Tuesday, June 30, 2015

My Best Friend From Nursing School

Wrote THIS. 
It's well worth reading.

Good Lord

In the five minutes since I took that picture, the sky has grown completely dark and rain is coming down.

I'm making a soup so that while I'm gone Mr. Moon won't have to cook. He's one of those people who doesn't mind eating the same thing day after day. This is good because I got out the BIG pot. Not that pot that makes about twenty servings of soup. Oh no. This one...well. In this soup there is and are: venison (a lot), carrots, onions, celery, tomatoes, garlic, mushrooms, zucchini, green beans, potatoes, corn, peas, crowder peas (the first from the garden), yard-longs, left over gazpacho (so, yeah, cucumber) and various seasonings and so forth. And oh yeah, a head of cabbage.
In other words, Mr. Moon will not die from lack of any essential nutrient while I am gone.

And just now there was a huge gust of twisty wind, the lights flickered, flickered, flickered and the electricity is truly off at this point. The router is on a back-up battery and it too, will be out soon.

Another dead tree down somewhere.

Summertime, summertime, su-su-su-summertime.

Love...Ms. Moon

Took a walk and now I'm in the cooling-off/glad-I-didn't-die phase again.

Ugh. It's too hot. And actually, it's not as hot as it was last week but it's hot.

On the agenda today:

Grocery store, library, laundry.

And tomorrow, if all goes well, I am heading out of town. Yep. My darling friend is hopefully getting sprung from the hospital today and after I go to an appointment in town tomorrow afternoon, I am going to jump in my car with my pillows and books and some soup and eggs and tomatoes and leave the homestead for Mr. Moon to look after for a few days.

I feel a little bit crazy today but I am taking one step after another, I am remembering to breathe. I am grateful for this life. I am looking forward to seeing my friend with all of my heart. I cherish her.

Love...Ms. Moon

Monday, June 29, 2015

In Which I Truly Say What I Feel

I am feeling such anxiety. Today's my husband's birthday, right? And what have I done for him?
Not much. Not much at all.
For days he's been saying that he's wanted no fuss for his birthday. No presents, no cake, no seven-layer chocolate dessert.
I know he's lying about the chocolate dessert. There's no doubt about that.
And today's been just crazy. Lily and the boys and I were going to take a fancy cupcake to Mr. Moon at the bank where he works works to stick a candle in the pastry and sing to him and when I got in my car this morning, the battery was dead and so click, click, click.
Going nowhere.
And of course I called my husband because birthday or not, he's the one who deals with this stuff. And he called a friend who works at a shop around the corner (yes! Lloyd has a very good car repair place) who came right over and gave me a jump and I drove to town and Lily and the boys met us and they brought a cupcake and we sang to him although the candle never made an appearance. Then Mr. Moon and I drove to the battery place and they put in a new battery and then we drove to the airport where he picked up his rental car because he was leaving to to go the auto auction for his business.

Jeez. Great birthday, right?

I met Hank and Lily and the boys for lunch and we had a good time and then I stayed with the boys for just a little while so that Lily could go to work and when Jason got home, I came home myself. I got here just as my darling man was leaving. He'd made his own popcorn and cut up watermelon and had it in a Tupperware container for his journey and I felt like such a horrible, horrible wife.

I've always had a problem with gift-giving. I'm just not good at it. And despite the number of birthday parties I've thrown for my kids and my husband and my mother and even a few friends, I always feel as if I fall short. I think it may be a matter of wanting to give people I love the PERFECT gift, the perfect experience. Giving them something that will represent my love and respect for them. My gratefulness for having them in my life.
And let's face it- unless I'm throwing airline tickets to Paris around or the deeds to new houses or BRAND NEW CARS, that's just not possible.
Even then, it would not be enough.
And so I clutch. I can't figure it out.
And at our age, Mr. Moon's and mine, we pretty much have everything we could ever want or need and we're perfectly capable of finding anything we don't have that we want or need and buying it ourselves.

But still.

I feel like a failure. And he's off to auction and here I am. I went out and picked the garden.

I collected the eggs. I talked to my Lis. I put laundry away and straightened up a few things around here. I did some dishes. And here I am. 
Not with that man on his birthday night. 

I am trying to rationalize it all. Trying to remember that it's not a cake or a many-layered chocolate dessert or gifts that mean love. That it's working together to create a family, a life, a garden, an income, a nest. That it's about always everyday loving. That it's about taking care of each other. That it's about always saying, "I love you." That it's about laundry and dishwashers and putting the chickens up at night. That it's about loving our family. That it's about holding each other in bed at night. That it's about encouraging and respecting each other's dreams. That it's about making smoothies and lunches the night before. That it's about thank-you for mowing the grass and thank-you for tilling the garden and thank-you for telling me how nice our yard looks because of all the things I've planted and thank-you for being so gentle and thank-you for being so strong and thank-you for packing my vitamins and thank-you for folding the laundry and thank-you for not bitching too much about the cat waking you up at night and thank-you for thanking me for our children and thank-you for being the grandparent you are and thank-you for still making me laugh and thank-you for all the private jokes and thank-you for bringing food to our table and thank-you for not mentioning the way my thighs look these days and thank-you for washing the sheets and thank-you for listening to my rants and thank-you for listening to my stories of my day and thank-you for letting me sleep in your t-shirt and thank-you for not leaving me when I was insane and thank-you, thank-you, thank-you. And mostly thank-you for loving me and letting me love you. 

That's all I have to say. It is my husband's sixty-first birthday. It will be mine in a month. 

Thank-you for sharing over half our lives together. Thank you for all the fun. 

Yours truly...Mrs. Moon

And Every Year More Handsome. Every Year More Love

See that man? That was the day after Owen was born.
I thought then that I could never love him more.
I was wrong.
Every year. More and more.

Happy birthday, my love.
You are my heart and soul.
I do not have the words to tell you how grateful I am for your love.

Just know it's true.

