Pretty Woman, Pretty Bowls, Pretty Crazy, Pretty Thrilled About Yesterday's Election Results

 

Y'all- this is my pottery friend, Liz. Well, Lizzie. I asked her today if I could take her picture with that bowl for the blog and she said I could. She visits here at blessourhearts and I thought it was time to introduce her and it makes me happy to do so.

That bowl just knocked me over. Here's a closer look.

Remember how I said that the bowl she painted with dogs running on it reminded me of cave paintings a little? Do you see what I mean? Such simplicity of line and yet so much movement in those lines. And get this- she never made drawings like this before she found an under-glazing pen which is what she uses to make them on her bowls. 
One more picture of her. 

No further words necessary. 

It was a good day in pottery despite the fact that the flower bowl I'd started two weeks ago was understandably too dry to work on and to add to that, had cracked in half before even being fired. 
Oh well. I started another bowl and I did everything I could to make sure it's still soft enough to work with next week because it is not done. 

But Jessie? That girl found her groove on the wheel. She sat down and threw seven beautiful bowls, one right after the other. 

As she was leaning over the wheel, shaping her bowls, I said, "Oh Jessie! You look like a potter!"
And she did and she is. 

I got to have another one of those women heart-talks today with the woman sitting beside me working on her own project. My god but I do love to hear people's stories. I am constantly amazed and in awe of the strength of women when they simply tell me about their lives. I know I've quoted this many times but as Yoko Ono said, "Everyone has a story to tell."
Amen. 

Glen is all packed to head back up to Canada tomorrow morning and I hope for his sake that the planes are still flying. I hope for MY sake that if they are, they still will be when it's time for him to come home. I guess that after yesterday's big fuck-you to the orange would-be-dick-tator and the entire Republican party, Trump is doubling down on his cruelties, refusals to negotiate, and insane demands. Not to mention his lies and ridiculous claims of voter fraud. Have we not heard that one enough already?
This is all going to take a while to figure out as even his own minions are not too stupid to see which way the wind may be blowing. 

I tried to start packing for the beach and I swear- I have some severe mental problems with that. I think I believe that if I pack for every eventuality I will have more control over a situation which is out of my comfort zone. Which is ridiculous. Two of our number mostly live in athleisureware and they have NICE athleisureware and another of us favors sweat pants and t-shirts while I, of course, have zero sweatpants and no athleisureware but a lot of pairs of overalls and also Goodwill cashmere and a few linen shirts and aquamarine dresses that are probably going to be too summery for the cooler temperatures. I have one pair of pants that fit fine and some shirts, of course, most fairly ancient. To add to the whole situation, the temperatures now go from quite chilly in the morning to nice and warm in the afternoon. 
What I am saying here is- I probably do not need to take the silk velvet jacket that Lis gave me, do I?
If I took one pair of overalls and those black jeans and a long-sleeved shirt and a short-sleeved shirt, that would be enough, along with underwear and a real jacket. And a nightgown. And a few sweaters. And...

Let's not even get into shoes. Beat to shit crocs and flip flops? That's pretty much what I have. 

And no matter how much I tell myself that none of this will matter in the least, I still lose my mind over it. I KNOW IT WON'T MATTER. I KNOW IT DOESN'T MATTER! So please do not bother telling me what I already know. It will not help. 

I may not take my MacBook to the island. And even if I do, I might not open it. I feel certain the planet will continue to spin around the sun even if I don't. 
Imagine that! 

See you soon. Or, maybe a bit later.

Love...Ms. Moon

No Title

Maurice when I got out of bed this morning. She looked so serene and regal, didn't she? 

So you know how some people, when asked how they're doing say, "Well, any day I wake up and I'm still here is a good day"?
That answer has never really impressed me. It's like asking someone how they'd feel if their mother had had an abortion when she was pregnant with them. 
Wouldn't really be much of a worry, would it? Same thing for being dead. If I don't wake up and I'm not breathing, I doubt it's going to trouble me in the least. I'll just be a little ol' electron of energy or something and I won't be worrying about what to make for supper. 
These are rather depressing thoughts and my day has not really been bad enough to warrant such morbid thinking but, as the woman I used to work with might say, it has kindly sucked.
Only she would not have said "sucked" because like Auntie Em, she was a good Christian woman. But I did love the way she used the word "kindly" instead of "kind of" as I would say. Or, "sorta like."
But yes. Kindly sucky. 
For a few days now the kidney stone has been threatening me with bad behavior and I am almost embarrassed to say this because it always seems to happen when Glen's about to go out of town and I do admit that I could be having psychosomatic pain but I've been having other symptoms which I know well by now which would be fairly difficult to manifest with my mind although I think of people who have experienced the stigmata and I realize the human mind is capable of anything. Well, not bending spoons or stuff like that.

