Pretty Darn Good For A Sunday

When people ask me what I write about on my blog I never know quite what to say so I usually say, "My life."
That's a pretty broad description though, isn't it? I write about the things in my life, the things that make up my life, the people who are in my life. I write about food and politics and religion and music and books and the little community I live in here in North Florida. I talk about the hard things that happened to me as a child and the things that have saved my life over and over again. I write about my yard and what I do in it, what I see in it. I write about my garden and what pleasure it brings me to grow food for us to eat. I write about saints and assholes and demons, mental illness, worries, fears, and things I hope make people laugh and I write about my cat and my kidney stones and what I make for supper. I write about marriage and my husband and I spend way too much time talking about some of these things. 
Oh well. 
I almost never know what I'm going to write about when I sit down at my laptop. I'll usually have a photo that often triggers a thought, a memory, an experience, an idea, an opinion. When my life is very quiet and I am spending a lot of time at home, the photos can become uninspiring, to say the least. I use pictures of Maurice way too often because she is always here and when I am alone, she is my companion, the being I talk to and cuddle with, the pain in my ass, a comfort to sleep with. 
And I took the picture up top there today when she was nested on the sheets I'd used to wrap my plants when we got the freeze last week. I'd brought them in and set them in the green chair with the crazy scarf I got at the hospice resale store because there was no way I wasn't bringing that home. She napped there for hours. I believe she knew she looked good. Green is a beautiful color for redheads and gingers, don't you think? Not to mention the jungle theme going on which I am sure she believes she's a part of. 

Today has been a much better day than yesterday. I have felt reasonably content and happy and open to life in ways that I definitely was not yesterday. I am so glad. I would like to say here that when I discuss sexual abuse or being triggered or any of that stuff, I am definitely not looking for sympathy. I've been living with this shit since I was nine years old and sometimes things happen that bring the emotions back in full but I am always and forever aware that I have learned to cope and soon enough the mechanisms by which I do that kick back in and I feel better. I am also aware that there are a horrifying number of women, and also men, who were abused as children who live with these issues, some so damaged and who are not able for whatever reason to get the help they need or perhaps do not respond to any sort of treatment, whose lives are an absolute nightmare. I am one of the luckiest survivors, I think. 
I just happen to talk about it. 
But don't cry for me, Argentina! I have lived through it, learned to live with it, and have a pretty amazing life. 

So that's that for now. 

Now this is a pleasing photo, isn't it? 
Hahahahahahaha! 
Yesterday and this afternoon I got out the garden cart, my trowel, gloves, and clippers and got back to work on the bed in front of the fence to try and clear it of crocosmia which we all know is my main hobby and also, impossible to achieve, thus ensuring the fact that I'll always have something to do here. We are so dry that the dirt is powdery and easy to dig through, probably because of all the many, many years of leaf mulch. So I trowel and then go through the loosened dirt like a miner looking for gold in a stream except that I am looking for those stupid bulbs in the dirt. I am now wondering if I might plant border grass in these areas which also takes over spaces and can choke out almost anything. It can also be cut like grass so it can look fairly tidy. Replacing one invasive plant with another doesn't sound like the wisest thing to do but needs must, as you Brits say. Well, I think you say that. 

I washed the duck today as well as the quilt. It's not going to be as cool at night for the next week or so and I may have to take one of those things off the bed. I do like a plethora of covers but I don't like waking up and feeling like I've been miniaturized and am roasting in an Easy Bake Oven. 
I have a story about an Easy Bake Oven but I'm not in the mood to tell it tonight. It is not a happy story and so I shall leave it for another time. 

Here are two pictures that I took while working outside. They are both of trees across the street from me and what I was looking at when I raised my head from the dirt and roots and bulbs I was so focused on. 

I am so very, very grateful to live in a place where I am surrounded by such holy beings. 
And also, to have neighbors like the man whose name I think is John Henry who drove by on his green bicycle today, holding a Slushie, who called out, "How are you today?" and I said, "I'm GOOD! How are you?" And he said, "I'm fine!" and he smiled as bright as could be, waved his Slushie-holding hand and pedaled on down the street to his place. 

