Sunday, July 31, 2016

Political Theories And Pure Fun

Ah, it was a good day. A pancakes and bacon and play-in-the-pool day. And also, a day where Owen gave Mermer a foot massage, brushed her hair, and did her make-up as a belated birthday gift.
I have to say that he's getting quite good at foot massages. While he was brushing my hair, I said, "My hair's getting really long, isn't it?"
"Yes," he said. "It is but you need to grow some more on top."
Grandchildren are brutal, I tell you.
And then, for the grand finale of my present, Owen gave me a make-over. I'd show you a picture but the only one I took is horrifying. Truly. I Some things just cannot be shared.

Here's the boys in the pool with their Boppy.

Miss Maggie was delightful, as always. She is such a mama's girl. If she can see her mama or hear her, she wants her. She took a little nap and when she woke up I took her to her mother and she burst into smiles like the sun bursting through the clouds. I did give her a bottle on the bed and cuddled with her, which she allowed sweetly, playing with my fingers and her own toes. She sure did like pancakes. When Owen was kissing and hugging her today and she was smiling at him with her big, goofy smile, he said, "She is a joy, every day!"
Seriously. That's what he said.

Here's another picture, speaking of goofy people.

Gibson and Mermer, doing what they do best- cuddling. That child is the cuddlingest child I ever met. He's still got a touch of the baby in him, that one. 

And basically, that's what I've done today. Get birthday-pampered and play with babies and visit with Lily. I didn't pick green beans or peas. I should get out there and do it right now but I don't want to. I took a tiny nap and feel a bit Jackie-Dip, as we say around here (and when I say here, I mean, me, in my house). 
Oh sure, I did some laundry and filled out my passport renewal application. Did you know that they do NOT stamp your passport when you go to Cuba? 

I also read an article online about how maybe Donald Trump may be in the early stages of some sort of dementia which would make sense to me. It seems like his ability to focus and communicate are getting worse and worse and I truly wonder how in the world he thinks he's going to debate Hillary Clinton this fall. The man knows NOTHING and when he gets flustered, he lies and prevaricates and and then lies some more and then talks about how badly everyone treats him because he is, of course, an amazing human being, smart, knows big words, etc., etc.

I mean, the very idea of him going head-to-head with a woman who has literally been in the White House for two terms already (albeit as the First Lady) and who has been a senator from New York and who was the goddam Secretary of State and who is obviously, definitely, undeniably NOT suffering from either dementia or an acute case of narcissism, is simply mind-boggling. It's like putting Sarah Palin up against, oh...Joe Biden, and I'm thinking that Sarah is smarter and was more informed than Donald Trump is. Hey! Maybe she CAN see Russia from her front porch. Let's face it, all possible diagnoses aside, the man doesn't want to do actual work of any sort. He seems to have no grasp whatsoever of foreign policy or domestic policy either, for that matter. I still don't think the man really went into this thing wanting to be the president. He needed brand-name recognition for his failing business dealings and the glow of his reality show persona was wearing thin so...RUN FOR PRESIDENT! SURE! WHY NOT? I mean, running for president has got to be easier than creating products and doing honest real estate deals that are viable and of quality, right? 
So what's he going to do? Study? Learn something? Come up with an idea deeper than the one he has concerning his ability to save the world single-handedly? Try to bluster and bluff and insult and lie his way through it? Pretend to have a gall-bladder attack? 

He must be losing his mind over this right now. 
Oh. Wait. He lost his mind a long time ago. Unfortunately, madness is obviously contagious. Just ask his legion of followers. 

All right. I don't feel like discussing this any more and since I am not running for president, I'm allowed to say that. 

Sunday night. Leftover enchiladas for supper. And then to bed early to read. 
That is my plan. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Sunday Morning Pancakes At Mer's

Saturday, July 30, 2016

All Of It. Once Again

I had the best time talking to my friend over lunch. He's a guy I met when I was still doing plays in Monticello and he and Kathleen and I all became friends at the same time and we shared a certain sensibility that was genuine and real and we laughed a lot about things which is always the most critical factor in determining whether a relationship is worth having or not if you ask me.
We sat at a table in the Mexican restaurant in Monticello for two hours. His sister recently died and she and Kathleen had both received treatment at the Oncology Center in Thomasville, Georgia at the same time and life is funny like that but not really funny, either.

So we talked about death and we talked about dying and we talked about old times and we talked about family and we talked about all kinds of stuff. The guy who runs the restaurant reminds me a lot of the folks in Cozumel and every time he walked by our table he said something funny to me or joked with me. I had my fan out and was fanning myself with it and the guy said, "Oh, mama, you don't have to tell ME you're hot," and we all cracked up. He's young enough to be my son, this guy.
My friend said, "How often do you come here?"
"NEVER!" I said, which is practically true and when I have been there it's almost always been with my grandchildren.
Which makes it all even funnier.
We talked about aging and finding love and feeling worthy of love. We talked about the important things.
And laughed.

This is the kind of social encounter that I'm up for. I just can't deal with shallow stuff. And I never have liked it. I want to go into conversations with a shovel while most social situations call for a tiny, decorative trowel. But you know- there are people you meet and you know, you just sense, that they aren't interested in the bullshit either and something in each of you calls for the deeper things and you realize that yes, this is a person with whom you can really share. Whom you can really be honest with and they'll still like you, love you, as you like and love them in their honesty.
People with whom you CAN discuss politics and religion and when I'm in a group where those two things are best left undiscussed, I'd just as soon not be there. I know there's a supposed injunction about leaving those two things alone in polite conversation so I suppose I'm just NOT a polite conversationalist and I can't tell you how many times I've met someone and just assumed they had beliefs and non-beliefs like me and ended up unintentionally insulting them and feeling like an ass but it sure is a short-cut to finding out who you want to hang out with and who you DON'T want to hang out with so fuck that injunction.

Anyway, my friend and I have no problems in either of those two sometimes touchy areas and so we did discuss both of those things along with everything else, although mostly politics. The two do have a way of blending into each other these days though.

So it was lovely and we both teared up during the two hours which is nothing new for me because I'm always on the verge of tears to be shed for sweet things or sad.
More sweet than sad, should the truth be known.

