More Thoughts About The South And The Bamboo Kicking Has Well And Truly Begun

That's a picture of a vintage movie theater I took from the car window in some small town on our way up to Tennessee. I will tell you this- there is some scenic shit going on in a lot of those little towns between the downtown historical areas, the antebellum homes, the cute smaller homes that have been maintained for many, many years (always my favorites), the old theaters, the city halls and county courthouses, some of them quite old and rather majestic in a small town sort of way. 
And the names of some of the towns. 
Ooh boy. 
I saw a name on the map as we were heading up that really made me laugh. The name of the town was "Soddy Daisy."
No. Not kidding. Truly. 
And by golly, we had lunch on the way home in Soddy Daisy. We ended up a Mexican restaurant which had some of the best wall murals I've ever seen. 

This too, is the south. Almost every tiny town you drive through now has its own Mexican restaurant. Or even two of them. You know how often I speak of The Mexican in Monticello. Well guess what? Another Mexican restaurant has moved in too and that rather upsets me. The original restaurant is so very good and so very reasonable and we have all watched the hard work that has gone into it over the years and yes, decades. Same people. Same family. The new restaurant is attached to a few other Mexican restaurants in Tallahassee so they are not quite as home-town. I am interested to see what will happen. I know that for awhile people will be curious and go there and then we shall see where loyalties lie. 

One more thing I wanted to say about the south is about the public school education here and I am not proud of this. 
Back when schools well and truly desegregated, there were a lot of white folks who did not want their precious little white babies going to school with black kids. Before then, the white schools got all the funding, while the black schools got diddly squat. Text books that had been replaced in the white schools, inferior facilities including everything from classrooms to labs to cafeterias to restrooms to sports fields to...
Well. You get the point. 
So, here we are and the Black kids get to go to the GOOD schools and all of a sudden there is a huge influx of private, generally Christian schools for the white kids to attend and guess what? The funding for the public schools goes way down. I had a friend who taught in a public school in Havana, Florida which is not that far from here and that exact thing had happened. He suggested I might want to come volunteer in his classroom because they sure needed some help. 
And I did. 
And I do believe there may have been ten white kids in that entire elementary school. 
And I need to add here that the private Christian schools were not exactly bastions of learning. At all. But hey! They were mostly white! 

I could say so much more about this but I'll leave it there. The schools in Jefferson County, where I live, are still to this day so underfunded and inadequate that although this would be an excellent bedroom community for many people who work in Tallahassee, the school system is so bad that people with children simply will not move here despite the lower taxes, housing costs and more laid-back community. 
Am I proud of this? Oh hell no. Still. I think things have the possibility to change although even Leon County's school system is taking drastic cuts in their budgets right now. And this is on Florida and Ron DeSantis in particular whose main mission in life appears to be to be as cruel to as many people as he can. 

That's enough of that. 

Glen's gone back up to The Camp as he calls it. He's meeting a guy tomorrow morning early to discuss the finishing of the floor. We are thinking about just getting a sort of concrete floor finishing which is quickly done, relatively inexpensive, and yes, there are choices as to how it will end up looking. As you may remember, we have been going back and forth about what sort of flooring to put in. The floors under the old carpet were just concrete or cement. Don't ask me the difference and honestly, I do not care. And Glen has reached the point where he just wants it done. And again- I really don't care. This is his baby. And rugs can be laid. 

So that's that news and I spent most of the afternoon outside. I intended to spend all my time in the garden but looking out my bedroom window I realized that the bamboo is coming on strong and had to be kicked. 

The bamboo appears to be extra sturdy this year. That one, which was in the camellia bed, is as big around as my wrist and about a foot and a half tall. 
I probably spent half an hour kicking what's come up although I know I did not get it all because that shit is incredibly adapt at camouflage, hiding itself in flower beds and other garden areas. Today was Day One. There will be many more. 

And then I got to the garden where I pulled a row of bolted arugula and some of the lettuces that were quite ready to come out of the ground and weeded the other side of the fence where the beans are planted and replanted a few areas where, upon closer examination, I realized that some of the sprouts had been done in by that last freeze. You know I love to weed so that was good. 
I picked a lot of leaves off the arugula I had pulled that were still fine and fresh and I cleaned those and the lettuces in the garden sink Mr. Moon had made for me and what a joy was. I did a final rinse off when I got in the house and this is what the result was.

Mmmm...
Salad. Ain't that a pretty mess of greens? 

Requisite picture of Maurice in the garden with me. 

This morning when she slipped out the ripped screen of the back porch under the dog door to go about her morning rituals I gave her some instructions to go find me a kitten. 
"You can be its mama," I said although that was a lie. I would be its mama. "It will love you and you will love it."
That too, was no doubt a lie but no harm in trying. Right? 

