Lagniappe

 

Husband and wife hallway dancing has commenced. 

It's All About Mick Today

Was there ever a prettier frontman? 
Well, perhaps Little Richard. 
But was there ever a more iconic rock and roll singer? 
I don't think so. 
Today is Mick Jagger's eighty-third birthday and as I said on a Rolling Stones post on Facebook- he has set the bar way too high for us mere mortals. 
I can barely remember a time in my life when the Rolling Stones weren't there. Here. Everywhere. 
I have written so much about this band and I don't feel the need to repeat myself but I do feel the need to acknowledge Mick, one of the old boys, as I call them, who is not only still here, but who has just recorded a new album which I believe I may have noted shows that his voice is not only as good as ever, but it may be better than ever. 
Is the key to having a long and very healthy life being born with a physical education teacher as your daddy? 
Perhaps. 
And perhaps we should get back to Keith on that BUT, when the Stones were doing their 2024 tour, Mick was still ruling the stage, dancing, running, skipping, wiggling his (still very cute little) ass, and singing that (still very cute little) ass off. 

I really have nothing to talk about today so I'm just going to give you a few more pictures of the man who, along with Keith Richards and Charlie Watts, have given me so many hours of dancing delight and so much permission to be a woman who owns my own body, my own sexuality, my own joy in the evil celebration of what rock and roll can be. 

Mick Jagger. The man whom women lusted after and made men secretly doubt their sexual identities, who wore eyeliner and eye shadow and pants that showed off his assets and who, with Keith Richards, wrote some of the best damn songs ever written. 
You can argue with me on that but I bet you almost anything that if you hear the first four chords of Start Me Up, you know what it is. Of course, that's Keith's riff but when it comes to their music, they are indeed the Glitter Twins. 

And here's Mick a year ago with his youngest child, Deveraux Octavian Basil Jagger who is eight years old. His partner is Melanie Hamrick, a former ballerina. 

You should see Deveraux dance. 

So yeah, happy birthday, Mick. Don't stop dancing. Don't stop singing. Don't stop doing what you do which is something no one else on earth can nor ever has. And certainly not for this long. 

Love...Ms. Moon

I'm A Happy Idiot

I did it! I sat my ass on the couch, watched "The Bear" and shelled all the peas I'd picked. It took a couple of hours but they were very pleasant hours and the peas seemed quite ready and willing to get naked. When I took that picture, I didn't realize how appropriate the expression on Jeremy Allen White's face was as he looked at my feet. 

I've had a good day. I've had a couple of very, very good days in a row as a matter of fact. I told Mr. Moon yesterday that oddly, I am as happy right now as I've probably ever been in my adult life, not counting the days right after having a baby which were always the best days for me but they were magic days and I'm talking here about regular days.
I'm not sure why this has happened, is happening. Of course I really did enjoy our trip but part of that, I believe, was because I simply didn't feel the need to stress about things.
Okay. There were a few things I felt like stressing about but none of them were really that bad. 
I think part of this current happiness is that the tide, as I say, is really in with my husband. Those of us in long-term relationships know that sometimes the tide is in and sometimes it is out. And right now, we are having some glorious high tides. 
Oh! If life could only always be this way! And when I'm happier, my husband is happier and when he's happier...I am happier. And so forth.

I am wondering if I am happy because I am not feeling stressed about things or if I'm not feeling stressed about things because I'm happier. Hank and I had a bit of a text conversation about this and we discussed things like how stupid yet complex the brain is, how it all has to coordinate with chemicals and hormones and memories and experiences and nerves and, oh, who knows? The weather? How our hair looks today? 
Finally, though, Hank said it best, as he generally does. He said, "We don't give ourselves enough grace."
When I read that, tears came to my eyes. It is so true. I am so hard on myself, so critical of myself, so disparaging of myself and why? But right now I'm not feeling that way. Here's another thing- I spend half my life, at least, worrying about my cognitive decline. Every time I turn around I seem to be losing bits and pieces of my brain function. And then the other fifty percent of the time I am brooding over that, fretting over that, and looking for even more proof. 
However, in the last few days with this wave of feelings of wellbeing, my brain seems to be working pretty okay. I mean, for a woman of my age. And I realize I am giving myself grace about it all. 
How odd. How weird. 
One thing that I do believe has influenced me are the words my friend Karen said to me when we were up in Tennessee for her fiftieth anniversary wedding. Karen lost a child some years ago to a horrible form of cancer and she will never be the same. Of that there is no doubt. But her smile is still so beautiful, her aura so pure and what she said is that she has learned to just go with what life presents her. Not to fight it. And I believe I may be internalizing that some. 
I hope so. 

