Mostly Sweetness

I am not sure what's going on with this cat. She seems to be extra caring for me right now. When she lies down beside my arm when I'm here on the back porch, typing away, and leans against me with obvious purposeful force and then twists her head up to look at me, I melt and forgive her all her bloody sins. Last night she seemed quite concerned about me and I wasn't really feeling very well, to be honest. I've always called her my nurse cat and sometimes it freaks me out when she's being so very solicitous because I can't help but wonder if she knows something I don't. Like those dogs who can sniff out skin cancer. 
Anyway, she followed me into the bathroom when I took my shower and brushed my teeth and would not leave until I turned out the light and got in bed. She jumped up beside me and squished her whole body against my legs and she stayed there the entire night. Both of us slept inexcusably late this morning but honestly, I have felt better today so maybe she DID know something I didn't. 

I did nothing of any real interest at all today and so have very little to talk about. I also haven't taken any pictures except for a few of Maurice like the one you see above. This morning I felt a bit agitated and on the verge of tears but I picked beans and mostly just hung out, doing the crossword and being lazy and eventually, my mood changed and I have felt more at ease and whatever tears I had decided to stay inside my head and my heart and Mr. Moon has made me feel loved and cherished and that always helps. I've been cooking pinto beans all day long and have focaccia bread dough with sun-dried tomatoes in it rising and have picked arugula and various basils to make a nice little vinegary and olive-oily salad to eat with it when it's been baked. Probably with goat cheese, too. I can't believe it's taken me my entire life to learn about food like this, so very simple and yet so very perfect. Don't get me wrong- I will always love a good meatloaf, whether made with beef or with venison, but I have also loved beans since I was a child and my mother cooked pinto beans. I believe she may have learned to do this when she lived in New Mexico, I believe, with my father who had run away from home as a boy and found work on a ranch there (or it could have been Arizona, yes, I think it may have been) and the woman who was the wife of that ranch welcomed my poor, no doubt completely confused mother into her kitchen and taught her to make beans and cornbread, which were truly her best dishes. My mother had married a man whom she'd known since first grade and who I am sure she thought would simply follow his father and his uncle into their law practice and they would live happily ever after in a beautiful house on Lookout Mountain, Tennessee, where they both were raised, with children of their own and quite possibly someone else hired to do the cooking. 
This makes my father sound like far more of a brave and adventuresome and fun man than he actually was. What he actually was was a very dedicated alcoholic who introduced my mother to the sides of life that she never expected to know anything about, including the fear of homelessness, poverty, and starvation, not to mention the regular and terrifying experience of abandonment. 
But goddamn! She sure did learn to make pinto beans and cornbread. 

I think so often of how miraculous it is that despite coming from beginnings like that, followed by living in a house with a certifiably sadistic child abuser and spousal emotional abuser, I ended up marrying a man like Mr. Moon who, although no more perfect than any of us, is as true and steadfast and honest and loving as any man I could imagine. And he has dealt with my deep imperfections for all of these years and continued to love me and has been the best father and grandfather I can imagine. 

Which leads me to the pictures I have gone back into my library to post this evening. They are from when August and Maggie were littles together. Lily and I talked about that time period yesterday and how incredibly precious it was, those two little cousins, so close in age, both with such blonde curls, such beautiful little expressive faces.
From my childhood beginnings to the incredible things that have happened in my life never ceases to amaze me. 

Here we have August Glinden and Magnolia June. 

Sigh. My heart. 

Thank you for indulging me. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Correction

I misstated the town where the Mermaid Parade was held yesterday that Jessie's family attended. It was not Black Mountain but Marshall, North Carolina which is about an hour away from Black Mountain. 
Sorry! 

Frightening Revelation And So Much More!

I had a rather terrifying experience this morning. 
Oh, don't worry. I didn't step on a rattler or drive my car off a cliff by accident or anything. 
No. I simply caught sight of myself in a very strong beam of sunlight, almost naked, standing in front of my mirror. 
Damn. I knew the body was really looking old, especially after losing weight, but I did not realize the full extent. It was almost horror-movie level scary. 
DEAR GOD!
How could I not have realized this? I do look in mirrors but never in quite that bright a light and also, come to think of it, not entirely nude. Well, I wasn't entirely nude today but nekkid enough to get a far more accurate picture. 
It's quite a conundrum to feel so much younger in some ways and then to realize I actually look so much older. Given the choice though, I'll take feeling younger and looking older rather than the other way around. And in clothes I think I look pretty okay. Mostly. 
I could be very, very wrong about that, though.

So then I finished getting dressed and went to town to meet Maggie and Lily for pedicures. We went to a new establishment on the east side of town very near Lily's house and not so far from me either. Angel Nail Spa. Jessie had gone there and recommended it. They were so kind and professional and did a great job on all our feet. No one called me "Mama" like another place we went to fairly recently and I was a little sad about that but what're ya gonna do? 