And he walked me to my car because that's who he is and then I drove to Tallahassee to the library and came home and finally got outside and did a little work. A little chicken-house depooping, a little gardening. I ripped out the tomatoes and did some weeding and after about an hour I'd sweat enough and came in. There are peas and beans to pick and I'll do that tomorrow. Probably. Maybe.

So that's been my day and the anxiety has lessened. Talking about it helps. It just does. Not whining about it but just acknowledging it, staring it in the face and refusing to give it so much power that you have to hide it.

And not to change the subject, but changing the subject, have you heard about this?

It's going to be shown in "cinemas around the world" on Sept. 23 and I sure as hell hope that one of those cinemas will be in Tallahassee. I can't wait to see it and I'd love to see it on the big screen. I still can't really believe I went to Cuba but I did and it felt all the more momentous to me that I got to go right after our president visited there and right after the Stones did that concert there.
Right there. In Havana. Where I was.

We live in interesting times, y'all. And despite the fact that my life often seems so mundane, so white-bread, so ordinary and uninteresting, it's had its moments of pure amazement. I've seen some stuff and I will probably see some more, no matter how hard I fight to stay in my little rut, my little world, my little safe place. And I have the ability to see the miraculous in even the smallest and most prosaic of events like, oh, you know- love, childbirth, that which grows when I plant a tiny seed in the dirt, the fresh, still-warm egg, the cold, clear water of the river, the power of the written word, the rising and setting of the sun, the continued life of Keith Richards.

Ah. You've heard it all before.

Thanks for being some of those friends with whom I can discuss this shit. Life and death and all the gooey glory and wonderment in between.

And politics and religion too, should the need arise.

Let's talk again tomorrow. Okay? I'd like that.

Love...Ms. Moon

A Saturday

Ugh and ugh and the mean, meaningless worm of anxiety is crawling around in my guts on this Saturday morning and what can be done about that?
Just get on with it. Get on.
Meeting a friend for lunch at noon and that will be good. He's a special one, this friend, and I mean that in all of the good ways, one of the best people I've ever known and precious and he's kind.
It will be so good to see him.

I stole this picture off of FB.

Lily is playing dress-up with her daughter, putting her in all of the clothes that she bought for her but which she's never worn. Maggie looks to be enjoying it, doesn't she? My grandchildren seem to be the most easy-going people. Well, mostly. Yesterday when I took Gibson to the bathroom at the restaurant (I think this is now part of the ritual) he said, "Thank you for taking me to poop, Mer."
I mean...that's just sweet. 

I have plenty to do today from filling out passport documents to cleaning the hen house. The garden needs so much work. Time for those blighted tomatoes to come out, also the cucumbers. Beans need picking. I should clear it, clear it, clear it, mulch it good, all in wait for winter's greens. 
All of that and all of everything I should do to just keep moving and not sit for long enough to feel the worm and here's the thing about anxiety- it makes you feel as if something is incredibly horribly terribly awfully hideously wrong and about to happen, is happening, every second. 
It's not just my gut that has a worm in it but every rose and every apple, every bite and every breath.



It always ends, it always does. 

And I look at that picture of Magnolia June and I feel better and it's all going to be okay. And if not okay, bearable, and with no small measure of joy.

Love...Ms. Moon

Friday, July 29, 2016

This Is What I Used To Call A Brown Bag Post

So first of all, has anyone in the history of the universe ever voted for someone based on a sign like one of these?
"Oh, I'm going to vote for Maddox! His sign is the biggest!"
"But look- Lane has the most signs! I'm voting for Lane!"

What a buncha crap.

This is NOT a buncha crap right here, y'all. This is real, true, pure sweetness.

Miss Magnolia June at the Indian buffet for lunch. The dress she's wearing is one that I think might have been mine and might have been made by my mother. I do not know for sure and it's quite possible that I just bought it at Goodwill or something because someone had made it by hand. It was missing a lot of buttons and I did find some replacements and sewed them on so there is that. It's a cute dress and it was sweet of Lily to dress her pretty little daughter in it for her outing today.
She's starting to crawl, that one. She can belly-scoot wherever she wants to go already.
Oh, babies! Why do you have to grow up so fast?

As soon as I walked into the restaurant, Owen greeted me at the door with some flowers they'd brought. Lilies and roses because Lily is Lily Rose. I almost killed the poor things in the car in the heat but they're perking up nicely now in their silver coffee pot with cool water. Jason got to come today too because he was off work and Hank and Anna came as well.

Maggie's down there behind the flowers.
Lily also brought a Publix carrot cake which I love because it reminds me of the A&P's old Spanish bar Cake. Any of you remember that? I just googled it and damn! A lot of people remember Spanish bar Cake. There's even a Facebook page for it. And there are many recipes posted which try to re-create it. I might try that one day. In my spare time. If I get really bored. Meanwhile, there's the Publix carrot cake which is almost as delicious. Okay, it's probably better. It looks like this

although I think you have to special order it to get "Asshole" written on it.
In general, carrot cake is not my favorite due to the fact that we hippies got it into our heads that adding a few shredded carrots to a cake recipe made it healthier and I have suffered my share of that particular baked good in my time.
"Oh! It's healthy! It's carrot cake! And I used honey instead of sugar in the frosting!"
BUT, the Publix version is delicious. Plus, it's shaped like the A&P Spanish bar cake.
I'm sure it's healthy.
If you're literally suffering from starvation and need extra fat and sugar calories.
Which of course none of us at that table were, but we only ate small pieces. I promise.

After lunch we went to the (wait for it!) Goodwill bookstore. That's always fun. They had a bunch of Cherry Ames books. Remember Cherry Ames? The nurse?
They actually had a copy of this one.

although it was a really old copy and didn't have the picture of Cherry about to give that dude a prostate exam on the cover. Hank says that there were some parody books about Cherry Aimless, Not-So-Good Nurse, and her girlfriend, Nancy Clue. Here's a link. 
Owen told me today that Hank knows EVERYTHING.
"No he doesn't," I said, perusing the old books.
"Yes, he does!" insisted Owen.
"Who told you that?" I asked him.
"He knows a lot." I said to my grandson, "But he doesn't know everything."
I'm pretty sure that Owen still believes he does, though. I mean- Hank told him he did. So there you go.

After lunch I decided to go get a pedicure. Why not? Old Mermer on her own for a few hours with nothing she had to do? So I went to the Elegant Nails and a very nice older lady gave me a pedicure and every time she wanted me to move my foot, she'd pat my leg as if it were an old horse.
I got blue nail polish.