It's a decent life. Not always too exciting but often quite pleasant. 
And oh! Levon called me today. We had a good conversation. He got to see a white tiger yesterday and they are very rare! I know this because he told me. 
Also, basketball is going well. I was glad to hear these things as reported by my youngest grandson who was born a full grown man in a baby costume. His mother reports that he is pushing every one of her buttons. I assure her that one of these days he is going to be a mama's boy and worship the ground she walks on. 
She is not convinced. Time will tell. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Trigger Warning: Sexual Abuse Of Children

Here's what the pizza looked like last night before it was baked. 

And here's what it looked like on my plate. 
It was gourmet! 

And all of that was good and fine from the making of it to the eating of it but today has been not great. 

I had a very hard time making myself get out of bed. This is not my normal. I mean, I love to laze about for a few minutes but then I get up and get going. This morning I could not think of a good reason to leave the warm, womb-like comfort under the covers. Maurice was laying on my legs, as if to say, "Hey, be a cat with me. Sleep all day if you want."
I did eventually get up, of course, and I thought about those memes telling us that sometimes getting out of bed in the morning is a feat of almost super-human strength. 
They do not lie.

I'd had a dream and it is still pretty sharp and clear. It was about the house my mother, brother, and I lived in in Roseland which my grandfather had built for us. Eventually, the stepfather moved in too, when he and my mother were married which is when the abuse began. Immediately. It's like in marrying the mother, he now had a right to the daughter as well, or least in his own twisted mind.  
In the dream I went back and explored it again after having done a brief walk-around it last month when we were in Roseland. I wrote about that HERE.
Unlike on that day when I could see nothing of the interior of the house, in the dream, the inside was accessible, and although everything was a bit dark as if viewed through sunglasses, I could see the terrazzo floors, the pine paneling with its knots and grain and it looked exactly like I had remembered/not remembered from when we first moved in. The bathroom had the same horrid beige tile bordering tile speckled with beige, and the pass-through window between the kitchen and living room had been boarded up. There was someone with me in the dream and I do not know who that was. They seemed to be a neutral presence and I told them about how the terrazzo floor had been created and how Ralph Holzclaw, who'd done the electric wiring, had been there the day they plastered over the walls and he expressed that this was a stressful day because if he'd made mistakes, it would be hard and expensive to fix them. 
How and why do I remember things like that? I believe I was about six years old. 
So I told this neutral person, this unrelated witness, all of these things as we went from room to room but we could not get into the bedrooms and I was disappointed and I was vastly relieved.
We went outside and where Granddaddy's house had been (and still is) they were leveling the lot, the jungle having been removed, and were going to build some horrible thing there. I was so upset but I knew this was how it is and I felt deep grief. 

I have a completely different dream version of Roseland than what it actually looks like and it always involves so much new construction, the changing of the river, and a huge population of people who have moved there and live in those newly constructed apartments and houses and eat in those newly opened restaurants and who have the boats that clog up the river. 
I hope with all of my heart that the house I lived in does not become a part of that dreamscape. The brown house. The place that was ruined forever by a man who abused a little girl. 

Which brings me to what's triggering me right now and I suppose you can guess what that might be. Do I even need to say it? 
Those files. Those e-mails. 
Those men. 
I would like to say that if this is the thing that brings Donald Trump down, if it crashes the entire travesty that his evil empire has engendered, it's all worth it but you know what? 
It's not. 
I think about the men who raped and abused and bought and sold children and who have gotten away with it for all these years and I am enraged. 
I think about all of the little girls who got caught in this net of horror and were completely unable to escape and what they suffered and how they suffered and how they still suffer and what they still suffer and what they will always suffer and I want to see every one of those men tried and found guilty and imprisoned for life. 
And they won't be. Trust me. Some may get some country club jail time but most will slip under the velvet rope of fortune and privilege and fame and influence and the very fact that they are men and you know that's true. 
But here's another part of the atrocities- every girl who was bought and sold, every child who was abused and raped had a mother and a father who allowed this to happen. I do not care what stories those parents were told or what dreamy, beautiful lies they were given or promises made. Any parent who allowed their child to fly to that island, to party with grown men no matter their names or positions or status, any parent who turned a blind eye to any of that played a part in allowing it to happen and was a participant too. 
This is probably an unpopular opinion but it is mine. 

Here's another thing- we all KNEW Trump was involved in the pedophilia but the thing that is going to probably take him down was the fact that he may have had consensual sex with a former Democratic president. That, doing gay things, is more horrifying and disgusting to so many people (mostly men) than what was done to children. 