Back to my day. Due to the stone's activity I have just not felt well. When these fuckers move they create an insult to the body, as they say, and many different systems seem to want to get involved and play along. Urinary, of course, gastric, the internal lady parts, etc. And I just ache. And am tired. I'm fairly used to all of this by now but there is always the lingering PTSD of the pain I suffered (and that is the word) some years ago when a different stone got into the wrong place and had to be lasered into grit. This is just the way it is and today has been one of those days. 
And adding to that, Mr. Moon wanted to go up to the lake house to retrieve his truck which has been stuck there for at least a month due to its own ill health. He thought he'd figured out what was wrong with it and took two batteries and twenty fuses with him today. We drove up together and I was to drive the car back after the truck had been fixed. I really didn't want to go but he was dead set on getting up there and bringing his truck back home and if I hadn't done it, he was determined to get a friend of his to drive up with him but this friend has some sort of dementia and not just the kind where you can't remember what you came into a room for but the kind where maybe you're not sure what that room is for. 
I do not mean to make light of this. I fear dementia more than anything, I believe. I recognize signs of it in myself and my mother and my grandmother had it but our friend's situation is undeniable and I was NOT going to let him have any part in this operation. 
Thus- I agreed to go even though I feel like I have so much to do before I leave on Thursday to pick up my darling Ms. T. Joy at the airport and drive us to St. George island. 
Of course I'm probably way over-estimating what I think I need to do but I was not in the best mood on the drive up. I was not ugly in word or deed but I did not say much, just working on patching a pair of overalls. 

The long and the short of it (which now that I think about it would be a terrific title for a book about Glen and me) is that although he got the truck running beautifully, not more than fifteen minutes after we left the driveway, he in the truck, me in the car we'd driven up in, I saw two big puffs of black smoke coming from the truck's tailpipe and after pulling over and a little bit more effort on Glen's part to remedy the situation, it became apparent that the truck was going nowhere under its own speed and so it was left on the side of the road, a tow-truck called, a note put on the wind shield to explain it was being dealt with, and we drove home. 

Sigh.

Bless that man's heart. He does not give up until there really is no other option available to him. 

Here are two pictures I took in the cabin.

NO. That thing must go along with the duck key thingee and whatever that other thing on the wall is. The fire extinguisher should probably stay although not necessarily right there. The table and chairs which I did not get in the picture also will never ever have either a place in my heart or a place in any house I associated with.

Here's what the kitchen looks like right now. Do you dig the big wooden towel ring and the big carved fork on the wall by the sink? 
I don't. We shall not discuss the cabinets. I'm sure I have already. 

At least the horrible kitchen island is gone and there is that stove with the beautiful blue oven. And a very nice dishwasher in which to wash my beautiful set of differently colored Fiesta Ware. 

Obviously we are home now. I have field peas cooking. I am going to make a salad with greens I picked before dark. The tow truck has the situation in hand and shall be here soon. Mr. Moon, our our way home said, "It may be time for a new truck."

I kindly agree with him. 

Pottery tomorrow unless I'm writhing on a floor somewhere, begging for morphine. Which makes me think of a Rolling Stones' song entitled Sister Morphine which is rather appropriate considering my own personal stones. If you want to know how truly morbid I can be, I'll tell you that as I attended my mother as she died, this was the song in my head. 

Morphine eased her out as kindly and as painlessly as is possible. 

Also, I think it is an eerily beautiful song and a testament to two men who experienced what would be its evil power, managed to escape, and then wrote this song about it. 

Mick is 82 now, Keith will be 82 next month. 

The old boys. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Not My Most Exciting Post

Can you guess what that picture is? Up until a minute ago it was the only picture I'd taken all day and in a little while I'll show you THAT picture which will explain what you're looking at. Now don't cheat! Don't scroll ahead.
Hahahahahahahaha! Scroll all you want. 

I got up this morning around 8:15 by the clock and when I went to kiss my husband good morning I said, "I'm adapting to this new time change pretty well, I think!" 
My life is dedicated to making Mr. Moon laugh. And he makes me laugh too. 

The day wasn't spent in what I felt was a very productive way but sometimes that just happens. Glen and I both needed to go to town and we needed to go one place together to get some bank business done, so we met there first. What we'd thought would be a simple, relatively swift situation turned out to take quite awhile and we finally decided to come back later when possibly some documents I needed to sign had come back in. The lady helping us was so very, very good at what she did as well as being kind and tolerant of our old person ways and at one point when she was talking to someone else, I realized that she had a doctor's appointment and needed to get out of there and get to it. She protested, saying, "No, I'm here to take care of you. I can reschedule," but I wasn't having that. She seemed pretty excited about this appointment and she mentioned the doctor's name when she was talking to the other person and I recognized it and had a feeling I knew what she was seeing the doctor about, especially when she mentioned she was getting some results back. 