Looks good, right? Except for the age spots and ant bites.
While I was in the chair, luxuriating in the pampering, the woman next to me was watching the TV which was on one of those talk shows with women sitting around a table, discussing things of world-wide importance and at one point, they were discussing the use of "language" in the political world and they had a clip of Donald Trump saying something with the word "ass" in it and then a clip of Barack Obama talking to a group of women athletes, telling them they were "badass" and the woman next to me said, out loud, "That's disgusting!" and I said, "What's disgusting?" because I truly did not know if she was talking about Donald or my president whom I adore, but I was completely ready to show her the very definition of badass if she said it was Obama on whom she was commenting but she just shut her mouth as tight and thin as a sealed envelope and that was the last communication she and I had.

Oh Lord.

And she might have been talking about the Donald. If not, she was smart to shut her mouth.

Then I went to Publix and ran into two people I know and it took me approximately forty-five minutes to get out of there with my fifteen items but one of the ladies did open a register just for me because I am Lily's mama. I'm almost a damn celebrity at that Publix because I am Lily's mama and also the grandmother of Lily's children.
"Where are the kids?" they ask me if I come in without them which is funny because that's generally the case. One of the items I bought was cornmeal because I have at least, oh, twenty okra pods that I'm going to fry for supper. I think I will probably "fry" them in the oven instead of in the six cups of oil that Paula Dean calls for but they will be good. Besides the okra, it's going to be gourmet leftover buffet tonight and that's going to include last night's chicken and dumplings along with the night before's pork and sauerkraut and no, none of that goes together.
Not one damn bit.
Oh well and la-di-dah and I'll make a salad and sure, that'll tie it all together. Right?


Mr. Moon informs me that for our Friday night date enjoyment, we'll be able to watch The Great British Bake-Off at nine o'clock. I got inappropriately excited at that news.
I am so fucking old.

All right. I do believe I've done enough educating and pontificating and rantificating for one night. I'll leave you to your own devices now. Device away as you will. There will be no judgement from me.

Love...Ms. Moon

Tell Me Something Good

Turning 62 was exhausting. I guess that's why I'm so tired today.
It's a nice morning though. Not too hot.

I have nothing to discuss. I'm just being honest here. I'm as boring as wallpaper paste.
Does wallpaper paste still exist?

I think I'll go unload the dishwasher and fold clothes.



What's going on in your world?

Happy Friday, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon

Thursday, July 28, 2016

Stress-Free, Anxiety-Free, Worry-Free, Bra-Free- THE PERFECT BIRTHDAY!

It has been the most low-key, sweetest, stress-free birthday I believe I may have ever had.
I have enjoyed it so very much.

My darling friend Liz Sparks wanted to take me out to lunch and we tried to figure out where and so forth and I finally just texted and said for her to come out here and I'd make sandwiches and we could go to the river and that's exactly what we did. Do you see that beautiful chicken altar? She made it for me. And we talked and talked and talked and talked because that's what you do with people you love to pieces and we dipped in the holy cold water of the Wacissa and then Mr. Moon came down and joined us. He drove the convertible down and when I drove home with him, it began to rain and it was lovely and beautiful and we left the top down and barely got wet at all but still, I felt doubly blessed with holy water, both from the sky and from the earth.

We'd been discussing going out for supper all day long. Again- where? Owen said he would like the Chinese buffet but NOT Cinco de Mayo because that place makes him feel sick and so many places were suggested and finally I just realized that I didn't want to go out. I just want to stay home with my sweetie and not wear a bra and witness the falling rain right here and that's what we're doing. Mr. Moon gave me a beautiful necklace from River Lily in Apalachicola that I admired back in May and how that happened I do not know. Jessie? Lily?

A tiny ginkgo leaf on a string of fresh-water pearls with a pearl dangling from it and it is perfect and I love it. Honestly, I wasn't expecting a darn thing this birthday and I'm not saying that in a martyry sort of way at all. I have everything in the world I need and everything in the world I want and to tell you the truth, I bought myself a pair of red shoes in Asheville that I will be wearing for the rest of my life and after that, I figure that May will wear them because I think she'll like them too and we wear the same size shoe. 

Of course. 

My motto is: You CANNOT have a bad time when you're wearing a pair of red shoes.

And to make things even more perfect, I've gotten sweet phone calls from friends including the Official Birthday Phone Call from Lon and Lis who sang happy birthday and get this- Lon had surgery to blast a kidney stone today and had a breathing tube down his throat three hours before he sang to me and if that ain't love, baby, I can't begin to know what love is. 
And he sounded great!
He's a professional. 

So. Here I am, sixty-two years old and I just feel so lucky and tomorrow I'm going to have lunch at the Indian Buffet with Lily and Jason and the children and hopefully Hank and our friend Anna and I'm having a martini with a pickled okra in it and I'm going to make a pot of chicken stew with yankee dumplings and I'm wearing my necklace and it is still raining. I feel loved and I feel lucky. 

Sure can't beat that. 

And thank you, Lori. I clucking love you to pieces. 

It's been just a wonderful day and possibly one of the best birthdays of my life. 

Love...Ms. Moon 


Well, it's my birthday. And I have woken up in a good mood, a mood in which I feel grateful, and there can be nothing better than that on a birthday.

Last night I watched speeches from the DNC and was so heartened. I liked Tim Kaine. A lot. He seems smart and joyful of heart. And of course, Joe Biden makes me proud to be not only an American but also a human being. And then of course, our president.


I sat there and watched the entire speech and at the end, with tears in my eyes, I said, "Now THAT'S HOW YOU MAKE A FUCKING SPEECH!"

You know, being as it's my birthday and all that shit, I get to be reflective about things that have happened in my lifetime and having Barack Obama as my president for eight years is right up there at the top of the list.

And when Hillary came out, that tough little woman who has fought for the good for so many years, who has endured, who is obviously so prepared, who has never once given in to despair that I can see but instead, at every setback has straightened her back, dealt with whatever needed dealing with, and gone on to learn more, do more, be more- I cried some more.
I also have to say that Bill Clinton's face as he reacted to Obama's praise of Hillary was priceless and genuine and loving. I still love that man, too. I can't help it and dammit, he was a very fine president.
Yes, he has apparently had some shortcomings (haha!) as a husband but it's none of my business and if his wife can love him through all of it, who am I to judge? And I think he will make an excellent first First Gentleman. Or First Scoundrel. Or First Dude. Whatever title he may choose, he will be excellent.