Here is what our toes looked like after they were tended to so well.

Magnolia's. 

Lily's celebration of Pride toes. 

Sorry. I'd already visited the garden in flip flops when I took this but it's a realistic representation of my feet in summer. Just be grateful I didn't take a picture of my left foot which has numerous ant bites on it. 

Lily's toes took longer than Maggie's and mine and you can see why. Ms. Mags and I walked two doors down to Midtown Noodles where we met up with Owen, Gibson, and Boppy to have some lunch. Midtown Noodles serves delicious foods like Pho and ramen noodles and some curry things. Owen and I got Pho, Gibson and Maggie got ramen, Boppy got some chicken and rice dish which was probably the least exotic thing on the menu which is what he was going for, and we ordered Lily Katsu chicken with curry that had to be taken in a to-go box because Maggie had a birthday party to attend at two and she DID NOT WANT TO BE LATE! 
I understand.
It was a pool party. She was pretty excited. The party was for her best friend Mary's birthday. Big doin's. 

I have to tell you that the kids were great. Owen was absolutely the very best big brother and helpful grandson you can imagine. To the point where when he'd run out to his car to find Maggie a hair tie so she could keep her curls out of her ramen, I asked Gibson and Maggie if he was always that sweet.
"Yeah," Gibson said. "He is." 
Maggie, however said, "Not to me. Not when I'm trying to wake him up to do something." 
Well, who isn't cranky when they've just been woken up and expected to do something? 
Glen just commented on how sweet he was a few minutes ago and I told him that I had asked his siblings if he was always that sweet because I was hoping he wasn't Eddie Haskelling us. For those of you who don't know who Eddie Haskell was, don't worry. He was a major suck-up on the Leave it to Beaver show who, when he wasn't trying to impress and curry favor with adults, was a horrible person. Now I don't think Owen could possibly be a horrible person but then again, I find it hard to believe he's THAT sweet to his brother and sister. 
And yet, I think he really is. 

After lunch, Glen and I went over to Oak Tree Treasures which is about half a block away. He's looking for rugs and furnishings for his cabin. I suggested that Target or Walmart might have rugs that he could use but I get the feeling that no, they are not going to have things that are of the quality he wants. 
Ooh boy. 
We didn't find anything at Oak Tree so we went to the resale joint down the road. They'd approached him before Oak Tree moved in, wanting to rent space at Moon Plaza but had wanted more space than he had available. So he was curious as to how they'd ended up. Again, he found nothing but I found two things. One was the little fish plaque souvenir I did not buy the last time I was there.
Here it is on the shelf over the sink in my bathroom. 

I just realized I have another sort of art gallery there. Well, depending on your definition of art. 

The other thing I got just cracks me up and at the same time, is a very practical item.

Anyone know what this might be?

It is a foldable cake and bakery goods carrier. The strap thing there which looks like it might be something used in a fifties-themed bondage costume is actually the strap that goes around the foldable box and provides a handle. I just had to buy it. I bet I've baked a thousand cakes in my life and I have never had a cake carrier. 
Unless my memory has completely failed me and I have one sitting on a shelf right where I see it five times a day. However, I am quite sure I do not have one that looks like this. 
I'm excited. 

And that was pretty much my day. Why I didn't get a picture of the kids I have no idea. I do have a few pictures Jessie sent. They all got to walk in a Mermaid parade with Uncle Ben's marching band in Black Mountain today. 

You have to wonder what in the world is going on in western North Carolina. 
Pretty cool stuff is what I'd say. 
Is August rocking the mermaid theme or what? I have a feeling that's one of his cousin's costumes. I think he does it justice. 

When I first started visiting Jessie and Vergil when they lived in Asheville, I realized rather quickly that I was not nearly cool enough to be cool there. 
Very few of us are. 

Doesn't matter. Just like my old body. Take me or leave me. This is the way I am. Or, as Popeye so famously said, "I yam what I yam and that's all that I yam."

Going to go cook some fish.

Love...Ms. Moon

A Good Friday Although Not Good Friday. You Know

 

 

Mr. Moon mowed today and that always involves him moving the cars which are usually parked on either side of the little garden bed beside the kitchen door and when I was walking back to the house from the garden I really looked at our house and thought to myself that if I saw that house for the first time I would want to live in it. 
I hadn't realized how much of the beauty of it is obscured and diluted by a Prius and a, well, whatever that red car Mr. Moon drives is. I think a Toyota of some sort. 
For a woman who is married to "The Car Guy" I don't know squat about cars. 
And that may give you another perspective on my house and side yard. The little kitchen porch, the beautiful sable palms to the right of it that Tom gave me when my mother died and I planted, the tea olive tree which I always talk about as smelling so heavenly, and of course another murder (sago) palm right there in the tiny garden. You can also see all the invasive plants growing on this side of it, the chenille plant, the border grass, the Virginia creeper. 
Usually by this time of the year, the bananas that grow there have gotten pretty tall, fat, and fine. Not this year. I suppose that may be because of the unexpected freeze we had when they'd just started growing at the end of the winter/beginning of spring. 
I did a little weeding in that bed this afternoon and then just sort of casually threw a few seeds out there in some of the bare spots and then turned on the sprinkler. 

