Two Hugs

This is Sasha, the sweet dog who lives with a neighbor on the church side of us. As in, the church is right next door and the neighbor is right next door to that. Sasha has visited us twice before and I invited her in for a little exploration of the house which turned out not to be a good idea last time because Maurice did a full blown, full ninja leaping attack to her face with all twenty claws at the extended slasher position and teeth bared too. Remember that? 

So I didn't ask her in today although she did whimper when she stuck her head in. She trotted off and I called her caretaker who did not answer her phone but I left a message and then my other next-door neighbor called to ask me if I knew where this dog came from and that she'd seen it almost get hit crossing the street so I went down to Carolyn's (Sasha's caretaker) and got a leash from her. She answered the door when I knocked but only cracked it enough for us to barely talk through. She and her husband both have severe health problems and many other problems too, and I think there is probably some hoarding going on there and Carolyn didn't want me to see it. Or who knows? Maybe they have a pet lion. 
So I walked back to my OTHER neighbor's and she told me where she'd seen the dog last (across the street) but then, she told me that she'd lost her mother in October and I could not just walk away. We are not close with these neighbors except for in the physical sense, especially since they cut down all the bamboo between us. He's a Jefferson County Sheriff and I'm not sure what she does and we talk occasionally, but not a lot. Still- this is a woman who was obviously suffering some intense grief and she began to tell me the story of how her mother had died and what the last few months have been like for her and because I have been there and because I knew she needed to tell the story again, I listened and let the dog do what the dog would. I knew there was nothing I could say to assuage her grief but that listening and assuring her that everything she was feeling and doing were normal and to be gentle with herself and to not push herself were things she needed to hear. And Glen called twice while this was going on and I finally answered the phone and of course he had Sasha but my neighbor and I were not done with our encounter and that's all there was to it. I could not just walk away nor did I want to. When she had reached a point where I felt she'd said what she needed to say for that moment, I told her that although I knew there was nothing I could do, really, to make her feel better, I could give her a hug and she opened her arms to me and we did hug deeply and well and I kissed her cheek and told her if there was anything I could do to let me know. 
And THEN I went to get Sasha and take her home and that neighbor was now outside and we discussed how Sasha had been dumped at her house and how the dog was very good at getting out. And so forth. And then she gave ME a hug and that was nice, really. This is the neighbor who had all the Trump signs and with whom I had a few words years ago which didn't make either one of us feel better but really enough water has passed under that bridge and she and her husband are just obviously NOT doing well, and the Trump sign disappeared from her yard some time back and I was glad we hugged. I was glad I could bring Sasha home to her. 
While all this was going on, a tree service was cutting down a very large tree that had just up and died this summer and so there was all that noise and activity and as I walked from my house to hers and back, the smell of weed was strong in the air (don't take my word for it but I believe a lot of tree cutting guys smoke a lot of weed) and well, there was just a lot happening in my tiny little speck of the world. 

But my overall thought on all of this is that I am NOT a very good neighbor but I was glad to be able to listen to one today and to help another with a lost dog. 
The rest of my day was spent in just doing little things like making the chili crisp and I am not happy with the way it tastes because I tried to add more authenticity to it and make it a garlic chili crisp and somehow I fucked up the cooking of the garlic although it was not burnt or anything. 

Oh well. 

I suppose I could write a long and philosophical post with much humor, and at least a little hope, trying to wrap up my year here but fuck it. If I haven't said everything that needs to be said about 2025 in the last almost 365 posts I've written, then I don't have the slightest idea what more I could say. Instead I think I'll go make our supper.

Of course I wish all good things, happiness, and health to all of you and all of us here at the Church of the Batshit Crazy but overall, I think what I most want to say is thank you. Thank you for being here for my ramblings and my fears and my profane language and my irreverent and disrespectful take on so many things. You allow me to be me and that is a gift beyond measure. 

So. Bless our hearts, y'all, because if anyone ever needed their hearts blessed, it is we, the people, trying to hang on to democracy with our bleeding fingernails, trying to find the light in what appears to be some of the darkest times, trying to keep on, not give up, and work with what we have to the best of our abilities. 
Let us listen to those who need listening to and take home the dogs who wander. And hug like we mean it when we mean it. 

That is the best I can do. 

Love...Ms. Moon

The Tail End Of The Year Is Upon Us

The coconut palm our sweet landlord in Roseland gave me is struggling. I think it probably has culture shock, in the way that plants can have culture shock as in- the culture in Roseland is a lot warmer than the culture here although it may be just the shock of moving it that has it anxious. But Mr. Moon, of his own accord, got a bag of potting soil and repotted it for me in a much bigger plastic pot and that is another gift of love. 
I have been thinking all day that he's in Eufaula, Georgia but I just realized that although Lake Eufaula is in Georgia, Eufaula the town is in Alabama. He drove up there this morning to take his boat to get worked on and don't even ask me why he chose Eufaula but I am quite sure there was a good reason and he should be home any minute now.

He's texted and we've talked on the phone too, and he says it's a beautiful drive up there, back roads all the way, and that Eufaula is a pretty little town. He sent me a picture of his lunch and I'll bet you anything it was excellent in all regards. 

I just realized that the picture was taken from Glen's perspective and looks off to me because of his height. That's a long way down! In case you're wondering, the foods are, left to right, buttermilk pie, turnip greens, fried chicken, a corn muffin, lima beans, and rice and gravy. Sweet tea to drink. 
And that, my friends, is how they do it in these parts. Praise the Lord and pass the hot sauce. 