Tomorrow I plan on going back to town for more tomato and pepper starts. And eggplant. And I need my damn basils! Thai, African, Mexican! All the basils! Well, some of them anyway. The bees are waiting. 

Rachel had her back surgery today. It went well and they were home by noon. Phew! They told her no BLT for three months. 
WHAT?
That would be Bending, Lifting, Twisting. 
I think. I know for sure it's not bacon, lettuce, and tomato. 
I'm so glad the surgery is over. Getting it has been a long and difficult road but it has finally happened. Now. May it really and truly help with her chronic and constant pain. She is a brave and strong woman to have been persistent enough to finally get doctors to really look at what was going on and to realize that she needed some help. 
We shall not discuss how women are so often dismissed when it comes to complaints of pain. 
But they are.

I believe I will go make a salad.

Love...Ms. Moon

More On The Trip Report Along With Thoughts About The South

There are still some camellias blooming and it would be a sin to leave them all outside on the bushes. At least that's how I feel about it. Some of them should definitely be left for the bees but I figure that if I don't bring some in to put in vases in order to be admired, I'm not doing my job. 
Of course flowers want to be noticed and appreciated and in return, they give those of us doing the noticing and appreciating joy. 
Or so it seems to me. 

Thank all of you so much who commented yesterday. I have not answered comments. I spent quite a bit of time trying to catch up on other blogs and I think I have but I did not comment on all of those. I have no apologies. Time is of a limited quantity and believe it or not, I do try to get certain things accomplished daily, always feeling guilty if I decide to concentrate on one thing, leaving another left undone but then again, I'd feel guilty concentrating on whatever I have left undone due to trying to get something else accomplished. 
I cannot win and once again I am reminded that guilt rarely does anything but fuck us up. 

I am tired tonight. I had pottery today and when my alarm went off, I realized it was raining and oh, it was so hard to get out of that bed. Maurice was holding me down and I had to move her. She was not happy. But pottery is pretty sacred as to something that I WILL do if at all possible. And so I did, picking up Jessie on the way and getting some love from Sophie. 
It was the first class of the new season and seven of us who go back a ways were there along with two new people. The studio had been slightly rearranged and so there was some confusion as to where things were but for the most part, things looked the same. Always comforting. 
There were hugs. We have some EXCELLENT huggers in this group.Truly A-1, Primo, Top Of The Line huggers. It's just about worth getting up early just to go get those hugs. And it was so good to see Jessie too. We haven't seen each other in a few weeks due to their spring break camping trip and then our little travel adventure. So all of that was good. 
Lizzie, she of the "Is He Dead Yet?" t-shirt with the gentleman caller just got back from Italy yesterday and I, of course, had just gotten back from my trip to Tennessee which was pretty life-altering in some ways and both of us just sort of wandered around a little bit, trying to figure out what we were doing. 
I had brought home a dish and Billy's spoon rest to glaze-paint over the break but of course I did not even get them out of the bag I tote things in. So I figured that I'd get to work on those today. I started with the dish which I think I began at the beginning of the session's classes and had just sort of set aside. It was more of a last second thought as a way to fill up a last forty-five minutes of class than anything else. It looks like a little pie plate and I have been calling it my "individual chicken pot pie dish." I had already applied a white glaze to the inside of it but really had no other ideas about what I wanted to do with the rest of it but then the idea occurred to me to paint a little chicken on the interior bottom with Stroke and Coat, and so I did. I did this with two different techniques- one by applying the glaze with a very thin brush, the other applying it with a clever little device made just for this purpose. I didn't have any of these fine-line applicators but Jessie did and loaned me her set of them. And here's what I ended up with.

I am no artist at all and I have no idea how this is going to turn out but we shall see. It's a bit rude to put a picture of a chicken in something intended for use as a chicken pot-pie dish. 
Perhaps I shall just use it for quiches, none of which will have chicken in them. Or perhaps it will come out so poorly it will go the way of all discarded pottery. Whatever happens, I had fun doing it and if it fails miserably due to technique, it will have been a learning experience. It is on the shelf to go into the kiln. That top rim is a braided affair which is hard to tell at this point. I wonder if it will show up after second firing. 
And above all- I have moved on, for a moment at least, from fish. 
Don't worry. I shall return to them. 

I thought I'd post a few more pictures and words about our trip. The Event was so overwhelmingly important and life-altering that the rest of our little adventure has sort of been ignored here with the exception of the eerie experience I had at the house in Cave Spring. But I'll start there.

Glen and I walked to the restaurant where we ate dinner there as it was just a few blocks away and on our way back to the quite-possibly-haunted place we were staying, I noticed our shadows. 
There we are. Me and my baby. As oddly proportioned as the picture is, I could tell without doubt who that couple is.