There's just a jumble of different plants in there so why not try to grow a few more? It's a mess but it's my mess. 

I worked some in the big garden this afternoon too. I weeded a tiny bit and then mulched some more.

That picture makes it look like I've got nothing going on there but trust me- there's a lot going on. The row of potatoes I pulled a few days ago is bare but I'm thinking of trying to plant some lettuces. We always grow lettuce in the spring and there's probably a reason for that. However, having discovered that arugula thrives in the summer heat, I'm thinking, why not? Why not try it? Glen's pushing me to plant another row of field peas but I'm not jumping on that one. We've got plenty as far as I'm concerned. Once they start producing we've got another time consuming project, which is picking and shelling them which is not a terrible thing to have to do but you have to make the commitment. I don't can those. I blanch and freeze them which works out very well. 

I was going to hang the sheets out this morning and was quite excited about that. Nice, sunny, not very humid- perfect drying on the line weather, but when Mr. Moon mows, there is so much dust kicked up it would be ridiculous to dry the bed linens outside. You know, there are large patches of our yard that are mostly dirt and so even if we've had rain there is going to be dust. 

Oh well. I used the dryer and the bed is made up and there are clean clothes and clean towels and that's the goal. 

It's been a day where I've been mostly good. A day where I've noticed the little things, like seeing the side of the house without the cars blocking the view. Like the beginning flowers of the Beauty Berry plant. 

Do any of you remember the year I made jelly out of Beauty Berries? 
It was a valid experiment but I'd certainly never repeat it. The color of the jelly was amazing. The taste though was somewhat lacking. 
But I'd read it could be done and so had to try it but as with so many things, just because you can, doesn't mean you should. 
This is a lesson we were probably meant to learn in our teens and yet, so many of us did not. 

And honestly, that's about all I have to say today. I have not talked about politics or the state of our country in quite awhile and I suppose that's because I've just felt so helpless. By the time I could call my representatives about one issue, another one has taken precedence over that one. I do truly believe that the wheels are coming off the bus as either Robert Reich, Jeff Tiedrich, or Heather Cox said today (I know it had to be one of those people because they write the newsletters I faithfully read every morning) and at this point, I don't think even his staunchest supporters, lap dogs, ass lickers, or cabinet members are really trying their hardest to show their approval of his overall behavior, his decisions, his inability to stay awake. 
However, the six members of the Supreme Court who are obviously out of their fucking minds, still seem to be...well, out of their fucking minds. 
Bye-bye Constitution. 
Hello, Facism! 

I'm listening to Kate Atkinson's "Life After Life" and I know I've read the book with my eyes at least once, probably twice. It was released in 2013 and much of the subject matter has to do with WW II and the rise of Hitler. It's an amazing book on many levels but rather scary in that Atkinson's description of how Hitler came to power despite his obvious insanity is far more familiar here in 2026 than I think she could have imagined it would be. 

But hey! Martini night! Clean sheets on the bed! Beautiful weather and a very tidy garden. 
What? Me worry? 
Don't be absurd.

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Pickles Ain't Easy

 Rattlesnake beans and a magnolia tree. Two of my favorite things. I took that picture when I was picking beans this morning. 
Okay, I lied. It was early afternoon. 
And yet, still cool. It got down to around 55 degrees last night (which is about 13 degrees C) and knowing this was going to happen I opened up the bedroom window before I went to sleep and when I got up it was so cool that I put on jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. When I was picking I did take off the long-sleeved shirt so I was down to the tank top underneath and was quite comfortable. I'm not sure what's going on but my beans aren't as prolific or large as they were a few weeks ago although I think that may be because I planted them too closely together and the vines are shading themselves out. I came up with this theory because the beans on the overhead trellis which get a lot more sun are still going strong and are as big as the first ones were. 
Still, I managed to pick a decent basketful and decided to break out the canning kettle to make dilly beans which are pickled green beans and a big favorite with the kiddos. 
The canning kettle and the pressure canner are two entirely different things and are used for two entirely different methods of canning food. The canning kettle is simple a large pot with a lid and a rack inside of it in which you can make pickles or canned tomatoes or anything vinegary or salty or acidy as those things are not prone to harbor the bad bacteria. This is called water bath canning and for many years, that's the only kind I did. Then I got a pressure canner in which I can process my green beans when I am not pickling them. 
I have learned via a FB canning group that people can EVERYTHING including fish and eggs. Some people look for sales on things like potatoes and buy bushels full and can those. 
I am not going to that effort, trust me. Now if potatoes weren't available year round and were more expensive, I might, but they are, and they're not. I mean, my time and effort is worth something. 
And it is a lot of time and effort to can things. Especially pickled green beans, in my experience. 
You have to grow them, pick them, trim them to a size which will fit into your choice of canning jars, make the pickling liquid, which is vinegar, water, salt, and sometimes sugar, pack the beans into the jars which can take forever if you're really attempting to do a good job and get as many beans in there as possible, then put your spices in the jars along with the beans and THEN, pour the boiling liquid over everything without overflowing it (hello, canning funnel!), seal the jars with the lids you've prepared by heating them in almost boiling water and finally, putting the jars in the kettle which already has very hot water in it, raising the temperature up to boiling, and process the beans for ten minutes, which means to leave them in that water as it bubbles. 
Phew! 
It took me at least two hours to do all that in order to produce six pints of dilly beans. 
They fucking better be good. 
When I got out my kettle today and opened it, I realized it has begun to rust. I used it for the dilly beans but I will be buying a new one. I'm not sure how much pickling I'm going to be doing this year but it's probably not a good idea to process food in a rusty kettle. Also, eventually those rust spots will turn into holes. 
And when that happens, I use the kettles to put weeds in when I'm working in the yard. When Hank was a baby, I used one to let him play in during a very long, hot, summer. 

