tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20862963700048356552024-03-19T06:29:06.004-04:00Bless Our HeartsMs. Moonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09776404747858099919noreply@blogger.comBlogger9248125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2086296370004835655.post-21848210424608092812024-03-18T18:35:00.004-04:002024-03-18T18:41:51.993-04:00Is It Too Early To Go To Bed?<p><span style="font-size: large;"> It's been a weird day. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I did not sleep much last night. I guess I was anxious about this morning's appointment. And just the whole kidney stone situation in general. My side started aching in the early morning hours, but not too bad. Just enough to remind me of why I was going to the doctor. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I wasn't in the doctor's office long at all. When he came into the room, I said, "I bet you're sick and tired of me," and after he shook my hand he protested that no, no, of course he wasn't and then proceeded to tell me that my urine was <i>pristine</i>, with no blood in it so I believe that led him to think that my stone isn't really moving at all. I described my symptoms and he nodded sagely and then asked if perhaps it was just that my back was hurting and I told him that no, it was not, I remember exactly what this feels like and also that I'd had some nausea and he agreed that nausea very often accompanies a stone on the move. He asked me if I needed anything for pain and I told him that no, no, I'm not having THAT kind of pain and that is what I'm trying to avoid. He was ready to whip out that prescription pad and I do appreciate that even though I know that pain meds are over-prescribed or sometimes, alternately, under-prescribed. But I was being truthful. I am definitely not in that sort of pain. <br />He offered the theory that perhaps a small piece had separated from the mother stone, shall we say, and I passed that. Frankly, I don't think so. But he could be right. He has a lot more experience and knowledge about all of this than I do. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">So he's sending me for a CT scan and they have to call me from the radiology place to set up an appointment and I hope it's soon. The doctor will call me with results. I don't want to think about this stuff anymore. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I was texting with a friend today and she said something about how we never expected all the things that would come our way when we got older. I told her that I definitely agreed with that and I am NOT aging like a fine wine, but in fact, I am aging like a bottle of Ripple. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Any of y'all remember Ripple? </span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNPTIbo9QaTFPq_pd5xAsJS_56KAA3P9aXB3WLAs79zTL-jl-FmH2xWOl9W63TbnxSMrHxAUkIm9T_ME26P7i_RBGKZ54WysToij1h6jD26NP5XyDIFLqXwm7-sGY6oBlq63ueHjHwZs_2eTyElNbSBwgINUxkIO_eUUmUMbtPXZuZF7ySNm63r3kFKn51/s400/fd905ca1ffc61847c21121e226831d92.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="300" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNPTIbo9QaTFPq_pd5xAsJS_56KAA3P9aXB3WLAs79zTL-jl-FmH2xWOl9W63TbnxSMrHxAUkIm9T_ME26P7i_RBGKZ54WysToij1h6jD26NP5XyDIFLqXwm7-sGY6oBlq63ueHjHwZs_2eTyElNbSBwgINUxkIO_eUUmUMbtPXZuZF7ySNm63r3kFKn51/w480-h640/fd905ca1ffc61847c21121e226831d92.jpg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">It was Fred Sanford's drink of choice. And how many of you remember Fred Sanford? </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I was planning on staying in town and doing my shopping and then meeting Glen for lunch and going to see a house Lily was looking at after that. I did my shopping and I had lunch with my husband but then I decided to come home. I was tired and operating on anxiety-brain which meant that I was not exactly sharp if you know what I mean. I probably shouldn't have even been driving. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I did have a small high point today, though. Glen and I went to Chow Time and I finally tried the seafood soup they serve there which is basically a spicy broth with large, unpeeled head-on shrimps and tomatoes and peppers in it. <br />Y'all- it was good. I think that my beloved hot and sour soup may have to take second place to this stuff. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">A little while ago Jessie and the boys came out to return the the things they borrowed for camping and it was great to see them. The first thing those boys did was to start talking about Pokemon. They, like Owen and Gibson before them, are completely convinced that something will flip in me and that I will suddenly understand their obsession with these creatures and want to learn all about them and boy, do they want to teach me. <br />What is it about Pokemon? <br />I listen and nod my head and try to change the subject. At one point, Levon had to run back out to the truck to get a book about them to show me his favorite Pokemon whom I think is called Mega MewDew X. <br />Nope. I just looked it up. It's Mega MewTwo X. <br />And I will remember that for approximately five minutes at which time my poor, overloaded brain will completely wipe it off the old hard drive. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">But I was glad to see them. They reported that they'd had a very good time camping and showed me their no-see'ums bug bites. I snapped a few pictures. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKeT2aq9LYmKpt2H9K_s07mlX-1VuRcsMBeZnqftp0QyvBseaWZnndLIz4_TB5GylZdnHG2p1nffL6fdmeinV6ToaaxtI44YeKG474BhAZWuPPYT1PvGvh3Y8MhFdCu3Alb2-M2ysQFTdb48saYR20tFkDCET8P1MxAxTAhyW-kxg01XZ_yFZ1D0MtqKx_/s3273/IMG_5138.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3273" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKeT2aq9LYmKpt2H9K_s07mlX-1VuRcsMBeZnqftp0QyvBseaWZnndLIz4_TB5GylZdnHG2p1nffL6fdmeinV6ToaaxtI44YeKG474BhAZWuPPYT1PvGvh3Y8MhFdCu3Alb2-M2ysQFTdb48saYR20tFkDCET8P1MxAxTAhyW-kxg01XZ_yFZ1D0MtqKx_/w592-h640/IMG_5138.jpeg" width="592" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Levon had a top that he was spinning. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7gHR9t8zK05QcqQT19_zoGpshNnTUf9D0HQazYnbuYZ_jBZNEsWUZam6B9yB3RgpO_3D-Lw7GT_SLqISUqaUCBl2UZa2uqcqpa_Oy9NQvWYe4k0v_Hwzqq_VJt_6INZdc-uPzbmm0HtX8d4MyYAlIEo18yukCaRd9VxHbGHRq4ENPkCHqM1KnTfv7omPU/s4032/IMG_5141.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7gHR9t8zK05QcqQT19_zoGpshNnTUf9D0HQazYnbuYZ_jBZNEsWUZam6B9yB3RgpO_3D-Lw7GT_SLqISUqaUCBl2UZa2uqcqpa_Oy9NQvWYe4k0v_Hwzqq_VJt_6INZdc-uPzbmm0HtX8d4MyYAlIEo18yukCaRd9VxHbGHRq4ENPkCHqM1KnTfv7omPU/w480-h640/IMG_5141.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNH7-wPHumihj3NCGc8ubu2AsJmYkVtrwrq5XYlpkDbof9YWNPPgl2vX-J8gd6cGgBQIt-KO8Py5xz_V_RIHIpE79aIlc1xB6EA47eN03AKzMEyeY97Sk5_07PwsaSjK9-IO4jtwdV_AiCZR00_KtRSACBa73OxEBqoGvbrcAtpGro2U1_5U0V-lrH8BNz/s4032/IMG_5143.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2553" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNH7-wPHumihj3NCGc8ubu2AsJmYkVtrwrq5XYlpkDbof9YWNPPgl2vX-J8gd6cGgBQIt-KO8Py5xz_V_RIHIpE79aIlc1xB6EA47eN03AKzMEyeY97Sk5_07PwsaSjK9-IO4jtwdV_AiCZR00_KtRSACBa73OxEBqoGvbrcAtpGro2U1_5U0V-lrH8BNz/w406-h640/IMG_5143.jpeg" width="406" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">August was contorting his long, skinny, strong arms and he wanted me to take his picture from the side so that I could see that his feet were not on the ground but on the tiny ridge of the bottom of the kitchen island. This was a feat of agility and strength. As you can clearly see. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQnarMcouubD3Htc_6lcc-d4IO-Fj7900SGiyOJR5cOtiW4zlhGxpccSw8UxV0gV8FalPSW92f9UK-aPoPUCiAUYHM8uFh7LeyJKGzlINy1sD5D0UJGR4ULdeYFxANTPwcxTamD1Tz4EieNJV5-sMLFiOWdT5sspu5wTo0GqMLwzUu5F1ZsiPRBLPytMy0/s4032/IMG_5144.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQnarMcouubD3Htc_6lcc-d4IO-Fj7900SGiyOJR5cOtiW4zlhGxpccSw8UxV0gV8FalPSW92f9UK-aPoPUCiAUYHM8uFh7LeyJKGzlINy1sD5D0UJGR4ULdeYFxANTPwcxTamD1Tz4EieNJV5-sMLFiOWdT5sspu5wTo0GqMLwzUu5F1ZsiPRBLPytMy0/w480-h640/IMG_5144.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">He also insisted I take one from the back and he was quite pleased with how it turned out. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Oh, my little boys. How I love them. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Of course seeing them was the real highlight of the day. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLaSiUjMS9_qAswZ1_NrR3v79IEzYMj91mQ5i4JBSBo2xWOoV1ybQC3Dshc3fq3jlHSPp-yS1adCZ7kXX5gUfBGDNa86S8RBvULVjDEZ5uaUXKNR8iYrT90VrwO-LBDjEu-9HWL_CKiX3jC_yP7-i7_WAZie0_M-LEM56CaU5i0EwRDAE9DOLHwdYOtvmy/s4032/IMG_5134.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLaSiUjMS9_qAswZ1_NrR3v79IEzYMj91mQ5i4JBSBo2xWOoV1ybQC3Dshc3fq3jlHSPp-yS1adCZ7kXX5gUfBGDNa86S8RBvULVjDEZ5uaUXKNR8iYrT90VrwO-LBDjEu-9HWL_CKiX3jC_yP7-i7_WAZie0_M-LEM56CaU5i0EwRDAE9DOLHwdYOtvmy/w480-h640/IMG_5134.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">The tung blossoms are exploding and almost overnight the tung trees on the interstate are gracing us with their flower-clouds. I wonder how many people traveling that highway even notice? Not many, I'm sure. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Here's a photo that I saw on Facebook this morning and had to save. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEsUdBTn4shFx168Xl0C1UqeAVDKfgmcHE-yzwW7xROoI4eIrQuXB65Oezyh4GbbKPzMN31s99plohNwntVESJkpR3nuKe4rWgLDqIGwYCJ6avLSzC2ltGmi9rt_kj9Dnw4CotI6bZE9pSblhcJcmx23eAVF049YxRclrrMIx5pnAH7dFXli7KDz7ZDdfd/s619/433462904_419797997272813_3288331944689661462_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="590" data-original-width="619" height="610" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEsUdBTn4shFx168Xl0C1UqeAVDKfgmcHE-yzwW7xROoI4eIrQuXB65Oezyh4GbbKPzMN31s99plohNwntVESJkpR3nuKe4rWgLDqIGwYCJ6avLSzC2ltGmi9rt_kj9Dnw4CotI6bZE9pSblhcJcmx23eAVF049YxRclrrMIx5pnAH7dFXli7KDz7ZDdfd/w640-h610/433462904_419797997272813_3288331944689661462_n.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /></span></div></div></div></div></div><span style="font-size: large;">That is Dog Island in the middle. Our house is in the wide part in the belly, so to speak, right on the bay. The island below is part of St. George Island, and across from them is Carrabelle, Tate's Hell, and East Point. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">That is Florida. Heaven and Hell in one photo. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">When I was in town today, stopped at a red light, I took this picture.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEeMNwQ8fm48Kqc1uCtINbpXwLmRoAe5ZDzV0nMYj9jGiazye9sjlU5J30kIv0eTC1cB117h8p7A5HWhG10vYUH6JikM8XJHIVE6QNBdJBlKRHz2BpBk4d5QOprCGGPVDBxMm6NjnCW5ueVMQAfdoxbULCGUjSBGsuVB5oxp02hzbDx1bQCvrrL-AshaZE/s4032/IMG_5132.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEeMNwQ8fm48Kqc1uCtINbpXwLmRoAe5ZDzV0nMYj9jGiazye9sjlU5J30kIv0eTC1cB117h8p7A5HWhG10vYUH6JikM8XJHIVE6QNBdJBlKRHz2BpBk4d5QOprCGGPVDBxMm6NjnCW5ueVMQAfdoxbULCGUjSBGsuVB5oxp02hzbDx1bQCvrrL-AshaZE/w480-h640/IMG_5132.HEIC" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">As my friend said when I sent her the photo, "I'm going to Del Taco but thanks for asking, Random Sign."</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">That made me laugh for sure. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I kicked bamboo a little while ago. That shit is getting serious. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Life in Lloyd.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Love...Ms. Moon</span></div><p></p>Ms. Moonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09776404747858099919noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2086296370004835655.post-55170315486479584842024-03-17T18:20:00.003-04:002024-03-17T18:25:07.532-04:00NSV (Not Suitable For Vegetarians) I'm Sorry<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYFhf0_OaOZUcPTzXKgN8GBbVMFTHEEKF-TO8QoSrP6TodcsGJ1bhEVTTD0OHtxKCdHrfvqGMG2moxH2LvINO7jXpNvXQmSdp_5_fSQFCjzfmJPBKy28QHtuh4sjwCjzwNLQbu1Ns-VUiriczFLlYA7xmvkMJ_LZPTLAsP26rfD39_aAvgpPOFNDAXNuu3/s4032/IMG_5086.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYFhf0_OaOZUcPTzXKgN8GBbVMFTHEEKF-TO8QoSrP6TodcsGJ1bhEVTTD0OHtxKCdHrfvqGMG2moxH2LvINO7jXpNvXQmSdp_5_fSQFCjzfmJPBKy28QHtuh4sjwCjzwNLQbu1Ns-VUiriczFLlYA7xmvkMJ_LZPTLAsP26rfD39_aAvgpPOFNDAXNuu3/w480-h640/IMG_5086.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />How many of y'all remember Hints from Heloise? Anybody? It was one of those regular syndicated columns in the newspaper like Dear Abby or Ann Landers or the Daily Horoscope. It was always in the section of the paper where the <i>women's</i> news was. You know- recipes, articles on flower arranging, marriages, births, etc. <br />Anyway, Heloise's column was filled with household hints. I read her every day as a child because I read everything I could get my hands on as I was reading-material starved. People would write in with their household hints which we would probably call "hacks" now. Ways to do things around the old homeplace that you might not think of. Heavy on the cleaning side of things. Ways to make the housewife's life easier. Mostly I remember a spell of time when everyone was writing in about things you could do with nylon net. All I remember about that was using it to make a scrubber for cleaning the dishes. <br />But I'm sure that a lot of good ideas came through that little column and I sort of miss it. Don't we all need a Heloise in our life? <br />So here's my Heloise hint for today. <br />See that avocado on top of that salad up there? I can't even tell you how old that avocado was. Weeks? At least. Maybe a month. Maybe more. And it is beautiful, isn't it? Perfectly ripe, but not overly so. <br />What I've discovered is that if you put an avocado in the refrigerator that's the tiniest short of being soft, it will last for a very long time. That's all- just put it in the refrigerator. <br />I discovered this from buying avocados at Costco. You can get like five organic avocados there for six bucks or something but most of us probably don't use up that many avocados in the time that it would take some of them to get overripe. I mean, some people probably eat an avocado a day, at least, but I'm not one of them. So I was wasting a lot of avocados until I learned, mostly by accident, about refrigerating them. I was stunned! <br />You will be too! <br />I am using a lot of exclamation points on purpose to share my enthusiasm about this great avocado hack! </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">It takes so little to excite me. <br /><br />I have my corned beef simmering away in a pot. I really do not have any emotional attachment to St. Patrick's Day. I think I am probably at least some percentage Irish but whatever. In case you haven't noticed, I'm not much of a nationalist. Yesterday when Glen and I were driving around looking for that house, we passed this...thing...that was built of wood that had at least a dozen smallish American flags flying from it. <br />"Huh," I said. "Guess we're in America."<br />This thing wasn't even in someone's yard. It was on the shoulder of the road. A paved road. <br />But here's what I do very much like about St. Patrick's Day- it gives me an excuse to cook a corned beef with cabbage. I love corned beef, even (and this is gross) the canned stuff. I NEVER eat that any more but I would if I thought I could get away with it. A good corned beef hash made with that meatlike substance is hard to beat. Throw a couple of eggs on it and you've got heaven in a skillet. <br />But no, this is the real kind of corned beef, or at least the sort you buy in the package that has slimy blood all around it along with a tiny packet of spices. I've got mine simmering on the stove now and will be adding the potatoes and onions and carrots and turnips and cabbage in a little while. </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ-CFyYR6EibJ-RGuja2TpECPSkTko4iI1LLUZ17IPuWRq9SxhOqaKPPbMaWZw3WPa8Kx3x1VvY9jqoV_2KUimZonTIyGasYFOLS2LgRGHq5i7iwsODEVMzNqoF9VyV0ycyDaeXtplxgVoOg2DPZEbH4mSnWJ3q8cBvH5bI9390E6_fJe1UZATh2JqlkYA/s4030/IMG_5123.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2520" data-original-width="4030" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ-CFyYR6EibJ-RGuja2TpECPSkTko4iI1LLUZ17IPuWRq9SxhOqaKPPbMaWZw3WPa8Kx3x1VvY9jqoV_2KUimZonTIyGasYFOLS2LgRGHq5i7iwsODEVMzNqoF9VyV0ycyDaeXtplxgVoOg2DPZEbH4mSnWJ3q8cBvH5bI9390E6_fJe1UZATh2JqlkYA/w640-h400/IMG_5123.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Those are some gnarly root vegetables, aren't they? My carrots are just disappointing this year. They usually do so well in my garden but this year they've either not grown much at all or else split before they got big. The turnips have done much better. Mr. Moon is not fond of cooked carrots, in fact, they rate right up there with canned peas in his estimation. And he doesn't jump with joy for turnips either. I make him sound so picky and really, he's not. He's like all of us. He likes what he likes and doesn't like what he doesn't like. It's not a character issue. It's just personal taste. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I tell you what he DOES love, though, and which I also make for St. Patrick's Day and that's Irish soda bread. He loves it. Who doesn't? <br /><br />So it all evens out. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Here's a picture for you. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmGN0W9eylUd0hrcYZ7aAmSyMLBvWoJj-HSHmsU_3TzCDdpQzZI2G-_qjU6E7axegPPBHuozy1mYPv_HPIS8-XKTpR3aQTt6gdbFtCrRllWXRcUjDgi6wywPXMhK8w_mg4aOIOzbwL6h9lVeNPQmEByBCs5mLfiMOPN6dAAGPS7v7TxUVh5nD9ptjMaEq3/s2070/IMG_5122.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1963" data-original-width="2070" height="606" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmGN0W9eylUd0hrcYZ7aAmSyMLBvWoJj-HSHmsU_3TzCDdpQzZI2G-_qjU6E7axegPPBHuozy1mYPv_HPIS8-XKTpR3aQTt6gdbFtCrRllWXRcUjDgi6wywPXMhK8w_mg4aOIOzbwL6h9lVeNPQmEByBCs5mLfiMOPN6dAAGPS7v7TxUVh5nD9ptjMaEq3/w640-h606/IMG_5122.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Can you see the tiny anole? What great camouflage. He or she was hiding in the pea <span> vine</span>s. It was so small I can't believe I saw it at all. I took the picture blind because the sun was shining was shining so brightly. I was picking peas AGAIN. That two rows of sugar snaps has given us a nice bounty this year. Vergil's father, who is a practitioner of <a href="https://horticulture.ces.ncsu.edu/horticulture-organic-production/biodynamics/" target="_blank">biodynamic farming</a>, suggested to Jessie and Vergil that instead of pulling up their pea plants, they should just snip them at the ground, leaving the roots behind. I had known that peas are nitrogen fixers for the soil, but I did not realize that leaving the roots encourages this process. So I am going to do that too this year. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">It's been a quiet day here, nothing out of the ordinary. Not too hot, but certainly not chilly. Supposed to rain tonight and start getting cooler tomorrow. I'm going to go see the urologist at 10:45 tomorrow morning and then I'll probably be going to the radiology place to get another look at that stone. It has not bothered me much today, although I may just be getting used to my back aching. Of course I'm second-guessing myself AGAIN about lithotripsy. <br />I'm sorry. I'll shut up about it. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0bTSc9Za3KpKpu9_TqHWaHMU84ujbpAfplpEUEbq8FsAmY9uuzAetaTLquCYpYasbabABnx4kD4o2tSL6o2a-kqFmG8Ao-ITxJrG7-mwtfiUU1W5oaOzAV6dab-mEHdlYFODafnVnvQ2HZy8_wrchyvnPZvzY_-DP_kC70ZXGYIBqDodPDQJ_eI1vdk91/s4032/IMG_5118.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0bTSc9Za3KpKpu9_TqHWaHMU84ujbpAfplpEUEbq8FsAmY9uuzAetaTLquCYpYasbabABnx4kD4o2tSL6o2a-kqFmG8Ao-ITxJrG7-mwtfiUU1W5oaOzAV6dab-mEHdlYFODafnVnvQ2HZy8_wrchyvnPZvzY_-DP_kC70ZXGYIBqDodPDQJ_eI1vdk91/w480-h640/IMG_5118.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />Here's a picture of the very healthy-looking buckeye volunteer coming up in the bed beneath the giant live oak in the front yard. I am at the point in my life where something like this thrills me, as does a new shoot on a slow-growing houseplant. <br />As I said, it takes very little to excite me. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Perhaps I should buy some nylon net and see what I can do with it. <br />If that happens, I'll be sure to share. <br />Meanwhile, do you have a favorite household hint? I'd love to hear it. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Love...Ms. Moon</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p>Ms. Moonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09776404747858099919noreply@blogger.com43tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2086296370004835655.post-80110852293723006332024-03-16T18:52:00.004-04:002024-03-17T09:00:23.411-04:00What's It All Mean, Mr. Natural? Part Bazillion<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWceptY_xwZmVraT0B4bqERfC9oLJWqU9suvwA02NHZFNfCPWjCEALS0Xfueq7_iGgQeSmvdQCg3kCh8QPUGGL9icilutB8sOu0uhWZZ1p4mFIO00iEdM8ibESX7ga5V6GpYws1GU1hjXhAR-Ejnu7QBXG0PSxlCtGY2CvIZan0Ppiq08z1MgWqgHvPoS0/s4032/IMG_5121.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWceptY_xwZmVraT0B4bqERfC9oLJWqU9suvwA02NHZFNfCPWjCEALS0Xfueq7_iGgQeSmvdQCg3kCh8QPUGGL9icilutB8sOu0uhWZZ1p4mFIO00iEdM8ibESX7ga5V6GpYws1GU1hjXhAR-Ejnu7QBXG0PSxlCtGY2CvIZan0Ppiq08z1MgWqgHvPoS0/w480-h640/IMG_5121.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">An attempt at wrens' nest building in our bedroom. I discovered that the screen was not entirely closed. Poor birds. All that work. </span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />***********</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I felt flat-out crazy this morning. Crazy as a betsy-bug as my mother-in-law used to say. I could not stop crying. And then Mr. Moon sent me a link to a house he sort of wanted to look at and I opened it up and got furious because it's on a lake that I've told him a million times I'm not really interested in living on but which he's told me a million times that he really is interested in having a house on. <br />The deal is, after we sell the Dog Island property, we have to reinvest the money in more real estate within 45 days or we'll be taxed like a billion percent. <br />Okay, I am using some hyperbole here today. I told you I was crazy. <br />So he's going through some emotional trauma about letting the island property go (as am I) and he's also in a bit of a panic to figure out where to put this money. And I understand this, every iota of it, and I understand that he has always wanted a place on a lake with a dock so that he can fish to his heart's content and the grandkids can fish too. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Understanding does not mean complete acceptance though. <br />We had a bit of a spat. Rare for us. And I couldn't stop with the crying and I felt like I had a demon in me and y'all- that's just not a good way to feel.<br />To make a long story short we made up sweetly and I told him I'd go look at it with him and we drove about forty-five minutes to where the house was and unbeknownst to me, not only was there no way for us to get in, but also every blind in every window was snapped as shut as a turtle's mouth on a junebug. <br />He'd called the realtor who'd given him instructions on opening the gate but that was it. <br />The lot was nice. Some citrus trees, cedar trees, magnolias, crepe myrtle. But the dock wasn't as fine as I think my husband had hoped and it was also shared with a close neighbor. Physically close, of course. We don't know them.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I mostly sat in a swing overlooking a small part of the lake and contemplated the meaning of life. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ-LAtMWySC6hU3yuqZ-fJSprLUVqRmr8aJrl6B2RoEIpvnyU6JdU1VGM162N4rF9vQFW_TfCsrXR0P-LpJF6A8tpfd3LSwIyRi-ylx3eBSBmhc8wkEFcUMOhgQWuCUX9YUofa0ur9ZB2hE5jrLG12GX4YWZmcylRTSbjorkWQwggBBYPv7yjH4K-1FGUS/s4032/IMG_5102.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ-LAtMWySC6hU3yuqZ-fJSprLUVqRmr8aJrl6B2RoEIpvnyU6JdU1VGM162N4rF9vQFW_TfCsrXR0P-LpJF6A8tpfd3LSwIyRi-ylx3eBSBmhc8wkEFcUMOhgQWuCUX9YUofa0ur9ZB2hE5jrLG12GX4YWZmcylRTSbjorkWQwggBBYPv7yjH4K-1FGUS/w480-h640/IMG_5102.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The pictures of the house I'd seen online did not do much for me. But...I'd been willing to give it a look. Since that was impossible, we left fairly soon to go find lunch. There was exactly one restaurant in the area and it was called "Country Boys." The interior looked about what I had expected it would. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT-ljQT-Y81LafBdLPdm0rkYb4UWXurBjfqFVzw8Y4iATQ-qqpVDWNuW44TyniEwJH1ilb8T_Bb-S6qqOL2c0IP02i1T7YEPcYtI7Cpr-VARtLvoqTlqu7r4pnsqDFlAeQwO5B5xAjgQ1qTM_ez1Qc3ii_oBuGljrvymfa4Phcjf2Oev-74e2cBpqMh4P-/s4032/IMG_5104.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT-ljQT-Y81LafBdLPdm0rkYb4UWXurBjfqFVzw8Y4iATQ-qqpVDWNuW44TyniEwJH1ilb8T_Bb-S6qqOL2c0IP02i1T7YEPcYtI7Cpr-VARtLvoqTlqu7r4pnsqDFlAeQwO5B5xAjgQ1qTM_ez1Qc3ii_oBuGljrvymfa4Phcjf2Oev-74e2cBpqMh4P-/w640-h480/IMG_5104.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Fluorescent lights, a picture of boats (in this case, oyster boats looking towards the bridge to Apalachicola) and a paddle on the wall. When we got there, there were only the people you see in that picture. It was about 1:45. The menu was typical for the area- fish and shrimp and oysters and hamburgers and and chicken sandwiches. Etc. <br />Our server was a woman who was probably younger than me but not by much. The way she walked told me she has spent a lot of time on her feet in her life and she is probably in pain most of the time. Her grandson works in the kitchen and there were two other women who had no doubt gone to the same hair stylist as she had. <br />As she walked away from our table, I realized she was wearing a shirt that said, on the back, "Respect everyone's differences. Work together, not apart." And there was a graphic of hands of different colors grasped together in a circle.<br />Not what I expected. <br />By the time we got our food we knew a lot about her including the fact that her husband died two years ago and since then she probably hasn't cooked two meals. Also, her son is a fireman. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />The food was fine and by the time we left, there were at least fifteen new customers there, most of them Black while the entire staff of the restaurant was white. There was nothing but grace and joking, ease and good food. It may sound ridiculous to even notice something like this, much less to comment on it, but I am here to tell you that I remember the days when restaurants, almost without fail, had signs that said, "We Reserve The Right To Refuse Service To Anyone."<br />"But what does that mean?" I'd ask my mother or my grandfather. No one ever really told me the truth of it and I wondered for years what grievous sin one had to commit to be denied entrance into a Tastee Freez. <br />God, things are slow in changing but at least, they do change. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We drove home and I went out and kicked some bamboo. It's coming up for sure. In sweeter news, the wisteria is suddenly blooming. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL9QzVTTihWXLGDfaEh3OSHhPbhnkoeiA7IdhshoZUI5NmyKUKN9R0csK_2tdwLtaEx3FgwptlBq9hyK8KqLxBpm7Y_pBnyjFPeRt_2H0i0u9GwQ7bd77sS3jQYltre5-uMe5CjQGZKEL9PLCs0vLrHjt8cT2V0lc1bYTp-_Ueuk-2ofxY5DBNhvlHHR8u/s4032/IMG_5109.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL9QzVTTihWXLGDfaEh3OSHhPbhnkoeiA7IdhshoZUI5NmyKUKN9R0csK_2tdwLtaEx3FgwptlBq9hyK8KqLxBpm7Y_pBnyjFPeRt_2H0i0u9GwQ7bd77sS3jQYltre5-uMe5CjQGZKEL9PLCs0vLrHjt8cT2V0lc1bYTp-_Ueuk-2ofxY5DBNhvlHHR8u/w480-h640/IMG_5109.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioMwrbO7-TOq6crPwsfXZm3qC8jXKFrKEPErw-cCSJ7NXQ5nfBOqGcLdRr76XVPtWaBLElUL9zHb5fAd_ZVYmxfNzXm3J1naZzS-zv5__pgSwyUBvb39I4lR0cjqzJeQv7bBmOop6lpYXSJXyAjgO_eDk-FUiXXikq35Byy9FwXP4xeJ8iAjAoIdssE3yn/s3718/IMG_5112.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3718" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioMwrbO7-TOq6crPwsfXZm3qC8jXKFrKEPErw-cCSJ7NXQ5nfBOqGcLdRr76XVPtWaBLElUL9zHb5fAd_ZVYmxfNzXm3J1naZzS-zv5__pgSwyUBvb39I4lR0cjqzJeQv7bBmOop6lpYXSJXyAjgO_eDk-FUiXXikq35Byy9FwXP4xeJ8iAjAoIdssE3yn/w520-h640/IMG_5112.jpeg" width="520" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_0KdrpBiSisootuzZmZlJiRWPHLMjj930si1aDcfVmeeA09RGA6VHDEZj__eQi3b8XZzzePwmzgcnV81gOUA0LPtDZe1rpxRCyk2Mw8op_ed5XPMRjtbYqZVLqNEw39wPODUosfLOuD42N-G8VzoF9LJ3LUkBi-_v5AdxNR09ZHZpdUVPzAOyK_UkL4_J/s4032/IMG_5114.