I went to the dermatologist this morning. I'd looked her up online last night and realized she was a PA (Professional Associate) and not an actual MD but that didn't bother me. What did bother me a tiny bit was that she looked like a high school freshman cheerleader in the photos I found. I mean, Rah! Rah! Bouncy-looking blonde hair! The works! 
But she didn't come off like that at all in the office. Very professional, pleasant, reassuring, and funny too. I mean, she's not going to be doing stand-up anytime soon based on what I saw today but she could could be jokey if it came to that in the conversation. She says my skin looks great except for the fact that I have all these age spots which are a genetic thing and also a sun-exposure thing. She did freeze two places on my face but wasn't concerned. I pointed out one rather dark spot I had noticed and she said, "Wisdom spot." 
"Wisdom spot?" I asked. 
"Yes," she said. "You're getting wiser."
See- I told you she could be a jokester. 
Her assistent who took all the notes was a beautiful young woman named Cherish. Isn't that just the nicest name? 

So that went well and then I went to a store that sells Indian spices and all those things that you can't find in regular grocery stores. What is the approved name for those stores? I used to say "Indian store" and many of the spices and foods are indeed what I would call Indian but is that correct? I just looked it up and the term seems to be Indian market. So. I went to the Indian market. There were lots of shoppers there today. Here's what I got.

I see now that the picture wasn't entirely in focus but oh well. I got the sesame and sunflower seeds for the chili crisp I want to make and I also got some munakka raisins which I've never had before but some chili crisps contain a bit of dried fruit and I thought I'd give these a try. I got the ginger paste because- why not? If it's good, I'll use it. 

When I got home I did a little bit more housework. Toilets, taking trash, and so forth. And then more jeans patching. Now I'm waiting for the man to get home and I'm going to make soup with some of those red lentils. I have half a cabbage, carrots, and a large leek which are some of the things going in it. 

I'm glad I'm going to see that urologist on Friday because I have a stone that's troubling me. This is a very constant story, isn't it? 

Ay yi. 

Tomorrow's New Year's Eve and I have no resolutions and no plans to make any. On New Year's Day we eat black-eyed peas and rice, collard greens and probably some cornbread. I had to fucking BUY collards this year. That's ridiculous. 
Oh well. They're pretty collards and not all cut up and in a bag.

So that's the plan. Do you have a plan? Do you have NYE traditions? I'd like to hear about them. 
I wish we could build a giant pagan fire, big enough to fill up Stonehenge and...
You know what I'd love to do with a fire that big but I'm a cowardly left wing scum. And I refuse to lower myself to the sort of rhetoric those nazis use. Except in their case, I am terrified it's not just rhetoric, it's their hopes and dreams and plans. 

Well. That got ugly quickly. Sorry. 

It's been a hard year. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Back To Town And Home Again

That's what the sky looked like today when I was driving home on the interstate. Lovely, right? Well, it was at that second. It's been one of those changeable days when the sky can turn from black to blue and back to black in seconds. Go into a store, do your shopping, come back out to an entirely different day. This morning the sun was shining so brightly that I pulled the shade on the back porch and literally within minutes, the sky had darkened, it was pouring rain, and blowing too. I mean- like a storm! And then...blue again. 
It's all part of the cold snap we're about to get. The temperature is already a lot lower than it was this morning and it will get lower still through the night. Nothing that would impress any of you strong and mighty humans of the north but it's enough to make us wimpy Floridians worry about our plants and dig out our wool socks. 
My plants are all wrapped including the new limequat and little tiny olive tree. The front porch plants are covered, too. 
Here's what the sky looked like just a few minutes ago as the sun was setting.

It was startlingly red. 

Jessie and the boys were feeling better today. No one's run a fever in a few days. August is still coughing and congested but that's how he is. Poor lad. Vergil, however, has finally come down with it, whatever it is. He got tested for flu and Covid and was not positive for either but he's miserable, as was the rest of the family when they were in the midst of it. I think we are all hoping that his strong and seemingly  invulnerable immune system would prevent him from getting sick but sadly, it did not. 

However the boys were getting cabin fever and Jessie needed a few things at Costco and I was coming into town so I met them there. 

Who doesn't want to have a home sauna experience? 

This is Levon and that is how he chose to dress although I thought it was chilly enough to wear jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and a sweater. And socks. With MY Crocs. He did not choose the mask but his mother did. 

I felt like I hadn't seen them in months although I saw them on Christmas Day which was less than a week ago, even if it was a very short visit from a distance. Despite my overwhelming happiness at seeing them, they were as casual and as disinterested in my presence as they always are. Well, sort of. I told them that when I don't get to see them for awhile, my kisses get so backed up that I just have to kiss Boppy all the time and he says, "You need to see your grandchildren. I can't take all these kisses." 
That last part is not entirely true. 
They may or may not have chuckled a little at this joke. Hard to tell with them wearing masks. 

But they were sweet and well-behaved and Jessie bought them both a slice of pizza even though they'd had lunch. They were, as young boys almost always are, starving. And they need to bulk back up after being sick of course.

For some reason I needed about forty thousand dollars worth of food (approximately five bags full) at Publix and so I traveled on up the road to get that done. I think I finally figured out why I feel the shelves always have to be full, the refrigerator and pantry too. 
When I was a very little girl, possibly four, my mother had to go to the hospital for some reason I have forgotten if I ever knew. My worthless old drunk daddy was of no use at all and a woman was hired (probably by his family) to come and stay with my brother and me. A point was reached where the only food in the house was potatoes. I remember this so distinctly. And the woman who was taking care of us begged me to let her take us to her house where there was food. I would not go. I was too afraid my mother would not be able to find us when she got out of the hospital if we were at that lady's house. I doubt she had a car and quite possibly, no one in her family had a car. Of course there was no grocery delivery and I'm sure no one had left her any money to pay for food if there had been. And so that precious woman did everything she could with potatoes. I do remember potato soup. I believe there was milk because in those days, that WAS delivered to houses, straight from the dairy. 
I suppose my father was off on a tear, which often happened. He'd disappear into the dark and dank drinking spots in Chattanooga, only to return when he needed...something. I don't know what. Not to see us, I'm sure. 
The amazing thing is, I still love potatoes and a good potato soup is one of the best things on earth. I wish I could go back in time and thank that woman. All I know about her was that she was Black. 