And this is what I've been thinking about today which probably explains why it hasn't been one of the best days of my life. 

But I'm still here and will be tomorrow, most likely. 

Let's all take care of ourselves, okay? 

Love...Ms. Moon

In Which I Totter And Dodder Through My Day

That is the only picture I have taken so far today. I've been having Christmas and Thanksgiving Cactus envy and when I saw a display of them budded up at Publix for about three dollars, I bought one. I have killed every other one of those things I've ever had but I'm going to repot it and then ignore it and see how that goes. 

I can barely remember what I did today. It being Friday we can assume I washed sheets. I did something I don't usually do which is was to put different sheets on the bed than the ones I took off and laundered. When I made up Ms. T. Joy's bed last week, I used the "good" sheets which are so soft and yet crisp and delicious and that reminded me of how much I do love good bedding. Lately I've been getting mine at Costco which is fine, the sheets are very adequate if a little skimpy when it comes to the width of the top sheet but they're just not that...mmmmm...you know. I only have two sets of the higher quality sheets which are both years and years old and I put one of the sets on the bed today and I have made a vow that I will absolutely be buying another set in January when the white sales happen.

If I don't spend all my money on new overalls and Crocs. 

I also washed my porch tablecloth and that always feels good. I don't do it nearly enough. Mostly what gets on it is cat hair and dead insects and the occasional spider poops. 
Yes. Spiders poop. 
Here's a picture I just took of Maurice perched beside the MacBook on it.

Remember when I got this tablecloth at Goodwill? Why would anyone want to get rid of it? I don't know but I'm glad they did. 

I went back to Publix and also to Costco today. I was almost out of Temptations which Maurice would not stand for. Also I wanted to get cranberries and an orange and pecans for the Thanksgiving cranberry relish. Plus I got other stuff. I think I am becoming a food hoarder. That must be a thing, right? 
It's not completely out of hand yet but let's just say my freezer is full and the pantry is close to that. I really need to not buy anything else until we've eaten through a lot of what we have. I don't know why I've become this person. I've always had enough to eat except for a few periods of time back in the old, old days and that was never very serious. I did learn, however, that sweet and sour garbanzo beans are not very good. 
Lesson learned. 
So I don't know where this compulsion to always have a lot of food on hand comes from. I'm not even eating that much these days! I really need to pay attention and not get as crazy about it as I could.

So remember on Wednesday when I felt so good because one woman called me "pretty lady" and another woman told me how much she loved my overalls? 
Well, I came crashing back down to reality today when I had not one but TWO people ask me if I needed help. One at Costco, one at Publix. 
Excuse me? 
The situation at Costco was that I had self-scanned my items and was loading them back into the cart. All had gone well. I tapped my card in the right place. I'd even remembered to take my receipt. But as I was putting the stuff in my cart I noticed a cart in front of me parked in the snack bar part of the place which had at least thirty pounds of bananas in it. I guess I was studying those bananas pretty closely, wondering why someone would buy that many bananas and figuring maybe they had a smoothie business or a restaurant where they made a lot of banana pudding or a bakery where they made banana bread. Something. 
But as I was pondering, the woman whose cart it was asked, "Do you need some help?" I thought I'd misheard her. And then I thought she was really asking me why the hell I was so fascinated by her bananas but when I said, "I'm sorry, excuse me?" she said "Do you need help?" again and she sounded very sincere. 
"Uh, no. But thank you," I said and wheeled on out of there. There wasn't even anything heavy in my cart. I told Jessie about this and she suggested that I may have had a look of bewilderment look on my face. That perhaps I have resting puzzled face. This was news to me. I told her that I thought it was more of a curiosity face. That I PONDER things. She agreed this could be true, meanwhile probably updating her research on care facilities.  
The other incident happened when I was reaching for some espresso on a top shelf at Publix. I wasn't having any damn problem at all getting that coffee off the shelf when a woman, who was not young herself, said, "Would you like me to get that for you?"
What the fucking fuck?
I'M the one who asks people if they need help. I'm the young and spry one. Right? RIGHT?
Jesus. 

Oh well. People just trying to be kind and help the elderly. 
But I do admit it that it hurt my pride a little and I need to get the fuck over that because I will be needing help at some point and when that happens, I hope it's as graciously offered.
I'm not really as nice as that last sentence makes me sound. 