Here are some pictures of our stay at Fall Creek Falls. 
This first one is not the actual Fall Creek Falls but another fall in the park called Piney Falls. That's where the lady took the picture I posted last night. She was the mother in the family who came down the trail right after us. There was also a daddy and three children, including the youngest whom they introduced as "the leader." And that is how I addressed her. I offered to take their picture and I did and that's when Mama offered to take ours. 

This is the actual Fall Creek Falls. Of course you cannot get a sense of water falls from a photo. Not really. You cannot hear the sound of all of the immense amount of water as it rushes over the rocks and empties itself into the seemingly infinitely deep pool beneath it. 

These are cabins you can rent right ON the lake at the park. 

And this was our view of the same lake from our balcony. 
YES! Balcony! 
You can see, down by the water, a sidewalk type of path that encircles the entire lodge. Many people walked it and I walked some of it just for fun. It was such a sensible, accessible place to stay in all regards. 
Well, except for the Continental breakfast which I guess is about standard but Lord help me...NO.
What a small and petty complaint. 

Speaking of NO, here's where we stayed on our way back. 

I am a huge fan of vintage mom and pop motels and the online reviews were mixed but there was nothing horrible in them and so I booked us there when we were on the road headed south. 
Sigh.
It is cute, isn't it? But I think that I am truly a fan of RESTORED vintage mom and pop motels and this one was not. I could write an entire post about this place and starring in it would be the woman whom I think was the partner of the man who seemed to be the owner. Both he and the probable partner really, really were trying to do what they could to make their guests happy and comfortable but...

Whatcha gonna do? He had some sort of disability and she seemed to have another sort of disability which was not a physical one but more of a on the spectrum situation. She was trying so hard to be helpful that in the first half hour we were there, she came to our door about five times (or perhaps more) to offer what she perceived were necessary instructions, helpful tips, and...oh, other things. For example: their ice machine was broken (I'm going to fix it tomorrow!) but she brought us a cup of ice that she had "found" in their living quarters. 
Not even a full cup. 
But bless her.
The room had a smell that was as not-found-in-nature as was the fabric the sheets were made of. 
I seriously doubted we would sleep a wink there in the Valley Inn. 
However. 
The bed was pretty decent when it came to comfort and we had our own pillows and although I looked, I found no bedbugs, and quite honestly, I think we had our best sleep there of the entire trip. 
So there you go. 
And the grounds of the motel had been planted in azaleas and hydrangea and many, many beautiful shrubs and it was peaceful and beautiful on the scarcely traveled road between Pine Mountain and Hamilton, Georgia. We ate supper that night in Pine Mountain in a Caribbean-Fusion place that seemed to be entirely run and owned by Black women and I had a shrimp curry there that could not be beat. It was such a strange and yet not-untypical southern experience in that the couple eating next to us who were from Pine Mountain and sounded like they were from Pine Mountain praised this restaurant to high heaven and said they eat there at least once a week. 

The south is a pretty crazy, often seemingly and no doubt racist place, filled with signs that say "Jesus Saves" and churches beyond counting, actual Confederate flags flying in yards, and so much evidence of poverty. 
And yet, the races do live together, depend on each other, do business with each other, and have known each other's families for eons. 
Yeah. All the way back to slavery and sharecropping in some cases. 
It is also a place filled with incredible natural beauty, farms and fields that feed our nation, new schools that offer a promise of hope, and people so kind and sweet that you'll almost fall over with their sincerity. 

I'm not defending this part of the country where I live. I'm just giving you the truth of it. We can do so much better and I know that. 
But damn. 
There is evil everywhere and I do not think Stephen Miller is from anywhere near here. 
I just looked it up. He's from Santa Monica, California. And as we all know, DJT is from NYC. 

It's complicated. 

I talk too much. 

Love...Ms. Moon 

We Are Home And The Event, Part II

We are indeed home. We got here around 3:45 which is probably the earliest we've ever gotten home from a car trip. Mark had left the house in such good shape that there was nothing I needed to do beside unload and unpack. He had sent me a text with all of the things he'd done before he left and it was such a long and thorough list that I answered back, asking if perhaps he had given Maurice a bath as well, or perhaps pressure washed the house? 
The thing that made me laugh was his comment that he hadn't gotten the mail because there were some vultures near the mailbox and he was scared of big ass birds. 
I do not blame him. Probably a dead armadillo out there or something. I swear, I think a wildlife crossing has been established between our yard and the yard across the street and no one has thought to put up a warning sign. 

We had such a good trip. There were a few moments that were difficult- the ride up to Cave Spring for one, and the full-on nightmare I had on early Monday morning before I woke up. I know why I had it and I know what triggered it but it was truly horrible. 

The rest of the trip though was just lovely. The dogwoods and azaleas were starting to bloom and the red bud was in full glory, painting the side of the roads with a hazy pink. And as I said, the lodge at Fall Creek Falls was just perfect in so many ways. Having the wedding there was an inspired decision on the part of the groom. 

