Bless Our Hearts

You Cannot Have A Bad Time In A Pair Of Red Cowgirl Boots

2012-01-28T09:47:00.005-05:00

Oh, y'all.
It's almost ten in the morning and I just got up and I think I might still be drunk.

Yeah.

It was a fabulous night.

I was being so wussy about it but something kept saying go, go, go, and so I did. We did. I finished my make-up with Owen tearing my bathroom apart and putting powder on his face. When I put my red lipstick on he studied me and said, "New lips!" and I kissed him with my new lips and we took him to his mama and went on to the Legion Hall where this reunion was taking place and I felt shy as could be and we walked in and I thought, "Oh, Jesus. There are going to be so many people here I thought were dead."

We found my ex and his wife and sat down at their table and it was all just starting to happen. It occurred to me quite strongly that hell, if I had felt compelled to come down for this reunion, everyone else in town would too and yes, that was true.

It was like some sort of huge family/high school reunion except for the fact that it was joyful and since we were at a reunion for a bar, basically, there was much drinking going on and as the night got deeper into its hours, we got deeper into our celebrating and the music got deeper into the blues and the dancers got deeper into their dancing.

I saw people I hadn't seen in years. And not just people I'd known from the bar, either. I saw my midwife and damn, if she doesn't look exactly the same as she's looked forever. She delivered Lily (probably the scariest birth she ever did) and although she's not in the biz anymore, she said she'd love to come to Lily's birth. We shall discuss. She's done a birth with Lily's midwife before and she really likes her. My Liz and Lon of the west were there and they were carrying tequila and sharing it out.

There they are together. Liz and my midwife, Erice.

It was a coming-together of what was once a community, in fact. We were a disparate group of people for sure, but we all went to Finales for companionship, for drinks, for food, for music.
And thus it was again.

The old chefs for Finales had gumbo and pork butt cooking outside. Delicious. Oh, how I have missed the food at Finales which stayed open until four a.m. and you could come in at three and get a steamed veggie platter and how many places can you say that about?

Well, in Tallahassee at least.

And yes I did see people I honestly thought were dead and some of them looked better than they did twenty years ago if you want to know the truth. Not all of us have aged so well but there we were and we danced, a lot of us, and we all walked around in a sort of agogness going, Isn't this just something? Isn't this just amazing? and it was. It truly was. Turns out we might all still have a few ya-ya's left. This is a fine thing to realize.

We left around midnight, amazing for us, and I am feeling incredibly none-the-worse for the experience.

It was just a beautiful evening and there were beautiful faces and beautiful smiles.

There was music.

There was food and there were so many hugs. People kept saying, "We should do this more often," but honestly- I think the fact that it has been so long made it so special. Plus, it's hard to get us old folks out much any more.

And we don't have enough days left to waste that many of them in recovery-mode. Although you know, once in a while it's worth it. It's worth it to see the faces, it's worth it to hear the voices, it's worth it to let the tequila open your heart full-wide to enjoy it all, to give your body permission to dance. It's worth it to hear the blues and remember what it was like to go hear music every week of your life, to be grateful for those people who play it and to be so glad that they are still here, still playing.

I'm glad I went. I sure am. I'm glad I put on my red cowgirl boots and my red lipstick and went out after dark and I'm glad I danced and I'm glad I got to hear the music and I'm glad I got to whisper secrets in ears and I'm glad I got to laugh and I'm glad I got all those hugs and that bowl of gumbo and Cam's recipe for etouffee and that I had two shots of espresso and several cups of water in the middle of it and saw people walking around and happy who I seriously thought were maybe dead and I'm glad it's a beautiful day today and it's like last night was one more gem in the necklace of beads around my neck which are the days I've lived.
An especially pretty bead. One that I'll cherish.

It was a night of remember? remember? and how are you? and some of the folks, well, you could tell that death has come a little too close with his cold dark breath but that's the way of it if you live long enough and there we were, come together again, changed and not-changed, dancing and smiling, saying Damn, it's good to see you, saying, Isn't this something? Isn't this just something?

And oh, y'all. It was.

Here And There And Oh Yeah, There Too

2012-01-27T09:15:00.005-05:00

I woke up about one million times last night which gave me the opportunity to go back over my dreams.
Whoa.
I've decreased my antidepressant dose tremendously in the past few months and am barely on them anymore at all and so I can't blame all this night-time crazy-dream-movie-shit on them any more. It would appear that I am just insane all on my own.

Lucky for you I am not going to discuss them. The dreams, that is.

Anyway, what was waking me up was sorta-like pain. I feel achy everywhere and my hips feel like they might have teeth in them. Snap, crunch. I wonder if I am coming down with something. Isn't it funny that we "come up" with ideas and plans but "come down" with a cold or the flu? How does anyone learn a new language and speak it fluently? I do not know.

Well I really and actually do not have a lot to say this morning which is vastly apparent by now. It's Friday. Owen's coming over this afternoon and will be here until seven and we might go to town, Mr. Moon and I, for a restaurant/bar reunion.
Yeah. I know. Sure beats a high school reunion, though.
There was a great bar and restaurant in Tallahassee called Grand Finales and we spent many a Friday night there, eating yummy foods, drinking rum and cokes and listening to music and dancing. It was our weekly ya-ya-getting-out event. Back when we had ya-ya's to get out.

Anyway, some of the old bands will be playing and there will be food and drink and I sort of want to go and I sort of don't. It'll no doubt be one of those Oh God We Have All Gotten So Old situations. I mean- I'm spending the afternoon taking care of my grandson.
I don't know. We'll see.

Beyond that, there will be line-studying this weekend and set building. The play opens in less than two weeks.
Groan.

Hey- if you're in the mood to read something by a real writer whose columns I love, go here.
It's about Mitt Romney doing laundry and it's hysterical and Tina Dupuy wrote it and if you don't know her work, you should.

All right. That's it.

Happy Friday, y'all. Not unlike Mitt Romney, I have laundry to do. Haha!

Love...Ms. Moon

If We Could Only Agree That We Are Going To Disagree

2012-01-26T20:49:00.005-05:00

The rain is coming down and the way it sounds falling from the roof is like the earth is being pat, pat, patted, gently and sweetly from the heavens.
Ah. Sigh.

We had a line-rehearsal tonight, which means that we sat around and said our lines and it was at Jan and Jack's house because the Opera House has a big ol' event going on and we sucked.
Yep. We did. It's actually harder to just sit and say lines than it is to be up and doing it because we associate where we are and how we are using our props as memory devices.
Maybe.
Or maybe we just suck.
I was sitting next to our young'un on the couch and she was texting inbetween her scenes and I watched her fingers flying on that tiny keyboard and I was amazed. Oh, youth. There is no substitute.

Anyway, we got to talking a little bit about politics. At least three of us there are pretty damned die-hard liberals and one of us is definitely not and we didn't get into it but I said that I think they're going to find a gene for whether you tend towards the liberal side of things or the more conservative side and that's just the way it is and that people hardly ever, EVER change sides of that fence.

I do believe it, too. The older I get, the more I think we're hardwired by our genes and that goes for religion as well as politics and I was just thinking about that. It occurred to me that we waste SO much time trying to fight the other side and how it does no good and what seems SO VERY OBVIOUS to one side seems like the biggest stinking pile of dog crap to the other and vice versa and maybe we should just give up the fight.

Maybe we should just take turns, you know? Democrats this election, Republicans that election and quit all the name-calling and shit-throwing and just accept that we are a nation made up of both ways of thinking (okay, probably many, many ways of thinking but you know what I mean) and stop wasting our breath. Maybe everyone would be a little more chill, knowing that their time is coming up.

Yeah, yeah. I know. It'll never happen and it probably wouldn't work but it's a thought. What's going on these days sure isn't working. Hell, Richard Damn Nixon would be too liberal for today's conservatives and the space between the two parties has just gotten so wide and so rocky that it doesn't seem like anyone can cross it anymore, which only leads to nothing getting done at all for the good of anyone.

Except for the very wealthy. They always make out like bandits, somehow.

Well, shit. Whatever.

The rain is coming down harder and I have an azalea bud opening and this is just crazy but it's nice, too. The pecans sure aren't opening anything up yet. They're tightfisted as ever.

They're wired like that.

I'm wired the way I am wired and you're wired the way you are wired and yet, we can all agree on some things.

The sweet sound of rain coming down, for one thing. And the way a sweet boy in Elmo pajamas feels in your arms.

and the way crock pot chili tastes at the end of a long day.

Yeah. Like that.

Sweet sleep, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon

Good Day

2012-01-26T12:22:00.001-05:00

And Will He Bring Cheese Toast Today?

2012-01-26T05:16:00.003-05:00

Owen's coming in the deep dark quiet; he's headed this way.

Might be a little quiet here at Blessourhearts today. That boy requires a lot of attention.

That's all right. I don't have much to say anyway.

Just this- people I have met through this blog continue to have me on my knees with amazement.

Not to pray about them. (You.) Just knocked right down with the very essence of strength and resilience and the ability to still laugh.

I am so glad we've met.

Yours truly...Ms. Moon

A Decision And A Book

2012-01-25T17:53:00.004-05:00

I am done with the contacts. Done, I tell you. There is no way that they are a fair test of my ability to see in monovision because they don't give me decent vision far away or near, either one. My astigmatism is too bad, I think, for them to work at all and I am not going to put myself through that shit one more moment.
I do believe I am just going to go get a new pair of glasses and be done with this situation. I cannot commit myself to an expensive surgery which may leave me with vision no better and maybe worse than I have with glasses.
So there and that's it.
I tried for eight days.

I went to lunch with Hank today and I could hardly read the damn menu. There was no place I could hold it and see the words properly. Not near and not far. Nope. Fuck it.

So okay. Have any of you ever read a book by Joshilyn Jackson? I never had but am listening to one on CD now and I can't tell if it's a really good book or if I am just fascinated by it or if the narrator, who is Ms. Jackson herself, is just incredibly talented.
It's got my attention. Too much of it.
It's called Backseat Saints and it's about a woman in a relationship with a man who, to put it bluntly, beats the shit out of her.
Now I've never been in that situation myself. My "issues" do not include being attracted to men who might do this. I went out with a guy once who hit me ONCE and that was it. Out of there.
And if any of my good friends has ever been in this situation, they never shared it with me although I deeply suspect that one of my friends (now deceased) may have been.
And so, this is a subject I really don't know much about beyond what I learned in nursing school and have read about. It is so very easy to think that the solution to domestic violence is to simply leave, although intellectually, I know that's a hell of a lot easier to say than to do. A hell of a lot easier. And I even understand some of the reasons why.

But listening to this book has been an eye-opener and it's a page-turner (or, if you're listening, a keep-goinger). The writing is a bit...lush...but it works very well in this story. Sometimes I think an editor should have perhaps stepped in with a red pen but really? Who am I to say that?

Okay. That's all. Just wondering if any of you have read any of this author's books (And how southern is the name Joshilyn? Was she named after her daddy? I do not know but I sort of hope so.) I would be tempted to read another. This is not Great Literature but it's a good story and there is certainly a voice to it and as such, I am enjoying it a great deal, albeit the subject matter which is painful and hard to fathom but which I know is as real as can be and as mostly untalked about as the sexual abuse of children.

And now I'm going to go make some SHAKE AND BAKE PORK CHOPS and no, I do not need any help, and also sweet potatoes and there are gorgeous greens from the garden soaking in the sink which shall be our salad. And don't you laugh at Shake and Bake pork chops. They are delicious and don't be a damn snob.

It's been a good day and I'm damn glad I have taken the contacts out and admitted that this is not working out for me although I gave it a fair try and am not sorry that I did.

I am grateful that my man has never once threatened in any way to raise a hand to me in violence and quite frankly, I beat myself up enough as it is and do not need to do so with sticking lenses in my eyes which only make my vision worse.

And Another Thing

2012-01-25T16:09:00.001-05:00

If you want to research your family tree, chances are you can thank the Mormons for having all the records. Want to know why?

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/01/25/mormon-church-mitt-romney_n_1229322.html

I read about this years ago and it creeped me the fuck out then.
Still does.

Clown Make-Up

2012-01-25T08:50:00.005-05:00

I can't even stand to read the paper right now or read the articles on the internet about politics. It's just all a bunch of disgusting mess. I have been alive for fifty-seven years and I don't think I've ever seen such a craptastic slate of Republican candidates although why I am surprised, I do not know- I mean, GW Bush not only got nominated, he got elected twice.
Well. Not really.

What lit my fuse this morning was a quote from the paper from a woman commenting on Obama's State of the Union address last night which I did not watch as I was at rehearsal. Anyway, this woman said, "It's nice to see the president in full campaign mode. What we heard tonight was a series of empty platitudes and false dichotomies as the president gave lip service to issues like controlling our debt and getting our economy moving again. He was right about one thing, though. The American Dream is under attack. What the president fails to understand is that it's under attack by his own policies."

What. The. Fuck.

This sort of sums it all up for me right now. The hypocritical bullshit and yes, empty platitudes and false dichotomies. Yep. Right there.
But not Obama's.

Maybe I'm just having an old-hippie moment here but what the fuck is going on with all those old Republican White Men with their freaky sprayed hair and their mouths going, "Blah, blah, blah," and their lives saying, "Nah, nah, nah."

Right now the two biggest dicks in the barrel seem to be Newt and Mitt.
Newt with his three marriages, his "I'm not a Washington Insider" and his "I've never been a lobbyist."

I mean- come the fuck on. The truth is no farther away than yesterday's newspaper. Dude spent untold sums of money and wanked out the government to impeach Bill Clinton for letting an intern smoke his cigar WHILE HE WAS CHEATING ON HIS OWN DAMN WIFE! Listen- I'm a big believer in what you do with your private parts are your own private business but when you start moralizing and demonizing another person for doing the same exact thing you're up to, then I have to say that we need to take your soapbox away.
Plus. He was Speaker of The House. I loved what Jon Stewart said which was something along the lines of "Newt, when Washington gets a prostate exam, you're the one who gets tickled."
If being Speaker of the Damn House isn't being a Washington insider then it's being a Washington Vital Organ, at least.
And can you say, "Fannie Mae?"
But nah, go on, just keep opening your mouth and vomiting up the lies and eventually, someone will believe you.
Obviously.
Doesn't say much for American voters, does it?

Mitt? Who knows what the hell he really believes? He changes his own deeply held beliefs faster than he changes his Mormon underwear.
And speaking of Mormons- no, we do not have to accept the fact that Mormonism is just as regular a religion as being a Methodist. Methodists do not have secret rites and rituals in a TEMPLE, y'all, which you participate in and are sworn to secrecy under threat of...what? Death? I don't know.
I'm not saying that Mormonism as a belief is any crazier than any other religion but even within the definition of weirdness which to me encapsulates most religious belief, Mormonism sort of stands out.

Okay, okay. Whatever. What I'm saying here is that it's all a bunch of just completely bizzaro-world bullshit and I'm done with reading about it. Mostly. My biggest fear is that after the people-with-dicks bite each other's asses to oblivion, Sarah Palin is going to step back into the ring. Hey- it could happen. That Freaky Ass Big Tent those Republicans are always going on about has red and white stripes on it and it's always the scariest clown that steps out of the car last.