Here's a picture of Mr. Moon. 

He really is a handsome man. 
He's having a wonderful time, tromping through the snow, being happy. But he does say he misses me. 

He probably misses his bed and his cat and his chair, too. But hopefully, he misses me the most. 

And that's it for tonight. I'm going to make a pizza-like dish with leftover naan dough as a base, some roasted tomatoes, pesto, artichoke hearts, etc., etc on it. I will eat it with fresh garden greens on top. 
I think it will not suck. 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

My Hands Grow Witchier Every Day

I caught that picture of a dancing rainbow when I turned on the sprinklers in the garden today. It's as perfect a rainbow as I think I've ever seen, all the colors of Roy G. Biv identifiable. We are still so dry here with no rain in the forecast until a week from tomorrow and we all know that's an iffy proposition to predict this far out. I really do not want to lose my winter greens for lack of water. They are by far the hardiest plants we grow in the garden but even they need some help and attention. 

I spent some time outside today, doing a few little things. I hauled the cardboard and paper products out to the burn pile, making more room in my pantry because that's where we stash those things. I unwrapped the plants I wrapped on Monday and then I watered them too. We are back to more temperate temperatures here for awhile, at least. While I was on the porch I decided to sweep it and so I did. That gave me a lot of pleasure. As I was sweeping, I heard a "Hey! Hey!" and a neighbor from down the road was walking by. I think his name is John Henry. He's a cheerful fellow and if he sees me in the yard, he always stops for a word or two. Today he told me, after pleasantries had been exchanged, that my house needs painting and that he knows how to do that.
"I know," I said. "Talk to my husband." 
"What's his name?" Mr. Henry asked. 
Ooh boy. I know for sure that Glen is not going to hire some guy as old as he is to paint this house and beside that, there's so much work to be done before the first brushstroke. And no, we have not heard from Floyd for quite awhile.
Sigh.
Anyway, I quickly said that we had someone lined up to paint which was sort of a lie but sort of not because Floyd had mentioned that his sister has her own painting company and I'd love to use her if possible so...

Maurice followed me around outside as she does, suddenly appearing as if by magic, always acting as if she had no interest in what I was doing but merely happened to be in the same place at the same time as I was.

She has been sticking close to me, even following me into the bathroom when I get up in the middle of the night to pee. I am grateful for her concern but I am capable of finding my way there and back in the dark. I feel as if I truly have a familiar these days and realize how and why that word came to be associated with the cats of older women. 
Old women. Witches. Whatever. I raise my gnarled hand in solidarity. 

The oddest thing I did today was to online shop. I ordered two more pairs of Duluth's heirloom gardening overalls in different colors than I have now and in a smaller size. Overalls which are too big are not really a problem. I mean- they are, by definition, a fashion faux pas so who cares? 
Then, because all of my denim overalls are actually WAY too big to wear, I ordered a pair of Levi's overalls and while I was at it, I ordered a pair of their jeans but I am almost certain they will not fit. If I think I am going to lose enough weight to wear them eventually, I will keep them. If not, I will send them back without one regret or feeling of inadequacy. I promise. 
And THEN, because I have made peace with Crocs, I ordered another pair of those. Jessie and I laughed yesterday when Lily pointed out that we were ALL three wearing Crocs. I know they are the ugliest shoes ever invented but they are also the most comfortable shoes ever invented. For me, at least. I will wear the ones I have worn for several years now at home and my new ones will be for fancy stuff. 
Well. Going out in public. 

And all of that was a lot. Of money, yes, but I do not feel guilty in this instance for spending it on myself. Of energy- also yes, because it is hard for me to spend money on myself. 
Fuck it. Mr. Moon gets hunting trips, I get new overalls and Crocs. 
Fair is fair. 