Okay. Let's back up a little. 
The Event was a surprise wedding. 
I know. That's what I said when David, the groom-to-be, called us to tell us all about it a month or so ago. I mean, whatever you just said in response to "surprise wedding" is what I said too. 
"Are you shitting me?" being the main expression I probably overused. Not to DAVID, but to Glen and a few others to whom I did tell about The Event. 
The story in short is this: Fifty years ago this couple got married in a Day's Inn room in Thomasville, Georgia by a circuit court judge.

I am so sorry I folded the program from the wedding. But I did. 

But yes, they were legally and officially married. "As legal as cake," I wrote in a poem about my own Georgia wedding not so long before theirs happened. 
I wish I could find that poem. It was pretty good. 
They got married because David was about to leave for Romania to play with musicians on a tour his mother (also a musician) had arranged behind the Iron Curtain. He was going to be gone for three weeks or so and Karen wanted them to be legally wed before he left. 
And so they were. 
And let me just say here that every hippie woman in Tallahassee had a baby that summer. There were quite a few marriages because that's what we did in those days. 

As I so often do, I just wrote a very long thing about how I came to know Karen and David and it involved my first husband and Denver, Colorado, and major depression, and living with them two doors down from a juke joint, and home birth and how I was with Karen when she had her first baby and she was with me when I had my second. 
History. 
Not necessary. Deleted.
Trust me. Bonds were well and truly formed. 
So when David invited us to this surprise wedding and explained it, I knew I had to be there, no matter what. 
He had decided that after fifty years, he was going to give Karen the wedding that she deserved. And he wanted it to be a surprise. 
As in, getting down on one knee, proposing, and then telling her (if she said yes!) that the wedding would be happening in less than seven hours. He had the entire thing planned out and with the help of his daughters and Karen's friends, no detail was left out. 
Dress? 
Check. 
Hair and make-up? 
Check.
Rings? 
Check. 
Venue?
Absolutely.
Flowers?
You bet. 
Reception and meal? 
Only the best.
Open bar?
Of course.
Officiant?
Got it covered.
Bridesmaids and groomsmen? 
Oh yes. 
String quartet for the wedding? 
David is a renowned musician and so... of course. 
Jazz band for the reception? 
Ditto.
Everyone, including a seven-year old great grandson who knew and yet did not tell? 
Unbelievably, yes.

And here's the thing that has given this entire endeavor even more meaning than having been married for fifty years and raising four daughters and having all of these grandchildren and great-grandchildren and a life that seems almost unbelievable- thirteen years ago they lost one of their daughters to a cruel cancer. A daughter so full of life and joy and strength and goodness and love and how does anyone survive that? 
They did though. 
Although they will never, ever truly recover, they survived. They are still here, still loving their family and each other. 
Their daughter Becky's death occurred quite near their anniversary date and so they have not really celebrated the day they were wed for all those years. As David said in the invitation, it was too tender. 

And I will admit that I had major doubts as to how this was going to work. What woman would want a wedding which she had absolutely no say in, up to and including what her wedding dress would look like? 
I asked David if he didn't think it might be better if she had enough warning to eat least pick out the dress.
"No," he said. "Because if she had that much time, she would say no."

And she would have. She is a very private person but it turns out that David knows his wife which...well, why wouldn't he? 
Fifty years? Plus being high school sweethearts and Jr. High sweethearts? 
Why did I have a moment of doubt? 

She said yes. 
And the dress? Absolutely perfect and she was so beautiful. As was David, in his tux. 

Everything went off perfectly. The food ranged from gluten-free pasta with vegetables, to prime rib. 
I will confess that I ate more red meat in one sitting than I have probably eaten in years and it was so good. 
Her daughters and granddaughters were bridesmaids. They were beautiful. Her oldest daughter, the one whose birth I was at all those years ago is her absolute double. Which means to say- she is beautiful. She brought her newest granddaughter over to our table at the reception for us to admire and coo over. Ten months old, curious and serious and smiley and as pink-cheeked as you would want a baby to be. 
And some of the grandsons were groomsmen. I had to take a picture of this guy who was the ring bearer. 

That kid was cool. 
David had managed to get in touch with so many people who have known and loved them over the years as well as family, of course. It was one joy after another. I was thrilled to see David's sisters, one of whom I had not seen since she was about ten years old. And I knew who she was immediately. 

If any Event was ever perfect, this one might have been it. The smiles, the tears, the joy, the grand group of people who are on this planet because of Karen and Dave's love...well. 

I would not have missed that for the world and thank god, I didn't. 
I got almost ZERO pictures but here are two of the cutting of the cake. They were taken too far away but you can get the feeling of how it was.

And here's a picture of me with Karen, a little later on in the evening. 