Thank you for loving me. Thank you for trusting me with your heart.


Your wife.

Sunday, June 28, 2015

We All Need Options

Look what Mr. (Honey) Moon has done today! Okay, it's not hooked up to plumbing or wired yet but there it is. Sitting securely in its own little nest, just waiting to be my faithful home appliance.

It has THREE drawers, y'all. One at the top for silverware and knives. You have no idea how excited this makes me.
Or maybe you do.

Anyway, it's been a good day and I weeded and de-pooped the chicken house and there was a nap and now I'm going to make Granny Matthew's wonderful eggplant casserole with a nice fat eggplant I grew and look!

I will have an option for "Extra Shine."

Wouldn't it be lovely if life had a button like that? And some days, we would all surely appreciate the delicate option. I know I would. 

Well, we get what we get and today has surely had its shine and its delicacy as well and okay, we're not sanitized but whatever. I did shave my legs. That's just as good, right? 

I think so.

Love...Ms. Moon

Pondering Things In My Heart

Oh, Sundays.
I am completely without ertia today. That's not a word. But if "inertia" is a word, why isn't "ertia"?
Perhaps Mr. Moon has sucked up all the energy in the house. He's been at that cabinet all morning long, stopping only long enough to eat some waffles.

I found the waffle iron yesterday when I emptied the cabinets and this morning I plugged it in and voila! Banana pecan waffles.
So. I've done my job for the day as far as I'm concerned.

And now, because it is Sunday and because we are still celebrating certain newly-won freedoms and because it is one of my most cherished notions that nothing in this world is as huge a force for good and love and equality and joy and acceptance and understanding and communication and education and the tapping-into-the-huge-mystery-of-the-energy, and also, STYLE and BEAUTY as music is, I will repost this.

I could watch it all day. The eternally beautiful faces of human beings on this planet, the water, the trees, the storm coming in, the sky, the words, the wind, the joy, the instruments, the fingers, the throats, the arms, the call to stand up for rights, to be in wonder.

And I dedicate it to Bree Newsome who stood up for her rights. And for the rights of so many others.

We all know I am not a god or Jesus person but this act, this brave woman who just went and did what has needed to be done for so very long, humbles and awes me. And if her god sustained her and gave her courage, I say good for that god. And even more- good for that woman, that beautiful, strong woman.

Got a lot in my heart today. Maybe that's what Sundays are all about. I don't know but I do know it's a world of wonder, for sure.

Love...Ms. Moon

Saturday, June 27, 2015

I Can't Even Believe It

We did it! We picked up Ms. Jessie and went to the Cracker Barrel where there were millions of people waiting for tables, perusing the glorified gift shop and I sort of thought my head would explode but it did not although I did get a headache. While we were waiting for our table Mr. Moon found someone to discuss the buying of rocking chairs with and finally, we were seated.

It took quite a while for us to get our food but hey- a million people! What can you do? And it was fine when it got there and of course, hunger is the best sauce so it was, in fact, quite fine. Our server was awesome and after we ate, Mr. Moon proceeded with the purchase of the chairs and loaded them up and then he said, "Let's go buy a dishwasher!" I think the man has lost his mind. 
But. We took Jessie home and then went to the appliance store where we had shopped months ago and found the same sales-lady because she had helped us before and by golly she was wearing the same skirt! I know this because I have one like it and so I remembered. We checked out the dishwashers, remembered the one we'd liked, and then I shit you not, we bought it. The lady kept saying, "You two are so funny!" and then, "You seem like you've been married a long time. When did you get married?"
"Last year," said Mr. Moon.
I did not correct him. 
Anyway, we loaded up the dishwasher in the truck with the chairs and made our way home. 
Here's what they look like on the porch.

Nice, right? I think so. 
Here's what I've done with the old ones. 

They're just sitting in the yard and will probably be going to the dump. Mr. Moon said he didn't want them going in the garage and that he would put them in the old barn and I said, "Why?" and he considered that and said that yes, he'd take them and throw them out. But for now, they're just sitting there, looking all shabby and not very chic (what happened to Shabby Chic?) and la-di-dah. 

And before I knew what was happening, he asked me to clean out the cabinets where he's going to put the dishwasher and so there I was on the floor, finding things I had no memory of having and also mouse poop and dead roaches and so forth. I threw out about forty plastic containers which once held yogurt or hummus or something and found places for some of the stuff and a lot of the stuff is just going to have to fit in somewhere. Don't ask me where. But HEY! I'm going to have a dishwasher! Can you believe it? I can't. 

And this is what Mr. Moon looks like tearing shit up. 

And yes, my husband may have the longest legs in the world. 
Jessie and Vergil got him a tool for Father's Day which does about a dozen things. Saws, drills, removes stuff, polishes...hell. Don't ask me. But the man is using it with great and happy enthusiasm and saying things like, "I love this tool!" 
Gotta love 'em. And as a neighbor of mine used to say, "I do love a man with a power tool who can take instruction."
Uh-huh. Me too. 

So. The process has begun. I think maybe he just chose this time to get that dishwasher so that he could use the tool which is absolutely totally fine with me and THANK YOU VERGIL AND JESSIE!

I watered the porch plants and picked some zinnias and some other stuff.

And took a picture of the chickens and the duck from the garden. 

I'm thawing out some rock shrimp and will cook that and I think I'm going to make a bastardized version of gazpacho and cook some rice and that will be our supper. 

I texted Lon earlier about us buying a dishwasher (this has been a major topic of conversation for years) and he wrote back, "A dishwasher??!! There may be some sort of galactic repercussions from this you know."

God. I hope not. I hope the only repercussions are that I have to buy those cute little dishwashing soap pellets. And that my dishes get really, really clean although I wonder if this is going to cut back on the beneficial gut bacteria we ingest. Well, as long as I still store my dishes and pots and pans in cabinets with roaches and mice we'll probably be fine.
(Don't you judge me.)

