Less Heat, More Joy

Well if this is September, bring it on, baby! Today was glorious. Little short of perfect, temperature and humidity-wise, at least. No clouds in the entire sky until just a few hours ago and they are the most innocent and delicate of clouds, like wispy bits of stretched cotton. 

But it was so nice this morning and I feel so much better that I decided to take a walk. I've been deathly afraid to do anything that might jolt that kidney stone into a bad place but it has become noticeably less present in the last few days so I risked it. And the walk made me so happy. I mean, I actually enjoyed it. 

First off, these are blooming again. 

I know. I know! I post pictures of these every year but every year they make me happy all over again. They make me especially happy because they are not growing on MY fence in MY yard because guess what? 
Yes. They are invasive. 

But I love the way they look like bright jewels on their green backgrounds, such perfect little red stars. 

I risked walking through poison ivy to take a few close-up pictures of the fally-down house. 

It has not yet fallen to flatness, but it is definitely laying down. It is weary. I will always wonder about this place with its wallpapered rooms and who lived there and what their lives were like. 

So obviously, I was much cheered today and that has made such a difference. I shelled peas, I played piano. I've looked at recipes for boiled tofu. Have you ever boiled your tofu? I've been reading about it and it seems like an interesting way to prepare it. Supposedly, boiling tofu in salt water actually draws out the moisture and has other magical properties but there seems to be great confusion as to exactly how this is done. The recipe I originally looked at today which inspired me to try this calls for the tofu to be boiled for twenty minutes in salt water. Or simmered. Other recipes say 5-10 minutes. Some say that anything over two minutes makes the tofu...something. I don't know. And some recipes call for not boiling it all, but merely pouring boiling water over it. 
To add to all of this, you can pat your boiled tofu dry, top it with some sauce, and eat it as is. OR, you can dry it off and fry it or bake it or however you like to make your tofu crispy. So I'm not exactly sure what I'm going to do with my tofu tonight but it will involve boiling because...what the heck? 
Live dangerously, right? 

God. I remember when I used to experiment with drugs. Now I experiment with tofu. I suppose this is a good thing. 

Mr. Moon seems to be fine and well. He made it to Canada and when he called me early this afternoon, they were packing up to head to "the cabin". Men just do love a cabin, don't they? 

I began rewatching "The Phoenician Scheme" while I was shelling peas. I said I wanted to rewatch it and I wasn't kidding. I am enjoying it as much or more the second time around. I'm catching things I missed, I'm admiring the performance of Benicio del Toro and Mia Threapleton even more the second time around. You know me- I hate to catch an actor acting but it's an entirely different ball game in a Wes Anderson movie. They all have that rather playful atmosphere which doesn't actually try to mimic real life. It represents a slightly different world, I think. A fairy-tale world, a fantastical world, a world where the sets and the costumes are as much a part of the mood and feel of the movie as the actors and script. In his best movies, they all come together to form a whole which doesn't try to be realistic in the understood definition of the word, but manages to offer a clear picture we can all understand of the world which Anderson has created and it is very, very human. 
I almost feel like it's Shakespearian. Stylized and dramatized and no one makes movies like he does. 

Well. Good god. Where did all that come from? I don't review movies. I have no idea what I'm talking about! It's just all my personal opinion. 

It's supposed to get down to 65 degrees tonight. DID YOU HEAR ME? That's 18.3333 Celsius! Unbelievable. There may be another walk in my future tomorrow. 

In an unrelated topic, I decided to try and figure out how old Maurice is, approximately, by doing some research on my blog. Here is the very first picture taken here of our satanic familiar, our perpetually unpredictable and anxious Maurice.

That was in 2014 and she looks like a teenager there. So she's at least eleven years old. She was already smart enough to know who to charm. She knew she had me by the second day she showed up. 
Okay. The first day. I fed her venison vegetable soup. Of course she was never leaving. 
And let me just say- Glen hasn't changed an iota. What the hell? 

Here's a picture of the Weatherfords at Santa Rosa beach, which they are just now leaving. 

Oh, sigh. 
I want to go to the beach now. 

Maybe soon. Maybe soon. 

Love...Ms. Moon

This Sunday's Church Of The Batshit Crazy Hymn Choice. Please Turn to Page "Indianola Mississippi Seeds" In Your Hymnal To Sing Along (Trigger Warning- Childhood Sexual Abuse But Nothing Graphic)

 I went out to the garden today to pick peas and do some therapeutic weeding and thought I'd take a picture of the zinnias coming up where the ones I planted last spring and which have taken their last breath reseeded themselves. This happens every year and sometimes there's enough summer left for them to even make some blooms but they're always rather unimpressive blooms. Smaller than the ones from which they sprang. 
Doesn't seem like "sprang" should be a word, does it? 

As always, getting down and dirty helped my mood and attitude and I'm glad I did it. I also, after swearing I was done with it, worked some more in the area to the right of the driveway, pulling more and more and more crocosmia and other assorted plants which insist on growing there because they are ASSHOLES! 
I'm going to quit calling all these plants "invasives" and just call them assholes, which they are. Both, really. 

But it is so satisfying to see some progress made. 

Maurice came out to check on me. Since the temperature has gotten a little more reasonable, we are both more apt to spend some time outside. I got this picture when she was hiding behind a palm. 

