Could I Have Rambled Any Further? I Think Not

Poor old piano. It sits in my hallway and has for many years. My ex-husband gave it to us when Jessie was still living at home because she was showing such an interest and aptitude for music. The ex was (still is) a guitar player and he and his wife were getting rid of this piano which was very old and funky then and in need of tuning and in the sixteen or so years in which it's been sitting in the hallway it has gotten neither less funky or more in tune. I'll never forget when Jerry brought the piano over in a U-Haul he'd rented and he and Glen managed to get it into the house and in the hallway, he said, "Looks like it grew there," and it really sort of did and there it still sits. 

Since no one plays it except for me, very, very occasionally and extremely badly and haltingly, it mostly just holds pictures and the speakers from the stereo and the router for the internet. I keep my old student piano books on it and there's an ancient Methodist hymnal

although I have no idea why I've kept it. In fact, I'm not sure how it came into my possession to begin with, but it was probably my mother's and here's a clue. 

Although we never attended the Methodist Church in Roseland (which, by the way, is still a very growing concern with a connected thrift store where I shop every time I'm in Roseland), the one-time minister of that church, Denny Hendry, eventually started his own church which was the Roseland Gardens Community Church on the bank of the Sebastian River in a beautiful wooded spot and he did actually grow a rose garden. So I suppose Denny may have taken some of the hymnals with him and Mother sang in the choir and had the hymnal for practice and pleasure. We had a piano and she wasn't a bad piano player. I took lessons when we lived in Roseland but I showed no talent whatsoever and eventually, even Mother realized her money would be best spent NOT paying Hildred Mueller, my teacher, to screech and scream at me when I invariably hit the wrong notes and which, by the way, I still hit. The same exact ones. Hildred and her husband Harry had a little act together. Hildred and Harry, I think it was called. Could have been Harry and Hildred. Harry was a jolly little round man with a very large tummy and he sang while Hildred played and she may have sung too. I only saw them play once and that was at a PTA thing which for some reason had entertainment that night. 
How the hell did I get here? 
Piano. Things on piano. Hymnal being one. 
So yes, we attended the Roseland Gardens Community Church and of course my brother and I were bored out of our minds but at least there were giant jalousie windows to look out of and if the preacher and/or the choir weren't too loud, we could hear birds and the wind in the pine trees and that was pretty okay. I swear to you though, almost every page of that hymnal has a song on it I remember and every fucking one of them is an ear worm. 

Since we've made it this far, I'll go ahead and repeat something I know I've written about at least five or ten times which is that eventually, after Denny Hendry crashed his church and lost his wife due to an unwise affair with another church's organist (no jokes here, please), the church and land were eventually sold to a spiritual community led by a former Jewish Brooklyn housewife named Joyce Green, rechristened Ma Jaya Sati Bagavati. 

It is now the Kashi Ashram. Arlo Guthrie was one of the devotees of Ma Jaya, which is why he has wintered in the communities of Sebastian and Roseland for many years. Ma Jaya died in 2012 and as is so often the case with spiritual leaders of all kinds, including ministers for Community Churches, there were allegations...
And far more serious ones than a plain old affair with a consenting adult. 

I have no idea if Arlo is still associated with the Ashram. I do know that he still seems to love that area very much. 

But isn't all of that odd? What would the little group of older, retired people who attended Denny's church in the early sixties, most of whom probably had no real belief in religion but who believed that going to church on Sunday was just what one did and a way to be part of a community have thought about all this?

My memories of that place were of watching manatee slowly swimming by in the river, of the smell of roses, of those many pines and palms, of Helen Kretshmer, the choir director at the piano, her white hair pinned up in a knot on top of her head, the sweet little congregation who often all went out together to Sunday lunch after church was over, the Christmas pageants where I once got to be Mary, the soprano with the huge breasts who sang "Where You There?" on Easter Sunday whom my little brother had stood motionless and watched as those breasts quivered as she emoted the words to the song during rehearsal, the gentle sermons which never once, as far as I can remember, mentioned hell or an angry god. 