And one more thing- if you read my last post about that crazy dream I had- well, Hank sent me this link and said, "You've seen this, right?"
And I had not. 
I am boggling. 

And I'm still so high on yesterday's SCOTUS (doesn't that sound a bit scrotal to you?) decision and so it's been a very fine day here in Lloyd with outlying adventures and have you seen THIS?

Oh my god. The sound of the drill is piercing through my ears. I'm going to have to kick that man out of the kitchen so that I can make our supper. 
Wish me luck. 
Nah. Actually, I'm feeling about as lucky as I need to feel.

All love...Ms. Moon

A Goal And One Weird Dream Report

Drizzly day and what are we doing? We do not know. Mr. Moon's birthday is on Monday and last night I came up with the brilliant idea that we should finally go and buy the rocking chairs for the porch that we've been promising to get for each other on each gift-giving holiday for the last ten years.
This would be great except then we'd have nothing to say we were going to give each other on holidays.
But I think we actually might do it. We've sat in every for-sale rocking chair in existence and I swear to you- I think we're just going to go eat at Cracker Barrel and buy two of their rocking chairs.
Country livin', y'all!

I dreamed last night that I was in Las Vegas and was somehow given the job of tending President and Mrs. Obama's baby. She was the sweetest baby and smiled at everything but it was rather stressful in that I had no diapers and no supplies and of course the baby pooped because babies poop and people kept showing up to take the baby back to her parents but I DID NOT TRUST THEM and knew they were only trying to kidnap the baby.
I finally delivered the baby safely back into the hands of our president and all was well.
I had poop all over me but I didn't care. The president didn't seem to worry about getting poop on him either. I mean- baby poop. Who cares?

That has to be one of the strangest dreams I've ever had. And honey, I've had some strange ones.

Okay! I must put on a bra-like garment to go to Cracker Barrel. Breakfast out! Hurray! New rocking chairs! Hurray! The ones we have now which came with the house are so old that when you try to move one, whichever piece of the chair you pick up just lifts right off the chair. I suppose they will now be moved to the chair-in-waiting-to-be-fixed area of the garage, never to be seen again.

Dear Lord. When we die our children are going to hate us.

Love...Ms. Moon

Friday, June 26, 2015

Dreams Dreamed And Undreamed. Coming True

In celebration of today's historic decision by the Supreme Court, the boys gave me a colorful make-over.
Actually, they just gave me a make-over. I thought about talking to Owen about what happened today but then I thought, fuck. Just let him grow up in a world in which marriage is marriage. Period, the end. The day Lily told me she was pregnant with him was Obama's first inauguration day and it did not escape me that my grandson was going to grow up in a world in which it was taken for granted that our president could be a man with African heritage and no big deal.
Sure, I want my grandchildren to know their history. But I want them to be able to look at it as history and to know that we have grown and changed and that we are, as Obama said today, the UNITED States of America.  

My heart has overflowed today in so many ways. It still is. Overflowing.

I was holding Gibson in the rocking chair this afternoon and telling him about how I used to hold him when he was a baby and I adjusted him in my lap and cradled him and said, "Like this." He closed his eyes and smiled but when I started singing Rock-a-bye Baby he told me to stop.
And then I told Owen that I'd held him the same way when he was a baby and how I'd told him stories about all the things we would do when he got bigger.
"Do you want me to hold you like that again?" I asked him.
"No," he said.
And then he changed his mind.
And so I did, his long legs sticking out on one end, his head and torso sticking out on the other and we laughed and laughed.

Gibson keeps telling me that he is going to get big.
I tell him that yes, I know. And that I am so proud of him.
He peed in the toilet today EVERY time and told me when he had to go. Owen just peed off the porch which I probably shouldn't allow but hell...why not?

My babies.
My god.

I told Gibson I loved him and he marched around the kitchen saying, "So much! So much! So much!"

Owen climbed the fig tree. He picked cherry tomatoes for his brother. We watched the train go by. We fed the chickens.

All the things I told him we'd do when he was a baby, some things which I could perfectly envision, others which I could hardly dream of.

All of which he and his brother will grow up just accepting as reality.

Damn. It's been a real good day.
I hope it has been for you as well.

Love...Ms. Moon

I Could Not Love This Man More

He is so grace-full.


Even before I read the fantastic news this morning, my heart felt so full of love. That's what I texted my husband just awhile ago: "My heart is so filled with love for you."
We fell asleep last night, close together and after thirty years of marriage, this still makes me feel at peace and content and safe and good and so very fortunte.
When I was a child, only couples of the opposite sex could experience that feeling with their life-long love as a given. Homosexuality was considered by many and certainly by the church and the law as a sin, a shame, a thing to be hidden. Where was the space in all of that for peace, contentment, safety and goodness?

And yet, in so many cases, love prevailed even then.

And then again, how many lives were destroyed because it could not?

Today, THIS DAY, June 26, 2015, the Supreme Court of the United States of America said no to the haters, the throwers of sin-talk, those who use their religion to rationalize their fears and ignorance, their inability to accept that love is love and all human beings are deserving of the right to join together with their life-long love in the light. They declared that there is no rational nor legal reason to prevent same-sex couples from being married.

I am awed that this has happened in my lifetime. And pleased beyond measure.

So let us not talk about those who would condemn this opening of doors and windows and arms and hearts. Let us celebrate love and light. Let us celebrate those who merely want to be able to lie in the arms of their love, to be able to raise their families in dignity and with the rights and benefits of all families. Let us glory in this moment and remember all of those who fought (sometimes to the death) to have the right to come out of the darkness in which society has tried to hold them in.

It is no longer "the love which cannot be named."

It is simply, merely, astoundingly, miraculously, profoundly, love.

Equal dignity in the eyes of the law.

Amen and Hallelujah.

Love...Ms. Moon

Thursday, June 25, 2015

Symbols And Cold Steel

Suddenly I am awash in tomatoes. Not only ours but a friend came over and dropped off some of his. I gestured around the kitchen where tomatoes of all shapes and sizes were waiting in various stages of ripening.
"Ours are coming in," I said.
"Give these to your kids," he said. "My freezer is already full of marinara."