And the people always cheer and the lions roar and the elephants stand on their hind legs and balance a ball on their trunks and the ring master dashes around cracking his whip and the children cry because goddam- the circus is SCARY- but it's so much more entertaining than a lecture at the library and we all just buy another beer and a bag of peanuts and settle back and enjoy the show until we realize it's not a show, not at all, and the clowns are running the circus and no matter where we look, it's all crazy and confused and even when it's over and we step out into the light of day, the smell of the shit and sawdust is still in our nostrils and we can only imagine the clowns taking off their wigs and sitting back, their giant-shod feet propped on the coffee table, swigging whiskey and counting the till and laughing their asses off at how there's a sucker born every minute.

Fighting The Good Fight?

2012-01-24T21:32:00.003-05:00

I'm struggling a little bit again. I decided today to really sort of take the day off. I mean, I did dishes and laundry and I went to town to hear my grandbaby's heartbeat and I had a rehearsal but beyond that, I didn't do much.

I laid down for a nap this afternoon- something I haven't had much of a chance to do for a long time and before I went to sleep I read a few articles in this month's Esquire, including an interview with Bill Clinton and one with Woody Harrelson, very different men, but I think both are men who consider things, who think about the consequences of actions, and who are both (well, in my book) sort of precious.

And that was nice and I had a short, deep nap but before I fell asleep, I felt flooded with guilt. Guilt about not spending this time doing something I SHOULD have been doing. Like studying lines or taking a walk. Or taking a walk while studying lines. I thought about how I need to come up with costumes and how I should have gone to Goodwill while I was in town- it's Tuesday! We seniors get a discount today! I thought about my mother and how I haven't even called her in two weeks. Or more. About friendships I have not tended. I fretted a bit with it all and tried to remember how fucking HEALTHY I'd felt in Mexico when I had had nothing to do at all but relax and enjoy and well, you know- just be. I tried to remember that water, to recapture that feeling of being perfectly and completely in the moment.
I did not succeed very well. But I slept.

I got up and did a few chores around here and then studied lines some more. I went to rehearsal.

It was, for me, the best rehearsal yet. I felt my character slipping out of me, taking over. The lines came somewhat easier. I had, can I say it? Fun.

Ah-yah.

I think about Kathleen and how she refuses to say that she is "battling" cancer. I love that. I have always hated that phrase. I remember when my friend Lynn died from a devastating neurological illness and I begged them not to say in her obituary that she had died after battling a disease.
They did anyway.
But I know the truth. There is no battling such a horrible illness. But if you read the obits, you'll end up thinking that everyone in America dies after battling something. Unless they die suddenly. It's like if Martians came to earth and observed all the convenience stores, they would think that all humans lived on ICE! BEER! and COFFEE! And gas, of course.

We have a warrior mindset. We fight our diseases, our demons and tooth-decay. We try to believe that we can actually make war on drugs and on terrorists. We stay busy all of the time battling fatigue and cholesterol and depression and pain.
And you know what?
We're going to fucking die anyway.

And what will have been the point of all this battling, fighting and all of these wars?
Some of us may be warriors and okay, go on, fight all you want. But some of us- well, we're not. We are not warriors, we are pacifists and dammit, maybe we just want to make peace with ourselves and our world and okay, change what we can but surrender to that which we cannot.

And I think that when I was in Mexico where the culture is very different, I felt at home in a way I never will here. We Americans have this history of fighting for every damn thing. We fought for freedom, we fought the Indians for their land, we fought for every square inch of this huge country and we are still fighting.

Jesus! I give up! I don't want to fight. I want to make love, not war.
I want to love myself, my family, my life. I want to work WITH circumstances, not against them. I want to enjoy the damn process and if I have to fight, then hell no, I will not be enjoying a damn thing.

And in the end none of it will have mattered.

It's like labor-until you surrender to the forces and let yourself sink into the pain and difficulty, the body will stay tight. But once you do surrender, once you let go and let the process take over and stay out of the fucking way, the body will do what it must do to let the baby be born.

I know this. I know these things to be true. So why, WHY do I constantly arm-wrestle myself into trying to believe that it is only through struggle that I can be a worthwhile human being?

I don't know. Acceptance and surrender seem to me to be not the lazy way out, but the intelligent and sensible solution to most things. If we quit expending the energy to fight, we may actually have the energy to DO.

All right. I'm going to think about these things. And if you have any thoughts to offer, I would be grateful for them.

I'm going to bed.

Yours truly...Ms. Moon

Baby, Baby, We Can Hear Your Heartbeat. With Captain America

2012-01-24T11:40:00.002-05:00

Brain Chatter

2012-01-24T08:32:00.004-05:00

Thinking, thinking, thinking. Too much thinking but it's interesting to think and wonder and ponder and ruminate and I don't have time to really put any of it down here but here are a few of the things tossing around the constantly whirling machinery of my mind this morning:

Beautiful celebrities
Ugly celebrities (politicians)
Last Night's Guest Dream Musician
What Love Is
What Love Isn't
Why sex?
Romance/Shromance

And finally:

Depression and Anxiety and why we neither really know what causes them nor best how to treat them.

My friend L7 sent me a link today and yes, I've linked to articles about this before but it just intrigues the very hell out of me.

http://healthland.time.com/2012/01/24/magic-mushrooms-expand-the-mind-by-dampening-brain-activity/

All right. I'm off to town for Lily's midwife appointment. A good midwife, in my opinion and experience, is something of a Shaman.

Where did all the Shamans go?

More magic! Less bullshit. That may be my new motto.

More shall be revealed. Later, y'all.

Just...Oh. Just Watch It. You'll Be So Glad You Did

2012-01-23T22:30:00.004-05:00

Jo posted a video today that I have now watched in its entirety.
I am humbled and I am stunned and I am grateful and I love women more than ever and I wish that everyone who has ever been pregnant or who loves someone who has ever been pregnant or anyone who has had issues with her body after pregnancy or who thinks that her belly is not beautiful, would watch this.
Every moment of it.
And if I could kiss my own belly, I would. My own wrinkled, bigger-than-I-wish-it-were, nest of a belly.
Thank-you, Jo.
This is beautiful.

Silver, Leather, And Parallel Universes

2012-01-23T21:30:00.003-05:00

Do you see those earrings? Those shiny silver earrings?
Those are my earrings. The earrings I bought the first time I ever went to Cozumel and I bought them for ten bucks and they have been my favorite, favorites, ever since. My go-to, default earrings for when I needed to be fancy or feel prettier or braver.
And I thought I had lost them last March when we went to Gatorbone and stayed at a cabin at the state park and I have been in despair about losing them ever since. I also lost a pretty necklace, one of my favorites, and a pair of red earrings which are crystals swinging on chains which I love and they have a crazy history of their own involving loss and discovery.
Also, one funky silver bracelet.
I had thought that I must have left them all in the bathroom of that cabin in a little bag, perhaps on a shelf and I had even called the office at the park and no, no one had turned them in and I'd thought to myself that if I'd found them, it would have been mighty hard not to consider them a gift from the girly-gods and kept them for myself and I didn't really hold any grudges or beat myself up for losing them. I just missed them.

I have dreamed about finding those earrings so many times.
So many times that this evening, when I reached into a bag that I thought I'd searched fifty times, at least, and I found them, I thought, "Well. I must be dreaming."

I don't think I am. I found the little bag and it had the two pairs of earrings in it and the pretty necklace. The bracelet, she is still MIA. And who knows? Perhaps she is the ransom I have paid for my earrings which is fine and right and I do not mind. When I was in Mexico I looked everywhere for earrings like these old ones and couldn't find any that were like them at all although the ones I ended up buying have a similar shape and I do love them. They're the only earrings I've worn since I got home.
Until tonight.

I have this theory that belongings (especially jewelry) go into and come out of parallel universes and if you've got a better explanation for why things dis- and re-appear, I'd like to hear it. It's happened too many times to me to be explained by carelessness or forgetfulness. I am not a careless person when it comes to my jewelry.
For instance- I have had these earrings now for twenty-five years.
I think that leather bags may be depots of some sort for these parallel-universe-travelings. I lost a lid of pot once, a long, long time ago, in a leather purse and it was missing for weeks and then it reappeared as if by magic. Lid of pot. Haha! What an old, old hippie I am.

I don't know how the magic works.

I'm just so glad it does.

It is a quiet night and I am home from rehearsal and Mr. Moon is out of town and I can hear the distant rhythmic chirping of crickets and I am feeling peaceful. Tomorrow I will go to town for Lily's midwife appointment and I will get to hear that coming-soon baby's heartbeat. Or heart-beep, as we are wont to say around here. Another holy moment.

I think I will wear my earrings. My once were lost but now are found earrings.

Unless I am dreaming.

Night, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon

No. That is NOT All

2012-01-23T13:00:00.002-05:00

I would like to find the man who wrote this stupid dialogue and then stick these contacts in his eyes and tell him to "adjust."

Yeah. That would make me happy.

And then maybe I'd find the person who made these contacts, stick them in THEIR eyes and tell them to study this script. With them in. While adjusting.

Justice. (Or at least sweet revenge.)

I Now Officially Hate

2012-01-23T12:48:00.002-05:00

1. This script.

2. These contacts.

That is all.

Big Love

2012-01-23T08:58:00.005-05:00

All right. It turns out it was actually real and valid and nothing to joke about but I got an e-mail yesterday and the subject line was

BIG VICTORY! re: Lesbian Torture Clinics and I'm sorry, it's wrong, I suck, but come on- wouldn't that make you sort of laugh if you had no idea what it was about?

What's that old saying? Dip me in honey and throw me to the lesbians?

Okay, okay, that's not what I came here to talk about.
What DID I come here to talk about?
I have no idea.

It's just the most glorious, amazingly beautiful, cool-but-not-cold, bright day in Lloyd and the birds are beside themselves with it and are composing special musical works dedicated to it and practicing them as they go and yes, I need to take the trash and yes, I need to take a walk, and yes, I have to study my lines MORE AND MORE, and yes, there are horrible things going on in this world (and I know this because there always are and even Lesbian Torture Clinics-no joke) but right here, right now, I just have to stop and say, this is heaven. This is a type of heaven and if I could, I would teletransport all of you here right now for an emergency service at the Church Of The Batshit Crazy and the sermon would be given by the air, the dirt, the birds, the light, the trees and the incense would be provided by the tea olive

and then we would all have biscuits and honey for communion and we would hold each others hands tight enough so that we wouldn't fly up into the glory and close our eyes and feel each others fingers, bone and flesh and blood, for real, all of us, and open our eyes and there we'd be and wouldn't that be something?

Good morning.

Japanese Magnolia blossoms, attempting to fly off into heaven.

Violets Are Blooming And The Sap Is Already Rising

2012-01-22T19:00:00.004-05:00

Jesus Christ. I just studied lines for 6.5 hours. Okay. I took a few breaks.

And I took a few pictures.

While walking around the back yard, doing my lines, I found three white violets which had opened. I was shocked. I don't know why. If the Japanese Magnolias are blooming, the violets can't be far behind. The white ones always open first and then the purple ones. When there are more than three, I will start tossing them in the salads.

I found one of Owen's animals in the back yard, too. His elephant. I wonder if he's missed it. I miss him. I'm studying my lines with my iPhone. I downloaded an app for a voice recorder and when I recorded some of my cue lines and then my responses last week, I was also following Owen around and his voice comes through on the recorder and it makes me feel sort of weakified with love and longing to kiss him. I can also hear Elvis and the train but they don't have the same effect.

Anyway, I found Owen's elephant and I posed it with a little piece of stick that has what is possibly a lichen on it (Syd? Kathleen? Anyone?) which is so common here I almost never notice it but damn...it's sort of beautiful.

I don't think I've ever taken the time to actually look at it close up.
I'm glad I did today. I need to learn more about it.

I love that color- it's almost the color of my kitchen and it looks like a cross to me between lettuce or a stag horn fern and some sort of sea creature. I swear to you- I have been around this stuff my entire life and it wasn't until tonight that I actually LOOKED at it.

Which makes me wonder, as it does whenever something like this happens- WHAT THE HELL ELSE AM I MISSING?

I swear to god. I should try getting stoned once in a while. You see more stuff like that when you're stoned. We won't even talk about what you see if you've ingested a few sacred and holy mushrooms.

But today's sight was not enhanced with anything but script-concentration and these contact lenses which, if anything, decrease what I see but maybe that actually causes me to look more carefully. Looking and seeing are of course two different things but one will lead to another.

For example: A husband who, after eating an omelet and sausage and biscuits with honey will wash the dishes and give you "that" look. You know the one. The one that leads to foolin' around.

It's been a good day.

Yes it has.

I am grateful for every damn bit of it.

Brunch

2012-01-22T11:48:00.001-05:00

I wish I could truly capture the yellow of our hen's eggs.

It was fittin'.

It's Okay. Plunder My Soul

2012-01-22T08:49:00.007-05:00

Last night Mr. Moon and I played cards and I beat his ass soundly.
This never happens. Ever.
It sort of upset me. The way the luck has settled around here is something of a miracle and I want no portents that it may have changed in any way.

Silly. I know.

Very, very gray here today and wet, too. This makes for a different sort of sound-stage for this particular all-the-world's-a-stage.

I keep taking pictures of resurrection fern, hoping to impart the true beauty of it but it always just ends up looking like fern growing on log.

I guess that's what it is anyway, but this particular fern curls up and looks deader than your great, great, great grandmother when we haven't gotten any rain for awhile. And then...comes some wetness and it furls out and turns green again.
Obvious metaphor and beautiful on its own.
Can't beat that.
Especially on a Sunday morning.

I have a camellia opening up which is almost obscenely pink, if pink can be obscene. Especially against the brown and gray of today.

It is almost unbearably tender, too, with the droplets of water upon it.

One had opened fully, it's face bowed low, almost to the ground. I plucked it and brought it in, put it in a vase and gave it to the hallway altar table.

And you ask why I live in Florida. We are not all palm trees here in North Florida. Although we have a few of those as well.

When I moved here, almost eight years ago, there were no palm trees in the yard (excluding sago palms which are not actually palms) and one scraggly camellia. I remedied that in a hurry.
Well. Maybe not a hurry.
But pretty quick.

I brought over two camellias from my old yard and they are doing well. One fairly spectacularly well. I drove by that old yard the other day and saw that a tiny live-oak I'd planted has grown amazingly and looks for all the world like a teenaged boy, all height and gangle. When I die, that tree will still be there and hell, if no one interferes with it, when my children's children are having children, that tree will barely be mature.
That's something.
At least I think it is.

My friend Tom brought me two small palms in pots and I planted those by the front porch and then I bought two Canary Island Date palms and planted them on either side of the front gate.
They are doing well. They'll look better when they get more height to them but I feel quite affectionate towards them, even as they are now.

Again, it is warm and so my thoughts turn to the earth and what grows in it and on it. We are still getting good greens from the garden, both cooking-kind and salad-kind. I gave Judy a little dish of collards and mustards I'd cooked on Friday with tomatoes and shallots. They are good. I ate them again last night myself. I can't wait to make a salad with that basil-infused Spanish olive oil that Ross brought over with some of Tom's green onions and garlic. He grows the best garlic.

I hadn't seen Ross in years. I've known him since Winter Haven, back when we were kids. He came over as did Tom and our across-the-street neighbor yesterday afternoon to watch a basketball game with Mr. Moon. I could barely walk in that room with all the testosterone crashing around. Even with the door closed, I could hear the yelling and screaming coming from in there all the way out here on the porch. It was funny. All the gals on the back porch, all the fellas in the Glen Den.
I told Ross we were doing lines, us girls.
He looked at me with that tilted look of "oh really?" and we laughed.
Ah, the old days are gone forever.
The years have pounded us out and mellowed us all.
Somewhat.
We can still laugh about it all. Those of us still here.
There is something of great comfort in that. It was good to see Ross.