So perhaps that's why I feel the need to make sure we always have plenty of food in case something happens. I suppose I am not unlike a prepper but on a much smaller scale. The main difference is that I am not preparing for the rapture or any of that bullshit, just the vague possibility of being abandoned by everyone, left with nothing but potatoes. 
Which I know is not going to happen. As I always say, logic has nothing to do with it. 

Tomorrow I'm off to the dermatologist's office. They did not ask for any pre-check in so I suppose I'll have to answer the questions they have before the appointment. Some of you were not sure whether to believe me when I said that one of the questions for the urologist's office was, "Do you ever wet your pants?" and I will swear with my hand on my heart that yes, it was. It asked something like, "Do you ever experience urinary incontinence? (Wetting your pants.)"

I will not go into detail here but I will say that sometimes a kidney stone does get in a position which can cause that situation to happen. 
Oh, the indignities of being a human. 

But tomorrow is the dermatologist and all I'll have to do there is strip naked and the doctor is a woman and I doubt that will bother me at all. I'm weird. It's not the outside of me being examined by a doctor that causes anxiety, it's more the inside. All of the secrets to be found in the blood, most specifically but also x-rays and scans and so forth. 
Perhaps one day I'll figure out why this is such a problem for me, just like I've figured out why I want to always have enough food on hand.

Or not. 

Oh! Look what's blooming.

My plant ID calls it a "Chinese Sacred Lily" and it is of the narcissus family which shall come as no surprise to anyone.
That is a cheerful thing, isn't it? I hope those pretty flowers survive the freeze if we do indeed have one. 

Carry on. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Scattershot

The one camellia that is blooming, a sasangua variety, has the stage all to herself and I believe she is up for the challenge. I honestly don't remember this one blooming before but surely it must have. The plant is quite mature. It's a Red Yuletide sasangua and you can have all your frilly, multi-layered, multi-shaded blossoms you want but this simple one truly knocks me out. 

And I know red is not supposed to go with pink but I strongly disagree, at least in this instance. 

Yesterday's weeding did me no favors as I noted last night. I had thought it would be good for the strain/sprain/pain/whatever because on Friday I was fairly active, carrying moderately heavy things and hanging out the laundry and sweeping and so forth and I felt markedly better when I got up yesterday. I guess plunging a trowel repeatedly into the ground was a different matter though. And, since I pull weeds with my left hand (trowel with the right, weed with the left), my wrist didn't feel that great either. 
I am not bitching tonight, however. I am, instead, being a whiny baby. 

Okay. I'll stop now. 

Glen did bring fish home. Tonight I am going to cook some triggerfish which I don't think I've ever cooked before. I'm not even sure I've ever eaten it before but it's supposed to be a delicious fish, being described as having a sweet, crab-like flavor. I find that the secret to cooking most fish is to just not ruin it. And by "ruin" I mean trying to get all gourmet with it instead of keeping it as simple as possible. Ruin can also mean overcooking it. Or of course undercooking it but with thinner filets, the danger of that is slim. I used to try and get all fancy with my salmon but May taught me that the best way to cook it is to simply set it in a hot skillet with some oil or butter, put salt and pepper and lemon juice and dill on it, cook until it's getting done, flip it, add more of what you put on the other side. The skin will loosen in the hot pan and peel right off. The fish is done when it's flaky and not wet. Our dog Pearl loved salmon skin more than anything else. On her last night before we let her go on to no more pain or confusion, I cooked salmon and gave her the skin and she loved it. 

Since we're talking about fish, I would like to mention the best fish I have ever eaten (and I have eaten a lot of fish) which was in Cozumel seven years ago at Christmas. 

I wrote about one of the days Mr. Moon and I were so incredibly lucky to have eaten red snapper on the beach there and that link is HERE.  The shrimp ceviche was not to be forgotten either.

We have got to do that again. I owe to myself. 

Good Lord. I've spent an hour discussing almost nothing but cooking fish and my boo-boo's and who needs to hear about cooking fish? Or my boo-boo's either, for that matter. 

Overall it's been a sweet day except for the part where I had to do an online pre-check-in for my Friday appointment with the urologist. I HATE those things. They ask the most personal questions. Are you married? How much do you drink? How much caffeine do you consume? Have you ever done recreational drugs? Do you have mental illness? Do you ever wet your pants? 

Fuck! 

And there were about twenty (not kidding) documents I had to docu-sign giving them or not giving them permission to discuss my details with anyone and if so, who would that be? What are their phone numbers? What is your relation to them? Also- do I have a living will? Do they think I'm going to fall down dead in a consult with a urologist? 
What kind of a world do we live in? 
This kind. 

I shall now go cook some stone-ground grits which take an hour. And some fish. And a salad from lettuces that look like this. 

And arugula. Why in hell did I plant so much arugula? 
Who knows? 
Not me. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Just Call Me Cocaine Katy. No. Not Really. Just Kidding

If yesterday was about contentment and getting things done and sweetness, today has been about a lint-gray sky and always feeling cold even though it hasn't been cold and trying to figure out why I have two appointments with Dr. Zorn, one in March, one in May, and also trying to figure out why my G.D. mobile credit union app won't take my password OR send me an email with a code on it to create a new password, and wondering all day long about why I have these crummy dreams set in places beside an ocean but an ocean which is fierce and somehow heavily involved in some sort of heavy industry and we're not talking wind turbines. In fact, I realize now that I have a lot of dreams set in places where roads or buildings are being constructed and there are always huge trucks and huge heavy equipment which would definitely not be appropriate to operate while taking certain medications. And on top of the wild seas and so forth, I kept being called a "clan mother" which somehow translated to being responsible for many children and I kept saying, "But I'm so tired. I've been doing this since I was 21 years old!" and no one listening or caring and oh yeah, my husband had left me AGAIN! 
And Clan Mother? What is that? I should live in cave and wear the skins of mastodons and make herbal tinctures to cure illnesses and ensure fertility, while I'm changing diapers made of linen that I wove from the flax I grew and making sure the toddlers neither fall in the fire or get snatched by saber-toothed tigers?
What the fucking fuck is wrong with me? 