Amazing I could even see her, cleverly hidden as she was. 
I now believe my theory that she hangs out with me when I'm outside because she likes to stay close to me is false. I think she's just so bored she needs something different to think about. 
With disdain. 

So I read this click-baity article via AOL news today (so you know it's totally authentic and scientific and genuine and bone fide) entitled "Six Signs You Were Raised By A Narcissist" and as shallow as the article was, it raised a few points that hit home pretty darn hard. One of them was "You derive self-worth solely through your achievements." 
My god. Is that me or not? 

Another one was "At times you've felt you more your parent's partner than their child."
Check, check, check. UNTIL my mother remarried at which time she completely "broke up with me" and made it quite clear that she had a real partner now and I could just go play in the sandbox or something.
Not to worry, though. I fell completely in love with my new stepdad and he returned that love by, well, doing stuff. But hey! He did take me on real dates at fancy restaurants! A few times. Like...two. And he bought me that Porsche! I mean, it wasn't really mine but I could drive it whenever I wanted. 
Talk about grooming! Although by the time the Porsche came around, I think he was just trying to buy my silence. Which he did. Sort of. For a little while.

Okay. But back to the Narcissist. This isn't about the sexual abuser. 

The thing that hit me hardest in the article was this line: "They may also try to control other people's actions by threatening to harm themselves unless a certain outcome goes their way." 

Dang. My mother threatened to kill herself about a thousand times. And not in a conversational way, either. In a screamy way. 

Oh, the good old days. 

So anyway, I do now realize that my mother got the short end of the stick in a lot of ways in her life and that a lot of her choices were made based on how she was raised or what happened to her in her young married life or...well. Whatever. Also, she obviously suffered from clinical depression and at least one of her worst episodes of that was the direct result of a horrible thing that happened to one of her students while she was in charge of the class. It wasn't her fault but I know she must have suffered horrible guilt.
But it's not a bad thing to realize where some of my crazy comes from, why I have such bizarre beliefs about my worth and my needs and why it's so hard for me to speak up for myself, even when it would be the absolute best thing to do. 
I mean, I know all this. I knew all this. But it's good to be reminded. I didn't just fall into the trough of despair out of my own blindness and stupidity. 

But oh! Look what I did today!

I got two freezer bags of peas blanched and ready for the freezer! Whoo hoo! That took about twenty minutes, bringing the water to a boil being the longest part of the process. 

Here's a picture of a skillet I've had since 1973 hanging on the wall with a rainbow shining on it. 

Now isn't that pretty? 

I just spent about an hour listening and watching some blues on Youtube. Some Muddy Waters with the Rolling Stones, and some BB King playing and singing "Nobody Loves Me But My Mother (And She Could Be Jiving Me too)", and some Keith Richards and Scotty Moore and Levon Helms, and I don't know if I feel better or worse than I did but at least I have good songs in my head and I'm thinking about all the dark, smoky, red-stooled bars I've sat in and listened to music and that was never time wasted. 
Here's the album wherein I "discovered" the blues, just like Ponce de Leon "discovered" Florida and I am so grateful that BB was there for me when I needed him, just as much or more than Joni Mitchell but in a different way and I came to call him my daddy because when you don't have a daddy, you get to pick your own and I chose BB. Mr. King. I went to see him live many times and it was always the best. Music is the universal language and medicine too, if you ask me, and yes, white girls can get the blues and BB King can sing you out of them or through them or at least make you feel not alone. 
Here you go. It's real short. 

Love...Ms. Moon

I Am Okay

Still blue. Not desperately so. Not the kind where there is no hope, no memory of things not being hopeless. That does happen and that is the worst sort of black dog depression where there is no hope, no meaning, no purpose, no reason to get out of bed except that it must be done and the act of getting up is an act of huge achievement. 

It hasn't been like that although I did stay in bed a long time this morning. Why not? 

Glen left around four, I think. He kissed me good-bye, told me he loved me. I told him I loved him and to be safe, be safe, be safe. He is safe in Nashville now. Tomorrow the flight to Canada and I hope it's an easy, smooth one. 

Jessie and her family are in Santa Rosa Beach, along with some friends of theirs. An old friend of Vergil's has a house in Santa Rosa. and he has invited them to use the house. This is their second trip there. It's not right on the beach, but close, and there's a pool at the house and it's an easy walk to the water. Santa Rosa is a gorgeous pure-white sand beach on the Gulf (of Mexico) and there is plenty to do, and even more in the nearby Panama City Beach which used to be fondly called The Redneck Riviera and may still be for all I know. Our family used to take weekend trips there and at that time, you could still find funky old places to stay right on the beach for not a lot of money. One place we stayed had been built of lumber brought in by sea as there were no overland direct routes. I will always remember that place fondly. It smelled of old wood and mildew and ocean air and ancient curtains. I am sure it's gone now, a giant condo probably now in its place. 
It was a complete tourist town and in case the beautiful beaches and local seafood weren't enough for your visiting pleasure, there was the Miracle Strip Amusement Park. 

And the most amazing goofy golf course. 

Let us not forget the Treasure Ship Restaurant. 

So much to see and do. 

We visited quite frequently in winter though, and almost everything was shut up. Even the McDonald's closed. We carried on. I think one of Hank and May's favorite things was the diner where we ate breakfast where they could get a heart-shaped waffle with whipped cream and strawberries on it. Instead of going to amusement parks, we played on the beach and got in the water if it was warm enough and of course, fishing was involved. 