I wish I could see any damn thing today. These contacts- well- I'm not sure they're a very good experimental device. My eyes are so astigmatized that contacts have to find their float-point to work and it takes forever in the mornings. Honestly, I can't see shit here. I am writin' blind. They'll get better as the day passes.

Mr. Moon is out in the woods. It's the last day of hunting season. I think. For me this mostly means that I can start using Suavitel Fabric Softener again, which I like because it, like Fabuloso, reminds me of Mexico. Anyway, he'll be in soon and this day will truly begin. I might make him some breakfast.
I might even make some biscuits.
I can cook blind. Believe me.

Speaking of cooking, if you haven't visited Tearful's new cooking site, I advise that you do. Plate and Fork.
I especially like his header which has the words, eat what you want and die like a man.
There's no one like Tearful.
I don't know that I'll be making his recipes. They're far more gourmet than the hash I sling around here but I sure am entertained by the pictures and the words and who knows? I might get inspired.

Well, that's enough of that.
It's Sunday Here At The Church Of The Batshit Crazy and you know what that might mean.
Yeah. Time for a little hymn.
Here's a grainy old piece of film showing some boys before time had done its pounding work on them. Showing time DOING its pounding work on them.

Bless and amen.

Love...Ms. Moon

And Even MORE???!!!!

2012-01-21T20:13:00.000-05:00

Stepping Back

2012-01-21T18:20:00.004-05:00

A good day. A very good day.

I studied and then Judy came over and she helped me. She read me lines. And then Kathleen came over to help. And then Denise.
They did not have to, any of them.
I didn't ask them to.
But they did.

They made me feel loved and if there's anything more important than that in this world, I do not know what it is.
Well, maybe TO love. Of course.

I've gotten nothing really accomplished today, I have done no cooking. There's plenty of leftovers from last night, anyway. I have allowed myself to cry, to laugh, to feel loved.

And guess what? The world still spins and my chickens gave me four beautiful eggs, three brown and one that impossible Tiffany blue. A very old friend brought over some basil-infused olive oil he had made. Another friend brought over clean green onions that he'd grown, in a bread bag. They are pure white and greenest green. My husband has been loving all day long.
Especially loving.

And tomorrow I have nothing planned but to study lines. That's all.
To study those lines and let the character continue to come out as I can step back and allow her to do so.

To step back and be mindful of the moments and not worry about the ones to come nor to try and plan for them.

To just be.

I will probably check the progress of the opening of the first Japanese magnolia blossom in my yard, see if it wants to show me its purple throat, listen to what it may have to say.

I watched a red cardinal today bathe in the birdbath. I hope to remember that. It was a glory.

That's all.

Love...Ms. Moon

I Am Homesick

2012-01-21T09:34:00.007-05:00

One of the things I got Owen at the Target the other day was a Thomas The Tank Engine Pop-up tent thing and he loves it. Who wouldn't? It looks like this in the ad at Amazon:

Perfect for a kid his age and size. He made his daddy bring it to our house yesterday and when Bop got home, he got in there with Owen too. Which pretty much meant he had to put it on like a shirt and Owen was just beside himself with glee.

I mean, look at that face!

It was a beautiful and fun day yesterday with Owen and he was mostly happy and we even took a nap and had snuggles and I don't know what happened but I just suddenly became overwhelmed and it may have occurred when Mr. Moon discovered that one of the dogs had gotten up on the coffee table in the Glen Den and POOPED! On the table. Where Mr. Moon and I frequently eat our supper.

Okay. This was a first and I just lost my...shit. No, not really. It didn't happen then. I cleaned it up and did a bleach scrub on the table and I'd made baked chicken and collards from the garden and mashed potatoes and homemade bread for god's sake (remember? I told Owen we would make dough and so we did) and studied lines and did about four loads of clothes and washed the sheets on the bed and had a really good time with Owen and then...
Well. I lost it.

I looked at the kitchen needing to be cleaned up and then I looked at those pictures Jessie had posted on Facebook and I lost it.

"I can't...." I think I said. "I just can't...."

And Mr. Moon cleaned the kitchen the way he usually does and I realized I had lost my sense of Just Be, thinking once again that I need to do and do and DO to be loved, to be appreciated, to be worthy of life on this planet and let me tell you something- for me that is toxic thinking. That is evil thinking. That is what leads me to insanity.

And so I went and found that video and I remembered and still, it's like a dream.
Really?

And I wonder- am I having my ten thousandth midlife/oldlife crisis? Should we just move to a little cottage in town? Should I forget trying to do chickens and a garden and living in this big old house that needs so much attention and be where I'm closer to my children and my grands and Publix?
I know I need to get rid of the dogs.
I know that.
No shit.

Should I quit doing plays and being on the Opera House stage company board?

What is really and truly important to me? How do I refine, define, find the time? Without going insane?

I can't live in Cozumel. I can't stay in a hotel all the time where everything is magically cleaned for me every day. I can't eat out three meals a day. I can't lie about in a hammock beside the water, waiting for my next serving of pico de gallo and chips and beer.

That is not real life.
Well, no. yes. It is real life. Just not the one I am able to lead all the time.

Nor would I want to unless my children were there too. I would die of missing them.

Well. Time to struggle into those contacts. Time to study lines. Judy is coming over this afternoon to help me. Guys are coming over this afternoon to watch a game on TV.
This is real life.

Or at least the one I am living now which is the one I have chosen, which, is also like a dream. Which includes messiness. And joy. I mean LOOK at that face poking out of Thomas The Tank Engine. I get to kiss that face!

And I need to remember, no I have to remember, that my worth as a person does not depend on how much I get done in a day and that honestly, I am not in a contest with myself.

Or something like that.

And to take time to breathe. And to remember that there is autonomy and I do get to make choices and changes if I feel that changes need to be made as I grow older.

And that tears are just an overflowing heart sometimes.
Yes. That too.
And that I can be homesick for a place where I do not actually live.

I sure as hell can be and I am.

Breakdown. Go Ahead And Do It.

2012-01-20T22:16:00.001-05:00

Jessie has posted a million new beautiful pictures on Facebook.
Here are two of them.

I finally had my breakdown tonight.

Is it any wonder?

Where You Need To Go Tonight

2012-01-20T18:50:00.001-05:00

Click on the picture of our dear Kathleen.
Be amazed.

Now I Love Him Even More

2012-01-20T11:05:00.000-05:00

We Persevere

2012-01-20T09:22:00.003-05:00

GAWD! I remember soft contact lenses now. Yes, I did wear them. The way those little bastards turn themselves inside-out or have they? The pinchy thing you have to do on your eyeball to get them out. The muscle memory is there. No wonder I have dreams about Saran Wrap.
Plus, I can't see for shit. Seemed better yesterday. Maybe my brain is tired.

Anyway, let's give it a try. Why not?

Another beautiful day here in paradise. Thank god it's not too cold because we're down on the line of empty for heating gas. Dude was supposed to come yesterday but did not. Let's hope he comes today. I am not going anywhere today except for a walk. Owen's coming later. Yesterday in town was fun. I went over to Lily's after my eye appointment and Owen did not want to get out of bed. He was cold. He kept asking his mama to get back in the bed with him for snuggling purposes. We finally got him up and out and went and picked up the Beauteous May and we headed for the Target because that's what women do, right? I got the new baby a few things and we oohed and ahhed over the little girl clothes and then we pulled ourselves together and all declared that another boy would be FINE, LOVELY, WONDERFUL! and I bought Owen some toys, of course, and then we all went to lunch and Bop met us and Owen was in love with May and wouldn't have anything to do with his old Mer and then we Facetimed with Jessie in Asheville. She is recovering from her wisdom-teeth removal and oh! how we miss her.

Facetime is fun. iPhones are awesome.

I had exactly one hour to study lines before heading to Monticello for a Stage Company meeting. Why I am on the board of the Stage Company is beyond me. Kathleen has to keep explaining things to me. Like- what the Stage Company is. Then we had a rehearsal and Jack and Jan basically told us that IT IS NOW TIME TO PANIC, QUIT FUCKING AROUND, LEARN THOSE LINES FOR GOD'S SAKE!

So that was fun and then I came home to discover the no-gas situation and that yes, the men had caught a deer, or in reality, Jason had shot one. Which meant we sat down to eat our supper at ten and I had to wash a load of clothes because the dogs will EAT clothes that have deer blood on them and then we went to bed and WHERE IS MY OCEAN? WHERE IS MY BALCONY? WHERE IS MY LOVERMAN? WHERE IS MY HOT TUB FROM WHICH TO WATCH THE SUNSET, MY FISHES, MY JUEVOS MEXICANA, MY IGUANAS AND MY MOTOR SCOOTER?

And hell, while I'm at it, where are my memory, my mind, and my looks?

Okay. That about sums it all up except...what happened to my beautiful day? WHERE IS MY BEAUTIFUL DAY? The sun has gone behind a pewter-clouded sky and the wind is picking up. Wind? Where did THAT come from?

You know what, though? I'm still in a good mood. So there.

Happy Friday, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon

Sometimes They're In Chains For A Reason

2012-01-19T21:47:00.003-05:00

I really don't have time for one of my rambling posts tonight because of rehearsal and the fact that Mr. Moon and Jason caught a deer so I'll just give you one thing that happened today:

I was at the eye doctor and had my new contacts in and they'd told me to just walk around and try to adjust for awhile and while I was doing that, two women, one in prison-guard garb, escorted in a lady wearing red scrubs who had her wrists bound together with a heavy-duty-looking chain that clanked and rattled and wrapped around her waist, too. They sat down and of course I had to eavesdrop and observe and so I sat down across from them. I wondered what the woman in red had done, remembering a conversation I had once with a guard from a woman's prison who told me that most women in prison were there because they hadn't ratted out their drug-dealer boyfriends.
The woman couldn't fill out her own forms, of course, so I heard a great deal of her medical history and everything seemed real chill and all and they were still there when I was leaving and me, being the old liberal that I am, smiled at the woman in red like, "Hey, I'm a human, you're a human, I am not judging you just because you have chains on and howdy!"

And that woman gave me a look that chilled me to my bones and all I could think of was, "That woman could cut a bitch. Thank god she's in chains."

You learn something every day.

Cold And Dreamy Morning

2012-01-19T07:56:00.003-05:00

Freezing cold, up and at 'em which means clean up the pees and poops and feed the cat(s) and throw the peels and kitchen waste to the chickens and open up their roost door and then out to get the paper and hello, hello, it's so cold here today!

Mmmm.
I think I had good dreams. I can't remember.
Speaking of dreams, they are going to ask me if I ever had soft contact lenses and I am not sure whether I did or whether I dreamed I did. I have dreams sometimes where I go to check my contacts in their little case and there are layers of contacts, sort of like Saran Wrap and I don't know which goes in which eye and so forth and I haven't worn contacts in so many years!
So did I ever wear soft contacts or not?
Lord, Lord. Getting old is a bitch and as Phyllis and I agreed the other day- what are the damn trade-offs? Wisdom? Haha! Who wants your damn wisdom and who says your wisdom is any damn good at all? Or wise for that matter?

Well, it's cold as I said and I was thinking this morning that after the baby comes in March and Lily will mostly be home with her or him and Owen and I won't be involved in a play, I can spend some time working in this yard which sorely needs attention. Mr. Moon got all the branches cleared and so it's a bare palette again and won't that be good? To dig and plant again?

Oh. I just remembered a dream. We were swimming underwater but it looked just like regular above-water and there were places you could stop and breathe and there was a baby and there were musicians and Bill Clinton was gettin' high with some of them and he was wearing a pink polo shirt and faded blue jeans and he looked perfect with that white hair of his and I pretended not to see that he was gettin' high, but I was glad he was.
Inhale, Bill. Inhale.
(I love that man.)

And there you go, good morning, it's cold. It's winter and it's supposed to be cold and I'm going to see some of my babies today and soon we'll be meeting this new baby and oh my.

Here we go, here we go, here we go, the bare branches of the trees look strong against the blue sky of winter and the moss drapes down and here we go. I am going.

Bless

2012-01-18T18:17:00.004-05:00

I feel like I haven't stopped all day. I've followed the boy around and he helped me clean out the chicken coop. He wanted to wear my gloves and so I put them on him, big enough that they were like second hands over his own. He picked up straw, about ten strands at a time and would consider it carefully. "Nope," he'd say, and put it back down, pick up a few more strands, examine, "Nope," put it back down. He finally grabbed a handful and dumped it in the wheelbarrow and we took it all out to the garden.

I need to take my next load to the fig tree, see if we can get a fig this year instead of just a bunch of beautiful leaves.

I studied lines while I followed him from tractor to garage, from chicken coop to goats. When we found an egg he shouted to the hens, "Thank-you! Thank-you!" We watched videos on the computer. He hugged me and kissed me. I think he even told me he loves me. I told him I loved him. "I do," he said. "I know," I replied. "I know," he repeated. He helped me find dog poop. He points it out. "Poop!" he says, and then he says, "Buster."
He's probably right about that.
He wanted to make dough. I promised him we would do that on Friday.

That boy is my heart.

I took him to his mama at Publix when she got off and I hugged her hard and I kissed her belly. That baby in there is getting bigger. People are amazed that she doesn't know whether it's a boy or a girl. A woman I vaguely know through the Opera House is pregnant with her ninth child and it's due in March too. I told her that I was getting a second grandchild in March and she asked, "Is it a boy or a girl?"
"We don't know," I said. "They don't want to know until the birth."

"I hate people like that," she said.

She honestly did. I guess if you're pregnant with your ninth child in about nine years, you can say whateverthefuck you want. She floated away like a ship in full sail, towing one of her children behind her, headed for the bathroom. I could only shake my head in wonder.

After I dropped off Owen and Zeke and did my grocery shopping, I went and got gas, went to the library, came home, unloaded the car, loaded it back again with trash and recycle. Took that. Came home and put the groceries away, finished the laundry, put it away, made the bed. I smushed up the soy beans and brown rice from dinner a few nights ago, added this and that and we'll have soy burgers tonight. Soy croquettes. Whatever. With sweet potato fries and cole slaw. That sounds pretty all right, doesn't it? I think so. I'm a sucker for soy burgers that I make myself. I've been making them since I was a young hippie girl but now I use the food processor. It's a lot easier.

And now it's getting dark. My husband is home. It all feels righteous.
Righteous.
I swear it does.

I tell you something- the ramifications of living without depression, fear and anxiety are fucking unbelievable. I'll tell you something else- you can get a lot more done and yet, at the same time, it doesn't seem so important that you do.
This may be part of the secret. I don't know. I just know that whenever I start to feel rushed and panicked, I just slow down. I remember that all I have to do is be.

Works for me. For now, at least.

Well, time to get back up off my ass and go cook that supper. Those sweet potatoes aren't going to peel and cut themselves. Tomorrow I'm going at nine to get those wackadoodle contact lenses. We'll see how that works out.
Then I'm going to go see my May girl. We're going to do something. I don't know what and it really doesn't matter. And then maybe have lunch with Lily and Owen. It's going to be another good day. A great day- I'll see my girls and my grand boy and then I'll have another rehearsal.