Last night I did something that I'm not sure I've ever done which was to take apart a jigsaw puzzle before it was done and re-boxing it. I've been working on that stupid, vintage Florida puzzle for probably a year and I am completely over it. I have lost all interest and since the older I get, the more useless it seems to me to finish something just because I started it when it doesn't matter one damn bit if I do or I don't, I finally said, "Fuck this shit," and it's gone. 
I went online to try and find another eeboo puzzle, the brand of puzzles I truly love and enjoy putting together, and found one on e-bay. 

This one is a "vintage" puzzle, not being made anymore but I really like it and ended up paying as much for it as I would a brand new puzzle off the eeboo website. 
La-di-dah. Life is short. 
Etc.

I haven't been in my most contented and peaceful mental state the last few days. I've been getting headaches and I think they are either caused by my sinuses doing something they should not be (allergies?) or my neck and shoulder muscles pretending they are steel bands. 
Or a combination. I find myself rubbing the areas under my eyes and also trying to stretch out my neck muscles which make that weird crunchy sound when I turn my head too far. .
So that's annoying. I rarely get headaches so of course I think I have a brain tumor but I'm pretty sure I don't, not really. This just doesn't feel like a brain tumor, not that I'd really know. 
Thankfully. 
I guess if this keeps up I'll have to go to the doctor and I swear to you- I have only been to the doctor once in the many years I've been going to Zorn's office for anything other than a regularly scheduled appointment except for kidney stone pain. 
God, I'm lucky. 

Mr. Moon's on his way home. My kitchen smells like vinegar. 

I guess I'll go make some supper. Arugula and golden and also black cherry tomatoes will be involved. 

Here's a picture I found of the potato harvest in 2021.

That was a good year. Also, Levon was really cute. 
He still is. 

Here's a picture Jessie sent today after he got a haircut at a real barber shop. 

Oh yeah. 
And of course August got one too. 

I think that's called a Sunburst Fade. Or a Burst Fade for short. Kind of a combination mullet and mohawk. 
Look at those eyes. 

Love...Ms. Moon

In Which I Finally Leave My Yard

 

I took this picture to send to Jessie this morning and accompanied it with the message, "We miss you!" 
And we did. We all talked about her being off to North Carolina and how cool it is that her family gets to do that. 
Well, not all of us. There were four new members in class and of course they don't know Jessie. There was another mother-daughter pair who had taken pottery together before at Lemoyne, the place where August went to his art camp. 
Gail led them all through the process of building a mug, which means making the mug not on the wheel, but by cutting out flattened clay and forming the mug that way. Those people made some really cool mugs. I was impressed. And I realized that I have not made one mug in all the time I've been going to that class. I may have set a record for non-mug-making-in-pottery-class. 

But Lizzie was there and Felicia, another one of our compadres in pottery and also Tammy, who may be on her third session now. I think. 
It was good to see everyone and catch up a little. Lizzie has been to NYC since I last saw her, with the Gentleman Caller. She took him to his first opera- La Traviata. He only fell asleep once. He took her to a Broadway musical and she says she slept through a lot of it. Although GC was raised in New York City, he had never done some of the more touristy things such as going to Ellis Island or the Cloisters but Lizzie remedied that situation. I think they had a fantastic time. He stopped by at the end of class and as always, got a very warm welcome from us. We definitely approve of GC. 