So kids- if Daddy brings tomatoes in tomorrow, can you pick some up? Fresh tomatoes? May, there's hot peppers too.

It doesn't rain but it pours. And right now it is raining. Every afternoon we get the hint, the threat, the rumble, the distant blackening of the sky and then nothing. Sigh. I want to reach out and grab that blackness and haul it here. But now it IS here, at least a bit of grayness, some rain coming out of it.

I achieved all of my goals today! Plus one! I did write the letter and oh, how rusty my handwriting is. But it was so lovely. And I figured out how to download audio books on my phone but for some reason, I seem to have to go through all of the pages of choices because every time I try to do a search I come up with ebooks instead of audio and I know there's a way but I haven't figured it out. Also? Every damn book I want to listen to is not available and I have to put a hold on it. What the fuck? They'll e-mail me when they're available.
This is not the perfect solution.
And I did weed. Not very long. And now I can hardly walk. But it felt good and the chickens came in and joined me and pecked at fallen cherry tomatoes and bugs and so it was a fine and friendly experience, albeit a hot and sweaty one.

BUT, that's not really what I want to talk about. I want to talk about the whole focusing on the Confederate flag thing after Charleston.
Don't get me wrong. I am THRILLED that states are finally pulling that symbol of hate down. THRILLED. Of course, here in the deepest parts of the south, this just means that people who never really cared a damn about displaying that flag are going to go out and buy one and put it up in their yards. Trust me. But, as Kathleen used to say, at least when you see someone displaying that flag you know what you're dealing with.
An asshole.
They give you fair warning, at least.
"Hey! I'm a racist asshole! Come on in!"
BUT there is no excuse whatsoever for any state government to fly it at the capitol. None. And that's the way it is. So yes, bring it down. Should never have gone up. Ever.

However, while we are all debating this damn bit of racist symbology, we are NOT debating gun control. Why not? Oh sure, the NRA came out and said that if the church members had had a gun...

No. No. No.

They can't get away with that argument any more and how long are we, the PEOPLE, going to put up with this shit? Again I say- the pro-gun people are absolutely more willing to see thousands and thousands of people die every day from the result of guns (sometimes one at a time, sometimes in groups of threes or fours or nine or whatever) than admit that the second amendment to the Constitution did not mean that almost anyone in the country can legally buy an assault weapon and even if they can't, they sure can find someone who can to get one for them.
We are the laughing stock of the world on this issue.
This is not pioneer days, y'all. We don't have to defend our log cabin and split-rail fence farm with two cows and a pig against marauding Indians. We do not have to worry that some government (including our own) is going to try and commit tyranny. I mean, if that happens, your damn assault rifle isn't going to be of much use and let's face it- all of that NRA bullshit is bullshit and they just need their guns to feel like they're powerful and, okay, I shouldn't say this but I imagine that Ted Nugent's dick is about as big as a pencil eraser.

We all know this.

And by god, if we keep putting up with lawmakers who refuse to stand up to the NRA, we're just going to keep seeing the same horror and bloodshed.

There. I could say a lot more but what's the point?

The Confederate flag is a horrible symbol that needs to be done away with. That process has begun. In twenty years, it will be no more socially acceptable to display a Confederate flag than it is now to say the word "n....r" in public. As Obama pointed out recently, just because that's true, it doesn't mean racism has ended but I say it's a damn good start.

So when do we begin the process of educating people about guns? Specifically lawmakers. When do we tell the NRA that even with all of their money and their influence, we won't take their shit anymore?

I'm waiting. And not very patiently, either.

Okay. This old grandmother has to go slice tomatoes and crush garlic and she's said all she wants to say tonight.

If you're so afraid that someone's going to come into your house and assault you, go adopt a dog who barks big. At least he won't accidentally kill your child while you're cleaning him. And so forth.

Love...Ms. Moon

Luckiest Woman In The Entire World

Thank you, Supreme Court. Thank-you, thank-you, thank-you.
I have friends and family members who are able to afford health insurance for the first time in their lives. People who work harder than anyone I know. People who should not have to lose everything they own if they get sick or hurt.
And thank-you, President Obama.
No. It is not a perfect program but it is far, far better than nothing. And why Republicans can't see that is beyond me. They would literally rather see people die than to back off their jingoistic, lobby-fueled, Obama-hating, tea-party-ass-kissing lines drawn in the sand.

Here we are.

And in Lloyd news, I sliced that tomato this morning. It's an heirloom tomato variety. The Cherokee Purple, and its color is such that vegetarians might be put off. I swear- it looks more like an organ than a vegetable.

It could indeed be accurately described as "meaty."

I toasted some of the bread I made last night and cooked some bacon. Miracle Whip (Mr. Moon's favorite) was applied generously to the bread. And salt and pepper to those tomatoes. 
My fellow was happy. 

"It tastes like a tomato!" he said. And it did. A real tomato, not one of those tomato-like things you buy in the store. 

I think tonight I will bake some focaccia bread and we will eat that with tomatoes and olive oil and basil. Maybe a little grilled eggplant. With mozzarella. And sliced cucumbers on the side. My god, we are so rich! 

I'm not leaving town today. Waiting on more word. I hate to be so cryptic but privacy must be considered and respected. 

And that's about it. I took a walk. The beauty berries have their tiny blooms. 

I want to weed today and I want to learn how to download audio books from the library and I want to write a real letter. Those are my goals. 

Not a bad life, is it? 