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_0KdrpBiSisootuzZmZlJiRWPHLMjj930si1aDcfVmeeA09RGA6VHDEZj__eQi3b8XZzzePwmzgcnV81gOUA0LPtDZe1rpxRCyk2Mw8op_ed5XPMRjtbYqZVLqNEw39wPODUosfLOuD42N-G8VzoF9LJ3LUkBi-_v5AdxNR09ZHZpdUVPzAOyK_UkL4_J/w480-h640/IMG_5114.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>There is a glory about wisteria, even though it, too, is considered invasive. The way its vines can climb up into the sky is magical to me and it's grape-like clusters of blossoms draw the bees. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I had to check on the tung tree to see if it had started blooming yet and just a few lone flowers have opened. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIBR2ro2KVXbRFCoN9NuWngcNyi76lA0IKpx7jk7acED47rXD7iCM-z8zEGF6UspM5m7r-_DJH17-o6ehXuIvTlGpNJuJENQk-1oEa4TXPpmK6QHkTkN524tQ24jKHCpF1Y7mKoCJasHI8KNPWNPBdM-rkzqHJLMxhgSNLec577upJeJzp4nMbt7FFyhy3/s4032/IMG_5115.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIBR2ro2KVXbRFCoN9NuWngcNyi76lA0IKpx7jk7acED47rXD7iCM-z8zEGF6UspM5m7r-_DJH17-o6ehXuIvTlGpNJuJENQk-1oEa4TXPpmK6QHkTkN524tQ24jKHCpF1Y7mKoCJasHI8KNPWNPBdM-rkzqHJLMxhgSNLec577upJeJzp4nMbt7FFyhy3/w480-h640/IMG_5115.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">That picture is deceptive in size. The tung blossom is only a bit bigger than the small individual clusters of the bridal wreath spirea. I love these flowers with their delicate red-orange veins against the palest of peach petals. When they are in full bloom along the interstate here, they look like clouds drifted down from somewhere in the Far East and indeed, they do come from China, brought here to produce tung oil. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I picked a bouquet of azaleas and spirea to bring into the house.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYtLjehtejcXFGPbWPzy2H0qtE9RjjJch6nU5GUPWUvgxSJowSqhfRp56qd5ixP3sa6PUuy04mhzRH26Qf66jqZPqCKlA1K6_xN7Y2El7vmcCie6cMrO-5k7jlXuvo9hgyBkhTOeB4jroFNpyP-dvNaq5aR3gPh-WoXM9UwhUXg1UYZzkelSl5IwEsiDz9/s4032/IMG_5120.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYtLjehtejcXFGPbWPzy2H0qtE9RjjJch6nU5GUPWUvgxSJowSqhfRp56qd5ixP3sa6PUuy04mhzRH26Qf66jqZPqCKlA1K6_xN7Y2El7vmcCie6cMrO-5k7jlXuvo9hgyBkhTOeB4jroFNpyP-dvNaq5aR3gPh-WoXM9UwhUXg1UYZzkelSl5IwEsiDz9/w480-h640/IMG_5120.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>The spring-breakers have all come home safely. Here are two more pictures of their trips.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2pePHQyukycC8FotBdk5uuHLEt19Qm38_YojS_H7BvnEt5acfU0YNYEWg93YggxX56FEMOfXSd2HWqEcTcHVg8o5_3IWthGfaq_-nmjOtFBN7Tso95QTK_5G_QxlEGJSNsFBF7dvZGiXBSIn_FufqBF9D01om6-2ufGULKmUEnNzfOtWzuAAJFiXPbMEL/s1024/IMG_2288.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2pePHQyukycC8FotBdk5uuHLEt19Qm38_YojS_H7BvnEt5acfU0YNYEWg93YggxX56FEMOfXSd2HWqEcTcHVg8o5_3IWthGfaq_-nmjOtFBN7Tso95QTK_5G_QxlEGJSNsFBF7dvZGiXBSIn_FufqBF9D01om6-2ufGULKmUEnNzfOtWzuAAJFiXPbMEL/w480-h640/IMG_2288.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I imagine you can figure out where this was taken.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5VhXAHyKzuM66gKDQLo5KDQ2H2FttXgCgD6kO2juxd8EJYC6qDmiEwFjWyF4p0nzqVJ_9kSCd4HiBGdhaBz3aWmevClzy19y32a4wql03bJT6mpiSQCmDYRKRi4wbIi13YI0kuY7JbsJckrPk6w4rFDtvFiiCZuD-0rVqfrizxVQYuyJ9-Asrsqewwke0/s480/IMG_7213.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="480" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5VhXAHyKzuM66gKDQLo5KDQ2H2FttXgCgD6kO2juxd8EJYC6qDmiEwFjWyF4p0nzqVJ_9kSCd4HiBGdhaBz3aWmevClzy19y32a4wql03bJT6mpiSQCmDYRKRi4wbIi13YI0kuY7JbsJckrPk6w4rFDtvFiiCZuD-0rVqfrizxVQYuyJ9-Asrsqewwke0/w640-h480/IMG_7213.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Look at all of the pristine beach that they had to themselves. Okay, sure. They had to paddle for two hours to get there and two hours to get back but I am sure they would say that it had been more than worth it. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I am looking forward to hearing all of the stories. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Love...Ms. Moon</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><br /></div></div></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /> </span><p></p>Ms. Moonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09776404747858099919noreply@blogger.com42tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2086296370004835655.post-16777382692093543502024-03-15T18:59:00.003-04:002024-03-15T19:05:07.303-04:00Ignoring The World<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_D6BGZ6vD6J8EKovDmx3lTA7DY2tHwrA1153Jlmk5cIMRttQ5yqK6xpoArdhqvXPkcibco9wGACKtQDrjaB1-7xIvZhWxCG2MVTkrqBDBzZBdS06MmLG0KsVs0qxbvq9qqHI7-POVrJVzG4-dF7GiiH_p_vaGC9SlVe1SbSi_K526UUfo-4YaKWKxJmkQ/s3021/IMG_5088.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3021" data-original-width="2979" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_D6BGZ6vD6J8EKovDmx3lTA7DY2tHwrA1153Jlmk5cIMRttQ5yqK6xpoArdhqvXPkcibco9wGACKtQDrjaB1-7xIvZhWxCG2MVTkrqBDBzZBdS06MmLG0KsVs0qxbvq9qqHI7-POVrJVzG4-dF7GiiH_p_vaGC9SlVe1SbSi_K526UUfo-4YaKWKxJmkQ/w632-h640/IMG_5088.jpeg" width="632" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /> I believe this sums up how I have felt all day. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">That is Jack's tail. Many nights when I'm getting ready for bed, I find Jack waiting. He's probably not waiting for me so much as just already asleep on the bed. Sleeping on beds is pretty much Jack's life. </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizhMrg_MrEGaIoe2B9-uqahrvFqjxEM_HPQm8jxd7HQ5sRogsQMT7eQWIQHKMywD9aDEX3hyphenhyphen4MtKvfofCPPOtIFQB_0MWMpQFf0ydi8zFPUGfiZEaf77K-ZlJ-bJeXyaAodtr2RkyW1lpsbSUthgK1Po72shwPqeZsRp-5FOGGUfDJy6H6j7rIDdOR-ZVD/s3272/IMG_5087%202.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3272" data-original-width="2988" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizhMrg_MrEGaIoe2B9-uqahrvFqjxEM_HPQm8jxd7HQ5sRogsQMT7eQWIQHKMywD9aDEX3hyphenhyphen4MtKvfofCPPOtIFQB_0MWMpQFf0ydi8zFPUGfiZEaf77K-ZlJ-bJeXyaAodtr2RkyW1lpsbSUthgK1Po72shwPqeZsRp-5FOGGUfDJy6H6j7rIDdOR-ZVD/w584-h640/IMG_5087%202.jpeg" width="584" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">This is fine and lovely except for the fact that I have to rearrange the bed every night because Mr. Moon cannot sleep with more than the lightest of light-weight covering. He sleeps under a sheet and what we fondly call his "blankie" which I do believe was a tablecloth at one time, washed so often that it is very, very soft. He actually has two of these. I have patched these things over and over and they are now past mending. I don't know what we're going to do. I have quite frankly been freaking out about this because those things are in tatters. They rip if he moves his feet. There are very few things this man is picky about but what he sleeps under is definitely one of the few. <br />But anyway, at bedtime I have to fold back the cover on the bed or whatever it is that I'm going to sleep under, and put his pitiful cover on his side. This means that I either move Jack or else I just fold the quilt over him and let him figure it out. I mostly choose that method because he does not seem to mind that nearly as much as he minds me trying to move him. It may even be a game now. He just lays there with his head under the cover and his tail sticking out for as much time as he considers he needs to convince me <i>and</i> himself that this is a pleasure for him which he has chosen to enjoy. And then, he turns around and sticks his head out. <br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDhuwRr7jbka79VCoNfiMIqI2mJ1r6o3DkqnM1JQyZ0hA8T-u67c9T-Rht6iOepXgzvaj2z7LSynaFftFzSe-MMP4KXrcYtDPlmzYjiGfWUG6bdz-iam568i3d-KJ8wsx04TF_qLxAh_xxvutN9qLfHv-ueRi8KNdg8NBOwls4vsM3RoIPmie-DTWRBuby/s2890/IMG_5089.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2711" data-original-width="2890" height="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDhuwRr7jbka79VCoNfiMIqI2mJ1r6o3DkqnM1JQyZ0hA8T-u67c9T-Rht6iOepXgzvaj2z7LSynaFftFzSe-MMP4KXrcYtDPlmzYjiGfWUG6bdz-iam568i3d-KJ8wsx04TF_qLxAh_xxvutN9qLfHv-ueRi8KNdg8NBOwls4vsM3RoIPmie-DTWRBuby/w640-h600/IMG_5089.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I try not to threaten his dignity, but simply accept that this is the way of Jack. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">But yes, I haven't felt like even sticking my head out of the metaphorical covers today. I was planning on doing yard work again but I just could not make myself do it. My back does not feel very good nor does my stomach, and I suppose it could just be more kidney stone-related malaise or perhaps I am telling myself that, just as Jack tells himself that he likes his head being underneath a quilt or comforter. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Perhaps part of my malaise is due to the news about Trump getting one delay after another in his trials. How the FUCK does this happen? Remember when Ronald Reagan was called "The Teflon President"? He had nothing on Trump who seems to be able to weasel (at least temporarily) out of everything from keeping classified documents in a bathroom to being tried for fraud involving using campaign funds to pay off the porn star he had sex with when his wife had just had a baby. But that's not the worst part to me. The worst part to me is that his <i>groveling, ass kissing, American flag and Maga Hat wearing followers</i> just do not care. THEY DO NOT CARE! They don't care that he rapes, cheats, steals, lies, snorts drugs like a Hoover vacuum, and can't hold a cognizant conversation. They don't care that he really does NOT know the best words or chooses the best people or that he tried to overturn an election with violence that ended in the deaths of some, or has stated quite plainly that his goal is to be a dictator and that he is well along with his plans and now pretty much owns not only the RNC but also the entire fucked-up Republican party and the Christian evangelicals are so far up his ass they breathe through his mouth. And perhaps worst of all- they choose not to understand that Donald Trump does not give one goddam shit about them. That he is no doubt laughing at them as they send in their widow's mite, convinced they are saving the world with each dollar they give. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Oh god. I'm just so scared. I think that's it more than anything. Scared for my children, scared for my country, scared for the entire world. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">All right. All right. That's enough of that. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Hey! Here's what the collard greens look like as they bolt:</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji0uEIL0dAO_bU30kM7E_gHTuDAN1QOw-x07BFDHDj_tiYmv-BnfD2_zt3X5weglBNeJxQIbzxnRf1YJHraG_J0ZQKo54nzJSBc7AHO9JEz1m8impN4iKKCAw1OAWR5S9CNmdlGk__aq797vr7MianX-iQ06YaoMtWb7RVQn97a6a5OvaGbRTTqGw0Vwi-/s4032/IMG_5097.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji0uEIL0dAO_bU30kM7E_gHTuDAN1QOw-x07BFDHDj_tiYmv-BnfD2_zt3X5weglBNeJxQIbzxnRf1YJHraG_J0ZQKo54nzJSBc7AHO9JEz1m8impN4iKKCAw1OAWR5S9CNmdlGk__aq797vr7MianX-iQ06YaoMtWb7RVQn97a6a5OvaGbRTTqGw0Vwi-/w480-h640/IMG_5097.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">A little like broccoli, don't you think? I'm sure we could eat those stems. Soon all those little pod-things will open up to reveal yellow flower clusters. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">And here's what my buckeye looks like. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG3vksFwIPgLJPjSg26fvQX8PTgJ-oIOJ-GPc6bJYRmVeADcwvqA51osEbRscKdGisft_cRZkTOYHm8_kul0PIndOjpZIjO28vpwtIYbyAjst3La-K8RgWS9IFyl0C0U_NmT2RUkUI1MkaE7nWfB1wrazZ56O2BI4XqPVaz_efIWqww9QgmdMNSPPpEvLc/s4032/IMG_5090.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG3vksFwIPgLJPjSg26fvQX8PTgJ-oIOJ-GPc6bJYRmVeADcwvqA51osEbRscKdGisft_cRZkTOYHm8_kul0PIndOjpZIjO28vpwtIYbyAjst3La-K8RgWS9IFyl0C0U_NmT2RUkUI1MkaE7nWfB1wrazZ56O2BI4XqPVaz_efIWqww9QgmdMNSPPpEvLc/w480-h640/IMG_5090.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Can you see those yellow and red flowers? </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />I try to concentrate on things like blooms and blessings, beauty and my babies. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6dR1EotzbALW2FRg74Kn2vhwDWIQNAgWjBtlENcPEZI-AEDozN8rsjrUqdpOEyM2U6_47E5jpXy492JsBqFtKXop2RNz_7YGzJjCUsN3RtyxtiCIVeZh0RMv5Wzw313zU4O_W808L8acv9GedOCHxoRH3g0T_ObKsYl8dhTp5e3O1BXy-950pvAqfuxsl/s4032/97451B05-F960-49C0-BA10-AEEE80CFC844.heic" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6dR1EotzbALW2FRg74Kn2vhwDWIQNAgWjBtlENcPEZI-AEDozN8rsjrUqdpOEyM2U6_47E5jpXy492JsBqFtKXop2RNz_7YGzJjCUsN3RtyxtiCIVeZh0RMv5Wzw313zU4O_W808L8acv9GedOCHxoRH3g0T_ObKsYl8dhTp5e3O1BXy-950pvAqfuxsl/w640-h480/97451B05-F960-49C0-BA10-AEEE80CFC844.heic" width="640" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Mama's reading the boys Harry Potter after a long day of hiking. Reading Harry Potter to her when she was little was one of the most pleasurable things of my life. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqM28qXCiCI1W8pEk85JRSVZUG_zOYaep94iwGA_CtBEHnuuxnJL19T6IQ8onq3tptyy5JQyfNsIOYN0oO6OFeSIef7DYv9bjWjld318sQUuiqdORjTe0VMjUM_4rl7l2m5fb6DO6wiTcE-VYdXwnA2cRcFWfv_UoXaHiu0XclhngB-pD885qAfJbVJjQB/s4032/A8397358-3176-4F3B-8887-A01422849A74.heic" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqM28qXCiCI1W8pEk85JRSVZUG_zOYaep94iwGA_CtBEHnuuxnJL19T6IQ8onq3tptyy5JQyfNsIOYN0oO6OFeSIef7DYv9bjWjld318sQUuiqdORjTe0VMjUM_4rl7l2m5fb6DO6wiTcE-VYdXwnA2cRcFWfv_UoXaHiu0XclhngB-pD885qAfJbVJjQB/w640-h480/A8397358-3176-4F3B-8887-A01422849A74.heic" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">A sunrise, I think. Could be a sunset. I don't know which way they're facing. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">There is much to be grateful for even as there is much to be terrified about. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Maybe a martini will help. For a little while, at least. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Happy Friday, y'all. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Love...Ms. Moon</span></div></div></div></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br /></div></div><p></p>Ms. Moonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09776404747858099919noreply@blogger.com44tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2086296370004835655.post-75741166333315381102024-03-14T18:34:00.002-04:002024-03-14T18:37:05.828-04:00Another Perfectly Sweet Day<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPLZkSvR7bubyc6bs0RmWZkL6ZWQxT_PcKNS6fCkJgZJAJs1EbM93lzOzbqq4dghqc6Tnuf1DtcCumYIv_CjzMh1as5vIxXs-4RFCHAAT3XzH1nHPhvwfqScRrsG5VveWHy26KSpGIjFHqjPrab7JHgcmuMxlaj6F3531qYyylQcx2wByTAM8jqwGZ3R76/s4032/IMG_5076.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPLZkSvR7bubyc6bs0RmWZkL6ZWQxT_PcKNS6fCkJgZJAJs1EbM93lzOzbqq4dghqc6Tnuf1DtcCumYIv_CjzMh1as5vIxXs-4RFCHAAT3XzH1nHPhvwfqScRrsG5VveWHy26KSpGIjFHqjPrab7JHgcmuMxlaj6F3531qYyylQcx2wByTAM8jqwGZ3R76/w640-h480/IMG_5076.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />Remember when I was so afraid that the hard freezes we got would kill the azalea buds? <br />Boy, was I wrong about that. That's the view from the street in front of the house. <br /><br />Here's the view from the yard out to the street.</span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCaGfjxD-PYi0miwPi3ux5Zu8ZMvCIrKuUBtVToMfxDJiWWhLJ2UI6xavObZNCuw8BjgmhJEgNRbPWde-zmVZzncNv1dxmh5yXJGAtSxxbivEmedH0JEbZ5j5Pa6GeBAodJ_v1fgajiq38h9pdEPs5QxR1MrbI20FTNtfoDWb6M7jzzwoJ003XBVuP0NxY/s4032/IMG_5077.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCaGfjxD-PYi0miwPi3ux5Zu8ZMvCIrKuUBtVToMfxDJiWWhLJ2UI6xavObZNCuw8BjgmhJEgNRbPWde-zmVZzncNv1dxmh5yXJGAtSxxbivEmedH0JEbZ5j5Pa6GeBAodJ_v1fgajiq38h9pdEPs5QxR1MrbI20FTNtfoDWb6M7jzzwoJ003XBVuP0NxY/w480-h640/IMG_5077.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">That's one of the oak trees across the road and although it doesn't look like much in that picture, it really is magnificent, but just now starting to get its new green leaves that aren't really showing up in the photo. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I've felt okay today. A little achy tenderness this morning, especially after I ate breakfast. Eating seems to rearrange the stone's position. But I walked down to the post office and had a nice chat with a man digging up worms. I asked him if he was going fishing and he said he surely was. He then proceeded to tell me that the bream, catfish, and bass in Lloyd creek are the biggest and best because the creek is a flowing creek and has a sandy bottom. He has no respect for lake fish as lakes have a muddy bottom. He's probably correct. I enjoyed talking to him and I told him that bream are just about my favorite fish which is absolutely the truth. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Now. Fish. Seems like Mr. Moon created two avid fishermen when he took the boys out to the St. Marks to fish. It has been reported that the only thing Levon has wanted to do is fish since they got to their camping site and August is having a great time fishing too. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA5yuLHHtHUaYdBSPxtmTBGMw4Bco0bqjdkCVSXGjJcyg80AGgrU6PJ9PxMpHmLymL-u2dhgi42z4rSYCRGSH_FjjB7qOS6iI1nw2dec8AOlokIgrTNRQTKL1UI3STMBaBFx0DWMpLW-Z-Lmjztmnd7zW6O28VvWsoYTqhWGQoR3zjt6B9SgmYkFJA65BJ/s4032/IMG_1420.heic" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA5yuLHHtHUaYdBSPxtmTBGMw4Bco0bqjdkCVSXGjJcyg80AGgrU6PJ9PxMpHmLymL-u2dhgi42z4rSYCRGSH_FjjB7qOS6iI1nw2dec8AOlokIgrTNRQTKL1UI3STMBaBFx0DWMpLW-Z-Lmjztmnd7zW6O28VvWsoYTqhWGQoR3zjt6B9SgmYkFJA65BJ/w640-h480/IMG_1420.heic" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt77SX7L_12WujUV72DCR5t1hJD2kdvVyKvWxUA8rozG6-oH8n9dHwwYQ51BHa_YN1R_ZXRCSBpopWT6qkXUmGCmv7KA6rDlJJ39PTDRVnc3GfNq90a1V_aIX3WJKmbL4mQJKdrW7Owh5xmIvgaa4t8q6phn5R_vUq0aBLjbg7bupsx6PRmKPxtSN5j95p/s4032/IMG_1422.heic" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt77SX7L_12WujUV72DCR5t1hJD2kdvVyKvWxUA8rozG6-oH8n9dHwwYQ51BHa_YN1R_ZXRCSBpopWT6qkXUmGCmv7KA6rDlJJ39PTDRVnc3GfNq90a1V_aIX3WJKmbL4mQJKdrW7Owh5xmIvgaa4t8q6phn5R_vUq0aBLjbg7bupsx6PRmKPxtSN5j95p/w640-h480/IMG_1422.heic" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I'm not sure what all they've caught but I know that Jessie got a nice sized flounder which is a very fine eating fish. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgV9ZSBUG_anzzCdphmBcNW9hyphenhyphenVvPepQ19y-MUL42FZ7Iuff-e1ilOlx8Qwb1lxHnR-f6LOodQ0GyJ3rE0ikt327JPEFt7I43Od8LVhirRSOawdRX_a9gHpfSpI4gh-Z6pz91PeDNdpTdBuKr8ENuu53NJwOSXGBTKsrjIMpdJCfekMym4cmWbrH93t7-P/s4032/IMG_7202.heic" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgV9ZSBUG_anzzCdphmBcNW9hyphenhyphenVvPepQ19y-MUL42FZ7Iuff-e1ilOlx8Qwb1lxHnR-f6LOodQ0GyJ3rE0ikt327JPEFt7I43Od8LVhirRSOawdRX_a9gHpfSpI4gh-Z6pz91PeDNdpTdBuKr8ENuu53NJwOSXGBTKsrjIMpdJCfekMym4cmWbrH93t7-P/w640-h480/IMG_7202.heic" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Levon summed up the experience by saying, "Mom got a flounder, August got the net, Daddy killed it, and then Levon watched."</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">A family endeavor. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />I haven't heard anything from the other adventure travelers today but I assume they are still having a great time. I'm glad they've all had such fine weather. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">And it has been another beautiful day here, although warmer- up into the 80's and going to be even warmer tomorrow. <br />Okay. Let's just say it- <i>hotter. </i>I think we're going to get at least one more cool spell, even dipping down into the upper 30's next week and that will be lovely. It will soon be time to put the duck away for sure. <br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I did a little yard work this afternoon. I picked up another cartload of sticks (Mr. Moon is winning this stand-off without even trying) and I kicked my first real bamboo. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDBG6uC4Sw4rhLM699OYMmwxt3lTl2tw0ncnlFs4Lbxv1fYFrZ3cSmyVxqvzYVN_aFNKTce-vfx-8LiOVtZ2Ntn4AcW1ctRtDTod6WbN1uxjtEwTExoY4IoL819Jt98WvB5nYdiPjf-O7UfDo4dbTFOu0C7ca_9C5q_Y3bsYkxmGq4-S6Xrt8Ruwh_q3z2/s4032/IMG_5082.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDBG6uC4Sw4rhLM699OYMmwxt3lTl2tw0ncnlFs4Lbxv1fYFrZ3cSmyVxqvzYVN_aFNKTce-vfx-8LiOVtZ2Ntn4AcW1ctRtDTod6WbN1uxjtEwTExoY4IoL819Jt98WvB5nYdiPjf-O7UfDo4dbTFOu0C7ca_9C5q_Y3bsYkxmGq4-S6Xrt8Ruwh_q3z2/w480-h640/IMG_5082.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">That was about six inches tall. Now is the time to get serious about checking the yard every day. The stuff is easy to kick over until it gets to be about a foot and a half tall and it can reach that height in two or three days. <br />I am not kidding. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I also started doing a little cleaning up of the old kitchen yard which is just a mess. It has ALL the invasives but it also has some nice plants that I like and so I have to be careful to pull around those. <br />It's just never-ending. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">The spirea is really taking off. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPrYlotc7tGZJmmJynZGA17lBQIBmPqMD2q0uxaviMIVl4CJS-iMB1GPt3v1ya_Jo3GaylgBWZhMltMHvRdaOoG_EMMe5HCMwtOrK7OSCsSZByJhW5I11_JX8AyVXUDcy_z4wK5zdlU1dZfJqj6w98F0QZawPdie8KAmYPVKYLZ440plTqpZwabP7N0vRX/s3006/IMG_5085.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2752" data-original-width="3006" height="586" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPrYlotc7tGZJmmJynZGA17lBQIBmPqMD2q0uxaviMIVl4CJS-iMB1GPt3v1ya_Jo3GaylgBWZhMltMHvRdaOoG_EMMe5HCMwtOrK7OSCsSZByJhW5I11_JX8AyVXUDcy_z4wK5zdlU1dZfJqj6w98F0QZawPdie8KAmYPVKYLZ440plTqpZwabP7N0vRX/w640-h586/IMG_5085.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">That's the one by what used to be a photo lab when the former owners lived here, back when photos needed developing. Now it's packed with...uh, Glen's stuff. I think there may be a lot of fishing equipment involved. Glen's world is somewhat of a mystery to me. The garage, that shed, the Glen Den- these are his spaces and places. I only go into the garage to get something out of the freezer or if he needs my help with something. The kitchen and the library are mine, mostly, along with "my" bathroom. Hey- he has his own. He built it himself. When he wants to use the tub in my bathroom, I have to find my lotus blossom (as Lis says) about it because part of me would truly be happiest if he never crossed that threshold. There is absolutely nothing in there that I am hiding from him, but it feels like a very personal space. Everything in it is mine and mine alone. But I allow him to use the big old clawfoot tub to soak his tired body in. He deserves that. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I guess that's all I have to say today. I am grateful for the lessening of discomfort but oddly, I don't want it to go away entirely. I want to get that stone blasted but I don't want to do it unless it's really necessary. I mean- this is a serious procedure. And I know that after it's done, I'll be passing the remaining grit which in itself hurts like hell. Not a casual undertaking in the least. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">One last picture.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqEJ5kEjXIpKVTALekBGtf9QUixZUYHmQ0iIL8664sUpEcBDCnG2_XXiY8cYYWuJznX_LA8-Vi9PrjlRvnhJ_d4H-lUw5AMjEQjSaN1jiOw91MzFVjAtdWcaqpERukKBPYeT0IediaF25A31fvxkWkliAYyuXQDuIuyZng4V92ZuKHEayf2Ckgwt4ukfWv/s4032/IMG_5083.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqEJ5kEjXIpKVTALekBGtf9QUixZUYHmQ0iIL8664sUpEcBDCnG2_XXiY8cYYWuJznX_LA8-Vi9PrjlRvnhJ_d4H-lUw5AMjEQjSaN1jiOw91MzFVjAtdWcaqpERukKBPYeT0IediaF25A31fvxkWkliAYyuXQDuIuyZng4V92ZuKHEayf2Ckgwt4ukfWv/w640-h480/IMG_5083.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">One of the many small pleasures of my life. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Love...Ms. Moon</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div></div></div></div></div></div><p></p>Ms. Moonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09776404747858099919noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2086296370004835655.post-87318772217077563902024-03-13T18:52:00.000-04:002024-03-13T18:52:26.487-04:00Untitleable<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8nCJ8rbfk5kiTgkS3JO5lrhbolv8e3xw8ahyxbLoaOjfCx9QLZD5Bly4cjD3-Hc1PsCz9eAzfRyIA03KADEHmDfwHX29G1L9DyQlxQfT-B3wCa3a6joF_hjHQ68bBCXl6RGk_eg_dNOjrb45WaDhUVUP-4iBl-YIxm2iwwG5726WTh7Dw9G5waZEZrsRd/s4032/IMG_5070.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8nCJ8rbfk5kiTgkS3JO5lrhbolv8e3xw8ahyxbLoaOjfCx9QLZD5Bly4cjD3-Hc1PsCz9eAzfRyIA03KADEHmDfwHX29G1L9DyQlxQfT-B3wCa3a6joF_hjHQ68bBCXl6RGk_eg_dNOjrb45WaDhUVUP-4iBl-YIxm2iwwG5726WTh7Dw9G5waZEZrsRd/w480-h640/IMG_5070.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />This is an azalea bush right outside the back porch. For years and years that azalea didn't do a durn thing. Barely bloomed. This year? It is absolutely jam-packed with blossoms and the bees are buzzing all over it. Here's what happened- when I still had my beloved chickens, I started throwing kitchen scraps at the base of it, knowing that the girls would come and scratch into the dirt what they didn't eat, and that they would also poop there. <br />And my plan obviously worked. I look at that bush and I thank my chickens. I consider that glory the last gift that those sweethearts left me. <br />I miss them so. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Phew. A day. I was aching and tender when I got up and I decided to just go on and call the urologist and get set up for a visit, at which point I know he'll send me for more scans and if the stone has moved, which I am almost sure it has, I'll schedule lithotripsy. This is the stone that I knew was there and which is too big to pass on its own and so must be blasted. I chose not to get anything done about it with the option of getting the procedure if it started bothering me again and it has and I will. Not only am I having the aching and tenderness, I am also slightly nauseous, and have what Chris from Boise in her comment called "kidney stone malaise." Like I said yesterday- it's almost like having a light case of the flu. I looked that up and by golly, malaise and flu-like symptoms can indeed happen with kidney stones. I remember going through this last year and I ignored things for so long that I was finally convinced I had ovarian cancer or some other type of dread ailment and I really was not doing well at all. <br />I don't want to reach that point again, nor do I want to experience that screamy-take-me-to-the-ER pain again. <br />Not only do I not feel like doing anything very physical, I am also afraid to jostle the stone. This all started up when I walked and did yard work the other day, including trying to haul that giant limb out of the front yard's azalea bushes and also using all my strength to lop that bamboo that was growing in the camellia bed. <br />So. For now I'm going to be protective of myself and not push it. Gentle weeding? Fine. Ambling walks? Probably okay. <br />But that's going to be about it. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Today I decided that groceries had to be gotten and I finished my last library book last night so off to town I went, first to Costco, then to Publix, then to the library on my way home. On my way in, I almost hit a dang wild woman turkey who was crossing the road. She was fine, high-stepping it to the other side. I had no incredible encounters today, didn't run into anyone I know. I just got my stuff and got out of town as fast as I could but it was still a long afternoon of it. I couldn't seem to get out of the library, but just wandered around with one book clutched to my chest, having thoughts like, "What is a book? What authors do I like? Where is the biography section?" <br />Kidney-stone-spaced-outedness? <br />Whatever. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Got home, put everything away which took about an hour, I swear. As I have said before, I do not have actual food shortage anxiety but something close to that. I can't stand to get too low on things like flour or rice or Shake'n'Bake (don't you judge me) or dried beans or cheese or nuts or...well, all that stuff. It's very similar to how I feel about books. I need to have books within reach that I have not read yet. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Speaking of which, I took some of the books I've culled from my library down to the little community library cabinet that the lady with the "Beware of God" sign put up. The same one who saw me taking pictures of the old, tumbling down house across the road from where she lives and who came over to yell at me and tell me I couldn't be there even though it is no more her property than mine. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">But you know- I can tell she has some serious problems. AND, she went to the trouble to put up that little library so who am I to judge? I had noticed that the inventory was getting low so I donated some Stephen Kings and a few other assorted books, including kids' books. Those are the hardest to give away but some of them I feel far less emotionally attached to which makes it easier. I did have a moment of small grief about putting Levon's truck book and tractor book in there. Lord, that child was obsessed with heavy equipment and tractors and trucks when he was barely more than a toddler. We read those books so many times. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Lauren posted some great pictures on Facebook of the kids at Dollywood. I stole some. </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwdyw35PpVcpICYYzpzOtDOwnrmg-DmyNBmrYBpLjYFwjBWP7goFhnqJfBS3MPzs2CDabhKDFoUbKM0zYte-G5_fSWs1bvr9Bn-MRiA4ojbH7JinXDGP5DgzY1qqB-OfuwoVqPGYMaNkIrTcXtu7QGnA-36gZC6SslhjHwdwwyJZmfA6BM2OP7ccGqsbyc/s1460/432227698_10163409549643272_8212749564780203422_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1460" data-original-width="1095" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwdyw35PpVcpICYYzpzOtDOwnrmg-DmyNBmrYBpLjYFwjBWP7goFhnqJfBS3MPzs2CDabhKDFoUbKM0zYte-G5_fSWs1bvr9Bn-MRiA4ojbH7JinXDGP5DgzY1qqB-OfuwoVqPGYMaNkIrTcXtu7QGnA-36gZC6SslhjHwdwwyJZmfA6BM2OP7ccGqsbyc/w480-h640/432227698_10163409549643272_8212749564780203422_n.jpg" width="480" /></span></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><span style="font-size: large;">Owen with his dad. </span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwsGvloiaI-rCY6Q80b9xjymCfkYcodeF-mHBfZ-drsb4JL6TdLR-SOtCl-G4QjeGmZ4wKvGKeAjlnSOGtE_cOETdYmoHCgPhgLGLrB0oKLsj86GFcAGYiSukZSqCCa-C76G6sd1wxOfc4EkcIIFavG59N2kT9I2IVJ5NZqGog61tCtsyLc_ps-4VbuFVr/s2048/432261181_10163409549578272_3533660635662992049_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwsGvloiaI-rCY6Q80b9xjymCfkYcodeF-mHBfZ-drsb4JL6TdLR-SOtCl-G4QjeGmZ4wKvGKeAjlnSOGtE_cOETdYmoHCgPhgLGLrB0oKLsj86GFcAGYiSukZSqCCa-C76G6sd1wxOfc4EkcIIFavG59N2kT9I2IVJ5NZqGog61tCtsyLc_ps-4VbuFVr/w480-h640/432261181_10163409549578272_3533660635662992049_n.jpg" width="480" /></span></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Gibson with his smile. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyW_a_gy2Yf-rUr5P6SXA8EIx-dVxS2kV7Q15yU6NRh0XqfcXHimiDibCIOpwRGXdmV0uyoGSdN7kqFkhDFkZ8USToL0vtMUPOZxfoAHCs6wYrM8mqOl24TD4JcH6P3tQedk4L0k9E6w9XlkPIgGQ44zjXo9lIcG5GWMqATsi_H9Va_ox09Pq-35ELbdlA/s2048/432306107_10163409549748272_7959633806913673512_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyW_a_gy2Yf-rUr5P6SXA8EIx-dVxS2kV7Q15yU6NRh0XqfcXHimiDibCIOpwRGXdmV0uyoGSdN7kqFkhDFkZ8USToL0vtMUPOZxfoAHCs6wYrM8mqOl24TD4JcH6P3tQedk4L0k9E6w9XlkPIgGQ44zjXo9lIcG5GWMqATsi_H9Va_ox09Pq-35ELbdlA/w480-h640/432306107_10163409549748272_7959633806913673512_n.jpg" width="480" /></span></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Maggie with her beauty. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I do not think they've seen Dolly. But I'm pretty sure they've had a very fine time. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Jessie sent pictures of her little family at Cape San Blas State Park. </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4F7f9yfE01molLBSU6_EvjpNw1BIpSxo_hyphenhyphen1UslZYvL_5MgaYpfq4smKBuByGnktY5rFxAxG8sZsobJCrxef7hsJ3aVi3ojTwLPXGEavMXOY6JX42lJKDqy6PGbCTSMJBzw7T9b91lxYOe9XmPEmwojHUu7Ti0EVfZ1crc3U8bw8sxMayfNtwpm4jUSFP/s480/IMG_7177.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="480" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4F7f9yfE01molLBSU6_EvjpNw1BIpSxo_hyphenhyphen1UslZYvL_5MgaYpfq4smKBuByGnktY5rFxAxG8sZsobJCrxef7hsJ3aVi3ojTwLPXGEavMXOY6JX42lJKDqy6PGbCTSMJBzw7T9b91lxYOe9XmPEmwojHUu7Ti0EVfZ1crc3U8bw8sxMayfNtwpm4jUSFP/w640-h480/IMG_7177.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiye0VDEPAY-9_SSLjBKrceaj-CryPFhXSn7tpMYpYnj7IOqL2msaRZzd4uhIN6FlQNVN0EhNOaH-PqWCQ6wKahYFkBq5OkHP4lh1pDEncFNDG1np5NLEZ1isn6juE-ZccYcfJkkT-Fp61wADBPbnzwBmm6pEvnkkJitJe5V48Opa0-4GGIbEdfmn1ycOp/s640/IMG_7181.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiye0VDEPAY-9_SSLjBKrceaj-CryPFhXSn7tpMYpYnj7IOqL2msaRZzd4uhIN6FlQNVN0EhNOaH-PqWCQ6wKahYFkBq5OkHP4lh1pDEncFNDG1np5NLEZ1isn6juE-ZccYcfJkkT-Fp61wADBPbnzwBmm6pEvnkkJitJe5V48Opa0-4GGIbEdfmn1ycOp/w640-h480/IMG_7181.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFBO5u9_L7C8ke4p9KFr7U8txIbfF0Nt-3VhHHXBCyE14dbDdgu-8-REkCxMVmMJ7gUbNCypEXXd0IXVA7DzoRaZQeX493FgF0dRZhAz5R9AJKVy14x5uuI24WMhwvO6tVSj9k6P6L6_BckD-zDbCpTurH1uKoS07NYB-SNk9SKmgdY3xvfnKUi15I0M5J/s480/IMG_7184.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="480" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFBO5u9_L7C8ke4p9KFr7U8txIbfF0Nt-3VhHHXBCyE14dbDdgu-8-REkCxMVmMJ7gUbNCypEXXd0IXVA7DzoRaZQeX493FgF0dRZhAz5R9AJKVy14x5uuI24WMhwvO6tVSj9k6P6L6_BckD-zDbCpTurH1uKoS07NYB-SNk9SKmgdY3xvfnKUi15I0M5J/w640-h480/IMG_7184.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">She said it's like camping on Dog Island. I always thought that staying in our house on Dog Island was like camping but with air conditioning and electricity. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">My grandkids are so lucky to have parents who take them on adventures.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">One last picture. <br />Who knows what this is?</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPrUT2mbabNYVPndIc6SUBHV-3zfiwmf2uZI1DBdN2W5FylqsRAAZn_tF-D_KwGlE0-U3E1SCKCNDlZ1fyK6e9pfwtlZ5DyqRDdCJbf0Sd0IUJkQai8-uYc1-Jhn0FYlKu1tBd4eRDZs6KVipwfjQNEZoWvRvXTfLKvPajAZGPmQ7u2jvU7z32eUFHUOTy/s4032/IMG_5069.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPrUT2mbabNYVPndIc6SUBHV-3zfiwmf2uZI1DBdN2W5FylqsRAAZn_tF-D_KwGlE0-U3E1SCKCNDlZ1fyK6e9pfwtlZ5DyqRDdCJbf0Sd0IUJkQai8-uYc1-Jhn0FYlKu1tBd4eRDZs6KVipwfjQNEZoWvRvXTfLKvPajAZGPmQ7u2jvU7z32eUFHUOTy/w480-h640/IMG_5069.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I will be quite surprised if any or even one or two of you know. It's the plastic part of a Goodwill tag. Now- this shirt is originally from Banana Republic, a beautiful shade of aqua blue, pure linen, and I have worn it at least twenty times, maybe more like thirty. And I have been wearing it all this time with this little piece of tell-tale plastic sticking out of a shoulder seam. <br />I popped the tag, but I didn't cut the plastic. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I just noticed it today and it was so embedded in the seam, I had to wait to get home to cut it off. How in the world have I never noticed this? Obviously, I've washed it many times. <br />Have y'all ever seen <a href="https://youtu.be/QK8mJJJvaes?si=-pe32kIb7LZr7ij5" target="_blank">this video? </a><br />It explains the phrase "Pop the tag." I love that song. But please- if the f-word and its variations disturb you, just don't go there. But if that's not a problem for you and you may have wandered the aisles of a thrift store with twenty dollars in your pocket before, you might enjoy it very much. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Love...Ms. Moon<br /><br />Your Devoted Culture And Shopping Advisor</span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><p></p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p>Ms. Moonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09776404747858099919noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2086296370004835655.post-40027689255721722022024-03-12T19:07:00.000-04:002024-03-12T19:07:15.253-04:00Not Happy About This<p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJUiNnF-I9Sf6dMFHq9_MYebxiPipNopMFGiyevKs3jDap5kciIKPoxGTTw3T7SEad6oq6uZAw7OOfMmoiVNb0LLg54YxvX9eQrf7XgPhyphenhyphen7tJzL-46_ZhEW9o6XBKp381oMp9n2DxWVy_rq7cLHKqwsb8WTtIPvSP4mci_zew6Ts6TO3sGImFDw5I3qCzz/s4032/IMG_5066.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJUiNnF-I9Sf6dMFHq9_MYebxiPipNopMFGiyevKs3jDap5kciIKPoxGTTw3T7SEad6oq6uZAw7OOfMmoiVNb0LLg54YxvX9eQrf7XgPhyphenhyphen7tJzL-46_ZhEW9o6XBKp381oMp9n2DxWVy_rq7cLHKqwsb8WTtIPvSP4mci_zew6Ts6TO3sGImFDw5I3qCzz/w480-h640/IMG_5066.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p><span style="font-size: large;">I did not get my shingles vaccine today. I assure you that I didn't just wimp out. For the past day or two I've been having symptoms that I am 99% sure are indications of the movement of that kidney stone. Or <i>a</i> kidney stone. <br />Yesterday afternoon I started having gastric discomfort and my back was hurting more than seemed usual. Nothing horrible, just a constant feeling of heaviness in the abdominal area. I woke up last night with all of that as well as what felt a bit like menstrual cramps. Of course I am long past those days but again, I had the same type of pain with the last stone. <br />It just seems like this may really be happening and I am very unhappy about it. I got up this morning and cried a little. I do not want to go through all of that again. I truly do not. But what I want or do not want does not matter in the least when it comes to kidney stones which are evil little entities who do what the fuck they want. <br />I knew for certain that if this situation worsens, as it may well do, I don't want to be dealing with two issues- a kidney stone <i>and</i> a reaction to an immunization. I am a "nuclear" reactor, as <a href="https://movingwithmitchell.com/" target="_blank">Mitchell</a> so perfectly put it in a comment yesterday. So I called and canceled my appointment. <br />I've felt low and achy and puny all day and haven't done a damn thing except to get a little visit with the Weatherfords and work on my jigsaw puzzle which is my distraction of choice for kidney stones. And yes, I have been working on that puzzle for eons but so what? I enjoy it when I do it and it's not taking up any space we use regularly. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">It was so nice to see Jessie and Vergil and the boys. And Ms. Goofy Doodle herself, the fluffy Sophie. They are going to leave tomorrow morning for a camping trip at a local state park on one of the most beautiful beaches in this area and quite possibly the entire United States. <a href="https://www.floridastateparks.org/parks-and-trails/th-stone-memorial-st-joseph-peninsula-state-park/experiences-amenities" target="_blank">Cape San Blas.</a> They won't be camping on the beach but nearby, in the primitive camping area which is accessible only by kayak. <br />Hello! <br />So they wanted to borrow our inflatable kayak and a cooler for their trip which of course we were happy to lend them. Sophie ran around our yard like a free dog in heaven and when Jessie and I picked peas and gave her some, she was even happier. That dog just loves sugar snap peas. Of course Levon wanted a peanut butter, honey, and raisin sandwich because that is what I always make him. I think I am overly generous with all the ingredients, especially the honey, which he loves. August asked for a toasted cheese sandwich and so that's what he got. They all seemed very excited about this camping trip. It's a lot to plan- packing everything they need for a few days in two kayaks which will also be holding their own personal bodies. But they can do it and I'm sure they'll have a good time. We hugged them all goodbye and August gave me a kiss and Levon puckered up but then turned his face away and said, "I caught you red-handed!" This is his new thing. <br />Oh well. <br />August told me a joke. It goes like this:<br />"How do you spell ICUP?"<br />"Uh, I-C-U-P?" <br />"Ha-ha! I see you pee!" <br />"Good one, August!" </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Mr. Moon did get home safely last night. He was still giddy. I think he and Chip had a great adventure and then the craziest thing happened. It turned out that the tow guy had looked at our Dog Island house when we first put it up for sale but had made what we thought at the time was a low offer. So when he saw the house yesterday, he told Glen about that and wouldn't you know, it now looks like Tow Guy is going to buy the house and I think both he and Glen are pleased at the price. And a big plus- he wants to finish all the restoration himself. <br />Holy happiness! <br />It's not a done deal until the deal is done but this looks pretty solid. And now that that has happened, I am feeling great pangs of nostalgia and even sadness that we are letting it go. There are a few things in the house I know I want. Not big things, just small things that they'd probably throw out anyway. A piece of bark cloth that Sue-Sue gave me that I used for a curtain, a Madonna that May made me. Things like that. A picture on the refrigerator that Jessie drew when she was a little girl and got stung by a sting ray. "Ouch! That hurts!" she'd written on it. Things like that. <br />Ah, lah. It's been a weepy day. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">So here's something more cheerful- if you were, and/or are, a fan of The Band (and you should be because they were the best band to ever come out of North America in my opinion) there's a show that's part of an old series about the making of certain classic albums. It's on Amazon Prime if you get that. It's only an hour long. In this case, the album being discussed is their album called, The Band, appropriately enough. Also known as the Brown Album.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZrGcD7NrliBmL3_IAMsG85rRuw8mcDet-jHWn5hPbwNzdZG5uEhDDh2Qko5Hl43nueZqJsGGI6GLqnn01pWtPZP-GF7uy7iuHROrvH3B1z9qmxJRW60PQx77SMlaVNws3_DptHGfCA9lRvJEf33LvVCO6zFkH3JQfAKebiF7PHcUBpsQnBtBYsYnB60OQ/s522/713VRQLVd8S._SX522_.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="522" data-original-width="522" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZrGcD7NrliBmL3_IAMsG85rRuw8mcDet-jHWn5hPbwNzdZG5uEhDDh2Qko5Hl43nueZqJsGGI6GLqnn01pWtPZP-GF7uy7iuHROrvH3B1z9qmxJRW60PQx77SMlaVNws3_DptHGfCA9lRvJEf33LvVCO6zFkH3JQfAKebiF7PHcUBpsQnBtBYsYnB60OQ/w640-h640/713VRQLVd8S._SX522_.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">It was released in 1969 and it was like nothing else coming out then. It was timeless, it was pure, it was a coming together of musicians who created something incredibly powerful, unique, and beautiful. The Band's music was certainly part of my growing up years and I am so grateful that I was at the right place in the right time for that to happen. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">The film was made some time back. In 2000, I think. All of the musicians in the band are now gone from us except for Garth Hudson, the guy with the long pointy beard. George Harrison is in it too. Also, Eric Clapton. Great interviews. The best music. It's been drifting in and around my brain for a few days now and it's a comfort and a joy. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">One last piece of news- Lily and Lauren and the kids AND Jason and his mother are all up Gatlinburg, Tennessee. Today they're at Dollywood and I hear that Maggie was set on seeing Dolly herself although she was told that she most likely would not. <br />I feel certain that if Dolly had known that Magnolia June was coming to see her, she would have been there. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">And don't worry- if this whole kidney stone thing keeps up, I'll go to the doctor. Please don't bother to tell me I eat too many greens or that I don't get enough citrus or...well, whatever. The fact is, some people make kidney stones and some do not, no matter how many greens they eat. I got my first kidney stone when I was 34 and didn't even have much of a garden then. This is just the way it goes. We are all unique in how our bodies react to certain things and what they do in their spare time when we're not paying attention. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Here's The Band, 54 years ago on The Ed Sullivan Show. <br />Could of been yesterday. As I said, timeless.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><p></p>
<span style="font-size: large;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/NKu0OTDvQ-w?si=Y_w_UPtIaa1ktOo5" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Love...Ms. Moon</span></div>Ms. Moonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09776404747858099919noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2086296370004835655.post-88448634183179740202024-03-11T19:07:00.001-04:002024-03-11T19:07:51.622-04:00Back To Normal, Whatever That Is<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPvuyUDNPgus9HQFFo7R89NPc_6qEzyPNOAFf3Lyb6fZCCFXpF_vESDGqKkwU9TKLQzZgA3EdEgp6C4eejd-aROr5iYjj2lTgwz9TB-2YqR7qis8dn3RJNO8HfZ0I9OrIAOxogGE5rhm6zEGcdv2rxwxHyTqEx9_IZlQ7JQi3Bw5KOAd0jRVoRj_3ff2au/s4032/IMG_5047.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPvuyUDNPgus9HQFFo7R89NPc_6qEzyPNOAFf3Lyb6fZCCFXpF_vESDGqKkwU9TKLQzZgA3EdEgp6C4eejd-aROr5iYjj2lTgwz9TB-2YqR7qis8dn3RJNO8HfZ0I9OrIAOxogGE5rhm6zEGcdv2rxwxHyTqEx9_IZlQ7JQi3Bw5KOAd0jRVoRj_3ff2au/w640-h480/IMG_5047.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />The thing I had no desire to do yesterday was to stay inside. It was too beautiful of a day. The rain the day before had washed everything as clean as newborn green leaves can be. And it was cooler. I spent a good amount of time just wandering around the yard, looking up, remembering Ross. I even got out the duck last night and it's supposed to get down to forty tonight. I am not complaining. I wish I could store up every bit of coolness we get this spring and use it as needed when the temperatures rise. <br />The cats wanted to be outside too. They followed me around in their lazy, unconcerned way as I picked peas and did some weed-pulling and stick picking-up. Maurice settled for awhile up there on that step that leads to the back porch. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Here's the peas I picked.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE13r31dI2t_fyddKQz85ZIXEpOX9V6SKN8f7jZbz-lvHi-AAOpW0Q5CjM4BwYJCTkmq00Pn1TQJURKegnow0oCDZmBzf4g2NTS0hgqAts8Oqh7WYBWOSb-GccsIXWB_BktWROV035iM4LxlrcAW6XoENZHnIozn1cW4swqnV3FyUp3EYOdSefXGxk_QZX/s4032/IMG_5051.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE13r31dI2t_fyddKQz85ZIXEpOX9V6SKN8f7jZbz-lvHi-AAOpW0Q5CjM4BwYJCTkmq00Pn1TQJURKegnow0oCDZmBzf4g2NTS0hgqAts8Oqh7WYBWOSb-GccsIXWB_BktWROV035iM4LxlrcAW6XoENZHnIozn1cW4swqnV3FyUp3EYOdSefXGxk_QZX/w480-h640/IMG_5051.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Our experiment in planting them way early this year has paid off, mostly in that the aphids have not yet had time to find them. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">And remember those beans that were just coming up three days ago? </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghoEM5Al7SEYEhLi-lCF5scxKmb5qHeghMrUEuVFauSbRl3bUjtq6CZf-gKTlShNLjqD9FRUMNr6MZQtLo6WZmnbDF48xaTuok9JhjBr5xRxr1a9lEcs8zUsKtCkSc8S8m4DQjQsd17kllKx3DrTIY4SDvxML-NkWFJ6KplfwCkfFY7jFC4n83ZTd570hh/s3024/IMG_5061.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2893" data-original-width="3024" height="612" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghoEM5Al7SEYEhLi-lCF5scxKmb5qHeghMrUEuVFauSbRl3bUjtq6CZf-gKTlShNLjqD9FRUMNr6MZQtLo6WZmnbDF48xaTuok9JhjBr5xRxr1a9lEcs8zUsKtCkSc8S8m4DQjQsd17kllKx3DrTIY4SDvxML-NkWFJ6KplfwCkfFY7jFC4n83ZTd570hh/w640-h612/IMG_5061.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">They're getting to it. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">The part of the yard I worked on yesterday and also today is the camellia bed. I pulled betony, glory bower, crocosmia, various creeping and crawling vine-things, and found two bamboo shoots which I attacked viciously with my trowel. <br />Not today, Satan! Not today. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">There's a lot more in that bed I could have/should have pulled but for now, it'll do. I need to read up on camellia pruning. I believe the way those camellias grow is going to be very affected by the greater amount of light that's going to get to them. <br /><br />I took a walk this morning but there was nothing special about it. I saw more violets and other small wildflowers and I took a picture of this fleabane.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuZ7t1OdqzhyphenhyphenA2TKs3nziix1ofjn-wyK4Ssw52A5h6NsETOaTk1wVJrXbHr_L3-7db7Ph4MZ3Qrp9sVHg4k1XCBOqFrOKtiuUHin46sxnaOp29ZLv6N5j2fQ3rMd8jZN663_jW9UPHI_NrehlwxUXT2hw7sbFWaKlpWVqi7rbSI7qxY9N95T4smqwHSzMf/s4032/IMG_5057.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuZ7t1OdqzhyphenhyphenA2TKs3nziix1ofjn-wyK4Ssw52A5h6NsETOaTk1wVJrXbHr_L3-7db7Ph4MZ3Qrp9sVHg4k1XCBOqFrOKtiuUHin46sxnaOp29ZLv6N5j2fQ3rMd8jZN663_jW9UPHI_NrehlwxUXT2hw7sbFWaKlpWVqi7rbSI7qxY9N95T4smqwHSzMf/w480-h640/IMG_5057.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I love the little lavender fringe surrounding that egg-yolk yellow center. <br />There are several places I pass on my walks where azaleas grow amidst the trees in a wooded area. Not the wild azalea which grows naturally in those areas, but the cultivated ones that humans plant. I always figure those bushes must have stood beside or in front of houses that have since disappeared. Speaking of the wild ones, there's a place I pass where a gorgeous one blooms and I am watching for it. They are just the prettiest things and a gift from the forest deities. I am still enraged every time I walk by a yard that passed into the hands of the big ol' Methodist Church in Lloyd where a gorgeous, mature wild azalea bloomed every year until they clear cut the whole yard. It is now a very large lawn, completely controlled and tidy. <br />Bah. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Here's a picture that Mr. Moon sent me last night. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihA76bdE4Dm19bkqRGpSX6soEGRQBhxBYtAtypiFU6zh69IbKxmGLlOQD7hdtUkk5lXZjgZL1x4AFgW2SFGETQHZjVluImoXgHXYwRiozF8-0yS2Eq0xj4ftnw61dIj_bzBb4gcpYws9Ogw_TIVA5HoIxlBCwaDKmK7GgWKe6SKsc2_P5sExnVMdAHCsoM/s4032/73180695803__40EFD5C7-A453-470E-845C-D8F9D3E793DA.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihA76bdE4Dm19bkqRGpSX6soEGRQBhxBYtAtypiFU6zh69IbKxmGLlOQD7hdtUkk5lXZjgZL1x4AFgW2SFGETQHZjVluImoXgHXYwRiozF8-0yS2Eq0xj4ftnw61dIj_bzBb4gcpYws9Ogw_TIVA5HoIxlBCwaDKmK7GgWKe6SKsc2_P5sExnVMdAHCsoM/w480-h640/73180695803__40EFD5C7-A453-470E-845C-D8F9D3E793DA.HEIC" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Now that is Dog Island. Paradise. But not without a few hitches along the way. <br />The men got the boat towed off the beach and are on their way home. I talked to Glen and he sounds almost giddy. I think that hunger and relief can do that to a person. They may have gotten a little low on the food situation. He was reading me some of the expiration dates of things in the pantry there the other night and although I am not stickler for following those guidelines, all of them were from before 2018. I know there are spices in that kitchen that came with the house when we bought it almost twenty-five years ago, as well as a few bottles of strange liquors. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">It makes me sad to think about selling the place. It really does. I mean- look at that sunset. That's what happens almost every night. We have had such very, very good times there but I myself have had some very, very difficult times there. And, let's not discuss the poltergeist! But mostly, it's a matter of practicality. Glen and I are just not up to the challenge of maintaining the house and hauling stuff back and forth. I used to do it by myself! I'd tote that heavy ice chest up the rickety stairs and all the bags of food and water. When we needed to bring over a new hot-water heater, Glen could do it. Same with a washing machine and dryer when the laundry room/workshop beneath the house got flooded. When a new well was needed, he could dig it. <br />But. We're older now. And although I would love to leave it to the kids I don't think any of them would be able to use it very often. None of them have boats and although there is a "ferry," it's a lot of effort and takes a lot of planning to go there for a stay. <br />But oh- we sure saw some glorious sunsets and we sure had some great walks and we sure had some hilarious card games and we sure had some amazing meals. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I guess we need to just tuck all those memories in our pockets and be grateful for them. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Oh, by the way- our internet is back. You may have already deduced this. It was working just fine when I got up. This morning when I walked past the little fenced in place right beside the My G***y Soul Boutique where CenturyLink keeps all of its magical machinery, there was a pole leaning over and a generator chugging along so- I don't think that was a permanent fix. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">And tomorrow I'm going to go get my first shingles immunization. From what I've heard and read, this one could be a doozie and you know me- strong reactor. But I know I do not want to ever get shingles so...here we go! Have any of y'all had the vaccine? What were your experiences? </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">One more picture of Maurice, taken when she was in the garden today, struttin' her stuff. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDSy81Lrbl7cc4cKP9RKfCFoZ5cqmYT_33U5rIzBGLMknDOaaqjC5ghnJ7JFh8MsyqORPqYU2K8dLq_gD4_CVdhMMzq9Wuemx6K9pygrqqFnkbPj1zN9hyphenhyphenKhsBMYyiNaIFDPAiGmBdRtW9o53crdX_fVqUrx9BOvjKqFkM3HgbmW52LAO4yyuXA3diAcgp/s2438/IMG_5062.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2438" data-original-width="2193" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDSy81Lrbl7cc4cKP9RKfCFoZ5cqmYT_33U5rIzBGLMknDOaaqjC5ghnJ7JFh8MsyqORPqYU2K8dLq_gD4_CVdhMMzq9Wuemx6K9pygrqqFnkbPj1zN9hyphenhyphenKhsBMYyiNaIFDPAiGmBdRtW9o53crdX_fVqUrx9BOvjKqFkM3HgbmW52LAO4yyuXA3diAcgp/w576-h640/IMG_5062.jpeg" width="576" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">You know she wasn't there because I was. It was a complete coincidence that we met up. <br />Oh, our little furry alien animal buddies. How we adore them. <br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Love...Ms. Moon</span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div></div></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div></div><p></p>Ms. Moonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09776404747858099919noreply@blogger.com46tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2086296370004835655.post-6055864715305794122024-03-10T18:48:00.003-04:002024-03-10T18:48:44.058-04:00Aaarrgghh!<p> I am having a very hard time publishing a post and that last post that I think I published only got half of what I wrote but the bottom line is- I am fine and all is well and according to my neighbor, CentryLink is saying we’ll have our internet back by <b>six pm tomorrow night! </b></p><p>I probably won’t die.</p><p>Until then…</p><p>Love…Ms. Moon </p>Ms. Moonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09776404747858099919noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2086296370004835655.post-4821943610797353322024-03-10T18:39:00.000-04:002024-03-10T18:39:17.576-04:00<p style="text-align: center;"> Ooh boy.</p><p>I got up this morning at my usual time except of course it wasn’t and did indeed feel guilty because it was “really” 9:30 rather than 8:30. I thought I’d set my coffee maker properly to account for the time change but when I got to the kitchen, I realized that no, I had not. </p><p>This is not an earthshaking problem but I’d been having a dream about being in a dystopian landscape and a cult-like group of people were taking over the world and they all dressed like fundamentalist Christians and gee, I have no idea why I’d dream something like that, and I needed a good dose of hot, black, caffeinated beverage to clear the remaining tendrils of my brain.</p><p>Oh well. I turned the coffee on to brew and opened my laptop to discover that THERE WAS NO INTERNET which is really a problem in my little mind-world. I called our provider and they don’t have office hours on weekends but I think they indicated that there is a service outage in my area although it’s hard to determine exactly what’s going on with that auto-guy. </p><p>Oh well. I still don’t have internet so I’m writing this on my phone. First world problems, which is to say, not really problems at all but annoyances nonetheless. </p><p>Mr. Moon is having a bigger problem which comes under the label of Oh Well, That’s Dog Island, in that the boat they borrowed got beached last night on the high tide when the anchor he’d set didn’t hold and the strong winds they were having pushed the boat even farther up the beach. So. I don’t know if they managed to get the boat back into the water or not. High tide was supposed to be about 5:00 and I haven’t heard anything. If they can’t get it back in the water, someone with a bigger boat is going to have to come pull them out.