It's bizarre to know that none of the people who pay big bucks to visit Kashi for yoga training or spiritual retreats have any idea about these things although perhaps they do still get to see the manatee.
Sigh. 
Such is life. 

Enough of this nonsense! 

Mr. Moon is back up at Lake Seminole and tonight he is catching huge catfish and is very happy. I made chicken soup for him to take with some rotisserie chicken I bought last week and some chicken stock I had in the freezer AND another container of chicken soup I'd tucked away in there a month or so ago, thus fulfilling my purpose on earth which, as we all know, is to take leftovers and create more leftovers out of them. The soup has quinoa and the chicken, green beans, carrots, kale and mustard greens, garlic galore, onions, celery, spinach, and lots of lemon juice. 
Once again, my man shall not suffer from hunger. 

It's going to get so cold this week, possibly 26 degrees by Friday. For us, this is almost frighteningly cold. The plants will have to be wrapped again and there are a few that I'm going to ask Glen to help me bring in despite their large size because I don't think the wrapping alone is going to protect them. 

Here's a door knob Glen found while digging the trench for the water pipe. 

I am wondering if it came from this house or from the little Episcopalian chapel that was once housed in that area of the yard. 

Speaking of churches. 
When the congregation dropped to two members, they moved the chapel to Tallahassee where it still sits right beside an Episcopalian church there. 
St. Clement's Chapel. 
The woman who told me this who grew up in Lloyd and who is now deceased, seemed to still be upset that the chapel had been moved. 

No one can hold a grudge like an old Southern lady. 

Ask me how I know. (That is MY river, you Gee Dee Kashi's!)

Love...Ms. Moon

P.S. Now I remember what triggered this whole thing! I sat down at that piano and played badly and haltingly this afternoon and I loved it. 

A Full And Loving Day

Well, it has begun. These two beauties were growing on the very large bush beside the back porch where I have a veritable grove of camellias. They are not quite white, but a very, very pale blush pink. Or at least, that's what I see. They are always some of the best bloomers. I really should make more of an attempt this year to identify the different varieties. I am as excited to see the different ones open as I would be to see old and dear friends. 

It's been a good day. I was so very, very emotional when I got up. I know I'm an easy cryer, but this morning, there was almost nothing that didn't make me cry. Three different blog posts welled my tears to overflowing. I have no idea why but eventually, my heart returned to its natural size and function, and the tears went back to wherever they had come from. 

When Mr. Moon got home from duck hunting, instead of settling into his chair for his usual Sunday catch-up nap as he usually does, he went out to where the sink is going to go and began to dig the trenches he needs to lay the water pipe. 
Now this is not an easy job. The ground there is filled with roots, some of them as big around as my arm. Add to that, due to his neuropathy, he cannot stand in one spot to use a shovel so the man sat on his butt and shoveled from that position. And...he worked for hours. There is no holding him back. I know he's tired this evening though. 
Obviously, I could not just spend my day being lazy and useless and so I decided to bow to the inevitable and do a little housecleaning. My kitchen floor had gotten to the point where the spot cleaning I'd been doing with a rag and a spray bottle of Fabuloso, white vinegar, and water was just about useless. The other day when it was quite warm, I was barefoot and I realized I had indeed passed the point at which the state of that floor was unacceptable, as in my feet were sticking to it. 
And to add to that, I realized I had not mopped Mr. Moon's bathroom in god only knows how long and so I proceeded to clean his bathroom sink as well as my bathroom sink, including pulling up the plugs and cleaning off all the hair and gook, including dusting the wood of the vanity his sink is set in with some furniture polish and cleaning the mirror, and then I swept the floor and gave it a good mopping. I also washed the rug that goes in there. Then I proceeded to the kitchen where I removed the bar stools, the trash cans, the step ladder, the laundry hamper I keep in there, the shoes kept by the kitchen door, and all of the other stuff where I needed to mop. I gave it two sweepings and then two moppings and it would gladly have taken another but let's not lose our minds here, okay? 
That felt good. 
And now my house smells like Fabuloso and white vinegar which is therapeutic for me in and of itself. 