The next morning we got to visit with David and Karen before we left and I kept grabbing Karen's hand and saying, "I love you so much," and she would say, "I love you so much," and I would cry. 
"We've been there and back now, haven't we?" I asked her. 
"We have," she said. 
And I know that she has been so much farther than I have. Still, there was that moment of soul and heart knowing. 
I really don't have words for the light I see coming from Karen now. It is as pure and bright as anything I have ever seen. 
"I've learned to just go with it," she told me. And she laughed but she has. I can tell she has. 
And really, what else can we do? 

Her eyes sparkle. Her face is so beautiful. 

And I feel that I was witness to an event (The Event?) in which the wedding vows so many of us have spoken were not just hopeful, not-really-even-imagined possibilities, but as real and as proven as anything could ever be which is ten million times, at least, more meaningful than any two people could say to each other at the beginning of a life together who have no idea what the meaning of what they are saying actually is. 

I am so grateful to David for asking us to be there. And actually, he and Glen have developed their own relationship over the past years which I love. 

And on top of all of that, The Event gave me even deeper insight into how much I love and appreciate the man I have been married to for a mere 40 years. 

Here's a picture a woman took for us when we had climbed down a rocky path the morning before the wedding to look at one of the falls in the park. 

It was relatively an easy trail but here we are, both of us not nearly as sure of our balance or ability to negotiate what would once have been merely an easy scamper as it would have been even five years ago.

But that is how it goes. Things change. We change. 
Even love changes. 
But when and if it changes into a tested, even deeper understanding of what those vows mean, for better or for worse, though sickness and in health, and we can still make each other laugh and still want to hold each other tightly, and still want to hold each others' hands and still sometimes cry when we look into each other's eyes- well. 
That is a sort of miracle. 

Love...Ms. Moon

The Event, Part One

 I'm currently in a sitting area in the Fall Creek Falls State Park Lodge in Tennessee. Now I do not know about you but I have never been in a State Park with a lodge like this. Or a lodge at all. It's a full-on hotel with rooms with balconies overlooking a lake and a restaurant with a cocktail bar (I shit you not) and it is pretty darn okay. We're in this sitting area waiting for our room because it wasn't ready when we got here a few hours ago. 
No worries. 
This state park is amazing. There are also cabins to rent and many camping and RV areas. There are the falls for which the park is named and there are hiking trails galore. Mr. Moon and I just went to the Nature Center where there were quilting, blacksmithing, log peeling demonstrations AND bluegrass music. 
Tennessee is awesome. 

This was part of a diorama. Of sorts. I had to take its picture.

Our drive here from Cave Spring, Georgia, was fast and easy. Well, it wasn't that fast because we're not speeding in any sense of the word. Now the drive from Lloyd to Cave Spring was HORRIBLE and I vowed never to go on another car journey again because I can't sit that long without being in torture. And yes, we did stop and walk around but if you ever want to reach a destination, you just can't stop every twenty minutes. 

But we did make it to Cave Springs and my Lord. It was a real experience. Some of it quite eerie. 

Here's where our room for last night was. 

It is not an old house. It is an old academy. Short article about it here. 
Not the happiest of histories. 
But the building was beautiful. The restoration is fantastic with very little defunkifying in it. It's set in a beautiful park where Cave Spring actually is. The cave spring. We did not explore that nearly enough. We are, after all, on a mission. 
Before the town was "founded" by white people, there was a large population there and in nearby areas of indigenous people, many of whom were slaughtered. Of course. And it is on the Trail of Tears.

So. There is that. The little town, however, is so picture perfect that I almost felt as if I was in some Ray Bradbury or Stephen King story about people visiting the sweetest little town imaginable and never being able to escape it because it was never real in the first place. 

May I just say? It is fucking charming. 

And a little weird.

Here are some pictures of the old academy which I'm going to start just calling a house. 

As I said, really lovely. 

I felt very much at home and we appeared to be the only people there which was fine with us. 
There were rooms everywhere. Bathrooms, too. There were two entirely suited out kitchens. A dining area. Several sitting areas. The furniture and rugs and artwork went so well with the house. It felt almost familiar.

And then that evening, when we got home from eating dinner, I was sort of just wandering around and what did I see but this?

A washing machine. Tucked behind that is a bathroom, to the side of it, another bedroom. 

And it hit me- this was so much like the house I dream of so often with all of its rooms and hallways and bathrooms and...yes, a washing machine to take care of all the laundry I am always somehow responsible for. 

Holy shit. 

Anyway, it's a day later from when I started this post and so I'll end this here. 
The Event has happened and all I can say is, Holy shit. Sometimes life will astound, amaze, and delight you and bring your heart to its knees. 
Such as now. 