One of the things we never did was to visit the Man in the Sea museum which documents the history of men in the sea, and how they managed to get down there and survive there. But the Weatherfords took a side trip to visit the museum today. Here are some pictures we got. 

The mermaid does not look that impressed, does she?

I especially love that last one where you can see Levon's Crocs underneath the diving suit as he stands on a step ladder. 

It's good to know that PC hasn't lost it's funky charm entirely. 

I could go on for days about the gentrification of that whole strip of the Florida coastline but what's the point? We all know that story. 

So that was the cheerful thing that happened today, knowing that fun was being had. I worked outside for a short time until suddenly the rain was pouring down. I thought about just working through it but then it got a little drenchy and I came back inside. I played some piano very, very badly, I did some work on the jigsaw puzzle. 
I let this day go by as it would. 

I've been thinking about things that are not pleasant. RFK, Jr. has been foremost in those thoughts, I think. We really have come to this. I remember before the election and I was talking to Dr. Zorn about the horrible prospect of Trump being president again. 
"Just wait until RFK, Jr. is the Secretary of Health and Human Resources," he said. The thought had never crossed my mind. 
Haha! 

There's one very, very small positive possibility which has occurred to me recently. We all know that Trump's health is not good. We've seen the pictures, we've seen and heard the videos. Now we all know that Trump is only the puppet the puppet masters are using to forward their agenda. The men who authored the 2025 project. And of course, Vladimir Putin. But if Trump should die and JD Vance become president, I honestly believe many of the diehards in the Trump cult will lose interest in supporting what's going on. Especially the things that will affect them, which already ARE affecting them. Trump is their bully-hero. Their big, tall strongman daddy. The figurehead who allows and encourages their racist, misogynist, anti-science (which they do not understand at all), anti-woke (which they couldn't define with a dictionary in their laps), anti-queer, anti-trans, anti-education, anti-arts, anti-human rights, anti-everything-that-represents-civilization will be replaced by a guy who appears to be more bot than human, who has the charisma of a bucket of manure without the usefulness, and I just don't think he's going to have what it takes to keep the faithful engaged. And I also think it's possible that whatever hold Trump has on the Republican lawmakers will be loosened if he's gone and some of them will actually look in the mirror and wonder why the hell they've sold out the Constitution not to mention their very souls.
This is my hope. But I could be wrong. 

I frequently am because as we all know by now, I don't know shit. 

I am grateful for the rain. 

Love...Ms. Moon

There Is A Shell For You

Sometimes I am a contrary bitch. I suppose if your name is Mary and all during your childhood people recited, "Mary, Mary, quite contrary/How does your garden grow?" you might end up being contrary. 
Or, possibly I was just born this way. 
However, the contrary Mary came out yesterday when I got comments about how the puzzle looked curved on the left side when it truly was not. The curtain in the picture curves, creating a sort of optical illusion I suppose, but that edge is as straight as a ruler. And it was yesterday, too. 
I spent way too much time on it today and finally figured out my problem at the top left of the puzzle. I had two edge pieces switched which completely threw off an entire section but now it is as it should be. I never seem to learn the lesson that if there is the least resistance in putting two pieces together, they are not meant to be together. 
Please note: Relationships are not like that. Not at all. 

It's been a tough day for me and I'm sure that Mr. Moon is counting down the minutes before he can get on the road to Nashville and leave his constantly sad wife behind. 

I wrote a whole long screed about how low I've felt today and then I deleted all of it because it was so ridiculous. Be grateful. You have been spared. 

But here. A gift. Joni Mitchell singing "Blue." This song has been keeping my head above water since 1972. 

It's Friday y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

The Return of Wes Anderson

Once again I did nothing worth talking about with the possible exception of watching The Phoenician Scheme from Wes Anderson. More on that later. 

When I walked to the post office this morning, I saw that shadow picture of one of the palms in front of the porch when I got home. I thought it was pretty cool. Here's another. 

I do love my cabbage palms, as we all know. 

I keep waiting for my fire spike to bloom but it's just not. It will. I do not get enough sun for it to go crazy. The plants look nice and hardy, sturdy and green so I do have have faith. 
Here's a vine which grows on the front fence which would also have a lot more blooms if it got more sun. 

Blue skyflower. Oh, how I wish it got enough sun to have many blooms. Wouldn't that be beautiful? 

I've felt just as bad today as I did yesterday although the pain in my side hasn't been as intense. But I have no energy whatsoever. The walk to the post office and back was all I could manage and that is a short walk. And my stomach is still off. I'm not really complaining- this is just the way it is right now. I did a little laundry and a little ironing. I wanted to make sure that Mr. Moon had a few nice shirts to wear on his journey to Canada. It was while I was ironing that I watched the Phoenician Scheme which is streaming on Peacock right now. 

I have to admit that I have not been exactly too eager to watch this movie. Although some of Wes Anderson's movies are among my very favorites, it seems that recently he sort of lost his way. His "Asteroid City" left me confused and unmoved. I felt that he had begun to lean too heavily on his unmistakable style that worked so well for so long. So I didn't have huge hopes for this one but I have to tell you, I really did like it. Would I say I love it? Well, I need to watch it again to be able to judge that. Trying to truly take in a Wes Anderson film while ironing is not recommended. Such small visual moments in his films are a huge part of the story-telling and if you're trying to smooth a collar, you can easily miss a few. 