So. Here we are. It's a pretty exciting time to be alive and it's been an extremely big year for me. Two new grandbabies, a trip to Roseland, a trip to Asheville, and a trip to Havana, Cuba.
Never saw that one coming.
I'm still married to my sweetheart, my kids still seem to tolerate me, and although everything from working in the garden to picking up my grandkids to taking my walks to remembering anything seems to become a bit more difficult with each passing day, I can still do most of it although I'm about to give up on the remembering part.
I do remember how to cook, I remember how to do laundry, I remember how to get to Publix, I remember how to love.
Sometimes I even remember the name of whichever grandchild I'm speaking to.

And I haven't forgotten that I am blessed and over-blessed. And then over-blessed some more.
My family, my friends, my health, my riches.
A bit of dirt in which to grow stuff and keep chickens, a loving man to share it all with, grandkids to make me laugh and all of y'all to talk with, to share things with, to be a community where we hold each other up when we need that and to hold each other tight when we need that.

And fucking A! Keith Richards is still alive.
And he went to Cuba too, as did our president and his family. Obviously, it's where all the best people are going this year.

All right. I seem to remember that I have some chores that need doing and I better get on it.

Gold Rings On Us All.

Love...Ms. Moon

P.S. I can't help it. Hank put this on my timeline on FB and it's my birthday and I'm sharing it.

Shots for all! It's my birthday!

Wednesday, July 27, 2016

And suddenly today, a little switch flipped and I feel better. I truly do. Maybe it WAS getting off my ass and doing something, although I certainly didn't run for president or cure cancer or feed the homeless.
But last night while I was watching Bill Clinton's speech (not his best and did you notice the tremor in his hands? is he okay?) I finished sewing buttons back onto a dress for Maggie that I think my mother made for me when I was a baby and also fixed a pair of overalls and today I took the dress, washed and ironed, over to Lily's along with some eggs and I did figure out how to get those cloth parts off the bouncy seats and washed them and took them to the place where I wanted to take them although they WERE CLOSED and there were signs everywhere that said to please not leave donations outside. I texted Hank who is a very good friend of the woman who runs the center and he told me to take the seats to another place and they would keep them for me until he picked them up tonight because he's going to be out that way doing trivia and he'll get them to the right person or...something like that.
And when I went into the little restaurant where he sent me and I introduced myself to the guy who owns the place, he was so sweet and so happy to meet Hank's mama and happy to help.
Being Hank's mama has its perks and some day I'll tell you about the time he was on Oprah.
Yep. Hank was on Oprah.
But that's not what I came here to tell you about this evening.
Besides dropping off the bouncy seats and the dress and the eggs I got my passport photo taken which was a horribly depressing experience but I got it done because if we're going to Cozumel this Christmas, our passports need renewing and also, Mr. Moon is going to Canada to hunt again this year so passport renewal is definitely in order.
And then I went to Costco and then I went to Publix and for some reason, when I got home, I felt really okay. Like...whatever, you know?
And I made a venison meatloaf with peppers and onions and Lipton's onion soup mix (go ahead and judge me- it's fucking delicious) and ketchup and portobello mushrooms and bread crumbs and an egg, and I snapped and shelled more green beans and have them cooking with tomatoes and I have potatoes baking in the oven with the meatloaf and I'm going to cut the corn off some cobs and add them to the green beans and tomatoes and it'll be a very, very fine supper.
And as depressing as the political scene is right now, I'm thinking about what's going to happen during the debates and how that has the potential to be the funniest thing I've ever seen in my life and I'm also thinking about how the Bernie supporters who won't give it up (Susan Sarandon, really?) need to remember that no politician on earth is a super hero or a god and no one is going to be able to deliver everything you want and free you from the constraints of stupid laws but "voting your conscience" means voting for Trump and there are possibly three supreme court nominees that are going to have to be made and Hillary Clinton has been in public service since she was seventeen years old and Donald Trump was almost stabbed once by Keith Richards for being a dick and there you go.

I was thinking earlier about what I would tell Sue if she were to magically appear before me and ask for an update of life here on earth since she left us and it sort of blew my mind.

Well, honey, George Harrison and David Bowie and Michael Jackson are all dead but Keith Richards is still alive and we've had our first African American president and he's been magnificent and hopefully, we're about to get our first woman president. There's this thing called the internet and we all have computers on our phones in our pockets and salads are a lot better. Turns out that the worries about the ozone were the least of our problems, environmentally speaking, and the oceans are rising and temperatures are rising and it would appear that IQ's are dropping.  Being a hippie is still a thing and gay people can be married and serve in the military. Yes. We still have a military and wars are still being fought and we haven't figured out how to beat our swords into plowshares. Pot is legal in some states and will, eventually, be legal in all of them. Abortion, although still legal, is under attack as are all of women's reproductive rights and Civil Rights are no more settled than they were when you died and women are still expected to be thin and young and beautiful. Or at least thin and beautiful. And Donald Trump- remember him? is running for president and has a good shot at it and Lord, you're lucky you've missed this pile of dog crap. We buy things with plastic cards that look like credit cards and we run them through little machines and push buttons to pay for our purchases. Cash is hardly used at all and checks? Well. Forget about it. 
In my own personal life, my oldest child is a man named Hank now and Lily has three children and Jessie has one and I'd say that May is beautiful but she looks so much like me when I was her age that it would sound like vanity and she's married to a lovely man named Michael and I'm still married and in love with your Glenno and I still love Mexico and now I live in a really old house in Lloyd and have chickens. Aging is incredibly difficult and in some ways, you checked out at pretty good time but selfishly, I miss the fuck out of you. I never go out to party anymore and I look back on all of the years that you and I went out and danced on your birthday and came home on mine and I smile with nostalgia and I'm so glad we did that because my hips are so fucked up now that I can barely dance at all. 
You wouldn't recognize me, Sue. But here I am. Still thinking about you, still missing you, still wishing you happy birthday. 

Here's a picture of three of my grandchildren. 

Remember when Lily, their mother was born? 
Yeah. You do. 
Love you, baby. So much. 