Love...Ms. Moon 

Good Lord. You'd Think I Was Going On An Expedition Or Something

I took zero pictures today. I was too damn busy to be shilly-shallying around taking any pictures. I had a mental list a mile long of all the stuff I needed to do before we leave tomorrow and I think I got most of it done. And we even managed to go to the Hilltop for lunch which was...okay. 
The Hilltop is always...okay. We mainly go there because it's only about four miles away, if that, and they have a menu that takes up three walls. Well, pretty much. You got your hot foods, your sandwiches and salads, and your other hot foods. Glen got a chicken salad sandwich and I got a salad with a scoop of chicken salad on it. A chicken salad salad. I love their chicken salad but Glen was not impressed. 

Oh well. He'll know better next time. 

I managed to get my two last eggplant plants in the ground and the garden watered and the porch plants and house plants watered and I stuck all the herbs which were still in their little pots into a big pot and watered that really well because I figured if I left them in the small pots, they'd die of thirst in four days. I just can't ask Mark to do everything. 
I swept up a bunch of pollen and actually, I need to sweep the guest room tomorrow before we leave. I washed Mark's sheets and remade the bed and I did two loads of laundry. I washed Maurice's waterer thing and put a bunch of fresh food in the feeder. 
She knows we're fixing to leave. She was acting extremely weird and worried this morning but I told her, "Don't worry. Mark is coming," and she seemed to calm down. 
I swear to you that cats understand human language but they pretend they do not. They have to learn it in order to understand and report to their Cat God Overlords about what we're up to here on Planet Earth. That is their mission. 
Trust me. I know these things. 

And then, after all that mess, I started to pack which took me hours because I had to try on various things and make a decision about what I was going to wear to The Event and figure out what I'm going to need when we're not at The Event which involved checking out the weather forecasts for about the fiftieth time. 
Back to the layers situation. 
I know I've packed too much. That is a given. I may take a few things out of the suitcase. 
And then try not to put anything else in there. 
I've got a separate bag packed with what I'll need to take into the place we're staying tomorrow night. It's on a second floor and we don't want to be carrying forty-pound suitcases up a flight of stairs when we only need an eight pound bag. 
These are extremely rough estimates. 
I packed some earrings, make-up (you never know!), hair things, and toiletries. I have packed two medications and will pack the rest tomorrow after I take the "F" section of the pill organizer. 
And to think I used to joke about those things and call them the SMTWTHFS. 
Well, I still call them that. But know I have one. 
I've got a list going for things I cannot forget like chargers. 
I've put some needlework projects in a bag and I've picked out the book I'm going to read out loud to Glen as we drive which is "Don't Lets Go to the Dogs Tonight: An African Childhood" by Alexandra Fuller which is one of the best books I think I've ever read. We shall see how I feel about it after a probably third reading. Or possibly fourth. 
Okay. This shall be my picture for the day.

This is not a feel-good book. It is brave and hard to believe even as you know it's true. It's a good book to read to remember that humans can survive amazingly hard things. 
I should possibly take "The Yearling" in case this book turns out to be more than Mr. Moon needs to hear. I mean, "The Yearling" is also about how humans can survive hard things but it's not quite as immediate. 

My god but the scent of the wisteria is strong. I'm feeling a bit woozy as I write this. The freeze did not seem to affect it and I am grateful for that. I will miss it as we travel north but I will be happy to see what's blooming along the way. Of course I am having fairly deep anxiety about leaving my safe, beloved home but I shall survive. 
As shall Maurice. 
Mr. Moon told me that he is looking forward to getting me out of town. 
Lloyd being the town. 
And to tell you the truth, I am actually looking forward to not cooking for a few days. This is highly unlike me. Or at least highly unlike who I used to be. Don't get me wrong. I still love to cook but I could use a break. And I'm not really talking about going to the Hilltop for lunch. 

I suppose I will be taking my laptop with me but don't expect me to be commenting on blogs or answering comments on mine or even posting very much if at all. So HURRAY! You'll be getting a break from me. 
But I am quite sure I will have stories when I return. 

Big love...Ms. Moon

One Woman's Lament

Well, when I said yesterday that the new plants in the garden were going to have to root hog or die, I really did not think they were going to die. But, there you go. That wilted thing in the middle? Yesterday that was a sturdy, strong tomato plant. So yes, we got a freeze. 
Those things growing around it are volunteer potato plants and they look to be fine. I'd love to think the tomatoes have a chance, however slight, of putting out new growth but I doubt they will. I'm not going to pull them up before we leave though. 
Here's another one. 

I've always heard it said that you do not set your tomato plants out until the pecan trees have started leafing out. And guess what? The pecans in this yard still have bare branches. And I myself have often said that yes, I have seen it freeze here in March. But somehow I convinced myself that all was well and it would be safe to go ahead and get those plants in the ground. And Mr. Moon was really pushing because he wanted them to have time to get some good growth on them before the horrible heat and bugs set in. And I'm sure nine years out of ten we would have been fine. 
Well, that's how it goes. I can't control the weather. But next year? Remind me please to remember not to plant until the pecan leaves start showing up. 
The peppers and eggplant look like they might be okay. My African basil looks to be dead. My regular basil is as ugly dead as the tomatoes although the volunteer celery growing with it looks positively jaunty. 