Anyway, it's been absolutely wonderful and I am grateful. If I wake up tomorrow in my usual angst, I will at least know that this feeling is possible. 

I just wrote a long thing about a woman's videos on Facebook that I am currently obsessing over and then deleted it. Jessie has basically told me I'm being an asshole about this and she is right but we all have the right to be assholes about things, right? The woman is a dreadlocked white woman (not judging or anything) who, at the age of thirty, knows EVERYTHING and whom I believe has studied medicine at the online school of RFK, Jr. She also sells "natural" products she and her husband supposedly make including a lotion of some sort that works as a skin soother, a lube, a bug repellant and a healer of swamp crotch. 
After hearing what she has to say about the evils of regular washing with soap and water I would be a bit leery when it came to using any of her products, including the scented candles. 
Ooh boy. 
I hate to tell you how much pleasure it has been bringing me to write imaginary comments on these videos. I am again showing great restraint. They would do no good. The woman is too ignorant to know how much she does not know. I only hope that the free birth she has planned for her baby out of the utter trust in her own health and strength after having absolutely no prenatal care by either doctor or midwife goes well and that she and her baby come though it all safely. 

And that's about it for tonight. 
A time of goodness, a confession of foolishness. 

The pretty little vase in use in Lloyd. 

Love...Ms. Moon

A Matter Of Trust. Also- How Fun It Is To Get Yourself Your Own Birthday Presents. This Eliminates The You Can't Always Get What You Want Situation

I'm sitting here fretting because Mr. Moon is not home yet from a day in town and he's not answering texts or his phone. He went to lunch with me and Lily and Lauren and all was well but I forgot to ask him what he had planned after that. 
This is not entirely unusual behavior for him although IT IS MARTINI NIGHT and he's generally not tardy for that. 
Oh, how quickly the mind can jump from all-is-well to worst-case-scenarios. And when this does happen and I tell him how worried I get he always says something along the lines of the fact that he is always fine. 
Indeed. 
And I just spoke to him. He is fine. He was on another call when I called him. He's been doing stuff for Tom's estate and is now at a carwash, cleaning out Tom's car and getting the crap out of it (not literal crap in this case, thank goodness) and will be home directly. 
I don't think he realizes, after all this time, that I am so apt to freak out about things like this. Why should I? As he says, he is always fine. 
Now, my first husband? 
I still have the PTSD from worrying about him getting home. Because he was in a band he was always late getting in when he'd had a gig and frequently if they'd just had a rehearsal. And when I say late, I mean hours and hours after the bars closed. As you can only imagine, he was up to no good but somehow it was very hard for me to let my mind go THERE. I am sure it's because I couldn't deal with that reality. It took me years to accept what was staring me in the face and I'll never forget the moment that happened. It was a horrible, horrible moment and I can still feel it in my very bones, that second of lightning strike-like realization. 
But before that happened, there were so many nights when I'd worry that he'd been in a car wreck or had been arrested. We lived in Lloyd for most of that time, even farther from town and more in the woods than where Glen and I live now and it was truly not beyond possibility that he had either been in a wreck or had been arrested and traffic was so sparse on the roads at that time of night that if he had been in an accident, it could have taken hours for someone to discover him. 
You have no idea how many times I stayed up until four or five in the morning, wondering what it would be like to be a widow. And of course we had little children so add that to the equation. 