I did figure out that one of the appointment cards is for Glen who also goes to Dr. Zorn. I was trying to get my 2026 calendar in order with the dates of birthdays and anniversaries, and so forth and filling in the days with appointments already made. And yes, I do still use a paper calendar and it's always a Virgin of Guadalupe calendar because that is the way I do it and there you go. 

I've got two dang appointments coming up quick-quick, both with doctors I asked Zorn to refer me to, one a dermatologist, one a urologist and that's not helping my mindset very much. Why the hell are these doctors so quick to schedule appointments? 

Glen has gone fishing again. He got up in the dead of night to drive down to the coast with his friend Rob to be on the boat at dawn. He just texted a few minutes ago to say they'd reached land safely. He won't be home for hours and he plans to go duck hunting tomorrow which also requires a predawn rising and I feel certain he'll sleep most of the day after he gets home. He keeps telling me that he refuses to die just sitting in his chair and I don't think that's going to be a problem unless he expires from fatigue while he's sleeping in it. 

On top of it all, I don't feel like I got anything done. I just felt too low to do much of anything although I did finally get my ass out to the garden to do some more weeding where, as you can see, my loyal (not a saber-toothed) tiger cat followed me and hung out the entire time I was there. I was hoping for a garden dirt cure but really, all that happened is that I aggravated the sore place in my ribs. And to add insult to injury, I was listening to a book that's, at the very best, tolerable. Until, that is, the author starts another sex scene. I'm too old for that. Not sex, in and of itself, but of sex scenes in books where the author quickly runs out of adjectives and phrases used to describe heat, passion, and desire. Know what I mean? Maybe it's just me but no one ever seems to get it right. 

I finished a patch on my old jeans so yippie! This is taking forever. I want to get started on mending a pair of Owen's jeans that have quite a rip below one of the back pockets but since I forgot to bring them home, I couldn't get started on them anyway. I'll get them this week. Perhaps he can drive them out himself, seeing as they're on Christmas break. I asked him if he was afraid of color in the mending and he said he wasn't. I threatened to sew velvet strips to the hems of the legs and really hippie them out but he wasn't wild about that idea. I don't know why. He has such great hippie hair and I've done everything I can to instill hippie values in him. 
I love that boy so much. He told me how sorry he was that I'd had a fall and he offered to come over and dig up all the roots to prevent me from tripping over another one. Which would be impossible but he was so sweet to offer. He told me, "You're a tough little lady." 

Okay, okay. I'll be the Clan Mother. Whatever. 

And I see this post is going nowhere. Just bitch, bitch, bitch, complain, complain, complain, and so forth ad nauseam. It's felt like a Sunday all day and I'm going to be surprised to wake up tomorrow and discover it's Sunday again. 

But let us not end on a bad note. I just watched this and it made me feel so much better. I hope you enjoy it. 

And yes, they did indeed get their picture on the cover of the Rolling Stone. 

Ask and ye shall receive? It's always worth a try. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Domesticity

 When I was hanging out the sheets today, the old barn caught my eye and I haven't posted a picture of it in a long time so I got this one. We're not actually sure it is a barn. Or, was a barn to be more accurate. The reason we're not sure is that it's raised up off the ground and barns are usually built at ground level. I'm not so sure how good cattle are at climbing steps. I suppose it could have been raised at one point but again- why? Was it, in fact, a sort of dwelling? We just don't know. The former owner didn't know either. It does have what looks to be a hay loft in it. 
Anyway, it's used for storage now although when we moved in there were vague plans to make a boys club out of it and I do believe there is actually a pool table in there. 
It is picturesque, isn't it? The little palm to the left of the door in the photo is one Glen and I dug up from our property in Apalachicola which yes, we do still own. And that is a story in and of itself.

Sigh.

I slept for about ten hours last night. I slept so long that Glen sent Maurice in to check on me. He really does this and Maurice does really come to check on me. In this case, I was already up and getting dressed. She meowed at me and I called her some sweet names and leaned over to give her a head scratch and she tolerated a very short one. "Did Daddy send you in to get me up?" I asked. She meowed again. Sometimes instead of getting me up, she gets on the bed with me and we both go back to sleep. It just depends. I have no idea on what though. Her mood, most likely. 
So I felt better today for sure and got some things done that I've been wanting to do. Like I said, I hung some laundry and I watered the plants inside and took all the Christmas wrapping paper upstairs and reclaimed the table we use to wrap on. Then I pushed the table over to the wall to cover up the part of the floor upon which you cannot tread because you might fall through, and put some plants on the table in front of the window to see if they can snatch a little more light. 

That's what they look like from my seat at the porch table. A different perspective. 

