Can You Hear Me Now?

I so wish I had taken a picture of Andrew, the audiologist who tested my hearing today. He was a hoot and made me feel comfortable immediately. I wasn't worried in the least about this appointment. I knew I had hearing loss and I also knew it was starting to really bother me. Forget family gatherings in restaurants. That's the worst case scenario. I also have a harder time hearing what some of my grandkids say than I'd like. And there's a woman in pottery class who is a very soft speaker and I have to ask her to repeat things. So I haven't really been fooling myself about the fact that it was time to get this situation checked out but I probably would have put it off forever if I hadn't made the promise to Mr. Moon that if he got his hearing checked, I'd do the same. I was rather shocked when he DID finally go and get tested. I think something must have triggered him to do that, perhaps while he was in Canada, but whatever the reason, I am so glad he did. 
After his test, he showed me his results but they're rather hard to parse and he insisted that really, they weren't so bad. 
I knew this was bullshit. This has been going on for years. But he stubbornly insisted that it wasn't necessary for him to get hearing aids and that he'd probably lose them if he did and, and, and...

So when I went into the little room at Costco with the glass door and Andrew began the process of testing me for all sorts of different hearing losses, I was more curious than anything. The exam didn't last very long but felt adequate to me although what do I know? 
Not very much. 
When it was over I told Andrew that it had not been the least enjoyable thing I've ever done. And it wasn't. It was pretty interesting, really. 
And yes, I do indeed have losses and yes, I should get hearing aids and instead of being upset about that, I'm excited. I remember how much my world changed when I was in the third grade and got my first pair of glasses. Suddenly, I was able to see what I had never realized that I couldn't. I think everyone who gets glasses at an early age knows what this is like and almost all of us say the same thing- I could see the leaves on trees!
That was some pretty amazing shit right there. It literally changed my life and the way I saw the world. I still do not take this for granted. 
So the thought of having a similar experience with my ears and hearing is sort of thrilling. I honestly don't give a shit if wearing hearing aids makes me look older. I AM older. I am at the appropriate age to wear them and as Andrew told me, virtually everyone over the age of forty has begun to lose their ability to hear what they once could. He told me that I'd hear more birds, that conversation would be so much easier, that I would not need closed captions while watching TV.
Now that doesn't bother me. I like closed captions. But hey! A new world! A world with more birdsong, more understanding of what my grandchildren are saying. A world where I don't have to keep asking what someone said when the family is gathered. A world where I'm not having to ask someone to repeat what they've said. 
This all sounds (haha!) very, very good to me. 

And perhaps the best news is that when I told Glen that yes, I needed hearing aids and that yes, I am ready to order them right away and was very excited about that, he was suddenly far more positive about doing the same. It's like he needed that one tiny push and I was there to give it with my whole heart and not in a way that implied he was being a stubborn old man who wouldn't listen to reason. 
Although he is. 
And I am a stubborn old woman who needed to stop and think about how much richer my life will be if I can hear better. 

So today's experience may turn out to be a life-changer for both of us. I hope so. I really do. 

I made a soup today with yesterday's broth and some of the leftover meat. It's also got all the vegetables that didn't get eaten from the veggie tray including broccolini. I picked turnip, mustard, and kale greens from the garden, chopped them up and added them to the pot along with onions, a lot of garlic, and some leftover green beans. The pot is so full I should probably make rice separately to spoon the soup over. I hope it's good. And...more for the freezer! The flautas last night were every bit as fine as I remember. Glen was so happy. 

And tomorrow we may eat hamburgers. 

Want to see a cute picture?

That is not just a random photo of eight adorable puppies. There is a story to it. 

Of course. 
Details to follow as the story unfolds. 
And NO! I am not getting a dog. Not now, not ever. 
But it looks like someone may be.
Love...Ms. Moon

Funny How One Thing Leads To Another

It's been some time since I posted a Friday picture of sheets hanging on the line and that's because I've been lazy and have been drying them in the dryer but today I decided...why not?
I am not sure what prompted me to dry them outside today because it was chilly out there. And when I say chilly, of course I mean it was probably in the lower fifties or maybe even upper forties or something but I am not kidding when I tell you that my fingers were frozen before I'd finished pinning it all up. But I got pleasure from doing it anyway, and seeing them blowing in the breeze. 
Maurice did not follow me outside because she is intelligent. She spent a good part of the day sleeping on a heat register, draped over it like a super model posing on the beach. 