But what I loved most about the film was the relationship between the main character, played by Benicio del Toro, and his daughter, a pipe-smoking almost-nun played by Mia Threapleton. She is an actress unknown by me but whom I found fascinating and we will surely hear from again. I loved how their relationship evolved, each of them softening in their absolute philosophies as they grew to know each other. 
Everyone in the cast did a great job as far as I can see. And I will watch it again. 

Here's the trailer. It does not do the film justice. 

My jigsaw puzzle in progress. Slow progress.

I'm still enjoying it. It has so many of my favorite things including the sea and cats and a kitchen and books. My main problem at this moment is that I have made some mistake in the top left part of the picture because the spacing is just wrong. I have studied and studied this and have not yet figured it out. All of the pieces I've placed seem to absolutely fit in perfectly. And yet, they cannot. 
Hopefully, I will see the solution eventually. 

Right. Supper. 

Love...Ms. Moon

No Title

The beauty berries are ripening or are ripe. If there was ever a perfect name for anything, it would be "beauty berry." That color is everything in a color I could want. It is so rich. When I was a very young child I had a book about some bunnies who were drawing pictures and one of the bunnies was using a crayon just that color and I would go to that page over and over because I loved the color so much. Would we call it magenta or fuschia? I always think of it as magenta but I have a feeling it may be more of a fuschia.

I believe I was an odd child but many children are, having not yet been schooled in how to act and seem normal. I had an imaginary friend who to this day, I think may have actually been a presence only I could feel and talk to. I know many people have imaginary friends as children but it doesn't seem to come up so much any more. Have you noticed that? Is it true? 
I don't know. I just know that I had one and she was older than me, an adult, and once she brought her husband to visit. And all of this coincided with the era of time I fell in love with that color. 
My imaginary friend did not follow me to Roseland from Chattanooga as far as I can remember which must have been a great sorrow although sadly, I can't remember. Lord knows I needed all the friends I could get, corporeal or non- at that time of my life. 

Interesting what one branch of beauty berries can unlock in a brain. 

I have felt pretty shitty today. I need to find some answers to my kidney stone issues. I've asked my urologist so many questions that I'm sure he's tired of me but there are so many things I want to know. 
Why does a stone get to a place where it literally makes me sick and causes muscle pain and internal pain and gastric distress and then, for the most part, quits? Has it drifted? How is a stone lodged in there? How does it travel? And why is there no way to address them before they cause all the pain they cause when they do get stuck in passage down the ureter? I guess there is, in lithotripsy but sending shocks waves into the body is not to be taken lightly, and one is usually medicated before the procedure to avoid discomfort, as they say. But what the lithotripsy is trying to accomplish is to break up the stones into teeny-tiny bits that will then "easily" pass with the urine but I know for a fact that even the smallest grit of a kidney stone can cause almost unbearable pain so there is that. My last stone was lasered while it was in the ureter because it was too big to pass on its own. That is how I know about the grit. For about two weeks after the treatment, every morning I would experience about forty-five minutes of agony wherein I would walk around the yard, over and over, drinking as much water as I could get in me. When the body's trying to pass a stone or a piece of a stone, it creates a terrible dry mouth which I suppose is the body's way of getting us to drink all the water we can to help with the flushing. 

So I know a little bit, obviously, but there are so many things I don't know and would it really help anything if I did? The only way a stone or stones can be visualized is through a CT scan and you can't just get a freaking CT scan every time you feel that pre-stone pain. My doctor is a firm believer that unless you have blood in your urine things are not dire. This may be true. But I want to know why. And I want to know why a stone can affect so many different body parts even when it's not trying to pass. Or IS it trying to pass? 
ARRRGGHHHH! 

Any urologists out there? 

All right. Let's move on. No pun intended. 

I picked up Jessie this morning hoping that the distraction of pottery class would be good for me and I guess it was although, not really. 

Y'all. Everyone in the class, including the complete newbies, are using the wheel, making bowls, trimming bowls, glazing bowls, and I am not. 
I went back to work on the flower petal bowl I was working on last week but...well...I screwed it up. And not screwed it up like, Hey! Imperfection is fine! No. More like there was no way to fire it without it exploding due to various major flaws. 
So. I finally just smashed it and returned it to its original blob. 
I'm going to try again next week with the same project and at least now I know far more about what I'll be doing than I did two weeks ago. We still had some time left in the class so I started working on a very small coil pot and I may or may not finish that. 
I did enjoy the conversation of the ladies. Two of the new students were sitting by me, working on their BEAUTIFUL BOWLS and I learned a bit about each of them. Both women are dedicated class-takers. One of them is taking painting and crochet and the pottery and some other thing too. I am in awe and wonder. Getting to pottery once a week is almost beyond my capability and anxiety is always part of the process. But these ladies go to all the different classes and they travel to all parts of the world and they have ART ROOMS so it was interesting, hearing about the lives of women who live such full lives. They are younger than I am but not by a whole lot. Well, maybe ten years and that is sort of a lot. 

One of the ladies I've been in classes with for three sessions now is about to head off to London where her sweetheart is going to fly over to meet her and stay for five days. She is so excited. I feel a special connection with this lady although we are quite different. Recently, she had a party and invited all of her sweetheart's friends. She said, "There were fifty people there!" and I said, "He has fifty friends?" 
"No!" she said. "He has eight friends. I have forty-two." 