</p><p>For those of you who do not know what the hell I’m talking about- Dog Island is a very small and pristine island between the Gulf and the bay and we have a little shacky house on it. There is no bridge to the island so you have to boat over. There are no stores of any type on the island so you have to take everything you’re going to need with you and haul it from boat to house. So it’s perfect in that its beauty is completely unspoiled and it’s a major pain in the ass when it comes to getting there and sometimes leaving there. </p><p>Here’s what it looked like here today.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkgPa2Op45hgBRz9ku1AkQUZuHbeXv-nwpJ-WjVF-aTCry-osSN9Sfl2OgJKNyBf4Iyyw_rr3GDazN7im65qK9UoWsGW8IFI5NFd_TOq06thrKUKjsEPyS__IK9-v3HnweygzxwFq3OPTLAQLE1zwirKN_2Nol1juTsquqA4iHTeMVNLDeiSoX4aJtTlxH/s4032/IMG_5042.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkgPa2Op45hgBRz9ku1AkQUZuHbeXv-nwpJ-WjVF-aTCry-osSN9Sfl2OgJKNyBf4Iyyw_rr3GDazN7im65qK9UoWsGW8IFI5NFd_TOq06thrKUKjsEPyS__IK9-v3HnweygzxwFq3OPTLAQLE1zwirKN_2Nol1juTsquqA4iHTeMVNLDeiSoX4aJtTlxH/w300-h400/IMG_5042.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p>As you can imagine I had no desire to </p>Ms. Moonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09776404747858099919noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2086296370004835655.post-11044217530309352462024-03-09T19:17:00.000-05:002024-03-09T19:17:21.257-05:00Things I Love<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAHde-1kytdwmURfzUwLxNUR0PvtS76_8bqy3yfncf3VJzfzEnGWsYsMAyeTMKZAGSW-IJfgehmH7DvtHrV6e9qacsQbVcSwlBdGmQUejO5jp4gvcGL9TFudGugsboHqe8xgQjEbmgprwJ5d8pDAax-VffkSuzb17rw2KduZ62-6mMEm3LHvT07s3FUo0Q/s4032/IMG_5005.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAHde-1kytdwmURfzUwLxNUR0PvtS76_8bqy3yfncf3VJzfzEnGWsYsMAyeTMKZAGSW-IJfgehmH7DvtHrV6e9qacsQbVcSwlBdGmQUejO5jp4gvcGL9TFudGugsboHqe8xgQjEbmgprwJ5d8pDAax-VffkSuzb17rw2KduZ62-6mMEm3LHvT07s3FUo0Q/w480-h640/IMG_5005.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><span>There's old Jack, posing in the chinaberry tree, trying to look like he might be a hunter. The picture reminds me of those horrid studio portraits we all used to have to get at Sears or JC Penny. Remember those? Oh, god they were terrible. </span></span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIi0dtnhX6gaqwPqu3CQ0XbwKroScrZwwLot1bpAhfE-wFxmuMAdOs-3sXa_wAgVomgzxGErlF-p5h8wBbhPog16f1ELFQ2iDGTvfo5MAgm2cUdd81hRahmTW6EJRFTdvDia6NLK35mPHtGNCqDaUenfQKlQ5jJ4AYNdHi3tYeppNyr_o8rQaQJgv7ISot/s1652/Screen-Shot-2023-12-01-at-2.32.10-PM.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1652" data-original-width="1184" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIi0dtnhX6gaqwPqu3CQ0XbwKroScrZwwLot1bpAhfE-wFxmuMAdOs-3sXa_wAgVomgzxGErlF-p5h8wBbhPog16f1ELFQ2iDGTvfo5MAgm2cUdd81hRahmTW6EJRFTdvDia6NLK35mPHtGNCqDaUenfQKlQ5jJ4AYNdHi3tYeppNyr_o8rQaQJgv7ISot/w458-h640/Screen-Shot-2023-12-01-at-2.32.10-PM.jpg" width="458" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I shouldn't talk. My family got a few of those too. I mean MY family. Jessie has one hanging on the wall in her house, as a matter of fact. <br />My hair was very blonde. <br />My darling children- I am so sorry. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">So I thought I'd do a little post about why kids love my house, with pictures from the kitchen. The shot of Jack is appropriate because all the kids love Jack. As soon as he hears anyone come in, he races to the kitchen because that's where we always gather first, jumps up on the counter, and presents himself to be scratched. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />One of my very favorite memories of all times concerning this house was when my niece Riley, who was probably about six years old, was here once. She was sitting in the kitchen on one of the bar stools and looking all around her in obvious wonder. <br />"When I grow up, I want a house just like this one," she sighed. <br />"Well you can!" I said. <br />She also got lost once going from the kitchen to a back bathroom. It did not seem to disturb her at all but rather just amused her. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I'm not sure when I began my (to be kind) eclectic form of decorating. I think it just evolved organically. I was probably influenced by Liz Sparks who has an amazing artistic sense and an eye for the interesting. It finally occurred to me when I was in my thirties and early forties that my house was indeed MY house and I did not have to conform to anyone's sense of style or taste but my own. I am sure this did not, <i>does</i> not, always please Mr. Moon. But at this point, he just takes it in stride. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">He is a very tolerant soul. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Let's look at some pictures!</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoxn7pI71k4l15mjKHdRhOayDjq1igyvE-Tepj6pBpZTvOg07w0lBTnybX5HW0UPsmT5M8tBMTujhbSB23cT2PBFRYMLsdxrwHQ_3_kp28WgXrqH0pLqpdvNbJKf1aXAhhaDj0Z5nU99W2Vr5kwKGn5dG-KbMyFLwPHDYimKWlJfyqBQzusrGqymiDRbr_/s4032/IMG_5025.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoxn7pI71k4l15mjKHdRhOayDjq1igyvE-Tepj6pBpZTvOg07w0lBTnybX5HW0UPsmT5M8tBMTujhbSB23cT2PBFRYMLsdxrwHQ_3_kp28WgXrqH0pLqpdvNbJKf1aXAhhaDj0Z5nU99W2Vr5kwKGn5dG-KbMyFLwPHDYimKWlJfyqBQzusrGqymiDRbr_/w640-h480/IMG_5025.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><span><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I do believe that this was what Riley was looking at directly when she said what she said. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I remember distinctly where that rooster came from and the day I saw him and fell in love with him. I needed him badly. He has been my faithful kitchen spirit ever since. The two little ristras on either side of him came from El Marcado in Cozumel. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjimycF5UB9-q29LGNZuyqyYTG8TY3me-zWaRNzuYBoRsasAEIXsJ-_4r1OYh_7brjMHQW5q34j6_OM2bWND8RvhzaJW_89QOyW5OKnFtrG_Zk1cLf_Q7LPqPhM3Sv5QjzsoYhqp4ZBAXwQ1tcGg6hPn6YYt6TqgghIM_mRGCatJGrd57lya-5lqbIVES8Q/s4032/IMG_5023.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjimycF5UB9-q29LGNZuyqyYTG8TY3me-zWaRNzuYBoRsasAEIXsJ-_4r1OYh_7brjMHQW5q34j6_OM2bWND8RvhzaJW_89QOyW5OKnFtrG_Zk1cLf_Q7LPqPhM3Sv5QjzsoYhqp4ZBAXwQ1tcGg6hPn6YYt6TqgghIM_mRGCatJGrd57lya-5lqbIVES8Q/w480-h640/IMG_5023.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I do love a ristra. I believe I got this one at Wag the Dog or somewhere like that. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK0WRKaYCces8obI6eHiFucdarsoOW3fjk6N-Hz0ecOyo5F8r5cgakUJLQhUSyLhJlhYFO-5lsJ61fikzF-JwqBl6ua1JL4D5fP0P_6Q62t0QWnajSM4DNqzM6Jd20c4zNJYA1TLf79CFHUkxRAuVtZiYei9C31BR_SxTsXj-tv6nAUe-breXWUqxuK1ni/s4032/IMG_5024.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK0WRKaYCces8obI6eHiFucdarsoOW3fjk6N-Hz0ecOyo5F8r5cgakUJLQhUSyLhJlhYFO-5lsJ61fikzF-JwqBl6ua1JL4D5fP0P_6Q62t0QWnajSM4DNqzM6Jd20c4zNJYA1TLf79CFHUkxRAuVtZiYei9C31BR_SxTsXj-tv6nAUe-breXWUqxuK1ni/w480-h640/IMG_5024.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">That one came from Mexico too, I think. I got it for Billy's grandparents. Maw-Maw fancied one and asked me if I'd get her one when I was in Mexico and so I did. Billy gave it to me when they died. So you know that's special. That spoon was one of Glen's grandmother's. The artwork is by grandchildren. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtLtLYNqFOn8KYCtWDPI48xOSrpPMJ_QJCmh2qRwL6qyUgomSw4au2vQMHfY3w7dI456LiRyzkW1y_ZZ2kbidfSA1ugSm0ZR9-iZ8CWGBi9iuddkUU77VVfSWQNWgUsDzKU0lhKzPb2SdpvVpWYaf5bP3m2OeUkKY8dsUmlT4Zyn6CKzx_vh6t3xN1kdOn/s4032/IMG_5022.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtLtLYNqFOn8KYCtWDPI48xOSrpPMJ_QJCmh2qRwL6qyUgomSw4au2vQMHfY3w7dI456LiRyzkW1y_ZZ2kbidfSA1ugSm0ZR9-iZ8CWGBi9iuddkUU77VVfSWQNWgUsDzKU0lhKzPb2SdpvVpWYaf5bP3m2OeUkKY8dsUmlT4Zyn6CKzx_vh6t3xN1kdOn/w640-h480/IMG_5022.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">This is in the little built-in alcove above the kitchen sink. Various things end up there, including some vases. I love and adore my Seminole dolls and they have come from various places. They were made by Seminole women to sell as souvenirs a long time ago. They're made of coconut fiber. The little European plastic dolls are from some thrift store or another. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWsnyiFlQD5BBEsUpf-q5cxrwQgig01XX1oMcWJRc3d8HBFDKFFRwqm2J_wcYNXXTRaD4yxiEA3AtbIbG0TtGq58gwOuat7HfVYZO9Nd-fdgRRrJ7H3DozNy5X_HZ65hPZKl1Qw79LvZynK45Um0EcBEoijwOqbTpvIuhjoYQ13C1xbCEcn7A23ZHwjkGr/s4032/IMG_4997.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWsnyiFlQD5BBEsUpf-q5cxrwQgig01XX1oMcWJRc3d8HBFDKFFRwqm2J_wcYNXXTRaD4yxiEA3AtbIbG0TtGq58gwOuat7HfVYZO9Nd-fdgRRrJ7H3DozNy5X_HZ65hPZKl1Qw79LvZynK45Um0EcBEoijwOqbTpvIuhjoYQ13C1xbCEcn7A23ZHwjkGr/w480-h640/IMG_4997.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">This lovely mermaid came from River Lily in Apalachicola. I made the grave mistake of trying to clean her once and that's when she lost a nipple. She's okay with that. I think. She lives on the wall behind the sink. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRwX4LOhqXhSRz_SRu-9D5pMlfC9ndme0n1e-qVAKgF_3vU_7QArb5R3oa_yvfK-TpAMINjC4XwvROpXeBLtE3Z4nJvR13q7E9S57w8A_ZaGi2wG_NsS3lcdtZTqzR3EuE9y31yNHP6XWEehF6TZ5A2nALprfQGFsUJySyUnFHG8pEu7dxfDihUvo5yD8U/s4032/IMG_5026.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRwX4LOhqXhSRz_SRu-9D5pMlfC9ndme0n1e-qVAKgF_3vU_7QArb5R3oa_yvfK-TpAMINjC4XwvROpXeBLtE3Z4nJvR13q7E9S57w8A_ZaGi2wG_NsS3lcdtZTqzR3EuE9y31yNHP6XWEehF6TZ5A2nALprfQGFsUJySyUnFHG8pEu7dxfDihUvo5yD8U/w640-h480/IMG_5026.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">This is the doorway between the kitchen and the hallway. Those lights have been plugged in and working for over ten years and I kid you not. I got them on sale at a CVS in Monticello. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYFgMXSYsLpOD8OAp_gkS5GysUeQwQQBlwH8brkR6mu_QxQTNuxlzMK1JTX8UBBJyTQdEmeBliiLM2LkuAWdgSz5SUfAacL3NL5H9t3vxkWY4XvfSucwsJLKK_zHbeRMbXiFGWLSTzhnEIdkpsEdXYG-5oFklsebHbO3-u2TupqyFkF3BroPWSVes8luY0/s4032/IMG_5036.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYFgMXSYsLpOD8OAp_gkS5GysUeQwQQBlwH8brkR6mu_QxQTNuxlzMK1JTX8UBBJyTQdEmeBliiLM2LkuAWdgSz5SUfAacL3NL5H9t3vxkWY4XvfSucwsJLKK_zHbeRMbXiFGWLSTzhnEIdkpsEdXYG-5oFklsebHbO3-u2TupqyFkF3BroPWSVes8luY0/w480-h640/IMG_5036.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">This is my beloved kitchen hutch that I've had since 1979. I cherish it. It has the pull-out enamel work surface, a container for sugar, and one for flour with a sifter, all built in to the side panels. I keep a multitude of things in it. And a multitude of treasures on it. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-5Yq2x24qOpfiMCdQN65vSh8lNTvzAB73glihnXBJzMpCRR2EdBtbJ5FHNDBVxpIC98FO42wReIF7nnrTP1p7GKn0vZrzFWfxrXOVsRJEC7g90gucNSKLk4bAvJggHZ4n6jMAThgM1W_CmAkFWgfDuKWPPl10dnlzGacw4R5f-RxU4oZ5JZc9sO45-iya/s4032/IMG_5027.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-5Yq2x24qOpfiMCdQN65vSh8lNTvzAB73glihnXBJzMpCRR2EdBtbJ5FHNDBVxpIC98FO42wReIF7nnrTP1p7GKn0vZrzFWfxrXOVsRJEC7g90gucNSKLk4bAvJggHZ4n6jMAThgM1W_CmAkFWgfDuKWPPl10dnlzGacw4R5f-RxU4oZ5JZc9sO45-iya/w640-h480/IMG_5027.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I got that celluloid angel from an antique/vintage place in Monticello. There is a hole in the back for a light bulb. The Virgin of Guadalupe was given to me by Liz Sparks who created that lovely piece of art. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQOxsMyT7Dmn4FV29Baa36LVTpq8zTAK74ihZi2K2hHz8qvvUiGEKXYQgRn2zu2DtnnsiivI5QsgSWfMljoqv29Aa_3jpdGUvNFnOJGcvcyUhF8t7xqh8Bfk6-nWDBLC5HUjYeEbaup1zXpozpg7d5UiaUNjNlEBz_BtIdcCweeA5L2404a8hVk_lUEBT2/s4032/IMG_5029.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQOxsMyT7Dmn4FV29Baa36LVTpq8zTAK74ihZi2K2hHz8qvvUiGEKXYQgRn2zu2DtnnsiivI5QsgSWfMljoqv29Aa_3jpdGUvNFnOJGcvcyUhF8t7xqh8Bfk6-nWDBLC5HUjYeEbaup1zXpozpg7d5UiaUNjNlEBz_BtIdcCweeA5L2404a8hVk_lUEBT2/w480-h640/IMG_5029.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">A little Florida corner. Linda Sue sent the salt and pepper shakers, the mermaid was made in the mermaid-making machine at Weeki-Wachee. The rooster pitcher comes from Kathleen. I gave it to her and once again, received it back when she died. </span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhtlwNIh287pfpeGCVuJwwXEwd-mXJlLm2znUSKJAoKdZvqNa-2xD3kK3ww7i0rlcq3PQPCPBFhyfLrqJfC1IrGcj6gMIDNuG2Ie53wiceq7gHfqVEZxhDQr8wxQCtnqksw49nL-Q_HwHG21224p1_9efFySoSIMLwbsNU2A6kpbLdFDxGdYVctKvLe3PF/s4032/IMG_5030.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhtlwNIh287pfpeGCVuJwwXEwd-mXJlLm2znUSKJAoKdZvqNa-2xD3kK3ww7i0rlcq3PQPCPBFhyfLrqJfC1IrGcj6gMIDNuG2Ie53wiceq7gHfqVEZxhDQr8wxQCtnqksw49nL-Q_HwHG21224p1_9efFySoSIMLwbsNU2A6kpbLdFDxGdYVctKvLe3PF/w480-h640/IMG_5030.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">This is the funniest thing ever. It's a Mick Jagger duck that Jason gave me for Christmas. "The Floating Stones." I could not love it more. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinSBYFChYBlkoHpF8PEHv5GCj970Hfx-QAQ7f7Y4pCTQBE_d7z3NaQYMmDLjnXIQwn8sP47M-qEFIeFfle5cRqK0cKhaWxZA6dz0TnVBNqSLf4liYgqagB10_qL_wIQxSZWhmkeTrNjdT11obuy93VtTQ6uAKL5rVNJOF-vFi-bnBkrHmLGEFjpCEgCtkz/s4032/IMG_5032.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinSBYFChYBlkoHpF8PEHv5GCj970Hfx-QAQ7f7Y4pCTQBE_d7z3NaQYMmDLjnXIQwn8sP47M-qEFIeFfle5cRqK0cKhaWxZA6dz0TnVBNqSLf4liYgqagB10_qL_wIQxSZWhmkeTrNjdT11obuy93VtTQ6uAKL5rVNJOF-vFi-bnBkrHmLGEFjpCEgCtkz/w480-h640/IMG_5032.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Cards I have been sent by people who know me so well. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7Q38QYtacWtjjfyN-S-EeHMf61LDXC-hBdcdw74fzJXgtDnhSRv3CoNKxEqd_wY10t8uY9QUL7quKIw_41kaMffQpORVlZtT9Bix9sSJaLl3-I8bhkJ0d2H0jOyyCkWGfLnY-2pQRsBTca1UmZrW11ax2zZiOZJ6vWLPTWTprEFMXDabC7DSy3XfInPB6/s4032/IMG_5034.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7Q38QYtacWtjjfyN-S-EeHMf61LDXC-hBdcdw74fzJXgtDnhSRv3CoNKxEqd_wY10t8uY9QUL7quKIw_41kaMffQpORVlZtT9Bix9sSJaLl3-I8bhkJ0d2H0jOyyCkWGfLnY-2pQRsBTca1UmZrW11ax2zZiOZJ6vWLPTWTprEFMXDabC7DSy3XfInPB6/w480-h640/IMG_5034.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Going out the kitchen door. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5pxjaGIsKB0kKf4ARqyDMCg6lzXeBZiBEYQ190JRj5GDY9vpshBV3guoNqYk4zUlMckbCs9cd6yguL5IWcmPGzsl4v3tRSc2atAbQupZfxYq15h4R0RIHzQB-3fZszGyc3cNXuj3WCrbM27zH-GVr2xpreiyEy9rRUL2c_N1sCLwpXgSJrWEwYr1RnRxt/s4032/IMG_5035.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5pxjaGIsKB0kKf4ARqyDMCg6lzXeBZiBEYQ190JRj5GDY9vpshBV3guoNqYk4zUlMckbCs9cd6yguL5IWcmPGzsl4v3tRSc2atAbQupZfxYq15h4R0RIHzQB-3fZszGyc3cNXuj3WCrbM27zH-GVr2xpreiyEy9rRUL2c_N1sCLwpXgSJrWEwYr1RnRxt/w480-h640/IMG_5035.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Little things I have found in this yard. Mostly tiny plastic figures but also a blue poker chip and a guitar pick. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">And. Speaking of guitar picks. <br />I am certain that many of you wonder what has happened to my eternal love for Keith Richards, my spirit totem animal? Or, perhaps no one has given it a thought. However, I am here to say that I am still deeply in love with him and I probably always will be. If you have no idea why, please take it upon yourself to read his very, very good book, <i>Life. </i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq6inuemzLY53ChTnWRbTiBd3ujx7QzaoVe7qEyZ55BF1igAMtO_rQRLmELu-aVCT8_h07h8mn97lBDm8inOhpt0Q_CWocd1P-UPtzWuIcEujQCbBhnfspL-PaJ6FDadpbWXB55fboQZ6dVp0LHdd3p4HaltEhTEVjMPdhyphenhyphenuozEHC7SmKacR_zmOMqbUt3/s350/1E92A69138EB7EA895EC4050AE7968FEB306462E.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="350" data-original-width="230" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq6inuemzLY53ChTnWRbTiBd3ujx7QzaoVe7qEyZ55BF1igAMtO_rQRLmELu-aVCT8_h07h8mn97lBDm8inOhpt0Q_CWocd1P-UPtzWuIcEujQCbBhnfspL-PaJ6FDadpbWXB55fboQZ6dVp0LHdd3p4HaltEhTEVjMPdhyphenhyphenuozEHC7SmKacR_zmOMqbUt3/w420-h640/1E92A69138EB7EA895EC4050AE7968FEB306462E.jpg" width="420" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Until you read it, you have no idea who he is. I surely didn't. <br />This morning, while perusing Facebook, I came across a link to a video of Keith recording a song for a new album dedicated to Lou Reed. The artists are all doing Lou's songs in tribute. <br />I watched the video. <br />I melted. <br />Keith is all about the music, his body a medium for channelling it through guitar and voice. His guitar playing is authentic and nasty and twangy and gritty and his voice is no one's but his. <br />He grows ever more beautiful with each year he lives. <br />The song is entitled "Waiting For The Man" but Keith sings it "Waiting For My Man." It's about a junkie waiting for his dealer so he can score what he so desperately craves. Lou Reed may have written it but Keith lived it too. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">And he's still here to tell us about it. </span></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><p></p>
<span style="font-size: large;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/5NcJvi5TYEk?si=9IqT0GziIQ03Dl4f" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Watch it or don't. It probably means very little to most people. But it means something to me. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Survival. It is possible. Music and love can bring you through to the other side. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Love...Ms. Moon</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">P.S. When I realized last night that tonight is when we start Daylight Savings Time again, I could not believe it and I do not like it. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Man, I'm going to feel so guilty when I don't get up until 9:30 tomorrow. <br />Why in hell do we keep doing this to ourselves? </span></div>Ms. Moonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09776404747858099919noreply@blogger.com44tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2086296370004835655.post-22879142905066071412024-03-08T18:58:00.002-05:002024-03-08T18:58:31.427-05:00Wild Life<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqkCkmS7K0fZP6Lo_IeBosnS5IcoqflXbKrsZ8EAcH-bLzFzVHdtMYIpxhIIN-T3tP0246jXliuVE-B93NU76pF9cZ3dEP4Tgp84nPpk_PtUAcdfpQFr8-oOxA7N6TjZDsuMtRLEWOeQOFXGOcNY0yVlVR1GrULHwYUZcX8PnHWLLpuzyT0MMMcQfPRqEr/s4032/IMG_4989.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqkCkmS7K0fZP6Lo_IeBosnS5IcoqflXbKrsZ8EAcH-bLzFzVHdtMYIpxhIIN-T3tP0246jXliuVE-B93NU76pF9cZ3dEP4Tgp84nPpk_PtUAcdfpQFr8-oOxA7N6TjZDsuMtRLEWOeQOFXGOcNY0yVlVR1GrULHwYUZcX8PnHWLLpuzyT0MMMcQfPRqEr/w640-h480/IMG_4989.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />I took this picture a few days ago and had forgotten to post it but I like it and so I'm posting it now. That's the sky behind the Garage Mahal and the oak tree beside it, putting out its new growth. <br />This is the oak pollen season. It comes upon us like an unexpected and unwanted guest, almost a surprise every year even though we have to know it's coming. Everything, and I do mean EVERY THING outside and in becomes dusted and then coated in yellow pollen. From cars to countertops, from floors to roofs, everything becomes yellow and almost gritty to the touch. People who suffer from allergies are miserable this time of year. There is no way to escape the stuff. Doctor's offices are packed, the sale of OTC sinus and allergy remedies goes through the roof. Car washes are busy day and night. <br />Everyone drives a yellow car this time of year. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">So Mr. Moon and our friend Chip are over on Dog Island, trying to get some flooring repaired. Or something like that. Something that has to do with flooring. Glen made a plan for them to leave early this morning and I had grave doubts about it actually happening because he has not used his boat in so long and there is never nothing wrong with that boat. It would have been some sort of seafaring miracle if it had just cranked up and run properly. But I didn't say a thing. And then last night, he went to hook it all up and he gave it a little dry test run and the motor ran fine but the trim and tilt did not. <br />Look- you can google <i>trim and tilt </i>if you're that interested which I doubt you are. It has to do with the engine going up and down in order to trailer it and beach it and dock it and hell, I don't know. It's important. <br />However, another friend of his who lives right across the bay from Dog Island, offered him the loan of his boat so the trip went mostly as planned. They're there now. I know it's beautiful. I hope they're getting a good sunset. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Did you watch the State of the Union last night? As I said I would, I did. And I have to tell you that I am of the opinion that Joe Biden is the Mick Jagger of politics. Yes, he does stutter sometimes. We all know that. But his thoughts were clear, his delivery was fast and strong, and he seemed overwhelmingly delighted to be exactly where he was, doing exactly what he was doing. <br />I thought it was powerful. <br />Of course the MagaMinions probably weren't watching it. They have no idea of what Biden has accomplished. They have no idea that their Dear Leader Daddy nixed his Republican lapdogs from passing the immigration bill that they'd been demanding because the EgoMagaManiac did not want Biden getting the credit for that piece of legislature. And if those people did hear about it, they wouldn't believe it. <br />It was just such a sensible, <i>sane</i>, well-written and delivered speech. Biden's speech writers should be commended and Biden should be honored for his energy and the way he directly addressed Trump, calling him his "predecessor". He hit the topic of Trump's treason head-on, he dared call out the Supreme Court, he defended women's rights, queer rights, minority rights, and how gun rights need desperately to change. <br />No one is ever going to agree with everything any president says but the stark contrast between what Biden said last night and what Trump is, uh, attempting to say as his brain melts, is so stark. <br />And having said all of that, I am still terrified of what the results of this next election could be. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Moving on to that which I can control, supposedly, I spent some time outside today. It was overcast and warm and I did a little work. I checked on my beans which I had not seen even a sign of breaking ground yesterday. Here's what I found. </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTc462Uii6jdhGGLq0z0IXiKR0BKc-roI9DXXM-TZiZk4WWRbyczloQu1zwvVFRXgeDJXbI_Ti2HyMLvDiWkGYx9dPu4o6MW2Gd3SGVchZY1En_2i-equhe1pM4jIyzG034Xrz8Fg6uin-ep8uSdeAV0wQKYbCt9CJYeZQO9w_4LtuI5-Ik66o5SYEklaK/s4032/IMG_5008.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTc462Uii6jdhGGLq0z0IXiKR0BKc-roI9DXXM-TZiZk4WWRbyczloQu1zwvVFRXgeDJXbI_Ti2HyMLvDiWkGYx9dPu4o6MW2Gd3SGVchZY1En_2i-equhe1pM4jIyzG034Xrz8Fg6uin-ep8uSdeAV0wQKYbCt9CJYeZQO9w_4LtuI5-Ik66o5SYEklaK/w480-h640/IMG_5008.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">No. It is not a snake sticking its tongue out. It is a bean sprout! <br /><br />Here's another one that is obviously an over-achiever. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqqHbYp-Ql5L0UziUbVRWNqgl7ptxSci0CER0sjWEZz47YbqH1OtFeniwk_D2ZVMdIA5Qx_eb_-Q7eXo29VvXSqZNrRns4fOQD-qB-m14Jjg__D4wLqXW4-ObQCMpulfsnB2IPXyziX6CMlYYj-J3PyIYSlHwtZ5q5o8LXet-tLZgHGmbRGDrH_2q5QQKT/s4032/IMG_5011.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqqHbYp-Ql5L0UziUbVRWNqgl7ptxSci0CER0sjWEZz47YbqH1OtFeniwk_D2ZVMdIA5Qx_eb_-Q7eXo29VvXSqZNrRns4fOQD-qB-m14Jjg__D4wLqXW4-ObQCMpulfsnB2IPXyziX6CMlYYj-J3PyIYSlHwtZ5q5o8LXet-tLZgHGmbRGDrH_2q5QQKT/w480-h640/IMG_5011.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">You go, Bean! </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Here's a picture of some blossoms of a variety of Bok Choy. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgelMLzHjrvpOKjpkwC3mEw_Umg2BdwWohQ8_gJtdvzoj1_CmEpODFpzcbeKGN_g5qQspQqzpXYjYnLSbtBQ7j8gzi_4QRpaBB6i8gcD41OIbji01FI1qtjgSRx2I-9epdj5dBscafKeQ00h06mQwp7gx8sqRQz8JzV9pJLToVMYLjM4PKzfq43IuPJB3sk/s4032/IMG_5001.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgelMLzHjrvpOKjpkwC3mEw_Umg2BdwWohQ8_gJtdvzoj1_CmEpODFpzcbeKGN_g5qQspQqzpXYjYnLSbtBQ7j8gzi_4QRpaBB6i8gcD41OIbji01FI1qtjgSRx2I-9epdj5dBscafKeQ00h06mQwp7gx8sqRQz8JzV9pJLToVMYLjM4PKzfq43IuPJB3sk/w480-h640/IMG_5001.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Not as exotic and mysterious as the arugula bloom, but so very cheerful.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">The bridal wreath spirea is starting to put out blooms. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx8No5sBnTW3t1zNpttOW3JZ-RzaHvHwnaakpqVtoLN5fxpE716LkMqAcBrJZJeRrP7M48xNHKQn0T4_CbMTM0RflLlBlRq_D6z-AK1swFC-IQq81OPuI2bLi4r_gLQfiKfoVKQ2xhaXb0SU2_Eby_qPFUBVqK0IqGsXNtMsTvxRHwY3J8iPjb9NA7797T/s3024/IMG_5012.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2208" data-original-width="3024" height="468" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx8No5sBnTW3t1zNpttOW3JZ-RzaHvHwnaakpqVtoLN5fxpE716LkMqAcBrJZJeRrP7M48xNHKQn0T4_CbMTM0RflLlBlRq_D6z-AK1swFC-IQq81OPuI2bLi4r_gLQfiKfoVKQ2xhaXb0SU2_Eby_qPFUBVqK0IqGsXNtMsTvxRHwY3J8iPjb9NA7797T/w640-h468/IMG_5012.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Each of those clumps of perfect blossoms are not as big around as a fifty-cent piece. For those of you who remember what a fifty-cent piece was. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">One of the things I love most about my iPhone is how I can take pictures of such tiny things with such detail. I would never have known what an arugula blossom looked like magnified if I had not taken one's picture. This is technology I love. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I picked up some more sticks. Blah. I also decided to cut down some bamboo that escaped my notice last year in the camellia bed and which had grown to be about twenty feet tall. I am not kidding. Somehow, with my big loppers, I managed to cut the stem of two of those big things and I cut them up and hauled them to the burn pile. I also snipped some of the smaller varieties with my pruners. While I was out in the front yard, picking up some fallen branches, I noticed some dead wood in the azalea bushes and when I went to explore the situation, I discovered that it was part of a very large limb that was hiding in the dense azaleas. I'm sure it was a piece of the water oak which lost a huge limb during a big storm we had last summer and which Mr. Moon cut up and hauled away. I tried to pull out the branch I found but that's not going to happen. It's too heavy and too long. I also discovered a burrow/den at the base of that tree where some critter is living. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOzmSphWtFpyuBt2Gl4zdhoI0RuI78kXqB6slvKtx5pXP1HMZ2jbAM5bzAhzdJEDa6D_95QnforP8Kyn4Pt0UaJkvc9NmdYQrL85_gWhCwmohRLFV0CI2Al-_jpk85Dg7dAdkl19JNnUpAw3E7NsqHWdX5R69uIC0mbEwkFFnv99HI1YQyNvcyXQvR3eNW/s4032/IMG_5013.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOzmSphWtFpyuBt2Gl4zdhoI0RuI78kXqB6slvKtx5pXP1HMZ2jbAM5bzAhzdJEDa6D_95QnforP8Kyn4Pt0UaJkvc9NmdYQrL85_gWhCwmohRLFV0CI2Al-_jpk85Dg7dAdkl19JNnUpAw3E7NsqHWdX5R69uIC0mbEwkFFnv99HI1YQyNvcyXQvR3eNW/w480-h640/IMG_5013.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I checked out the mulberry growth. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzGm4zfA5sGFQm83_OiV9qMZdVVlrpUjpPmYzBEISJupgnapSIycLx0jP5rNg_lJ_IBnizoirQHWbTkJUMMfsd9W0OLTQ2wkAbVHCKCttTasCEs0j3wXI-TId99WwQYW8IDkxcOUULQlK8XDWzlcSxyagibwc9i2hCM1i7I46PMQ0Nu7DFcwwr_mEbWT7G/s4032/IMG_5014.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzGm4zfA5sGFQm83_OiV9qMZdVVlrpUjpPmYzBEISJupgnapSIycLx0jP5rNg_lJ_IBnizoirQHWbTkJUMMfsd9W0OLTQ2wkAbVHCKCttTasCEs0j3wXI-TId99WwQYW8IDkxcOUULQlK8XDWzlcSxyagibwc9i2hCM1i7I46PMQ0Nu7DFcwwr_mEbWT7G/w480-h640/IMG_5014.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Looks like it might be a good year. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I swear, I despair so much over not being able to keep up my yard the way I want to, the way I used to be able to, but I do love this little piece of land where I live. So much of what grows here gives me joy, allows me to get my hands in the dirt, <i>forces</i> me to get my hands in the dirt, constantly reminds me of the changing seasons of the earth and of myself. It gives me reason to be outside and to notice and appreciate the world going on out there. I can curse the invasive plants and the fucking mosquitoes and yellow flies and no-see-ums and heat and I do. Regularly. As you know. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Still. While I can, I want to be here. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">My back porch is a pretty swell place to be too. Here's another picture I took today. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifrnxCffUL_4hBdt3ID3nI7soiY42AqPm2MfGwhQqRqWOSKSD1e-WQS_j-opHX3HiRu6nDJ9HbU7k3_bs3H1gqBFTPwQOITFRxE4KavhyQJJ5L6kBnsYC5eeef054e12uIx6mgBpaq1OPqgX0HwnuTIYN20s8VU0j1KCr54lZqUVdmgEca4Ab9isR3trSd/s3013/IMG_5007%202.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2151" data-original-width="3013" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifrnxCffUL_4hBdt3ID3nI7soiY42AqPm2MfGwhQqRqWOSKSD1e-WQS_j-opHX3HiRu6nDJ9HbU7k3_bs3H1gqBFTPwQOITFRxE4KavhyQJJ5L6kBnsYC5eeef054e12uIx6mgBpaq1OPqgX0HwnuTIYN20s8VU0j1KCr54lZqUVdmgEca4Ab9isR3trSd/w640-h456/IMG_5007%202.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">The shadow of an anole whom I could not see. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Happy Friday, y'all. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Love...Ms. Moon</span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div></div></div></div></div></div><p></p>Ms. Moonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09776404747858099919noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2086296370004835655.post-11478156905428074742024-03-07T18:25:00.001-05:002024-03-07T18:25:21.294-05:00Life Is Living<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR-9dHOUb3-Oz3mEsx7ohLBeZYLgxkJRSG2SmjVGWvY-xtrAnpD28MWxCI0viqJauX6fzOIk7vOrCH2RBOMZ8mb8-L9vO2UNY804Ku6x3wozbQ5vFuj574au_l2wgfu-8KaRBY3eom3HktxM1vtpOV3gZlzwIlw0yI_N2c3wMY_q2FZCUEwPgzyFefLdaJ/s4032/IMG_4996.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR-9dHOUb3-Oz3mEsx7ohLBeZYLgxkJRSG2SmjVGWvY-xtrAnpD28MWxCI0viqJauX6fzOIk7vOrCH2RBOMZ8mb8-L9vO2UNY804Ku6x3wozbQ5vFuj574au_l2wgfu-8KaRBY3eom3HktxM1vtpOV3gZlzwIlw0yI_N2c3wMY_q2FZCUEwPgzyFefLdaJ/w480-h640/IMG_4996.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />Well, we put the jungle back outside today. Just as it was a nice change to bring the plants in and feel as if we were living in a tropical forest, it is now nice to feel the house take a breath as it is cleared out and can breathe freely again. Can you see Maurice in that photo? I think she is happy to have her perch back. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">And the plants? They are SO happy to be outside. I gave them some trimming and drenched them all with the hose. I could almost hear them gulping the water down. I can't water them in the house as fully as I can outside so between that and not getting enough sun, they were looking a bit sad. They will perk right up though.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEtZcWbHZxeqRCE-B4Tp4R7nMQ6gwa_pkOKZNRX-m0I7OF2YtuwlFKDNLVY9ZfFFS7lP5MHq0jwlhYY-wno-b1vP4LHB9yUTbMdi_WjZAoKkwIn-Iz8hz5oYXPuzDQaa-pZPNlr_qPE3jIjoksVTbIcCjB6amcmoQMKnJdwm03sm19Jp_hCVh_6gFy8CsV/s4032/IMG_4991.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEtZcWbHZxeqRCE-B4Tp4R7nMQ6gwa_pkOKZNRX-m0I7OF2YtuwlFKDNLVY9ZfFFS7lP5MHq0jwlhYY-wno-b1vP4LHB9yUTbMdi_WjZAoKkwIn-Iz8hz5oYXPuzDQaa-pZPNlr_qPE3jIjoksVTbIcCjB6amcmoQMKnJdwm03sm19Jp_hCVh_6gFy8CsV/w480-h640/IMG_4991.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">There they are after their soak. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I swept the porches this morning because Liz Sparks was coming over. We'd planned to maybe get together for breakfast at the Waffle House or later somewhere for lunch but I just did not think I could handle another meal out. <br />How stupid does that sound?<br />So she came out here and we sat on the front porch which does not get a lot of use, and it was so nice to sit in those rocking chairs and look at the trees and hear the birds and, okay- also the cars and trucks going by. <br />Front porch traffic, back porch trains. <br />We live a life of rather noisy peace here. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Since I've seen Liz, she's been to Cuba for a short visit. She felt the same way about Cuba that I did when I went there, which was that we both had so many questions when before we visited, and we had so many more when we left. I think that my trip may have had a slightly more positive spin to it because we went right after Obama had visited and the Rolling Stones had played which were both incredibly symbolic events. And people seemed a little hopeful, things seemed to be opening up some. I get the sense that is no longer true. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">A country so very close to the US in miles, so very, very far from our country in every other way. I remember when Lis and I got back and spent the night in a hotel and there were like four rolls of toilet paper in the bathroom and we felt like the richest girls in the world. There are probably not four rolls of soft, cushy toilet paper in all of Cuba. Liz felt that way when she did her first shopping at Publix when she got back. We have so much. They have so very, very little. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Liz is also going through an incredibly difficult time with her elderly parents. I won't go into any details but I will say that her entire life right now is taken up with trying to get them into a safe situation as they have become unable to take care of themselves and they are fighting her tooth and nail. From the physical realities of their situation to the infinite number of legal and financial details to attend to, she is doing it all. I can tell she is so very tired. <br /><br />I made us a little salad buffet for our lunch. I had left-over shrimp salad and the leftover salad with fruit and nuts from last night and I made a pasta and tuna salad. And then before she left, we went out to the garden and picked a few greens for her to take home. <br />She is an amazing woman. I was thinking today how there is absolutely nothing about her that I would change. Not one. There is nothing about her soul or her spirit or her attitude or her sense of humor or her beliefs or her strengths that annoy me in the least. <br />Even in the midst of all of this, she is cracking jokes and finding the humor in some very dark situations. <br />She also inadvertently gave me some good advice about my yard. I was pointing out some of the invasive plants that are taking over. She actually went to school to study botany (as well as being a registered nurse) and she told me that she's just given up on her yard when it comes to yanking invasive plants. She just weed-eats them, hoping that eventually they'll die. She said she'd tried the layers of cardboard and mulch and that didn't work. <br />I asked Mr. Moon this afternoon if I could possibly use his weed-eater. He said I could. I may have to get one of my own though. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Here's a little part of the yard that had aloe in it when we moved here. </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqNSfJ4VQcCNWpWyuif9r51j51PpBAUR2wmcoGpgumzaiQTLGfFZW2oHlJLnM2QWnngbx058KI4xpCYBrVANjxrWDo0M3QrwMfA_ycNNvNUm9CnkCcUKd3iTAXSUfCA31Xozp3S80aAlZaVESG_-UBo_0caERZbhE11ZNlqn6lkNM7mfntDchTQNokRoxs/s4032/IMG_4993.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqNSfJ4VQcCNWpWyuif9r51j51PpBAUR2wmcoGpgumzaiQTLGfFZW2oHlJLnM2QWnngbx058KI4xpCYBrVANjxrWDo0M3QrwMfA_ycNNvNUm9CnkCcUKd3iTAXSUfCA31Xozp3S80aAlZaVESG_-UBo_0caERZbhE11ZNlqn6lkNM7mfntDchTQNokRoxs/w480-h640/IMG_4993.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Didn't know that aloe could become invasive, did you? I certainly did not. And it is prickly as hell and will rip bloody holes into my old thin skin. And all those little white flowers are on the dewberry vines which are a sort of berry not unlike a blackberry, but smaller, and grow on those trailing vines, rather than more upright ones. They, too, are prickly. There is also a Chinese rice plant in the back, and the purple version of the spiderwort thrives in that little piece of hell too. <br />I do not think I could weed-eat that bed. <br />I am thinking that a small charge of dynamite could possibly do the trick. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Probably not. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">In more yard news, Mr. Moon and I seem to be having a sort of stand-off about who will pick up the millions of small branches and sticks in the backyard where the Bradford pears were taken out. Neither of us has so much as begun that chore. There's just so much more to do! But today I took the yard cart out and made a small beginning. <br /><br />I also looked for bamboo sprouts coming up to kick but did not see any yet. For those of you who do not know what that means, the kicking of the bamboo is not a euphemism. We have a great deal of bamboo in parts of our yard and every spring, runners send up shoots of it and if you are quick, you can kick those shoots over, breaking them from the root and they will quit growing in that one place. If you do not do this, you will soon be living in a bamboo jungle and will need a machete to get from one part of the yard to another. <br /><br />Florida just wants to kill us. That's all there is to it. It's not unlike voluntarily living with Maurice to stay here. We must love it for some reason. <br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx-br6JjZ-8u66wVBnhNA7EA6IXsY4c08XJocp2U8zWU9k3lpk4jH4NwS-r2QMA8kEQh94YmjjK74sYsU8aOGgnyg7KQ3YFXSzMvGIv_ufdHky2pWJJ8SHxjjlydzX5evq7Gybd-t2afP4AKHtc__OYRy3BzSx7kP5YPyX3K_Qc1i6AYEgy57YaXP5WNj0/s4032/IMG_4994.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx-br6JjZ-8u66wVBnhNA7EA6IXsY4c08XJocp2U8zWU9k3lpk4jH4NwS-r2QMA8kEQh94YmjjK74sYsU8aOGgnyg7KQ3YFXSzMvGIv_ufdHky2pWJJ8SHxjjlydzX5evq7Gybd-t2afP4AKHtc__OYRy3BzSx7kP5YPyX3K_Qc1i6AYEgy57YaXP5WNj0/w480-h640/IMG_4994.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Are you going to watch the State of the Union Address tonight? I am. I feel as if our very democracy depends on how Joe does. <br />Oh, please let his many, many years of making speeches help him to get this right. <br />Please. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Love...Ms. Moon</span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p>Ms. Moonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09776404747858099919noreply@blogger.com41tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2086296370004835655.post-38362150099074701512024-03-06T18:42:00.001-05:002024-03-06T18:42:16.767-05:00They Say It's Her Birthday! <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Xpny8a5-Zdu0fWY-wkc9zcjygggoaJPn2R6QOrb-G99alXqdAff4_MKi6Ce0vhR2VJIY_T9GBGOGJNt8WJKpxVNf88YL1eak4U3ILZN6GFwm-ew5MEXdvi90v4un1LaEbig_tOaGQ6fUZuG4n1chw9JsNFnJAGECn7dkzOZHHMEaiqnMROiibYtDqJMI/s4032/IMG_4981.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Xpny8a5-Zdu0fWY-wkc9zcjygggoaJPn2R6QOrb-G99alXqdAff4_MKi6Ce0vhR2VJIY_T9GBGOGJNt8WJKpxVNf88YL1eak4U3ILZN6GFwm-ew5MEXdvi90v4un1LaEbig_tOaGQ6fUZuG4n1chw9JsNFnJAGECn7dkzOZHHMEaiqnMROiibYtDqJMI/w480-h640/IMG_4981.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /> I got some more experience today for becoming even better at my new career. I met Hank and Rachel (the birthday girl) and Jessie and Vergil for lunch at everyone's favorite restaurant- Kool Beanz. </span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjHDfyJ4FmRTcpSX1jJUW6_Jy3RvJUj60lu5nHO8dCLwcoc3-JYDSI3tjAgX8bnb17JhU2gg282fFG90s-CAQDmAsaDMB7KooxzDpDfRH8N_MfMY3JySE1hTz5q_TIK9jqLTXYZsiDqneCCZZ8rACBPO-W0eNF8MC2lWTk_2kFNFU3QOWFKpJwIEN4Jk6-/s4032/IMG_4983.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjHDfyJ4FmRTcpSX1jJUW6_Jy3RvJUj60lu5nHO8dCLwcoc3-JYDSI3tjAgX8bnb17JhU2gg282fFG90s-CAQDmAsaDMB7KooxzDpDfRH8N_MfMY3JySE1hTz5q_TIK9jqLTXYZsiDqneCCZZ8rACBPO-W0eNF8MC2lWTk_2kFNFU3QOWFKpJwIEN4Jk6-/w640-h480/IMG_4983.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I have mentioned it many times. Glen and I used to eat there every Friday night back when I was a normal human being who went out at night and crazy things like that. <br />But I still love to eat there. It's always amazing. Every one of us today got a different fish dish. I can't remember what they all were but they were all delicious. I got jerked salmon cakes with black beans and rice with a plantain sauce of some sort. Man, it was good. And since it was Rachel's birthday, dessert had to be eaten. Hank and Rachel split a piece of coconut cake, as did Jessie and Vergil. I got a piece to go which I brought home for my husband because coconut cake is his favorite. <br /><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">This is what it looked like. </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi7Mqr1E-FxcyVFEzDnIONYiwaDxixGk3s4_8HxxsqcfUgBw-b9p-q7-4a3sbkNCmqWYVuRuA2MMgEdovjHvr07WMcJ-orprw_djOsPWtjs-FpIPL1qS1oOWafPBsHrHXlhjs8YkoYa0_oaohORLCsR_EGycizT-nyE7MU4D38xufiyYsOHh-BwmwJ0xC7/s4032/IMG_4984.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi7Mqr1E-FxcyVFEzDnIONYiwaDxixGk3s4_8HxxsqcfUgBw-b9p-q7-4a3sbkNCmqWYVuRuA2MMgEdovjHvr07WMcJ-orprw_djOsPWtjs-FpIPL1qS1oOWafPBsHrHXlhjs8YkoYa0_oaohORLCsR_EGycizT-nyE7MU4D38xufiyYsOHh-BwmwJ0xC7/w480-h640/IMG_4984.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I love how it seems as if golden light is emanating from it. Might as well be. The pastry chef at Kool Beanz is a woman who used to be a server there. For many years, she took care of us most Friday nights and we loved her so. She's just the sweetest woman. And now she does all the desserts and is a James Beard Award nominee. We are proud of her! </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">After lunch, all of us but Vergil, who had to go back to work, went to the same thrift store that Jessie and I went to a few weeks ago. It's called City Walk but I always call it Urban Christian Thrift Store and the kids laugh but they know what I mean. <br />I didn't get anything but I have to admit I was very tempted by this and now I'm kicking myself for not getting it. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2m4Q-CceYfx4uFGNeSc-pNa-2Ur6DnbW70GKp6_bwB7Wq4P85bZFpcwywSKEphDCrtXehiqsuAVpQNZb719Xh-5d8yRDL1bVTak5JcqaX_aMrluB70RJPL6dXfuODbDudjykkxc3BG8K0wxc0TtG0v_iVOUIp3aVv_ggVUNTRKUpWmb3dKHrejICYGrxd/s4032/IMG_4985.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2m4Q-CceYfx4uFGNeSc-pNa-2Ur6DnbW70GKp6_bwB7Wq4P85bZFpcwywSKEphDCrtXehiqsuAVpQNZb719Xh-5d8yRDL1bVTak5JcqaX_aMrluB70RJPL6dXfuODbDudjykkxc3BG8K0wxc0TtG0v_iVOUIp3aVv_ggVUNTRKUpWmb3dKHrejICYGrxd/w480-h640/IMG_4985.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq0kVNFWg_qWh36mAxSfOtQl_vVFA3kJ-A5YujmEA2jepu-05mPooseEK6gEQh-MgNh2ghbcbY_QPSd2Ck3pmY5JQQRy_gpZ1u0Fh8dp4eMWL5WFR0IYLnqFEc4Swxq8aHWZNOOBaSE_abIfl7cMeqPIh5S3csFDhggeXO0Aj8Gy207Rr4lfLQcdp6HPCP/s4032/IMG_4986.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq0kVNFWg_qWh36mAxSfOtQl_vVFA3kJ-A5YujmEA2jepu-05mPooseEK6gEQh-MgNh2ghbcbY_QPSd2Ck3pmY5JQQRy_gpZ1u0Fh8dp4eMWL5WFR0IYLnqFEc4Swxq8aHWZNOOBaSE_abIfl7cMeqPIh5S3csFDhggeXO0Aj8Gy207Rr4lfLQcdp6HPCP/w480-h640/IMG_4986.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">You know how much I love the Big Pig in Apalachicola and the Little Pig on St. George Island. I could have worn it over a bathing suit at the very least. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Well. Live and learn. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">And then at a certain point, I realized I'd hit my wall. I just could not be in public for another moment and so I took Jessie home and came home myself. It's funny how this happens with me. Even my children can tell when I'm at that place. <br />"You done, Mama? You had enough?" <br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">But it was all fun and there is something really enjoyable about thrift store shopping with my babies. We all know what each other like and will call out if we find something we think someone might need. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I sort of collapsed when I got home and then I went out and picked some more salad greens. I have never grown such beautiful lettuce in my life. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi77PU_QKxoLvFUZqXLr7ZYRs4UDn0oLAweKeU6vpK5Is_4K6zj3Uf0nsVWxA0rJo5DAEGjMIlBg42x68OaKi6lUWkLJ-nJy9Km6gLf5JGYO1VPgxtWas0sccnvAGtlCSfKBj3JcY5XWgG0mmprudWztpuAw-oKhlnVJbO9mvexW9rVPz4iKGDTZC6-hCkS/s3238/IMG_4987%202.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3238" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi77PU_QKxoLvFUZqXLr7ZYRs4UDn0oLAweKeU6vpK5Is_4K6zj3Uf0nsVWxA0rJo5DAEGjMIlBg42x68OaKi6lUWkLJ-nJy9Km6gLf5JGYO1VPgxtWas0sccnvAGtlCSfKBj3JcY5XWgG0mmprudWztpuAw-oKhlnVJbO9mvexW9rVPz4iKGDTZC6-hCkS/w598-h640/IMG_4987%202.jpeg" width="598" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Or kale either. Just gorgeousness right there in my garden. <br />I have been thinking about making a salad with apples and strawberries and blueberries and pecans and craisins and perhaps some goat cheese and had decided that I would do that tonight. Then I talked to Mr. Moon who has been in town all day who told me that for lunch he had had basically the same salad but with chicken on it. <br />He assured me though, that he would not mind eating my version tonight. And of course our greens will be highly superior. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">So I'm going to make it anyway because, well, I'm selfish like that. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I finished listening to "The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks" and I was sorry for it to end. You know- sometimes there are books that you feel like you "should" read. You know what I'm talking about. Books that are important in one way or another. Books that might teach you something. Books that might make you FEEL something, learn something, make you think about something. <br />But so often these are the very books that we keep putting off reading for fear that they'll be too dense or preachy or scientific or...something. <br />However, this book not only educated me about different aspects of science and medicine and cell research, it also confirmed what I figured things were probably like for Black folks in the forties and fifties in this country, especially when it came to health care. It also told the story of a woman who changed the world unknowingly, who died horribly, and who left five children to wonder and worry and ponder the reasons their mother had died. Children who had very little education, who were mostly profoundly deaf. Children who had no means to get ahead, and were shuffled to different relatives, some of whom were insanely cruel and abusive. <br />Her youngest daughter, Deborah spent her life trying to figure out the mysteries that no one had ever explained to the family. She was tormented by the secrets, the not-knowing, to the point where I'm sure all of that had a part in <i>her</i> death. <br />And while Henrietta's cells were used in virtually every lab in the world who did cell research, her family had no health insurance, no recognition, no idea how or why those scientists had gotten their mother's cells. <br />The author, Rebecca Skloot has written a book that I am sure Deborah would have been certain was inspired by god and the spirit of her mother. <br />It is an amazing book and if it's been on your shelf for awhile, go ahead, open it up, and start that ride. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I guess I should watch the movie. <br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">*********</span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Well, happy birthday, Rachel! Thank you for including us in your celebration and thank you for becoming part of our family. We cherish, love, adore, and appreciate you. <br /><br />Love...Mamacita (Ms. Moon)</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQsK0pgpZPxP4rHAu-Ir4w5qHu-ok-CT5ZBdGpqKJ9jhutcJXNuiUpJKHIH1thuzGbvYUeKKmyesMRak6dYPyWpqRD9voPtLofo2JHwgg66jQELOcTaE2QomUB6maOTCChvqaX9HB1cHfHWpPqGcGFPPFLkLy-vqP3oB2ajawcIfWL5XoXP586XVgn34rZ/s3361/IMG_4988.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3361" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQsK0pgpZPxP4rHAu-Ir4w5qHu-ok-CT5ZBdGpqKJ9jhutcJXNuiUpJKHIH1thuzGbvYUeKKmyesMRak6dYPyWpqRD9voPtLofo2JHwgg66jQELOcTaE2QomUB6maOTCChvqaX9HB1cHfHWpPqGcGFPPFLkLy-vqP3oB2ajawcIfWL5XoXP586XVgn34rZ/w576-h640/IMG_4988.jpeg" width="576" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />Arugula flower. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div></div></div><p></p>Ms. Moonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09776404747858099919noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2086296370004835655.post-86414459655203026932024-03-05T18:37:00.002-05:002024-03-05T18:37:16.584-05:00Trigger Warning- Frog Ahead<p><span style="font-size: large;">I need to put a warning here but not about the usual topics that might trigger someone. This is about frogs. My Hank has a real thing about frogs. He doesn't hate them. He just doesn't want to be around them. I don't hate them either and I don't mind one being in my relatively non-close space but I DO NOT WANT TO TOUCH ONE. NOOOOO! <br />I am pretty sure Hank got this phobia, if indeed it is one, from me. I distinctly remember once when he was just a little bitty guy and we were out in the garden. I was picking strawberries and a toad jumped on me and I screamed. I was probably mostly just startled but I'm sure I scared my poor child to pieces.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">But the point is, there is going to be a picture of a frog, so Hank- if you don't want to see it, skip this post. I'll wait until later on in the post to tell the frog story. It's not really that interesting anyway. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">It's been a perfect day, weather-wise, in my opinion. It's been raining softly all day long and it's been cool. Not a pouring-down, drench-you rain, just a nice constant pattering and not a cold day, just a cool one. I do love days like this. I had to go to town but it wasn't scary driving at all. I took it slow and easy. Tomorrow is Rachel's birthday and I wanted to get her a present. I knew what I wanted to get her, and met Jessie at the place where one gets these items. <br />Okay, it's a kitchen supply shop and it could keep me fascinated for hours. A guy I know from way, way back in the day works there now which makes it even better. I met him through my darling Sue-Sue and honey, that was a long time ago. She was in his wedding because she was good friends with the bride. They are still married and he talks about his wife as sweetly as if they'd just gotten married last year. They have one daughter whom they obviously adore and are very proud of. So that's nice energy to be around. <br />Jessie and I looked at stuff. A lot of stuff. Dreamy stuff like more Le Creuset, magical kitchen devices of all sorts, bowls, cooking utensils, and a wall of olive oils and vinegars. <br />Oh. Dear. God. <br />I tasted one vinegar. ONE. It was a black garlic balsamic with Tamari. It may have ruined my life to discover that elixirs of this nature are available for sale and that I have wasted all these years not knowing about them. Holy shit. <br />Sigh. <br />There are so many things that I "could" use if I bought them at stores like that. Not ridiculous things either. I've needed a pie server my entire adult life and never do get around to buying one. I mean- a spatula works pretty well. One of those screens that goes over a pan when you're cooking bacon or frying something to prevent splatters would be nice but I usually cook bacon in the oven and hardly ever fry anything in a pan. So...nah.<br />Jessie laughs at me. <br />"Mom! Spend some money! It's okay!"<br />And I do spend money on myself. I really do. But a weird thing is happening to me lately wherein I just think, "Well, hell. How long am I going to be around to enjoy this object?" And it just seems more practical and realistic not to buy shit that my kids are going to have to deal with. This attitude even extends to things like jewelry. Years and years ago Glen got me a ring with my grandmother's engagement diamond in the middle and two lovely diamonds on either side of it. I have worn it for years. About six months or so ago, Granny's stone appeared to be blurry. I tried to clean it which did no good. Something has broken in that stone. It has always had an obvious occlusion, a tiny, tiny black speck of the coal from which it was formed, I suppose. I loved that tiny speck. When I looked at it, I could remember my Granny telling me that Granddaddy had only been able to afford a larger stone because of that imperfection in it. That sort of summed up Granddaddy right there- practicality and pragmatic in all ways, even in romance. <br />But. Now the stone is not pretty. I'd still happily wear it like as a pendant for a necklace just for the emotional value but it looks wrong with those two near-perfect stones flanking it. And Glen has offered to get me another ring made, perhaps even with one different stone. I've always fancied an emerald cut. <br />But here I am, about to be seventy and why in god's name would I need a big ol' diamond ring? I don't. I mean, no one does, really. He keeps asking me what I want to do and I just keep putting him off. He's given me some really beautiful jewelry in our time together and I do love it but it's him I love. And my knuckles are getting so swollen and knobby that I don't really feel the need to draw attention to them. Now don't get me wrong- I'm not ashamed of my hands or my fingers. Not at all. I think they are beautiful because they have served me so well and they look the way they look because of all the work I've done with them and all the babies I've held with them and all the writing I've done with them and all the love and comfort I have expressed through them. <br />Oh my goodness. I've just about convinced myself I DO need a new ring. These fingers deserve some beauty! <br />Okay. Maybe I'll put that project back on the burner. But honestly, I don't need a splatter preventer. <br /><br />I got Rachel what I think is a nice present and I hope she likes it but if it's not what she wants, she can take it back and get what she does! That makes me happy. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Lily met Jessie and me at a Cuban restaurant after we finished our shopping and we had such a good time. The food was great, our server could not have been more attentive or sweet. He called me "Mama" so of course I loved him. I am really getting good in my new career of going to lunch. I am getting dang skillful at it! </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">All right. I think I'm safe to post the frog picture now.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFC6wK-oMTc_uKqny4xOfo-SJI32oaKBog7Oz9VJ3SG4Vwq3OMMz0jretVhM6HCS_cg4kVNGgcaJyHMavcnniCGfINmqX-KbmlX6Bw5hqla1P36oucM8CuLBXx0KfHof4y6dRMEoSyuqG1sKxtHRHG8DiNxZBdasDAVhihUz698IKaooDn9_1UZdnfjzoI/s2919/IMG_4953.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2919" data-original-width="2795" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFC6wK-oMTc_uKqny4xOfo-SJI32oaKBog7Oz9VJ3SG4Vwq3OMMz0jretVhM6HCS_cg4kVNGgcaJyHMavcnniCGfINmqX-KbmlX6Bw5hqla1P36oucM8CuLBXx0KfHof4y6dRMEoSyuqG1sKxtHRHG8DiNxZBdasDAVhihUz698IKaooDn9_1UZdnfjzoI/w612-h640/IMG_4953.jpeg" width="612" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">That was not a tiny frog. He wasn't enormous but probably at least four or five inches from nose to the backs of those things frogs have where feet would go. Jack brought him in and deposited him in the bathroom off the kitchen and was quite proud to show him to me. This was right before I left to go to St. Mark's to meet everyone for lunch on Sunday. <br />As I said, I do not touch frogs and I couldn't figure out how to trap him without being in danger of inadvertent touch so I left him a little bowl of water, closed the door, and left, figuring that my husband (my hero!) would take care of it when he got home. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">When we did get back, the water in the bowl looked like it had a little dust in it and there was what I assume was some frog scat in the shower. Wasn't that polite of him to poop in the shower? <br />But. There was no frog in that bathroom to be found. <br />He really was too big to get out under the door. So- a mystery. Where did Mr. Frog go?<br />When I got home today, Glen told me that he'd found the frog. He'd made it all the way to the laundry room and he almost escaped under the dryer which would not have been good but the man caught the amphibian who was covered in dust and lint and took him outside and rinsed him off in the gutter and let him go. He said he hopped away with great alacrity. Or, something like that, the point being, he seemed fine. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I wonder if that was one of my bird frogs? <br />Well, he has a story to tell. I sure wish I could hear his version of it. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Off to make shrimp salad! Having all of these beautiful lettuces in the garden and knowing how soon they will all go to seed, I feel it almost a sin not to eat salad day and night. <br />Oh my god. I should have gotten some of that vinegar. Now <i>that</i> would be worth spending some money on. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Love...Ms. Moon</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p>Ms. Moonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09776404747858099919noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2086296370004835655.post-69583243205951716962024-03-04T18:47:00.005-05:002024-03-04T19:20:38.348-05:00We Persevere <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicE7T2rdlZukRsVUei1WRLzZ2Og8Y-y61xacFJmA3adowvHU4UGbmpxSNQbdYk8WZFGxFIiu0tYAThF7wEI2bL1EQOAEfJ98lkyK5kj7WMzoyHbZ5B9eWXGhfjb4L1N84zbPD_7mLIHrm0iri1mnT6X82ZUgu1l_-k4g0zHTxChkjaDgQq1DnYldja6mrT/s4032/IMG_4972.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicE7T2rdlZukRsVUei1WRLzZ2Og8Y-y61xacFJmA3adowvHU4UGbmpxSNQbdYk8WZFGxFIiu0tYAThF7wEI2bL1EQOAEfJ98lkyK5kj7WMzoyHbZ5B9eWXGhfjb4L1N84zbPD_7mLIHrm0iri1mnT6X82ZUgu1l_-k4g0zHTxChkjaDgQq1DnYldja6mrT/w480-h640/IMG_4972.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /> Here's what's going on in Mr. Moon's potato bags. The way it works is that as the plants get taller, you add more soil which ensures, I suppose, that the potatoes are all down where they're supposed to be. I don't know. As I've said before, I've been gardening for almost fifty years and I feel like I know nothing about how to do it. Well, beyond the basics of soil, and mulch, and enriching the dirt, and sun, and water. But I am quite excited to see what sort of a potato harvest we get this year. <br />I took a walk today. It was almost noon before I left the house but it wasn't that warm yet. It did eventually get up to 78° on the back porch later on in the afternoon, but it hasn't felt like evil heat by any means. <br />Not looking forward to that. <br /><br />I walked by Harvey's. His yard is looking rough. Not sure what the deal is. He appears to acquired a truck that as far as I can tell is just parked and not being driven at all. He naps in the front seat with his legs and feet sticking out the driver's side door. See what I mean about Harvey and his privacy? He has none. When I was walking west to the county line, he was talking to someone in a truck that I guess <i>did</i> drive and he and the other guy both waved at me. On my way back, the guy in the truck was just leaving and I am never sure of the protocol of waving twice. You know what I mean? But Harvey gave me one of his arms-outstretched-to-the-sides-and-then-up waves and I said, "How you doing?" and he said he was fine. He smiles so big when he gives that wave. I always appreciate that. <br /><br />The robins have been visiting today. This time of year they fly in and rest for awhile and eat whatever it is they eat off the ground or from the ground and then they resume their travels. They cheer me. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Mr. Moon's had a hard day. He started early on the phone with Lily, trying to figure out the best way to do house financing so she could make an offer on the house. This involved far more of the sort of thing than I can ever imagine doing. I think back to when I was a twenty-five year old, recently divorced mother of two in nursing school and I bought a house with some money that I had thankfully inherited, and I have no idea how I did that. None. I was in such a deep depression in those days that there's a great deal I do not remember. I do recall that I had a wonderful realtor who took me under her wing and guided me through the process. That was a sweet little house, and turned out to be such an excellent investment, especially after Glen and his daddy added a bedroom and bathroom and new deck to it. <br />It looks like the house we looked at yesterday may not be Lily and Lauren's house. Someone has already made an offer on it- a good one- and it's been accepted. So. <br />It really would have been a sort of miracle if they'd gotten the first house they looked at. It was already a sort of miracle that it was so suitable to their needs. <br />But I know that Lily's depressed and so is her daddy. <br />Seems like life just keeps on shaking its tail feathers at you whether you want to dance or not. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I took a picture of the blueberry blossoms this afternoon.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyusRRQVecv_KqN1llJtbQ6mYh6JxEOY28VhFR-dGsqsWssI7QRAufqMvB73cGXJoUSvCfc0x8XNSQqIeDPcsAV2nRHdi4zHJrzamF-KCHQ2jSfS5Y-0hOwpykv86YHZQvdKWDOwzP9TLbxnCpp-o12cUFSTLua5tupQD_Z_mwNp-eV1OqAM9zngy_tgoA/s4032/IMG_4974.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyusRRQVecv_KqN1llJtbQ6mYh6JxEOY28VhFR-dGsqsWssI7QRAufqMvB73cGXJoUSvCfc0x8XNSQqIeDPcsAV2nRHdi4zHJrzamF-KCHQ2jSfS5Y-0hOwpykv86YHZQvdKWDOwzP9TLbxnCpp-o12cUFSTLua5tupQD_Z_mwNp-eV1OqAM9zngy_tgoA/w480-h640/IMG_4974.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Sweet little bell-blossoms. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">And probably for the first time ever I actually looked at the bloom on the cherry laurels which as far as I'm concerned are true trash trees. The birds poop out their seeds everywhere and they are all over the place. But my god! The flowers look otherworldly!</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPq_N5fVjjOvGoqMUo7JpQLD0MWCDEYOqHBUcr-AXcfJwm3M3Vo1lO-vybMBXOQMwsB8Z9O_7p55CR54JA-8F6xNU8FawY7nfqeDlONo_xG6SyMVknu1FlmT5eWJIt-GDg5_73yhvwrqxCjfI0SaF-aiYzCbZAsN2nOYgtFObjn0dcdTtahQM7PoheOtmO/s4032/IMG_4976.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPq_N5fVjjOvGoqMUo7JpQLD0MWCDEYOqHBUcr-AXcfJwm3M3Vo1lO-vybMBXOQMwsB8Z9O_7p55CR54JA-8F6xNU8FawY7nfqeDlONo_xG6SyMVknu1FlmT5eWJIt-GDg5_73yhvwrqxCjfI0SaF-aiYzCbZAsN2nOYgtFObjn0dcdTtahQM7PoheOtmO/w480-h640/IMG_4976.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">They almost look like a form of sea coral to me. All these years I've been walking right by them, never noticing, never appreciating the strange beauty of them. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I decided to try and finish clearing up the little piece of ground by my driveway that I spent some days on months ago. <br />I swear to god. I'm about to give up. Just when I think I've seen every sort of invasive plant that can grow in this yard, I find another. Or two or three. The latest one to make its appearance is what we now call Wandering Dude. I, however, will be calling it small-leaf spiderwort, which is another name for it. It's growing all UP in that space, along with plenty of new croscomia that I didn't get up earlier. I knew I hadn't. It's impossible. So I spent about forty-five minutes yanking out border grass that has the spiderwort all intertwined in it. I did not finish the job because Mr. Moon called for some paperwork information and I decided that that was enough of that. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMsVbvxEDhYQzJt7kv-cUiGQ266iqVm6dtArlxavMRIJf24v8MLaP3k4Wh3soTY4CBQHa2t1wLf38wqWjaLV2Wt8ZSBNpOYhGuGoP42wYTF1QfPmTTEu0-ZtNgk7r9X-TpaB8wmErMkrjt8qseiUeZFC_K4tOwmkDXlquTAgIQhRUF134f2I2CYwqbENqf/s4032/IMG_4978.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMsVbvxEDhYQzJt7kv-cUiGQ266iqVm6dtArlxavMRIJf24v8MLaP3k4Wh3soTY4CBQHa2t1wLf38wqWjaLV2Wt8ZSBNpOYhGuGoP42wYTF1QfPmTTEu0-ZtNgk7r9X-TpaB8wmErMkrjt8qseiUeZFC_K4tOwmkDXlquTAgIQhRUF134f2I2CYwqbENqf/w480-h640/IMG_4978.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">That border grass is a bitch to dig up and yank out. And it spreads like wildfire here too. This is a contest I can never win. You should see what's on the other side of the fence which I also cleared out last year. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Bitch, bitch, bitch. I am being bitchy and I know it. But I am grateful for the rain we got last night and are supposed to get more of tomorrow because the beans will be so happy. I know it's too early but I've already been checking to see if they're poking out of the ground yet. Soon. They will be soon. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I am listening currently to a book I've been "meaning" to read for a long time. "The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks" by Rebecca Skloot. Dear Liz at <i><a href="https://fieldfen.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Field and Fen</a></i> inspired me to finally take up that book when she said she was reading it and I am so glad she did. I knew who Henrietta Lacks was, and I knew the barest of bare bones about her seemingly immortal cells which were harvested without her permission in the early 1950's which have absolutely changed the world of science and medicine while meanwhile, her children and their children have lived in poverty. But there is so much I did not know and Skloot has done an excellent job of helping the world to not only come to know who Henrietta Lacks was, but also to understand a little bit more of the science behind her remarkable cells and how they have changed the world. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">And here's a little funny thing. Levon and August's school is sponsoring a fund-raising event. No candy-selling, no gift wrapping, just- hey can you give us money?<br />I am behind that a 100%. So the kids had to make a list of the top ten people they thought would donate in their name. Here's August's list:</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7B4Zvq2a_ylY6N23w55bSjjuN6IqFhfIdkn5L43RT_zCUJqace1I_q3_N_SkMABE_5gYRgyabsRogmCPHC2leJ-MgR18zzYxOdqsQTDdAHfSES4t0guEkbAcXTp5vd4pw9mvpAUbN6Cjj-NKvB0uujyzRh4k2qHaQWq_F9lUs0o25mKh6gq6Gg8SSfyNx/s1024/IMG_7102.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7B4Zvq2a_ylY6N23w55bSjjuN6IqFhfIdkn5L43RT_zCUJqace1I_q3_N_SkMABE_5gYRgyabsRogmCPHC2leJ-MgR18zzYxOdqsQTDdAHfSES4t0guEkbAcXTp5vd4pw9mvpAUbN6Cjj-NKvB0uujyzRh4k2qHaQWq_F9lUs0o25mKh6gq6Gg8SSfyNx/w480-h640/IMG_7102.jpg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">It's official- I'm the biggest pushover in the family. Glen said he and August were discussing this yesterday and August told him, "You can donate a thousand dollars," and his Boppy said, "No I can't." <br />Good try, August!</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">One more thing. A picture of Magnolia June getting her hair washed by Miss Melissa before she got her hair cut. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoSq9WgUqUUAmxkGH59XYcYSPtjhn3CUpnICG3pzC3FbZCnj9YeR8u4pSbg8YBGTsAtu6D2YwDDcVgUsGdJGuq1m8WHlwxbeGihRdf_jMcREEEgXvC4_Tt71wYMK58ieeK5FF7J3-wldun2slMxXse7t2nSRSawxWon1JR7mPBSpcGz_T66V6UFiUsWqEu/s4032/IMG_3808.heic" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoSq9WgUqUUAmxkGH59XYcYSPtjhn3CUpnICG3pzC3FbZCnj9YeR8u4pSbg8YBGTsAtu6D2YwDDcVgUsGdJGuq1m8WHlwxbeGihRdf_jMcREEEgXvC4_Tt71wYMK58ieeK5FF7J3-wldun2slMxXse7t2nSRSawxWon1JR7mPBSpcGz_T66V6UFiUsWqEu/w480-h640/IMG_3808.heic" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Is that joy or what? </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Love...Ms. Moon</span></div></div></div></div></div><p></p>Ms. Moonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09776404747858099919noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2086296370004835655.post-58618879132522676662024-03-03T19:38:00.002-05:002024-03-03T19:38:43.567-05:00In Which I Venture Out And Have A Lovely Time<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhilCPpx1NEezR7ghUfucIss9wAdrNS7dF-UarzqJyDIhBkggcRS1CbwxirwumoX5vLloa_IcPUGQX0wf_rztW9XKm-8iJlRiq9C0YXSuUhDbkTdk8vlWUeKqdC8PXs6FxYzPdfjmjxjLzjqdw8sxQqsuD3DRI11LcRq86SeUIfJvlrRuGToLr8zcgqCTG4/s4032/IMG_7082.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhilCPpx1NEezR7ghUfucIss9wAdrNS7dF-UarzqJyDIhBkggcRS1CbwxirwumoX5vLloa_IcPUGQX0wf_rztW9XKm-8iJlRiq9C0YXSuUhDbkTdk8vlWUeKqdC8PXs6FxYzPdfjmjxjLzjqdw8sxQqsuD3DRI11LcRq86SeUIfJvlrRuGToLr8zcgqCTG4/w640-h480/IMG_7082.heic" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />When the father and son crew were here a few weeks ago to take out our Bradford pears, the son saw an old car in our yard that he was interested in. Total beater. Mr. Moon pretty much bought it to help out an old friend although he did get it running recently. No guarantees that it would keep running so he was loathe to sell it, even for cheap to Nathan, the guy who wanted the car. However, it turned out that Nathan has a pontoon boat and so he traded two short fishing trips on the St. Marks river for the car so that Glen could take the grandkids out in two groups. Everyone was happy. <br />Today was August and Levon's day. Their mama went too but Vergil had a thing he had to do. Ultimate frisbee? I don't know. I was invited to go fishing too, but I did not want to get up that early so when Glen suggested that I meet them for lunch after they fished, I figured that was a great idea. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Jessie sent me that picture of a happy Boppy. He was so excited to go fishing with those boys. </span></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMGXWsPgCy_QAGgt8O18fDKOkZuVx-yXS8xriRGElyCI95ljvS1oPOTiZjxqP9ZAwV32Wtium80yBhCINeXCsA6GzjVv7oSMha7tF_JMa0ylbHQqAqiZcwBBLb3Ca0XnOnnfuxyzzT2znfdFHPNjyzl684SQVGk2jOaMB9xn5KTYwL0jHeSSc7yhlynJcf/s4032/IMG_7079.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMGXWsPgCy_QAGgt8O18fDKOkZuVx-yXS8xriRGElyCI95ljvS1oPOTiZjxqP9ZAwV32Wtium80yBhCINeXCsA6GzjVv7oSMha7tF_JMa0ylbHQqAqiZcwBBLb3Ca0XnOnnfuxyzzT2znfdFHPNjyzl684SQVGk2jOaMB9xn5KTYwL0jHeSSc7yhlynJcf/w640-h480/IMG_7079.heic" width="640" /></span></a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Glen said that the boys were perfectly serious about it all and wanted no help when it came to casting or bringing their fish in. "We can do it," they said. <br />And they could. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLYF8IvPqTltjxSxD_Fkk83Q26QWzapTp9-lKyG7mlxZ_FUVT1Mi6ocmN_q4SUwuOrJc9WQ_KxFzlVTEyThWyyyHyYMzjPy-z1mH_khMADLWurY93y2UyPm3C-fwaFmBMOcKU9WrqxVi9OwVThXFurwfLX2PHEz-VbFJY69ypz4X8ptaqse1OOORkGk7OM/s4032/IMG_1478.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLYF8IvPqTltjxSxD_Fkk83Q26QWzapTp9-lKyG7mlxZ_FUVT1Mi6ocmN_q4SUwuOrJc9WQ_KxFzlVTEyThWyyyHyYMzjPy-z1mH_khMADLWurY93y2UyPm3C-fwaFmBMOcKU9WrqxVi9OwVThXFurwfLX2PHEz-VbFJY69ypz4X8ptaqse1OOORkGk7OM/w480-h640/IMG_1478.heic" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">All the fish caught today got thrown back to grow a little more. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I got down to St. Marks just a little before they came back in to the dock. Vergil and Sophie drove over too so that we could all go to lunch together. There's a pretty cool place right on the river that I love, mostly because of the giant palapa roof that grackles fly in and out of. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZPb3JL4jTha4jLM6-e6DRpGZcpDtZOMljereb9ptFttXq7N9E4dgtJY1pk2BZTzYazeykMjcgJnGiplzAm4-B1qaceQ2tp_rLJrln6smSpmLwW3IQtBWdXaPiRO37HpoLPQAOpSrPai_l4M9KS3YV5k_J2mdlnssyDrwt-iOLiTDhfe5dUsNX_PfmnKp_/s4032/IMG_4956.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZPb3JL4jTha4jLM6-e6DRpGZcpDtZOMljereb9ptFttXq7N9E4dgtJY1pk2BZTzYazeykMjcgJnGiplzAm4-B1qaceQ2tp_rLJrln6smSpmLwW3IQtBWdXaPiRO37HpoLPQAOpSrPai_l4M9KS3YV5k_J2mdlnssyDrwt-iOLiTDhfe5dUsNX_PfmnKp_/w480-h640/IMG_4956.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">The food is not THAT great but it's the ambiance. You know? And we had a very good time. There's a pirate in the original part of the cafe that is perfect for photo ops. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizTHOg0UHWT1Y3bStYeoBa4IhJ7nA1PvjDb6UsuYEu-Cgzg4E2bJnSzYF_t8BpXxtHs1JwoPXJEkJLhUnZrYQAVxZWmi9RqQ5Ny-tN00Z_np2kLW4lAWgzl7QBQbFvGqbh5TdKjJtU8IjaP6GNZ1ADTmdWHH0hzN9Ykj5NPuNf7nYM516GODzhhyphenhyphenqjRdpc/s4032/IMG_4957.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizTHOg0UHWT1Y3bStYeoBa4IhJ7nA1PvjDb6UsuYEu-Cgzg4E2bJnSzYF_t8BpXxtHs1JwoPXJEkJLhUnZrYQAVxZWmi9RqQ5Ny-tN00Z_np2kLW4lAWgzl7QBQbFvGqbh5TdKjJtU8IjaP6GNZ1ADTmdWHH0hzN9Ykj5NPuNf7nYM516GODzhhyphenhyphenqjRdpc/w480-h640/IMG_4957.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii3cfRKUWhvdUAUuK8OhYyLl1wsfPxEDAJDiJmUxsmayTJqRy0uWRQ_5h6eB2f0IZX7ftm773uvziy_gKvLEICblTF7NKmk8aFan0oeU7qtOerWdrc_gKJQzLpc4zT2wtHRi46jvvjjo9ZVktfoiggnfCqHx9kq5WYYeNdxIzybnaCM4oi4TqUsMg_LMlf/s4032/IMG_4958.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii3cfRKUWhvdUAUuK8OhYyLl1wsfPxEDAJDiJmUxsmayTJqRy0uWRQ_5h6eB2f0IZX7ftm773uvziy_gKvLEICblTF7NKmk8aFan0oeU7qtOerWdrc_gKJQzLpc4zT2wtHRi46jvvjjo9ZVktfoiggnfCqHx9kq5WYYeNdxIzybnaCM4oi4TqUsMg_LMlf/w480-h640/IMG_4958.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I love those boys so much. When we were walking back to the table, August slipped his hand in mine and I could have died happy. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I drove home after lunch and the sky was so amazing. Lots of different weather threatening and painting the sky with drama and boldness. I kept trying to take pictures out of the window which did not really come out too well and which is not, I admit, a great idea. <br />But. Like this.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjckfqT2ODgsfxwRy5u23zk7vlCZ3EHtJY8a9_HK9ZNZQyLUgT1dsO19BT1jAV-R47cBkX7UhQrXY_Kf_AolIta_L61siolKFTwY1kASdrSE4TzOH0o3J9ocptb487glWlH2rqMAtBvO8mLOkyblMEKJFwiPT7zsqWpl3biHivn5lMYYqKtALglq3IClGWb/s3024/IMG_4961%202.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2567" data-original-width="3024" height="544" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjckfqT2ODgsfxwRy5u23zk7vlCZ3EHtJY8a9_HK9ZNZQyLUgT1dsO19BT1jAV-R47cBkX7UhQrXY_Kf_AolIta_L61siolKFTwY1kASdrSE4TzOH0o3J9ocptb487glWlH2rqMAtBvO8mLOkyblMEKJFwiPT7zsqWpl3biHivn5lMYYqKtALglq3IClGWb/w640-h544/IMG_4961%202.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">When I got to the end of the road where it dead-ends into Gamble Road, which is also the road we take to the Wacissa, I was able to take a decent picture.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcax4V2KlJ0JlsL5veiZG42Uyloo6Op8o5a279v457GO_Ndb95BcWlrE6axKeC6vLTmjsncT7e9yKmdK7t5PbaM_SNp1ZgBuVG3wpIoRMwVZL8EbwIlIj0Cefhk79iyLrKqhnk7_P7rXra4ZdpEvFi944VB6j0B3UnjsNLMT7l6l4CKfTqRMddWsL7XYPR/s4032/IMG_4963.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcax4V2KlJ0JlsL5veiZG42Uyloo6Op8o5a279v457GO_Ndb95BcWlrE6axKeC6vLTmjsncT7e9yKmdK7t5PbaM_SNp1ZgBuVG3wpIoRMwVZL8EbwIlIj0Cefhk79iyLrKqhnk7_P7rXra4ZdpEvFi944VB6j0B3UnjsNLMT7l6l4CKfTqRMddWsL7XYPR/w640-h480/IMG_4963.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">If you look carefully, you can see a campaign sign for Chris Tuten. Remember my post about him? Well, about his name, anyway. <br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">And when Mr. Moon got home, we did another fun thing which was to go look at a house with Lily and Lauren. The whole divorce thing is finally over for my girl and as part of the settlement, Jason gets the house and she gets some money. So time to house hunt! We have a realtor who has helped us with several houses now. Mr. Moon met him when he was seventeen years old when he bought his first car from Glen. He impressed Glen then and he impresses us still and once again, he is helping us. It's been so long since they met that the man has a son at FSU now. <br />Boy. Does time fly. <br />The house had a lot to love about it. Two of the main things were that it's only about a mile and a half from where Lily and Lauren live now so no changes in schools or anything and also, that it's got a really good sized yard with fencing so that Chloe and Pepper could run outside all day long. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">However, you know how this goes- it could take awhile. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">But it was fun to look at the house and imagine my grandchildren there, Lily in the kitchen, Lauren planting a garden in the yard, a lot of natural light in the house where Lily's plants could thrive. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">So it's been a very pleasant day. Being on the water, even for just a little while, dipping my toe into my daughter's dreams, observing the sky as I drove under it, being with my sweet, funny grandsons, catching up with Jessie. And being sweet and happy with my husband. <br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Yeah. A good Sunday. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWy6e9efl8ZVlS-fLl92GyoCCHpnrI3SmTsjMoFs8mycRxHS6kHnWV7YLjxwR7YpRsEl1ajhDqP6WP_3uuMOs-TNbfyff-2UOg2juSDldgxpZ7tCTxSAJTD0yc8EqN9H4Zakj27xoDNz9ngnVqJhG9HSooG-R3Mf_3wQCuMLG0lt-j3xUUZHa8JVS03yGv/s4032/IMG_4954.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWy6e9efl8ZVlS-fLl92GyoCCHpnrI3SmTsjMoFs8mycRxHS6kHnWV7YLjxwR7YpRsEl1ajhDqP6WP_3uuMOs-TNbfyff-2UOg2juSDldgxpZ7tCTxSAJTD0yc8EqN9H4Zakj27xoDNz9ngnVqJhG9HSooG-R3Mf_3wQCuMLG0lt-j3xUUZHa8JVS03yGv/w480-h640/IMG_4954.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">A sign I spotted at St. Marks. <br /><br />Peace and love, y'all. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Ms. Moon</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /></span></div></div></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p>Ms. Moonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09776404747858099919noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2086296370004835655.post-51358836330726573792024-03-02T18:23:00.002-05:002024-03-02T18:23:13.803-05:00Home Slice(s)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8H5D0WfaT9Zj-jtwRKzcncWFLQSVsmSb8D5lLG_-y7upbkTUe7XsmTWmIieg8NwHpHCk5pB1h9LpAZZ-dOvqWEOkadbTTeQ_AJSa3JFfs6aQdIudxz8t4ohHzirleseVRw-Ybsfl8s5PWhxSho9j45wqe0Lk8EdwsYIgnKU7MbxSeMZlmP9yN9MMehgWK/s4032/IMG_4948.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8H5D0WfaT9Zj-jtwRKzcncWFLQSVsmSb8D5lLG_-y7upbkTUe7XsmTWmIieg8NwHpHCk5pB1h9LpAZZ-dOvqWEOkadbTTeQ_AJSa3JFfs6aQdIudxz8t4ohHzirleseVRw-Ybsfl8s5PWhxSho9j45wqe0Lk8EdwsYIgnKU7MbxSeMZlmP9yN9MMehgWK/w480-h640/IMG_4948.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />This one has decided that our bed is her bed. Night before last she didn't come in to sleep with us until late in the night when I woke up and felt her sleeping between my head and the window. Then last night she did the whole routine of coming into the bathroom with me as if to hurry me along in my shower and teeth-brushing activities, then scratched the side of the bed for a bit, jumped up on the vanity beside my bed, jumped back down, did some more scratching, and finally, after some urging, jumped on the bed with me. First she makes herself comfortable ON my hip as I lay on my side reading. I guess that's the highest point on the bed where she can keep watch for Jack. Then, when she's ready, she settles down beside me and all is fine unless I move so much as a molecule at which time she snarls at me. <br />Why do we love this cat? <br />And today, I found her sleeping on the bed in the daytime and if I've ever seen her do that before, I have forgotten. She generally naps on the porch or on the couch, or perhaps the love seat in the library. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I've had the blues today. Just one of those days. I woke up and had a little cry with my coffee and it's like that sometimes. No motivation to do a damn thing but I did spend about an hour and a half talking to my best girl from nursing school, my darling Terry. She FB messaged me that she was going to be a grandmother! Her daughter is pregnant! I immediately called her and we talked and we talked and we talked and we talked and we talked. <br />God, I love that woman. She is going to be the world's best grandma. I am so happy for her. Terry, like me, is incredibly emotional. She always has been. And by the end of the call we were both crying, telling each other how much we love each other and she said the best thing which was, "I think how we love each other is not normal." And she was exactly right. In another universe, another lifetime, we are true love sweethearts. And my husband is well aware of this.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I took some of the porch plants back out today. Not too many because I need help with the big ones. It has become so warm. Tomorrow and Monday it's suppose to get up to 79°. Are you kidding me? (Or as Jeff would say, "Are you fucking me? Shit off with that damn!") Then I decided to go trim the fronds on the sago palms which is one of my least favorite jobs as they have needle fronds that inject poison into the skin and yes, I could wear long sleeves but unless they're made out of chain mail, it's not really going to help. By the time I finished that little chore I was soaking wet with sweat. Summer's heat may actually finish me off this year. And look what I found.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxNU5fdR52tM6W-Y0YCSRknQjYMnc_h87EZ6mC8fcrtfFz7IXarPjxZAaVFivD16RlHigsUeKZmvMKR8jHxr9r12wDWij3Jxix3OWOS8x1W7UA16cgViAbbdWz0O8iEhJa51tJ7O9gszTVrrnih-eIGsMkGcyb9_S1JoSH14GinBh5k_2jgqpPMxFRJoYD/s4032/IMG_4950.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxNU5fdR52tM6W-Y0YCSRknQjYMnc_h87EZ6mC8fcrtfFz7IXarPjxZAaVFivD16RlHigsUeKZmvMKR8jHxr9r12wDWij3Jxix3OWOS8x1W7UA16cgViAbbdWz0O8iEhJa51tJ7O9gszTVrrnih-eIGsMkGcyb9_S1JoSH14GinBh5k_2jgqpPMxFRJoYD/w480-h640/IMG_4950.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Bad picture. Sorry. I was on the ground and in an awkward position. That, my friends, is the first bamboo sprouting of the spring that I've seen and you know what that means- TIME TO KICK THE BAMBOO! <br />Ooh boy. <br />And I kicked that one. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">There is so much to do in this yard. SO much. The area around the sago palms I trimmed today is filled with bright green, fresh crocosmia. As are several other areas. The camellia bed has hundreds of plants coming up or which are already up that I need to pull. And look at this.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq0HfWdOBTUyeSlMza9bPsp3bIUUUXSX5PohwqZWtULf68IFKWjj7cTxQ6_eu-1DTfnmI_V7Y3oxxjdesRWpf4k8ynT0y8ox0XFCGusLDI1PFq-3DKazISUs4b_x0-85nNEVaDdOS3g44f3-enVY0tIYmquO6tAi3NZ1s72iZKOW4Kh6DMcoZYP_VaKXa7/s4032/IMG_4952.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq0HfWdOBTUyeSlMza9bPsp3bIUUUXSX5PohwqZWtULf68IFKWjj7cTxQ6_eu-1DTfnmI_V7Y3oxxjdesRWpf4k8ynT0y8ox0XFCGusLDI1PFq-3DKazISUs4b_x0-85nNEVaDdOS3g44f3-enVY0tIYmquO6tAi3NZ1s72iZKOW4Kh6DMcoZYP_VaKXa7/w640-h480/IMG_4952.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Not a snow storm. A camellia petal storm. I'm letting it be although I have heard from a reliable source that leaving dead blossoms under camellia plants does something that isn't good. I'm not even going to google it. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />And while we're at it, here's my baby tomato sprouts. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggoSZ9yEXQby5D5tW5O2eJpgo40S3x3wi3WxF1awXT0oDVY8yM5WqFKD5y_4JTn1nFCXceKCTYk0HrqwwDZb9W8pUjm8nv2xM86noWfqtTCTSQLeIKJE2hBLxd64POH1YZBd3t-jVgsIiDUMTxVjKFr-e3Vg9YrkVvC9MYRu-RDRv63ndBHG3yb86Zkvaz/s4032/IMG_4949.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggoSZ9yEXQby5D5tW5O2eJpgo40S3x3wi3WxF1awXT0oDVY8yM5WqFKD5y_4JTn1nFCXceKCTYk0HrqwwDZb9W8pUjm8nv2xM86noWfqtTCTSQLeIKJE2hBLxd64POH1YZBd3t-jVgsIiDUMTxVjKFr-e3Vg9YrkVvC9MYRu-RDRv63ndBHG3yb86Zkvaz/w640-h480/IMG_4949.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I swear I'm going to get at least some of those in the ground. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I better go check the greens I'm cooking and make up my squash croquettes and put the fish I thawed into some buttermilk and lime juice before I dust them in the breading and air-fry them. <br />Our egg rolls last night were very fine. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Life just does roll along, doesn't it? </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Love...Ms. Moon</span></div></div></div><p></p>Ms. Moonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09776404747858099919noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2086296370004835655.post-21786475408275280922024-03-01T18:29:00.002-05:002024-03-01T18:29:20.333-05:00If You're Going To Curse, Do It Right<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3IQLHr7ukfypdOXjmslMscvS9QYgRlbo_lOdbyokn_rhr7u8NI0gFWNINuzS62djxrMazRyqXlGE2qUYycbuVF-mAduxTdH1MrH2x7vkMrMlqqSxyXGd9Ft98_fiqW_2MuGBq63GRlHlYijcYs8JCw1Jrsv_0TGRpHHJhdbMgeNyUWsGLPV2_FZT1sT7V/s1872/IMG_4932.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1592" data-original-width="1872" height="544" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3IQLHr7ukfypdOXjmslMscvS9QYgRlbo_lOdbyokn_rhr7u8NI0gFWNINuzS62djxrMazRyqXlGE2qUYycbuVF-mAduxTdH1MrH2x7vkMrMlqqSxyXGd9Ft98_fiqW_2MuGBq63GRlHlYijcYs8JCw1Jrsv_0TGRpHHJhdbMgeNyUWsGLPV2_FZT1sT7V/w640-h544/IMG_4932.