What's It All Mean, Mr. Natural? Part Bazillion

An attempt at wrens' nest building in our bedroom. I discovered that the screen was not entirely closed. Poor birds. All that work. 

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I felt flat-out crazy this morning. Crazy as a betsy-bug as my mother-in-law used to say. I could not stop crying. And then Mr. Moon sent me a link to a house he sort of wanted to look at and I opened it up and got furious because it's on a lake that I've told him a million times I'm not really interested in living on but which he's told me a million times that he really is interested in having a house on. 
The deal is, after we sell the Dog Island property, we have to reinvest the money in more real estate within 45 days or we'll be taxed like a billion percent. 
Okay, I am using some hyperbole here today. I told you I was crazy. 
So he's going through some emotional trauma about letting the island property go (as am I) and he's also in a bit of a panic to figure out where to put this money. And I understand this, every iota of it, and I understand that he has always wanted a place on a lake with a dock so that he can fish to his heart's content and the grandkids can fish too. 

Understanding does not mean complete acceptance though. 
We had a bit of a spat. Rare for us. And I couldn't stop with the crying and I felt like I had a demon in me and y'all- that's just not a good way to feel.
To make a long story short we made up sweetly and I told him I'd go look at it with him and we drove about forty-five minutes to where the house was and unbeknownst to me, not only was there no way for us to get in, but also every blind in every window was snapped as shut as a turtle's mouth on a junebug. 
He'd called the realtor who'd given him instructions on opening the gate but that was it. 
The lot was nice. Some citrus trees, cedar trees, magnolias, crepe myrtle. But the dock wasn't as fine as I think my husband had hoped and it was also shared with a close neighbor. Physically close, of course. We don't know them.

I mostly sat in a swing overlooking a small part of the lake and contemplated the meaning of life. 

The pictures of the house I'd seen online did not do much for me. But...I'd been willing to give it a look. Since that was impossible, we left fairly soon to go find lunch. There was exactly one restaurant in the area and it was called "Country Boys." The interior looked about what I had expected it would. 

Fluorescent lights, a picture of boats (in this case, oyster boats looking towards the bridge to Apalachicola) and a paddle on the wall. When we got there, there were only the people you see in that picture. It was about 1:45. The menu was typical for the area- fish and shrimp and oysters and hamburgers and and chicken sandwiches. Etc. 
Our server was a woman who was probably younger than me but not by much. The way she walked told me she has spent a lot of time on her feet in her life and she is probably in pain most of the time. Her grandson works in the kitchen and there were two other women who had no doubt gone to the same hair stylist as she had. 
As she walked away from our table, I realized she was wearing a shirt that said, on the back, "Respect everyone's differences. Work together, not apart." And there was a graphic of hands of different colors grasped together in a circle.
Not what I expected. 
By the time we got our food we knew a lot about her including the fact that her husband died two years ago and since then she probably hasn't cooked two meals. Also, her son is a fireman. 

The food was fine and by the time we left, there were at least fifteen new customers there, most of them Black while the entire staff of the restaurant was white. There was nothing but grace and joking, ease and good food. It may sound ridiculous to even notice something like this, much less to comment on it, but I am here to tell you that I remember the days when restaurants, almost without fail, had signs that said, "We Reserve The Right To Refuse Service To Anyone."
"But what does that mean?" I'd ask my mother or my grandfather. No one ever really told me the truth of it and I wondered for years what grievous sin one had to commit to be denied entrance into a Tastee Freez. 
God, things are slow in changing but at least, they do change. 

We drove home and I went out and kicked some bamboo. It's coming up for sure. In sweeter news, the wisteria is suddenly blooming. 

There is a glory about wisteria, even though it, too, is considered invasive. The way its vines can climb up into the sky is magical to me and it's grape-like clusters of blossoms draw the bees. 

I had to check on the tung tree to see if it had started blooming yet and just a few lone flowers have opened. 

That picture is deceptive in size. The tung blossom is only a bit bigger than the small individual clusters of the bridal wreath spirea. I love these flowers with their delicate red-orange veins against the palest of peach petals. When they are in full bloom along the interstate here, they look like clouds drifted down from somewhere in the Far East and indeed, they do come from China, brought here to produce tung oil. 

I picked a bouquet of azaleas and spirea to bring into the house.

The spring-breakers have all come home safely. Here are two more pictures of their trips.

I imagine you can figure out where this was taken.

Look at all of the pristine beach that they had to themselves. Okay, sure. They had to paddle for two hours to get there and two hours to get back but I am sure they would say that it had been more than worth it. 

I am looking forward to hearing all of the stories. 

Love...Ms. Moon