The potatoes look pretty good and of course all the greens I haven't pulled up are virtually frost proof and they look fine. And the rattlesnake beans? 
They are obviously not only heat tolerant, they appear to be frost hardy too. They truly are superbeans. 

I tell you who's going to benefit from this freeze though, and that is the nurseries and garden centers. You know people are going to be rushing back out to get replacements for what they've lost. I suppose we will too but not until we get back from Tennessee.

I spent most of the day trying to get things tied up and tidied up here. I tried on the dresses and surprisingly, a few of them fit. One of them is a truly lovely dress that I bought as my mother of the bride dress when Jessie got married. It will do fine if I choose to wear it. Another dress that would do is almost exactly like the one I wore at May's first wedding. That was my first Johnny Was garment. I found this other one at Goodwill and it is not Johnny Was but Sundance brand and that's hardly surprising as Johnny Was does manufacture some clothes for the Sundance catalog. The one I wore so long ago was a sort of dove gray whereas this one is more of a subtly gray lavender. But I think I like the other dress better. I've never actually worn the lavender dress at all because it never really did fit me but I bought it because who could pass up a Johnny Was dress, albeit one with a Sundance label, for Goodwill prices? Someone was eventually going to want it. 
And then of course the beautiful tights I ordered to possibly go with the lace Johnny Was Goodwill dress with the denim jacket arrived today and I haven't even tried on that ensemble. 
TOO MANY CHOICES! 

I tried on the beautiful, gorgeous, corduroy dress which is just as beautiful and gorgeous as it was when I bought it which was well over thirty years ago. It is the lightest, softest corduroy in a floral print and it has pockets and the most graceful of lines. I did not even dare hope it fit and it didn't. I mean, I could get it on but that does not mean it fit. I think it is my favorite dress of all the dresses I've ever had with a white linen sundress with a long skirt (and pockets) running a close second. And that dress is even older and it does fit. But way too summery for a March Tennessee wedding. 
So that was all that. 

I took the trash, I cleared the area in the pantry where we stash cardboard stuff and took it all out to the burn pile. I washed out the kitchen trash can. I did laundry and I ironed a few shirts for Mr. Moon to take with us on our little trip and also two blouses of mine which I may take with me. 
I winnowed out the freezer, taking some things out to the garage freezer, throwing obviously freezer-burned things away, getting rid of some of the magical freezer packs that come in deliveries which need to stay cold. I also went through the refrigerator and put some of that stuff in the compost (everything that could be composted, I did) because one does reach a point of acceptance that this or that leftover or sauce or product is never going to be used so let it go, let it go, let it go.
Wash the container and get on with life. 

I have not yet started packing and one of my stupidest worries about traveling is making sure I have the things I NEED, while not bringing fourteen extra outfits that I will not. Why do I feel as if it is of utmost importance that I have a multitude of choices?
Well, for one thing, temperatures are going to be in the fifties at night and upper seventies and even low eighties during the day. 
Yes. I know. Layers.
Layers involve a number of garments, just by definition, don't they? 
I am being neurotic about this. 

And meanwhile, as I was doing all this busywork, tripping out on my anxieties and baseless worries, what has Mr. Moon been doing? 
Well, for the past several days, he has been doing all of the paperwork required to give up his dealer's license, to finally and officially retire. Now this is not a simple task in any way. Every time I've gone into the Glen Den, he has been surrounded by documents and forms and folders, filling out the crazy multitude of things that need filling out. Like...legally. 
All of our vehicles which have been insured by the business for many years are now going to have to be insured in our names. Not only does this involve a transfer of all these things, but also requires finding and buying new insurance. New license plates must be bought. 
Oh, y'all. I have no idea what in the name of sweet baby Jebus he has had to be doing. Making copies, filling out all those forms, making sure I sign all the forms where I need to sign because I'm on every single thing we own. 
Right now he's in town, dealing with getting all of this paperwork verified, legalized, documentized, recognized, stamped, sealed, and delivered. 
Holy motherfucking shit. 
And this is a man who, because he had a learning disability, grew up thinking he wasn't very smart. A man who majored in body mechanics (I think) in college because his entire college career was based on his athletic ability which is what he figured he was best at. Everything he knows about business he has learned on his own by experience. When we got married and he told me he wanted to start his own tire and auto-repair shop I was terrified. I had no idea what he might or might not be capable of. 
And you know what? I am not sure I understand yet what he is capable of. 