So off Glen and I went for a quick lunch and then he went to take care of a title and license or something-something involving Owen's car and so forth because he IS the Car Guy, you know, and YES! Owen has his license now for real so understandably he would like to be able to drive his car. 
I went to Publix and stopped into the liquor store to see my Lily at work and then went back to the bank. Glen didn't need to go because I was the only one who needed to sign the documents. Our lady got back just as I got there too and she took me right to her desk and of course because I am the nosiest person in the world, I asked her if she was okay. I could tell she wasn't the same excited woman she'd been when she left. 
"Not for now," she said and I expressed my sympathy and then, even though I knew she was definitely not in the mood, she got right back to trying to get what I needed to do done, typing in this and in that in her computer, on the phone, doing all the technologic things that banking (and everything else) requires today and despite all, it could not be done today. I will get documents in the mail to sign and then take them back to her. I don't care. It's not an emergency situation. 
But then we started talking. Like...two women talking. And she needed to talk. I could tell. And so I mostly listened. She didn't talk about her doctor's appointment but about other things and one of the subjects we discussed was tall men. She'd had a rather tall boyfriend at one time and all of his friends were in the six-to-seven-foot range. By the time we'd exhausted that subject and a few more too, she was smiling, she was laughing and I was so glad. 
It's not JUST Mr. Moon I love to make laugh, you know. 

But Lord, by then it was late-ish and I drove quick-quick to Costco to get gas and buy avocados and sliced almonds but they didn't have the almonds so I just got the avocados. Finally I was on the road home. I am going to make a Chile Verde tonight with some of the leftover pork shoulder that Glen cooked. It was perfection! So I need to roast peppers and tomatillos and garlic and do all that other stuff. 

I am sorry about the absolute beigeness of this post. "And then I went to a bank and then I went to a store and then I..."

Ugh. Well. That is the way it is today. 

Here's the big reveal of what you see in that picture above.

It was a very close photo of the roots of a Swiss Cheese plant sprouting in that green bottle of water. This morning the sun was shining in the window and it got my attention. You can barely see the viney Swiss Cheese plant's leaves, tucked as they are behind the philodendron which continues to grow in a miraculous manner from a very, very small hanging pot that I only remember to water about once every week and a half. The pink blossom is from the arrangement Mr. Moon got me for...what was it? I can't remember now. Just because?  And you can see the little toy menagerie of plastic animals I've found in this yard. The colorful necklace is one Maggie made me several years ago and the other bottles are just bottles I like. Luke Skywalker is in there too, as is a small red car. Can you see them?

Off to go husk tomatillos which is something I have never done in my life. I imagine I'll figure it out though.

Love...Ms. Moon

And What Did You Do With Your Extra Hour?

Here we have a sort of Day of the Dead flower situation although not really. I do call that old vanity my hallway altar. I used to be far more into making altars than I am now. I guess the last vestiges of any spiritual practice have slowly dissolved from my soul. 
Although. 
I will admit that my tortoise shells and seashells and Virgin of Guadalupe and pictures of my babies do bring me comfort so maybe not entirely. 

I will not lie to you- I did enjoy waking up this morning and discovering that it was still quite early according to the change in the time calculation device continuum. I felt indeed as if I had gained an hour. I made us a Sunday breakfast which, by the time we ate it, was closer to noon than eleven, at least by yesterday's time. It gets so confusing. I felt like it took me forever to get it all going. For one thing, I was out of self-rising flour for the biscuits and my baking powder has passed its best-by date. At one point as I struggled to get the biscuit dough made up and cut and in the little skillet I cook them in, I wondered if I was dreaming because one of the main characteristics in many of my dreams is that I have a shit-ton of people to feed and do not have the proper ingredients and I have no idea where the bowls and spoons and knives and cutting boards are kept. This frequently happens on Thanksgiving morning in these dreams as I realize with panic that I have bought neither a turkey or anything else to make the feast and people are already gathering. 
But no, this morning I was not dreaming and eventually I got my biscuits made, along with the sausage and grits and eggs and although I'd worried the biscuits would not rise properly, they did a fine job of jumping to attention in the oven. 

So that was all fine. I did a crossword and some laundry and then I set myself to the task of cleaning out a large drawer in my bathroom which I realized, when I was getting ready for our trip, had a good amount of roach shit in a bottom corner and yes, that is gross, but when you live in Florida...
And if roach shit was going to kill us, we'd all have been dead decades ago.
That's the drawer where I keep my travel toiletry bag and other bags and pouches in which I put jewelry when I travel, most of which I never wear but somehow it doesn't feel like vacation unless I take a few sparkles. I discovered that I have approximately ten of these bags and pouches, all of them dear to me for different reasons and most of them I had forgotten I even owned. There were also four pairs of old glasses which I don't even think the Lion's Club would want. I girded my loins, kept the two most recent pairs and threw out the two oldest. 
That drawer is also where I toss the little bags the dentist office gives to me every six months when I go in for a cleaning. I consolidated all of the tiny toothpastes that were as yet unopened, along with the dental floss. I now realize I will not need to buy toothpaste or dental floss for at least a year. I tidied the band-aids, the Neosporin, and the Hydrocortisone ointment after I dumped out the roach shit and cleaned the drawer, and let it dry. And now that is done.