My hibiscus bowl had finally been fired. Hurray! However, one of the little round legs of it had fallen off in the kiln and that was sort of a big disappointment. No need to fret, however. I'll just make another one and get that fired and then superglue it on when the whole thing is done. I was so excited to start working on the glaze-painting of that but before I did, I applied underglaze and then a glossy clear coat to the bottom of the leaf platter and now it will go into the kiln and we shall see what those colors look like. 
After I did that, I started on the hibiscus and it took me about an hour and a half to do this.

Do not ask me why. 
First off, I had to try and create a color for the inner central area there. The throat? And so I did a mixing of some of the colors I have that I ordered. 
Because I knew I would not remember what I'd used, I took this picture.

So what we have there is a mixture of Java Bean, Candy Apple Red, Wine About It, and Grapel. What I think I am going for is a sort of deep, deep burgandy with almost a hint of brown in it. Something like this. 

That's a picture I took of a hibiscus in Roseland. 
Now. Whether my combination of colors will be anything at all close to that is yet to be seen. And because of the slowness of the way I work, it ain't gonna be seen for awhile. 
Oh well. What's the rush? 
The point is, I love doing this. I brought it home so I can play with it here if I get the chance which means making the time and that is entirely under my control. 
I really have no idea what I'm doing and that's what I love about it. I just sort of let my hands take over and so far, I haven't hated anything I've done and although that's a low bar, it's okay. 

I also found my poor little fishy that I made in the last thirty minutes of a class, planning on making a nice little school of them to hang on the wall. 

It's rough. It needs sanding. But it's another happy fish. 
Now. The funny part is, I finally found it on one of the kids' classes shelves. I am not insulted in the least. In fact, I am pleased. Especially after seeing these hung in the hallway at the art center. I pass them on my way to the bathroom and I just had to take some pictures. Of the pictures.

I noticed this one first because it was seriously crooked.  I reached to straighten it and then realized, it was hung that way on purpose. Such brilliance! 
Here are some more.

I have felt all these ways. I recognize myself in each and every one of them and what human being could not? 

If I could do art like that, I would be so thrilled. 
So, to have found my little fish on the kids's shelf was not an insult to me in the least. It was a compliment. I have made something that evokes childishness. 

After class I took myself to lunch to the Cuban restaurant where I sat outside. My server was Jessi, whom I have mentioned before. I have developed a real affection for her. She does not try to be all cozy-friendly, she does not suck up. She is professional in all ways and radiates a lovely vibe. As I have said before, I do not mind eating in a restaurant by myself in the least. I wonder why. That doesn't really make sense in the light of how I feel about being in public. 

And then, because I realized I had not left Lloyd since last Friday, I stopped by Oak Tree Treasures where I spent way too much time and absolutely no money. I didn't find a darn thing I wanted or needed. 
By then, I was indeed getting anxious because when I've been away from home for too long, that's what I do. I have this inner voice telling me that I am going to be late, hurry up! Get home! 
And late for what? I ask that voice and it never has an answer and yet it doesn't stop nagging me. But I had to go to Publix and I did grow ever more anxious but eventually I made it home and here I am. 

I have not made even one brief tour of the garden and that feels wrong. I have certainly not skipped a day being in the garden since I got home from Roseland. It's okay. I know it's okay. 

Mr. Moon is at the cabin for one more night. He'll be home tomorrow as he has a dermatologist appointment Friday morning.

Oh! Look what I found at Publix. 

A new canning funnel! Thank you, Publix. And now it's guaranteed that my old one will show up. 

I am truly ready to rock. Come on, green beans! Let's dance. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Today's Report: Meh

Today has had its positives and its negatives for sure. 
Mr. Moon is up at Lake Seminole so my time has been my own to do with as I want, and what I wanted to do was to dig up that patch of potatoes I planted from last year's left-over crop sort of as an experiment because they looked pretty lacking in life-force. Glen planted a few chunks of seed potatoes there too when he ran out of room in the row he was planting. 
I got out the beach umbrella and provided myself with shade and while I dug and pulled, I listened to an interview that Linda Sue had sent me the Youtube link for with Ezra Klein and Julia Belluz on the New York Times Opinion podcast on the GLP-1's. I think it's a podcast. Ms. Belluz is a health journalist and book author who has done a great deal of research in this area, as has Ezra Klein. 
Now, I probably will not sit and watch a video of people talking, but I'll sure as hell listen to it while I'm working in my garden and that's what I did today. 
It was a fascinating look at what we know and don't know and are learning and studying about the reported effects of GLP-1's and how they work in the brain and how observing and studying that is changing how we understand appetite and a hell of a lot of other things. 
I'm not going to go into the whole thing by any means. Here's the link for it. 