A man I've known for about fifty years died yesterday. We were not close in any way, shape, or form, but he made a more recent appearance in my life when Lily and Jason moved to the house where Maggie was born and where Jason is living now because this man lived on the same road. 
I talked to his former wife today on the phone. They have not been married for so many years but remained very, very good friends and she has been one of the main people taking care of him throughout the past many years when he has been sick. As she told me today, "You know I would do anything for Lee."
And she would. 
And she did.
One of the things that has really stayed with me about him is that he told me once that he'd just been on tour with the Rolling Stones. This was at least thirty years ago. He said he had been their weed man and I believe it. He was a grower, not only of weed but of garlic and basil and many other things. He and the dirt had a very good relationship.  I've always wanted to ask him for more details on being on tour with the Stones but never had the chance. I know he did say something about Keith Richards and what a wild man he was. 
I have no doubt. 
I am sorry Lee is gone but he is no longer suffering. He has been released. Sounds like he had a good death, surrounded by people who loved him, whom he loved. We would all wish for that, I think.

As we get old, we go through this more and more- the loss of people we have known, some of them very dear to us, some of them mainly old acquaintances whose stories are intertwined with ours. In a way, it feels like pieces of ourselves are being peeled away, leaving us more vulnerable somehow as the members of what was once our community leave us. 
It is a strange and sad feeling but it is also part of being human. This is how it goes. 

*********

Commenter Beverly asked if I could post the recipe I use for the naan bread and so I shall. I originally got this recipe from the New York Times recipe and cooking app but you can find it other places online. 
The link for one of those places is HERE.
I have found it to be adaptable. If you don't have yogurt, you can use buttermilk or sour cream, for example. Also, instead of making and kneading the dough as instructed, I put all the ingredients in the food processor and just pulse it until it is lovely. 
Lazy? Hell yes. 
Does it work? Quite well. 

Tonight I believe I will cook some salmon and quinoa and asparagus with a salad to go with. When I talked to Mr. Moon a few hours ago, he told me that he'd been the cook for the guys last night and they voted his dinner the best so far. 
He had ordered a calzone in a restaurant for lunch which had been huge. He only ate a small part of it, brought it back to the cabin, heated that up and divided it into fourths and made a salad with many, many vegetables in it. 
I am proud of him. 

Picture from my front yard.

Florida. 

Love...Ms. Moon

I Talk Too Much

Pottery day starts early. The class begins at 9:30 but no one cares if you come in late. So there's really no pressure but you do want to take advantage of all the hours in the studio you are given. So I get up at 7:00 and attend to my needs and my rituals before I leave for town around 8:40, usually. It takes maybe a half hour to get to Jessie's and I like to talk to her sweet pup, Sophie, for a minute and Jessie's usually still getting ready and cleaning up her kitchen. Of course she's already gotten up, made sure the boys are fed and appropriately dressed for the weather and gotten to school before I get there. 
Did I used to do that every day? 
Yes. Yes I did. 
Do I know how I did it?
No. No I do not. 
I was running a little behind this morning and I blame that on the weather. It was freezing (literally) when I got up and at first I dressed in whatever was at hand and warm and then later I had to change into something warm but that was presentable for town although there are no dress codes at pottery. This morning I wore my blue overalls, a black thermal shirt with a very, very lovely and lime green sweater (re-sale shop cashmere!) over it, and a practically antique black velvet coat. 
With Crocs.
I told Jessie that I looked like an illustration on how NOT to shop at thrift stores for your outfits. 

Oh well. Who cares? Not me.

I spent the entire two and a half hours in class working on the latest flower bowl I'm trying to make that I started last week. My idea for the formation of it is not bad but my ability to translate that vision into an actual piece that will withstand the heat of the kiln and look halfway decent is not up to speed on what I'm seeing in my head. So I rolled out clay and I cut out shapes and I scored the pieces I needed to stick together and I tried to stick them together with what is called "slip" which is a mixture of clay and water that is like a glue if done correctly. 
Oh, y'all. 
Well. We'll see what the mess looks like next week. It may or may not be worthy of glazing and firing. All will be revealed. 

Jessie worked on the bowls she made last week, trimming them. That is an entire process itself and must be done with care and attention. I think she did an amazing job. 

Lizzie was there and she reported that she and her gentleman friend had a wonderful time on their trip to New York and that she really enjoyed meeting his family. Another woman in the class asked her if she'd said the word. 
Now I thought the word was love because I'm a romantic in many ways but no, the word had been fuck and yes, she did say that word but the world did not end nor did the family shun her. 
Hurray! Success!

After class we met Lily at an Indian restaurant and had a very good lunch. We talked and talked, as we do, and many topics were covered. We even started to discuss Thanksgiving but we didn't get very far with that one. I'm sure by the time the day rolls around, we will have figured it out. 