I swept and did a desultory dusting of things in the bedroom, the laundry room, the guest room, the hallway, and the kitchen. And then, to top it all off, I did a relatively decent cleaning of the newel post at the bottom of the stairs which I have not touched with a rag in years. I got out the Fabuloso and vinegar and I sprayed and wiped and even scrubbed with a toothbrush. 

Someone had illusions/delusions of grandeur when they put that thing in. It's way too fancy for this sort of house. It really needs painting so it doesn't look as good as it should, but hey! it looks better than it did! As an added bonus- the smell of the Fabuloso and white vinegar filled the air for awhile, making me feel doubly virtuous. 

And...that was about it. All-in-all, it probably took me that one gained hour to accomplish all of this and I felt quite satisfied with even that little bit of housekeeping. Somehow my day filled up with other, less productive things and here it is, dark as- well- night, at 6:30. 

Mr. Moon hung about all day, doing this and that but mostly smoking a pork shoulder which requires a great deal of attention. (It's hard to keep those papers lit! Haha. Old stoner joke.) He does love to cook meat outside although it does not happen that often. I've got some sweet potatoes and apples that I'm going to bake together and some broccoli to steam. It'll all be good. 

I haven't talked a great deal lately about the Zepbound adventure but it continues. Despite eating different foods than I normally would in Roseland, there was no weight gain and I felt quite satisfied and happy with what I ate. This all still seems miraculous to me. I get around so much more easily and often even allow myself to look in a mirror! Amazing! It's been years. Sometimes when I look at my face I realize that yes, the lines are more visible, the skin in the neck is even more ridiculous, but for some reason, I do not care. All of that is part of growing older. It is as natural as getting gray hair. 
There is a saying which is supposedly French which is that after a certain age, a woman can have either an ass or a face but not both. This would be without surgery, I am sure. 
And although there is probably truth in that, I have neither ass nor face that would qualify as looking like anything but what they are- parts of a seventy-one year old woman. 
But I no longer have to worry about getting up off the ground while I am weeding and that alone is just about enough to make this whole journey worthwhile. And I will admit that feeling better in my clothes has given me some happiness. There are even overalls that I loved for years that had gotten too tight and which are roomy and comfortable again, and I love that. It's not like I'm fashion-plating all over the place. I just want the clothes I feel comfortable in to feel comfortable. 

Does that make sense? 

It does to me and that's what counts. 

The roses are really putting on a show. Remember that tiny Fiesta Ware pitcher I found at the dump? There you go. 

Soon...camellias. 
Sigh.

Love...Ms. Moon

Another Day In Which, Once Again, I Had Far More To Talk About Than I Thought I Did

I woke up this morning to an empty house save for Maurice. I'd had a horrible dream and was just shaking with taste of it still in my mouth. I did not have one bad dream in Roseland or if I did, I can't remember. But this dream- oh god. I was angry, I was hurt, I was anxious, I was afraid, I was devastated, I was rocked by real events from my past which had morphed into nightmare proportions and no, for once, the stepfather was not a part of any of it. 
I have felt the dream's effect all day long, making me sad for myself, that I have hung on to some of the things that have happened to me that I feel I should have gotten over years and years ago but obviously, I have not, and I think it is that realization which affected me more than the dream itself. These are things not nearly as traumatic as childhood abuse but the older I get, the more I realize that some things are deeply, deeply painful and can settle into one's psyche like some sort of vile parasite, impossible to get rid of. 

The house was empty because Mr. Moon had gone to help Vergil get a deer out of the woods that he'd shot. Vergil was raised vegetarian but now eats meat and he prefers that the meat he and his family eat is mainly venison that he or Glen bring in and process themselves. And so it's a big deal when Vergil gets his deer and I respect the hell out of him for learning how to do that. Glen has been his mentor and he loves to help Vergil with the heavy work. 
So I figured out that my husband was in the woods and so that was okay- he had not abandoned me. The two men got in from the woods and did all the things required to do after a deer is taken and which I mostly pretend is NOT happening because like most of the "civilized" world, I would prefer to think that meat doesn't really involve the death of a fellow creature but that it magically appears on plates in restaurants and on neatly wrapped trays in the grocery store. 

While they were out there doing the things, I made them a sort of egg pie with vegetables and ham, which was nicely sliced and wrapped from the deli section, and cheese. When they had finished their work they came in and ate that along with toast and butter and last year's peach preserves. They were hungry and I was glad to be able to feed them. 

I spent about an hour in the garden this afternoon, weeding my rows of greens and lettuces. Well, I guess lettuces are greens, aren't they? Salad greens and cooking greens, I suppose I should say although the line gets crossed there frequently, especially when it comes to salads and things like spicy mustard greens which are delicious cooked or raw, and kale, because it too can be used either way. 

The marigolds are STILL blooming profusely.

And the volunteer zinnias continue to offer some beautiful color. 

Maurice came out and asked for some garden love while at the same time, making sure I was doing the weeding properly. 

