I'm Not The Only One

What a strange, strange day. I woke up in the worst mood. I'd had dreams that were both pleasant and horrible, one in which Keith Richards was writing a song in my house and his wife Patti was there too and I offered them coffee but somehow the coffee-making process kept getting fucked up AND my mother and the stepfather were also there so that wasn't as great as it could have been. Talk about your mixed emotions. 

We'd been foretold that we would have possibly dangerous storms here today and it was scary looking outside for quite awhile. Meanwhile, we were getting weather alerts telling us about hail the size of baseballs and high winds and thunderstorms and that we needed to get our asses into an interior place in our homes! Be afraid! Be very afraid! 
Instead the wind blew on and off and rain came down sporadically and I heard no thunder and there certainly was no hail although the sky was a sickly shade of grayish green that was less than comforting. Mr. Moon got more stuff planted in the garden and then turned on the sprinklers because the skies just weren't getting the job done. 
I cleaned the hen house. That was my big accomplishment for the day. And repaired a pair of overalls. And made a soup. 
I think the soup will be good. It has a lot of goodness within it, at least. About four types of beans, tomatoes, collard, kale, and chard greens, celery, carrots, green beans, corn, squash, a little bit of leftover potatoes and broccoli, onion, garlic, homemade venison/wild pig sausage, red peppers and parmesan rinds. 
Meanwhile, the wind is still gusting and the sky is still gray. But my spirits have risen. Texting with a friend has helped, and so has my husband who has been loving despite my bitchy, snippy attitude. And of course, making soup is always therapeutic when it's made from the bean on up. 

And this. 

A blossom from my ashe magnolia which I easily could have missed which would have been a tragedy as the plant is still small and offers me only one or two blossoms a year, each of them lasting only a day or two. They are delicate and fragile, their fragrance is ethereal, lemony and sweet. 

Mr. Moon and I just took a little stroll in the garden. I swear- it's a thing of such satisfying beauty this year. He planted two types of cucumbers and okra, and a row of zipper peas today. I have a feeling that my canning jars and freezer bags are going to be put to use this summer. 

All of this has eased me into a better place, even though the ghosts of my childhood never cease to surprise me with their sudden appearance, their ability to darken my soul, my heart, my mood. 

For those of you who may not have gotten the last sentence in my first paragraph, I give you this.

Full eighties' hair, Mick in aerobics-wear showing off his famous fanny and still-luscious lips, Keith being Keith, his face already being engraved with the life he's led, his eyes that have seen sure death and come back to tell about it. 

We all have our ghosts. They are part of us. And always will be. 

Love...Ms. Moon