One of the things that really struck me though was how they are discovering that appetite is not controlled by the stomach and what's in it, but the brain. Which I think most of us sort of realized although how many of us who have struggled with weight all of our lives been told to, "Just eat when you're really hungry"?
Well, some of us have brains that tell us we're hungry all the time. Especially if you put food in front of us and in the world we live in now, food is almost always available and virtually in front of us. We don't even have to leave the comfort of our homes to have access to delicious sugary, fatty, salty foods. We can pull the phone out of our pocket and make a call and before we know it, all of that deliciousness is right at our door. 
Ezra Klein said that he has struggled with his weight since he was a boy and very much still does. He said that if there was a plate of Oreos on the table between him and Ms. Belluz, at least fifty percent of his energy would be spent on contemplating those cookies and fighting the urge to eat them. 
And that sums up exactly what it's like for so many of us. 

But somehow, the GLP-1's change that function in the brain so that unless we are really and truly hungry, we just aren't that concerned or interested in the cookies. What we once could not resist, or at best could resist but only with great effort, is now not a big deal. 

I will never forget going to breakfast with a woman who had once been a very, very good friend of mine. We both ordered and I tried to make my "good choices" as I always did because I was always trying to lose weight or at least not to gain weight, whereas she ordered a regular breakfast and several other side dishes off the menu. 
Now here's the thing- that woman was thin to the point that I often wondered where she kept her internal organs. 
But.
She had always been thin. That was just the way she was. She never had to give a second thought to her weight. 
And so when our food arrived, I ate everything on my plate while she had a few bites of each thing and then put her fork down. We sat there and talked for over an hour and during that time I spent an inordinate amount of energy being focused on what was left on her plate which was at least 80% of what she'd ordered while she never picked up her fork again, as if all of that deliciousness in front of her wasn't there at all. 
And the damn thing is, I know this woman judged me, thinking that all I needed to do was to have a little more self-control and will power when it came to eating. 

And that is how it has been for so, so many of us who have struggled with our weight and so to be able to take a drug that (in my case, at least) almost immediately eliminated that inappropriate focus on food, it was (and is), nothing short of life-altering. 

So that was one take-away I got from the interview. I don't expect a lot of you to listen or watch the entire thing. But if you have questions about the drugs and how they work or how we think they work and what the other benefits from them might be, I'd recommend it. 

So back to the garden. I dug up this many potatoes.

Not a great harvest but there are some fine, larger, firm spuds in there. 

And then I worked on ridding the northwest corner of the garden of the damn cherry laurel sprouts and a few other weeds and then I did a little more mulching. While I was doing all of this I was listening to what had, for some damn reason, come up on my phone after the NYT's interview had finished, which was interviews with my boys. My old boys. Mick and Keith and Ronnie and Charlie too, who had still been alive when a lot of these were recorded. Some of the interviews were part of a documentary of sorts and so music was mixed in. You'd think I'd have had enough of the Rolling Stones for awhile but no, I had not. And hearing their voices- well, that's not the same thing at all as reading a rather dry book on them. 
So I really enjoyed that. One of the interviews was done before the tour they did for their fiftieth anniversary and everyone, including the Stones themselves, were fairly amazed at how they'd lasted that long. 
And that was ten years ago. And now they're doing interviews on what it's like to be recording and releasing new music sixty years on. 

But even with the Stones and even being in the garden, which I love, I just didn't seem to be really feeling one with the universe or whatever that half-assed feeling is when the energy and interest just aren't there. I stomped some more marigold seeds I saved from last year into the dirt but I don't have a lot of hope for them. 

I watered the porch plants, I filled up three ceramic pots with dirt, one of them being a duck and two of them being hens. I'd gorilla glued one of the hens who had cracked after last winter's freeze. I transplanted a few things into them, just for fun. 

Into the laundry room nursery these two went. 

And this one is on the kitchen porch. 

Both hens have Roseland plants in them. 

I also stuck five date pits into little pots to see if they do anything. I'd love to grow a date palm from seed.

Tomorrow I have pottery and I think this may be the first session I've attended without a daughter. Lily came with me one year and one year, I think I may have just not gone while Jessie was in NC. 
I'm not sure. 
But anyway, it'll be different but I know it'll be good for me. I need to get out of the house, out of my yard, out of my routine, out of Lloyd! And I'll get to see Lizzie and Gail and that will be nice. 
Goddam I hope that hibiscus got fired. 

That's a sweet little anole who was on the pineapple plant. He's not in focus. There were reasons. 
The poor little guy did not look good. I know it was a guy because he was displaying his prowess when it comes to puffing out his throat. But I think maybe he did that to scare me off. He was very thin and I believe that dark spot may be a healing wound. 

Bless his little tiny little lizard heart. May he live in peace from here on out. 

I would wish the same for all of us.