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /> The sweet little Carolina wrens, whose repertoire of songs includes "You're sweet, you're sweet, you're sweet!" love to fly into the house to find nesting spots. They come in through the cat door which I think is so funny, and although they mostly fly around on the porch, they often find their way into the house, darting around and shopping for real estate. I have found their tiny poops on the bed, the folding table, and in Mr. Moon's bathroom today. I help them out when I see them. I don't mind them being in the house but the cats are way too interested. I have had them build a nest in a cabinet and on a bookshelf. It's so sad when I have to tell them that honestly, they cannot live in the house. <br />Wouldn't be prudent. <br />My favorite was when a couple built a nest between a mounted tarpon and the porch wall. Their babies actually hatched and it was a circus when they started flying. I'm still stressed out about that.<br /><br />Slow day for me. I felt fine, I just didn't want to do anything. The shine of feeling well again wore off as quickly as not-feeling well lasted. But of course, it being Friday I stripped the bed and washed the sheets and that made me somewhat pissed off because I bought new sheets at the Costco about a month ago and they are already pilling. <br />I hate that. <br />Now I know that Costco sheets probably are not the finest you can buy. I am aware of that. I also know that I've bought expensive sheets that pilled so there's that too. Although I liked the price of the Costco sheets (cheap!) the thing I liked most about them was that they weren't made for mattresses that are obviously three feet thick. I've become sick and tired of "luxury" sheets bagging out all over the place and having to tuck them back in every morning to make them tight and smooth again which lasts about five minutes after you get in bed. And these Costco sheets had a good thread count which I know isn't the most important thing but they felt good and they were lovely when I first put them on the bed but now...<br />Damn.<br />One of the great things about Costco is that you can take anything back at any time. No receipt? No problem. And for some odd reason, I saved the plastic zip bag these sheets came in so that's even better. I don't want to though, because that means I have to find some other sheets somewhere to replace these and so the saga begins again.<br />Oh my god, the agony of a first world problem! <br />Well, look- my bed is my sanctuary. When I leave it in the morning I silently promise it I will be back soon. It is where I go at the end of the day to read and revel in the quiet and the comfort, generally cuddled up to a cat. And then of course, it is the place that my husband and I share. Where we spend most of our time more closely together than anywhere else. <br />And I want every part of it to be as comfortable and cozy as it can be. <br /><br />Anyway, I washed the durn sheets and put them back on the bed and I'll take them back soon. I really do hate being whiny. Please, god, don't let me be thought of as a Karen. <i>Please</i>. Or, to be more specific, please god don't let me <i>be</i> a Karen.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I planted my beans today. </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2aY4-yXK9WrKKrWj-HecVODLNiQRyHXme-l1kXfQDn4PVIKdh7DJE48bvcxIIRkakFDMAtwFlu29XnSfdlxqk9eQYqjXQba9UOGs0LDSFj7kudzSdAulWF6HagKdOOBnRNMj6K_I_LYgbQudivmfOrJhgv3qg6xeGSHSKnw24UQjHuCaI1q6cyyfdjiFA/s4032/IMG_4945.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2aY4-yXK9WrKKrWj-HecVODLNiQRyHXme-l1kXfQDn4PVIKdh7DJE48bvcxIIRkakFDMAtwFlu29XnSfdlxqk9eQYqjXQba9UOGs0LDSFj7kudzSdAulWF6HagKdOOBnRNMj6K_I_LYgbQudivmfOrJhgv3qg6xeGSHSKnw24UQjHuCaI1q6cyyfdjiFA/w640-h480/IMG_4945.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I have great hopes for them because every year that I have planted these beans, which are an heirloom variety called rattlesnake beans, they have done fabulously well. As many of you know, by the time bean season is finally over, I breathe a sigh of relief because those things just do not stop producing. But this year I plan to not only pickle them but also to can them. The thought of rows of canned green beans in my pantry we can eat over the winter just makes my heart so happy. <br />So bring it on, rattlesnake beans! <br /><br />Mr. Moon already has some tomatoes in the ground. He is all about the garden this year. His potatoes are coming up in their growing bags and he is so proud. He should be! The seeds I started a few weeks ago that <a href="https://burningmoonlight-jennifer.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Jennifer</a> sent me have finally sprouted. Well, most of them. But they are so tiny and Glen keeps shaking his head and saying things about how they're going to be so late to get into the ground and I'm just like, "Whatever." <br />He is right. I should have started them months ago. <br />Still, it does make me smile to see their hair-like stems and bug-wing-sized leaves. If I get even a few tomatoes off of them I'll be so happy. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I picked some of the sugar snap peas today.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYQhrUPfGtOT0oB8FxxpYTKq2mErUMnrDVLDjz__3qlZFpzTE8CRITqCgg8qn6qvuTM-Jpt1RbhxSkJBsnJ_W22mdQbe9KYzTNnBXd09zD6iWObIiZtIQk5O3Y0LWYjGJmB0_hx6J40vuSFvZgbjPcxFK6XTXxj5mttQSaMLfOf2Sd7LZzn1KT1jXgWl9I/s4032/IMG_4944.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYQhrUPfGtOT0oB8FxxpYTKq2mErUMnrDVLDjz__3qlZFpzTE8CRITqCgg8qn6qvuTM-Jpt1RbhxSkJBsnJ_W22mdQbe9KYzTNnBXd09zD6iWObIiZtIQk5O3Y0LWYjGJmB0_hx6J40vuSFvZgbjPcxFK6XTXxj5mttQSaMLfOf2Sd7LZzn1KT1jXgWl9I/w480-h640/IMG_4944.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I'm making egg rolls tonight and some of those, slivered, will be in the mix. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Last night's pie was delicious but you want to know what was even better? </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4qdCLAfRDQ5-HY9nx08saVOlceGtjJD9VB6nPdmGx1qIw3LeZX2tLdqcw1BXK89UGXda2JtRpnGZI0IR5VvRS237Q94arZY1hXUWnt83kAqVW9DTCYZ5-FvvOeP1rCKWY91YrRjytCd8r0WFldSnzgvpw3Lz4Z7MQozsKH9ax9Gfp428f-5TdA4WAnEYH/s4032/IMG_4940.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4qdCLAfRDQ5-HY9nx08saVOlceGtjJD9VB6nPdmGx1qIw3LeZX2tLdqcw1BXK89UGXda2JtRpnGZI0IR5VvRS237Q94arZY1hXUWnt83kAqVW9DTCYZ5-FvvOeP1rCKWY91YrRjytCd8r0WFldSnzgvpw3Lz4Z7MQozsKH9ax9Gfp428f-5TdA4WAnEYH/w480-h640/IMG_4940.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">How many of y'all know what that is? <br />If you guessed baked left-over pastry with butter and cinnamon and sugar, you are right. As I told Rebecca yesterday I don't even know why we go to the trouble to make pies. Let's just use the crust for what it was obviously intended to be used for.<br />That was some damn good pastry. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">And a little more about Billy. He texted me today to ask if I'd liked what his T-shirt said in the beard picture. I said I couldn't read it so he told me what it said which was <i>Matriarchal Dad</i>. And then I enlarged the picture and of course I saw it and I just love that. <br />But I'm not sure even that compares with something he posted on FB today which made me laugh louder and longer than anything I've seen in a long time. <br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqM1er4C8emRNuJlB2VGRkXhQJHmXnDoiYm6RhVR7m7cdeaNid0tIBS5yEybh-dSLSg30NXZ6sic9W7N-CJV5OqxxROgRACaX7E0rSenQ1ZyZcmUZl1u10i9Rx940KDERtuHeifXrSjQU4wsfFemVAsWH1AK_QjA6xiro_5Hp4rJvWVAh-P4j8_NWqGtsG/s828/428706630_10159457310156923_8013520789378172334_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="828" height="626" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqM1er4C8emRNuJlB2VGRkXhQJHmXnDoiYm6RhVR7m7cdeaNid0tIBS5yEybh-dSLSg30NXZ6sic9W7N-CJV5OqxxROgRACaX7E0rSenQ1ZyZcmUZl1u10i9Rx940KDERtuHeifXrSjQU4wsfFemVAsWH1AK_QjA6xiro_5Hp4rJvWVAh-P4j8_NWqGtsG/w640-h626/428706630_10159457310156923_8013520789378172334_n.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Why do I find this so funny? I guess it's my mature and intellectual sense of humor. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Happy Friday, my dears. First sip of martini taken, time to make the egg rolls. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Love...Ms. Moon</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div></div></div><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /><br /></span></p>Ms. Moonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09776404747858099919noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2086296370004835655.post-64843865705363986132024-02-29T18:40:00.002-05:002024-02-29T18:40:38.124-05:00Swift Recovery<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNfP3V-cmG22TFGnS4R2YRWbBP1wXq_mywfHfi-5jqcnMoR3H0qgkMl0Yd5vQ6dtkdJ0HlpDd3I0CbA4ZqbGJD0ZJAh7zj_Qv7oHvV-aHArs0OLTKevEz5WLXC2l7KzT8Ky_waO1O2qtyZKZ-Jo7xoNZJ76NyQbAJEc__a1pCge3W-zDpB1tNgasW8Rk7G/s4032/IMG_4938.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNfP3V-cmG22TFGnS4R2YRWbBP1wXq_mywfHfi-5jqcnMoR3H0qgkMl0Yd5vQ6dtkdJ0HlpDd3I0CbA4ZqbGJD0ZJAh7zj_Qv7oHvV-aHArs0OLTKevEz5WLXC2l7KzT8Ky_waO1O2qtyZKZ-Jo7xoNZJ76NyQbAJEc__a1pCge3W-zDpB1tNgasW8Rk7G/w640-h480/IMG_4938.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />Except for a tiny bit or remaining soreness in my arm, I have felt absolutely fine today. It's so funny. I really did feel like hell yesterday and today it's like nothing ever happened. I even got the laundry hung on the line and although it was fairly late by the time I pinned it up, it all dried except for Mr. Moon's overalls which needed about ten minutes in the dryer. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I've been in an excellent mood all day, enjoying the feeling of normalcy. A friend came out to pick some salad greens and cooking greens and he and Mr. Moon and I went to the Hilltop for lunch which was pretty great, as always. Whenever anyone comes with us to the Hilltop for the first time and asks what sort of food they have, I always say, "What kind of food do you like?" <br />They probably have it. Definitely with a country spin on it but it'll be there on the menu somewhere. Mr. Moon got chicken wings, Chip got a shrimp po-boy, and I got a chicken salad salad which is a scoop of their very delicious and also unhealthful chicken salad on a bunch of lettuce and tomatoes and cucumbers and black olives and a bunch of pickled peppers. Banana peppers, sweet peppers, and jalapeño peppers. A slice of dill pickle came with it. It was practically a pickle salad. I did not complain. <br />The only thing that wasn't very enjoyable was the sight of the guy's butt crack who was sitting directly across from us who had his back to me at the picnic tables where we ate. It started out at about four inches of butt crack and then, as his pants crept lower and lower, more and more inches appeared. Finally, I got up and moved to the other side of my husband so that my view was obscured by Chip. <br />I mean, we all have butt cracks. It's just the human body. But as I told Glen and Chip when we left, I'd get tired of looking at the Mona Lisa after awhile. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I finally got my pie made today. It surely looks good. I hope it tastes good. </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitKXCwwayt1Rf5gv0UUj_6ma1dN5kmQiNZ9EKauZlc3voDD6V4u5ZO1_Nk_WMEZMXI4raZu2oKNAjbL5-NUWeU6-o6vbBvvIpQ6TSq6Z9UXtIT0SqwkENRus9gcusG6Y_1v6rVN1z96ctvZw2EYECDXtqiZ3VNkoWgsdi4GXh5cUP8Y-yRiNDwIP-uDvfK/s4032/IMG_4942.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitKXCwwayt1Rf5gv0UUj_6ma1dN5kmQiNZ9EKauZlc3voDD6V4u5ZO1_Nk_WMEZMXI4raZu2oKNAjbL5-NUWeU6-o6vbBvvIpQ6TSq6Z9UXtIT0SqwkENRus9gcusG6Y_1v6rVN1z96ctvZw2EYECDXtqiZ3VNkoWgsdi4GXh5cUP8Y-yRiNDwIP-uDvfK/w640-h480/IMG_4942.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I even did the egg wash on top and sprinkled Turbinado sugar over it. If you're in the need of sugar and fat, a good pie is about the best choice you can make except for doughnuts. Look how red that juice is! Red as a daddy cardinal. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">All right. Now I want to talk about Billy. Some of you have heard many, many stories about our friend Billy. He is someone that became friends with my Hank about a quarter of a century ago. Boy, that sounds crazy. If you did a search of the blog for him, you'd probably get infinitely endless hits. I talk about him and his wife Shayla and their son Waylon a lot. Billy and Shayla got married in this back yard and I got to do the honors. Hank was the best man. I'll never forget that wedding or that day. Billy is...well. He's Billy. He's like no one else. He's funny and he's incredibly sincere and he's the best daddy. Every Father's Day I tell him that I wish I'd had a father like him. And Billy didn't have a father. But he knows how to love, he knows how to be responsible, and he is there for his boy. <br />Anyway, <i>anyway</i>, here's a picture of Billy that I stole off Facebook.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9VSAqF_KioMZ1bmy7Xkhn1GuksAQOddBAfOPvo134rYZQyfzBSWiT4_4dqy8WjTaBcZsFkhrrqx66dFzqRpv6n_TpaQ9UOwkGDyB7X5JwlYN7DCfeS9ECQQLMycua38GdwecNG2ccIH897ydZUIvWoANucfJc2UHoyFRY39EMUzyQTcSUeNq7Vvla0_Zy/s2048/430075429_10159453969576923_4199901233856012258_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9VSAqF_KioMZ1bmy7Xkhn1GuksAQOddBAfOPvo134rYZQyfzBSWiT4_4dqy8WjTaBcZsFkhrrqx66dFzqRpv6n_TpaQ9UOwkGDyB7X5JwlYN7DCfeS9ECQQLMycua38GdwecNG2ccIH897ydZUIvWoANucfJc2UHoyFRY39EMUzyQTcSUeNq7Vvla0_Zy/w640-h480/430075429_10159453969576923_4199901233856012258_n.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Billy's the guy on the left wearing the pink shorts and who, if you'll look closely, has a blue-painted thumbnail. That photo was taken at a beard competition at the local Highland Games a few weeks ago. There were 12 guys competing, three competitions, and three runner-up spots. <br />Billy won second place. <br />Which is awesome! <br />But here's the really awesome thing. <br />When I asked Billy if I could post the picture here on my blog, he said, <i>"Yes ma'am! I'd be delighted. You can also know that I introduce myself at every competition as a proud trans man who has wanted a beard his whole life. My voice shakes every time but I still say it."</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Big breath in. Big breath out. <br /><br />That is Billy. This is Florida.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Billy works for the <a href="https://www.thetrevorproject.org/" target="_blank">Trevor Project</a> which is a non-profit organization dedicated to helping prevent suicide and providing crisis intervention for LGBTQ young people 24/7. <br />Billy is one of their counselors. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">So I wanted to talk about that and brag a little about Billy's beard and honestly- don't you think he should have won? <br />Next year. Next year, baby. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">That's all I got today. <br /><br />Thanks for stopping by.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Love...Ms. Moon</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div></div><p></p>Ms. Moonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09776404747858099919noreply@blogger.com40tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2086296370004835655.post-22770403161997664672024-02-28T18:31:00.001-05:002024-02-28T18:31:31.504-05:00Not At My Best<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOqFRBzzLguj6M6xfj8b9TDunGVNXnbsbr9HrcN1hLYL-Ls1rr_0_58WaGAEFz0TedF4JE6s9KCdOzoFntJ59d3Hz9q0zv7dGTN1Fnw7gFSEfh7qY2H2TfEfF2mnHFnyYa249cvBO5LQdkMIJfURh3v_TxZVF9SnML9nkHb-6Ehy33wTnoqhl8GFTRceHN/s4032/IMG_4931.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOqFRBzzLguj6M6xfj8b9TDunGVNXnbsbr9HrcN1hLYL-Ls1rr_0_58WaGAEFz0TedF4JE6s9KCdOzoFntJ59d3Hz9q0zv7dGTN1Fnw7gFSEfh7qY2H2TfEfF2mnHFnyYa249cvBO5LQdkMIJfURh3v_TxZVF9SnML9nkHb-6Ehy33wTnoqhl8GFTRceHN/w480-h640/IMG_4931.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />That is one cluster of camellias. I mean, all those flowers are on the same stem. I don't think I've ever seen camellias grow like this. As I said yesterday, we're having an amazing camellia bloom this year.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Man. I have felt like shit today. The arm where I got the injection hurt so bad I was having a hard time getting dressed this morning. I've had zero, zero energy and I ache all over. I just HURT. However, I finally got tired of that and took an Ibuprofen about an hour and a half ago and feel somewhat better. I've reacted to every one of my covid immunizations this way although I think this one may have been one of the worst. My body does not like covid one damn bit and my immune system is primo when it comes to detecting it and launching an attack. <br />Yay, me! <br />Hell. <br />So I haven't done anything. I washed one load of clothes, put them in the dryer, and then forgot to turn it on. Went back a few hours later, opened the door, saw the wet clothes, sighed, closed the door and turned it on. Just yesterday I had vowed not to dry clothes in the dryer on these beautiful, breezy days and I had thought about putting the wet clothes in the basket and taking them out to hang but there was no part of me that thought that was a good idea. <br />Obviously. I didn't even have the wherewithal to dry them in the machine. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I did not make my strawberry rhubarb pie. I did not do anymore weeding. I did not rake up all the sticks in the back yard left by the tree-cutters that need to be gathered and toted to the burn pile although Mr. Moon did tell me when he left for town that it would be great if I did. He was joking. I think. I told him, "That's not even funny."<br />I have not been easily amused today. <br />Hell- I even took a nap! I never nap these days. I get plenty of sleep at night but this afternoon I just couldn't sit up any longer. I got cozy on my bed and Jack came in and glued himself to my hip and I read for a little while, put my book down, snuggled into my covers and conked out for an hour. <br /><br />Okay. Here's a thing I did. I walked ten feet out the back door and picked camellias. </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj7S4ftktjdqivak5hPUHECsP8yBvERVNXB7oM-Js_vevzRYe4CVmE1Ftnno4WfrZqsBMKYOkNg80N0XmYReKlbABZIoJ12X3fmUQ6VSV3cTA2HxkzTtO74bH98lcSqgZ_JFq0RumlEM0TEdvJgvFO5vpZXprTV3KPwm8aa0sqbLdg-rklqXMxmQaQXT0o/s4032/IMG_4933.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj7S4ftktjdqivak5hPUHECsP8yBvERVNXB7oM-Js_vevzRYe4CVmE1Ftnno4WfrZqsBMKYOkNg80N0XmYReKlbABZIoJ12X3fmUQ6VSV3cTA2HxkzTtO74bH98lcSqgZ_JFq0RumlEM0TEdvJgvFO5vpZXprTV3KPwm8aa0sqbLdg-rklqXMxmQaQXT0o/w480-h640/IMG_4933.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvni-EyYoZ4b9eTyuqXkd_X0HJ-EUeGVWqqGf7U4AhElt0iRCIuNiD7hVW9Q92nhBehww3QpgoGH6aS0OJK9KIuZIYGo4UpCe8bPMtZqljLi4J9NSIeBE4Hin5lh-KhEPYBiksfAm8vVfxsj7Lm55j-bDg6onra2xLmZitIROPB2nGOdFINv74md1dUfYH/s4032/IMG_4934.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvni-EyYoZ4b9eTyuqXkd_X0HJ-EUeGVWqqGf7U4AhElt0iRCIuNiD7hVW9Q92nhBehww3QpgoGH6aS0OJK9KIuZIYGo4UpCe8bPMtZqljLi4J9NSIeBE4Hin5lh-KhEPYBiksfAm8vVfxsj7Lm55j-bDg6onra2xLmZitIROPB2nGOdFINv74md1dUfYH/w480-h640/IMG_4934.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg6zwYp7eLR4oZEWvcjPhhH9HjKrCi5toNwMi4nN1biNLznFs_1rZ5JfBdGHbSd8d5sIqiGoY7bzO0O594IBUzScAQNjXtkFJc3LR_guv257pOfI1bMKfEcpn5H251lYB75UyOq7gFHOKrGaHI2wWPxNfuB7tlczWJ6U5HKTMSq7luqZDeljGTQ34Wbtjx/s4032/IMG_4935.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg6zwYp7eLR4oZEWvcjPhhH9HjKrCi5toNwMi4nN1biNLznFs_1rZ5JfBdGHbSd8d5sIqiGoY7bzO0O594IBUzScAQNjXtkFJc3LR_guv257pOfI1bMKfEcpn5H251lYB75UyOq7gFHOKrGaHI2wWPxNfuB7tlczWJ6U5HKTMSq7luqZDeljGTQ34Wbtjx/w480-h640/IMG_4935.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />When one is presented with such a magnificent display of blooms, it seems as if it would be a sort of sin not to bring a few of them into the house. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Here's another picture. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdConFYdYqhQ2Lr7BFl97G56TRx7w1AUGuC-b9zOXW4qgbchhWMZRRRwFmbppfepWmtMvOmsJiTtTrjcDfDNvYXN8geA9BdUlUFTHQZf4cSume2m6D9q0z_j4ykhUgNM0IFT3KomeT_U4juGIwCsKHbfLslC2pvkj0UCJMLBpo2iRwcad6_X1EePn9mcbx/s2048/730827288.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdConFYdYqhQ2Lr7BFl97G56TRx7w1AUGuC-b9zOXW4qgbchhWMZRRRwFmbppfepWmtMvOmsJiTtTrjcDfDNvYXN8geA9BdUlUFTHQZf4cSume2m6D9q0z_j4ykhUgNM0IFT3KomeT_U4juGIwCsKHbfLslC2pvkj0UCJMLBpo2iRwcad6_X1EePn9mcbx/w640-h480/730827288.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">August and his little sister Sophie who is not so little any more. Sophie and the boys are like litter mates. I swear. That's how they play. They tangle and tug and sometimes nipping is involved. Mostly on Sophie's part.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Have you seen the latest about Trump? The Supreme Court has agreed to review Trump's immunity claim as pertains to his actions leading up to, and on the January 6 insurrection. <br />Let me just say this- if he gets away with this, if he can be declared immune to charges based on being the president at the time, we are done as a nation, as a democracy. I'm not sure we're not there already. To think that this man who is nothing more than a colossal business failure, a toxic narcissist, a man as ignorant about history and world affairs as my cat, a rapist, an abuser, a serial cheater, a tantrum-throwing, dictator-lover, dictator wanna-be, pathological liar, misogynistic, dead-souled person could be where he is now in the election process in this country terrifies, horrifies, and completely astounds me. The fact that there is even any controversy over whether or not he is immune from prosecution for treason says all we need to know. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">We are in deep trouble. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">But hey! Camellias! </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Love...Ms. Moon<br /><br /></span><br /></div></div><p></p>Ms. Moonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09776404747858099919noreply@blogger.com59tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2086296370004835655.post-85670038965398317532024-02-27T18:28:00.001-05:002024-02-27T18:28:59.910-05:00Getting Vaxxed Up<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_a4ViwMb_4-gLU3xsHz7js6G7_BqYnqFKujYvPL00VDRAYbBaCm8_shZj5kQYi8oLdRQNssQmrMM8tuIdt_CAoS41POeBRJfJTfnWDH0uDY_jO_cI6h91CPAlsKI8IpEMFJngABR3NwIg_KUDe4toZjnVwWgPrqKCKA6UAO4SskQyjR5y-gvBAy7j6e1X/s4032/IMG_4928.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_a4ViwMb_4-gLU3xsHz7js6G7_BqYnqFKujYvPL00VDRAYbBaCm8_shZj5kQYi8oLdRQNssQmrMM8tuIdt_CAoS41POeBRJfJTfnWDH0uDY_jO_cI6h91CPAlsKI8IpEMFJngABR3NwIg_KUDe4toZjnVwWgPrqKCKA6UAO4SskQyjR5y-gvBAy7j6e1X/w480-h640/IMG_4928.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />This, my friends, is what the green curry with tofu Bento box at Japanica looks like. I have spoken of it so many times. Well, that's what it looked like today. The curry is always different depending, I suppose, on who's in the kitchen and what vegetables are on hand. More broccoli!</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I took myself there after I got my Covid booster. I have been so far behind with my immunizations but a friend recently got shingles which reminded me that I absolutely must get that (those- there are two) shingles vaccines because I seriously do not want to mess with that shit. Now- what is the connection between the Covid booster and the shingles vax? Well, for whatever reason I have been feeling like I needed to get the Covid shot before I got started with the shingles shots and to tell you the truth, I don't think I ever got a flu shot last year and so there's that and so it had become a rather big deal in my mind. Just like when you know you need to dust the bookshelves but then you remember that before you do that, you need to go through and cull a bunch of them because you know you'll never read them again but you have to get boxes to put the ones in you're going to be donating or whatever and you have to figure out that part of the project and where should you get boxes? and then before you know it, you've completely decided to let the books marinate in their own dust and age because it's all JUST TOO MUCH!<br />Like that. <br />And besides, one has to plan for a day of not feeling well after getting a vaccination if one reacts to these things and I do, so that's got to be part of the situation. Also, an appointment must be made to get the shot at some locations and Publix is one of those and it's so close and handy I like to go there. But finally, yesterday, with my friend's encouragement, I made the dang appointment and went in today and got the booster. <br />Boy. That was a long story. Almost as long as I had to wait. That Publix pharmacy was busy as hell. But I was patient and had no deadlines of any kind and after it was over, I decided to go get lunch. And so I did. <br />I had a very nice conversation with a woman sitting at a table across from mine. She was about to leave and I had just gotten there and we talked about everything from how much we love Japanica, to little children (she has a niece she adores and I have grandchildren), and technology and real estate and how much Tallahassee is growing and expanding and so forth. She lives in Monticello so we're practically neighbors. <br />I really enjoyed that. After she left I read some NYT's articles on my phone while I ate my lunch and it was swell. I brought home half my curry and rice so there's lunch for tomorrow. Hurray!<br />And then I went to another Publix to do my actual grocery shopping and bought approximately one of everything in the store except for the things on BOGO in which case I bought two. Strawberries were on sale and they had some luscious looking rhubarb and I decided that it was time to make a strawberry, rhubarb pie and so I shall. I think that rhubarb may be more of a Yankee thing than a southern thing. I do not really know. I guess someone eats it because they sell it here. The only way I've ever eaten it is in a pie with strawberries and that was from when I was a little girl and my grandparents would take me and my brother to the Anchor restaurant in Sebastian for supper. My grandmother did not like to cook at all and frankly, she wasn't very good at it so when she'd tell my grandfather, "Let's go get a hamburg tonight," I was thrilled. <br />It was at the Anchor restaurant where I learned to love clam chowder and strawberry rhubarb pie. <br /><br />Boy. I sure am wordy today. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I finished listening to Colson Whitehead's "Crook Manifesto" a few minutes ago and I am so very sad about that. It was one of those books...<br />I may start it at the beginning and listen again. Both "Harlem Shuffle" and "Crook Manifesto" have so very many characters in them that I find myself stopping the narrative and going back to make sure I know who's being discussed so it wouldn't be a waste of time to listen to the whole thing again. The characters are incredibly colorful, and they all play their own unique roles. I read <i>Shuffle</i> twice and I think that helped me remember who was who and what was going on better for <i>Crook </i>and I sure do hope that there's a third book cooking to make it a trilogy. The author may be bored with his characters but I'm sure not and I don't think he is either. <br />I have, at certain times in my life, written fan letters to authors and I am feeling like I want to write one to him. A few of the people I've written have written me back but that's not why I do it. Of course, it's thrilling when that happens but I really just want to tell them that the worlds they have created with their words have meant a great deal to me. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">So that's my world today. The camellias are all blooming like I've never seen before and while I was sweeping the front porch in preparation for putting the plants back out there, I saw that my native buckeye is starting to leaf and bloom. </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK4EyQm1AgxpuO9_eCmfZZnaoG6DJbC2zxvP7WsWWjKILgItJqXhqf8Tzl4b078eiZoTZ5RxOJ3RSdvYgdOqm5MXoaLrVp1t6x-g-9QwH36MJHF_LAC8JGFDTbPV7NKlWNWrTGrmzEzFLfMx_DYSWZGiw-wsTB8eYY0vMqVkPymi4Ds-GhI_0cpoHEIoW6/s2992/IMG_4929.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2992" data-original-width="2242" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK4EyQm1AgxpuO9_eCmfZZnaoG6DJbC2zxvP7WsWWjKILgItJqXhqf8Tzl4b078eiZoTZ5RxOJ3RSdvYgdOqm5MXoaLrVp1t6x-g-9QwH36MJHF_LAC8JGFDTbPV7NKlWNWrTGrmzEzFLfMx_DYSWZGiw-wsTB8eYY0vMqVkPymi4Ds-GhI_0cpoHEIoW6/w480-h640/IMG_4929.