If I don't get time to answer comments, you'll have to forgive me. You can bet the ranch I'm reading them, loving them. You can bet your ass I'm learning from them. You can know for sure I'm appreciating them. Oh please don't stop. Please.

Love...Mary

Early Morning Animation

2012-01-18T09:44:00.000-05:00

And Life

2012-01-18T05:39:00.002-05:00

Raining softly, dark as midnight, Owen coming soon.

It's going to be another busy few days in a row here with lots of going and learning and doing.

And two weeks back from Mexico and I am still not freaking out.
Three weeks from the play opening and I am not panicking.
(Much.)

Early, early morning and I am not in despair but have gone out to feed the cat, let the chickens out of the roost, gotten the paper, am waiting for the boy.

Did that water in Cozumel smooth my edges? Did the food feed my soul? Was it the people? Was it the love of my husband, being with my daughter and her fellow, was it the iguanas or was it Ixchel?

Was it breaking all of the rules (the number one being- do not abandon your home and family!) and finding the freedom and grace in doing so?

Don't know. Perhaps a eleven-day-long sipping of a cocktail of all those things. Rum stirred in.

It's early morning and dark as midnight, the rain is pattering down.
The boy is coming.

I am blessed.

Let's Talk About Death, Bay-Bee

2012-01-17T21:03:00.004-05:00

This morning at the post office I told an old woman that I hoped she would drop dead.

There's a woman I see here in Lloyd and I recognize her. She bought a house of mine about ten miles from here, back in, oh, I don't know. 1986? '87? Something like that. It was my beloved cracker house that my first husband and I had moved onto some property we owned and restored. When I got divorced, I felt like I had to move to town because I was a single mother and needed to go back to college and I needed to be able to get my babies to their preschool and I didn't need to be driving back and forth all the time and plus, I was young and afraid of living on my own deep in the country where I needed bulldogs to keep me safe.
Or at least, that's how I felt.

I held on to the house for some years and when I met Mr. Moon, his parents actually lived in that house for awhile. But then it came time to sell and we sold it to this lady and she lives there still. I don't think she remembers who I am. She just recognizes me now as that woman who walks and whom she sees at the Lloyd post office, which is like the pond in the middle of the Kalahari desert, where all the animals meet to drink.

This woman is an artist. She taught at FSU and her art was sculpture which she made by welding. She made HUGE sculptures. She made big art. And she can't do it any more and I don't know how she and I got to the subject of death so quickly in our quick encounter at the PO this morning but it did. I mean, one minute I'm holding the door open for her and the next minute, we're talking suicide.
She told me that since she can't do her art anymore, she feels as if her life has been taken from her. And that she's old. And her children don't live near her and that they talk about putting her in a nursing home and she wants to stay in that house with her two dogs (one, a bull mastiff, weighs 200 pounds and the other dog weighs 100 pounds) and she loves her solitude but dammit, when it's time to go, she wants to be able to just go. She said she's thought about cutting her wrists in the bathtub and instead of freaking out, I said, "Yeah, but it takes such courage and fortitude!"
"You're right!" she said. "Every way to end your own life is so hard and horrible! Why can't we just get help?"
And we talked about our dogs and how, when it's time for them to go, we do just that. We release them from their pain, from their misery and so why do we have to stick around and suffer?
It was quite a conversation. I told her that I've thought about this a lot. And that I completely agree with her.
She said that she doesn't believe in capital punishment- that it's not right to take someone else's life but that when you're done with yours, you should be able to go on.
"It's so HARD to die," she said. And you know, sometimes it just is.

So she sat there in her car and I stood there with my mail and we talked about all these things and about what makes life worth living and how neither one of us wants to linger forever and have people taking care of our decrepit old bodies and I said, "My hope for you is that you just suddenly drop dead one day and that's my hope for myself, too."

And she thanked me and said that's what she hoped for. No suffering and no miseries. Just be gone.

And I am thinking about her tonight in her house alone, the house I spent a lot of time in in my younger life, just down the road from here. She said she lies in bed and reads- that she can still get pleasure from reading and thank god- and her blue eyes were sharp and beautiful and I hope they last as long as she does and I hope her good brain does too.

It's been a long, good day, and Kathleen's appointment with Doctor DreamyMcCutie Pie went very well and he showed us pictures of his darling babies and he hugged Kathleen and it was all fine. And I studied lines and had a rehearsal and Owen is coming tomorrow at six a.m. and Mr. Moon got home and is off at a basketball game but I am thinking of that lady, that lady whom I told I hoped would get the great, good gift of dropping suddenly dead and I can see her, with her giant dogs on either side of her, slipping into peace the way Pearl did in my arms when the vet gave her that sweet shot. I hope for her sake that's how it happens. That it doesn't turn out to be hard to die. For her, at least.

I was grateful to be able to have such a real conversation about such real things. That we understood each other and there was no bullshit about it. That when she said that about cutting her wrists in the bathtub, I didn't feel I had to say, "Oh, no! You wouldn't do THAT!"

We're all going to die. And if we humans had a lick of sense about it all, we'd be able to have options for that certain ending as much as we do about whether or not to get pregnant or where to go to school or what to make our lives look like or where to go for dinner after the show. We wouldn't spend our entire lives pretending it was never going to happen to us.
Or our loved ones.

I'm not going to go into a big rant on euthanasia here. I'm just going to say that today I told an old woman that I hope that she gets to drop dead and she thanked me and it was awesome.
And if I love you, I will wish the same for you.

And I would hope you would wish the same for me.

This

2012-01-17T08:29:00.003-05:00

Again, a hint of spring is back in the day in the morning, in this calm place.
It's a wetness, it's a mildness, it's a bird-singing wonder, it's an awareness of the buds of spring hiding tightly away in brown, a dream of them but still, one that will come true.

A quiet-stunning. A silent promise, even in dried sticks of branches.

This is another day. This is that one promised. Or if not promised, then hoped for. This is a day-after-a-night-of-dreams of being in a city, living in an apartment, finding beauty in squalor, an old wooden table, remnants of green paint upon it, the wood still sturdy, this will be my table, I will put a white cloth upon it. There will be lace here.

This is a planet of blue-green water which hides the world within it from us, hides this world outside it from it, creating mystery, fostering curiosity, holding more than we can know and we know that and we are amazed.

This is a planet of dark-brown earth from which springs the tiniest ferns and the trees so sky-stretching that within their branches are entire other worlds, again, hidden from our view, thus, mostly unknown.

This is a universe of vast-unknown-to-us and some of us ask what and why and some of us are content to take that as comfort as to our insignificance and some of us, well, both of those things at once.

This is a day of the smallest particle, as unknown perhaps as the largest galaxy, but suspected, perhaps, searched for.

This is the day of the cup of coffee, this is the day of the fingers on the keyboard, this is the day of the words in the head, this is the day of the fruit and the bean, this is the day of the steps down the road, this is the day of the wheels on the pavement, this is the day of the knowing and not-knowing, this is the day of the life of the woman who dreamed and who dreams and who spins out the words and thinks of the worlds and this is the day she is in.

Like A Journal

2012-01-16T20:49:00.004-05:00

Thank all of you who noticed the header change.
I just like to change things up, you know? Plus. It's easier than rearranging my furniture or (god forbid!) cleaning something. Or doing actual painting. Of you know, walls. Someday I'm going to learn to paint and I am going to paint and paint and paint.

Well, it's a fond dream of mine.

Rehearsal was even worse than I thought it would be due to the fact that I am not the only one who doesn't know lines.
Oh Jesus.
Jan and Jack are so sweet. And so is Denise. They all sat there and gave us our lines as patiently as saints whereas I would have shouted, "Just use your goddam script and go home and learn this shit and quit fucking around!"
Or something like that.
But no, they just smiled and said, "Really. You all know far more than you think you do."
Jack said, "It wasn't that bad. No one cursed and no one cried."
I sort of cursed, though. I can't curse with my usual enthusiasm because one of our cast members is fourteen years old and although I am certain that she has heard every word I might use (but not as artfully used as I would use them, of course) one must maintain a facade of propriety, mustn't one?
And besides that, my eyes were welling up with tears, just as Jack said what he said and so there you go- it was pretty bad.

BUT- we will get it. And I know I put in about as much time the past few days studying as I could have. So there is that. It's not like I was getting stoned and watching reruns of The Brady Bunch. Okay, I watched some of the Golden Globes (and have you ever seen anything as odd-looking as Madonna's arms in your life?) but overall, I spent a LOT of time with that script. And will spend plenty more.

Ms. Beverly shaved my dogs to the skinbone and I am grateful. She also told me that they were swarming with fleas. Except for Zeke. I said, "Really?" because truthfully, I don't generally get close enough to them to know such things. I felt ashamed. I did. We have had a new flea treatment sitting on the counter in the kitchen for ages but no one had actually applied it to the dogs. I think we'd given up. The old ones, the Frontline and Advantage have quit working. But when I brought them home, I applied the toxic poison to them.
So they are clean and they are flea-treated and let us hope for the best.
Bless their little hearts. They look like little cartoon dogs now.

Mr. Moon is going to get up and drive to auction tomorrow at four a.m. I have made him a snack bag and a smoothie and set the coffee for him. He is my hero. That man. He spent all day finishing up the yard and burning branches and stacking firewood. He is so much more than I deserve. He is...well. He's Mr. Moon. There is no one like him.

Jessie got her wisdom teeth pulled today. She sent me a picture with her mouth all packed with gauze and it said, "My wisdom is all gone."
Bless HER heart. At least they gave her good drugs. And she has a good man to take care of her. They'd stocked up on fruit for smoothies and ice cream for milk shakes and dried split peas for soup.
Wisdom teeth, if you ask me, are definitive proof against the theory of intelligent design.

And that's about it. Tomorrow I am going to Thomasville with Kathleen and Judy for an appointment with the amazing and darling Dr. M. I haven't seen him in forever. It's always a thrill to see the good doctor who has saved Kathleen's life, who has given her so much MORE life than the lame doctor in Tallahassee who radiated her, mis-chemo'ed her and then told her she was going to die. God. It's been forever since I've been to Thomasville with Kathleen and Judy and we're going to get lunch! Lunch, I tell you!
Should be a good day.
I hope to get out and walk before I go, walk and run lines with myself.

And so it goes. This little life in Lloyd, Florida. On my walk this morning a guy driving a green Volvo stopped to talk to me. I know him only superficially but he's one of those people with whom you can make a real, quick connection. He's had the sort of life where he doesn't fuck around with bullshit. He'd been to Monticello to attend the Martin Luther King parade and was on his way to drop off something at his sister's. We didn't talk long. He had a meeting to attend in Tallahassee. It was good to see him. It made me glad to be out walking as did the beautiful day, the fact that at age fifty-seven, my body still serves me well enough to do a few miles without having to think about it.
I am grateful for that.

I am grateful for so much.

Night, y'all. Good night.

Nobody's Perfect

2012-01-16T17:45:00.002-05:00

I have to leave for rehearsal in fifteen minutes. Last Thursday night I gave Jan my solemn word that I would know this script by today.

Despite everything, that is a lie.

I have studied and studied and studied. I have walked for hours and read each line (said each line) ten times apiece. Over and over again.
I have drunk too much coffee and numerous cups of tea.
Lord knows I have tried.
Lord knows I will keep trying.
Lord knows, this is why we have rehearsals.

The sun is about to set. I am about to drive to Monticello. I am reminding myself that yes, I do have to learn these lines, that's the serious truth, but overall, this is play.
I can only do as well as I can and then do that some more.

I just have to be. The best I can manage.

And I can honestly say I have and so what more can be said?
Tomorrow, as Scarlett O'Hara always said, is another day.

And why, asks Ms. Moon, is chocolate not a memory aid?

Sigh.

This Morning

2012-01-16T09:05:00.002-05:00

The dogs must go to the groomer today- Ms. Beverly- bless her, bless her, bless her.
I want to take them and never pick them up.

When I got up this morning, I cleaned up five poops and three pees.

Ah, how I love the smell of Fabuloso and dog shit in the morning.

I try to imagine what my life would be like if I didn't do poop-yoga every morning, stretching, bending, retrieving, scrubbing, the sound of the waste basket going Sproing! when I pop it open. I wonder what my life would be like without these dogs.

And if you're looking for a "oh, they make my life so much richer!" sort of reply, go look somewhere else.

I'm sorry. It's Martin Luther King Day. I should be writing about him, not dog poop.

Forgive me. I shouldn't even mention that great man in the same post as dog poop.

Well, he was a man and if he ever had dogs, he would understand.

I am glad he lived. I am glad he had a dream. I am glad we were blessed with his presence on earth while he was here. I mourn his horrible death. I know his dream lives on and that the world is a far better place because of it but that his work is not done and it is up to the rest of us to continue it.

Dogs and their poop are just an annoyance. Prejudice and inequality under the law and cruelty based on skin color and human differences are wrong and a sin. I think that like so many things, it all boils down quite simply to love and respect and that as simple as that sounds, we have no idea what those two things really mean, most of us.
Some of us do.
Dr. King did.

He showed that. He told that. He was one of those people filled up with the god thing.

All right. That's what I have to say this morning.

Love...Ms. Moon

Cute Boys

2012-01-15T17:48:00.004-05:00

What a nice afternoon!

And oh yeah- correction- it's a Model A, not a Model T.

I know the difference between T and A, but not not as applies to cars.

Here's Billy puzzling over a manual.

Here's Mr. Moon AND Billy, puzzling over a manual.

They got a lot of things done. I have no idea what. But they never did get that Model A started. There's some sort of electrical thing going on. Don't ask me. I know about tuna casserole, not car engines.

Speaking of tuna casserole, I made a fine one, even if it had whole grain pasta in it. And leftover salmon. Wasn't that the name of a band? Leftover Salmon? I think so. It was a good casserole. Lily and Shayla and I ate about half of it. With Crystal hot sauce.
Which makes up for the lack of Velveeta.
Sort of.

Waylon and Owen obviously arranged what they would be wearing today. They probably texted each other beforehand.

Dang. They're cute. Shayla's pretty cute too.

Here's how to get Owen off the tractor: Say, Owen, Waylon is going to come with me to check for eggs.
"I coming!" he'll say. And he'll hop off that tractor real fast. He doesn't want WAYLON checking for HIS eggs. Oh hell, no.

Here's Owen riding on his mama's back.

I think they were happy or something.

Here's Owen in the garden. Look at that straight back.

Marching in the garden to the beat of collard greens.

Those boys played in the house and outside. They climbed the tractor and pretended to drive it and they played with puzzles. They rode the horse. They ate snacks. Many, many snacks.

And read the paper.

It was a good afternoon. Until someone needed a nap. Not saying who but he was wearing overalls. With a red shirt. So his mama took him home.

Have I told you that Waylon either hates me or is scared to death of me? He is. Or he does. He looks at me with deep suspicion and if I try to kiss him, he runs away. I'm working on him, though. I told him today that he is not getting any hugs from me. Or kisses! NO WAY!

He sort of smiled when I told him that.
Probably from relief.

He loves Uncle Hank though. I showed him a picture of Uncle Hank and he kissed it. I told him that I was Uncle Hank's mama.
I don't think he belebed me.

Owen wasn't really full of hugs or kisses for his Mer today either. He gave 'em all to his mama.
That's okay. She deserves them.

Well, that was my Sunday afternoon. How was yours?

More Cooking

2012-01-15T13:06:00.002-05:00

Do you know why your mother's tuna casserole was so much better than yours will ever be?