I'm going to go heat up some pork chop, lentil, vegetable soup which is actually very good. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Don't You Judge Me! Nah. Go Ahead

Last night I finished the Rolling Stones Biography by Bob Spitz which has been described as a "doorstop book" in that it contains many pages. Somehow I ripped through it fairly quickly and it wasn't because I couldn't put it down. It wasn't a difficult read and I didn't feel the need to linger in certain places or reread a section that really caught my attention. No startling revelations were to be found. I was impressed though how at the end of the book, the author seemed to be as fan-boyish as anyone else about how Keith Richards, Mick Jagger, Ronnie Woods, and until he died, Charlie Watts, managed to survive together through so many seemingly impossible years and arguments and addictions and fame and tragedies, as well as the combination of  two of the biggest egos in rock history, those of Keith Richards and Mick Jagger but I am prejudiced, you know, and believe that of the two, Mick isn't called "Her Majesty" for nothing. 
But it's nothing short of magical that for sixty years these two men have never entirely let anything come between the bond that was created over sixty years ago when they first recognized the blues-lover in the other and began to play that music together. 
And then go on to write the music that, along with the music of the Beatles, defined a generation and still makes us want to dance. 

As you know, I could go on. I'll just say that in July they will be releasing an album of all new material and so they ain't done yet. In fact, they won't be done until they're dead most likely and dear god, if they did sign that pact with the devil at the crossroads that blues players are often said to have signed, let it have been a good deal and give them even more than the eighty two years they've already had. 

Today's harvest. 

Today's successful project. Thirteen pints, all lids having popped the way they should have. 

So what I was thinking about writing yesterday was, well...
Here's what I wrote yesterday evening with more added tonight:

I've been wanting to write more about how this Zepbound experience has been for me thus far. It's odd. I feel shy about it although not ashamed in the least. It's been a year now and I've lost a good amount of weight which is fun in that I can wear things I couldn't have imagined wearing a year ago but the really important thing in my life is how I feel. Emotionally, and physically. 

Emotionally I will just say I am happier with myself which makes me happier overall. I know that our culture is obsessed with thinness and that no matter what weight we are at we should love ourselves for who we are and not how we look and that judging ourselves or anyone else's looks on their weight is bullshit. 

And...that how we look is NOT who we are anyway. I know that but somehow, no matter how I tried, I just could not. And part of that was knowing that my body was limiting itself in its abilities and capabilities, carrying around extra pounds. 
I used to wake up every morning and just the act of getting out of bed was difficult and painful. My joints were stressed to the point of constant discomfort and I don't think I even realized how many of my physical problems were more weight-related than age-related. I would groan and I would moan, every time I got out of bed and every time I got up from a chair, too. 
Things just fucking hurt. 
So when I wake up now and swing my legs over the edge of the bed and stand up and nothing really hurts it is like a daily miracle. I know I've talked many times about how it feels to be able to get up from the ground when I've been kneeling in the garden with such ease that I don't even realize I'm doing it until I'm standing up but I still can't believe the difference. 
I'm not saying that I can completely go from kneeling to standing with absolutely no support moves but my god, it is so much easier. 
You know what else? 
I think I could dance. 
A little. Maybe. I do dance a little bit, now and then, when no one's around and even that little bit reminds me of the freedom I felt when I danced for real and for true, letting myself go into it fully and without thought. 
I know I will never be twenty again or even fifty but I feel so much lighter in spirit and in body than I have in probably a decade and that ain't nothing. I can bend over and pick up things off the ground with ease. I can get on my knees to look for something under the bed without first having to make a game plan. 
I can look into a mirror. 
You have no idea how many years that I literally did not look into a mirror unless I absolutely had to. 
And of course, that goes back to my self-shaming but it's the truth. I did not want to see what either my face or my body looked like. It wasn't the aging of myself I was aghast at. It was how I did not recognize my very own self. 
Who was that? And who was I? Where was I?
And this is the part that's hard to write about. 
How many times have I discussed what a huge issue thinness was when I was growing up? Twiggy was the ideal. Remember Twiggy? With her startling eye make-up, her pixie haircut, her tiny body with shoulder blades and rib cage almost as visible as if she had no skin covering them at all. 

She was youth, she was as fresh and delicate as a newborn chick. She was the new ideal. 

But I can't blame everything on Twiggy. We were already headed in that direction. Clothing designers chose models who were barely more than clothes hangers on which to display their designs, or, as Hank pointed out to me many years ago, resembled prepubescent boys in their lack of curves, their gangly arms and legs. 
Not very healthy any way you looked at it. 

So there was all of that and for many of us, being thin was one of the only ways we could gain approval, attention. Being the brainy girl who made all A's was seen as something more of a weirdness than an asset. Intelligence was good, yes, but hardly noteworthy. Hey! Even male nerds weren't hugely appreciated at that time. A female nerd? 
You might as well just give it up and join a nunnery. Ain't nobody gonna ask you to dance. 
BUT. You could be smart AND pretty or cute, but to be those last two, you had to be thin. 

At that time in my life I was one fucked-up young woman. Girl. Whatever. I lived in a house where my stepfather terrorized me simply by being in the same vicinity, day and night. My body was something I had an incredibly complicated relationship with. Boys were something I had an incredibly complex relationship with. 
Here. I wrote this in 2011.