I did several more loads of laundry and I actually had a tiny stirring of a housewifery desire so I swept a lot of floors and was even tempted to do some dusting but I just fanned myself and waited until the feeling passed. I mean...come on! 
The muscle strain has felt much better today although I think I pushed it some, lifting and carrying heavy-ish things. My wrist is healing too but it's not completely there. 
I know I've done some other things but I don't know what. Took the compost out, picked some greens for our supper. The collards I planted a few days ago are just NOT coming up and they are generally fast sprouters and I am feeling so discouraged. I suppose it could be that the cooler weather is affecting their usual growth rate. Looking at the weather forecast I see it's supposed to get down to twenty-seven degrees next Wednesday and if that's anywhere near accurate, I'm going to have to wrap plants again. I suppose I should wrap my new baby limequat too. That tree has already brought me pleasure in that in the morning when the sun is coming up, it lights up the plant in a glowing way. Well, I shouldn't say "coming up" but instead, "is well up" because I certainly am not up when the sun is just peeping. Whatever, it's really pretty. 

And here's the sweetest thing. 
Mr. Moon has been working on the sink he's making me to go beside the garden where I can wash my vegetables and so forth. He called me out to the garage where he's working to see where I wanted the shelf under the sink. I do indeed want a shelf under the sink to possibly put colanders and pots and my weeding tools on. I am sure these things will become more apparent when I put it into use. 

After we agreed on the shelf height, I took this picture. 

He was so focused he didn't even realize I was taking it. 
And then later on, around five, he texted me to come out and see what he'd done. 

Would you look at that? He's going to paint it with some weatherproof paint. We talked about colors and I said I'd really like green. He agreed that would be good as mildew wouldn't show up on it so bad.
You can bet your bottom dollar there WILL be mildew.

And now I'm going to go make us a supper. The greens, chicken thighs with lemon juice and anchovies, capers and cherry tomatoes. Probably some rice. The martini has been made and the clean, sun-dried sheets are on the bed. 
In short, it is Friday.

I just wrote a little treatise on long-time love but because I have had part of a martini, I may have gone a little bit overboard so I deleted it. I'll just say there's a lot of kissing going on around here and it's not all because of a garden sink but more about just how love works sometimes. 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

We Did It And It Is Done!

I do believe this rainbow wreath on the purple door of Lily's house sums it all up for our family. We are quirky, we are not traditional and yet we keep the traditions in our own way which is often a very gay way and we are NOT AFRAID OF COLOR in any aspect. 

When I got up this morning I wasn't certain I was going to be able to make it to the gift-opening/lovely meal at Lily and Lauren's house. The strained muscle between my ribs seemed worse than it did yesterday and I didn't want to be touched or even move more than I had to. But as the morning progressed, it did loosen up and I reminded myself that the third day after an injury or a surgery or whatever can be the hardest. Even when it comes to childbirth, the midwives say- on the third day the milk comes in and so do the tears.
I managed to pull up the big girl panties and made Glen a breakfast. Not a full-on Sunday morning type of breakfast but it did involve sausage and eggs. 
And then I peeled the eggs I boiled yesterday and smushed up the yolks with traditional old southern lady ingredients which (for this old southern lady) are mayonnaise, Miracle whip, sweet pickle relish, mustard, salt, and pepper. Sprinkled on top with paprika. 
No candied jalapeños, no dang caviar, no fresh herbs, no cheese or shallots. In short, deviled eggs as the god of Sunday dinner on the grounds has ordained. 

So we did make it over to Lily's and I have to say that Xena (aka, Large Marge) was the center of attention although here's a picture of me that Rachel took, trying to give a little love to Pepper, Lauren's sweet old lady dog. 

And here's a picture of Rachel getting her pet therapy. 

Xena is the sweetest puppy. She's laid back, she's cuddly, she shows affection and receives affection until she gets tired and then she goes and lays down on her bed and takes a nap. 
And as you can see, she is getting larger by the moment. 
Here she is loving on Michael whom all animals adore. 

"I want a dog," he said. 
"Well, let's get a house and then we can get a dog," May said. 
She is a sensible woman. 

The gift openings were quite civilized this year. No frenzied screaming or frantic tearing of paper off of presents. All of the wrapping paper made its way directly into a huge garbage bag about which Hank asked Lily, "Are you getting rid of bodies this year?"
We kept the gifts down to a bare minimum and I think everyone appreciated that a lot. 

Hank and Rachel gave me two very lovely, very appropriate things they knew I'd love. 

Official Rolling Stones Christmas ornament. Of course I will hang it somewhere I can look at it every day and it will stay there 365 days a year. 

They also gave me this little zipper bag. 

I love it so much and how I miss the library card, stamped and named, and put in the box as having been checked out.

And then the next thing I opened was May's gift which was a Mexican banner and this little box of matches. 

It is a Little Women Christmas and that's all right with me. 
We are a Little Women Family. 

After the delicious meal Lauren and Lily had made, Glen and I took our gifts to the Weatherfords along with the little chicken salad I made. Also Rachel and Hank's gifts. They had to go home early. Rachel is having extremely serious back and spine issues which of course affect every damn thing in the body in the worst sort of way.
We got to see August and Levon outside and that was far better than nothing. 

The recipients of the WhirleyPops and Tupperware sets were thrilled. And Maggie told me that what we got her, which was an interactive (?) Lilo and Stitch puppet, was the main thing she'd wanted. 

She had already started creating scripts for their adventures when we left. My smart, pretty grandgirl. 

Y'all, I am as tired as I've ever been. I'm about to go crawl into bed, beyond, beyond, beyond glad that Christmas 2025 is done. 

I sincerely and truly hope that each and every one of you has had a good day, depending on however you define that. And I'd like to share something Hank texted us all this morning when we were checking in with our various ailments and pains. 
It was this.

Merry Christmas! Individually we're kind of broken, but as a family we're whole! 

And of course I cried. Hank has always been the wisest one of all of us. 