Love...Ms. Moon

Wednesday, June 24, 2015

Thoughts, Links, Pictures, Etc. Mostly Completely Unrelated

Elvira and Lisa Marie 
Among Others

Yesterday when I was with the boys at their house, we were outside and a pick-up truck which seemed abnormally huge and high off the ground stopped and a passel of teens spilled out of it. In my mind, the image I have is that the truck was so high they had to parachute out but of course, that was not the case. They were all wearing orange T-shirts and the printed word which popped out on all of them was GOD and I thought, Oh, Jesus, and sure enough, they paired off in twos and headed to various houses on the street and one fellow and his buddy headed our way and I groaned inside.
"Hi!" said the obviously more outgoing one. "We're just inviting everyone to a block party!" And he proceeded to tell us where the party would be (a park about five miles away) and he gave us a printout with details and dazzled Owen with the promise of clowns and a bouncy house and hot dogs! "We're inviting everyone!" he said. 
My god but he was enthusiastic. 
"I don't live here," I said. 
"Where DO you live?" he asked and I wanted to smack the crap out of him. What the fuck business was it of some cheerful, god-filled sixteen year old where I lived? None. None of his business. 
"You should come too!" he said. "Here! Would you like an invitation?" and he thrust one at me. 
"No," I said. "No thank you." And then he handed Owen a plastic bag with stuff about their church in it and some plastic crap, also with the name of their church on it. Orange plastic crap.
Just then Lily pulled into the driveway and the boy and his buddy moved on to possibly more fertile pastures and I had to explain to Owen what was going on and he, being a wise five-year old said, "Do they want money?"
"Well, not really. They just want you to come to their church."
"Oh," he said. And we were pretty much done with that conversation but I was thinking later that going to a "party" like that would probably be my worst nightmare on earth. People. People I don't know. Lots of them (possibly). Cheerful Jesus people. At a cheerful Jesus "block" party. 
I mean- can you imagine? I would literally rather dig ditches to lay PVC to hook up a washing machine than attend such an event. Through roots. In this weather. 
Yeah, throw me that shovel and the posthole digger. 
I'm glad these teens have something to do on summer days which doesn't involve video games and, oh, I don't know, joining the American Nazi Party but honestly. 
I'm such an old cynical bitch. I know it too.

So I've been thinking about that and how so many Christians just feel so entitled to go around and try to recruit. To save souls. To...what? Fill their pews? 
As I've said, if I walked around and tried to get people interested in my spirit totem, Keith Richards, I'd probably be arrested. 
Thankfully, I do not feel compelled to do that. 

But that's just one of the things I've thought about today. 
Here's something else:
I am completely incapable of going to the library and not coming out with some real books. I can't do it. I was just "going to look" at the new arrivals section in Fiction when I went in yesterday and came out with the new Ann Packer and a Thomas McGuane. I'm already completely immersed in the Ann Packer. I have decided that I simply MUST learn to download audio books from the library. I just have to. 
And I will. I will. I'm pretty sure that I can figure that out. 

I was at the trash depot today and the feral cats who live there came out to see if I had anything for them. One of them looks like Maurice's doppelganger. One wonders. Speaking of Maurice, I have become a bit weary of her waking me up at least twice a night. She bats at the window above my head and I figured out last night that this does not always mean she wants in. Sometimes she's merely killing bugs. And when she does come in, she leaps up on the bed and wanders around and rarely these days does she settle down and offer me any love. Although she did last night. I think she knows when I'm reaching my limits of patience. This afternoon, however, she did that thing where she wanted me to pet her and then she sunk her teeth and cruel claws into my arm and honestly- I'm slightly allergic to cats and I swell up and itch like crazy where she's attacked me. 
You know I love her. And when I say "love" her I mean I live for the nights when she's affectionate and we both fall asleep while I stroke her soft head. The other day I swept the library and found three lizard skeletons and a skink head. 

Okay. So since I ate those mushrooms? I haven't had but one day of anxiety. I mean, I get worried and concerned but it's not the crazy I'm-losing-my-mind sort of anxiety. Again I say- anecdotal evidence from one person but...
Just telling you the truth. 

There's a local magazine called, amazingly, Tallahassee Magazine and they did an article this month about local trivia nights and my son, HANK THE TRIVIA MASTER is featured. 
Here. Let me see if I can embed this.

Link? Link?

Page 133.

Lily is doing okay. This is just a situation we're going to have to deal with. I wish with all of my heart we weren't. It's hard enough to be pregnant and have two little boys and a job and a house and home and all of the attendant worries without phlebitis too. But, it is what it is and Lily is amazing and she is going to do whatever it takes and so will we all to help.

I may or may not be heading out of town soon. All is well but surgery was involved and as we all know, I don't do parties very well but I am not bad at tending those I love.

All right. Here's some pictures.

Some tomatoes. See that big purple one? I hope to make that into a sandwich for Mr. Moon tomorrow morning for his breakfast. It's bigger than a baby's head. Hell, it's bigger than George Clooney's wife's butt.

The bread I hope to make his sandwich on.

Maurice the orange-ass-cat playing with yard-long green beans.

And now one more because I think it is a spectacular picture.

That is Bill Wharton, aka The Sauce Boss, who was about the third person I met the day I moved to Tallahassee. Check out his link. 
If he's playing anywhere near you, go see him. He'll fill you with the spirit better than any Jesus party anyone could ever attend and I would not lie to you. 

Love...Ms. Moon

A day starts off and you let the chickens out and you note the new blooms and you go for your walk and you've gotten a phone call and a dear friend is in the hospital and you're ready to go right that second and suddenly all the things you thought you needed to do fall away and you're reaching for your big string bag in your mind to pack it but it's not the thing to do right this second and you feel struggly in your heart and you remember how much you love certain people and how life is just so weird and she'll be fine, this friend, she'll be FINE but damn you want to go and make sure that everyone is okay and do laundry and clean toilets and make applesauce or soup or whatever is needed, whatever is needed, whatever is needed.
I mean it.

I'll let you know how things go.