"Because my stepfather thought of me as his, he would have been quite happy if I'd been kept in the house forever, a child-nun to keep all to himself, but somehow it had been put in place that when I turned sixteen, I could go out with a boy on a real date, and I'll never forget the first time I went out with a guy, and the Evil One stood there and cried as I left with this football player who had a twisted sense of humor and that perpetual wound over the top of his nose where his helmet rubbed him and my mother thought it was so sweet that her husband loved me so much that he cried when I went out, having no idea the twisted perversion going on his mind.

Or the complete and utter feeling of freedom in mine as I left that house, even if just until ten o'clock when I had to be back in it.

I can't quite describe it. And if I tried, it would go on for days but I'll say this- when I was out and in a car with a boy, my body was my own and my desires were my own and my choices were my own and it was normal and right, whereas in my house the things that went on were certainly not of my control and beyond a doubt, not right in any way."

And all of this added to the whole of my body image. And that led to a bout with disordered eating and that led to more trouble, more problems, more self-body shaming, and so on. And despite everything I came to know about feminism and not having to try and please a man, I never honestly got over all that stuff. 
The only times in my life that I truly loved my body for what it was were during my pregnancies, births, and the period right after the births when I was able to nurse the babies I had managed, with this body, to bring safely to earth. To sustain them. To comfort them. To care more about them than what I looked like. 
Too bad that never lasted although I have always felt a strong sense of pride in what this body managed to do which was to create life. 

But when that magic wore off, I began to be ashamed of the way I looked again. Every time. I felt like a whale. I felt ashamed. And every time I did what it took to lose the weight and sometimes, the ways I did it were healthy and sometimes, they were not. 

So obviously, my weight, my appearance, have always been way too important to me. Inappropriately so. And I've known that but no matter how hard I tried, I could not get out of that mindset. 

And then, I guess when I hit my mid-fifties, sixties, I just could not do it any longer. I could not limit my portions. I could not eliminate certain beloved foods from my diet any more. I had had it. I was done. 
And I gained weight. I still walked, sometimes hours daily. I still tried to choose the best foods and prepare them simply and in a healthful manner. 
But I've never been able to control the constant hunger I've experienced my entire life and I gained weight. 
A lot of weight. 
And I couldn't stand it and yet, I couldn't seem to do what I needed to do to lose it. 

And then came the GLP-1's and the reports of the results of people taking them were unbelievably positive. And finally, after a few years of reading about them I gathered up my courage and asked my doctor about them and he was very positive, saying that he'd seen some amazing results in his patients. Now this is a doctor who never told me that if I'd lose weight my blood pressure might be better, my cholesterol might be lower, my joints might be less painful. 
Never once. He knew I already knew all of that and he was quite aware of the fact that I was far from ignorant about diet and nutrition. 
So when he said he'd prescribe Zepbound for me, I felt validated. 
And almost immediately after injecting myself the first time I felt the effects. For the first time in my life, I had no desire to stuff myself. I really didn't think I could if I'd wanted to. The drug made it easy to pass up desserts and other tempting foods that do no one any favors. Empty calories just did not appeal to me. 
Does this sound like a miracle drug? 
In my very own personal experience, it has been. 
In one year I have lost a truly significant amount of weight. 
And if I am a shallow and brainwashed woman because I can now look at myself in a mirror and not be unhappy with myself, then so be it. I'm almost 72 years old and I'm not going to change at this point. 

And speaking of being this age, I am not fooling myself when I look in a mirror. I see my skin which is wrinkled and crepey. I see the sagging, proof that gravity has had its way with me. 
And I'm fine with all of that. I have no desire whatsoever to have cosmetic surgery to nip or to tuck. I have earned all of these signs of aging while at the same time, as I said, I feel younger, my body not constrained nearly as much by what it was carrying around. I feel less apt to try and hide in groups or in public. I have more self-confidence. 
Y'all- I am sassier. 

And all because of a drug I take once weekly. And no, like I said, I don't feel shame. I feel like my body, on this drug, is able to tell my brain when I am truly hungry and when I am not. 
And I know it's not as simple as that but it really is as simple as that for me and my brain and my body. 

I would like to add that my husband never once, never ONCE said a word indicating that he thought I could stand to lose a pound or two. He just loved me however I was. He has loved me the way I guess I wish I could love myself. 

Hey! I cleaned my shower today! And guess what? Getting down on the floor was easy as hell. Getting up was too. 
Guess what else? 
I still hate to clean the shower. 

Some things do not change. 

Sigh. 

I am interested in hearing your thoughts on all of this and if you feel the need to educate me in how I could have lost weight without the assistance of a drug or how I am striking a blow against body-positivity, go ahead. You aren't going to tell me anything I haven't thought of myself. 

Love...Ms. Moon