So guess what I ate last night for my late supper? 
I think this is hysterical- leftover eggplant parmesan for the fourth night in a row. 
I believe I may be over turkey. Today I cut all the meat, both cooked and un-cooked from the bones that I could and then boiled the carcass for about forty-eight hours. Haha! No, it was more like four hours. But that meat is done now! And I have enough stock for a year's worth of soup. Tonight, however, we are having turkey flautas which I never make anymore because they are fried and there is no way an air-fryer could reproduce what happens to them in hot oil in a cast iron skillet so what would be the point? 

Now there's a story here. Forty-two years ago on the Friday night after Thanksgiving, Glen Moon set his cap for me. We'd met, sort of, because we had friends in common. He was originally introduced to me by the brother of one of my best, dearest friends who was painting my house pink. The brother, not my friend. He subcontracted Glen to paint the shutters and steps gray. 
Hey! It was the eighties. Plus I was a single mother living in a stick-up-the-butt neighborhood and I felt the need to let my freak flag fly after I received an anonymous note asking me to keep my yard tidier because basically, it was a blot on the 'hood. 
Haha! I said. I shall paint my house pink. 
So I did, or rather, my friend did, and Glen helped him. There's more to THIS story than I have the time to tell but it did involve weed. As so many good things do. 
Anyway, to make a long story interminable, as another friend of mine used to say, nothing clicked at all between Glen and me on that first meeting but on the night after Thanksgiving, not too long after that, he espied me at the local dive bar where my ex-husband's band was playing and where I was wearing a sweater my beloved friend Sue-Sue had lent me which was made of the softest mohair imaginable and for some reason, just would not stay on my shoulder. 
Invitations to dancing ensued and by the end of the evening, he was dropping major hints about how much he would love a turkey sandwich but I ignored those and went on home with my mohair-wearing bad self. 
Within a very short while though, soon enough in fact for me to still have turkey leftovers, I did invite him over for supper and made him turkey flautas. 
The rest is history. 
Sure, there's more to the story but that's the true and honest explanation of how we got together. 

The recipe I use is one that a friend of mine gave me and it is probably the least authentic turkey flautas recipe in the entire American continent but it is good. I have not yet told him that we are having turkey flautas and I will have to remind him about it being a sort of anniversary for us. He will remember the turkey flautas though. I wish with all my heart I still had the sweater that he bought for me before Christmas had even come around which was exactly like Sue-Sue's although it was pink instead of blue. What happened to that sweater? When we get to heaven are they going to give us a big bag of all our favorite garments that somehow fell through a portal, never to be seen again? 
Golly, I hope so.

And that is my story tonight. I spent most of the day being domestic, doing laundry, making that stock, doing a little mending and of course, making up the bed with the clean sheets. It's now martini time and I should go get our supper started and the stock strained of bones and meat and all of it refrigerated. Some of it is going to have to go into the freezer which is going to require some Jenga or Tetris-like maneuvering. 

Tomorrow I have an appointment at the Costco hearing-aid place to get my hearing tested. There is also a story to this but I'll save it. 
Somehow, that night when Mr. Moon first asked me to dance, so charmed by that sweater and my then-lovely shoulder, neither one of us had even the vaguest thought in our minds that one day, we would both be getting our hearing tested because we would be spending half our lives walking around the house yelling, "Did you say something to me?" and also, "WHAT?"

