Thanks For Listening, Folks

 Here's the bloom on the second orchid that has buds on it. It seems rather obvious to me now that I really must love that dusky pink color. The "old lady pink" I was talking about the other day. Which makes sense. I am an old lady. Or, at least an old woman. 
Which reminds me of a woman I knew back in the olden days who had a tattoo of a Mack truck on her strong, skinny arm. This was years before very many women got tattoos. Like- almost none. Anyway, one day my ex and I were around her at some music thing and a guy called her a "little lady." She looked him straight in the eye and said, "I ain't no lady but I sure can fiddle."
And indeed she could. She was a fine fiddler. 
I bet you anything the ex still remembers that too. We repeated it often between ourselves. 

Speaking of the ex, I ran into him today outside of the Costco. I can't even remember the last time I saw him. We hugged and caught up a bit. He'd just had lunch at the pizza place where May works so he'd gotten to see her. His wife is in Cuba right now on some sort of friendship tour and we talked a bit about my experiences there. I told him that I'd bet anything that she'll have the same reaction I had and that everyone I know who's been there has, which is to go with so many questions and to come home with so many more. 
It was good to see him. 

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I am having a dilemma. 
Mr. Moon is going over to Dog Island either tomorrow or very soon. He has things he has to bring back like tools. And I have expressed a desire to get a few things out of the house myself. Nothing of great importance or value, just heart-things. But every time I think of going there for that one last trip, I begin to cry. 
Now I haven't been there in years, mostly because it hasn't been in a condition that I'd want to stay there in. The floors have been torn up and the oven doesn't work and only one or two burners on the stove work and not very well at that. I've missed going there, yes, but somehow knowing it's there and still ours has been enough, but going to see it for the last time seems overwhelmingly hard and sad. 
I have had some of the best times of my life on that little island, in that little house. I have watched sunsets that have only been rivaled by the ones in Cozumel. 

I have listened to the wind whip through the pines and the dunes, crying as it goes. I have seen dolphin play in the bay and I have walked the flats at low tide, marveling at the many creatures that are revealed when the water draws back. I have seen waterspouts and I have walked miles and miles and miles around the coastline of the island. On the Gulf side, I have seen something so huge jump from the water that I, to this day, cannot imagine what it was.  I have watched osprey soar and dive for fish. I have cooked some of the best meals of my life in that funky kitchen. I have read books there and written part of books there. I have taken my kids there and we have enjoyed the pure Florida-ness of it together. I have played zillions of card games there on the back screened-in porch. I have had some of the best times of my marriage there. 
And that's just part of it. 
But.
I have also had some of the worst experiences of my life there. I spent a week on the island alone when I was in the worst anxiety of my life. 100% constant panic day and night. I had thoughts too dark to bear and too dark to recall without crying. I had no idea what was wrong with me. I thought that going to the island by myself would be healing as it had been so many times before. I'd spent so many days by myself there, never afraid of the least little thing, content and at peace, sometimes not seeing another soul for days. 

And I had another experience there that I can't even talk about but it was something I'd never expected and will never forget. 

So I guess you could say that I have big feelings about Dog Island. Huge feelings. Feelings that engulf me. And perhaps all of that is the plain and true reality that that part of our lives is over. The part where my husband and I would cross the bay in the dark, the water gleaming and shimmering with phosphorescent light and the reflection of stars. We were so much younger and so much stronger and oh, how we danced. We always danced on the island with each other and with the kids. We danced to The Buena Vista Social Club and to the Dixie Chicks and to Dolly Parton and Jimmy Buffet. 
And...those days are not going to happen again. 

I feel like if I walk into that house and smell that unique combination of salt and sand and sulphur water and sun-heated pine, I will not be able to stand it. 

So maybe I won't go. I can tell Mr. Moon the things I know I want from the house and if there are other things that I have forgotten, well then- I obviously do not need them. 

And that part of my life may be over but I am not in a terrible place now by any means. I am not as strong or danceable as I once was and god knows, not nearly so adventuresome. I cannot walk for hours on beach and bay, nor can I haul water and food and supplies up rickity steps. But I can still walk and I can still love being outside and doing what I can. I can still make beautiful meals and I can still love my husband in ways that call upon those distant days past. 
Here are some things from my yard today.

An amaryllis that hasn't bloomed in years. There are actually three blossoms on it. 

A rose from the bushes that grow behind the old shed that I did not prune back this winter or spring. I started trying to at least control it today but when I saw this and also these...

I put my loppers in my back pocket and said, "Grow with god." When we bought this place, the guy who sold it to us said that pruning that rose was a matter of smoking a big joint and doing our best. 
Well. Maybe I should have smoked a big joint but I didn't. 

Blueberries which finally may have a chance with the Bradford pears gone. 

A darling little anole who was so drunk on sunshine that he/she didn't worry at all about me and my phone camera. 

Mulberries purpling up. 

Chinaberry tree in bloom. The tree is so damn tall that only the birds can admire the blossoms up close but I got this picture off the internet to show you what they look like. 

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I am so very lucky to have what I have, to have had what I had. 
I know that. Not that many people do. 

In a way, I wish I were not so grateful and aware of my fortune because perhaps it would be easier to let go of the parts I cannot have any more. 

Here's one of my favorite pictures ever, taking during the golden hour at the island. 

We still have each other. Hell, he still has that jacket. 

Love...Ms. Moon