Can you see the African basil still as brilliant green and purple and full of bloom as ever behind her? I have to remember to cut some of that to root for next year's summer garden. 

Lily had a little Halloween gathering last night and I got this picture.

Jessie and Vergil dressed up as Gomez and Morticia Addams. I think they look so incredibly fabulous.

Vergil actually grew that mustache and so still had it this morning which prompted Glen to say, "I better get back out and help Gomez," this morning when he came back to the house to kiss me. 

I'm digging the Grim Reaper's shoes there. 

I have no idea who the character in this costume is except that it is Disney related. 

I do think, however, that we know who is IN the costume. 

I haven't seen the grands in well over a week and I have a feeling they've all grown at least an inch or so in that time. 

I am hoping that all of us have good dreams tonight with no hauntings from the past. We get an extra hour of sleep, should we want it, and that sounds lovely to me although I will NOT enjoy it getting dark so early. Jessie is working a night shift tonight and so instead of twelve hours, she'll be there thirteen hours. Somehow this does not seem fair. It's so odd to me how we humans have decided that we can change the clocks and thus, throw off our entire body clocks simply because WE CAN! 

And I know I have not been speaking about our government lately but I will assure you that I hate that orange piece of demented shit more with every passing day and I did not even know that was possible. 
A Gatsby party at Mar-A-Lago while people are trying to figure out how to put food on the table and keep their health insurance? 
The cruelty to and complete disregard of the citizens he made so many promises to in order to get elected is staggering. 

Rome burns while Nero fiddles. And oh, I could say so much more but I'd rather just go make some cornbread. 

Be kind to yourself.

Love...Ms. Moon

Oh God. From A Cat Tale To Tupperware To The Sacred, Undisturbed Places Of Florida. Plus- Clean Sheets

Maurice is sticking close to us since we got back. I know she likes Mark a lot because he spoils her and also, although she probably wouldn't admit it, because he is an imminently likable person with gentle ways and a kind voice. 

She spent hours on Glen's lap last night while he sat in his chair in the Glen Den. The Father Human! Or however she thinks of him. And she slept with us, cuddled next to me last night. At around seven this morning though, she jumped off the bed and began scratching the under-mattress or whatever you call the thing the mattress sits on, with great enthusiasm while crying loud enough to wake the dead and since we weren't dead, we woke up. It wasn't even really light yet. 
We tried to tell her to stop that nonsense and get back in the bed but she wasn't having it. 
"What's wrong, Maurice?" I asked. "Is Timmy in the well?"
Glen and I both laughed and he got up which I was not well-pleased about, pointing out that he was doing a cat's bidding rather than staying in the warm bed with his wife. 
Oh well. He was ready to get up. I wasn't. 
I think Mark gets out of bed very early and when he's here, he spends some time with Maurice, sitting beside her as she eats the treat he fixes her. This is what I meant when I said he spoiled her. 

But the biggest thing that happened, and I can still hardly believe this, a few minutes ago she came and stood by my laptop as she often does and where she's often fooled me by asking for petting only to then slash and bite my wrist and/or hand. But that's not what just happened today. She bumped my hand with her head, as a cat will do, and I almost unconsciously began to stroke her head and back when suddenly I heard something I really don't think I've ever heard before- the sound of purring coming from that cat. 
No, seriously. She does not purr. 
But today she did. And she didn't bite or scratch me! The whole thing only lasted about half a minute but it was an amazing thirty seconds. 

I got out the Goodwill cashmere this morning. It was that chilly. Forty-something. Cashmere sweaters make winter bearable in my opinion. Can you imagine how poorly I would cope in a place where it really gets cold? But it is a shock to the system to be in a place one minute wearing a sleeveless dress and then the next in a place where cashmere and a jacket are required for outdoor comfort. 

I needed to go to town to get a few things at Costco and at Publix but first I needed to get a few things done around here before I left. Of course those few things took me about four hours due to the number of but firsts that were required to get the things accomplished. 

Jessie had to go to Costco too and so we met there and it was mighty fine to see my youngest. I felt like I hadn't seen her in a month. Neither one of us needed a lot of anything so it didn't take us long. I did linger awhile at a display of Tupperware that excited me a bit inappropriately. A set of 32 containers and lids ranging from a giant one that would hold a LOT of soup to smaller ones, perfect for that little bit of coleslaw you have leftover from supper. And they came in two color combinations. 

They weren't cheap but they weren't exorbitant, either. I could just envision throwing away all my cottage cheese, yogurt, and feta cheese containers and replacing them with these handsome lovelies! 

Oh my. 

I finally decided that I would ponder this situation. And I am. Pondering.

I really do not know which set I would buy because although the blues and the greens are my favorite colors, those two shades of mauve, or whatever they are, were pretty magnificent looking. The orange though? 
Eh.

We went our separate ways after Costco and I went to Publix to get the rest and I was so proud of myself for getting everything I needed and not anything I just casually desired until I got home and realized that I had not gotten cottage cheese which was the main reason I went to Publix to begin with. I even got the cut-up pineapple to go with it! Oh well. I had some plain yogurt with the pineapple this afternoon and that was fine too. That is my regular between lunch and supper snack although the fruit may vary. 