And yet, here we are. 
Love is grand, ain't it? 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Lloyd Thanksgiving, 2025

Well, I fucked up the turkey. 
Sigh.
I was so very, very happy and proud that I got everything, EVERYTHING done before anyone even showed up. The cream was whipped, the biscuits were cut and on the baking sheet, the stuffing had been made and the turkey was cooked and tented in aluminum foil and resting on the traditional plastic turkey platter I got in Monticello at the hardware/general store in 1979. I'd made the iced tea, both sweet and unsweet and even cut lemons to put in a little dish to go with. 
I washed and put away the roasting pan!
The entire kitchen was neat and tidy and I was running the first dishwasher load of the day. 
It was seriously the most organized and efficient Thanksgiving dinner I'd ever presided over. The kids got here and were very impressed, and their casseroles and Lauren's charcuterie board were all laid out along with the deviled eggs Lily made and the smoked salmon I'd bought at Costco with crackers, mustard, cream cheese and capers. Kisses were given, hugs were given, grandkids were happy, everyone was impressed with my laid-back attitude, knowing that I had everything under control, baby. Observe and learn. 

And then. And then...

I put the biscuits in the oven and they were raising like the angels they are named after and I asked Glen to carve the turkey and oh, what a glorious feeling it all was until...there was silence from Glen. 
"I'm not sure this turkey is done," he said, holding the carving knife in one hand, my grandfather's carving fork in another. 
Excuse me. Not done? I had used the very expensive meat and whatever else thermometer which had assured me that the meat was up to its proper heat and I'd wiggled a leg and I'd cut into a breast and peeked to see what color the juices were and they were reassuringly not pink, and besides- it had been tented and sitting for a few hours at that time and everyone assures you that the bird will continue to cook for awhile as it sits. 
So it was hard to believe but I went over to see what Mr. Moon was seeing and by god, that turkey was so not done. I mean, most of the breast was done but the rest of it was, without a doubt, a threat to human health if consumed. 
Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. 
And remember- the biscuits are already in the oven. 
The bitch bird had to go back in the oven. No doubt about that. Lily suggested that we slice the breast and put the slices in a casserole dish, cover it with aluminum foil, stick it back in the oven and deal with the rest of it later. 
Which is what we did. 
The biscuits baked, the turkey breast slices got done, and Thanksgiving was saved. 
Not that not having a turkey would have ruined it. But you know what I mean. 
We all sat outside at two long tables. 

That is hardly a good picture but it's the one I have. You can't even see Gibson, while Owen and Maggie are barely visible. Glen looks like he's had about enough of that, and, well, it is what it is. I have to say it was a beautiful day with a sky bluer than that tablecloth, and very cool. Cool enough for me to need a sweater. 

Shall I go through the menu while we're here? 
Turkey breast slices, twice roasted, vegetarian and non-vegetarian cornbread dressing, gravy, angel biscuits, and cranberry relish. That was what I brought to the table. Lauren brought the charcuterie and the sweet potato casserole which, after a lifetime of sampling sweet potato casseroles, I proclaim to be the best I've ever eaten and it is. She also made banana pudding. May made mashed potatoes that were perfect in all regards, along with an arugula, apple, pecan and various nuts salad with an orange vinaigrette. Lily made macaroni and cheese and the deviled eggs and the veggie tray and brought the kids' drinks and all sorts of things I'm sure I'm not remembering. Rachel went crazy and made green bean casserole, spinach casserole, stuffed acorn squash, corn pudding, and an apple pie. All delicious.

(Photo by Rachel. Thank you, honey!)

Again, I'm sure there was more but forgive me, I'm old and can't remember shit. 
So yes, it was a typical Thanksgiving here and with the power of sweet baby Jesus and Zepbound, I really did not eat that much but then again, I never eat that much at Thanksgiving. By the time it's all on the table, I don't even want to think about food. 
Everyone brought leftover containers and after we ate and took a little while to digest, everyone got what they wanted to take home with them. Of course no one got turkey because it was STILL IN THE OVEN where I'd put it to resume cooking. We got out the pies and slices of those were cut and wrapped to take home too. 

I now have a refrigerator filled with leftovers and the better part of a turkey. I'll use some of it to make various things but I have a feeling that most of it will become soup. I can get out my biggest pot and make enough turkey stock for the coming year. 

We are a funny family, and I am so very grateful for these people connected to me by blood and by birth, by marriage, and most importantly, by love. 