After lunch I did something I should NOT have done which was to go to Old Navy which was almost right across the street from the restaurant with the goal in mind of finding a pair of jeans that fit. I say I should NOT have done that because there is nothing that can make you feel as if despite the fact that you have lost a good amount of weight, you still are not at the jeans-wearing stage. 
Dammit but I hate still having feelings like this at the age of 71. So that sucked. And it's all so ridiculous and relative. One moment I'm feeling somewhat svelte and sylph-like and the next I'm, well, not feeling somewhat svelte and sylph-like. 

On to the bank to drop off some documents where a lady probably about my age stopped me and said, "I LOVE your coveralls! I really, really do!" 
I asked her if she'd like to know where I got them and she definitely did and so I told her. I gave her my little speech about how durable they are, how handy all the pockets are, how well made they are. If I got a commission every time I sent someone to Duluth Trading Company, I'd have a nice little bit of pocket change. 
Alas, I do it all for love. 

I needed to go stop by Publix and I did, and the sweetest thing that happened there was a woman called me "pretty lady" and I said, "NO! You're the pretty lady!" And she was. 

Lord knows I needed those two encounters after the devastating reality of trying on jeans in an actual dressing room in an actual retail store and I am so grateful for them.

Glen sent me pictures of the Aurora Borealis last night. 

 I discovered this morning there is a real possibility that if I'd gone outside right here last night, I might have seen them too. 

Looks like shit's going down in Washington tonight. I won't even try to predict what this release of the Epstein files is going to mean. Every bit of what's happened in the past few years has exceeded any of the wildest imaginings I could have had and I have a pretty good imagination. Then again, I never would have predicted that the Aurora Borealis could be observed from Florida either.

Here's the soup I made last night. 

And naan bread to go with. Making soup and bread keep me grounded. Or at least within range of grounded. Almost. Sort of. 

Better than nothing. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Quite A Day

I knew the gas company was sending someone out today to fill our propane tank but I wasn't sure when. The owner of the company assured me that the guy had my number and would call. 
Well, he did. He called at 9:00 a.m. sharp to tell me he was in my yard. 
Ooh boy. 
I was still in bed with Maurice. I was awake, but luxuriating in being under the warm covers and loathe to get up. Why does the bed feel so amazing when we wake up in the morning? Ten times better than it does when we get under the covers at night and that feels pretty damn good already. 
So what do I say to the man on the phone? I said, "Whoa! In my yard? I'll be RIGHT there!" 
And I leapt out of the bed, put on some clothes, tried to smooth my hair down a bit, and didn't even brush my teeth or wash my face and darted for the side yard where a very tall and also large man beside a propane truck held out his hand and said, "I'm KC." 
"I'm Mary," I said, and we shook hands like I'd been up since before dark, gathering my hand-shaking strength.
He'd never been here before and so I had to show him where the tank was. When we were walking over there I said to him, "I'm not gonna lie. I was still in bed when you called."
He laughed and said, "You recovered well."
I asked him if he'd like a cup of coffee and he said he would if it wasn't too much trouble. Four sugars and four creams. Okay! 
He filled the tank and I finished my morning face and teeth rituals and pulled my hair back and put it up and by the time I was finished, he was rolling up the hose. He wrote up my invoice and thanked me for the coffee and I thanked him profusely and, just to make conversation I said, "Do you think it really froze last night?"
"I don't know," he said, "But I'm from the Bahamas and I'm fucking freezing!"
Well, you know me. He had long, long covered dreds and a braided knotted beard that he tugged at and I just felt so at ease with him. All the guys who've ever delivered gas here have been almost wordless, most of them sullen, obviously not loving their jobs or their lives and obviously having no desire in this world to have any sort of conversation with me. But this is a different company, one we've never used, and I do believe it's going to be a different story. 
Next thing you know, he's telling me about his grandmother, 106 years old who walks to the fields every day and works in the fields every day and doesn't limp and doesn't have any problems with stiffness or pain and claims to feel just like she did when she was a girl. I told him that science needs to study his granny. 
He asked me where I was from and I told him I'd lived in Florida since I was five and he said, "But where are you FROM?" I explained that my parents were from Chattanooga, Tennessee and when he asked me how I came to live in Florida I told him the briefest version of how my mother had left my father when I was five and we'd moved to Florida where her parents lived. 
"So they got divorced and everything?"
"Yes."
"Did you see your father after that?"
"No. Well, I saw him once when I was thirty."
He was amazed and horrified. "But you were his daughter!"
And that's when, at 9:30 a.m. I started to cry and he pulled me in to one of those big men hugs and said, "I didn't mean to make you cry. I'm sorry."
I told him that yes, it was sad, but that I'd found a wonderful man who has been a great father to our children and he approved of that. 
Turns out he moved to Melbourne, Florida when he was young to attend school and that's where he learned to play football and hone his basketball skills because he had been playing that all his life. Now, Melbourne is about fifteen miles from Roseland and of course he knew where Roseland was. He went to FSU and played ball there. I think football. 