Much love...Ms. Moon

Tuesday, June 23, 2015

Sometimes Life Just Swirls Around Us And We Have To Stop and Catch Our Breath

I am here, I swear, I promise, I am.
It's just been so busy.
Lily had two doctor's appointments today and I stayed with my boys so she could go and then we went to eat a very late lunch and then I went to the library and the store and then I came home and it was late and I scurried and I hurried to gather eggs and pick the cherry tomatoes which are coming in by the bushel and started supper and then Judy and Denise came over and we sat and laughed and chatted and laughed and now...
I am here.
Supper is about to be ready but I am not myself if I don't get to come here and write a few words, share a few thoughts. Blogs may be dying but some of us have to do it and will continue to do it and thank god for this place, this space.
Please, alla y'all, don't stop writing. Don't stop sharing your lives with me. I do not know what I would do if I couldn't visit you to see how it goes with you. I feel like we're in this together, whatever this is.
And if I'm not leaving comments, if I'm not answering comments here, it's not because I haven't been to visit you, it's not because I don't read every word you write at your places and in response to my words.
It's just...one of those times.

Here's what my boys looked like today:

My handsome Hulkito, my little man Gibson. 
And Owen, who asked me to take a "family photo." Direct quote. He's extremely invested in pretending to be a dad and a husband right now. 



That child. 

This life. I am overwhelmed in all ways. Mostly good.

Much love...Ms. Moon

Monday, June 22, 2015

Truly Summer Now

When the rain finally quit, I put on my shoes and took off out the door and the streets were already literally steaming. The dirt paths were laked in water and I chose my route to visit the old graveyard and then turned around and realized that I was pretty much done with another mile or so to go.
I made it but it wasn't fun.

I'm not seeing blackberries this year but the wild grapes are abundant. I need to research this situation to see if they'd make a jam. They don't get big but I suppose if I picked enough, I could do something with them. Seems like a sin to let them go to waste. I have them in my own yard, the vines blanketing the trees. 

I think I give myself a little bit of heat stroke every day that I walk. Okay, probably not "stroke" but heat exhaustion, for sure.
Every time I went out today, whether to gather eggs or hang clothes, I felt worse. Finally, around four, I laid down and slept for awhile and when I woke up I didn't know if it was day or night.

My baseboards remain unmolested by any sort of cleaning but I did some pretty good sweeping and washed rugs. Hung out four lines of laundry and it all dried in an hour. Faster than using the dryer these days. I just went out and picked more tomatoes and green beans. I'll be cooking supper here in a little bit. It's been another one of those days of not much. I got a text from Lily. Owen had his physical today and he is, according to the doctor, in "perfect health" and over the 100th percentile in both weight and height for his age. Since he's a skinny kid, I would imagine that those two are nicely proportional. His height is projected to be 6'4" but I'm betting he grows taller than that. Damn. I hope I live long enough to see that boy grow to his full height. I love those boys so much. Yesterday Owen and Gibson were running around the house, chasing each other and Owen ran into the door frame from the hallway to the dining room. I saw him do it and there was a moment of silence and then he wailed. He got a pretty good bruise and a scrape and when he calmed down, I said, "Can you move your arm up and down?"
He proceeded to demonstrate that yes, he could, by whirling his arm around like a speeding windmill, faster and faster, until I told him to please stop.
"I'm not a professional," I said. "But I'm pretty sure you didn't break anything."
Gibson kept calling himself "Hulky" as in...the Hulk but in Gibson-speak, the way he calls Hank "Hanky." It made me laugh. This little boy with his raspy old blue's man voice. "I HULKY!"
I started calling him "Hulkito" but he didn't get it.
"I HULKY!" he insisted. "RED HULKY!"
"Hulkito Rojo!" I said. He just looked at me like I was crazy.
Well, I am.

I will see them again tomorrow as I'm going to go stay with them while their mama goes to see her primary care physician. They are such a part of my life. When I had my own children, one of the things that amazed me was that it seemed, once they'd been born, as if I'd known them forever. I know that this is not a unique way to feel. That many parents feel this. And it is much the same with these boys. As if I had just been waiting for them to arrive in their bodies to fulfill what I had always known to be part of my life.
This makes me so eager to meet the new ones coming. I think I know them already. And oh- the joy I'll feel when I can see them, hold them, watch them in their mothers' arms.
Yesterday I kissed Jessie's belly and spent a few seconds with my head right there on her, sending my rays of love to the little boy. I may be silly, but I think I felt my love-rays make their connection. Jessie is gracious to allow me to do this.

And so it goes here in the hot summer and it truly is summer now. The solstice was yesterday and yesterday was exactly three months until Jessie's due-date. The wild grapes grow and the rains come and dissipate and the steam from the streets rise up into the lower hanging branches of the ancient live oaks. Mothers' bellies swell with the growth of their babes, grandmothers pin clothes on the line and pin dreams to their daughters' bellies, just as they once pinned dreams on their own bellies; these dreams which just now reach fruition.
I love the feeling of fat tomatoes and warm eggs in my palm, the feeling of my palm on those growing bellies. I love roundness. My husband's strong shoulders, the heads of my grandsons, the peach I palm to peel and slice.

Summer is the season of roundness. It is not an easy season here in North Florida where the heat can overtake you but it has its beauty and fecundity. When I stepped into the old graveyard today I felt as if I was in a dream, the deep shade and quiet stones, a very, very small cave of cool shade and peace, three steps away from the steaming road.

So it is and so it has always been and here we are, right in it.

Time to cook the green beans and slice the fat tomatoes.

Love...Ms. Moon


Was just about to take a walk when suddenly, the heavens opened up and to Maurice's and my bafflement, the rain began to pour down. You can barely even see the blip on the radar but here it is, water pounding the earth which is good. This ground is thirsty and we won't have to water tonight.
Thunder crashes and the air cools and the frogs are roaring their joy.

I have no obligations today and thus, I think I will actually do some housework. Yesterday Owen and I walked through all the rooms, looking for his shoes and I realized (suddenly!) that my floors are in dire need of sweeping. At the very least. We shall not even discuss the dust. Baseboards? Coated in Lloyd's black oily dirt dust. Spider webs everywhere.
Yes. I have plenty to do to keep me busy.