So this has not been a wasted day, or at least not entirely, and I feel as if yes, I have created a more peaceful environment for us to enjoy, for a few hours, at least. 

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

Do any of you remember me writing about Smitty's Club? I first wrote about it on June 26, 2008 which would have made it seventeen years ago, right? Or thereabouts. 
I wrote another post about Smitty's Club and the era in which it and Smitty played a such a big part of our lives and when I say "our" I mean our tribe, I guess, the hippies and musicians and pot growers and carpenters and roofers and artists of Tallahassee and Jefferson County who were trying to figure it all out in a new way, sometimes stumbling, sometimes succeeding, but always with community and music. And Smitty's Club was very much a part of all of that. Here's a picture from that post. 

That was Smitty's Band at Smitty's Club. There were other folks in the picture, but I feel like if you are of a similar age to me, you will recognize them from the days of your tribe too because in so many ways, we were all from the same tribe. 
The tribe that was trying to change the world. 
Anyway. 
That post can be found HERE but I must tell you, I write in it about the death by suicide of one of the people in that picture so if that is more than you want to deal with, don't read it. Just don't. 
It's part of my life, my history, those times, but it may have nothing for you except a trigger and I do not want anyone to go through that. 

So. What brought all this back to me? 

I was going through the FaceBook reels which I spend WAY too much time on, and this one came up. 

Smitty's son, Mac, is selling cane syrup and I love it. I believe Mac is calling himself Smitty now and probably has been for awhile. When his daddy was alive, he would not have dared to call himself Smitty but I guess it's okay now. He, his own son and wife, are standing to the left of Smitty who is in the center of the picture. 
I do love cane syrup and always have a bottle in my refrigerator. It's the very best thing you can eat on a biscuit or cornbread. I just went to the website where you can order it and it's all sold out. It cost thirty five dollar a bottle which, I'm sorry, is insane. You can buy cane syrup around here for far less money although that too is pricier than any of the folks who began planting cane and ground it every fall to make syrup would have believed.

To them, this was just a way to make sugar, albeit in a less refined way. There are many online sources of information about this and I'll let you check them out if you want. I've already linked enough. 

Here's a lagniappe picture of something else blooming right now. 

The roses are having a winter frolic. I wish you could smell them. 

I better get in that clean-floored kitchen and make some supper. We're having what I told my husband is some "dang tacos." 

Love...Ms. Moon

P.S. I have to say that Mac could make a trillion dollars selling the land he inherited from his father and I am a bit blown away that instead, he's using it to farm. His daddy was the same. 

So good for him. 

Just...Take A Breath

I decided to do a check of the camellia buds in the front yard today but before I did, something on the white camellia bush growing at the southeast corner of the front porch caught my eye. 

See it? 

I am thrilled. The first camellia japonica to bloom this season. And it is beautiful. 
There are more buds on different plants showing color. I took this picture and yes, perhaps that bud is blushing. 

It looks a little nipply, doesn't it? In a very lovely way. You can actually see the petals on their way to unfolding. 
Every year I apologize for how many pictures I post of the camellias. 
This year, though, I think I will unashamedly and unapologetically post as many as I think are worth posting because if we don't need camellias now, when will we ever? Let's wallow in all the beauty we can. Let's roll in it, inhale it, kiss it, love it and hold it close. Let's stop and notice every interesting shadow cast, every window that has sun shining through it making glory.