Sweet dreams. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Grieving For Lost Myths

For the second day in a row it doesn't look like I'm going to answer comments. I don't plan on making a habit of this but I'm running late tonight, mostly because I took a nap this afternoon which is something I hardly ever do. 
I took a nap because I felt tired. I think the fall caught up with me a bit today and I have developed what I am diagnosing with the help of Dr. Google as an intercostal muscle strain or a between-the ribs muscle strain. The pain I'm having ticks all the boxes. I was feeling a little discomfort in that area up until this afternoon when I was scrubbing a sink and make a fairly quick twisting move and... KA-BLAM.
Ouch. 
I'm being a baby. 
I'll tell you this- it's nothing like a broken rib. And my wrist feels much better, although still somewhat delicate. 
There is no powerlifting in my immediate future.

See that pretty little tree in the photo up there? That is a limequat. Jessie and Vergil got it for us for Christmas and Vergil even came over and planted it for us so you know it's done right. It is a cross between a key lime and a kumquat which are two of my favorite citrus fruits. The peel, which is quite thin, is supposed to be very sweet, the inside part, tasting more like a lime. We have been wanting to plant citrus in the backyard where the Bradford pears were removed and this is Jessie's and Vergil's way of urging us to do it. Their yard in town is filled with citrus trees and it's amazing how much fruit they produce. And of course, having Vergil come out with all of the different things needed to ensure a good start for the tree is a wonderful gift to us.
Vergil also planted the little olive tree Jessie got me a few months ago. I am VERY excited about that too.

In Christmas prep news, I peeled the eggs I boiled yesterday but I haven't deviled them yet. Is that what you'd call it? Perhaps "bedevil," like "bedazzle."  
Who knows? 

And I made the chicken salad. Here is this year's version. It probably looks just like every year's version except for the years Jessie has decorated it.

I even made a small version for the Weatherfords as I am almost certain they won't be able to be part of the festivities at Lily's house tomorrow. 

August may be on the mend but still had a fever, at least this morning, Levon now has it full-force, and Jessie appears to be coming down with it. Either they'll do a drive-by to Lily's tomorrow or else we'll be dropping off presents and that little bowl of Moon Christmas Tradition at their house. 

This makes me so sad. 
I just sent a text to Jessie asking how everyone was and she said the boys still have fevers despite alternating Tylenol and Ibuprofen but the good news is that they're happy and still excited about Christmas. They are generally positive little guys. She's not running a fever yet but feels achy and loopy. 
Ooh boy.

There is part of me that wishes with all my heart that I could still feel some of that Christmas Eve magic which children can conjure so easily and which I even felt when my own children were little. I was actually deeply invested in the Nativity story when I was a child, loving the simple romance of a baby being born in a barn who would become...well, JESUS! It was a rather simple and pure love I had, based on too many Christmas shows and Christmas sermons and even the traditional Christmas plays our church put on. One year I sang, one year I was Mary. Of course. Even at a young age, I was in love with the English language and I will never forget the thrill I felt when I heard the lines from Luke 2:19 which were, "And Mary kept these things and pondered them in her heart."
I'm not sure why but the word ponder was beautiful to me. I still use it a lot. I think it is an excellent word, saying more than its worth in its  

number of letters. 

But then I grew up and I read the Bible and I realized how much of it was myth and made-up stories and then I had babies of my own and the sweet image I'd had of Mary being pregnant one moment, and then the next, having a child laying in the manger, dressed in swaddling clothes, surrounded by the shepherds and magi and oxen and sheep, was completely destroyed. 
And by the way- barns don't smell like sweet hay if animals live in them. They smell quite literally like shit. 
But of course that's all the least of it and even if I knew none of it was true, I could still feel the deep pulling of my heart yearning to feel that way again. 
Over the years, even that passed. I can still remember what it felt like when I was a child, and that feeling is sweet but I can also remember what it felt like to believe in Santa and that feeling is ooh-type excitement which is also very cool. I mean, Jesus was adorable but Santa brought presents. 

Ah, lah. What am I talking about? Who knows? Not me. What I do know is that none of the Christmas lights or the Christmas songs or the Christmas shopping or the Christmas yard displays hold much interest for me. I can definitely see the beauty in certain light displays, especially the ones in cities, but mainly, my cynical heart just wonders how much energy these things are sucking and also- who has to put all this stuff up and who's paying for that? And worst of all- who has to take all that stuff down? Just taking down a Christmas tree was always a monumental task to me. 

Since I started writing this I've taken time to go get our supper started. I have a tiny meatloaf in the toaster oven, a pan with potatoes boiling which shall be mashed potatoes, and another with some of our canned green beans with onions. 
I discovered today that my husband is making me an outdoor sink to put by the garden so I can wash vegetables there which is something I have wanted for many years. 
Vergil planted us a limequat. 
Tomorrow I will see all of my children and grandchildren and children's partners, even if I will only be able to see the Weatherfords from a distance. 
My silly little Norfolk Island pine does offer a bit of cheer along with the vintage Santa lights. 

And all of that is good enough for me. No magic involved except for the magic of good luck, of the capacity to love, of health, and of the planting of a new tree which is now being shone down on by a silver crescent of a sharp-pointed moon. I will keep these things and I will ponder them in my heart. 
And also? I will wish that every baby born, no matter where or to whom, is loved and adored, if not by angels and magi and shepherds but by parents and grandparents and all of those who have waited long months to greet them. And I also know that every birth is a miracle because a woman has created life with her body, sharing blood and air and space and then, with tremendous effort, has delivered a child to this earth, to this place and time. No need for virgin birth to be involved.

Happy Whatever This Night Means To You...Ms. Moon

In Which The Ground And I Have An Unexpected Encounter

I took a fall today.
Jesus. 
Glen was about to leave to take Magnolia fishing on the St. Marks River and as he was getting in his FourRunner he asked if I had a hat she could borrow because one does need a hat for fishing. 
Well, of course I did so I went back to the house to get it and was walking towards him when I tripped on a root and went down like a tree. I absolutely face-planted. I seriously ate dirt. My glasses flew off and my hearing aids did the same. 
How incredibly old can one possibly feel? 