I cracked up right after had we begun eating when Lily said, "We didn't even say a prayer or, what's that thing called that you say before you eat?" 
"Grace," someone said.
"That's it!" Lily said. 
And I believe it was May who said, "And that explains why we didn't say it."
Lord, we are a bunch of heathens. Although Maggie did just get baptized a few weeks ago at her other grandmother's church. 
We didn't even go around the table and say what each of us was thankful for. I think we know what we're all thankful for which is each other and health and love and all of that stuff but I did tell Michael later that if there was one thing I was most thankful for that didn't involve my family, it was that Donald Trump will die at some point. Even if he outlives me, I know that he is not immortal and will die. 

One more picture that Rachel took. 

If those two are the sort of devils that populate hell, sign me up. 
As I always say, I'll save you a seat at the bar. 

Hey! Happy Thanksgiving! 

Love...Ms. Moon

C'est La Vie, Say The Old Folks

As you can see, I did manage to thaw the turkey completely and it is now in a bowl, salt having been rubbed into its wounds skin, and before I go to bed I'll turn it over so that the magic can happen on the other side of the bird too. It's supposed to be on a rack in a roasting pan but that would have just taken up too much space so the bowl will have to do. To the right of the turkey is the stock I made with giblets, onions, spices and Better Than Bouillon which will go into the gravy. 
In the plastic container with a red lid down there on the bottom shelf, we have an impressive amount of angel biscuit dough. The flavor improves as it sits. Trust me. 
And the cranberry relish is in the covered bowl on the bottom right.
I have made the cornbread for the stuffing/dressing and that is on top of the stove right now, drying out a bit. I did something with that I've never done before, which was to sauté onions, pecans, and celery which I added into the cornbread batter before I baked it. 

It looks more like a spice cake than it does a cornbread but I think it's going to work. I also use Pepperidge Farm stuffing mix along with the cornbread and feel no shame about this. Just as it would not be Thanksgiving without the canned cranberry gel/sauce for many people, it would not be Thanksgiving for me without the Pepperidge Farm in the blue and white bag. The stuffing has always been my favorite part of the Thanksgiving meal, bar none, and as Boud says about getting the first slice of something she's baked, it's "cook's privilege" in my opinion that if I make the stuffing, I get to pick the kind I make. My kids would probably not to know what to do with stuffing not made at least partly with Pepperidge Farm. 

Mr. Moon is still at the cabin. He's been soldering the pipes in the bathroom in order to be able to take a shower downstairs. 

Is there anything this man can not do? 

He'll be back tomorrow in time to help set up the tables and so forth. I will admit that I had one of those dreams this morning of him leaving me for another woman. I am not sure who this woman was but she was not the black-haired, truck-driving bitch. We were in Europe and so perhaps it was a French woman. She probably looked like Uma Thurman with black hair and red lipstick and Louboutin heels. 

I do have a vivid imagination, don't I? 

Hey! I cleaned the toilets today! Would Uma Thurman clean the toilets? 
Probably not. At least not in her Louboutin heels. 

I may need therapy. 
Also, I may be the one with a crush on Uma Thurman. I will never, ever not watch this if it comes up on any social media. You shouldn't either. And I'm not even going to say how much I love movies in which John Travolta dances. 
Well, most of them but maybe this one the most. 

Happy Thanksgiving, y'all. Rock it like Chuck Berry. Dance it like Marilyn Monroe is holding a trophy waiting for you to claim it and John Travolta has taken off his shoes and is dancing in his Gold Toe socks just for you. 

Love...Ms. Moon

The Truth About Turkeys

They lie, they lie, they LIE! Look at the thawing instructions on that turkey. Does it not say that a thirteen to sixteen pound turkey will thaw in the refrigerator in 3-4 days? That turkey weighs 13.51 pounds and it has been in a refrigerator since last Wednesday which means it's been six days since the supposed thawing process began and by god that bird is still mostly frozen. And no, it's not the refrigerator. It is set at a normal temperature. This happens every year. Every year of my life it has happened. 
Three to four days my ass. 

