Friday, April 3, 2015

Let's Do Some Living

I'm glad it's been such a beautiful day today. That has helped. I've been crying on and off and not ashamed to do it. Every death, including that of a rooster, brings back every death. And so I have had a day to grieve and because it has been cloudless and lightshot and green, it has been like being in a beautiful cathedral with incredible stained glass windows for my worship but instead of static glass, no matter how magnificent, my cathedral, or my church, has been ever-changing, splendid in the perfection of its color, arrangement, and light.

The boys came over and weren't here for long but I was glad of their company. We played games and put together part of a puzzle and we listened to the Rolling Stones and we kicked bamboo and we cuddled. I told Owen one of his favorite stories, which is the story of how I became a grandmother and as I told the story, I gently rubbed Gibson's back and he closed his eyes and smiled and I expanded the story to Gibson's birth and to the coming of Jessie's baby and we talked about the Mr. Peep story and Elvis and how, when I bought this house, I must have known what a wonderful house it would be for grandchildren to visit me in.
Oh! How he loves to hear these stories and I think Gibson is learning to love them too.

I made them sherbet and juice drinks.

Owen wanted an Orange Cow which is orange sherbet and orange juice and Gibson wanted a Purple Cow which is orange sherbet and grape juice. Around here anyway. They had them out of the fancy glasses I bought just for them at the Goodwill which are sturdy and pretty and just the right size for a boy-treat. 

When I took them out to see Elvis's grave, we talked about Elvis. We talked about how he is dead now and I told them that I was very sad. I asked Owen if he was sad. He said, "Not too much. But it makes my eyes hurt to think about. He's in chicken heaven now."
I told him that I hope that chickens are in people heaven. Otherwise, I have no desire to go.
Lily, who was still here, rolled her eyes a bit but she knows her mama. 

They are so good for me, these boys. They are so loving. Gibson let me kiss him one million times and whenever I open my arms to Owen, he throws himself into them. I was putting Gibson's pants on after he peed on the potty and out of nowhere, he said, "I love you, Mer." 
I hugged and kissed him and pulled his Toy Story underpants up and said, "Oh, Gibson. I love you too."

After they went home with their daddy to possibly have Super Dudes Night, I finished up laundry and  cleaned the poopy hay out of the hen house and did this and that and when it became the magic hour, I opened a beer and went out to have a walk around the yard by myself but as it turned out, I had company. 

She came with me, every step of the way. Entirely by coincidence, I assure you. 

We checked out the garden. 

Can you believe the color of those mustard greens? 

The cucumbers are coming up. So are the beans but I did not get a good picture of them so you'll have to take my word. 

Lily and Willy, the very silly ducks who lay me an egg apiece every day and who talk amongst themselves all day long, a running dialogue which I swear, I can almost interpret. 

Mick, tilting his head to look at me. He is trying. It is not an easy job to be a good husband to the sister-wives but I have to say he's giving it his best. 

One of the pretty white roses, cupping the setting sun in its petals. 

The Japanese maple. I could not choose between these two pictures. Red stars against a blue sky.

The last wisteria blossoms of the year. 

Elvis's grave where I put a broken tile of St. Francis which I found in the yard here a few years ago.
He and Buddha are doing a good job of watching over things. 

The wild azalea's bloom. 

The Ashe Magnolia flower, ready to launch. 

My familiar, still hanging with me. 

So there. That is what Good Friday, April 3, 2015 looked like on 2.2 acres in Lloyd, Florida. 

Tomorrow I am going to go buy a ham, cook greens, boil eggs, make angel-biscuit dough. I just talked to Taylor who is the chef at Fanny's Garden Cafe in Tallahassee about her coming-up wedding in November which she will probably be having here and about how to boil and peel eggs. 
This is how she said to do it:
Put the eggs in cold water with a lot of salt. Not vinegar. Salt. 
Bring them to a rolling boil.
Cover and take them off the heat. 
Let them sit for ten minutes. Exactly. 
Put them in ice water. 

She says she's never had a problem. 

I believe her. She makes hundreds of deviled eggs a week. 

What a sad, sweet day. I think I am going to listen to some Rolling Stones and make my supper. This is the song that's been playing in my head for a few days. 
It's a song rich in sadness and sweetness. As the best ones always are. 

Love...Ms. Moon


  1. I think that every death does bring up all the others. I don't like to think about death and dying. I have had so much of it. And today has been a sparkling beautiful day.

  2. Not that I've ever hung out with roosters, but Mick looks pretty promising. I love his colors.

  3. I listen to that song once a week, I love it so much.
    When I mourn, I have a tendency to mourn everyone I've ever lost.

  4. Syd- I feel it is a blessing to be able to think about my beloveds who have passed on. I don't want to dwell there but I do want to recognize, to remember, to have sweet memories. It HAS been a beautiful sparkling day.

    A- As Hank said, he has some pretty big spurs to fill.
    He's doing his best. And he is handsome, isn't he?

    Heartinahd- Amen, sweet sister.

  5. Ah me...the loss of dear Elvis and your tribute has brought tears to my eyes. I agree that a loss is a loss and deserves much respect and no apology be it human or a splendid rooster. Hugs to you Ms. Moon. Wishing you a wonderful Easter. X

  6. Those boys are just the most light filled souls. I'm glad you got to spend part of this day with them.

  7. I just read up the last few posts to get caught up on Elvis, and I'm so sorry Ms. Moon. My condolences to you and yours. Take care,

  8. A beautiful day, Mary, even with its sadness.
    Lovely photos.
    Good luck, Mick.

  9. Ah I am so sorry to hear of the passing of Elvis. The chickens become our friends here and it is sad to hear of his parting. I am glad to hear he is not suffering now. The boys are light and love and I am happy they spent time with you today. I love you.

  10. You are making the best of a sadness that seems inevitable and that will pass, inevitably. I love Elvis' grave -- it totally suits him.

  11. Every death may bring up others, as you said, but for you it also seems to bring up a reverence for all the life around you. All these photos of the plants and boys and the colors! A way to acknowledge that living goes on all around, I suppose.

    I can't imagine how sad you must be about this. It's a cliche to say that he had a great life, but he really DID. As have all your chickens. As I've said before, you give them so much more than they would have had almost anywhere else.

  12. Sweet boys :)

    Your garden is magic. Thanks for taking us on your walk.

    Hey, does Gibson watch In the Night Garden? Maybe search it online if it's not on tv, it's so sweet.

  13. I'm so glad Mick had Elvis's example of what a good rooster-husband should be. Big spurs to fill, heh!

    Peace to you and yours.

  14. My dear old cat Satchel has been much on my mind lately. Not sure why, but while the memories are sad, they're sweet, too.
    Sounds like you found a good balance between memory and your boys.

  15. The Moon Realm is looking ever so beautiful, that garden is stunning! So are the cat and the rooster. I too shed some tears as my mom gave me some writing she's done for her writer's group, about the death of my sweet little step sister, oh so many years ago now....And then some more tears, for my step dad as well, he passed only a handful of years ago and it feels like it only just happened...

  16. Hi. I popped over from John's (Going Gently) blog to say hello.
    Sorry to hear about the demise of your rooster. I lost my Buff Orpington rooster in hot weather last summer - I think the weather just got too much for him - he was such a big boy with such a thick covering of feathers. I still miss him now.

  17. as good a Friday as it gets. my grandgirls, teenagers now, are always wanting me to tell them stories of my life. tell me a story they say. but I can't just come up with a story. ask me a question I tell them and then the story comes.

  18. I think every death even brings along every near-death. we mourn them all each time.


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