Lord but I was so gullible, so trusting, so self-deceiving. And I still wonder why none of our friends told me. Everyone knew. Everyone but me. And I suppose I knew too but like I said, I couldn't face it. One sweet, dear man did tell me once that my husband really shouldn't treat me like he did which should have probably been enough but denial is a powerful and mysterious thing. 

So that's probably why I get overly concerned when Glen's late getting home or I can't reach him by phone. I know he's not out being up to no good. That's just not him. But as to wrecks? Sure. That could happen to anyone at anytime, anywhere, and that old fear just kicks right into gear and common sense flies out the window.

Well. That is certainly not what I meant to write about this evening but that so often happens with me, doesn't it? 

I was out in the garden this morning, not doing a real picking or anything, just a survey although of course I did do some picking, when I found this tiny embryo of a Seminole pumpkin.

I was so thrilled. I have honestly never had anything in any of my many, many gardens that grew with the vitality of these pumpkins. Ever. Not even close. And it seemed so long before they started blooming and then another good, long wait before I saw any pumpkins but here was proof it was going to happen. 
And then I found this one! 

Marigold for scale. And also because it was just there. 

And I have no idea how many of those there are on the vines because it's not easy to make my way through them without a machete or some other sharp bladed instrument. So I will just have to be surprised. I wonder how many will actually grow into maturity and I have no idea exactly what they look like when they do. 

Here's an internet photo of what they can look like. 

All I really know is that the pumpkins, when ripe, can be stored for a year. I think of the family in "The Yearling" and how growing some of these could have added so much variety, flavor, and vitamin A to their diet. 
Now, the Baxters would not have had the ingredients to make the dessert found at this website, but I certainly do, and surely would like to try it. Curries, soups, breads, pies...I think all of those could be made with these pumpkins. 
Stay tuned for Seminole Pumpkin Kitchen Adventures! 

What else was I going to write about? I went to town and had lunch with Lily and Lauren and Mr. Moon, as I mentioned above. That was fun. I went to a jewelry store/repair place where I'd had two necklaces restrung. One of them is great but the pearls are not. I swear to you, they are at least an inch shorter than before. I know it's normal for the stringing material to relax and stretch a bit over time but this seems a little over the top. I have absolute trust in this place. It's been in business in Tallahassee forever and ever and the same family runs it that opened it. They surely would not risk their reputation by stealing a few cultured pearls. 
Any suggestions? 

Oh! Oh! I ordered myself two birthday presents! One was the final book in Colson Whitehead's trilogy set in Harlem over a span of years whose main character is a man named Raymond Carney. I've read the first two more than once and have even read them out loud to Glen on trips. Those books, in order, are, "Harlem Shuffle," "Crook Manifesto," and now "Cool Machine." I am so damn excited to step back into that world. 

The other present I am giving myself is of course, the vinyl edition of Foreign Tongues. I want those liner notes! 

I heard an interview with the artist who did the cover image and trust me- it all makes sense. His name is Nathaniel Mary Quinn and I am sure there is a story there. And if you can't tell, that picture is a conglomerate creation of Keith, Ronnie, and Mick. 
Yes. I know. I am a fool for those old boys and part of the reason for that is how they are wearing the faces they have earned in their over eighty years of life. 
Well, Ronnie's only something like seventy-nine or something. 

The man just got home. He said, "I forgot it was Friday."
"I figured that," I said. 

Oh well. Lucky for me I can make a pretty darn excellent martini myself, which I did. He can make the second one. As MFK Fisher so wisely said, a bird cannot fly on just one wing. 
Or something like that. 

I had an entire complex menu planned for tonight but I have switched it up to make it simple. We'll be having clam spaghetti and a salad. I just went out and picked a little arugula and basil for that salad. Here's what my basils are looking like. 

Cinnamon (or Mexican) basil, Thai basil, lavender basil, African basil. I do believe I'm going to have to make some pesto soon. As you can see, some of the basil in the first photo is growing from last year's reseeded plants. 
Basil, like Seminole pumpkins, truly wants to live here, I think. 