The only barred rock I have left.


Here's the worst thing about anxiety and depression- everything in the world points to the fact that when you're suffering, that if you just got off your fucking ass and did something you'd be fucking fine. Therefore, you must like to be anxious and depressed.

And even if the "world" doesn't say that, you do. Your mind does. And then it beats the crap out of you because you're not getting off your fucking ass and doing something.
Even if you ARE getting off your fucking ass and doing something, your mind tells you that you're not doing the right things and you should be feeding the homeless and cleaning your own house and painting and changing your environment and doing yoga and meditating and finding meaning in all of it and getting over your own damn self.

So. Okay. You know what it's like when you wake up at two or three or four in the morning and you can't sleep and your brain just keeps spinning on and on about all of your inadequacies and your sins and mistakes and your complete and utter failure at everything you've ever done in your life?
Have you ever experienced that?

Well. Being anxious and depressed is like that, except ALL THE TIME, TWENTY-FOUR HOURS A DAY. And you could have the entire Supreme Court sitting in front of you along with the Dalai Lama and Jimmy Carter and everyone you love and sweet baby Jesus himself and they could be telling you that no, you are a fine individual and everything is fine and none of it matters anyway, that we're not even equal to a dust mote in the cosmic galaxy of the universe, no more important that a molecule of a cat poop in the giant litter box of life and you'd still feel like somehow, some way, you are the most worthless individual on this and any other planet and goddam- have you looked at the mold on your door frames? and look at Hilary Clinton- she ain't sitting around crying over her losses, she's just become the first woman ever nominated as president of the United States of America and look at Mother Teresa, okay, don't, she was weird. But still.

And look at yourself, your crazy brain says- here you are, a rich (by most standards in the world) white woman in a first world country who has everything that anyone could ever want, in fact, anything that YOU could ever want and you're weeping over door frame mold and friends who have been dead for 22 years and if the fucking mold is bothering you that much, go wash it off. Plus, everyone dies.


Like that.

So. Okay. Moving on.

I am getting off my ass now. I've been trying off and on all morning to get the cloth parts off of two infant bouncy seats in order to wash them so that I can donate the seats to a local teen drop-in center for a big baby shower they're having for teen mamas and I can't even figure out how to do that and I know I've done it before and there you are.

Add that to the big pile of shit I can't manage.
I can't do.
I'm incapable of.
I'm too stupid to figure out.

It's all so ridiculous.

As am I.

Tuesday, July 26, 2016

Facts Of The Matter

It's been a day which has held a dream-like quality and I spoke to hardly anyone. I did hardly anything. I don't feel well. To say that every step hurts is an understatement. My energy is about at zero. Every damn thing I did today seemed to take a thousand times more effort than it should have.
I picked green beans and snipped zinnias and collected eggs and swept the front porches and did some laundry and finally unpacked and that took everything I had.
I took a nap and just lying on the bed was heaven. Would it be possible to spend a day in bed for no reason? I don't think I've ever done that in my life. I'm not sure I could unless I was sick.

Am I dying or depressed?

I don't have the slightest idea.

Mr. Moon just got home and he's gone out to the garage and I hear the chain saw. He's going to cut down the branch that fell on the garden. And now it's started to rain again. It rained this afternoon in a brief but impressive downpour, the temperature again dropping so quickly that I actually became chilled sitting on the porch and then it grew hot again and I know it's hot everywhere, not just here, and now as I write this, it grows cooler again.

No wonder we southerners are so crazy. We can't count on the weather or the politicians or the educational system or our crazy mothers. We're all halfway insane I think sometimes, some of us all the way there, the crazy road having been traveled successfully to its destination.
Ah well.
What are you gonna do?

Hillary Clinton just got the official nod as the Democratic candidate. I wish things weren't so conflicted so that we could simply boggle at the concept that a woman, a WOMAN, has gotten to that position. A grandmother. So that we could celebrate that. So that we could celebrate her. I have no idea what's going on in politics these days behind the scenes. Is Putin puppet-mastering Donald Trump's campaign? Are Bernie's supporters really so pissed that they'd rather throw their vote away, making a Trump presidency a reality than to vote for Hillary?

I don't know. I feel perfectly confused and exhausted and overwhelmed. I want to run away but would that solve anything?
Maybe tomorrow I'll take a walk and then just head to the river by myself. Take a chair and the book I'm reading. I could think about my friend Sue whose 67th birthday it would have been. She's been gone for 22 years and I still miss her bad. Real bad. She was wicked smart and funny as hell and life screwed her over seven ways from Sunday.
And then she died.

The rain is almost gone. The chickens are scratching for their last treats before roosting time. The feeder is filled with juvenile cardinals.

It's been a hard day for me. That's all there is to it. Some days are like that.

Yeah. They are. Despite the good and the beautiful and the fine, all of which I am completely aware of, they just are.

Love...Ms. Moon

Light And Darkness

The sky this morning when I took my walk was powerfully dramatic. I got out early enough to not-die but oh, how humid it is.

I took the new sidewalk down to the truck stop for the first time today.

A small step for Lloyd which makes our steps safer. I am grateful for that trail of cement. Farther on down, a crew was still working and the youngest guy was doing a full-on Michael Jackson dance, his work gloves standing in for Michael's bejeweled one. He knew I was watching and performed just for me and then tilted his head with a grin as I passed. I gave him a grin back. He was lovely. 

When I got off into the woods, I saw this. 

A tiny baby snapping turtle and he did not look pleased with the world but what turtle does? Unlike the dancer, he completely ignored me and when I recrossed the trail where he had been, he was gone to wherever it was he was going.
And then this.

The passion flower which looks to me as if God was drunk on red wine and giggly when he made it. 

Have you seen any of the clips of Michelle Obama's speech last night? 
That woman. 
My god, I am going to miss that family in the White House. Those little girls she spoke about, growing up in that house built by slaves. As horrified as I am right now at the popularity of a fear-mongering, hateful, bigoted bully, her presence on that stage gives me hope that this country does get some things right. That we can grow, can change, can see and support that which is intelligent and thoughtful and reasoned.

I can't let the day go by without mentioning that Mick Jagger turns 73 today. He has a new album coming out soon, a tour planned, and of course- a new child is on the way. Here's a Stones song that sort of sums up a lot of how scary the world is feeling right now. 

Baby won't you dance with me?