And here I am, a person who, if she had to pick out and buy her own car insurance would have absolutely no clue in the entire world about how to do it. I have been frighteningly sheltered from any of that. I mean, I think I did it when I was first divorced from my ex-husband although I believe I may have made those decisions even before we divorced, but the thought of doing it now drives me to my knees to pray that I go first, oh again dear baby Jebus, let me go first. 

Love...Ms. Moon

 

Lagniappe

 

Sunset colors over the church next door. 

Happy Corned Beef And Cabbage Day!

Yes, yes, I've posted too many pictures of the wisteria already but I think it may be, at this moment, in peak bloom. Also, it may freeze tonight so we shall enjoy it while we can. 

While I was out taking its picture, Maurice strolled by and when she got to the end of the petaled path, I called her name and she turned back towards me which was my intent and I got a few pictures of her walking the purple carpet. 

As I so often say, all cats are supermodels whose superpowers are posing. 

When I woke up this morning it was freaking cold and I told Mr. Moon that I was "dying of anxiety." 
I can be a bit dramatic. 
My anxiety, of course, was due to the trip we're taking to The Event (oh, wait until I can write about this) and how I did not have anyone to stay here and watch my own supermodel and we didn't have a place to stay on our way up on Friday night and...
Well, that was about it. 
But that's enough to kick my ass into panic gear. 

I finally gathered my courage and texted Mark, my other son, to see if he'd be interested in coming to stay while we're gone. When Mark is here, I know that all is well. Sometimes Maurice even gets on the bed when he's sleeping so I'm pretty sure she adores him. And he is such a tidy person. Such a responsible person. 
But the thing is, is that he's house/Sophie sitting for Jessie right now and I know that he is very, very involved in taking care of family members who do need help. They all live together and I believe that Mark is the cruise director, chef, sound-bath healer, driver, and general Mark of All Trades for them. And so would he feel okay about staying here right after he is relieved of house-sitting for Jessie? 
Turns out I didn't even have time to type out a second text burst after my first one before he'd written back. 
"Yes. Every time. I can't wait." 
And with that I felt about 75% better. 
His parents only live a few miles from here, really, so he can easily go check on them. 
I can't tell you how much I appreciate him. He even asked if he'd need to water the garden. This is not his first Lloyd rodeo. 

And then, to make matters even better, Glen found a place for us to stay on our way up in a little town called Cave Spring in Georgia. We've never been there but we will be on Friday. There's a sweet old house that takes guests and all the reviews make it sound like a very good place to stay. So THAT is covered. 

I am so grateful. 

Of course, once again, even knowing I was going to town, I fucked around and then found out that it was already after 1:00 before I hopped in my 2017 Prius and drove to Midtown Pizza. The timing there was fine because the lunch rush was definitely over and so I had May almost all to myself. I ordered some lunch and we talked and talked and talked while I ate and she folded pizza boxes. She brought out the bin of clothes and we went through them. Some I swear I do not even remember. 
"Really? This was mine?"
One dress had NOT been mine. It had been Sue-Sue's, my friend who died many years ago. I did not remember that in the least but May did. I have no idea if any of these dresses will fit. I haven't had time to try them on yet so we shall see. 
Here's the sad thing about body dysmorphia- when I was wearing some of these dresses, I thought I truly needed to lose weight. 
I did not. 
I was beautiful at that size. I was beautiful at a larger size. But far more importantly- I was simply not overweight. I just wasn't skinny. I have wasted so much of my life fighting a battle with my very own self, sometimes in what could be called a healthier way, sometimes in what could be called a disordered eating way. 
I could write books about this. I have written a lot about it in this blog. But what I want to say now is that if I try on those dresses and none of them fit me, I need to not suddenly feel as if I am fat. As if I am overweight. I know I'm not. It is an extremely complicated subject and I fear that my brain has been wired a certain way since I was about seven years old. I honestly don't think I can rewire it at this age to be more accepting of the truth. To be more accepting of myself. 
Which I mostly am! I know I am doing what I need to do to be healthier, easier in this body, more able to bend and to move and to not try to avoid every mirror in the world I come across. 

So that's that. 

And speaking of, well, we weren't speaking of it, but...food.
Happy St. Patrick's Day which for me personally just means an excuse to cook corned beef and cabbage and make Irish soda bread. The corned beef is simmering away, I need to go put the cabbage and carrots and onions and potatoes in and I need to find my recipe for the soda bread which is delicious. 

I did not answer comments but once again, perhaps I will get around to it. 

Here's another vacation adventure photo.

Y'all- it's not even that warm down there. I mean, it's probably warmer than where many of you are but it's less than 60º which to us is WAY too cold to be swimming. 

Children. 

And the latest forecast on my weather widget for tonight here in Lloyd is 33º. 
Holy shit. 
Well, it will be what it will be and there is no way in hell I'm bringing any plants in or covering anything in the garden which has just been planted. 

 To repeat myself once more- Root hog or die. 

Love...Ms. Moon