Ooh...clean sheets on the bed tonight! 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Home

 

I grew this glory from seeds that Ellen sent me a few years ago after I verbally swooned over the photos she posted of hers. I always forget what she called it but in looking it up, I see that it goes by a few names, one being Texas Star Hibiscus, another Scarlet Rose Mallow, and one even Florida Native Scarlet Hibiscus. Call it what you will, it's even swoonier in real life than it is in photos. 
Of course it's in the mallow family along with okra, Rose of Sharon, swamp mallow, hibiscus, and cotton. I just learned that! Cotton? Well, okay. 
I'd love the plant just because Ellen sent me the seeds but I am IN love with the plant because of its blooms.

I got a few things accomplished around here today. I picked some more peas and peppers. With what I picked yesterday, I was able to make another bottle of pepper vinegar, this one with two different types of peppers, tabasco and the cayenne ones. 

The vinegar looks cloudy because I used half white vinegar and half unfiltered apple cider vinegar, specifically the dregs of a bottle which has all that healthfully good sediment in it. 
Or something like that. 
All I can say is that I better grow some decent greens this winter to use these vinegars on. I also have jalapeño peppers but they're just a little too stout to happily accept being pushed down the neck of the bottles I have. I suppose I could and should make something else with those but I may just find another type of bottle to put them in. Who among us does not love getting a bottle of pepper vinegar for Christmas? 

I do really love the way the bottles look with all the peppers in them. So brightly colored they are a visual representation of summer's heat. 

I took the trash and I unpacked my suitcase and put everything away. I did laundry. I picked those peas and peppers and pulled a very few weeds. My Lord but it is hot out there. I'm sure I did some other things but I can't really remember except for the fact that Shelly from pottery came by to see me and my house after she and her mama, son, and the son's friend had been to the Wacissa for a swim. That was nice. I showed them around this old house and by now I feel like a tour guide. "And this is the bathroom Oprah built..."
And so forth. 
I spend a lot of time on these tours apologizing for flaking ceiling paint in the hallway and flooring that needs replacing. "Don't walk there!" 
Sigh. 
Shelly's mom was so sweet, as is Shelly. Her son asked if he could play the piano and I said that of course he could. 
The kid has a damn gift. I mean- a real gift. I couldn't believe it. My old out-of-tune piano is probably still in shock after being played so proficiently by someone who absolutely knows what they are doing. 

I had thought I'd have enough time today to get into some real pea-shelling but I only managed to spend one and a half episodes of "The Bear" at the task. It is going faster because I'm only picking the really ripe pods which are far easier to shell. I am going to cook the ones I did today for our supper tonight along with grouper that Glen caught and croquettes, also known as patties, made with squash that I didn't grow and eggplant that I did grow. So. Fish, peas, and croquettes. This should be good. 
I'd say that I'd missed cooking in my own kitchen while we were in NC and I did, a little bit, but it was also fun to have to make do and improvise when things weren't quite what we needed. There was a griddle in the kitchen that I cooked the pancakes on and it was fabulous. 
But sleeping in one's own bed and cooking in one's own kitchen really are the best. 

Glen spent the entire day and I mean the ENTIRE DAY mowing the grass. I know I always say we don't really have a lawn and we don't in the front yard but various types of grass-like plants grow in other parts of the yard and those need mowing, as do the few little sprigs of whatever greenery growing in the front yard and it looks fabulous. 

Part of the reason it took so long was not due to how tall and dense the grass had gotten but also because there were so many limbs which had fallen due to all the storms, especially the pecans and water oaks. 
He just finished about half an hour ago and has driven to the Wacissa to surrender himself to the cold, clear, healing waters of that river. I should have gone but instead, I'm doing this and am about to start that supper. 

When I watered the porch plants (oh yeah- that's another thing I did) I had to take a picture of this lovely Golden Orb Weaver. She's not fully grown but she looks healthy and her web is a work of weaving art. 