Oh hell. Why not?

Love...Ms. Moon

Monday, July 25, 2016

Eternal Mysteries And Other Stuff, Plus, "Mission To Murder" Would Make A Great Book Title

Guess what I realized today?
I know both a brain surgeon AND a rocket scientist.
Does that make me any smarter?
No. No it does not. But oh, how I wish!

I mopped my kitchen floor and the floor of the bathroom which adjoins the kitchen. Also, the laundry "room" (written with great irony). Do I feel better?
Sure I do.

I talked to my neighbor. She vows and declares that Dot-Dot the killer dog is safely chained and fenced and penned and so forth. That she has let her chickens run the past few days. I didn't let mine out while I was in town but opened the door when I got back after closing the gate to the driveway which I never do. Not that the closed gate and gappy fence on this property would keep out a dog on a mission to murder but it might slow him down. And there's also the possibility that there are two other dogs in Lloyd that are loose and killing chickens. Fuck if I know but it sure is nice to see my babies out in the yard, pecking and scratching. The surviving Barred Rock and two banties wouldn't even LEAVE the coop for a long time. I am pretty sure that the Barred Rock is a rooster. He's growing tail feathers and the beginnings of a drape.

Lily and the children ended up running errands with me today. Lily even drove me. And we met up with Hank at El Patron for a lunch and it was fine.
Here. I got to kiss the baby.

And squish her up. Isn't she gorgeous? Owen has lost a top tooth and he's mighty proud of that. He pulled it himself, which is what he does. The big guy tooth is already coming in and it looks huge, as the adult teeth do when they grow in. I looked at his hands today and he's just getting so big. They are not baby hands at all anymore. They are boy hands. I just got a text from Lily saying that he tried to run away this afternoon because she made him practice reading. School is starting in three weeks, which is impossible to believe. I asked Lily if he'd packed his leftover chicken wings from lunch and a change of underwear.
Haven't heard back on that one yet.

We had a new waiter at the El Patron today. His name was Mannie and we approve. He laughed at our jokes and brought us extra salsa.
"It's like you know us," said Lily.
Gibson greeted him by saying, "Sir! I want cheese sticks!"
I liked the "Sir" part.

I picked the few okra that were ready today.

Aren't the red ones pretty? The garden is just so depressing. Something (a blight?) has killed all the tomatoes, the beans have aphids. The sweet potatoes are still alive though and I've never grown those before so I need to do some research to see when to pull them. I think they have to stay in the ground until first frost. Or that may just be true for more northern latitudes.
I'll look it up. It sure would be nice to get some.
It's time to start thinking about the fall and winter garden which is always a cheerful thing to do.

A rainstorm has suddenly come upon us. It's pouring from the sky, great sheets of water slapping the ground. What a blessing! The air temperature has dropped dramatically but in the time it's taken me to write this and go start some zipper cream peas, the rain has just about passed and what will remain is the moisture-saturated air, the humidity which shall torment us again tomorrow. I swear- this is just a hard time of year and it always is. I have a bug bite of mysterious origin on one foot which is itching like fire, a trail of blood from some wound I got going down my leg and a fierce rash under my left bosom. This is the way of it. I do not think that earth is our native planet sometimes. The allergies, the fungi which plague our skin, the way gravity bends our bones and stretches our joints as we age. Where, oh where did our alien foremothers come from who combined their DNA with that of the early primates?
I do not know.
Or perhaps we should just regrow our gills and return to the ocean.
It's all a mystery to me. The beauty and the beast of it all.

Perhaps if I were a brain surgeon or a rocket scientist, I would have more answers but I am not and I do not but the air smells delicious and my peas are simmering and my floor, for this second, is clean.

Love...Ms. Moon

A Little Comment About Comments

I have changed my comment arrangement a bit and hope it's okay for everyone.
Maybe things will be easier?
Also- I finally went and looked at my comment spam file and there were many comments there which for some reason that only God and Google know, were designated as spam. So. If you have ever commented and it didn't show up, that's why. I went through and marked quite a few as "not spam."
We shall see where that leads us.

I love comments so much and I absolutely hate the fact that I've never seen some.

All right. That's it for now.

Thanks for your patience in this and many other matters.

Yours truly...Ms. Moon

Want A Little Cheese With That Whine? No Thank-You. I Would Prefer Narcotics

I have so much to do today that I feel paralyzed. So what have I done?
Gotten up, drunk a bunch of coffee, taken trash to the place where you take the trash, gone to the post office and sent a friend a little birthday card. Also called my neighbor to ask for the dog owner neighbor's phone number but I got her voice mail (I swear to you- I wrote "answer machine" and then realized that she has a cell phone, of course, and no machine is involved and now I think I'll go get my smoothie out of the ice box, okay?) and haven't heard back from her.

I need to do laundry, go to town and run errands, stop by Lily's and deliver presents for the children and, more importantly, kiss the children. I need to clean, or at least mop my kitchen because it's nasty, y'all. It was nasty before I left and the mop fairies didn't stop by while I was gone, it would appear.

As you can see in the picture above, Maurice is completely and blissfully unconcerned with getting anything done whatsoever. Perhaps she is thinking about catching a lizard or a cicada or perhaps she is thinking about getting in another fight with Jack. Who knows? Not me. But whatever she's thinking about, it doesn't seem to be engendering much activity.

Oh wait. She just went in to check out the food bowl.

Yeah. That would be a cat. Last night Jack slept approximately on top of me. I think he missed me. He actually purred.

Oh god. Who wants to hear about my cats? Or my errands? Or anything that a will-be-sixty-two-years-old-in-three-days-woman has to say?
Do you know why I am sitting here writing this? Because I can and because that's what I do and because I'm in despair because my birthday is coming up and although I'm writing about it, I really just want to ignore it and I've been saying I'm sixty-two for months now and so what's the point of making a deal out of it? I don't want to go out to celebrate, I don't want to stay in to celebrate, I don't want to celebrate at all.
I'm sorry. I know I should be all wise-woman-crone-birthday-girl-pink-candles-on-the-cake but fuck that shit, no, I am not.

I feel like I'm over the hill, done, washed up, ugly, old, and as useful as tits on a boar hog as they say around here sometimes. Supposedly they say that. I don't know.
I think about people older than I am who are still living vital, exciting lives and I think, Good for them. 
I think about the couple who were our fearless leaders in Cuba and I think about Keith Richards and I think about a friend of mine who is about to go hike the Hight Sierra Trail for a month, and I think about, oh, everybody, and it exhausts me.


