A Cozy, Loving Day

So that was the picture I was going to post last night because tradition says that when there is a sleep-over, there must be a picture of the supper and then another from the pancake breakfast the next day. As you can see, August was feeling it. His mother being there only added to the excitement. She came out to get the boys a little early because she had an action-packed day and had things to do and places to be. 
Mr. Moon was dressed in his going-to-hospice clothes, ready to leave as soon as breakfast was over, which he did, of course. 
He has been okay today. Emotional. Tender. 
"What's the name of that Grateful Dead Song?" he asked me last night. 
"What a Long, Strange Trip it's Been."
Yep.
It's still so hard for him to imagine that Alan got so sick so quickly. He keeps saying, "We'd just been out fishing two days before!" 
And that's part of the shock of it all. And then it took so long for him to get a diagnosis and for weeks and weeks it seemed the doctors held out hope that he would come out of the unconsciousness, he would have a chance at recovery. There was the trip to Shands. And then back to Tallahassee. And finally, when he was moved to the long-term care place the message was received that no, there really was not much hope at all for recovery. One doctor said, "I've never seen so many lesions on a brain." 
And at last, to hospice where he was able to go on. 
Y'all have heard this story and I thank you so much for all the comments you left yesterday and today. In a way, you were there with us, with Glen, as he did what he felt he needed to do so thank you for that, too. So does Glen.

Today was slow and easy. I had a slightly unfamiliar emotion this morning when I got up and came out to my porch. Every morning, I remember to look up at the sky and the way the leaves look against it, the branches becoming barer but this morning I had a small thrill right before I did actually look up. It was like I was about to get a surprise, a new sight of a new day that I had never been seen before, even if it looked exactly like hundreds I've seen before.
I think it is true that as we grow older and closer to the end of our little dance on this earth, smaller and smaller things take on greater and greater meaning and can bring us a type of authentic joy we may have rarely felt before. 
I wish I could explain things better. 
I know that tears come even easier to me than ever and that's saying a lot. Glen's been pretty free with his emotions too. I asked him this morning if he was okay and he said that yes, he was. That after something like this we need to just keep rolling on with it and remember to show love to those we love. 
And then he went out and put a new water pump on the tractor. 
I've been cooking pinto beans all day and their liquid is thickening into gravy right now. I've got a little piece of smoked turkey wing in with them, some salt, some pepper, and that's all. Some things don't need a lot of different flavors and in fact, some foods' flavors are so damn good on their own that adding spices and whatevers simply takes away from the perfection they are on their own. 
I roasted two of my Seminole pumpkins and scooped out the sweet, orange, tender flesh. I'm about to go make pumpkin bread and I'm excited about that. 
As always, I go to the kitchen when I need comfort, routine, and a way to show love. 
I sewed up a seam in a pair of Glen's camo pants. He ripped them last week, climbing up into a deer stand. That was an easy fix as no patches were needed, just some stitching. As I sewed, I gave part of my attention to a forty-minute video in a series called "One Born Every Minute" which takes place in Great Britain on a delivery ward where midwives deliver the babies. It's not scripted or fiction. It's real footage of real women who are doing what women do all over the world, have done throughout history, and are doing as we speak. I have been fascinated with birth and in love with the process and the strength and power of women as they bring life into this world for over fifty years now. I never grow tired of a birth story. 
Not unlike each new day, every one of them similar in so many ways, every one of them unique. 

I am droning on, aren't I? I'm sorry. I should go make my pumpkin bread anyway. 

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

Pumpkin bread in the oven. I actually used a recipe I love from the NYT's app for banana bread with cinnamon crunch topping, substituting pumpkin for bananas. I've unloaded the dishwasher, cleaned up everything I used in the making of the pumpkin bread, and had conversations with my husband. 

And now I need to make a vegetable. 
Sigh. 
I just told Glen that of course, I cannot make a vegetable. I can grow a vegetable, I can buy a vegetable, I can cook a vegetable, I can eat a vegetable. But I cannot make one. 

And before we part, if you haven't been following the comments on my post found HERE, you might want to go check them out. The ones I'm talking about begin with Judy. Whom both Hank and I thought was a bot but she does seem to have a genuine presence on Blogger. Although not a blog. 
When I read Hank's original response to her first comment, I laughed so hard. His next response cracked me up too. 
Oh gosh. I love my kids. The apples have not fallen far from the tree and are, in fact, far less tolerant of bullshit than I am. 
I am so proud to be his mama. 

Please forgive me for this extremely rambling, bumbling post. 

Love...Ms. Moon