And suddenly, the rain is slacking off. I think I'll be able to take my walk in a few moments.

As we say in Florida- Don't like the weather? Wait twenty minutes, it'll change. Maurice and I wait it out. She closes her eyes, relaxed now that the worst is over. Suddenly (it would appear) she is sleepy.
But suddenly, another crash of thunder rolls across the sky.

Another day in Lloyd.

Love...Ms. Moon

Sunday, June 21, 2015

Thank You, All You Fathers, Father Figures, And Togi And Hank Too

Mr. Moon In His Adventure Shorts

We did get those kids out of our bed and we did take a nap and it was lovely.

Father's Day.

Another one of those bittersweet holidays for me, although this one far more sweet than bitter. But still.
My friend Togi wrote this on Facebook today:

"When's the holiday for children neglected by their fathers? Whens that one roll around? Did i miss it? I didnt even get a card.

Exactly. Exactly. 

Oh, Daddy. Where'd you go? 
I swear to god. I missed having a dad so much. Which set me up to be the perfect potential victim for the man who sexually abused me. "What? I get a new daddy? Oh my GOD! I love you, New Daddy!"

So yeah, on the one hand, Father's Day does dredge up some shit. 

But then Togi wrote this on Facebook:

I grew up in a neighborhood where Dads were a rarity. And commonly the households that had one were abusive. I admittedly have a skewed view on Fatherhood but it works in both directions. Good fathers are actually one of the things that move me most. I am at an age now where a lot of my friends have become Fathers . And i am proud to say most seem to be doing a really great job. I have friends that had great examples to follow , I even have friends that are better Dads because they were failed by their own, I have Gay Dad friends,I have straight Dad friends,I have cis and Trans Dad friends,I am kind of surrounded by good Dads at this stage of life and that makes me really proud. To all of those taking the time, I LOVE you. You help renew my faith in the male species and human evolution. Good work fellas.

Do you see why I love Togi? I have such smart friends. Such thinking friends. Such good-hearted friends. Such love-filled friends. 

And I know so many good fathers. I am married to the best, of course, and Jason? Honey, you couldn't ask for a better dad than that man. Vergil's about to show his stuff in the father department and I have no doubt he's going to be the exact best papa that his children could ever wish for. Jessie chose him because she knew she wanted him to be her children's daddy. I'm so proud of my girls for being so clear about the sort of fathers they wanted for their babies. My ex has been a fine father, too. 

Since I'm quoting Facebook posts today let me share what Hank wrote:

I'm a lucky man in a lot of ways, and one of the biggest pieces of luck I've ever fallen into is that I have two great dads. On paper, they couldn't be much more different - the hunter jock and the guitar playing rocker. But my mom knows a good thing when she finds one, because they are both packed with love, understanding, and the ability to do anything they turn their minds to. Dads, I love you.

I think of Billy and what an incredible dad he is. I see pictures on Facebooks of men I knew as a child who were such good fathers. The ones I yearned to have. Fathers of friends, my uncles. I think about what fine men they were. I am so glad I knew them, that although they were not my fathers, they somehow intuited that I needed a tiny bit of a good, sweet male energy that I didn't even know existed. I think of my grandfather who was as close to a father figure as I had until my father-in-law came into my life and stepped into that role like the daddy he was. 
He was love personified. And good in every molecule. 

If my own father did a lot to destroy my faith in the very concept of fatherhood, if my stepfather cemented the lid shut on it, then I have to give such great good thanks for the men whom I have known who gently reminded me that not all men are like that. That there were men who not only loved and protected and adored their children, but also loved and protected the children's mamas. 
Thus, family actually WAS possible. 
And of course, my husband is the one who ripped the lid off the grave of my belief in good fathers and set free the possibility and then the reality for me. 

This truly is the miracle of my life. That I have grown up to have one of the most incredibly loving and supportive and strong and funny and generous and unique families in the entire world. 
That the love of a father has been made apparent and real to me for all of these years. That the love of a husband has been made real and apparent for all of these years. 

And frankly, that somehow, I had the ability to marry the man I married and to stay friends with my ex and then become good friends with his amazing wife so that our family, instead of having a crippled limb, is a family that has strong and good roots and limbs too. 

And so, Father's Day may have its bittersweet way with me when I retreat back to the little girl I was, although I may be achingly jealous of all the people on Facebook who have posted such loving tributes to their Good Daddies, the absolute sweet part is overwhelming and I know that if I had to do it all over again under the same circumstances, I could not have made better choices. 

I could not have been more lucky. 

So. Here's to the great, good men who loved and love their children so well. And let me mention that there are a whole lot of mothers out there who fill the role of father to their children to and do an amazing job of it.

I love all of you. You make this world a better place in every way.

You are all my heroes. And the fact that I get to live with and love my own personal favorite father in the world, even though he is not mine (and trust me- I don't get that confused) is simply stunning to me. And I never forget that. 

Love...Ms. Moon

The Biscuits Were Awesome, The Daddies Even More So

Well, we've been celebrating Father's Day around here since about nine a.m.

And I would write a big ol' tribute to the good and great daddies I know but I'm exhausted. 

As soon as all these kids get out of my bed, I think we'll take a nap.

That family bed thing? It never ends.

Love...The Luckiest Woman In The World

Saturday, June 20, 2015

Bad Choices Which Taste So Good. Plus, Of Course, Other Stuff

Lily and I made a terrible decision today which was to start our outing at the Indian buffet which we love. The boys don't like it very much but we were flying solo as the boys were home with their Dad so that's where we went. It was late, most of the lunch crowd was gone as you can see from the picture above but we hit that buffet like pros and if they'd had any ideas of breaking that bad boy down, they seemed to let them go when we got out plates and started down the line.
I love this buffet. There are other Indian buffets in town but this one, to my mind and palate, is the best of all of them and everything I tried was heavenly and wonderful and we both ate too much and I'm still so full that the two cherry tomatoes I just ate may well be my supper.
Okay. That's probably not the truth but Mr. Moon is going out to eat with Jessie and Vergil and let me just say- that's fine with me. They called to invite me too but I politely declined. Not only am I still full but the idea of driving BACK to town does not interest me in the least.

