Thursday, August 25, 2016


Beauty berry and just because it's the most gorgeous color in the world right now, those shiny berry clusters clinging to their branch, a bruise of color, a most-secret-parts-of-anything color, a glory.

I finished My Name is Lucy Barton last night. What a lesson in saying the most while saying the least. Cut that meat to the very bone of the truth, to the tenderest part of the muscle.
Started listening to another book, Radiance by Catherynne M. Valente. Not sure if I can stick with it, Ms. Valente the opposite sort of writer who can't use one word if fifteen will do better. Oh, don't get me wrong- those words sparkle and jangle like charms from a bracelet and who am I to say that spare is better than spangle?
Somedays you want to wear the charm bracelet and some days you want to wear the slim gold slip of a bracelet that your grandmother left you.
Somedays you just might want to wear both.

Books. Oh, books and their words and their worlds.

What would any of us here have done, would do, without them?
We could probably all give testament, give witness to their life-saving abilities in the most personal and yet universal of ways.

Well, here we are, dead of summer, tropical storms are heading up in the heated-up ocean and poised for who-knows-where and Florida sticks out like a tongue, taunting them.
It felt a little cooler this morning and let us be grateful for that. My garden calls me like a lover to come and tend it, but wait, I say, just wait. I'll be there.

Today I'm going to stay with Gibson and Maggie for a little while and then pick up Owen at the bus stop and drive him home. I'm glad to be seeing them. I'll want to see what Maggie's up to, to hear what Gibson has to say about school, if things are less bad, and of course, to hear about first grade from Owen and to hear if he's gotten another kiss from his girl yet. He has his grandfather's way about him, that one, his self-confidence when it comes to knowing that he is of course worthy of a pretty girl's kisses, even at the age of six. It's just the way it is, why belabor the subject?
I think he's going to have his grandfather's long legs too and August looks to have them as well, although maybe those are his own daddy's legs, long and strong and lean.

Our children, our children, their children, we pass on what was passed to us, and oh, please, let one of these grands at least, have my love of books, my love of words.
A love of chickens would not be so bad either although where did that come from in me?
I have no idea although come to think of it, my mother always told me about her daddy keeping chickens on Lookout Mountain and how she hated having to go gather the eggs because the hens (more broody than mine, obviously), would peck at her as she reached under them to take what was there. Or theirs?

Enough words. I have things to do before I leave to go see Magpie with her smiles and Gibson with his ALWAYS OUTDOOR VOICE and his snuggly ways.

How are you today? Are you okay? I hope so.

Love...Ms. Moon Reporting In From Home


  1. "Florida sticks out like a tongue taunting them..."
    Holy shit Mary, can you ever paint a picture!!
    I've been so damn busy, I can barely keep up. I'm glad you're doing well today. Smooch those babies!

  2. Did you look back at that corner as you were leaving and think, what a beautiful serene, enfolding place. It is that. Enjoy your grandchildren time today, and of course they will love books, most likely every one of them, they are yours. The writing gene runs strong in your family, too, so don't be surprised if you are helping to raise another writer! Lovelovelove

  3. This made me think of what you wrote about Hank teaching himself to read. And how the three-year-old me who was so envious of the kids who could already read would have been completely mind-boggled by Hank :)


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