Anyway, that is how my day started out and before he left he apologized again for making me cry and again I told him that's okay, I cry easy, and I came away feeling like I'd been given a gift and I hadn't even had my coffee yet.

Then the next thing I knew, Lis called me! Good Lord! Could things get any better? 

I've spent the rest of the day like I said I would. I did laundry, I folded laundry. I enjoyed folding laundry on the folding table Glen made me so much with the sun coming in that window, shining through the stained glass my friend Lynn made and my treasures on the windowsill and bathing my nursery plants with light that I decided to bring out all the contents of my underwear drawer and refold and organize it all. I also threw away the stuff that has obviously outlived its wear-by date. I didn't even save anything to use as rags because I already have enough rags to last the rest of my life, even if I live to be a hundred and six years old like K.C.'s granny. I picked salad greens and I got an answer to my question as to whether it froze last night. 

The African basil is as dead as dead can be. A few bees were still flying around the blooms though, seemingly dazed and confused as to where their source of nectar had gone. The greens and lettuces were fine, of course, and I have enough of those picked for at least two salads. 

I did some mending and button-sewing-on and I just did a lot of little things that I've been meaning to get around to. 
My soup is ready to be puréed and add the coconut milk to, and I have enough dough rising to make a few naan breads.  

On top of all that, it's been a beautiful day. Cold, but so crisp, so clear, so intensely blue-skied. 

We do have leaves that turn color here. 

The mulberry tree. 

Look up. Look up. 

Magnolia Grandiflora. 

Pottery tomorrow. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Don't Say Good-Bye, Say "See You Soon"

This is what I am interpreting as Maurice looking at me with eyes of love. She seemed to be very glad I was back and even took to Terry who spent the night with me because her flight home was today. And that gave us another 24 hours to visit and be together which was just about the most precious gift I could ever imagine. When Terry and I were in nursing school, I was twenty-eight and she was eighteen. And we bonded like Elmer's mixed with Gorilla Glue. I still remember the exact moment I first saw her and thought, "I want to be her friend."

All the girls used to come over to my house because I HAD a house with a coffee pot, and a table to put our notes and books on, and there was generally food in the refrigerator due to the fact that I had children and children must be fed. And we studied together many, many nights and we drank pots and pots of coffee and we talked and we laughed and sometimes when the moon and sun were in favorable positions and I could get a baby-sitter, we'd put it all aside and gussie-up, again at my house, do our make-up, change clothes fifty times apiece until we were satisfied (or at least reasonably so) with our appearances, and we'd go to a local college dive called Bullwinkles that had the best bands and we would dance and dance and dance and flirt and literally let down our hair and those nights were joyous. 
And that is how we got through nursing school. 
Occasionally, someone would spend the night at my house if we were studying late and before long, it seemed that my Terry had just about moved in which suited me fine. I loved that girl to pieces and she needed some love, her upbringing not being the most loving. I mothered her along with my own kids and although she was the toughest of all of us and vastly more experienced than all of us in taking care of actual people in a medical situation due to very early employment, she let me mother her. 
And this weekend she let me do that again and it felt just like it had when she was eighteen and I was twenty-eight. The room we shared on St. George has two teeny-tiny beds and it's a teeny-tiny room and we'd turn out the light and fall asleep as unselfconsciously and as comfortably as could be. 
And having her here last night was just a sort of continuation of that. She is now the mother of three and quite possibly the best mother in the world, and she has a beautiful granddaughter whom she is besotted with but dammit, I needed to mother her some more and we slipped into our old roles. I cooked her a terrific supper and by then we were both worn out and she got into her bed in the guest room that I'd made up to be as cozy and comfortable as possible, and I got in my bed where Maurice joined me and gave me those looks of love. 