I am happy to see her and her many sisters around. Some of them already have boyfriends or husbands or whatever they call the relatively tiny spiders who talk their way into hanging out in the web, no doubt benefiting from the bounty the women bring in. I shouldn't criticize. If it weren't for them, there would be no babies to grow up and weave their own webs. I have no idea if the Golden Orb Weaver Women eat their mates. I would not be surprised. Protein is where you find it. 
I just looked it up and yes they do. Sorry guys. But the lady spiders don't live into winter so the fellows just go a bit earlier, I suppose, after literally giving their all. 

I gotta make supper. 

Love...Ms. Moon

In Which I Finally Get To Hold A Bebe And Other Delightful Things

I took that photo yesterday morning before we packed up to leave for home. I loved catching the looks between Bop and Levon, an entire story right there.
We're home now, Mr. Moon and I, and it's so hard to believe that only two nights ago we were fixing supper for the family in that North Carolina house which was so sweetly held in the peace and quiet of the green of the trees and the plants. It was a mighty fine vacation. 
Somehow we got up early enough on Tuesday morning to get the whole house cleaned out and everything packed up and loaded into our cars by ten. Jessie and I had done a great deal of the preliminary organizing the night before and packing of some of the things we wouldn't need the next morning. I am always amazed at how quickly and efficiently Jessie can do this whereas I am generally standing around holding an almost empty box of crackers wondering what in hell I should do with them. 
And then, finally, we were pretty sure we'd gotten everything but of course you always feel as if you've forgotten something and chances are good that you have. In this case, I haven't discovered one thing that Glen and I left behind. 
Now one of the most stressful parts of these NC trips for me is deciding where we're going to stay on the way there and on the way back. We could do the trip all in one day but that's just too long and neither one of us is good at sitting for that long so we split it up, mainly because we can. Glen had chosen the place we stayed on the way up, the somehow, somewhat haunted inn in Abbeville. And on Sunday night (I think) I was freaking out and Glen had chosen a route to drive home where it would be good timing to stay in Macon for a night. Now we have stayed in Macon before and that's a whole other story but the choices always seem to either be the Quality Inn by the interstate or one of the many restored mansions-undoubtably-built-by-recently-freed-enslaved people and they are generally B&B's which mean you HAVE TO TALK TO STRANGERS AT BREAKFAST which is not ideal. At all. These mansions are incredibly impressive with columns as big around as school busses and the more columns the merrier. We've stayed at one twice and it's pretty nice but I wasn't overwhelmingly desirous of staying there again. 
So while I was in my state of saying that I hated doing this, I couldn't do this, I just couldn't, Jessie took control, as she so often does, being the boss of me, and with the help of Chat GP and who knows what else, she found several places, one of which made us laugh so hard because the website really stressed their pool and how relaxing it was to hang out by it and the picture of it showed an above ground thing like you'd buy at Walmart and every time we looked at it again, we'd go into another bout of hysterical laughter. 
She found a place in Macon she insisted was the one we wanted. I was totally against it as it was another mansion. In fact, it was called The Burke Mansion. 
Sigh. 
"No," I said. "I just can't." 
Plus it cost an arm and a leg. 
She wasn't having it. "You can afford it, come on! Just enjoy it!" 
Finally I caved because she told me to although I was none too happy about it. 
We had a pretty rough drive on the way there. Although Glen had plugged in "avoid highways" to the map quest, we ended up on a major highway that circles Atlanta and that was stressful and traffic kept backing up and honestly, it was a sort of hell. We shall never do that again. 
But we got to the Burke Mansion and it was impressive although it had normal sized columns, relatively, and yes, the place was filled with antiques and paintings and chandeliers like a miniature Biltmore mansion but the woman who checked us in was sort of a hoot and our room was downstairs. Also, there was a room for the imbibing of cocktails with a bottle of bourbon, a bottle of vodka, thick crystal glasses and an ice bucket. Help yourself! 
But the best thing was how the woman brought up her seven month old son and I swear, she is so in love with that baby that when she talked about him, she became a completely different person and of course I loved that. Turns out the baby stays with her at work. She and her boyfriend are virtually the only employees at the place and she does all the front of house stuff including taking reservations, paying bills, checking people in, dealing with problems, cooking the breakfasts AND doing the cleaning. 
Good Lord. 
All with the baby right there. They live on site. So I got to meet the baby and he was the cutest dang baby you can imagine and as I said, this mama was convinced that she has the best, most amazing, wonderful, terrific baby in the world and my thoughts on the matter are that every baby deserves to have someone love them like that. 
So of course I loved that. 