What a stupid, boring age. Who thought I'd live this long?

Well. Fuck. I have. You want to know what's depressing? Walking past vintage shops in a hip, cool town to see things hanging in the windows that are not as old as actual clothing you have hanging in your own closet. Also- taking make-up to that cool hipster town and not even unscrewing your mascara once because- who the fuck cares? Also- catching sight of yourself in the mirror and wanting to die. Also? Having to keep your chickens cooped up. Also?
Well. You get the drift. And just in case you think I'm an incredibly shallow human individual- YOU ARE RIGHT- plus the fact that there are so many truly hard and sad things going on around me that I can't even talk about.

All right. I'm going to go get dressed and get to Lily's and go from there.

Make-up will not be involved.

Love (for what it's worth)...Ms. Moon

Sunday, July 24, 2016

Sunday Sermon Delivered By One Old Lady Who Is Home

After a mere ten hours on the road, we are home.
We took the scenic route and so the extra hours were to be expected and it was worth it. The road through the mountains, the cloud-route with the valleys and the tiny hollers with cabins and a patch of corn growing in the front yard- it's the journey that matters, not the destination, although the destination has been fine to reach.

I am home now where my chickens and my cats live. Where my garden is. Where my front porch plants are. Where my stuff is. Where my washing machine and my broom and my dustpan and my stove and my iron skillets live. Where my goddesses reside, the mermaids, the Madonnas, the Frida's.

All of my remaining chickens are fine and my house-sitter reported the other day that she saw two loose dogs, two doors down, one matching the description of the dog who killed my chickens. 
I'm about to go apeshit on someone. I'm about to go I'VE BEEN TO CUBA AND I'M NOT PUTTING UP WITH THIS BULLSHIT ANYMORE on someone. 
My chickens are free range chickens. Their ability to run in my yard makes them happy and healthy and makes me happy and healthy too. They are miserable in their coop and no chicken-killing dog has the right to keep them in there. 

Mr. Moon has already gone out and picked beans and is shelling them. We shelled some beans last night at Vergil's mother's house. She is a real, true gardener. When Vergil and his sister were little, she fed them with what she grew in her garden and preserved and what her apple trees gave her and the goats that she kept, milked and made goat cheese from. 
We of course are not that serious with our garden but it sure does bring us pleasure. A large branch fell on part of our garden during a storm that happened a few days ago but that's just part of it. Trees drop branches. At least we got rain. 

It's always weird, getting home after being away. The cats come running up, the chickens must be checked on, the porch plants must be watered. I say that I have to pee in the corners to make it all mine again, and that, in a way, is true. Not literally, but metaphorically, at least. 
I've put a few things away and swept a floor or two and have laundry going and have talked on the phone to a very old friend who left a message on Tuesday- so long ago that he'd almost forgotten why he called me. This is the friend who believes in astrology who read my chart once for me and told me that although yes, I am a Leo, I am far more Cancer, which would explain my love for home and all that entails. 

It's hot. It's humid. The crickets (cicadas? frogs? all?) are so loud that I can barely hear myself think on the back porch. Once again, I have gone away and I have come back. 

I had a great time with my daughter and her husband and their magnificent son, August Glinden. In the few short days I've been gone my son has publicly come out as a trans man and now I suppose I can write about that from the perspective of what it's been like, to think you've given birth to four daughters and to find that no, you have not. What an adventure that's been! Up until now, it's not been my story to write but now I suppose it may be. The bottom line to it all, of course, is that my son is the person he's always been and I've loved him from the moment I gave birth to him and always will. Gender is fluid but love for my babies is not and when people are expecting a baby and get that telling ultra-sound and announce, "IT'S A BOY!" or "IT'S A GIRL!" I think, well...maybe. 

Just love, y'all. Just love. 

And love with your heart and love with your muscles and love with your soul and love with your eyes and love with your bones and love with your brain and love with your hands and just love. 

Right now, at this point in history, I think that may be the only alternative we have. 
Do it strong and do it with all the lights shining upon it and when you see something that reeks of not-love, of hate, of darkness, speak the fuck up. And when you see something that is beautiful and true and light-filled and right, say so. And with loud crashing symbols, as the Bible says. 

And let's not lose our sense of humor because without that, life ain't worth living. 

I'm home. 

Love...Ms. Moon

On Our Way Home

We got up at an early-ish but not unreasonable hour this morning and ate some toast and yogurt and packed up the truck and now we are on our way back to Florida. 

Last night we went up to Black Mountain where we had supper at Vergil's mama's house which is a gorgeous place. August was our prince, our benevolent tiny ruler, our little golden sun King. 

He fell asleep on the way back to Asheville and oh, how I cried when we said good-night, good-bye. I kissed his little foot and told his sleeping self that I love him. 

We will see him and his mama and daddy soon when they return to Tallahassee. 

It's been a sweet trip and I will never forget that day on the river. 

The misty fog is hanging low as we drive through the mountains to get back to our swampy, flatland world and I am so glad we've made this trip and as always, travel has given me much to ponder, to remember.

Such different worlds we all live in and yet, the same one, all of us somehow bound by links, both short and long, made of love. 

I believe that. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Saturday, July 23, 2016

Pictures. An Important Link

An Asheville "yarden" as Vergil calls it. Can you read the sign?

A Link to Hank's new blog. You know you've been waiting for this. Me too. He's such a glory hallelujah, that boy.

Straw fighting at the restaurant. Two more glory hallelujah boys.

The day proceeds.

Love...Ms. Moon

Friday, July 22, 2016

Up In The Mountains, Into The Water

Today was a balm for everything and I've said, "Thank you" so many times that now I've started apologizing for saying it.

Pictures. With few words. Because this is how it was today and there was rushing river water and slippery rocks and a laughing baby and a fine, fine breakfast and this has been one of my favorite days of my entire life.

And now it's rained and we're going to stay in with pizza and martinis and Netflix and that laughing baby who can throw sixty kisses a minute and the air is cool and I can hear one bird, singing a sweet city, throaty song and the drip, drip, drip of the rain drops off the leaves and once again...thank you, for all of this. 
And I do not apologize for saying it. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Asheville Reportage

It's been a fairly busy few days here. That picture above was taken the first day we were here, August getting loved on by both grandparents at the same time. He is such a joyful boy. He adores his Boppy.