Because she used that crappy tuna in OIL, y'all. And she used full-fat Cambell's cream-of-something soup and full fat cheese (or even better- VELVEETA!) and she did not use nor even consider using whole-grain pasta. No! She used white noodles. Or macaroni. Yes she did. You know she did.
And then she topped that puppy with MORE cheese and crushed up potato chips. Greasy, yummy, salty potato chips.

Fat carries flavor.

And that's why your mama's tuna casserole was so damn good.

Time To Make The Grits

2012-01-15T09:04:00.004-05:00

Freddy put this picture up on Facebook and wrote: Your face. Everywhere. This is in Chicago.

I have no idea what that cryptic little genius is doing in Chicago and no idea why my face is everywhere but it's sort of cool, eh? I remember the day we filmed that. It was my fifty-sixth birthday and it was my second day ever of being filmed by Freddy. Or anyone, for that matter.

It's Sunday morning and cold again. Cold like bite-my-ass-this-is-Florida COLD! Mr. Moon and Jason just pulled back into the yard after hunting. I stuck my head out and said, "Did you catch a deer?" This is what I always say. Perhaps in my mind, instead of shooting deer, they run after them and gently scoop them into their arms and kiss them to death.
Haha!

They didn't bring a deer home and so no, they did not catch one. Or shoot one for that matter.

"Want some breakfast?" Mr. Moon just asked me. This means...oh you know what it means.
"What do you boys want?" I asked him.
"Uh, eggs and sausage and grits?"
"Go get me some sausage," I said. And out to the garage he'll go to get some sausage and I guess I better get to cooking.

Glad I bought grits.

Amazed at this life. More amazed at the fact that it is a Sunday morning and I am happy to be living it, happy to be awake, daunted but not flattened by all I need to do. All I GET to do. This afternoon Mr. Moon and Billy will be working on the old Model T in the garage that belongs to Billy and which was his grandpa's and Shayla and Lily and Owen and Waylon will be here too. Baby boys and big boys doing boy things, and daughter and girlfriend.

A bright, shiny day laying before me and my face is in Chicago and my heart is here and in Mexico and there with you, wherever you are. I swear.

There's Mr. Moon with the sausage. Time to cook.

Sunday morning at the Church of the Batshit Crazy And all is well. All is very well.

Jessie Just Made Me Cry

2012-01-14T18:30:00.005-05:00

My baby girl just called me and her voice was shining with something good.
"What?" I asked her. "What is it?"
"Vergil just bought us tickets to see B.B. King tonight!" she shouted.
"What? You're going to see B.B. King TONIGHT?" I asked her.
"Yes! In two hours!"
"Oh my god. Oh my god! I wish I was going to be there!"

Then I told her that every time I think I can't love Vergil more, he does something and I do.

"Me too," she said.

Oh Lord.

I've talked about B.B. King before. How since I didn't have a daddy, I got to pick my own and he's the number one. Yep. B.B. King is my daddy. He don't know it, but he is. I love that man. I've been to see him a number of times and every time I have come to love him more. I've read his book which I think every school child in America ought to be required to read. It's the story of a man who came up the hardest hard way of all and who has become a legend, a myth, a beloved Father Of The Blues and who has the most gracious soul I've ever encountered on the stage or on the page.

Mr. Moon and I took May and Hank to see B.B. once, when they were young. We had second row seats and we ended up dancing our asses off and shaking hands with Mr. King when the performance was over. We were so close to the stage that we might have gotten sprayed with sweat and we might have loved it.

And I've always felt so guilty that I never took Jessie or Lily to see their grandfather play. Well, one of the times I went to see him, I was pregnant with Lily so in a way, she's heard him. But now Jessie will get to hear him, and that makes my heart so happy that I cried.

Mr. King will be eighty-seven years old this year, y'all. EIGHTY-SEVEN YEARS OLD! And he's still on the road, still playing Lucille and still singing the blues and his voice will be still someday but tonight, he's playing in Asheville, North Carolina and my baby will be sitting (standing/dancing) in the audience and she'll know why I love him so much.
It'll be like she's meeting her granddaddy.

His amazing band will play some intro-stuff and then a man will stand up to the microphone and announce THE KING OF THE BLUES! MR. B......B......KING! and a presence will come onstage so strong and so joyful and so beautiful that the crowd will rise as one (if they have a brain and a soul amongst them) and Mr. King will strap on Lucille and he'll place his fingers where they know to go and....

Well.

Here he is, playing the song that made me fall in love with him.
Nobody Loves Me But My Mama (And She Could Be Jiving Me Too).

And as he says, "No wonder I act funny with you, baby, when you do the things you do."

You do it, B.B. And know I love you. It ain't just your mother. And I'm not jiving you at all.

Oh Lord. Jessie's going to go see B.B. tonight. Mr. B.B. King. King Of The Blues.
What a thing. What a very, very good thing.

I'm In Trouble

2012-01-14T13:19:00.003-05:00

I have been in the bathtub, trying to learn lines.
I don't think I can do this. My mind is like a sieve. The kind with big fat holes in it, not the kind with tiny little wire mesh holes in it either.

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

Jon- we need to polish up our improvisational skills and FAST! I don't know how you're doing it- you've got one million and two lines to learn. I only have ten thousand and four.

My brain hurts. The parts without the huge holes in them.
I think maybe the holes hurt too. In a brain kind of way. I meant no double entendre there.

Sorry.

Any memory tips, anyone? Anything?

Thanks.

Brave New World With Oatmeal

2012-01-14T09:47:00.007-05:00

Oh my god it is so bright and sunny here today. And cold. Jesus. It's cold.
Mr. Moon was up before me and was examining the oatmeal container when I walked into the kitchen as if it were a science experiment that he was trying to read the instructions for.
I told him the other day that really, he could learn to make oatmeal. It's not very hard. So this morning I suppose he was going to test out that theory. Lucky for him, I got up and he didn't have to.
Here's how it would go though, were he to actually start cooking:
Within a week, he would become an expert and know far better than I do how to cook things correctly.

I'm sorry- I do not mean that in the kindest way.

Here are some domestic things that he really IS better at than I am:

Making the bed.
Folding clothes.
Cleaning the kitchen after a meal.

Here are some things in the Realm Of Mr. Moon that I am actually better at than he is:

.......

I can't think of any.

I better not forget how to cook is all I am saying.

Right now he is out trimming branches in order to clear them. I should be helping him. Instead, I will go take a picture.

Now that's a MAN, y'all.

While I was out there, I took a picture of how cold it is.

Ice!
Sickles!
Icicles!

I realize that both Mr. Moon and I live in Assisted Living. I assist him and he assists me.
This works out well for both of us.

Now I want to talk about my iPhone.
I love it.
It is so damn smart that it makes my computer seem dumb. And Siri? God bless her, I love her. I can say, "Siri, send a message to Hank." Then I tell her what the message should say. She gets it right. Mostly. Then she says, "Are you ready for me to send this message to Hank?" and I say, "Yes!" and she does! I can surf the web on that thing. I can blog on it. I can take pictures and video. Duh. I can...I don't even begin to know. Create an alternative universe for all I know. See the mind of god.
Probably watch a video on how to make oatmeal. If there is a video out there of how to make oatmeal, then sure, I can do that. Well, of course there is.

Last night I said, "You have to turn the faucets on. It's going to freeze."
And Mr. Moon said, "Nah. It's not going to get that cold."
I pulled up my weather app and showed him that it was going to get down to 25 degrees.
"Oh," he said. Then he put on his jacket and hat and went out and turned on the faucets.

Now wait a minute. Why does Mr. Moon believe the Smart Phone when he doesn't believe me?

Okay. Ignore that.

I can watch videos of Keith Richards! albeit on a tiny screen.

Yeah. That darn phone is pretty fucking perfect.

I can only imagine how much more perfect it is going to become. Limitless perfection! Awesome! I was reading our beloved Tearful Dishwasher this morning and he was talking about brain-everything-else-interface (or at least, brain-machine interface) and boy, oh boy! Maybe we should be scared by this sort of thing. I don't know. All I know is that the genie is out of the bottle and the next few decades are going to be one hell of a ride.

ONE HELL OF A RIDE I TELL YOU!

Things my grandfather never even considered to consider are going to be commonplace, hold-it-in-your hand possibilities. I heard on the radio yesterday (RADIO!) that Russians are using social network technology to spread truth about the recent elections there and how this is changing everything. Judy and Kathleen and I were talking the other day about how for good, or bad, there is no way to get away with evil shit any more because someone is going to be there with a camera that can take video. And again, this may be all come back to bite us on the ass but it is a reality and we better fucking get used to it.

All right. That's all I have to say now. I have to wash the dishes, do the laundry and learn my lines. So far, my iPhone can't do those things although Siri could surely instruct me on how to do them best.

One more thing:

I hate oatmeal. I don't care what kind or what's in it so don't bother recommending oatmeally shit to me. I've just eaten too much of it in my lifetime. I still eat it but I don't like it.

Yours truly...Ms. Moon

A Village I Could Live In For Eternity

2012-01-13T17:55:00.010-05:00

The last full day we were in Cozumel, we went to the cemetery. We have visited it before, more than once, but not on any of our more recent trips and we wanted to go and so we scooted down to where we thought it was, and yes, it was right there, behind the Mega Market, which is Mega indeed and has coffee shops and sandwich shops and deli's and escalators which your cart can ride up on and under-the-building parking and you can buy anything in the world there. Almost.

And it is quite a contrast to the cemetery behind it, which I can only imagine is old.

The Cozumelians bury their dead in mausoleums which look a great deal like small houses and the cemetery itself resembles nothing more than a village of the dead with streets and avenues.

It is impossible not to be moved in this place.

As in any village, there are the rich sections and there are the poor. There are the sections of town which are kept up nicely

and those which are tended sporadically.

There are those whose property is large and those whose property is small. There is tasteful

and there is joyful.

There is, in short, places for the wealthy to be laid to rest and places for those less so.

One mausoleum has a beautiful statue of the woman whose body lays inside.

Another has these.

There is one section which is...well, I can't explain it and it may be where the babies and children are placed when they die. I did not have the heart to truly explore, but took pictures in the bright sun of what lay before me.

The biggest iguana I think I've ever seen was sunning himself on a wall. I tried not to think of possible explanations except for the one of the fact that perhaps he is very, very old.

It is common to see offerings of drink and food and of course, flowers, left for the dead.

And candles, of course.

It is a place of great stillness and beauty and of sadness and of stories of those who have gone on and how much they will be missed.

But the one which always makes me cry is this one.

Yes, it is beautiful and that stonework is very representational of how walls and even sidewalks are sometimes built in Mexico and it is tended lovingly but it is what is written there which is what makes me cry.

Can you read it?

Mary Margaret Langs
"My Katrina"
Born March 13, 1916, USA
Died March 30, 1978 Casa San Miguel
Cozumel-The Island She Loved

Sweet Mary
Beloved Wife, Cherished Mother
And Grandmother She Rests
In Eternal Peace. Her Greatness
And Beauty Of Spirit Will Be Forever
Remembered In Our Hearts.

Her husband is buried with her and whenever I read that part about her dying in Cozumel, the island she loved, I choke up.
I understand.
I am so glad that she is resting there in that place where the water surrounds her beautiful island. Where there is a well with a device to lower a bucket to water the bushes planted in front of her grave instead of a spigot.

I am not depressed tonight. I have had a good day. I am just thinking of that island I love. I am thinking about how, when I die, I would love so much for my family to take some of my ashes to Cozumel, to go to that cemetery and let part of me rest there forever, ground into the dirt or blown about the little streets of the village of the dead so that just as Cozumel is always in my heart, I will always be part of it.
Just that.
That a simple physical part of me will remain there forever.

Take note, dear family. Take note. And when it happens- make it WONDERFUL! Make it a party. Drink rum and light candles for me somewhere. The little ones you can buy at Sedena Grocery Store down on the waterfront by the military base. The ones that look like the one you see at the top of the post. They are perfumed. Pick up some dish towels while you are there. They sell the best ones. They also sell rum and limes. Everything you will need. Chocoritas too for a sweet snack.

And spend a lot of time looking at that water which gave me (gives me) so much joy and let it give your hearts peace as it gives mine.

Okay?
Okay.

Love...Your Mama Who Hopes To Live A Very Long Time And Who Hopes To Go To Cozumel With You All While I Am Still Alive.

I Guess He Does Pay Attention

2012-01-13T10:17:00.001-05:00

Conversation between Lon and Owen yesterday:

Lon: So the chickens lay eggs for you, Owen.

Owen: Not Elvis!

Musicians

2012-01-13T08:54:00.004-05:00

I might not ever take another picture in my life. I might just steal all of my images from Hank's blog.

Good morning!

So this morning I was lazing in the bed because I woke up earlier than I had to get up and I was going over my dreams, you know, and I realized that I dream about musicians A LOT! Mostly ones I know in my real, waking life. I have always been attracted to musicians. This is the truth. My first real boyfriend played bass. The kind that stands upright. The boy I moved to Tallahassee for played violin. My first roommate in Tallahassee whom I adored was a classical pianist. She still is. I married a guitar player. Lon and Lis are musicians. One of the first people I met in Tallahassee and a guy I am still friends with is a musician.
And there is no real pattern here. Classical musicians. Rock and roll musicians. Blue-grass, folk music musicians.

And me? I can't play a lick of nutthin'.

My parents weren't musicians although supposedly my old dead, drunk daddy played guitar. I have no memory of this. I hear that my mother gave him a sweet little Martin guitar as a wedding present but he eventually pawned it. I do remember his father playing piano and singing. He was a merry little old soul and generally in his cups. He was an attorney and must have been smart- he went to Harvard and Yale and he clerked for Oliver Wendell Holmes. He may have been a drunk, but he sure was a functional one. I think in his heart, he truly wanted to be a musician but that just would not have done. When he was at Yale, he and Cole Porter collaborated in the composition of songs for college shows. According to my granddaddy's obituary, anyway. And so Granddaddy grew up and joined his father's law firm and worked hard and played piano when he could.

So maybe he had something to do with my love of music. I have no idea. And maybe it's not even music that I love so much as it is the people who play it. And I'm in awe of them, mostly. To me, people who can make music whether with instruments of wood or string or their own voices are creating magic. When I go to hear Lis play, I feel shy around her during her breaks. As if by the very fact of her being able to do what she does onstage makes her a different person than the one I am so very blessed to be such good friends with.

It makes my heart incredibly happy that Jessie can play music and it is a wonder to me at the same time. When she decided to go to nursing school, bad mommy that I am, I asked her- "Are you sure? Are you sure you don't want to be a musician?"

Ah-lah.

Or, perhaps Tra-la, as the case may be.

Okay. This day is slipping away from me and I have things to do and here I am, musing on musicians with no point whatsoever except that I have always loved them and the way they dress and live their lives in service to music and HAVE to play it, no matter what and how grateful I am for that.

They are part of the reason I love humanity on the days I do love humanity which is not all of them, but on the days when I don't, the music they play helps me get through it all.

Damn. I wish I knew Keith Richards.

Happy Friday, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon

Who AM I?

2012-01-12T21:20:00.005-05:00

You know what? It's been a great day.
It was so busy and wonderful and so good to see everyone who came.
Owen helped me make the focaccia bread. Or...pizza rustica. Or...whatever the hell it was. Here he is, carefully placing tomatoes on it.

