enjoy the rest of your day.

  9. yes, grateful for all that. grateful that I don't have to do the cooking anymore and that he has done it long enough now that he has turned into a pretty damn good cook.

  10. Elizabeth- It works for me.

    Mary- I eat chicken too. Yeah. We're hypocrites. The Pacific Northwest has the most amazing trees in the world. It is so beautiful there. Thanks for your sweet words.

    gradydoctor- Well, there's some fine people in Lloyd so I am flattered. Thanks, sweet sister woman.

    Sweet Jo- Well, I did my share of lying down too. Believe me.

    Cathy H-S- Hello! Boys can definitely create some musk and mess. It was hot here yesterday, too.

    Jill- Wonder what an nCrimag Rooster is. Mmmm...

    Betsy- Really? You really do that? Awesome!

    Syd- They should do a reality show about Towboats. You could be a STAR!
    I'd watch it for sure.

    Ellen Abbott- I still enjoy cooking very much. Unless I'm not in the mood. But I usually am.


  12. "And yet, they have a certain jaunty and dangerous beauty." Alright my darling, this is my new favorite line.

    How incredible to get to see you and Mr. Moon the other evening along with two of your amazing children. It was like a dream, but it was real. May I say you looked stunning?

    I thought about you all weekend. Is it July yet?

    Love you,


    xo xo

  13. Juancho- You slacker. I am SO the boss of you.
    Love...Your adoring fan.

  14. Lizzie- Y'all were amazing. You were ethereal. You were worthy of ten-thousand standing ovations. I got the shys around you.
    It'll be July in about two seconds. Yippie!

  15. I suppose all journals are gratitude journals, at least if the writer is even remotely honest. Aren't we all grateful for something? I sure hope so.

    Of course, all journals are grumpy complaint logs too. It cuts both ways!


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