I retrieved it from the garage this afternoon because I wanted to start the dry brine. Maybe. But I don't think you can dry brine a damn block of turkey ice. I'll leave it out on the counter until I go to bed although that is against all the safety rules (bite me) and see how it's going tomorrow. 

I'd say I'm sorry I'm being so profane tonight but I'm not sorry and I'd rather be profane than lie. I'm not sure why the cusses are coming out so abundantly but they are. Besides, I've been fairly mild in my language lately and I don't want to lose my abilities in that area. 

Lily called me this morning. God bless her, the first thing she said is, "This is not an emergency!" Phew. She knows me. 
The not-emergency was that their main refrigerator is broken and they don't have an ice maker hooked up and I think something else may be broken but I'm sure the washer is and she says there's laundry all over the place and maybe, just maybe, having Thanksgiving at her house isn't the best idea this year and (tiny voice) would I mind if we moved it here?
I do believe this has happened before. And you know what? This house was made to be a family-gathering house and that's all there is to it so of course I don't mind although I did set a few guidelines, mostly involving people baking their casseroles before they get here because that last hour oven-shuffle situation drives me nuts. And the really good news is that now I don't have to transport all the stuff I'm making over to Lily and Lauren's house. 

All I really have to do that I wouldn't be doing anyway is to clear the spaces we'll need to use like kitchen counters and tables. I'll just throw all that stuff in a closet and it'll be groovy. And to warn people where not to walk because they'll fall through the floor. 
Sigh.

I did what I do believe was my final shopping (for Thanksgiving, at least) today and I have to say that Costco was far, far less crowded and crazy than it was a week ago. I have no idea why. All I needed there was some smoked salmon and butter and some vegetable Better Than Bouillon. I know I've mentioned the Better Than Bouillon products before but if you've forgotten, this shit is the best. Never buy a carton of chicken stock or beef stock or veggie stock again. Of course I still make my own stock for a lot of things but adding the BTB to it just brings it all to a much higher level. 

I highly recommend this product and of course, as always, I am not making a penny off of this recommendation. 
Sigh. I wish.

I also went to Publix for a few last-minute items and that wasn't very stressful either. So...YAY! 

After I got home and before I even unloaded the groceries, I cleaned out the refrigerator for much-needed space. I didn't clean it, I just cleaned out the stuff you don't throw out because, well, gee, maybe it's still good. It smells okay. It looks okay. There is a slight chance, at least, that we'll eat it. If we were starving we would eat it. Right? 
I was merciless. Begone, you poor containers of if not mysterious than at least questionable leftovers and jars with 1/4 inch of something in them. 
And now I have plenty of room for all the things. Stuffing and turkey and cranberry relish and pies and angel biscuit dough. 

And one more pecan pie, this one pure and unsullied by chocolate. 

I got past whatever was holding me back yesterday and cranked out what I think will be a fine pie. If I were a true southern lady cook, I would have arranged those pecans in a pleasing pattern but I guess I'm not because I didn't. I did, however, turn most of them right side up. Not all. But enough to show I care.

That's a picture of the garden right now. I need to get in there and clear out the dead marigolds and basils. We may get rain tomorrow and I know that every creature and plant is hoping for that to be so. I just heard some frogs croaking and I want to believe they know something the rest of us don't. 

Meanwhile...

Really, Maurice? The old, soft jeans I understand but is it really that comfortable to cuddle up to a pincushion? 

And on top of the scissors? 
I guess it is. 

Love...Ms. Moon

P.S. I dropped by May's work today because I just really, really needed to hug her. I am so glad I did. It was heaven and she is an angel. 

Laginappe

Well, as so often happens, a reader educated me tonight. The Oak Island of treasure hunting fame is off the coast of Nova Scotia, not North Carolina. 
Sheesh. 
I'm going to bed. 