Who took my baby grandson and replaced him with this grown-up guy? My god. He was full of surprises today. Every time I see him there is something new going on in that head of his.

Here's Daddy B. and Waylon at our picnic.

What a great lunch! I chopped arugula and other greens from the garden with garlic and a tomato and then added olive oil and vinegar and we ate that and some of Billy's delicious cheese and apples and the bread. The boys had juice and Billy had a Nat Lite and I had a glass of water. I would have joined Billy in the beer but I knew I had too much to do today.
It was perfect, though. For me. Billy probably hated it. But he ate it anyway. He's precious like that.

Our boys went fishing after lunch.

Owen showed Waylon how and he picked it up real quick. That boy is smart! Both of them are. We have two smart boys.

They still don't really play "together" that much. But they're watching each other. They're learning. I was telling Billy that Owen doesn't really like to read books that much and he said that Waylon really does and the next thing I knew, Owen was asking me to read him a book. He handed me one and crawled up in my lap. Like, "Whoa! Waylon likes BOOKS! Maybe I do too!"
They shared potato chips and fed the goats and chickens.
It was a joy, watching those boys who have known each other from birth. It was a joy, seeing Billy.

Then they left and the next group showed up. And that was another joy! Lulumarie (Lorie) had never seen the house but knows it from the blog and she was so sweet. I broke out the bread and cheese and greens and made coffee for everyone and showed them the house and Lorie gave Owen a puzzle and a book and he immediately did the puzzle with Lon as if he'd known him for years (he has, but I doubt he remembers- everyone feels comfortable with Lon) and took him out to show him the tractor and I held Lizzie around the waist and said, "You're not really leaving me are you?" and yet, she had to. They were on their way to Destin for a songwriter festival and I begged Lorie to come back and stay in the Panther room and I hope she does. She brought me a plant from a cutting of one of hers that I admired a long time ago at her house in a blue pot with a seashell and I was so very, very touched.
Lis snuck off while we were looking at the chickens and cleaned up the kitchen.

Yes. This is the sort of friends who make me feel like the richest person in the world.
Yes. These are the kind of people I am so honored to know.

And then they left and I went over a few lines and then it was time to go to rehearsal and I did and now I'm home and I have to tell you- I am doing fine.

Was it all Mexico?
Here's something: When I was there, I didn't take any of my supplements and I haven't taken a damn one since I've been back and I have more energy and feel better than I have in years. Yes, I know. That could be a result of not being depressed. But...I'm still not taking them. I'm on half of my antidepressant dose (and have been for awhile) and my bio-identical hormones and that is that.

And it is getting cooler and the wind is picking up and I need to go make Mr. Moon's lunch for tomorrow and a smoothie, too, and again- here I am- and I am actually looking forward to whatever tomorrow brings.

Hell. I even called Miss Beverly today and made an appointment to get the dogs groomed. I MADE A PHONE CALL TO GET THE DOGS GROOMED!

What is going on with me? I am washing curtains and I am not freaking out and I am not anxious and I am enjoying this one amazing life I have.

Knock wood.

I called Mr. Moon this morning when Owen had kissed me while he was helping me with the dough and said, "Isn't this a wonderful life we are living? Isn't it?"
And we both cried a little.

Yeah. It's been a great day.

Let's see what tomorrow brings. Let's see.

As Hank Said, "Tarnation!"

2012-01-12T08:49:00.003-05:00

AC repair guys are here redoing a valve and Owen is coming and Waylon is coming and Billy is coming and Lon and Lis and Lulumarie and two other people are coming and I HAVE REHEARSAL tonight and my eyes are still not right and I should be freaking out and I am, a little, but here I am. Just being. Dog fur everywhere in my untidy, dusty, mildewed house.

And Lulumarie's house is so beautiful and always so clean that Lis and I have determined that she must repaint it every other week. There is no other explanation. Blue bottles gleam on her porch, the light coming through them, even nook and cranny in her house is a place of perfect serene beauty. I am NOT KIDDING YOU!
Oh well.
She isn't the sort of woman to judge and I love her for that. Also for the blue bottles. Love, love, love her.

If I don't answer comments- well- please forgive. I don't have much time right now. I intended to make focaccia bread and I might.

Elvis is crowing, "Let US OUT!" and my washing machine and dryer are not in their proper places and I don't know my lines and the sun is shining and it is going to get cold like in the twenties and you know what? It's all okay. I swear to you. It is all okay.

I say that now.

Click on the picture above to go to the original source. I stole it from Hank. Thanks, Hank!

We'll talk later.

Love...Me

Like Being On Drugs But Not As Much Fun

2012-01-11T17:23:00.006-05:00

So, here I am, eyes dilated and I can barely see shit but whatever, I am not driving but just sitting here typing this and waiting for some chicken bosoms to thaw.

I went to see that eye doctor. He was approximately twelve-years old. Seriously. I don't think he shaves yet. But I liked him and he laughed at my jokes. My eyes are fine for the surgery but the hang-up for me is that I still have good close vision (well, for a woman of fifty-seven) due to my life-long nearsightedness and if they correct for distance, the close-vision will be for shit and I'll need reading glasses for that. Now why I think that this is a huge problem is a mystery. But I do love to get in bed and read without my glasses. However, that is not a big portion of my day, whereas being able to see everything that isn't under my nose is.
They can do that mono-vision correction where they basically leave one eye under-corrected and correct the other one and the brain takes care of it. In theory. He said that most women tolerate this very well.
"Women?" I asked. "Better than men?"
"Yes," he said. "And we don't know why."
"Because women are used to tolerating the intolerable," I told him. "Doesn't make it right."
He smiled pleasantly.
So what they're going to do is to give me some contacts which will replicate the mono-vision situation to see if I can "tolerate" them. I would like to do far more than be able to tolerate something. But anyway, we shall see. This place is not an assembly-line Lasix factory and I like that. Dude was honest with me. I have time to think about it. I will be able to experiment with vision alternatives. This is all quite interesting, as were many of the tests they did on my eyes and I felt like I was on Star Trek and I felt like I was in A Clockwork Orange, both at the same time.

And don't call me Dim no more, neither!

(For those of you who have never seen A Clockwork Orange, you didn't get that, and even if you have, you may not get that but one summer in Winter Haven, Florida there was nothing at all to do except to go out in the cow fields and gather mushrooms and eat them and then go see A Clockwork Orange which for some reason stayed at the Ritz Theater downtown for months. Or at least in my memory. And for me and some of my friends, our vocabulary became semi-boiled down to quotes from the movie and that was one of them. This explains more about me than you can know.)

So the question shall be- is the surgery worth it? As with everything in life, this must be determined. Are the compromises worth the cost? Would being able to see without glasses for most of my activities be heavier on the scale than being able to read without glasses? Maybe my old brain will adjust to the mono-vision. I sort of doubt that, but it's possible.

So here's an Owen story:

Lily and Jason and Owen came to pick me up and on the drive back to their house there is a giant bull statue. Made of plastic or fiberglass, no doubt. Like you'd see in front of a Giant Steakhouse or something and Owen loves that thing and says, "Cow!"
"Yep, it's a cow," I told him. And then I said, "Hey Owen, do you know what they call boy cows?"
"What?" he asked.
"Bulls!" I said.
"No, no, no, no, no! COW!"
"No. It's true. Girl cows are called cows and boy cows are called bulls."
He didn't even pause to think about it. He just gave me another string of "NO!s" and then said, "I no belebe you!"
Two years old and the kid already thinks he knows more than I do.

Well. He'll find out and then he's going to be totally embarrassed that he did not belebe me.

Okay. Tomorrow is going to be a busy, busy day. Owen is coming and Billy is bringing Waylon to play and Lon and Lis and Lulumarie and another couple are dropping by too. Whoa, nelly! It's going to be exciting!
Wow. I just remembered that I used to work with a girl named Nelly and I let her and her boyfriend use my apartment for...um, their love...because she was married to someone else.
I had forgotten that. I wonder what happened to her?

And this is what happens when Ms. Moon gets her eyes dilated. Her brain goes kaflooey.

Belebe me. I wouldn't lie to ya.

Yours truly...Ms. Moon

No Title

2012-01-11T08:47:00.005-05:00

I think it rained all night long. It is still drizzling now. This is so good, the slow, steady watering of our earth here. We need it so badly.

It has been a week since we left Cozumel and still, unbelievably, the effects of that water, that place linger. My anxiety has been almost non-existent and when I do feel it begin to creep up, I can replace it with the images in my mind, the words, "Just Be."
Just be.
It is not mine to change the tides or the moon's path in the sky nor even the life of one other person on this earth.
It is only mine to take care of what I have and myself, as well, and that is comforting.

I keep thinking about that article I linked yesterday about the freedoms which should be allowed a seventeen year-old girl. When I was seventeen I was about the most responsible person on this earth and took care of my younger brothers sometimes for a week or more while my parents traveled (this would never happen today, would it?) and made mostly A's and mostly followed the rules and then how, when my mother discovered that I was on the pill, she lost it completely and threatened to kick me out of the house and told me that the idea of me "screwing" my boyfriend was ruining HER sex life and threatened to have the doctor who had prescribed birth control to me (he was a saint) arrested and shamed me to the point where if there had ever been a chance in hell that I could have anything near a normal sex life of my own after having been sexually abused by her husband, it slowly dissolved in front of my eyes.

I loved that boy I was having sex with. And I want to rush in here and say, "Or I thought I did," because I was only seventeen, you know? but dammit, seventeen-year olds can love and what I felt in his arms was safe which was something I never, for one second, felt in my home.

I had yet to even begin to untangle what had happened to me as a child in reference to my own sexuality but I had been taught, inadvertently as it was, that my sexuality was powerful and as I have pointed out before, there was a great cleansing in the choosing on my own who to use it with.

So when my mother found out that I was having sex and shamed, shamed, shamed me, it was like being abused all over again in some ways. If she could suss out that I was having sex with my boyfriend why the hell couldn't she have figured out that her husband had abused me, twenty feet away from where she was? Why hadn't she shamed HIM? Why?

Why, all of a sudden, was I an evil person when before I had been the good girl, the BEST girl, the star student, the talented actress, the Girl Scout who won awards, the little mommy to my brothers?

It's still tangled in my head.
And I will say now that my mother is not the same person. She is as sensible about sex as anyone. She discusses it with her granddaughter!
And I have no real knowledge of how horrible those times must have been for her. Her husband was not only a child abuser, he was insanely evil in his way and emotionally abused her and everyone in the family. Constantly. Living in that house was being unable to take a full breath. My youngest brother had a friend who told him that he could truly imagine coming over one day to find everyone in that house murdered- that's how strong the fear vibe was. My mother was caught in the web too.

Well. These are just things I am thinking about on this drizzly day. How seventeen year-olds can be stronger than we imagine and we need to remember that. That normal ones need and deserve some autonomy. As hard as it is to let them go out the door, we have to let them.
Yes. They will make mistakes. They will make bad choices. So do we.
But if we have raised them right (or even if we haven't!) they will be able to learn from those mistakes. If we give them our trust, they will mostly appreciate that.
If we recognize that they are human beings, just as we are, we have to let them be free enough to make those choices, those mistakes.

No, I would never allow a seventeen year-old who was living at home to stay out all night. There should be rules. But to shut the door on all negotiations, all compromises, is to invite activities behind the door that we really don't want. It is to assure that the door will be busted down eventually instead of swinging back and forth, the way it should, to allow entrance as well as egress.

Because once I got out that door of the house where I lived, I knew I was never coming back. Whatever it took, I was not coming back.
And I never did except for very short visits. And my relationship with my mother, as changed as she is, will never be right.
I wonder what would have happened if, when she had found my birth control pills, she had said, "I wish you weren't having sex, Mary, but since you are, I am glad you are doing it in a responsible way."

Instead, she made me feel like a slut and a whore.
Well. She tried to.
I knew in my heart I wasn't.
Just as I knew so much in my heart that wasn't true but which I had been told was.

Deep thoughts for a Wednesday morning. But dammit, a person, especially a woman, should be able to own her own sexuality. Even if she is just on the cusp of being a woman.

I have tried to recognize that in raising my own children. To realize that there are parts of their lives which ARE NOT MY BUSINESS even if I am the person who gave birth to them.
I don't even want those parts to be my business.
Just like there are parts of my life which aren't their business.
I think it all boils down to a matter of respect. I really do. And if I can't and don't respect my children as their mother, as a fellow human being, how can they respect themselves?

Happy Wednesday, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon

Conditions For Sleep 100% Good

2012-01-10T21:20:00.003-05:00

Home from rehearsal and it's been steadily drizzling for hours. This is nice. And makes me sleepy. Mr. Moon is home and all is well.
I'm ready for bed. Well. In my mind.

Today was fine. I got to see Billy and I got to see Owen and Lily and Jason. Owen was wearing his Woody costume today in the grocery store. He was patrolling the aisles, keeping the peace, you know, the empty gun holster flapping at his side. He had his hat too. He grabbed an apple and took a bite of it. "Owen!" Lily said. "We have to pay for it before you can eat it!" Then she said, "That apple's probably going to cost two dollars." It was one of the big nice apples, not one of the little apples in the bag. "Oh well," she said.

He's a pistol, that boy.

He forced me to buy him a personal-sized watermelon. I did it gladly. He and his mama took it home and I got a text message with a picture of it from Lily after they'd cut it. She said it was really good. I remember once when I was hugely pregnant with one of my babies and it wasn't watermelon season but there were some in the store and I wanted one so bad but it was out of our price-range, or so my husband said. This was my first husband.
I'll never forget how much I wanted that watermelon. I'm grateful I can buy watermelon out of season for my pregnant daughter and her son. Such a simple thing. Such a pleasure.

Publix. Where Shopping Is A Pleasure. That's their motto and it is. Especially for me at Lily's store. Everyone knows me and calls me "Mama" or "Grandmama." When I leave they all say, "Bye Mama!" I feel like a grocery-store celebrity because I'm Lily's mama and Owen's grandmama. It's cool. Now if I could only get free food like real celebrities do. Oh well. I got plenty of BOGO coffee and that's almost as good. Don't even have to be a celebrity to get it, either.

Well, that's enough of that drivel. Time to get ready for bed for real. Tomorrow I'm going to the eye doctor to see if I qualify for the Lasix surgery. I hope so but I'm not pinning my dreams on it. At the very least, I need new glasses and that's a fact.

So let's all have some nice, rain-drizzly dreams, okay? Let's slip down into sleep slow and easy and stay there all night long, waking only to know how good it feels to be there in that bed for that precious time when we don't owe the world anything but to keep on breathing, in and out.
My sheets are clean, the rain is pattering down and my boyfriend's back in town.

Yeah. All right.

Sounds real good to me.

Simple Stuff

2012-01-10T09:36:00.003-05:00

Ms. Jo sent me this picture and I have no information about it but isn't it nice?

Reminds me I need to buy grits. I have a tiny dorm-sized refrigerator in my kitchen that I keep beans and grains in because mice and weevils are rampant here but the refrigerator doesn't really work very well and it overflowed in the overflow tray and got some stuff wet, including the grits.
Yes. I have a grits-refrigerator.
Like Hank says, "Doesn't seem strange until you start to tell someone about it, does it?"
He was referring to me telling him how I get Owen to sleep and that comment popped out when I got to the part about how I stroke Owen's back with a feather while I tell him the Mr. Peep story.
There is NOTHING WRONG with lightly rubbing my grandson's back with a feather. Not like I don't have a lot of feathers around here, just hanging out and serving no purpose whatsoever.

