The Possibility Of Dreamy Realities, Even In These Times

Well, that's today's harvest. Things are slowing down dramatically but hopefully in a month or so, I'll be getting the greens and lettuces. The orange things are not infant carrots, they are tabasco peppers which are still going crazy. I pick a pocketful every time I'm out there. I don't even know how many pepper vinegars I have going in the refrigerator right now. The Seminole pumpkins are still coming along, swelling, and growing ripe. 

Here's another fence-hanger. I did indeed cut and clear some of the vines but not any with pumpkins that showed a strong indication of a good chance at reaching maturity. 

I found my real, true dream house this morning while perusing Facebook. There was a post on one of the Roseland/Sebastian groups that I follow about a beautiful old house right across the street from the Indian River and just a short distance from where that river joins up with the Sebastian River which, as we all know, is MY river. Here's a picture of it which shows the railroad bridge that crosses my river right by where Granny and Granddaddy's house was. 

Can you see my bridge there at the upper left? 

And it would suit Glen fine too as his favorite fishing spot, the Sebastian inlet, is almost directly in front of the house, just a little boat ride away. 

That's the inlet. 

And the house? Well, it's a lovely little jewel, built in 1910, sitting on over an acre of property. 

Here are two pictures of inside the house.

Lots and lots of cypress.

Oh Jesus. Well, it's already under contract and besides that, we'd have to sell everything we own and we'd still need to put in a bedroom and bath downstairs and of course- a pool out back. Oh! And a dock for Mister Sweetie. 
If you want to see the whole listing, you can find it here. 
Perhaps ten or twenty years ago this would have been a possibility but as I told Glen, that ship has sailed and we are not on it. 

Sigh. A million sighs. 

And I am not unaware of the fact that I already live in my dream house, it's just that it's not on the river, not in Roseland or Sebastian or that vague area called by both those names. I still feel so connected to that place where I really only lived for about seven years during my childhood. And I don't think I will ever quite know why that is except to say that as horrible as so much of what happened in those years, there was a magic there made of river, ocean, trees, sky, the funky smell of low tide, the strange and unusual influences of artists and writers and a crazy man with long hair and a beard who drove a tractor down the main street with children and dogs following him and sold turnip greens door to door, and old, old ladies whom we would address as Aunt, who would sit on their porches and tell stories of living there when the Indigenous people shared the river that was the only highway then, and wild cats peeked into their windows at night, along with sea creatures that not many children are apt to ever see except on videos or in aquariums, and citrus fruit and guavas and mangoes and mulberries, right there, free and ripe for the taking. All of that fed me and my hungry imagination and comforted me as little else could have done, realizing that there was so much more to this life then what I was experiencing, and I give credit to all of that and more for the fact that I am still here, sane as I am, able to love and be loved, still loving the sky and the trees and the things that grow, still able to see things in my imagination, still able to imagine things and people who lived right here, so long, long ago. 
And I would suppose that is why I am so emotionally bound to that place.

Mr. Moon is back in Gainesville where, despite all of the most up-to-date equipment and lab facilities, and dedicated doctors and staff, they still cannot truly give A. a diagnosis. I find this unbelievable and yet, it's the truth. I loved Glen up good this morning, held him as tightly as my arms could hold him. I called him my good, big, beautiful man and told him how much I love and admire him. 
As he was about to leave, buckled into the very, very brown Subaru, he said, "Why am I such a good friend?" 
"Because you were born that way," I told him. "And there's nothing you can do to change that."
I kissed him again and off he went. 

I have gone to Publix again to buy ingredients to make Lily's requested Mommy Made Cake which is a doozy. A coconut, lime birthday cake with pineapple, lime curd. 
I have already made the curd and will finish the cake up tomorrow. 
We are having an Owen/Vergil/Lily/August birthday taco bar party here on Saturday so there's a lot going on. The weather forecast calls for it to be 64 degrees tomorrow morning and 57 on Saturday morning! Definitely something to look forward to although highs will still be in the 80's and even the high 80's by the end of next week. 
This is Florida. It gives me great comfort to know there are still pockets in places where time has managed to, if not stand still, then to gently refuse to join in the madness of over-development so that it is still possible to listen to the stories being told by the wind in the trees, over the water, in the quiet, whispering voices of those who came before. 

That's all I have to say. 

Love...Ms. Moon