And then, sigh, that damn cat left the bed and I do believe went outside and came back into the room making her "I have brought you meat, my little kitten!" squeaky noises and there was something going on with the closet door and I just laid there going, "Oh my Jesus. No."
I almost turned on the light but I couldn't see what in the world that would help. Best to ignore the whole situation and finally, she got back in bed and went back to sleep. I had no idea if she'd brought me a living animal or a dead one but I wasn't going to worry about it then. 
This morning I did look and found nothing but if she'd brought in a living critter, it could be hiding in the closet and please god, no. 

I am so mad that I didn't get any pictures of Terry in my house. SO mad. And then later on we went into town and stopped by Lily's work so they could see each other. Terry was at Lily's birth. I didn't get a picture of the two of them, either. And then we went to Kool Beanz, the best restaurant in Tallahassee, as far as I'm concerned, with Jessie. Terry had met Jessie and Vergil when they were first dating as they had stayed with Terry and her family in Denver. So that was a sweet reunion catch-up. And I kept thinking, "Get a picture. Get a picture of Terry and Jessie" and I did not remember and I could slap myself for the missed opportunities.  

Off to the airport we drove, Terry and I, and I dropped her off and cried like a baby and just thinking about it makes me cry again. 
She is one of mine and she is a sister and she is a friend of over forty years, and I not only love her, I admire her in every way. She holds a place in my heart that no one else ever has or ever will. It is eternally hers. 

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

It has been absolutely cold here today. Cold like where Terry, from Colorado, was saying, "It's so cold!" She talked to one of her sons who told her it was 76 F there or something and it didn't get above 57 F here today and I swear to you- it has felt much colder. It's supposed to get down to 29 degrees by six tomorrow morning and you know what that means- do something to protect the plants! 
First thing I did this morning was to cut a bunch of stems of the firespike. 

It's in peak full bloom but probably won't be after tomorrow. I put the cut stems in vases of water and they will reward me by early spring by having grown lovely, lovely roots and I will have that many more of them to plant. 
NOT INVASIVE! 
But what about all of my other tender porch plants and my Roseland mango and Roseland palms and Roseland sea grapes and Roseland coconut palm? 
I wrapped the ones too big to bring in and am hoping that will save them. It probably will. I did the same for the porch plants but the smaller ones that I could carry, I brought in and then Jessie and the boys came out to get the meat grinder and helped me with some of the heavier ones. 

There are others, tucked here and there but those are the hallway plants. Mostly. 

I got a few pictures of the boys while they were here. 

Yesterday was Levon's 8th birthday although I've been saying he was turning 7 which is absurd. Why do I keep understating or overstating birthday years? I hadn't gotten him a present yet because I wasn't doing my grandmother job so I found a card I already had that was almost appropriate and tucked a bit of money in it. He liked that. August asked me if I'd read them a book and I certainly liked that. He picked a Richard Scarry book I used to read to them when they were little guys. It is way too young for them now but they still love it. 

One of the presents Levon got for his birthday was a necklace Jessie and I found at T.J. Maxx. Levon loves to wear bling. 

And as we all know, he loves basketball with all his heart.

Is that a cool necklace or what? 
He also got a basketball hoop for his birthday and I think that's his favorite present. He can practice shooting hoops for hours. 

Mr. Moon seems to be having a fine time. There is snow up in Canada where he is. 

Tomorrow is a full day at home and I plan on doing laundry, getting things tidied up, and making a curried squash, sweet potato, and cashew soup. I am looking forward to all of that. 

I feel the absence of Terry but the thought of her being reunited with her kids, her husband, and her darling granddaughter makes me happy. She promised me she'd be back. We ladies will NOT let four years go by again without getting together. They are all my sisters and my love for them surpasses understanding. 
And of course I miss my own husband but knowing that he's doing something that brings him happiness makes it all worthwhile. And of course, I have Maurice who loves me so much that she will murder for me. 

Who could ask for more than that?

Love...Ms. Moon

I Am Humbled

 

I'm home. 
It was as perfectly perfect as it could be. 

Love...Ms. Moon

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