Let's notice every new leaf, every genuine smile, every heartfelt hug, every hand we're privileged to hold.
Let's look up to see winter's bare limbs against the sky, clouds, stars, and the moon. Let us stop to admire and appreciate the things we love but see so often we've forgotten to look. 
Let us truly stop and listen to the chirp and trill and chip and staccato hammering of the birds around us. Their calls, their songs, their cries, and whistles, according to their kind. 
Let us reread the books which have brought us pleasure in the past and which could bring us pleasure again and books we've never read before which can open up different worlds and thoughts and knowledge to us. Let us listen to the music we love and which may have saved us before or made us want to dance or allowed us to cry when we needed to or filled our entire soul until it soared, as nothing but music can do. Let us flirt with babies at the store, let us tell their mothers how beautiful those babies are. You will be telling the truth. All babies are beautiful, especially to their mothers. 
Let us see the beauty in the things we do and create whether a poem or a garden or a soup or a feeling of peace in our homes or a potholder or a watercolor or a clean sink. 
Let us look into the face of a loved one with enough attention and intention to see the beauty there.

Let's try these things, okay? And of course I am speaking to myself here. I flat out do not feel well today. No energy at all, regular pains and aches magnified as if by fever although I have no fever. But that one white camellia, that one pink bloom about to unfurl, have given me a tiny sliver of hope and my god, isn't that what we all need so badly now? And we're not going to get it from the news or social media. I know that nothing I've said here is going to really make anyone's life less stressful. It is not going to cure anyone's depression. It is not going to ease a burden or give anyone the strength to carry on but every second of the day we do NOT spend on reading, thinking, talking about...all those things...is a second of relief from it all and just that tiny mote of a bit of something that is positive, that is light-filled, that is not fearful and painful is not nothing. 
It is something. I swear to you, it is. 

Just a thought. 

Sleep well. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Adaptation In So Many Ways

Here is what my garden sink's cabinet looks like after Mr. Moon painted it today. I love it so much! We are both aware that it's a good bet the wood will rot eventually but he is sanguine about the fact that he'll probably be replacing the top of it at some point. I am going to enjoy having that sink out by the garden so much. I'll be able to wash my vegetables as well as my hands, and also the compost bucket. It will also be a place I can water seedlings in their little pots when need be. 
I just told Mr. Moon that I love it so much and that I think it's beautiful. 
"Beautiful?" he asked. "It's just a rough old thing."
"Whoa!" I said. "I'm just a rough old thing and I am beautiful." 
I said that last part in a sort of just kidding way but I hope he thinks I am beautiful, despite my years and wear and tear. I know I think he's beautiful. We are quite different from when we met, when we were still blessed with the ripe, unconscious beauty of youth. Our beauty now is of a completely different sort but it's all in the eye of the beholder, is it not? 

So we two beauties went to Costco this morning to see JaLisa. We told her where we are in the process of learning to adapt to these hearing aids and she reassured us that everything we're going through is completely normal. And Mr. Moon did not give his back but kept them and I am glad of that. I don't know that he feels they make his life easier but I know that when he wears them, they make MY life easier. There were more adjustments to be made and they were. I wanted less treble, more bass, which I am sure is not how they describe the levels of different tones coming out of these things. But the higher levels in the auditory realm, and not speaking of volume, are unpleasant to me. They can actually hurt my ears and I think she fixed that problem. 

And then, because we could, we went to lunch. Who knew, back when we were those young, ripe beauties, that we'd eventually consider going to get our hearing aids adjusted and then going to lunch a hot date? 
Well. It is what it is. 
I said I'd be glad to go back to the Cuban restaurant where Jessie and I ate yesterday and Mr. Moon said he could eat some black beans and a Cuban sandwich. And that's what we did. We had the same server Jessie and I had yesterday and I am a little bit in love with her. God, I'd love to know her story. She is tiny but you can tell she is powerful. She is attentive and courteous but she is not obsequious in the least. 
SHE IS A PROFESSIONAL DOING A PROFESSIONAL JOB IN A PROFESSIONAL WAY! 
And by the way, her name is Jessi, and so that's an extra reason to love her. 
The lunch was delicious, again. Glen got his black beans and Cuban sandwich and I got a ropa vieja bowl which had rice, vegetables, black beans, and yes, ropa vieja in it. 
It was SO good. And I brought enough home for two more meals. 