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">That stalk reminds me of the Bendy Men they put in front of stores and shops to draw attention. I do love a good Bendy Man. I am proud of that buckeye. When I planted it, it was just a little thing and it is growing up, slowly but surely. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Again, thank you all for your input and comments about forgiveness. You have given me much to think about. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Love...Ms. Moon</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p>Ms. Moonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09776404747858099919noreply@blogger.com34tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2086296370004835655.post-51002272719606902042024-02-26T18:39:00.000-05:002024-02-26T18:39:43.871-05:00Sort Of Back To Our Regularly Scheduled Programming <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU6vinxkF3znzDxIYc2Sykl-srZp69lgO8qR4idImxhxmHRwXEZSFvMt1qMGfl-yOE9HwHwr-Cv7L5MvTQNNoFkctu7bhgR3zsL8Ne8Evw_-z18YjpZ0lU_BJ2OBEfJEwH-HbaGUlAtltEF7fVxSmA1zNCTJfLnfvCeYMZZRYch6c49fwPl0nT2tJOXzqx/s4032/IMG_4920.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU6vinxkF3znzDxIYc2Sykl-srZp69lgO8qR4idImxhxmHRwXEZSFvMt1qMGfl-yOE9HwHwr-Cv7L5MvTQNNoFkctu7bhgR3zsL8Ne8Evw_-z18YjpZ0lU_BJ2OBEfJEwH-HbaGUlAtltEF7fVxSmA1zNCTJfLnfvCeYMZZRYch6c49fwPl0nT2tJOXzqx/w640-h480/IMG_4920.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />I cannot possibly tell you all how much I appreciate the thoughtful and wise and empathetic and often very personal comments you left on yesterday's post. I felt, even as I tapped the cursor on "Publish" that I had not expressed myself very well. That the subject of forgiveness is so many layered and complex that even trying to come up with a definition of it is impossible. And many of you noted that what forgiveness means to you is probably different than what it may mean to others. In just now looking up a definition of the word, I see that some believe that there are three types of forgiveness. They are exoneration, forbearance, and release. I understand what exoneration and release mean but I am not quite sure about forbearance. Does that mean to simply not bring the subject up again? To say, "Yes, it happened, but we shall not discuss it further"?</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Of course exoneration is hardly appropriate in many cases where someone has caused another great pain. And release is what a lot of you practice or try to practice. But I think that many of us forbear. <br /><br />I do not know. <br /><br />Another thing I don't know is how one would go about releasing the burden and the pain of what someone has done to hurt us. I probably dream about my stepfather at least once a week. Sometimes I scream at him if he tries to get near me. Sometimes, I just avoid him. But these dreams are always awful. I'm used to them and they are as much a part of my dream world as messy houses and needing to take care of children and not having the ability to feed the people I am supposed to feed. I think I understand why these themes are so commonly part of my sleeping mind's ramblings, but that does not seem to help to get rid of them. <br />In other words, I do not seem to be able to release them. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Well. That's enough of that subject for awhile. <br />I've had a lot of time to think today and I'm never sure whether that is a good thing or a bad thing. But I took a walk and found pretty areas on the road's shoulders where blooming violets have created a sort of treen and purple quilt. </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi43Qy_TbCu_FvmASpNt5WelGwSPgbDmr7QCeRccyV9R3M6Owl27izYXKDAMyfVCC6ZbHjL70dP4RMg0Cgt4Io_P4ng0S7G_hKBch4_nLNEoDnaK7A-M7HOCqzS6VodG9tGqaZhW1FYaKpWkGyymE0qObcFsv7VmaqPeydnr0lM9RTdTlRSRQjO0LlOPUss/s3545/IMG_4918.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3545" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi43Qy_TbCu_FvmASpNt5WelGwSPgbDmr7QCeRccyV9R3M6Owl27izYXKDAMyfVCC6ZbHjL70dP4RMg0Cgt4Io_P4ng0S7G_hKBch4_nLNEoDnaK7A-M7HOCqzS6VodG9tGqaZhW1FYaKpWkGyymE0qObcFsv7VmaqPeydnr0lM9RTdTlRSRQjO0LlOPUss/w546-h640/IMG_4918.jpeg" width="546" /></span></a></div><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">That's just a little patch in one of those areas. See those round leaves and the oblong ones with sort of serrated edges? Those are the two main weeds I pull from my garden and other parts of my yard. They are dollar weed and betony and they both have long, fleshy white roots that snake through the dirt and are hard to completely dig out because they love to snap if you tug them instead of digging them. I do not mind them at all though, in the wild. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">And I did some weeding of those this afternoon. It was not fun, even though I was listening to "Crook Manifesto" as I worked. Being on my knees is not easy. To put it bluntly- it fucking hurts. I am the sort of person who likes to look at a task and give myself a definite portion of it to do if I know I cannot do it all. "I will finish this row and then that one," I will vow. But I am finding now that I can't really do that. I can go as far as I can go and then I have to stop. It's very much the same with walking. I used to feel as if I could walk across the world, given a path and decent shoes. That the only thing that could make me stop would be the need to eat and sleep. And I walked fast. <br />Those days are over. I damn well should have walked across the world while I was able to do it. But I am grateful that I can still weed and walk at all and we are having such perfectly perfect days that being outside is a joy. <br /></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Here are some azaleas blooming in my side yard over by the church.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw658xCkdSGkNyyuNbst8o5MDSfFbb3_Tsd4KMtmTelvra0ULxdQVRUNv7QLs4e7htBkGsiGKD_78FoXAJCstluNn2CKp-urOhyphenhyphenrjOdv5hqk6ZeFmVx5W_YUwGLR_v1olj4Blj1F95I7vl045RdZR5bQKu-fAVCo-hfXdcrD39vRp4yVL13ncUot5M-ueK/s4032/IMG_4921.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw658xCkdSGkNyyuNbst8o5MDSfFbb3_Tsd4KMtmTelvra0ULxdQVRUNv7QLs4e7htBkGsiGKD_78FoXAJCstluNn2CKp-urOhyphenhyphenrjOdv5hqk6ZeFmVx5W_YUwGLR_v1olj4Blj1F95I7vl045RdZR5bQKu-fAVCo-hfXdcrD39vRp4yVL13ncUot5M-ueK/w480-h640/IMG_4921.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I wonder how old that bush is. I picked some and brought them in along with two sprigs of the tea olive. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw3Ik9dpWDT4J5Apdv8IOSh2Vv5AwFud4Lq_Jm8JZrWr1sFC1S2e2Q4zjObMuRyWPYkOEByONmtRVI_AxoYMu71bg3bXFSwHTVMI9AIYUPNjF3nk4TJIrO_cg_AGIyo-iKcjcedlSxyQq3QGM9KJv4fw4txRsPPX1DMcv-31fby7Y4MC3i93fZK38FR4-I/s4032/IMG_4924.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw3Ik9dpWDT4J5Apdv8IOSh2Vv5AwFud4Lq_Jm8JZrWr1sFC1S2e2Q4zjObMuRyWPYkOEByONmtRVI_AxoYMu71bg3bXFSwHTVMI9AIYUPNjF3nk4TJIrO_cg_AGIyo-iKcjcedlSxyQq3QGM9KJv4fw4txRsPPX1DMcv-31fby7Y4MC3i93fZK38FR4-I/w480-h640/IMG_4924.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I keep trying to come up with new ways to describe the scent of those tiny tea olive blooms and today I think I will say that <i>they are what angels make perfume out of.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">The photo at top is my dismal attempt to get a shot of the camellia blooms. I swear- they are already loving getting more sun. The Japanese magnolias are also in there as are several GD bamboo plants that I missed last spring when it was time to kick the sprouts. I need to cut them out of there and be more vigilant when it comes to seeing them when they shoot up through the other plants. Soon, it will be time to kick the bamboo. Can you believe that? <br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">We are having leftover buffet tonight which always makes me think of what a guy I knew used to say sometimes when he ate supper with us which was, "Um, I'm not sure I've ever seen this exact combination of foods before."<br />We will have some of the velvety black bean soup I made yesterday, a few spoonfuls of some seafood au gratin with rice, and a salad. Also, some of the sourdough bread I baked yesterday. Finally- a loaf I was not ashamed of. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoPeYq-yFpFECTZk1kaXRNKtIaytLZpIHhCvXaz_Hk_e_TNBFiJC7rxxAs9zborGn2N2avHHTQ7uG3BRp__lNd4-6pQK9z7CpYthI2FIzjX7ryBICAR91ei5UDyncem_W7L485AxrSShen1CS1uKMnCjVNTcYhhIhgUG4AyCesdARTivNFDDZcv3QE0slL/s3024/IMG_4915%202.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2435" data-original-width="3024" height="516" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoPeYq-yFpFECTZk1kaXRNKtIaytLZpIHhCvXaz_Hk_e_TNBFiJC7rxxAs9zborGn2N2avHHTQ7uG3BRp__lNd4-6pQK9z7CpYthI2FIzjX7ryBICAR91ei5UDyncem_W7L485AxrSShen1CS1uKMnCjVNTcYhhIhgUG4AyCesdARTivNFDDZcv3QE0slL/w640-h516/IMG_4915%202.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Be well, y'all. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Love...Ms. Moon</span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div></div><p></p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p>Ms. Moonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09776404747858099919noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2086296370004835655.post-4498393577981029482024-02-25T18:57:00.005-05:002024-02-25T19:05:49.825-05:00Trigger Warning- Sexual Abuse Discussed. Also Forgiveness<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSW6zDs_p93WBDvZk7NR6XQWTSrFrwM4O3q5m1QPvVV0k4kI5wowBggKnHg11X6i4a9IvRNjboHv391DABbU7k5PjFr6l3rMlfa0v9kKb6ntp6YuoTLKdflGjCz3NBaHQs8BRAC0k4U63ys96f6qH0y-NyLDDNa_RQ-dAD6hqaUkxziYMFng3wvktwgNsq/s4032/IMG_0814.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSW6zDs_p93WBDvZk7NR6XQWTSrFrwM4O3q5m1QPvVV0k4kI5wowBggKnHg11X6i4a9IvRNjboHv391DABbU7k5PjFr6l3rMlfa0v9kKb6ntp6YuoTLKdflGjCz3NBaHQs8BRAC0k4U63ys96f6qH0y-NyLDDNa_RQ-dAD6hqaUkxziYMFng3wvktwgNsq/w480-h640/IMG_0814.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br />Let's talk about forgiveness. It's Sunday, after all, and religions seem to be of the opinion that forgiveness is a really Big Deal. Especially the Christian religions. <br />How many of us remember chanting the Lord's Prayer? Hell, we had to say it at school when I was a child, right along with the Pledge of Allegiance. That's why my generation turned out to be so patriotic and god-fearing. <br />Hahaha.<br />The version of the Lord's Prayer that I learned used the word "trespass" instead of "sin" in the part about <i>forgiving us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. </i><br />My grandfather had a sign on his river lot that said "No Trespassing" so I was somewhat confused about that for a long time. I can't remember when I got it all straightened out in my mind but eventually I did. <br />There's a lot packed into that line though. Asking god, Jesus, whoever, <i>whatever</i>, to forgive us our sins, to begin with. The concept of making little children believe that they're already sinning is pretty sick in my opinion. I was a very serious child and at an early age I was constantly worried about everything in the world and one of those things was that I was not as good as I should have been which is so ridiculous. I was the best little girl in the world. There's a whole lot more that goes into that whole situation but suffice to say, I was probably born feeling guilty and the Lord's Prayer reassured me that indeed I was. Of what, I do not know, but surely something. Lots of somethings, probably. And then there was the part about how we should forgive those who trespass against us. <br />What? I mean, a child really does not have the concept of anyone trespassing against them except for maybe a friend taking their favorite marble or something. Were we supposed to just forgive them for that and let them keep it? Meanwhile, the real sins against children are most often committed by the adults around them, the very people they are taught to respect and obey whether parents, teachers, or clergymen. Which is incredibly difficult as a child to understand, if not impossible. <br />Now I'm going to get real personal here. Even though I knew that what my stepfather was doing to me was not at all right, I had no words or knowledge or concept to frame that not-rightness as something evil. It took me years and years and years to finally admit to myself and then to others that what he had done had been abuse and that I was not the only child in the world who had been abused. I knew from my mid-teens, I think, that what he'd done had affected me in many ways, and none of them good and slowly I began not just to fear him but to hate him. <br />Years later, when I was in therapy with a very good therapist, we discussed the concept of forgiveness. Forgiveness is a big thing in our culture, our Christian culture and even a newer-age culture. You gotta forgive so that you can heal. I have no idea how many times I was told this and in the sexual abuse survivors group I went to, many of the women repeated this caveat and said that they had forgiven their abusers. Meanwhile, over the weeks and months and year or so I attended that group, I came to realize that their so-called forgiveness certainly had not healed them. And when I discussed this with my beloved therapist she said quite calmly that there were two things that survivors of abuse did not have to do.<br />1. Confront their abuser.<br />2. Forgive their abuser. <br />Eventually, I did confront my abuser but only via phone and that was a short call. Just long enough to tell him that I remembered what he had done, I knew what he had done to my brothers, and that what he had done was unforgivable. <br />And in my mind, I feel the same now. <br />"Don't forgive for the abuser, forgive for yourself!" is the advice so often given. And for the life of me, I cannot figure out how that works. First of all, some things are absolutely unforgivable. Should Hitler be forgiven? And if so, what the fuck does that mean? I get so confused. I've been told that forgiving someone doesn't mean that what they did wasn't wrong, just that you...what? Can let go of it? <br />How do you let go of someone who killed six million Jews and who knows how many other people? Why would you want to? You have to remember. You <i>have</i> to. It <i>must </i>be remembered.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">And of course I'm not comparing what Hitler did to what a pedophile does. But. If you added up all of the numbers of victims of pedophiles whose lives were irrevocably damaged, it would be well into the millions. And just as the families of the Holocaust victims suffered because of Hitler, the families of the victims of pedophiles have suffered too. The thing that has brought me the most anguish in my journey as a child sexual abuse survivor is the knowledge that because of what was damaged in me as a child has affected how I have been a mother to my children and how I have been a wife to my husband. Because of what happened to me as a child, barely older than Maggie is now, I have coped in ways that were not healthy to me or my family. I feel no need to list those things. I am not proud of many of them. But I assure you- it's a long list. <br />And how can I forgive the man who generated this grave unfairness that has affected those I love the most? <br />What does the Bible say about the sins of the father? <br />"<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">The Lord...</span><em style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-feature-settings: inherit; font-kerning: inherit; font-optical-sizing: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-alternates: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; font-variant-position: inherit; font-variation-settings: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">visits the iniquity of the fathers on the children and the children’s children, to the third and the fourth generation</em><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">. (</span><a class="rtBibleRef" data-purpose="bible-reference" data-reference="Exod 34.6-7" data-version="esv" href="https://biblia.com/bible/esv/Exod%2034.6-7" rel="noopener" style="background-color: white; border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-image: initial; border-left-color: initial; border-right-color: initial; border-style: dashed; border-top-color: initial; border-width: 0px 0px 1px; color: #666666; font-feature-settings: inherit; font-kerning: inherit; font-optical-sizing: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-alternates: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; font-variant-position: inherit; font-variation-settings: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.2em; padding: 0px; text-decoration-line: none; vertical-align: baseline;" target="_blank">Exodus 34:6-7</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;"> = </span><a class="rtBibleRef" data-purpose="bible-reference" data-reference="Deut 5.8-10" data-version="esv" href="https://biblia.com/bible/esv/Deut%205.8-10" rel="noopener" style="background-color: white; border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-image: initial; border-left-color: initial; border-right-color: initial; border-style: dashed; border-top-color: initial; border-width: 0px 0px 1px; color: #666666; font-feature-settings: inherit; font-kerning: inherit; font-optical-sizing: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-alternates: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; font-variant-position: inherit; font-variation-settings: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.2em; padding: 0px; text-decoration-line: none; vertical-align: baseline;" target="_blank">Deuteronomy 5:8-10</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">)"</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I beg to differ. I think it passes down way farther than that. </span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Look- I'm as apt as the next person to forgive something that someone we love does or says that may have hurt us in some way. Even deeply. We are humans. We make mistakes. And yes, I would like to be forgiven for doing those things too. But if we forgive these things, are forgiven of these things, there is an implied message that the sin will not be repeated. That an effort will be made to make reparations. But sometimes, that is not the case. Not the case at all. <br />And as I see it- there's no purpose in ginning up forgiveness for that which is quite literally unforgivable. I think of the abused woman whose husband tearfully begs forgiveness every time he's physically assaulted his wife. What good does it do to her to forgive him? Believing that forgiveness is somehow holy or simply the right thing to do puts her in a position in which she will be assaulted again. <br />I had a friend who did that. She finally, <i>finally</i>, made her way to leave her husband and yet, at the end of her life when she was suffering from dementia, he abused her in ways that I cannot bear to think about. I will never forgive him either. He's dead now, and although I do not believe in an afterlife, I would wish that he burns in hell. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">As I see it, some people do not deserve forgiveness. Perhaps I am just a horrible, angry person. <br />So be it. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Tell me- what do you think about forgiveness? What does it mean to you? Is there something I am missing about it? </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Well, Happy Sunday from the Church of the Batshit Crazy.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Love...Ms. Moon</span></p>Ms. Moonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09776404747858099919noreply@blogger.com46tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2086296370004835655.post-63517677781678297662024-02-24T18:27:00.001-05:002024-02-24T18:27:35.005-05:00Sleepover Report<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT7uBuRg0Hq9X2hFYhiQHqD-vchnzWwCid-3Vzez1HwgScChO7iiUIENuiIgSxkCZdiWh9KrBLeacMv-UWe6ro74tz6NDoE2rHYt_gX7-UDVRmfuWS3j2jbRIcoLmhQ7Rhj3wNGiy3ZkB4Saf9NqJiMXSaLJ-imkdiq6IAuvBerGfpjnf3GeoDyXgXRjbd/s4032/IMG_4913.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT7uBuRg0Hq9X2hFYhiQHqD-vchnzWwCid-3Vzez1HwgScChO7iiUIENuiIgSxkCZdiWh9KrBLeacMv-UWe6ro74tz6NDoE2rHYt_gX7-UDVRmfuWS3j2jbRIcoLmhQ7Rhj3wNGiy3ZkB4Saf9NqJiMXSaLJ-imkdiq6IAuvBerGfpjnf3GeoDyXgXRjbd/w480-h640/IMG_4913.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">When Maggie was leaving to go home today, I told her that I didn't think I'd ever had a sweeter sleepover with my grandchildren than the one we had together. And she smiled that darling smile and thanked me again for asking her over. <br />It was lovely.<br />Now I'm going to tell you something- Maggie can be a...well, how do I put this? She can be a force of nature. The child can throw a fit with the best of them. If she doesn't get her way with her mama she will throw <i>down.</i> Her temper is fiery. Her temperament can be volatile. She is the most emotive and demanding of all the cousins. <br />This does not surprise me. <br />Her mother was exactly the same. If not worse. I thought Lily would break me. And she almost did. I doubt there was ever a trip with her out of the house when she did not throw a fit. Tantrums were her love language. She kicked. She screamed. She wanted what she wanted and if she didn't get it, there was no peace for anyone. And I hear that one of Mr. Moon's sisters was much the same growing up. So perhaps this sort of thing is genetic. I'd already had two children when I had Lily so I was pretty sure I knew what I was doing when it came to mothering. <br />I was disabused of this belief by the time she was three months old. She never slept, she cried endlessly. It's like she did not want to be here, she did not want me as her mother, and she was not pleased with anything on this earth. <br />She finally grew out of this phase when she turned eighteen and we got a townhouse in Tallahassee and moved her in to it. She started Community College and lived on her own and immediately, we were all happier, Lily probably most of all. And she decided that she loved me, that it was okay FOR her to love me, and we've pretty much been tight as ticks ever since. And I have to point out that she never acted out at school. Not ever. And she was pretty sweet with her Daddy. <br />Because of course.<br />And now she's the greatest mom herself, she is so good with customers at her work, she is an altogether amazing woman. <br />And she is Magnolia's mother. <br />So knowing how Magnolia can be, I am so gratified when she is here and is as sweet as tupelo honey. I mean truly. <br />Last night she found two books for us to read. One, the heartbreakingly beautiful, "It's Time To Sleep, My Love."</span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpE8QlFBGI6jPnrd7oGVVZrDcoHdB-oyMAK26Uw4Z_Z8wuhUa4edxSqlzHShlna55Gm-Cls9lTrzSGemaukOJ60yVMOTqBbx1NNuYG1yAzE4ccrZV6CQmpG97_MQYGA2BqqMU59QL_SzcVcmVcYfE6XhjbfhuC4HKSIw5Es8qFs50B8OOtHur4tnzykp2H/s304/shopping.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="302" data-original-width="304" height="636" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpE8QlFBGI6jPnrd7oGVVZrDcoHdB-oyMAK26Uw4Z_Z8wuhUa4edxSqlzHShlna55Gm-Cls9lTrzSGemaukOJ60yVMOTqBbx1NNuYG1yAzE4ccrZV6CQmpG97_MQYGA2BqqMU59QL_SzcVcmVcYfE6XhjbfhuC4HKSIw5Es8qFs50B8OOtHur4tnzykp2H/w640-h636/shopping.webp" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">And the other was "Five Little Monkeys Jumping On The Bed." All my littles have loved this book and no matter how many times I've read it, I love it too. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4BYh3tPFMexjUbTiOiorDl_0ySXr-G-hT4GqzxeqihCYYRAaeQ947E85l10sKMVVQoRcwd4c3wA12Z2LFddRGDAKYyV1lOUPORhCSFrNxOOdXcSiz_yJs6YeQqGA4s6RqIlS0JcIodCsuVBIqdmWgJWJwJqsBGaJVVdMCrQaePOAo9kwzXcNRFGSvkkAK/s1200/s-l1200.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1021" data-original-width="1200" height="544" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4BYh3tPFMexjUbTiOiorDl_0ySXr-G-hT4GqzxeqihCYYRAaeQ947E85l10sKMVVQoRcwd4c3wA12Z2LFddRGDAKYyV1lOUPORhCSFrNxOOdXcSiz_yJs6YeQqGA4s6RqIlS0JcIodCsuVBIqdmWgJWJwJqsBGaJVVdMCrQaePOAo9kwzXcNRFGSvkkAK/w640-h544/s-l1200.webp" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">And she read it to me. <i>With expression</i>, as we used to say. <br />And then I kissed her goodnight, pulled up her covers, and she was asleep. And she slept the sleep of the innocent and charmed all night long. <br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">We had our pancakes this morning and she helped me make them, cracking the eggs and mixing the batter. She got to ride on the four-wheeler with Boppy down to the Post Office. And then, while I was washing the dishes, she started playing on her own. She played with every doll and stuffed animal in this house. She created stories for them all. She did this for at least an hour. I used to do this too, and I love seeing her entertain herself this way with her own imagination. When it was time for her to go home, she did not want to leave but her Boppy had told Lauren that he'd help her trim branches at their house and he needed to get over there to do it. <br />"Why can't I just stay here while he does that?" she asked. <br />And when I told her that no, that was not the way it was going to be, she said, "Okay," and got ready to go. She must have told me ten times how much she loved being here and I told her the same. <br />"You've been so good and so helpful," I told her. <br />"And no fighting!" she said. And then she corrected herself. "I mean, no arguments."<br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I told her how proud I was of her and I was although of course Boppy and I let her do mostly whatever she wanted but she didn't ask to do anything outrageous. And that is the joy of being a grandparent. Our responsibilities towards the grandchildren are mostly to keep them alive and fed while they're with us. And while it sometimes seems that as a parent, our entire job is to deny our children the things they want- candy, more TV, staying up late, not eating vegetables, and on and on, and on, as grandparents we can indulge them in ways that parents can't. I mean- to a degree, of course. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">So it was a beautiful visit and I am honestly VERY proud of Magnolia June.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">And it's been another beautiful day. I did a little garden weeding, listening to Colson Whitehead's "Crook Manifesto" which is the follow-up novel to "Harlem Shuffle" which I loved so much I read twice, once by eye, once by ear. He is an amazing author and I love the way he moves his plots along, as gracefully and purposefully and artfully as the way a pretty snake moves through the grass. <br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5KNCPE8J4zZ11d-t5My_SKjrjhYLhllgjq0e8Sn5O6od5Sehqd5DN6P2eUlaDnAqxBT7BOaf4pO68PFTY8w7YKCfJh23xr9aTGuSEAmDNeWLWatIO8GortwihzocNpoTw3dK7NtkJ94bOAVv1Zd0fr_mHv-saYXIh2KpeGcIcc6fWuF9j6-A66nOKG6h-/s4032/IMG_4911.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5KNCPE8J4zZ11d-t5My_SKjrjhYLhllgjq0e8Sn5O6od5Sehqd5DN6P2eUlaDnAqxBT7BOaf4pO68PFTY8w7YKCfJh23xr9aTGuSEAmDNeWLWatIO8GortwihzocNpoTw3dK7NtkJ94bOAVv1Zd0fr_mHv-saYXIh2KpeGcIcc6fWuF9j6-A66nOKG6h-/w480-h640/IMG_4911.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">The mulberries are starting to leaf. If you look carefully, you can even see their tiny fruits forming. I wonder if this year will be a good year for mulberries or not. Our crop varies wildly from year to year. <br /><br />And here are some more anoles. They seem to have chosen this place of peeling paint by the kitchen steps as their favorite gathering spot. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1nFvpeY5XIlHzCn0pUwnBChv6wgHlV7LwG1OaQSfhRRPp-Fg7bKmO8SXS3Rcc6SDbcp36qkABZDMMyTDvYSQtCO-kKceh79TC4xT79ozBbPsp8oaosvB6En4O_1oWPRBwx_Jzbkv5C-QBbn6PKY33kUx1xlBIoQyZ4gj4LW4LzWgPSGLV48FHJatoNQBN/s4032/IMG_4891.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1nFvpeY5XIlHzCn0pUwnBChv6wgHlV7LwG1OaQSfhRRPp-Fg7bKmO8SXS3Rcc6SDbcp36qkABZDMMyTDvYSQtCO-kKceh79TC4xT79ozBbPsp8oaosvB6En4O_1oWPRBwx_Jzbkv5C-QBbn6PKY33kUx1xlBIoQyZ4gj4LW4LzWgPSGLV48FHJatoNQBN/w480-h640/IMG_4891.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Oh, how I love their clever little hands. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Love...Ms. Moon</span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div></div></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p>Ms. Moonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09776404747858099919noreply@blogger.com21