My god. But she is funny and irreverent and uses profanity properly and often. This morning when she came in she said, "You're May's mother?" and I said, "Yes, I am." "Are you everybody's mother?" she asked. 
"Well, sort of," I said. "Especially if you're gay or trans." 

Turns out she goes to the restaurant where May works at least once a week and loves May. Of course. They got to talking about pottery, I guess, and she told May she takes classes. May said, "I wonder if you've ever met my mother and sisters?" And this lady said, "Oh my god! Mary's your mother too?" 
I have reached the point in life where I am known almost exclusively as someone's mother and that, my friends, is fine with me. 

Jessie and I went to lunch afterwards. I really wanted a bowl of Tom Kha soup and so we went to a Thai place. That soup tasted so good. I stopped by the library on my way home, drove back to Lloyd and did all the things I needed to do when I got here. 

And of course, I heard the news about the children in Minneapolis  sitting in pews at Mass being shot, two killed. The killer shot through the stained glass windows. 
The mayor of the city said, "Don't say this is about thoughts and prayers. These kids were literally praying." But don't worry, Donny's got it all figured out- he's ordered all the flags to be flown at half-mast on Sunday. 
Yeah. That'll fix our problem. 

How do any of us go on? 
Because we have to, I guess. 

Going to go make supper. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Adventures In Cabin Supply Shopping

When I got up this morning, the temperature had not even climbed above seventy degrees and the humidity was way less than it has been. This is almost unheard of in August here. And it's been cooler with lower humidity all day which is lovely, but it's also confusing. 
I don't know about you but I seem to have an internal calendar which works in response to temperature and air-feel and it's all out of whack today. I'm having fall-ish feelings instead of the feelings I generally have this time of year when the weather is the most hellish it gets all summer. I'm feeling like I should start looking for the first camellia blossoms and should definitely be getting the fall garden in and isn't it time for Glen to go hunting? 

Well, that part is true. He is leaving on Saturday to drive to Nashville where he's getting a plane to Canada to go hunt some animal and I think he'll be gone for about a week. This is all good except the timing is lousy because the pain in my side is, I am sure, a kidney stone and if it's one of the smaller ones making a play for escape via the ureter, true hell on earth could very well begin and if that does happen, a trip to the ER is absolutely required because, as I always point out, that is where they have the drugs. Also, of course, methods of blasting the stone if it gets stuck but that requires a procedure they do in a surgical unit so it's not going to happen immediately by any means. 
But the point is, if Glen is gone I'll have to call one of the children or all of the children to get a ride and invariably this sort of event always happens around 2 a.m. 

Shit. Why does this always seem to happen? I would say it's all psychosomatic but it's not. It just is not. My mind is not that powerful. 

Moving on. 
The man and I had a day date today. He had errands to run in town and I suggested that we go to the restaurant supply place to pick up some things we'll need in the kitchen at the cabin. We've been planning on doing this. And maybe get lunch? He said that would be great and also, he wanted me to go look at tile with him for the bathroom and perhaps a kitchen backsplash and perhaps a floor for the kitchen too. 
We really have no idea what we want and the only thing we know for sure is the color of the bathroom sink. Colors. 
I actually felt the tiniest bit pretty today, in an old lady way. It has been years since I have looked in a mirror except in the most necessary of circumstances but I am peeking more and more. I have not wanted to see either face or body which I know is incredibly sad but there you have it. I put on one of my favorite dresses which, although is quite loose now, is not absurdly too large, and also my great grandmother's baby natural pearls. 
And flip flops. But my best flip flops. 
It turned out that the world did not notice or care at all but that was okay. I knew I had made an effort. 

We started at the restaurant supply store and got a spatula, two knives, a knife sharpener, a salt and pepper shaker with snappy little lids like they have on the counter at diners, and probably some other stuff I don't remember. I know their knives are probably not the best but I have a knife that I bought there years ago and I use it all the time and it is a fine knife. It keeps an edge and I can sharpen it up if need be. I am picky about knives but I am not a snob about them. I am fairly certain I am not going to be a contestant on Top Chef anytime soon. Is that show still on? 

Then we went and had lunch at the place where I always get the ahi tuna salad which is so good that I have never once been tempted to get anything else. 
We stopped at Goodwill because it was between us and the tile place but I do believe I have used up every drop of my thrifting luck and karma in buying the Fiesta Ware so I found nothing I wanted at all. Glen bought a belt. 

On to the tile place. SO many tiles, so little idea what in hell we want. The woman who was trying to help us only annoyed me because we really did not know what we wanted so it wasn't like I could tell her what we were looking for. Even remotely. We finally made it clear, as gracefully as possible, that we really wanted to just look and gather ideas. And we did. And while we were doing that, we started talking about some border or trim tiles that I'd bought almost thirty years ago because I loved them and they were on cheap, cheap sale. We don't have many of them but...could they be used? They were definitely green, although were they greens that would go with the sink's greens? We took a few pictures of things we liked and decided to come home, check out the border tiles I'd stashed away, and see if we thought we could incorporate those into whatever we decide to go with. 

Hmmm...