And here we are, Friday night. I got the rest of the weeding done in the garden and did a tiny bit of clearing out in the camellia bed. Here are two pictures of the buds I am pleading with to open soon. 

I see color. Do you?

Come on, baby. You can do it!

We're supposed to get rain on Sunday, and then a temperature drop with the highs for the next week being in the 50's and 60's and the lows being in the 30's and by now, you know that for us, this is practically an emergency requiring FEMA to step in. 
Wait. What? There's no FEMA? 
Stop it. 

Here's the quote from the New York Time's that sums up the horror and the destruction of the United States for me.

Asked in a wide-ranging interview with The New York Times if there were any limits on his global powers, Mr. Trump said: "Yeah, there is one thing. My own morality. My own mind. It’s the only thing that can stop me."

His morals? His mind? 
We are so fucking fucked. 

Something, someone has to be able to stop him. 
That is going to be my fervent wish and hope for the foreseeable future. 

Meanwhile. 

Happy Friday, y'all. Have a martini. Make some gumbo. Or, you know...just change your sheets. 

That's what I've done. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Pining For Camellias

The Japonica varieties of camellias are still not blooming but both of the sasangua varieties I have are. This is the pink one I have growing here. Both it and the red and yellow one are blooming more profusely  than they ever have before but so late! In late December of 2023 my hallway altar looked like this. 

And in 2018, on January 29, it looked like this. 

It was such an embarrassment of riches every year. Those camellias have been my joy and my reminder of miracles every winter. 

I have not given up hope though. I refuse. There are a fantastic number of buds and I am hoping that whatever mystical series of weather events has to take place for them to open happens soon. 

I did see something else I consider magical today though. I was on my back porch, as usual, when I heard a tap-tapping and looked up to see a pileated woodpecker on the pecan tree right behind where the camellias grow. I could not get a picture but here's what these magnificent birds look like. 

They are huge birds. They can range from almost almost sixteen inches long to over nineteen inches. When I see one, which is not very frequently, I feel as if I have had a religious visitation. They are that striking, that regal. 
So there was that this morning and I felt so lucky to have seen it. I fear that the pileated woodpecker will go the way of the ivory-billed woodpecker which, now extinct, was an even larger bird who was also  known as The Lord God Bird. There have been reported sightings of that bird but none verified in many years. Their habitat, like the pileated woodpecker's, was encroached on to the point where they simply could not survive and since humans' needs for development seem to have no boundaries, I am mortally afraid the pileated will become rarer and rarer until it, too, is more myth than reality. 

So you can see why when I sight one, I am filled with a sense of being blessed and not in the way people mean when they tell you to have a "blessed day" which is a common occurrence in these parts and sort of makes me want to screech, "I'm an atheist!"

I had to go to town again today. This going to town thing is getting to be a far more frequent event than I'd like. I had to go to the pharmacy where my hormones are made to pick those up and then to Costco and then to Publix. To reward myself for braving the urban world of East Tallahassee once again (haha!), I asked Jessie if she wanted to meet me for lunch at a Cuban restaurant. I was craving a bowl of their garbanzo bean soup. 
She did. And we discussed some very deep topics and that's not a joke. Our conversation was a more serious one than we usually have but it was a good one. 
And the soup was perfect.

I saw Brenda at Costco and she did not look like her usual boss self. She's been very sick with flu and bronchitis and even had to go to the hospital. Still, she was beautiful in her Brenda way and I hope she is better soon. Obviously, she needed more time off to recover but back to work she had to go which sucks tremendously and is simply wrong. 
I went a little crazy at Costco. I bought two new towels and a new set of sheets. I have no idea what came over me. It's just that the quality of these things is so good and their prices so much less than you'd find anywhere else. And I did what I did and I am not sorry. 