How old ARE you? Old enough that when I fall, my hearing aids fall out.

Falling is the most seriously bizarre thing. One second you are functioning on earth with its gravity as one has all of one's life, remaining upright while walking as all humanoids have done since the dawn of humanoid history and the next you are in a completely different time/space continuum wherein gravity has taken over in a new and interesting and yet, horrifying way as you somehow have time to think, "Well hell. I am falling." 
And then, "How bad is this going to be?"
The last time I had a fall like this was years ago when I slipped on the back porch steps in the rain, fell, and realized quite quickly that I had damaged something pretty bad. In that case, I had broken what I think was four ribs and so yes, I had. 
In today's spill, I yelled out, "Oh, babe!" to Glen I suppose, but he wasn't very close and didn't hear me so I laid there and took inventory. I was breathing fine, nothing hurt terribly, and my face and chest were filthy with dirt. 
Okay. 
I got up and everything seemed to be working but as I gingerly touched my face, my hand came away bloody. And dirty. But I picked up my glasses which seemed miraculously to be unharmed and was not yet aware that I'd lost both hearing aids. I knew I'd lost one because I saw it and I picked that up too. I walked over to Glen who was unsurprisingly shocked. 
"I fell," I said. 
Duh.
"Are you alright?" 
"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine."
Why do we always say that? We could be laying on the ground with our arm separated from our body and we'd probably still say, "Oh, that's nothing. I'm fine. Just give me a minute here!"
But really, I was. I even convinced him to go on and pick up Maggie because that girl has been wanting to go fishing with her Boppy forever. I gave him the cap and he offered again to stay home, take me to the doctor, whatever, and I shooed him off, came in, went to the bathroom to assess the damage, took a washcloth to my face, stopped the bleeding of the little cut on my nose and put a bandaid on it, rubbed off the dirt, rinsed the sand out of my mouth, and was grateful as hell to see that my nose looked unbroken, my teeth were still exactly where they had been before. All-in-all, not so bad. The only thing that really hurt was my left wrist which must have taken some brunt of the fall or else I fell on it weird. I have no idea. It's the wrist I broke when I was seventeen and which has grown wonkier with every year of my life and it didn't hurt THAT bad. I could wiggle all my fingers, I had as much range of motion in the wrist as I had before which is to say, not a whole lot but I still had what I'd had. I didn't have any blurry vision or dizziness or bleeding from the mouth or nose and so this nurse's assessment was that I was (a) very lucky, and (b) in no need of a doctor. 

I think I'm going to be sore tomorrow. My nose is swollen, my face is red, as one would imagine after being sandpapered, and the wrist is bothersome. I've taken it fairly easy today as I know that the fall was an insult to the body as they say, and I am no spring chicken. I will be glad to get in bed tonight though, I can tell you that.

I got no food prep done except to boil a bunch of eggs to make deviled eggs for Thursday. I somehow ended up with many, many eggs, having bought some and then given some by Jessie from her hens, and Glen brought some home from Lake Seminole where a neighbor is taking care of a flock whose owners moved and who could not take their birds with them. I took the trash, I tidied up the wrapping paper detritus but I did not carry the bin that holds it all back upstairs, I loaded up all the boxes that were clogging up my pantry in the garden cart and hauled them to the burn pile but none of those things, not one of them, was very strenuous at all. 

I think that Magnolia and her grandfather had a very good time on the river. They just got off the water about an hour ago and so it was a full day. Here are a few pictures Boppy sent to Lily and me.

Pre-fishing lunch at the Riverside Cafe under their beautiful palapa roof. 

The ladyfish that Maggie caught entirely by herself.

A baby redfish.

Maggie is most definitely a Moon. All of the Moon women I've known have loved fishing as much as the men. I am so pleased that Glen took our grandgirl today. I know she will remember that for a very long time. 

An interesting thing that happened this morning before I lost touch with gravity was that I was inspired to google my great-uncle Burkett's house on Lookout Mountain. I have spoken about Burkett before. He was a very well-known man in Chattanooga, Tennessee for various reasons and there is a park named for him downtown there which he funded. He was also the founder of The Miller Center Foundation at the University of Virginia. 
I remember Uncle Burkett and his wife, Bill (yes) very well from my childhood. He was a character and not really a child friendly character but even at a young age, I knew the man had gravitas, even though I had no idea what that word meant. I was slightly terrified of him but somehow knew that I was so far beneath his radar that he gave as much notice to me as he would a house cat. Or less. He and Aunt Bill had no children of their own and I think my brother and I were simply aliens to him. 

I had vague memories of the house he and Aunt Bill lived in on Lookout Mountain, Tennessee, and I wondered if there was anyway to find it on the all-knowing google. 
Turns out that it was just resold a few years ago and the listing is still to be found. The house was indeed as impressive as I remember although I do not like the way the interior has been redone and modernized. There was one picture that finally answered a question I have had in my mind for my entire adult life. I had the vaguest memory of a stone bench outside on the grounds of the house which I believe my brother and I and perhaps my mother, sat on to wait while some sort of business was taking place in the house. The scandal of my parent's divorce and the legal logistics before and after, were mysterious thing to me but I felt they held great importance and I think some of these issues were what was being discussed that day. But I have never been sure and not even sure that my memory of that stone bench was real. 
And then I saw this.

That's it. There it is. I think my brother and I walked on it as we waited to be allowed back inside. 
Why in the world do I remember that and also- how? Was I even five years old yet? But I swear to you, I have thought about that memory a hundred times. I thought about it and wondered about it just last week. 

I may end up studying our genealogy yet. 