Yesterday Jessie and Boppy and August and I walked downtown for some shopping and sight-seeing. I bought things for grandchildren. 
Yeah, weird. I know. 
Here's August eating and reading Pat The Bunny, that classic book of fun and action.

The child ate hummus and falafel until I thought he'd burst. 
While we were there, I went to use the ladies' room. Two ladies came in behind me and one chose to use the men's room instead of waiting like a sheep. I wondered if, since I was in North Carolina, I was required by law to call the police to report this bathroom irregularity. 
I didn't. No one seemed to care. 

Asheville is just such a different world. I love it and yet, it sort of drives me crazy. There are SO few people of color that I see. Maybe I'm just looking in the wrong places. It's so hipster and crazy-cool and one takes no more note of a six-and-a-half foot tall woman wearing boots, short-shorts, earrings the size of mini-coopers and a half-shaved head talking to another woman about using bone broth for their babies than one does of...well, anyone else. 
Bone broth. It's a thing, y'all. 

In a way, it all reminds me of the hippie days but with a lot more disposable income. Last night we went over to the house where Jessie and Vergil and August are staying for the summer to share supper. It's a big old rambling house with approximately the same sort of decorations and food and mamas and babies and chaos and cooking and garden and guitars that was going on forty years ago. 
There are more bikes, however, also nose rings. We hippies hadn't really discovered either nose rings or tattoos. This generation has taken care of that and if I had a nose I liked I'd get a nose ring. I love those things! 

Here's August climbing the steps.

He's getting good at that. That boy is all over the place. I got to help his mama give him his bath in his little tub in the big tub in the high-ceilinged bathroom upstairs. He loved it and I am here to say that he has the cutest little butt in the whole world. After he was rendered squeaky clean and happy, his mother rubbed delicious smelling lotion on him and tried to settle him down with a little massage but he wasn't having it. He wanted to crawl off the bed and explore his room-world so she got him dressed for bed and then read him a book which he did actually sort of pay attention to and nursed him for a bit. Then his daddy came upstairs and got him to sleep. This is their ritual. 

The downstairs was filling up with people come to play music, including a woman from France who played the accordion, I think. She is doing a thing called WWOOF, which stands for World-Wide Opportunities On Organic Farms. 
The internet has definitely played a role in making it easier for like-minded people to find each other and to provide opportunities to travel and so forth, but as I recall, we sort of all figured that out without the internet in some inter-galactic hippie way. It's so interesting to observe all of this- the differences, the same-sames. 

After August got put to bed, I asked Mr. Moon to bring me home. I just wasn't up to dealing with so many people and was in a strange mood. Part of it, I think, was that I'd read an article about Bill Cosby in Vanity Fair before we went over and that whole deal is a huge trigger for me. The perfect TV daddy who had been drugging and raping woman for decades, living two such separate lives, getting away with it for years due to his power, his money, his reputation, his public persona. 
It makes me so ill in my gut and this whole Republican National Convention is having a similar effect and although we didn't watch it last night (I simply cannot), I'm still quite aware of what's going on and I'm scared shitless. It seems to color everything in my world right now. 

Anyway, the little family is here and we are going to go to breakfast so I need to end this. 
Jessie says they played Beatles and Bob Dylan songs after we left and I am sad I missed that. 
Hippies. Dang hippies. 
God, I love them. 

So. Off to new adventures. We might even go to some waterfalls, get in the water, which would be nice. I could use a holy cleansing.

I'll take more pictures today. 

I hope all of y'all are well. Let's hang together, folks, and try to remember that love is more powerful than hate which is a very hippie thing to say and I'm proud to say it. 

Maybe I'll get a tattoo. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Wednesday, July 20, 2016

Visiting The Grand In Asheville

We are in Asheville which is, if possible, cooler than it was last time I was here. Not cool in the temperature sense as it is quite warm but cool in the sense that it's just charming as motherfucking hell and there are awesome hipster people everywhere and we went to one of the gozillian restaurants for lunch, a sort of Rasta joint and got salads and pasta with jerked tofu and vegetables and it was all fresh and delicious and we got completely filled up and it cost less than our hipster/cool delicious breakfast in Athens cost us this morning.

The Downtown Hipster™ apartment we're staying in which Lis and I stayed in two years ago, is simply delightful.

View from the front porch. And what you can't see is the Greenwise Grocery Store right across the street where a guy is playing some sort of harpy, drummy instrument out front and all of the people in the story are gorgeous and braided and tattooed and giant-earringed and booted and transcendent and glowy and healthy. 

Of course a jar of pickled okra costs $13 but I bet that's some damn good pickled okra, organic and everything. 

Difference between traveling with Lis and with Mr. Moon:
If I asked Lis is she wanted to go to the Greenwise with me she would have probably said, "Try and stop me," whereas when I asked Mr. Moon he said, "No."

To give him credit, he was half asleep and he did go with me but it's a bit awkward to shop with him because pickled okra costs $13 and so forth and he's not even aware of how much regular food in a regular grocery store costs and is looking for bargains and well, honey, we're on vacation. 

Anyway, la-di-dah and I'm not freaking out about a damn thing and August is just as cute as he could be and he claps his hands and he'll sometimes lean in for a kiss if you ask him for a kiss and he can blow kisses, although not on demand, and he shakes his head, no-no-no, and grins his little gap-toothy grin and loves his grandpa's beard and his grandmother's jewelry and he still loves his mama like the earth loves the sky, like the bee loves the blossom, and he's beautiful. Of course. 
As is his mama. 

So here we are and we've bought cheese and crackers and we have fruit and bread and cheese and coffee and Vergil and Jessie and the boy are walking over to join us. I'm still full from lunch, to be honest, but we'll have a fancy drink and figure out our dining plans and I am so lucky and so grateful to be here in Asheville, N. C. which is so damn pretty it makes you want to live here and learn to be a hipster, albeit an aging hipster, with all the music and food and yards full of flowers and herbs and weeping willows and vegetables and tomatoes like you've never seen in your life.

We should all enjoy such a place now and then. I believe I will make a tomato pie tomorrow. 

Love...Ms. Moon