We got into our room and I was so tired, so ready to weep and order pizza and go to bed but Mr. Moon wanted us to go out to dinner and so we found a place close by that sounded okay. After a little bit of the house vodka and soda I felt somewhat better and even applied make-up to my old and weary face and we made our way to the restaurant. It was in downtown Macon, very plain in that cool way, not overdecorated at all but comfortable and giving the impression of letting the food be the star of the show. They were very close to closing time and I know how eye-rollingly unhappy the employees of a restaurant can be when someone shows up right before closing time. They just want to get the side work done, clean up, and get the hell out of there but we called beforehand and they graciously said for us to come on, it had been a slow night, and so we took them at their word. 
I am so glad we did. 
I'm not going to tell you the name of the restaurant because I want to tell you that when we walked in, there were no other customers besides a few guys at the bar who appeared to be friends with the bartender and server, and the smell of what I am quite sure was legal weed was quite strong. 
Obviously, the closing process had begun. 
The server and bartender were lovely and assured us that we were quite welcome and we ordered martinis because we were throwing caution and money to the wind. We split a caprese salad which was about the most perfect thing I'd ever eaten. Plenty of mozzarella, split cherry tomatoes, basil leaves, and a balsamic reduction. 
Shut up. God it was good.
And then because we were in the mood for some red meat cooked by someone who knows how to do it, we split a small filet with mashed potatoes and some sort of seriously delicious sauce and it was the absolute perfect amount of the absolutely perfect foods we wanted. 
By the time we were finished, which was not very long after 9:00, the chef, possible owner, bartender and server were having glasses of wine at the bar and we felt completely satisfied and happy and we didn't feel as if we'd pissed anyone off too badly. 
Gosh. It really was a fine meal. One to remember. 

Macon at night.

I would really love to spend a few days in Macon. It's a very cool town with a lot of history, and not all of it the history of insanely rich white people. 
One of these days. 

We got back to our room before 9:30. 
It was a very charming room. 

The bed was so high that it came with steps. 

I ended up not using them but hoisting myself up on my tiptoes and throwing myself onto the bed. Getting out of bed was fun. I sort of slid down it like a ride at the fair. Or, a slide at a playground. Something like that. 