Take A Breath

I should have tried to get a more cheerful photo today of Maggie and Levon and also one that August's entire self is in. I suppose I thought I'd get more before the visit was over but forgot. Magnolia had a sleep-over with the boys last night and according to Jessie all went quite well until this morning when the kids were jumping on the trampoline and tossing about a frozen water balloon which Levon accidentally hit Maggie in the head with which made her cry. The drama of the episode was still being maintained when they got here for a little visit and a frozen pizza lunch, and she was not happy about anything, really. Jessie told the kids that no, they could not look at Maggie's phone but instead needed to play with real things and none of them were especially happy about this. I was remembering the last time the three of them were here and the very cool things they made with the Lincoln Logs and how the four of us sat on the little love seat in the library and I read them a book and then we all read another book, taking turns with each page. I was thinking this visit would be just like that but of course, no, things happen, things change, and mostly I believe they were all tired, probably from staying up too late talking. 
Ah well. Kiddos. 
The boys loved the frozen pizza but Ms. Magnolia informed us that she hated pepperoni and even when I offered to take it off of part of the pizza before I baked it, she said she didn't want it. I offered to make her some cheesy macaroni which she usually jumps on but no, that didn't sound good either. 
Eggs? Ever since she was a little one she has asked me to scramble her eggs. But again, no. 
I had a piece of leftover snapper from last night and told her I'd heat that up for her. She always asks for fish when she spends the night here but today she turned it down.
Oh well. I'm sure she ate when she got home.

Jessie brought me the boys' school pictures which I immediately stuck on the refrigerator. 

Mitchell, I swear- if you ever came to visit me, I would take each and every single thing off the refrigerator before you got here. You would go insane if you saw it the way it is now. 
And after you left, I'd probably put most of it back. 

It was great to catch up with Jessie. They're leaving on Wednesday to go to Oak Island, off the coast of North Carolina, to meet with Vergil's family. I did mention this before but I wasn't sure where they were going. I just sent Jessie a link to the Wikipedia page about the curse of Oak Island and the TV show they made out of two treasure hunters looking for legendary buried riches. 
Spoiler Alert- they didn't find them. 
Which of course means the treasure is still out there to be found! Perhaps the Weatherfords will find it. Wouldn't that be awesome? Nothing like the possibility of finding buried treasure in my book. 

When they were all leaving, I gave the kids a bye-bye treat which was five M&M's apiece. Bizarrely, not one of them complained about the paltry offering but just kissed me and said thank you. Well, I sort of had to make Levon kiss me but not in an icky way. More like in a "Give me a kiss, kid!" way whereupon we barely touched lips which was fine. Maggie even gave me an unasked for hug. Perhaps she was relieved to be going home. Adventures are great, but home is best. 

And right after they left, Mr. Moon left too. He's gone up to the cabin to do...stuff. They're going to deliver the metal for the new roof tomorrow and he needs to do something to the sheet rock before it gets painted and hell, I don't know. He tells me. I try to listen. I'm not very successful. I packed him some frozen chicken stew and a sort of Mexican pork stew along with a pork chop supper meal on a plate, leftover from Saturday night when Gibson slept over. So he won't starve. 
The man got back from Canada a week ago yesterday and is already off again. He'll be back on Wednesday though, in time for Thanksgiving. While he was home he got all the bills paid and dealt with all the things I don't deal with when it comes to finances and...whatever he does and I really should know more about that. He and I both washed a lot of his clothes, he got some good meals, he received and gave many, many hugs and kisses, he spent some time in his chair with his cat on his lap, he took two grandsons to a basketball game, he checked on Tom, he did something with his trail cameras where he hunts, he took a different grandson hunting and to breakfast, and cleaned up the kitchen after I cooked at least three times. 
Where the hell does he get his energy, his passion for life? I wish I had a little more of those things myself. 

I was going to make a plain pecan pie this afternoon and even got out the recipe and took the butter out of the refrigerator and did the math on making one pie's worth of pastry dough but I just couldn't make myself do it. I have no idea why. 

But I did some mending/patching of my old, old Levis. 

I hadn't hit my stride there yet but the patch will hold. 

And this tiny one, which I love. 

That's a piece of the flannel I used for a blanket for Maggie, I think. Who can remember? 

I discovered today that Maggie may be taller at the age of nine than either of her brothers were. Also, that her hands are the same size as mine. I have proof that when her mother was eleven, her hands were as big as mine and we thought that was pretty remarkable. 