Yes. I am an indulgent grandmother. We shall see how that works out in the end. Or, well, I won't. But someone will.

I wonder what John Rosemond, the syndicated child-expert would have to say about that. I actually met John Rosemond once, IN A BAR, Y'ALL and he was awesome nice. I read his column today in our paper and if you're the parents of teenagers, I would recommend that you read it. It is pure-T common sense and some of the best advice I've ever heard. Read it HERE.

Okay. I really don't have much to say today at this point since all I've done since last night was sleep, mostly. I read a short story about a woman killing a man who'd raped her when she was a girl and it was pretty good. One of the finer stories in the New Yorker I've read lately. Stone Mattress by Margaret Atwood. I think I like my fiction like I like my art- something I can recognize rather than something I look at and go, "What the fuck does that mean?" I'm a simple woman and can totally relate to someone bashing someone's head in with an ancient fossil on a cruise to the Arctic although I would never actually go to the Arctic.

I'm going to town later and I guess I'll buy me some grits.

And see my grandson.

It should be a good day.

The Excellent MerMer And Owen Day

2012-01-09T17:40:00.004-05:00

It has truly been another most-excellent day. When Owen showed up, he was wearing his Woody Costume. He would not leave the house without it on. This thing cracks me up because the "belt" area comes up to mid-chest, the way it would if he were an old man.

It's so garish and cheap and silly with that vest and the built-on gun holster but he loves it so much and I love that he loves it. He also showed up with a skateboard and a helmet, neither of which he employed at all, but again- he would not, according to his mama, leave the house without them.

He immediately discovered the return of the tractor and spent quite a bit of time on it, pretending to drive. The tractor is endlessly fascinating to him. He found the attached toolbox and attempted to hot wire the tractor with every tool in there. None of them worked. But he did try. Pliers, screw drivers, assorted other things which I have no idea as to their function. This took quite some time and when I finally decided that I had had enough, it took me hauling him off bodily to get him to come back to the house with me.
He was not happy but I gave him some juice when he got in and then he wanted milk and then he insisted that he must pour the milk back and forth between two glasses and this went incredibly well- there was no spilt milk at all.
Here's another picture from that experiment.

The problem arose when he decided to add the juice to the mix. I must have had my back turned because before I knew it, he had the top off the juice and was pouring that into the cup with the milk and well, as you can see from the picture in the previous post, there was more liquid than there was container and we both learned something.

He moved on to the sink and did other water-and-cup experiments there and the day proceeded and I decided to try and call Verizon because I have not been able to send texts and I finally got ahold of some woman there who was, from the very start, a BITCH! I mean, seriously. She had this very condescending tone to her voice and I could tell she assumed that I was completely clueless (she was only 75% correct there) and while I was having this conversation, Owen pooped and it was a bit chaotic for awhile, trying to do technical iPhone stuff while talking to this woman and, at the same time, dealing with a poopy boy.

She finally determined that my texting had been blocked and tried to make a big drama out of it, as if my husband had deliberately prevented me from texting and of course, that was not the case at all, and she had to call him and we did a three-way, right there on the phones, and she kept calling him by his real first name, which is not what he goes by and he corrected her in a polite but firm voice and she got that blocked shit straightened out, all the while trying to make us feel as if it were OUR fucking fault, which it was not, and then we were discussing something else, I don't remember, and I said, "Perhaps grandmothers should not own iPhones."
"Well," she said. "I have four grandchildren and I certainly have an iPhone!"
"Do you take care of them?" I asked.
"God no. They live in different states and I wouldn't have it any other way."

Well. There you go.

She obviously has a career, which is being a phone tech for Verizon and being bitchy to people who call for help and I am merely a grandmother who has to deal with (oh, the horror!) poopy diapers!

"I raised my three children and that was enough!" she said.

"Fuck you!" I said.

No. I did not. But I wanted to. Really, really badly.

I also wanted to tell her that undoubtedly, her children are as relieved as she is that they live in different states but again, I held my polite old Southern Woman tongue and thanked her kindly for her assistance.

Bitch.

You know, Siri is kind of a bitch to me too. The other day she informed me in her I-know-everything-and-you-don't tone of voice that I did not have to hit the button every time I wanted to say something different to her, I merely had to hold the phone to my ear.
Gawd, Siri. I didn't know you were MAGIC! But, it would appear that she is although she has not proven to be terrifically helpful to me so far. I am thinking we might need to get together for cocktails, do a little woman-to-woman bonding. You know? Because I know I'm old and I don't know all the tricks but I'm an old WOMAN, not an old DOG and I can learn.
And I am learning.

I just asked Siri, "What is your favorite cocktail?" and she responded, "My name is Siri and I was designed by Apple in California. That is all I'm prepared to say."

See? Bitch. Withholding bitch at that.

She probably won't tell me what color lipstick she wears either. Oh well. Her loss.

Anyway, Owen wasn't bitchy and when we laid down for nap time he gave me the BEST and BIGGEST hugs and squeezes and kisses and when I said, "Do you love Mer-Mer?" he said, "Uh-HUH!" and boy, I just about died with the sweetness. We read our book and I told him the Mr. Peep story and rubbed his back and he went to sleep and for once, I did not sleep too but got up and washed Zeke with flea shampoo and conditioned his fur and then later, thought I'd killed him with cortisone ointment on his back but no, he was still alive, and I still feel so...good...from my trip.
I just feel like what I think normal should be like which I suppose means that I am not suffering from grave anxiety or panic or even any real depression but am just totally okay with everything and no, I am not taking any drugs beyond the usual. I think it is just vacation residual effects and I don't know how long it'll last but as long as it does, I'm happy.

Mr. Moon has gone to auction and so I'm alone for the first time in forever and it's fine although when I went to kiss him good-bye I smelled his cologne and his own smell and I said, "I'm going to miss you so much," and I meant it with all of my being and I do. I've got soup going on the stove, the base of it being some soup that Lily made and brought over, with other things added that were just hanging out in the refrigerator and I'm texting Billy as we speak.

I am just so grateful to be a grandmother who gets to see her grandchild often, who gets squeezes and kisses from him. Who, when he is leaving, says, "One more!" I am so grateful to be the woman I am, living the life I am, who doesn't have to be a bitchy phone tech who feels superior to other old women for not being a bitchy phone tech and even glad not to be Siri, who knows everything but who won't tell anyone what her favorite cocktail is.

Martini.
That's mine.
Or maybe rum and coke with lime which, as Siri would be quick to tell you, is also known as a Cuba Libre. Actually, I just asked Siri what a Cuba Libre is and she asked me if I'd like to search the web. I said, "No, thanks," and she replied, "Your satisfaction is all the thanks I need," and that's a very fine thing to say.

I love being a grown-up who has a new toy.

Maybe I could get a Siri costume and wear it next Halloween. I think it would have built-in boobs and serious glasses.

Or maybe not.

Gotta go stir the soup.

I'm sort of looking forward to tomorrow. What's up with THAT? Next thing you know, I'll be pooping unicorns and rainbows.

Probably not really.

But if I do, I'll let you know.

Born in El Paso and that's all I'm prepared to tell you at this point.

Love...Ms. Moon

IPhone Posting

2012-01-09T12:20:00.001-05:00

O.K. Where are my Barbie fingers?

Pictures And Other Stuff

2012-01-09T08:57:00.003-05:00

I tried to get some pictures last night of that moon. Aren't we lucky to live on a planet with such a pretty moon? Yes. Yes we are. We live in a world of wonders and mysteries and the moon is up there, not caring at all and yet, paying witness to everything.
Anthropomorphism much?
I read an article in an older New Yorker last night and boy, did it blow my little mind. It was in the December 19 and 26, 2011 issue and it was entitled The Sanctuary and was written by Elif Batuman and honey, if you get a chance, read it. There's a little blurb here.
Whoa!
Humans were healthier and bigger when they were hunter-gatherers? Really?
Plus, a whole bunch of other very, very interesting information and ideas and theories.

Anyway, on to more mundane shit.

This is what my yard looks like this morning:

Landscaping by chain-saw, y'all! That picture really doesn't do it justice. I have a feeling that Owen is going to say, "What heck?!"

So are the chickens.

Here's the sun shining through the magnolia:

And here's a squirrel:

Now, speaking of pictures, my son Hank has an excellent site where he posts pictures and captions them and I suggest you go visit. If you aren't already a fan, you will be soon.

Click on the picture to go there.

Much Monday Love...Ms. Moon

Men And Other Things On My Mind

2012-01-08T18:28:00.005-05:00

I came home from rehearsal to find my man on a tractor and a giant machine in my yard and branches everywhere and parts of trees down on the ground.
Also, Zeke in the backyard.
What the hell? I was only gone for three hours.
Right now Mr. Moon and our across-the-street-neighbor are chain-sawing in the dark.
This cannot be good.

Men are such different creatures than women. I have a Sunday and I think, "Maybe I'll make pancakes."
Mr. Moon has a Sunday and he thinks, "I'll rent a bucket truck and cut down that half a tree on the garage and go from there."

Then he calls Paul and off they go to rent a device that will lift them high up into the air so that they can cut things down and off and thank god Paul is a first-responder.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

Zeke is here because Lily and Jason brought him and Owen out this afternoon but Owen, stunned by no nap and then falling asleep in the car and then waking up and wanting chicken nuggets, lost his shit and wanted to go HOME to eat his chicken nuggets and they had to leave in a swift manner in order to stop the bloody tears and they forgot Zeke.

Oh well.

Rehearsal went fine. No one yelled at me for not knowing my lines and although I know I am still too old for this part I really do like it and it's funny, the play, and I think we're going to make it work. Working with Jon is a joy and I can't really explain how I start to believe our characters so easily that I almost cry but I do. I'm not me when we're doing this stuff. I turn into someone else and hell, if that's not fun, what is? I get weary of being me sometimes. It's good to get a break.

Oh my lord. Those men. They keep cutting things and very heavy things keep hitting the ground and hitting something else and please, please, just do not let those things hit them. Men. We need them, we love them, we feed them, we adore them, we stand in bafflement at their actions, we roll our eyes, we kiss their eyelids, we paint OUR eyelids hoping they will notice (do they? ever?), we love them in white button-up shirts with the sleeves rolled up and Levi's and sometimes, when we just look at their hands, we swoon. They annoy us, they make us want to dance, they tickle our fancies and they till our gardens and they have no idea how much we love them when they hold a baby. They fascinate us and frustrate us in equal measure.

Eventually we realize that no, will never understand their needs but we can understand that they have them and that they are as real as ours and if we are lucky they come to realize the same thing about us. We come to realize that it is not us against them, it is not a matter of who is right and who is wrong. It is a matter of getting the chicken nuggets there on time.

Sometimes.

And although all of that is about the man-woman complexity, it could also be about any two humans who have pledged their troth. Or who are working their way down that path.

Because here's what we all need:

1. Acceptance for the person we truly are.
2. Love.

Can I get an amen?

An a-woman?

An answer to why they are running the tractor now in the dark?

Who knows?

Certainly not me.

Yours in bafflement and wonder...Ms. Moon

When Air And Light Dance

2012-01-08T10:11:00.004-05:00

Sunday morning, gray fog, overcast, hawk calling, roosters telling the get-up, get-up, get-up time, apple-banana-blueberry pancakes, bacon too.

Feels more like spring than winter, birds agree, chittering away, air soft and mild.

This. This. This good day.

Elvis danced his fancy two-step but none of the hens paid any attention except to move deftly away, those coy hens, those black beauties. One warm egg, already laid, one girl's work is done for this day. Now for the pleasure of scratching in the dirt, step forward, scratch, step back, examine, repeat, repeat, repeat, take what is revealed, eat.

Mr. Moon made the bed, his bed-making is far superior to mine. He fluffs and squares those pillows, he stretches the sheets tight. He is finishing up the kitchen, that man is hell on wheels when it comes to cleaning the stove. How did I get so lucky? Hold me, I'm cold, he's there.
But then again, I make him those pancakes, I make sure his glass of milk is in the freezer so it's cold and good when he drinks it. I do my best, or at least as best I can, to make him know how much I appreciate him, we are easy with each other but that does not mean we are complacent nor does it mean we take a damn thing for granted.

Sunday morning, good-morning, good morning, time to study lines. Maybe make another pot of coffee for the simple reason that I can, for the simple pleasure of holding the heat in the cup in my hands, for the simple joy of it, my cabinet is full of buy-one-get-one bags of coffee, I'll buy more before the sale is over.

Tomorrow Owen comes, I'll follow him around through the jungle as he explores, my script in my hand, it is soft as Kleenex now from being handled. I took it to Mexico and brought it back, I have a stack of these old, soft scripts in my office now. Scripts I have learned and then forgotten and what is life but a constant learning and forgetting, relearning and maybe remembering? Maybe?

Open up the doors, the sun is out and wants into the house like a curious cat, I let it, I let if flood the floors, the walls, it dances in holding hands with this soft mild air.

This good day. Oh yes.

Chicken Report

2012-01-07T19:10:00.002-05:00

Yes. I still have chickens. Here's Elvis, my rooster on the front porch today. While I was gone my dear hen Dolly lost her life to what must have been a hawk because it happened during the daytime over by the bamboo. I found an explosion of feathers and can only imagine that a large bird took her as a four-footed critter wouldn't have been able to get to her at night and the four-footed critters come out at night time when the chickens are locked up in their house.

Although I am sad about Dolly's demise, if there had to be a chicken to go, I guess it is a good thing that it was the one hen who never laid an egg in her life. I swear- I never once saw her on the nest. Never once. Nor did I ever see Elvis top her.
But she was the softest chicken. With the biggest breast. I've always said that in a real chicken keeper's flock, she would have been what we might call a "meat-chicken" and in fact, that's what she turned out to be.
I hope her ending was swift and painless.

I keep feeling like I can't catch up here. I still haven't hung my 2012 calender. This is because I always take last year's calender and transfer all the birthdays and anniversaries on it and I just haven't had time yet. Maybe tonight. I NEED a calender, as do we all, although I suppose I could do it on the iPhone but come on. I did order and receive my traditional Virgin of Guadalupe calender. It's just waiting there on the piano for me to put in the dates.
I will.
I will.

I started seriously learning lines today and then people started coming over. Oh fuck. I am freaking the fuck out. We are supposed to be off book tomorrow. Hahahahahahahahahahahaha!
Freaking out.
Freaking out.
I have so much dialogue to learn.

The people who came over are an old friend of ours and also a couple. The man part of this couple is someone my husband was friends with back in the early eighties and I met him then too. We haven't seen him for years and years and since then, he has remarried and he brought his wife over and I liked her very much. She is reading Anna Karenina, which I have never read. We discussed books and she admired the chickens and I convinced her that she could have some of her own, that it was far easier than she could imagine. Hell, if you can read Anna Karenina, you can keep chickens.
She and I talked some and it was one of those situations where in an hour you learn so much about another woman's life and heart, even if the details are not filled in. Details are just that- and the devil may be in them but you don't really need them.

I've got a venison roast in the crock pot and green beans and potatoes on the stove. Everyone is gone now and the moon is rising, almost full. Two weeks ago today when we were having our first night in Cozumel, it was a sickle grin, sharp and silver.
Time.
I would bet the ranch that the moon sure is beautiful over the water in Cozumel and it's not too shabby right here in Lloyd either.