We were probably asleep by 10:30 and woke up just in time for our scheduled 9:00 breakfast. 
Okay. Now here comes the part about having to talk to strangers in B&B's at breakfast. 
The couple sitting with us was from Chicago originally, but now live near Tampa because they're retired. So, not unlike people who have perhaps had a little too much to drink, some people you meet in such situations feel the need to tell you, if not their life stories, than at least far more than you need to know or want to know about themselves. 
I felt immediately that these were not my people and that I had no real desire to know a damn thing about them. Is that rude and mean?
Yes. Yes it is. 
The man of the couple started in on how much he loves to fish in the Gulf and gave Glen a short tutorial on how to go about doing that. "I've been learning about the salt now for quite awhile!" he announced.
The salt? What the fuck? 
"Fishing and golf are my life!" he said. 
Glen, being the sweet and patient man he is did not even try to tell the guy that yes, he too knew how to fish "the salt."
The woman of the couple was one of those people who felt the need to add details to whatever her husband was saying while also giving us the story of her entire family and his, too. He was one of nine children. I'm thinking Catholic which is neither here nor there but does inform my actions a few moments later in our conversation. 
I was almost rudely silent, nodding here and there, as the sweet mama woman served us the delicious breakfasts she had made. But I did nod and say things like, "Oh wow!" occasionally.
Finally when the conversation had stalled, I asked her, "So. Do you live in, like a community?" 
"Oh yes! A gated community! It's really nice. Lots of flora!" 
Yeah. I knew it. 
Then she proceeded to tell me about how their next door neighbor was also from Chicago so they were great friends and shopping buddies but that they spent most of their shopping time at Hobby Lobby. 
I told myself, "Mary, just let it be. Just. Let. It. Be."
But I could not. I said, "I've never been to Hobby Lobby. I do not support the politics of the owners."
Ooh boy. She gave me the whole, "I don't care about politics. This is America and what makes it great is that everyone can feel the way they want to and that should not get in the way of our enjoyment and I just treat everyone I meet in the nicest way possible..." 
Etc. 
I just sat and nodded some more. I didn't say another word. Aren't you proud of me? 
I was going to mention how the company refused to give insurance to women employees that would cover birth control but my tiny brain computed the fact that they were probably Catholics. I mean- once again- nine kids? 
That pretty much ended the conversation and off they went but not until the man had had announced that he'd set the AC on in their Tampa home via his phone so that it would be cool when they got home. 
Okay. I did say, "So. You're one of the people who actually does that?"
I should not be taken out in public. 

But then the best, best thing happened. 
You know how I am always threatening to steal a baby? How I'd take a bad baby that no one wanted? 
Well, Rihanna, the woman who does it ALL at the Burke, came out with baby Christopher on her hip and I shyly asked her if I could hold him. 
"Yes! Of course!" she said. 
Y'all. 
I died and went to heaven. 

And while I was holding that sweet, solid baby, his mama told us all about his birth and showed us pictures of that child she adored so at different ages and described what her days and nights are like, doing the work she does while taking care of her baby boy. Not in a complaining way at all. Just in a this-is-my-life-and-how-I-do-it-way.
And then, I cleared the table and took the dirty dishes to the kitchen because at that point, I had fallen a little bit in love and I wanted to do what a granny woman would do. 
What a strong and amazing woman. 

I will not forget that stay in a very long time. 

The stained glass in our room that made me feel as if perhaps the deities approved our activities when the sun suddenly came bursting through it. 

Well, so yes. There is more. Our drive home and our soul-food lunch, somewhere in Georgia. 

Praise the lord and pass the hot sauce. 

And the fact that I finished reading "The Yearling" about ten minutes before we got to our house. I was crying so hard on the last few paragraphs that I could barely choke out the words. I had to keep stopping to try and get control of myself. 
Dear Lord, I love that book. 

Mark. 
Bless him. He not only left the house in a perfectly clean and tidy manner, he left us treats.

And flowers. 

I cried some more. 

I have everything unpacked and put away except my suitcase and that's just clothes so no problem. I can do that tomorrow. 

A quick tour of the garden resulted in this.

There are about four inches of field peas below those vegetables. 

More field peas. 

And a cucumber the size of...well. Go ahead. Let your imaginations run wild. 
Or don't. 

Queen Maurice seems to be happy we have returned although she's going to be very pissed when she realizes that I do not deliver the treats the way Mark does. 

La-di-dah. 
La-di-dah.

We are home. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Another Report

Yesterday I had the best experience. I got to meet Barbara Rogers from When I Was 69. 
Barb's been living in Black Mountain for a lot of years but she's moving to Colorado next week and so it was by by chance and by luck that we got to meet during my visit here. 
When we first saw each other she said the very best thing which was, "You look just like you're supposed to!" and I said, "And you look just like YOU'RE supposed to."
And we did. Which is how it should be, isn't it? I remember the first time I met Steve Reed. He stopped in Lloyd on one his trips to Florida to visit family and after a little while of us chatting and me showing him around I asked if he thought I'd represented Lloyd correctly. 
He said I had. 
And that made me happy. 
And just as when I met Steve and every other blogger I've met in real life, I felt as if I'd known Barbara forever and in some ways, I have! When someone writes about their life, the ups and downs, the fears and joys, the sicknesses and health, we come to feel a part of that life. We have invested time and thought and energy into them. 
I think it's a beautiful thing.

