Saturday, July 29, 2017

I Went Away, I Came Back

Well, as you can probably surmise I am home.
What a strange birthday! Not horrible. Whatever it is that I have does not cause me to writhe in pain which is a good thing in my opinion.  (TMI ALERT! ): All it does is to cause me to experience stomach cramping and then a trip to the bathroom. I am not puking. I am not feeling faint. I am still, in fact, hungry.
I was feeling better this afternoon and ate a sandwich for my lunch and did not have any ill effects for hours but then I did. And THEN I made the mistake of eating a peanut butter and banana sandwich.
So- a barbecue pulled chicken sandwich was okay but a peanut butter and banana sandwich, not so much.

Whatever. Fuck it. I'm not going to die.

So we came home and do you see in that picture what I found? Yes, okra and eggplant and...
One Miss Camellia egg, one Miss Violet egg, and two Miss Unknown Hen eggs! The small white ones. I am so excited. Since I have approximately forty-two white hens, I have no idea who the mama is but I sure am grateful to her. I believe that as she goes along, the eggs will get larger. Violet's will never be bigger because she's a banty, but these other hens are full-sized.

So that was awesome and a perfect birthday present for the Old Chicken Woman.

And it wasn't a bad birthday. Not at all. It was rather nice to just rest up on the bed in the Gibson Inn. The Gibson is almost like home after all this time visiting it anyway, and since I was there I didn't feel as if I should get up and go sweep the kitchen or anything. I could just rest and read and snooze and watch a little HGTV when I felt like it. And some enforced rest for Mr. Moon is always a good thing. So...

Apalachicola is still beautiful. The oyster tongers were out on the bay.

We did go to the little restaurant we usually go to for a bowl of gumbo which may not have been what the doctor ordered but it was delicious. I don't know, however, how much longer we'll still keep going there. It's run by the owners and there appear to be only three of them in the front of the house, and those three shuck all the oysters, take all the orders, deliver all the orders, prepare and deliver all of the drinks, and make up the bills and take your payment. And bus the tables. It's a very small restaurant but it's always packed and the woman part of the team who has never had a problem expressing her frustration, fatigue and general dissatisfaction with the world in general and the humans in her restaurant in particular, has started using profanity with absolute abandon in such a way that everyone can hear her, all the while addressing almost everyone by endearments.
It's just too weird and makes me feel guilty about ordering a bowl of gumbo and a glass of tea.
I don't need that in my life.
Plus, she told my husband that if I die, she will be his next wife.

Well, that's the way it is and every town has its share of characters and Apalachicola is as rich in characters as it is in oysters and some of the characters are profane and some of them are bizarre and some of them are generally drunk and some of them are eccentric and some of them are very rich and some of them are very poor and some of them are as kind and gentle as you could wish. Throw in all the tourists and you've got a perfect microcosm of life in what we so fondly call the Forgotten Coast.

All right. That's about all I feel like discussing right now. I'm cooking a little bit of supper from the garden and Mr. Moon's over at Lily and Jason's, mowing their grass because he loves to use his big old mower and besides, that way he gets to see the grandbabies.

I turned 63 and whether I did it successfully or not is yet to be seen but I'm still here and Mick just knocked Little Richard off one of the hens and no one seems too upset about it and oh, golly, I am about to have SO MANY EGGS!!!!

Thank you for all the birthday wishes and mostly, just thank you all for coming along with me on these adventures.

Love...Ms. Moon


  1. I'm a little late in getting to the party . . . but I guess there isn't much party what with being sick. I'm so sorry you're feeling poorly, and hope you will feel much better soon. Happy Birthday to you, Ms. Moon (what a fine and magical name you have!). Wishing you a year deep with grandbaby love and contentment in being you! Being you is a fine, fine thing. Becky

    1. No, Becky, not much party. But as I keep saying- not so bad.
      I, too, love my name. How very brilliant of me to have found and married a man with the last name of Moon. Bonus of course being that he is the very best husband I could ever imagine having. Thank you for your good wishes!

  2. I sent you a message on your last post but it didn't go thru. Am having trouble with IPad and blogs. Anyway, I'm glad you got riches from your garden and hens. Yesterday I said the grands want to celebrate with you. Celebrations can last a year. I said so. Love you Mary❤️

    1. Celebrations can be had for any and all reasons. I do believe that with all of my heart. Love you, too, sweet Jo.

  3. finally the newbies are laying! profanity and endearments. sounds like somebody I'd like.

    1. Yes! New eggs from new hens! I am inappropriately thrilled by this.
      Generally, I too would adore someone who combined profanity and endearments (as I do it myself frequently) but this lady is taking it too far and she just seems so miserable. People walk into the restaurant and she chants, "Shit, shit, shit." I mean...really? Perhaps there should be a warning on the door as you enter that if profanity offends you, you might want to go eat elsewhere. And it's not even the cursing, actually. It's her unhappiness. When a new load of oysters was delivered, she said, "I wouldn't care if it hadn't arrived for a damn year!" I hope she's getting rich, at any rate although it does not appear to me that it's worth it for her.

  4. I'm glad you had a (more or less) good birthday. And yay, exciting about the chickens! Hopefully your gastro-intestinal adventure will cease soon.

  5. Happy Belated Birthday! You are much loved. Sorry about the stomach bug. Nasty stuff. All is okay here. We are still alive and gardening and sailing and all the other stuff that we do.

  6. I missed your birthday. I'm an asshole, but this we know already. I love you. I hope you get to feeling better soon.

    Love, SB.


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