Came home, unloaded and put everything away, made up the bed with the sheets I'd washed and dried, folded the other laundry that was done and put those away. I still have a load to fold in the dryer but I'll get around to it. 

It always happens that after Mr. Moon and I go away together for any length of time, I feel a ripping apart when we get home and go about our separate ways as we live our lives. He had his errands to run, I had mine. This is always especially true after a trip to Mexico where we are together every minute of every day and night which I would think might drive us crazy but instead, makes us realize how much we enjoy each other's company when we have that sort of opportunity. 
This coming week, he will be leaving for Canada. Yes. Again. And the same day he leaves, which is Thursday, I will be leaving to go to St. George Island with my nursing school friends. We have not been able to get together for a few years and I can't wait to be with these women. We are part of each other's bones at this point in our lives, even if we don't see each other often and when we come back together, we immediately fall into our places, our spaces and it feels like a sort of miracle and is always a joy, even though of course I am anxious as hell about it. I know, however, that I will be fine and far more than fine and this weekend will be one of the most deeply emotional and wonderful weekends of my life. That's just the way it is. 
One of us has a very serious medical diagnosis and has had for years. As time progresses, she is learning to cherish that which is the most important, and to let go of that which is not. I feel so very honored that I am part of what she deems worthy of her time and effort. She is without a doubt, one of the dearest loves of my life. 

So. That's what's going on. I keep thinking about the last full day Glen and I spent in Roseland. We saw signs for a state park I'd never heard of but the name itself was intriguing. St. Sebastian River Preserve. The St. Sebastian is my river, the one I've taken so many pictures of while watching the sun go down. And since we had the time and nowhere we had to be, we went there. We mostly drove through it but I would love to go back and hike some of the trails and explore it all a little more. At the end of the road we stopped and got out of the car. No one else was there. It was so peaceful and was, to my south Florida girl eyes, so beautiful. 

When I talk about palmetto scrub, this is what I mean. So very, very different from what I am sure people envision when they think of Florida. But a part of Florida I feel at home around. And there are so many different parts of that one rather small park. 

"Pine flatwood are the focal point of the preserve, serving as a backdrop to over 23 different distinct natural communities. Cypress domes, Strand Swamps, scrub ridges and the other natural features are home to over 70 listed species of threatened flora and fauna."

These are the places where "The Yearling" took place. These are the places that the goddamn "planned communities" are being built, the pines, the palmettos, the muhly grass, and all the other native plants which protect our very planet, not to mention Florida's delicate eco-system and wildlife, are being completely destroyed along with the fossils of mastodon, the shards of pottery made by some of the earliest inhabitants of the area, and everything else that means a fucking thing. 

Well. At least there is this one place so that our grandchildren will be able to see what it used to look like. What it looked like when I was a kid. 

For now, at least. 

I'm going to go cook some fish and grits which is certainly a meal that the families in "The Yearling" would have recognized. 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Back To This Reality

That was the picture I took this morning when I was leaving the sweet cabana house. I love that courtyard. I love everything about the way Glenn has mixed jungle and civilization and cherished the old in such a way that every turn, every step, is an experience of interesting lushness.

So yes, we are home. We drove home with a not insignificant coconut palm in the back seat. 

Glenn gave it to me. It's been babied from a coconut that sprouted some years ago down by the river where a huge coconut palm drops its coconuts. I am so thrilled to have it. I am going to baby it myself and it will become part of my very own, very small Roseland garden with mangos, the sea grapes, the traveler's palm. He also brought us a good chunk of cake his husband baked and I can't wait to taste it. 

But you know what the best thing Glenn gives me is? 

His hugs. I hug him so tightly and he he hugs me back just that hard. 

The drive home was fine. I had finished reading the book we'd started on our way up to NC last summer and had brought along "The Yearling," the book by Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings. I have probably read this book at least ten times throughout my life and I know I've read it out loud to Glen once. But as soon as I started reading it, the beauty of MKR's writing enfolded both of us again. Her ability to describe Florida's wildlife along with the lives of the people who settled in some of the wildest parts of the state is absolutely unparalleled by anyone else. And the way she captures character and writes dialogue is a dream for someone who loves to read out loud.
I could go on for days but I will not. I'm tired. I'll just say that Glen loves the book too. 
Every time I read it, I am reminded once again of how I felt as a child growing up in a fairly wild part of Florida and how much that has influenced me throughout my life. That appreciation of nature, of the wildlife, of the people who, for some damn reason, decided that this wild, often-cruel land was where they wanted to be above all other places. 

Since I've been home I've of course felt I had to unpack everything, put everything in its place, start laundry, and make...a...soup.