Jessie went with me, of course, because I am NOT driving these mountain roads. No way. Also, I wanted her to come. And we both enjoyed our visit with Barb so much. She's as sweet and as funny as I imagined she would be. She's also incredibly positive and cheerful, i.e., just about the opposite of me, and I loved that. 
So we drank our coffee and chatted and learned new things about each other. It was a stellar experience. 

After we'd hugged goodbye and went our separate ways, Jessie and I did a little bit of thrift shopping before Glen was due to bring the boys into town to meet us for lunch. Vergil had been out spreading something like four tons of gravel on their property on the mountain but he came in and met us too. 
The thrift stores in this area are so far superior to the ones we have in Tallahassee and Monticello that it's ridiculous. They not only have all the good brands, the prices are lower, the fabrics are more on the found-in-nature side, and a lot of people around here obviously have really good taste, which means like mine. We rushed, rushed, rushed through a Kiwanis thrift store and then a Goodwill. I got two very nice sweater things, a slip because I forgot to bring one which rendered two of my dresses unwearable, and...a pair of in excellent condition Converse low-tops! I've been wanting a pair of those forever. 
And, okay. 
This.

Just the sweetest little pottery vase and you know I can't pass up a lovely vase that steals my heart. Here it is with the other things on the window sill in the kitchen.

Can we cozy-up a place or what? The greenery on the right is basil the lady down the road gave Jessie from her garden yesterday when she was out walking Sophie. Some of it went into our salad last night and it was so good. We bought the peaches on the way here and the tomatoes are from our garden. They went into the salad too. 

After lunch, Jessie and I did another grocery shopping because that is what we do. When it comes time to pack up on Tuesday morning we're not going to be thrilled but what are you going to do? We have six people to feed, two of them growing boys. Growing by the second. And they do not deliver pizza to the place we're staying. 
Just like Lloyd!

The young boys and the old boys and Jessie have been using the basketball court.

The first night we were here Levon beat both his father and his grandfather in H-O-R-S-E. Last night Glen won a round and he felt a little better about himself but not as good as he feels about Levon's skills. 

Pictures.

From supper last night which was Boppy-caught grouper and grits. 

Boppy has a rule that for each bone a child finds in the fish he caught, he'll get a quarter. 
Both boys made two dollars. Glen left the rib cages in. 

More food. Breakfast this time. 

Y'all- we're eating at MerMer's restaurant. This morning was pancakes of course, bacon, and eggs. There was so much fruit in the pancakes they were totally health food. 

And then this afternoon we took a teeny hike up a trail that parallels the little creek that flows through the yard here. It was the sweetest time. 

Sophie was ecstatic, running, running, running and then returning to her people, having a cool-off in the creek.

Boppy panning for gold. He didn't find any. 

Mountain laurel. 

Rattlesnake plantain.

Coral fungus.

Possibly Red Chanterelle Mushrooms?

It was just a short little hike. The boys scrambled about on the rocks in the creek and Levon hunted for salamanders. It was so very peaceful. It was also a powerful lesson in the calming and grounding abilities of the woods. I noticed so many more things on the way down than on the way up. These woods are quite different from our Florida woodlands although they both have their own beauty. 

This has been such a good little getaway. I've had so little stress and so much pleasure. I've loved cooking for everyone. It gives me a sense of purpose and satisfaction to see everyone fill plates and enjoy the food I've made. The little guys have been tremendous, open to everything, enthusiastic, and very, very funny. They make me laugh all the time. They are so different and yet never really fight, they adore each other. It's a beautiful thing to watch as is the way Jessie and Vergil parent. 

We leave on Tuesday which means tomorrow will be our last day here. I can't believe the time has passed this quickly but it has and always does, no matter how hard I try to be present and in the moment. 
This is the way of it, isn't it? 

Love...Ms. Moon