The turtle tiles definitely go with the sink but we're not so sure about the wave tiles. I was afraid I would not still love them after all these years and my countless changes in attitudes. 
But I do. I love them. 

So, well, maybe. We don't really have enough to do much of a border, like, say, above the shower, but if we interspersed them with different tiles of the same width, we could make them do. 
We'll see. There were no huge disagreements as we shopped, no cross words were exchanged. I did point out, after he asked if he was going to get any say in this, that he was the one who bought a log cabin in which I had little say. 
He was not amused. I am not sure how long I'm going to be able to use that line but I'm going to keep using it whether it works or not. 

Because it IS true. 

And that's our life as it happened on a cool Tuesday in late August. It was a fine day date and when I came home I did indeed pick field peas. As you can see in the picture above. 

Oh! I must share this. When we were at Goodwill, I saw a Seminole jacket which had been craft-decorated with black sequins. When I say "Seminole" jacket, I don't mean a jacket like a person from the Seminole nation would wear, I mean a jacket like an FSU football fan would wear. 

For your viewing pleasure. 

It is so sad when crafting goes awry. And I should point out that the jacket was at Goodwill so someone had some taste. Or, at least sense. I don't know. I would sort of love to hear that story, though. Do you think someone's G-Maw stitched those sequins on the jacket to give as a gift to a proud FSU grandchild? And that as soon as the G-Maw was in the grave, the jacket went to Goodwill? Or did some woman do this on her own, thinking she'd be the belle of the game and then realizing that no, actually, people were looking away when she wore it and whispering behind their hands to each other? 

We'll never know. But someone did really try. And that's what matters. 
Bless their heart. 

Bless ours too. 

Love...Ms. Moon

You Are Not Going To Be Overwhelmed With This One

I was in Target today, which is probably only the second trip I've made there since Covid, and noticed an entire wall of Performance Sheet Sets. I don't now about you but when I see sheet sets described as "performance" I am taken aback for a second. What kind of performance? Do the sheets perform or is the human who lies upon the sheets supposed to be the performer? If there are two (or more) people in the bed, are they all supposed to perform? 
This seems to put a lot of unneeded expectation on someone who mainly wants to relax and sleep if you ask me. Although if the sheets are performing, what is it that they're doing? Or the humans, for that matter? I know what springs to my mind but that can't be what they're talking about. 
Or can it? 

As with everything, I am overthinking this, I am sure. 

I believe one of my kidney stones is playing up again. You'd think by now I could definitely tell but the symptoms can vary a great deal and they don't always lead directly to the kidney stone diagnosis. And I don't think that if it is a kidney stone, it's in the ureter, but something's going on down there. I've been having bad back and hip pain, a pain in my right side (and I do not have an appendix), and my stomach is not good. When I had that full-blown kidney stone attack some years ago, I got to where I could hardly eat anything. You'd think the two very different locations of stone and stomach would not affect each other but they surely can. 
So I'm a little miserable but was determined to get out into the world. I need to buy some new clothes. That's all there is to it. The problem is, I don't know what kind of clothes. It's a stupid problem but that's why I went to Target. I was not very successful. Plus, I did not have a good time. I got sort of stuck in the store, as one does, moving from one area to another. Do I need a rug? A new lamp? Some toys? Headphones? Cleaning products, make-up, or sportswear? 
Well I don't know. Maybe.
I bought a pack of glitter gel pens. Also two pairs of shorts that although I CAN wear them, I really shouldn't. And one sort of blouse-shirt. It's really soft. 
So that wasn't a huge success. 
On to Publix. 
I am really spending a whole lot less time and money at Publix these days. I consider this a good thing. 

And that was about my entire day. 

Something's going on with my pecans. They're dropping already and they're not supposed to for at least another month. They are quite large and yes, they're green but pecans often drop when they're green. Squirrels are usually the first ones to let us know when they're getting ripe by eating a bite out of each one and throwing them to the ground. These have no bite marks. 
Ellen? Any idea? 

I was going to pick more field peas today but didn't get around to it. I will tomorrow. The marigolds are taking over with their blooms, just as the zinnias have all died. 

Remember my miniature Fiesta Ware pitcher that I got at the dump? I still love that thing so much. What IS it about a miniature? They're just the most charming things. 

Well if this isn't the most boring post I've ever written, I would hate to read the one that is. To make it even less exciting, I will now post a picture of the type of air-fryer/toaster-oven/regular oven that I use. 

Several people asked me. I'm too lazy to look up the model number. Sorry. I am not going to say it's the most well-made counter top appliance I've ever seen or used, or that the quality is outstanding. I'm just going to say it works very, very well for me. 

I shall now end this agony for all of us. 

Love...Ms. Moon

This, That, Tit, And Tat

Glen took this picture yesterday and I forgot to post it. Maurice in the library on her queen pillow throne. I think she likes that specific nest because she is so well camouflaged there amongst the bears. The satin pillow doesn't hurt her feelings either.

I didn't feel like doing a damn thing today and I mostly didn't. Nor do I feel guilty about that which is quite unusual for me. I don't know why I have this constant need to feel that I absolutely must be constructive and productive and use my time wisely without wasting this one and only precious life, if you will. To know that I've earned my salt, that I deserve the air I breathe and the water I drink and the food I eat because I contribute.
Something. Or at least so I tell myself. 
But today it just didn't matter. 
I'm not especially depressed or anxious. I think I just don't care. 