Oh my lord. See- here I am, back again, judging myself on what I have done that was constructive. 
I do not like this Mary as much as I do the Mary I have been the past week, just taking each moment as it came, enjoying each of those moments for exactly what they were. 
And you know what? I did laundry there. I did cook meals there. I made the bed. I tidied up. I did dishes and even grocery shopping. But none of it seemed to be a burden. It was just...life. 

Here's what I was seeing out of the car window as we drove north on Highway 1. 

That is the Indian River which is part of the intracoastal waterway which was the other river I loved as a child. 
Two rivers, an ocean. Jungles. 

I think Maurice is glad we're home. I know we'll be glad to get into our big beautiful bed tonight. The duck will be involved. It's supposed to get down to 44 degrees tomorrow morning. 

Sigh. 

We're home. Or, we are at my other home to be more honest.

Love...Ms. Moon

Tuesday, Then Wednesday

Mr. Moon went on a fishing trip today with a guide on a lake in Fellsmere. I grew up hearing of Fellsmere but honestly, have had little knowledge of it. I just googled it however, and what an interesting town! It is supposedly known as the "most Mexican town in Florida" and is where the first woman in the deep south was legally allowed to cast a vote. Zena M. Dreier. 
It is also, I will have you know, the home of the Fellsmere Frog Leg Festival. 
Do not laugh. Frog legs provided many an early Florida settler with the protein to survive. 

Anyway, he got up so early the sun hadn't even thought of coming out yet and had, according to him, the very best day of bass fishing in his entire life. It was all catch and release and I have a feeling that if right this second after that day on the water, it wouldn't take a whole lot for me to convince the man that we needed a house here. River fishing, lake fishing, ocean fishing! 
Is it heaven or what?

So I thought I'd walk up to the Methodist Church thrift store but discovered they were closed on Tuesday and decided to just do a little ramble which I did. I walked down the road that linked my house to my best friend Lucille's house as a child which we would walk each other home on, sometimes three or four times before we tired of it. Back and forth. 

I wanted to stop by the house I lived in again. I wanted to see if I could make my way through the overgrown plants to peer into windows, to see if anything I remembered was still the same. 
Lord, the place is creepy. I swear to you, it's almost as if the evil that happened there has taken over a sweet little white stucco house and turned it into a brown-wood paneled, windows-boarded-over, vegetation-taken-over, dark place of dread. 

You know the little sea grape plants I started from seed I am so proud of? Those thick limbs and trunks are from a mature sea grape, grown tall and thick enough to block sight of the house. I saw NOTHING I recognized. Not a tree, not a hibiscus, not a window showing me a terrazzo floor, not a bright, airy screened in back porch, not the tree I climbed and read whatever book I could get my hands on. 
Gone. All gone. Different additions, Doors where there were none before, windows that are made of bubbly glass so that even though they weren't boarded over, you could not see in. 

You can barely see the house from the road. 

Somehow, though it didn't trigger me. Perhaps because it WAS so different. If it was still a pretty little house surrounded by hibiscus and surinam cherries and periwinkles it might have felt like too much of a wrongness.
On I walked. 

The road in the first photo is the same white-sand road we used to drive to the bowling alley in Sebastian. Ercildoun Bowling Alley where my mother was on a league sponsored by the Last Chance Grocery Store. 
I am not making this up. That bowling alley was about the coolest thing in a twenty mile radius. Now the road dead ends in the Kelso Medical Complex and that's a whole other story involving Dr. Kip Kelso, the man who was the only physician between Vero and Melbourne. 
I was terrified of him and if I am to be honest, I don't know why but my terror of all things medical may stem from something that happened involving him although I don't think it happened to me. 

As I walked, names came back to me of the people who had lived in the houses I passed. Why I can't remember the name of someone I met last week but can indeed remember the name of the people I knew as a child is beyond me but I know is a sign of old age brain. 

Rosa Garrett, Riene and Oliver, Helen and Ed Kretschmer, Joy and Ralph Holtzclaw, Betty Mockridge, the Volkers, Micky, Dicky, Lucille, Helen, and Paul Ferger and their mother, Josephine. Aunt Katy who was a thousand years old who sat on her porch and told us young'uns the story of how Roseland came to be named by her father. 

"Uncle Larry" the man who lured me and Lucille into his little sports car and touched our not-yet-breasts and whom we had trusted because he was a friend of Josephine's, and Lucille and I never, ever talked about that. 

Nelly Campbell, who was the post mistress for a long time. 
My brain easily gives up these names and if I do not drown in the memories, I am at least washed in them. 

******************

Wednesday Night

I never finished last night's post but that was the sunset. I swear, it won't look like anything dramatic and then you look through the camera lens and you're seeing the damn Rapture. 

There is so much more I want to add to what I was writing about yesterday. And I will. I am filled with all of these things. 

Today has been one more perfectly beautiful day. This has been the sweetest get-away I can remember having with my husband. It has been the most laid-back week with no pressure from either of us to do anything. We have laughed so much, we have loved so much, we have been as childish as seven-year olds, we have been as tender as new sweethearts and as silly as seven-year olds. 