Mr. Moon is home. He has gotten so much done this week. He sent me this picture today.

A successful weld! Is that the right term? A weld? 
Fuck if I know. But I think it's part of the downstairs shower situation so definitely important. In fact, I'm almost certain it's part of the downstairs shower situation. As far as I know, the upstairs shower situation is fine as it is.
So. Painting, plumbing, welding. 
And I know he loves it all. 

Tomorrow we go BACK to Costco to see Ms. JaLisa and I am not sure Glen's going to keep his hearing aids. He is not happy with them. In the last few weeks he has not worn them every waking moment. I am doing my best to convince him that he needs to keep them for when he's not hunting or fishing or alone at least. I'm not thrilled with mine, either. Perhaps I really do not have as much hearing loss as I thought I did but I do know that I CAN hear conversations better and I can hear my grandchildren better and I can hear what the guy who oversees the dump says better and I can hear the TV better so I'm not surrendering mine for a refund. They can be a pain in the ass and the quality of the sound when I'm listening to books or podcasts with them is so inferior to my AirPods that I understand how Glen feels and there may be times when I don't wear mine either. Times when I'm home alone, specifically. I can hear the birds and the breezes and the rain and the oh my god, THE TRAIN, just fine without them. But I know Glen and I hear each other better with them even if he is loathe to admit it. 
I need to be flexible, I need to be open to adapting, I need to face the fact that aging creates changes and challenges which need to be addressed as best they can. 
Sigh.

The sky did another beautiful thing at sunset this evening. I didn't take a picture of what it looked like in the west because I've done that recently but here's what it looked like to the south. 

Not nearly as dramatic but there is beauty in subtlety too. I love the pink clouds.

I am not going to discuss the horrors. Not tonight. 

Love...Ms. Moon

A Good Day To Be With My Thoughts

 

This is a picture from the day after Magnolia was born. It is one of my favorite pictures in the whole world. If that doesn't personify holiness, I do know know what would. The deep and profound love which is felt when a baby is born after all the months of waiting is like nothing else I have ever experienced. Both Lily and Owen personify that here, as Magnolia sleeps peacefully on her mother. Lily is wearing the look that brand new mothers so often have. They are at once as exhausted as they've ever been, and as joyous as they've ever been. They are in a state of pure bliss. They are enraptured. 
And Owen? I'm not sure any little five-year old boy ever wanted a baby sister as much as he did. 
The sheer purity of the love here brings me to my knees. 
The story of Magnolia's birth can be found here if anyone would like to read it. I know many of you remember that day and I am constantly amazed at much a part of my life this blog and the people who visit here are. And grateful beyond measure. 

Here's another picture I love from the night Maggie came to us. 

I have pictures very much like this taken after each of my grandbabies' births. Except for Owen's because he was born in the hospital and, well, those beds just aren't big enough. But the other four were born at home where there is room for all. 

So, okay. I'm crying now because that's what I do best. 
Remember and cry. 

I would be greatly remiss if I did not tell you once again how strong and powerful Lily was giving birth to her babies. As was Jessie. 
Women. Anyone who denies our power in any way is simply either ignorant or afraid of it. Or both. 

I have had my quiet day. I've stayed home except to take the trash and stop by the post office- a journey of about a quarter of a mile. I spent a few hours on my knees, as I said I would, and it was just what I needed, as I thought it would be. 

My slashy-clawed familiar, my mysterious constant companion.

Mr. Moon has been sending me pictures of the painting he is getting done at the cabin on the lake. 
Here's our bedroom. 

It's hard to tell but that's a very pale green I think I'll like. 

Here's an upstairs bedroom. 

He said he's worried it may be too blue but I think it looks fine and I have to ask the question- too blue for what? 
He's also painted the bathroom ceiling and as he told me last night, all he needs to do for the downstairs bedroom is to put up and paint the trim, put in a floor, and it'll be about done.
That's all. 
Okay. 