One of the things I'm not caring about today is food. I didn't really care about it yesterday, either. We had leftovers last night which was fine because there were a lot of good ones in the refrigerator. And I was thawing out chicken and had a vague plan to make some sort of pasta with the chicken and a red sauce but the chicken was still mostly frozen when I went to start cooking it and I had no interest in going throw the process of unfreezing it in a bowl of dripping water and all that blah, blah, and I told Glen how I was feeling and bless him- he said, "I have all that pizza left! I'll eat that!" 
Okay. 
I will make a salad and that will be enough. Pizza is definitely a meal on crust, is it not? And oh- I forgot. I did make a breakfast. Biscuits were involved so I did cook. 

Let's just talk about foolish stuff- shall we? 
Stuff like- oh, how much I hate the word "pop" when it refers to a flavor or a color that brings extra energy to a food or a piece of clothing or a room. I don't know why I hate it but I do. It offends me on some deeply primal level. I get the same feeling from it I used to get when I was on a Girl Scout primitive camping trip on a mountain in North Carolina and I had a tent mate who annoyed the hell out of me. The thing she did that annoyed me the most was to refer to her shoes as "tennie-pumps." 
I still feel slightly nauseous when I think of that. 
Petty, I know. And yet, as real and true as a buffalo nickel. 

Another powerfully annoying thing to me is the way even appliances want you to download a goddamned app to control the appliances. Right now (and I may have already bitched about this) I am incensed at the fact that my dishwasher, which is a lovely and expensive dishwasher, requires me to download a "smart" app in order to access certain features on it. I can program it by hand to do regular loads and stuff like that but if I want to just run a rinse- I need the app hook-up. If I want to do a quick speed cycle- I need the app hook-up. 
What the fucking fuck? That makes no sense at all. Just give me the options on the controls. There is no reason on earth I would need to run those cycles via blue tooth. Or whatever it is. 

Okay. What next? 
Oh- this is a positive. I am SURE I've spoken about this before but it bears repeating in my opinion. I absolutely love my toaster oven/air fryer. I have learned that I can bake biscuits or cornbread in it on the oven function in about a quarter of the time it takes in the big oven. And I am not heating up the whole kitchen. And honestly, I think the biscuits I'm baking in it are the best I've ever made. We've already bought one at the cabin and Glen's used it several times. 

Hmmm...
Let me think. 
Okay. Here's another bitch- books, either audio or regular which aren't so bad that you feel no qualms at all about tossing them aside but aren't good enough to really justify spending the time on. I am not a person who when she starts a book feels that she must finish it. I used to be, thinking of the author and all the work and time they put into writing the book but come on- it's a mystery why some books ever got published in the first place AND not all books are for all people. 
This is just a fact. But it's those ones in the middle which are so frustrating to me. Audio books especially because the library does have a limited number of them to borrow and sometimes I feel like I've listened to all the good ones already so if I find one that's not terrible, I'll generally go on listening to the end but I have to admit I sort of hate myself for doing it and when I am done, I'm so glad it's over. 

Guilt. Let's discuss that. In truth, a little bit of guilt does everyone some good. At least that's what I believe. Guilt can motivate us to do something we know we should do and guilt can help us to define what it is that's making us feel that emotion and helping us to understand why whatever it is causing the guilt is a problem for us. Perhaps help motivate us to change things. Or not. But we do think about it.
People who don't experience any guilt are psychopaths. 
I know that's not the word we use any more but it gets the job done. 
I doubt Taco Tits has ever felt guilt in his life. Regret? Oh sure. Regret that he didn't assault even more women or manage to cheat his way into "winning" the 2000 election or that he doesn't have a bigger penis. 
You have to admit he does seem to be obsessed with penis size.
But the kind of guilt I'm talking about here is the kind that makes me feel like I'm a total waste of a human being if I don't suffer for at least an hour a day. Useless guilt. Stupid guilt. Also things like feeling guilty for things done or not done in the past that you can't possibly go back and undo. Like, oh say- things you may or may not have done as a parent. The things that wake us up at two in the morning and keep us awake for hours, fretting and obsessing about the fuck-ups we've made. 
Or is that just me? 

I'm trying to think of another thing I do like very much. Or that is helpful in my life. I did buy a bar of Dr. Bronner's bar soap a few weeks ago that I am enjoying very, very much. 

I have been a big fan of Dr. Bronner's soaps forever. I do what the label on the liquid soaps say which is to dilute, dilute! in those soap dispensers that create foam and I just love it. However, I detest shower gel. I never feel I can entirely rinse it off so I buy bar soap and although Dr. B's isn't the cheapest, I have a strong feeling that bar of soap is going to last well into fall. 

By the way- that is not my hand nor did I take that picture. And please note that lavender is far from the only scent they sell it in and none of them are things like, "Fresh Organic Linen Hung Out To Dry In Caribbean Sea Spray Over Fresh Cut Grass." 
Know what I mean? 

I guess that's enough. I can go make a salad now. I think I'll pick some arugula and different varieties of basil to go in it. I am so pleased to have discovered that arugula will grow all summer long, even in our intense heat, as well as being freeze hardy in the winter. 
I just planted more seeds in one of the canvas bag planters where I've been growing it and if it's anything like all the rest of the arugula I've planted, it will be coming up by tomorrow. I'm not sure about this kind, though. Mr. Moon bought it for me and it seems to be of the "wasabi" variety. I mean, yes, arugula should be nice and spicy and peppery but wasabi strength? 