Glen's home. He said it was a very fine day and that Maggie fell asleep on the way home. 
"Fishing wears me out," she told him. 
She'll probably sleep well tonight.

As will I.

Love...Ms. Moon

P.S. I found the other hearing aid too. I told you I'm lucky. 

Once Again, I Believe I May Live Through This

I saw that spider web this morning, strung and woven between two sea grape leaves, highlighted by the morning sun streaming in through the laundry room window. I had not noticed it before and I'd love to say it just sprang up overnight but I'm pretty sure that's not how it happened. 
I leaned in closer to examine it and I spotted this.

Aha! Can you see the tiny creature near the left border on the sea grape leaf? 

Here's a close-up.

I believe it is a magnolia jumping spider and they are on the good guy team, eating mites, aphids, and ants. And sometimes other, smaller jumping spiders because protein is protein. Am I right? So I will not be taking that web down but will leave it right where it is in hopes that my own personal miniature spider finds happiness and an adequate amount of nutrition in the little plant nursery in front of the window on my folding table.

I have been to town for the last time before Christmas unless someone really, really needs me for something. I needed a few things at Costco and also to return some jeans I got there that I did not like the style of although my favorite jeans at the moment I also got at Costco but a different Levi's fit and style. Both men's jeans which have always and still do fit me better than women's. I absolutely do NOT have an hourglass figure, my hips being approximately the same size as my waist, and that's all there is to it. 
Costco was so very crowded, of course, but they know how to get you in and out of there in an efficient manner so it wasn't so bad. The hardest part was trying not to block the aisle with my cart. In fact though, EVERYONE was blocking aisles with their carts and a great deal of patience was required. No one really seemed to be in a very holly, jolly Christmas mood, either. 
But that was fine. 
On to Publix where I got most of the things on my list. Because I am going to make Glen's mama's traditional Christmas chicken salad, I needed ingredients. Okay, I say it's Glen's mama's traditional Christmas chicken salad and it is close enough. There was no recipe as far as I or his sister knows so I just try to replicate it the best I can. 
Miracle whip and sweet pickles are involved. Also, red and green grapes and pecans which are used to decorate it. 
Publix too was filled to capacity and the cart blockage even worse as the aisles are far more narrow. Again, no one seemed to be experiencing the joy of the season. I tried to smile in a way that showed I cared and knew that we were all doing the best we could under the circumstances but to tell you the truth, not that many of those smiles were even acknowledged. 
One guy who was with about four other guys, all of whom appeared to be having a good time despite the crowd, did return my smile and we shrugged and I said, "But hey! It's the happiest time of year!" 
"Not for some of us," he said. 
"Is it really for anyone?" I asked, and on we went in our separate directions, me heading to the milk, he and his posse heading to the frozen food section. 
I made sure to thank the cashier and the bagger, thanking them for working so hard in this very, very busy time. They were gracious. Most Publix employees are. 
Which leads me to what happened in the liquor store when I went to visit Lily for a hug and a brief discussion about what we're doing on Christmas. 
I was standing there, waiting for an opportunity to tell her good-bye. As one can probably guess, liquor stores are doing a booming business right now, either because people are having parties and want to celebrate or people are at the end of their ropes and need some chemical assistance to get through this mess. Either way, they are busy.

So I was standing there, waiting for that good-bye when a man came in who was one of Lily's regulars, as she told me later. She had already pulled his regular purchase off the shelf and had the bottles ready for him and Lily told him that I was her mother. 
And then that man began praising my girl, calling her a sweet, kind, intelligent, cheerful, hard-working person. He praised her to the skies and I stood there and loved every second of it. 
"Go on, go on," I told him. "You know I love hearing this."

I was beaming and so was he. 

After he left, Lily told me that he is truly one of her favorite customers and I could see why. And then I teared up because I am so proud to be her mother and because I know she deserves all the praise she'd just been given by him. I have seen her help and check out people who look like they probably drive BMW's and people who look like they've probably never owned a car in their lives and she treats them all with the same respect and courtesy. Some people buy bourbon that costs up to a hundred dollars or more a bottle and some people buy two shot-sized bottles of Fireball, and Lily makes each and every one of them feel as if their purchase is as important as any other. She does not judge. She is gracious to all. 

And that was a beautiful experience. 

Another very nice thing that JUST happened was that Mr. Moon wrapped all the presents we are going to be giving. He is a much better wrapper than I am and I hate wrapping gifts and so in his doing that, he has given me a gift. 
ALTHOUGH, I will point out that he did tell me that I could clean up after him which is a little what-the-fuckish but hey- it's better than having to wrap and also clean up. 
He is good. He is not perfect. Like I say, he ain't walking on water yet. 
But then again, neither am I.

I had set aside an entire day to wrap those presents which was a vast over-estimation of the time it would take, so I feel like I have an entire stress-free day before Christmas. Perhaps Glen and I can spend some time outside with him giving me instructions on how to operate the new battery-powered chain saw he's gotten me for Christmas. I said awhile back that I sort of wanted one and he ordered me one and I opened it, thinking it was something I'd ordered for the kids. 
I am timidly excited about having my own chain saw. I bought some men's heavy duty work gloves at Costco today and I feel like perhaps I need some men's heavy duty work boots too. Not only would they make me feel powerful and protect my feet should I drop my battery-operated chain saw, they could also be a fashion statement, especially worn with a dress or skirt. 
I'm really not kidding about that either. 

I finally figured out something to get him and although it won't be here by Thursday, I think he'll like it and it's not something I believe he would buy for himself. It may not be as good as a chain saw but it's pretty okay. 

I am feeling that the stress of Christmas I always feel has lightened tremendously. A burden taken off my shoulders. 
I will make that chicken salad with a light heart, and a glad one. And I will not be going back to town. 

Love...Ms. Moon