Tonight's supper will be a repeat of last night's supper which was air-fried tofu with sesame, soy, miso, ginger, garlic dipping sauce, quinoa with chili crisp, and salad. 

That was seriously one of the best meals I've made in a long time so I'm looking forward to that. 

I'm sorry to be missing the family dinner for Maggie's birthday at Chow Time (her request, of course) but I'm sure they'll struggle along without me. 

Here's what the birthday girl looked like this morning before school. This was their first day back. 

 

Gotta love the tiara. Gotta love the sash.

Gotta love the girl. 
She is a force of nature, she is a one and only, she is our Magnolia June, and watching her grow up is one of the joys of my life. 

Happy birthday, Maggie. 

Love...MerMer, aka Ms. Moon

A Different Sort Of Birthday Celebration

Tomorrow Magnolia June will be ten years old. 
Can you believe that? August turned ten in September and now Maggie is hitting the double digits too. It was so lovely, seeing Jessie and Lily go through pregnancy and birth at essentially the same time and watching the little bebes as they grew and changed together. 
Here's one picture from when they were three years old. 

Sorry. I lied. One picture is not enough. 

Look at those blonde curls, those darling smiles, their little feetsies, the way they were already connecting. 
They have known and loved each other their entire lives. 

So when I asked Magnolia if she wanted to go out with me today to celebrate her birthday, I figured she might like to include August and Levon, too. The cuzzies. They've had no time together this whole past holiday because of the hoopacudis the boys had. 
And she very much wanted them to be there too. 
Jessie agreed that was a good idea and our little adventure was a trip to Oak Tree Treasures so that Maggie could pick out a present and then lunch at the movie theater!!!! before we watched Zootopia 2.
Jessie arranged that part, buying the tickets beforehand as one does these days. 
I'll just say that the movie-going experience has changed so much in the last decade or so that I don't even think it's worth it to go. But the kids love it and Jessie swore that Zootopia 1 was pretty darn good with lots of jokes for adults that kids didn't get and I knew the kiddos would love it so what could I do but agree? 
And the kids did love it. I did not hate it but my Lord, it was busy and the plot ranged from, well, maybe to what the fuck is going on now? 
But you know, plot is vastly overrated sometimes. 
It was also loud. I cannot believe the volume at which theaters play their films these days and the preview trailers are the worst. I finally had to take my hearing aids OUT and stuff bits of paper napkins in my ears, just as I used to do when I went out to hear loud bands. 

Of course the seats in movie theaters recline now and are so comfortable that it's almost impossible not to fall asleep in them, no matter how loud the movie is. I deliberately kept my chair in the upright position for almost the entire length of the movie but in the last fifteen minutes or so I got very drowsy, thought, "fuck it," reclined like a boss, and did indeed fall asleep. 
Sort of. 

But it was not about me although the way I've written about it makes it sound as if I think it is and, okay, yeah, from my own body and my own set of eyeballs and ears and so forth, it was about me. But I got to spend birthday time with my granddaughter and the cousins got to spend time together and all three of them got new-ish Smushmallows (look 'em up if you don't have grandchildren) and watching the three of them hug before we got in our separate cars to go home was worth all of it. Maggie thanked me many times, not just for the day out but also for inviting August and Levon too. Tomorrow night there is a supper planned but since Glen's out of town and I don't drive at night, today's outing was how I got to spend time with Maggie and hopefully, make her feel special. 

And tomorrow I plan to stay right here in Lloyd and pull weeds. I want that and I need that more than words can say. 

Oh- many of you asked for a picture of me in the garment I got yesterday and I took this one

but of course the back is where the interest lies and for the life of me, I could not get a picture of that. Oh well. I will say that when we were in Oak Tree Treasures buying Squishmallows, a woman remarked on the jacket/dress/tunic and told me how unique it was. I told her I got it at Goodwill and she said, "You have a good eye."
"Thank you," I said. I knew I wouldn't regret buying that thing. 

Love...Ms. Moon