We shall see. 

Much love...Ms. Moon

Why?

 

I woke up this morning from a dream wherein I was so anxious I had to take some Ativan. In the dream. I took dream Ativan. That was a first for me. 

So I was not in the best mood and when Mr. Moon asked me if I wanted to work today or play today, I said, "Well, I'm sure as shit not working." I envisioned spending a good amount of time on the jigsaw puzzle I've been attempting to complete for at least six months. I've gotten back into it lately and I love the way it stills my busy mind, a different sort of meditation in a way. Different than standing in the river and different than concentrating on my breaths but a respite from the constant thoughts bouncing around in my brain. I tell you this- I will never do a thousand piece puzzle again though. As I have said so many times, I am terrible at jigsaw puzzles. I am not a visual person. Or spatial. But for some reason, I don't get frustrated and I may even get a sweeter hit of dopamine when I find the piece I've been looking for and fit it into place because of my slow ineptness. 

Here I go again. What was I talking about? Oh yes. What we did today. 

Glen is an avid FB Marketplace user. He's bought stuff there and sold stuff, too. He showed me a green and white Talavera sink he saw listed a few days ago (see above) and it wasn't very expensive. Did I like it? 
Sure. I do love Talavera. He's already found some antique something/something that he wants to use as a vanity to put the sink in for the downstairs bathroom at the cabin. He's done that in the bathroom he built here and mine came that way although we replaced the white sink in there with a Talavera one we'd bought in Mexico long ago. I have seen a picture of the antique whatever he bought and it's at the cabin but he forgot to show it to me when we were there last. It's stashed in what had been an office so it's not out in the open. I'm sure it's fine. 
So he got in touch with the lady selling the green and white sink and she was in Perry, Florida, not to be confused with Perry, Georgia. Perry's not that far from here, only about forty miles, give or take. We decided to drive over there today and Glen made arrangements with the seller, and so we did. It's a pretty drive down a rural stretch of Highway 27 and we stopped for lunch at a restaurant where Glen's eaten many times because one of the places he hunts is in a little town called Lamont which is where the restaurant is. A woman I used to be in plays with runs the place with her son and I was curious to see it. Glen has always said it's a pretty good place to eat. I don't now why but I had envisioned a small cafe-like joint with seating mainly at a bar with a few tables here and there and it wasn't huge but it wasn't tiny, either. The decor was...interesting. Christianity was well represented but there were no quotes from Leviticus or anything. Mostly just crosses and so forth. What I'm saying is, is that it wasn't enough to make me want to never go back. 
There was a bar with seating but we sat at a table. They're known for their pizza and have a brick oven but everything from burgers to salmon to salads to collard greens to pasta and other Italian dishes are on the menu. The woman I used to act with is Italian so that's her influence, I would imagine. 

I got salmon, Glen got pizza. We were both happy. It was a very tidy and well-run place and I was glad to have finally eaten there. 

We were driving in rain the last half of our little journey and by the time we got to Perry, we were in a full-blown thunderstorm with the rain pelting down and lightening striking uncomfortably close. We met the woman with the sink at a gas station/convenience store and I have to say it felt almost like a drug deal. Except no drugs, just a sink. But cash WAS involved! Money was exchanged for sink, thank-you's given by both parties, and off we went to our separate destinations, reminding each other to be safe. 

I read out loud there and back, more of "Harlem Shuffle" which I 

started on our trip to North Carolina. There is a lot going on in that book and remembering all of it when you've set the story down for any amount of time is next to impossible for us old people who are sinking into memory loss like a baby into sleep. 
i.e. We are fighting it but we realize the inevitability. 
No worries! I just pick up where we left off and on we go. One trip to the coast and back and we might finish it. 

I've enjoyed this day very much. A drive in the country, lunch in a decent restaurant, getting a pretty sink, reading a good book out loud. 
As always, though, there was the perpetual cloud of fear and horror and sorrow hanging over everything as Cankles McTaco Tits (I didn't make that up, someone else did) continues to stomp all over the Constitution with his extra wide storm trouper boots, holding the hands of all the military might and all the ICE agents he's put in place, and commanding them to all do the same which they blindly do, cheering as they go. 
Well, maybe not all of them. 

We passed a huge TRUMP sign on our way and it all came crashing in on me like the bolt of lightening that felt like it hit our car, and although the feelings of dread are always there, sometimes they become sharpened and darker and those fucking signs trigger that reaction in me. 
"I want to leave this country so bad," I told Glen. 
He held his hand out for me to hold and I did. "We'd have to take the whole family," he said. 
"I know."
And we talked about how when we were kids and learning about WWII and Hitler and the Nazis and the concentration camps our main question was, "Why didn't someone do something? Why didn't someone stop it? Why didn't someone stop him?"

Here we are. Here we are. 

Asking that same question only in present tense. 

Meanwhile, the much-needed rain is falling and the thirsty ground is soaking it up, giving the illusion that all is normal, all is well, when I know damn well it is an illusion. I mean, yes, at this very moment in my yard, in my house, all is well and life goes on just like it did before January. 

Except it doesn't. And I feel like it never will again. At least in my lifetime.

Love...Ms. Moon