We have been sitting on the dock over my river every night. And every night I have been filled with gratefulness that my soul can be so incredibly overwhelmed with a sense of peace that nothing else can bring me. 

The river tonight was a mirror, there was no wind at all. And the stillness brings a different sort of beauty than the evenings when the breeze riffles and even white-caps the river. 

An osprey perches on a branch overlooking the shore every night and makes its whistling call. 

I think she is a juvenile and I wonder if she is calling for her mate or for a parent. I hear the anxiety in her voice, the worry. I know how that feels. I know she's fine. And yet...
I hate to leave the dock while she is still there. I want to know all is well with her. 

As much as I love my home in Lloyd, I hate leaving this place. 
I love it so much. 

And I love being alone in a world of our own with this man. 

Tomorrow we pack and drive home. 

Sigh. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Day Four

This is the bed Glen and I are sleeping on here at the Cabana House. I do believe it is a double bed and I realize that most couples used to sleep on double beds, mainly because that was the biggest mattress made, but I feel certain that given the choice, they might have opted for a Queen-sized. Or even King. 
That's really neither here nor there but the fact is, Glen Moon is absolutely too big for that bed and to make sure his legs and feet are entirely on the mattress, he needs to sleep in a sort of diagonal position and thank goodness that I can scootch over and somehow we are making it work. It's not torture, but we really will appreciate our bed at home all the more when we return. 

This is what the sky looked like this morning when we walked down to the house which may be for sale at some time in the near future. The possibility of that came up perhaps a year or so ago and we talked to the owners then. Our beloved landlord here (shall I start calling him by his name, which is Glenn?) told us about it as he knows the owners. 
But you know how life is and Roseland is at least a six hour drive from home for us and unless we spent half the year here, how could we justify such a purchase? 

And so much more. 

I have lusted after this house for my entire adulthood. I remember it well from when I was a child. It was "the Curtis house" and Mrs. Curtis lived there and it was the house catty-cornered across the street from Granddaddy and Granny's house, their property adjoining Mrs. Curtis's. It was a small-ish cottage, a cabin, a typical Florida home from when people were just really getting settled here on the river. 
So. You know. 

It is precious. 

There is also an addition to the left of what you see there which has two more bedrooms and a bathroom and a living area which are nice spaces, but nothing I'd get too excited about except for the fact that the family could come and stay. It's connected to the cottage by a screened-in porch/outdoor room/breezeway which is truly lovely. The place where I'd probablyspend most of my time if we lived there. 

Anyway, obviously we got to see it today. I texted the owners and told them we were in town and that if they hadn't sold the house we'd love to come and look at it. They were so very, very gracious and said, "Yes. Yes of course," and so we walked the perhaps a quarter of a mile down the white sand road from here. 

I was too shy to take any pictures but I did love it. Small- as houses were then for most people. One bedroom in the cottage, one bathroom, a tiny-ish kitchen, and a living area. There is a small pool which was sparkling and beautiful out back as well as a dock which needs a lot of work. It's quite close to the railroad bridge but not as close to the train tracks as the house we live in now.

Oh sigh. 

The owners are lovely people, wanting to move to Tallahassee, of all places, to be near family. They've lived in Roseland for many years and I know they will miss what they have here. 
They are obviously as liberal and left-leaning as we are. We didn't discuss politics but I could tell. And they are members of a Universal Unitarian Church and that says a lot. There were Jimmy Carter pictures on their refrigerator. And those solar panels? They power the charger for their electric vehicle. 

I saw an emerald green hummingbird in the firecracker plant you can see in the photo, and there are avocado trees, and a mango. 

Roseland. So very, very Roseland. 

On our walk home, we walked by the house that Granddaddy built for my mother and my brother in me around 1960 and it was horribly depressing. It is vacant and it was painted brown years ago, and the jungle has almost overtaken it. I knew no one was living there so I walked around to the back of the house and windows were boarded up and there was no way for me to see inside. I did not make my way through the jungle to part of the house where our bedrooms were. If there is one place in Roseland that feels malignant to me, that house is it. That's where we lived when the abuser came into our lives. 
I wondered if there had been meth making there. I thought about the terrazzo floors which I saw being made by men throwing small, colored stones into wet cement and then rolled over. I thought about the white stucco the house was coated in that seemed to have a glitter and a gleam to it. I thought about what it was like to be able to live in a brand new place with my mother and my brother and how many really terrible things happened while we were there. 
I do have some good memories of living in that house but I surely do have some hard ones. 

Here's a picture of the view from where we ate in Vero today on the shore of the Indian River. 

God, I do love a bridge. 

Brad the Beautiful came by to see us when we got home. 

I offered him some of the peanuts I'd bought on Glenn's recommendation for him. He seemed to have no interest. 

How can anything be this beautiful? 

About an hour later he was eating the peanuts after having pooped on the walkway in front of the cabana. 

Paradise. I am in paradise. 

The sky tonight. 

It is always magnificent. 

Love...Ms. Moon