That's a ceramic handprint plaque that she made me when she was in whatever grade you are when you're eleven. 

My hands look sort of beat up, don't they? 
Well, that's because they are. 

I guess I'll go cook an eggplant. I do have leftovers in the refrigerator but I don't want any of them. Not sure I want eggplant either but its days as a viable food source are dwindling. 

Tomorrow I absolutely have to go to Costco and to Publix. Wish me luck. I'll check in tomorrow if I survive. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Deep And Shallow Thoughts As Well As Uncombable Hair Syndrome

I tried to take a picture of a little green anole on my porch table lamp this morning but the little guy would not stay still while Maurice had no problem with that. You know I've had a pretty unexciting day when the only picture I take is of the cat. 
See those two different sweaters on the chair? This sort of sums up how the weather's been here lately. When I get up, a nice cashmere cardigan is the way to go and by ten o'clock, I have to take that off and perhaps put on a lightweight cotton sweater-like garment and by eleven, I've shed that too. I was literally sweating this afternoon while I was sitting and doing some mending on the back porch where it was 82 degrees. It's only supposed to get up to 78 degrees tomorrow so- whoo-hoo! Glen suggested we go swimming today. I wasn't that interested but I am certain there were people who were down at the Wacissa, enjoying the water on this unseasonably warm Sunday. 
The draught continues. We got a spit of rain yesterday, not even enough to dampen a leaf, and the sky looked bruised and filled with the potential for a storm but it was a false and teasing promise. Supposedly, it may rain on Wednesday and then possibly the temperatures will drop to a more comfortable range. 

Fascinating, Ms. Moon! Tell us more, please!
No. I will not. I refuse. That's all the weather discussion you're getting from me today.

That picture was taken eight years ago, according to Facebook. Those were the days when we thought perhaps August had Uncombable Hair Syndrome which is really a true thing. 

Either that or he was running on a stronger electric current than most of the rest of us mere mortals. That was Thanksgiving Day and he had just woken up from a nap. We could not help laughing (in the most loving way possible, of course) and I'm sure he was confused about why he was suddenly the subject of our unwanted attentions. We still talk about August's hair on that day. It is now one of the most cherished of family legends. Every family has these and hopefully, they are the kind that make us laugh. Fond memories. And I'm pretty sure that every family has certain words and phrases that came from a young'un's mispronunciation or misuse of a word or two or else were just so honest and heartfelt that we've all adopted them and use them, decades after they were first said. These are some of the tender stitches that hold a family together. Our own private jokes and memories, still remembered, still cherished, still in use.

Marriages can have these private memories too that make us laugh together, take us back to times and days when our love was new and fresh or even well-seasoned and mature. Things we experienced together that still have a lot of meaning for us, indicating that those experiences were important somehow, even if we didn't quite know it at the time. 

The other side of all of this, of course, is that we all have memories of times and things that bring us pain to remember. That we shy away from taking out of their dark drawers in the hidden places of our hearts. That we mostly do not talk about. And whether this is healthy or unhealthy, I do not know. Some would say it is best to let the dead bury their dead but sometimes, it is freeing to admit the pain, to name it, to bring it into the light to take away its power. 

Well, as usual, none of this is what I sat down to write. It's been a fine Sunday here in Lloyd. No ducks were killed in the making of that adventure but the he-man breakfast was enjoyed. I just wandered about doing the little things here and there which was fine with me. And now I'm going to go cook some red snapper and probably grits and a salad with avocados and tomatoes and onions. 
Gibson enjoyed last night's supper, I think, even the delicata squash, baked with apples and raisins. If you've never tried a delicata squash, please do. They are so creamy and so sweet and so...delicate...you can eat the skin and definitely should. 

A question- I am thinking about doing a dry brine on my turkey this year. Have any of y'all done that, and if so, is it worth the effort? I've always just sort of thrown that bird in the oven after I've stuffed it and baste it now and then. I'd like any informed thoughts on the matter you may have. 

Thanks. 

Love...Ms. Moon