After lunch we went to Bealls Outlet, always fun. I got Mr. Moon a pair of what I thought were bathing trunks but was informed by the lady at the cash register are actually "adventure shorts."
They certainly look like they could be worn in the water to me and are made of the same fabric as the pair of bathing trunks he left in the dryer at Panama City so he can just adventure right into the water with them as far as I can see. They have velcro pockets everywhere and if they'd had them in my size I would have bought me a pair too. What girl doesn't want a pair of adventure shorts?

Good lord. Who comes up with this shit?

After Bealls we hit Ross where I got Owen a pair of regular bathing trunks (his too, were left in the dryer in P.C.) and Gibson two pairs of shorts (because he pees in his all the time) and I got the newest new baby a little sleep sac garment with a duckie on it because...well. Hell. I already love that tiny bean of a baby whose heart I saw beating yesterday and he or she will need clothes because he or she is a human and we humans do need clothes.

Then we went to the New Leaf where we got to see Billy which made my heart happy as always and then WE WERE DONE! I dropped Lily off and went by the library, only to discover that they'd just closed which inspired me to decide not to get any library books (to read with my eyes) for awhile because I have a stack of books right here at home to read and I never get around to them because I have to finish my library books and turn them in. Not to mention my magazines. I've just cracked the Oxford American fiction issue and so far, every word has been a tasty bite of deliciousness. If you've never heard of this magazine and you love good writing and good music with a southern slant go HERE and check them out. They only publish four times a year but every issue is a wonder and once a year, it comes with a CD or two of southern music and the entire magazine for that issue is crammed with articles about the famous and infamous and least-recognized musicians the south has produced. It can change your life.

Anyway, came home, took the trash, ran into a woman I've known for at least thirty-five years and we stood there in the broiling sun with the stink of garbage and the buzzing of flies around us and had a delightful (I am not being sarcastic here) conversation about grandchildren and so forth.

This is my social life, y'all. And guess what? That is fine with me. When you like someone so much that you'll spend fifteen minutes at the garbage and recycle depot in the 95 degree heat to chat, you really do like them. Fuck that artificial party chit-chat.

So that's been my day. And it's been a good one.

I watered the porch plants and here's a picture of one of the many maturing banana spiders who has built her web on her natal porch.

Yep. It's summer. More proof.

More zinnias. I cannot get enough of them. Maybe next summer I'll just sow the entire garden with every variety I can lay my hands on.

Tomorrow is Father's Day. Pancakes and the kids and grands will be involved.

And here's my new business idea: Geriatric Home Decor.
Lily and I were talking about the house Mr. Moon and I are discussing building in Apalachicola and I said, "Shit. We're going to have to put all those grab bars and stuff in. I need a geriatric home decor advisor."
There are probably tons of them. They'll advise you not to use scatter rugs. Of that I am sure. Owen's been trying to talk me into getting one of those walk-in tubs they advertise on TV. That may be worth considering for the new house.

Oh boy. Can't wait. Do they make grab bars to screw in beside the sofa? Perhaps with faux wood-grain or bamboo finishes to go with the rest of your furnishings? See? I think there may be a market for this stuff somewhere. We boomers are definitely getting old but we're going to want to do it in our own way. Padded floors like they have at the play ground. Designated walker and cane spaces. Little kitchen greenhouses to grow our basil and pot in. Spice cabinets divided into "culinary" and "medicinal" sections with subsections for sweet, savory, blood pressure and cholesterol. Reading lamps which come with attached magnifying panes. Romantic-looking four poster beds with call buttons wired directly to the hospital for emergencies. Timers designed for nothing more than to make sure your erection doesn't last longer than four hours.


Something to think about.

Much love...Ms. Moon

Rambling Much? Also...Relationship Advice

Oh dear god and good morning. It's almost noon. The man and I stayed up too late last night and slept until 9:30. This is unheard of, especially for Mr. Moon.
We must have been worn out.
He's already on his way into town to help Jessie and Vergil put up cabinets in the kitchen. I, being the lazy slut of a woman I am, am not driving into town to help Jessie and Vergil put up cabinets.
Nor do I want to get out in the garden and pull weeds although I should but please- no.

All right. Plans are forming AS WE SPEAK! Lily wants to know if I want to go do a little Father's Day shopping and I guess I will.
Mr. Moon, of course, says he has everything he needs, especially if we drive to Tulsa, Oklahoma to buy a car he wants. Not tomorrow. But sometime.

I'm like...Tulsa, Oklahoma? He says it's a twelve hour drive.
I told him that's like at least three days. Four if I had my way.

Sometimes I really wonder why in the world we are so happily married. We're as much alike as chalk and cheese. Maybe that's why. I used to have a friend who took up biking. She loved it. She rode her bike everywhere and went on those day's-long bike tours. She was happy. Then her husband decided that he, too, would take up biking so that they could share this thing she loved so much. Suddenly, the whole thing became about HIM. His bike, his training, his flat tires.
She was not so happy. But what could she do? She didn't OWN biking.
I'm not sure how that turned out.

Anyway, la-di-dah and we meet in the middle, I suppose, this man and I. He brings me bales of hay and I clean out the hen house. He tills the garden and I weed it. I cook the food and he eats it. He supports me and I like it.
But I tell you this- sometimes we joke that Match.com would never in a billion years have tried to match the two of us. Good thing we got together the old fashioned way- in a bar.

Happy Saturday, y'all.

Trust your heart, not algorithms. I don't even know what algorithms are. Which, in reality is not a good reason not to trust them but I do know what hearts are and I do trust those.

Love...Ms. Moon