The chickens are shut up safely in their house and they gave me three beautiful eggs today.

I will learn my lines.

The moon shines over us all.

Let us be glad.

Message

2012-01-07T13:39:00.002-05:00

To the sweet lady who e-mailed me from the UK (I think)- I tried several times to e-mail you back but my messages kept being sent back as undeliverable. I'm so sorry! I did not mean to ignore you!

P.S.

2012-01-07T10:53:00.001-05:00

That post I just wrote about seven things? They were supposed to be interesting. I apologize that they are mostly not. I wish I had tattoos or things to talk about but I don't.
Also, I think I am supposed to ask other people to do the same with a list.
So if you come here and read and feel inspired to do so, please do.
I would love to know more about all of you. I mean that.

Seven Things

2012-01-07T09:18:00.003-05:00

I don't usually do things like this but Syd asked me to and well, Syd is serious and funny and spiritual and smart and I feel honored that he asked me to so here are seven things about me.

1. I am fifty-seven years old. I will be fifty-eight this year. Somehow this seems impossible. But without reaching this age, I would not have known what it was like to be a grandmother which is an unimaginable joy.

2. The luckiest thing that ever happened to me was meeting the man I am married to. He is the reason I'm still around and if there is joy in my life, it is because he has made a safe place for me to live so that I can breathe and appreciate what I have.

3. I have so much. I have four children who are all grown-up and they are as different as apples, oranges, and the moon and the stars. They have been my most profound teachers. Their births (which were all at home except for the first one) taught me more than I could have learned in a million life-times of studying philosophy, religion, and poetry. I had no idea what love was until I held their newborn bodies and looked into their ancient eyes.

4. My biggest regrets include not having had a real father and not always being as good a mother as my children deserved. I think that any and all regrets I may have stem from these two things in one way or another.

5. I believe passionately in home birth and home death whenever possible. I believe these two passages are sacred and holy rites and that in giving them up to the "experts" we have lost more than we can imagine.

6. I believe that creation is perhaps what we were put here for. I am not quite sure what that means but in it I include creating love, babies, art, gardens, soup, bread, music and order. And friendships. Bonds. Piling rocks in pleasing arrangements. Bridges that span great distances and tiny ones, whether of concrete, steel, wood or words.

7. I wish I were a better person.

Believe It Or Not

2012-01-06T18:10:00.004-05:00

This is what I learned today:

That a vacation really can be what you need.

I was driving to town in the dense fog about to take my mother to the eye doctor this morning and I did not feel anxious. I didn't feel crazy. I just felt like, oh, here I am, driving to town to take my mother to the eye doctor.
Like, you know- a semi-normal person?

I remember when we first got to our hotel in Mexico and were sitting outside, waiting for our room to be ready and I was staring at that water. I remember the next morning, doing the same thing. Just...sitting and staring. And I could actually feel my neurons being smoothed, the pathways untwisting themselves and relaxing. I could feel my soul quiet as I listened to the water shushing in the rocks.
And as silly as it is, that Just Be! in the pool at the hotel really was a very, very fine message, one that I keep flashing back to, just as I keep flashing back to the feeling of being by the water, being still, being open to it all, just, in fact, being.

I don't know how long it will last, but for now, I am so grateful for it.

I felt so good in Mexico. I ate things I never eat (corn with mayonnaise?), I drank rum and coke and margaritas, and orange and grapefruit sodas. I didn't eat many vegetables except the ones in pico de gallo. I ate bananas and papaya and watermelon and cantaloupe every morning. Also bacon. I slept a lot. I walked, I snorkeled, I made love, I laughed.
My stomach was fine. My joints didn't hurt. My back didn't hurt. I didn't have to rush for anything. It gave my body and my soul time to realign themselves. My heart filled up, the space which is normally taken up by fear and anxiety and pain freed for all the beauty and love I saw and felt.

It was blessing after blessing.

My mother's appointment went fine. She has been getting injections in her eye for macular degeneration for years and they have been very successful but after the one she got on Wednesday, her eye swelled up and gooked a bunch. When I took her in today, they reminded her that the doctor told her he had hit a small blood vessel and so it had been expected that things would not go as well afterwards as usual, but she had forgotten.
Oh, bless her heart.
She forgets.
The doctor she goes to is excellent. He is from South Africa and is quite black and the entire office is staffed by African-Americans and my mother is quite un-prejudiced and prides herself on that which is something for a woman raised in the south back in the old days. BUT, this does not mean she is color-blind. She kept saying things like, "Now see, one of my tablemates would think that this was awful, being in an office with all these people."
All these people?
And this one- "I'm the only one here like me."
Uh- you mean...white?
(She wasn't.)
And then when a woman of heft and weight walked up to the desk and Mother opened her mouth to say...oh god- WHAT!? I quickly babbled on about something. Anything. Please do not let her say something about that woman's weight five feet away from her.
Well. What you gonna do?

Despite all of that, she managed to direct me to the doctor's office, which was good as I would have been driving around for hours trying to find it. I obviously NEED that app that has a lady's voice to GPS me. "Now, turn right." etc. But Mother knew how to get there. She did.

So it was all fine and the doctor told her that her eye would be okay and to keep taking her drops and Mother was so grateful that I took her and it went well.

And then I dropped by Lily and Jason's house and got to see my grandson and I dropped off things at Goodwill that have been in my car forever and I went to the library and the grocery store and I came home and unloaded everything and ran some more laundry and ate my lunch and fell out. Just fell the fuck out. It all caught up with me and I went and laid down and slept like the dead and woke up and mopped the hallway and talked to Jessie and figured out my iPhone internet problem and did more laundry and started supper and here I am.

Here I am.

Neurons still smoothed. Feeling absolutely fine.

Lord, call Ripley's.

A vacation that worked. As dear Syd says, the Geographical Cure. Sometimes it works.

And my laundry is finally and at last, almost done. And my husband is home and it is Friday night and I am making clam spaghetti and focaccia with tomatoes and peppers and onions and mushrooms and I can sleep tomorrow as long as I want and today almost felt like spring and my broccoli is heading up in the garden.

Just Be.

Try it.

Love...Ms. Moon

Hip Hoppin' Back Into What We Call Real Life

2012-01-06T06:30:00.004-05:00

Life just keep rolling along, doesn't it?
Here it is six thirty in the morning and I'm up and on my second cup of coffee because my mother had an injection in her eye the other day and it might have gone wonky.
Yeah, I know. Weird.
She has macular degeneration and the treatment is these eye injections and she's been getting them with good results for years but after the one she got day before yesterday, her eye swelled up and started ooking (yes, that's a word!) and so I'm taking her back in this morning at eight.

I know. I'm such a good daughter.

Haha!

In other news-you-need, my iPhone (I almost wrote eye-Phone) came to me yesterday. Hey Freddy- if you're reading this- I need a tutorial! Come help out your old other-mom. No, not really. I'm figuring things out. Having a hard time getting on to my home internet, though. I keep tapping that stupid-doody-head passcode in it and it says I'm on but then I'm not. And of course, for some reason, getting cell phone reception in this 152 year old house is impossible. Which makes perfect sense to me. It's going to be a while before I can text reliably. I don't have tiny Barbie fingers. I know it can be done. I'm just not there yet.

Well, it's still dark as the inside of a demon's heart and Elvis wants out of the roost for some reason and Mr. Moon has already gone off to the gym and I need to eat something and get on the road to Tallahassee.

Here we go. Rolling along.

Yo, Dog. It's early. (See- I'm going to start being all gangsta and shit now that I have an iPhone. I have no idea why. Give me a break. I'm old.)

Love...Ms. Moon

Flashbacks

2012-01-05T17:10:00.002-05:00

In the midst of Owen-tending, floor cleaning, garbage-taking, laundry-doing, lines-studying, bean-cooking, salad-picking, chicken-watering-and-feeding this is what I am thinking of.

Let's see- what don't I miss about being in Mexico?
Uh. The coffee pot in the room which was too small. It only made two cups at a time.
Yeah. That would be about it.

All of those pictures were taken on Tuesday. Some of them from the back of the moped.

But- here's a good thing. I just mopped the kitchen with Fabuloso which IS the national smell of Mexico, as far as I can tell.
And Owen and I took a very, very sweet nap. His vocabulary has grown a lot since I've been gone. My new favorite thing that he says is, "I DO!" when you ask him if he wants something or wants to do something which he does, indeed want. He sounds like a little groom all day.
I DO!
(Miss Mexico. Oh yes. I DO!)

Where Are My Chiliquiles?

2012-01-05T08:35:00.003-05:00

Re-entry is hard. That's just all there is to it.

Hard.

Real hard.

We're Home

2012-01-04T23:19:00.002-05:00

And it's cold and I have a mountain of laundry to do and we're exhausted but oh, it was so good to see Owen and his mama and daddy. Owen looks like he's grown so much and he has such short hair and he wanted to sit on the floor of the airport and talk. Which we did.

I'll report in tomorrow when I can. The boy is coming at nine. I have no food here except for eggs and there are plenty of those.

Night, y'all.

Sleep sweetly.

Love...Ms. Moon

2012-01-04T11:21:00.002-05:00

Of course the wind has ceased, the sky is blue, the water is...
Magic.
Mr. Moon has gone back to town to return the scooter. The suitcases are filled and overflowing and there is still more stuff to go in.
Why must I buy so many dishcloths?
Who comes to Mexico to buy dishcloths? And fiber cookies?

I really want to thank all of you for coming to Cozumel with me. It sounds like some of you may decide to come here, too. I can't recommend that enough. And if you do, take all the time you can to talk to people here. I just spent a good half hour talking to our waiter whose name is Luis and who has a daughter named Marisol and when she comes to embrace him when he gets home, he cries for the love of her.

When he told me that, I cried.

There is such a sweetness here. There is such a tenderness.

"I live in Paradise," he said, nodding towards the water.
"Yes, you do," I told him. "I'm glad you know that."

On Sundays, the beaches are full of families with their coolers, their children. Their faces are like the faces carved into the stella at the ruins. They are Mayan, they are beautiful, they are proud and kind and funny.

I was so tempted to get a tattoo last night of Ixchel. Of course I didn't. But I was so tempted.

"You will come back," Luis said. "Maybe you will meet my daughter."

"Maybe I will bring my grandson," I told him. "They could meet too."

Who knows? Or, as they say here, "Quien sabe?"

I am wearing my earrings. I'll have to take them off before I go through screening. I love the way they feel, so smooth in my fingers when I reach up to touch them. They are my reminder, as if I needed one, of this place.

Thank-you for coming with me. Thank-you for coming home with me.

I'll be reporting in tomorrow on how things are in Lloyd, Florida. Another world, mine too.

Here we go.

Love...Ms. Moon

Dia Ultima

2012-01-04T09:22:00.002-05:00

Ah, lah. The wind is still whipping, it is overcast. We have not begun to pack. We are drinking coffee.
I don't see a soul up here at Hotel B although I am sure they must be. The waiters last night at the fiesta were still the same ones who were here at breakfast. How do they do it? What would happen if suddenly all of the roles were reversed and the waiters became the waited upon, the guests became the waiters?
I wonder about things like that.

Well. We need to get busy. I can feel myself being pulled towards home.
I can't wait to see everyone. My babies, my babies. They have all done a good job of taking care of each other but I know I am needed. That is not a bad feeling.

Time to pack. Time to take the scooter back. Time to say good-bye. Time to fly home and say hello.

I don't know why you say good-bye, I say hello.

Sssh, wind. Be calm now. Sssh heart. Be calm now.

All is well.

I Know How The Junkie Feels

2012-01-03T23:53:00.003-05:00

Ay-yi-yi.

I got earrings. See above.
Also, that man. He caught me catching him and so posed for a picture. How I am going to miss getting on the scooter behind him, holding him tightly as we drive down the road by the sea, through the neighborhoods, flirting with the babies on the scoots in their mama's arms beside us.
Jesus God, how I am going to miss it all.

We went to town, we had drinks, we bought these earrings, we went to supper, we went to a bar where there was live music, we stayed long enough to want to come back, we got here and there is a band again tonight. Un fiesta! I think it's the same band that played the other night and please let them not play all night again.

But. They played an entire set of Beatle's songs. Okay. Young. Mexican guys playing Beatle's songs. On the beach. In Cozumel.
I have to tell you. I walked out by the water and I thought, Okay, god, if that's the deal, go ahead.

I have no idea what that means.

Fuck it. I give up. All night I've been thinking about Keith Richards and how he must have felt when he was a junkie and had slipped the last bit of dope into his arm. Such ecstasy. Such sorrow.

But Cozumel is not dope. It is real, it is here.
But for me, it is ecstasy.

I hear that in Lloyd it is freezing tonight. And will be cold tomorrow. I didn't even bring a pair of socks to wear home.

But Lily and Jason and Owen are going to meet us at the airport. I wonder if Owen is going to be all pissed off and cool and all oh yeah, there you are of if he's going to be really happy to see us.
Who knows?
Not me.
That's one thing that hasn't changed.

I do not know shit.

But I do know that he is going to have to suffer my embraces, my kisses.

As Mr. Moon may also have to do tonight.

Ay-yi-yi.

Sweet, sweet sorrow. Sweet sorrowful ecstasy.

The wind is singing a song of deep sighs and the moon is a silver skull grin above me in the dark black sky.

Cozumel. Cozumel. Ah. Cozumel.

2012-01-03T18:39:00.002-05:00

Our last sunset and it was merely a slice of lemon which puddled into the sea and then slipped down.
No fire yet, although there may be.

I feel something too closely akin to panic to be comfortable.

Why I chose today to read Joan Dideon's Blue Nights is beyond me.

Why the wind is bothering me is a mystery. Rushing, rushing. Perhaps it reminds me of how tomorrow will be with packing up and returning the scooter and checking out and getting to the airport and, and, and...

We've been here forever, for one second, for a lifetime, for this breath's intake.

I wonder how the tiny fish manage to hang on in this current. I can see them, schooled up in the shelter of the coral, swaying with the waves, staying alive until it is calm again.

Last Day

2012-01-03T09:54:00.003-05:00

The wind is still whipping and roiling the ocean and tossing the palm trees and yet, it is still so beautiful.
The wind pulls smiles out of people- shoulder shrugs. What are you going to do?
You are going to fly over this deep turquoise/blue/violet/green water, you are going to fly down the streets where the wind will be whipping the laundry on rooftop lines, where people will be wearing jackets because it is winter, winter, even though it is maybe seventy-four degrees. You are going to sit at tables where the waiters anchor the napkins with something, you are going to fly, fly, fly into the jungle where they can't find you, where without a machete you would be trapped for eternity.
You are not going to go snorkeling today but you are going to cry.
There will be saltwater in your eyes, one way or another.

Yes.

2012-01-02T23:26:00.003-05:00

Solamente un norte.

That's what our waiter told me tonight. He promised it would only last a few days...
We may spend tomorrow in bed.
And that would not be so bad.

It is blowing so hard that children are flying down the street. They took the huge Mexican flag down at the waterfront. They've removed the pool chairs here at Hotel B.

It's WONDERFUL!

Mr. Moon and I stood in line tonight in the zocaro to get...what? Someone had told us it was corn and worth the wait. So, there we stood. And when we got to the head of the line we got a styrofoam cup of corn kernels cooked in about forty tons of butter and then layered with mayonnaise and sour cream and chili pepper and lime and more and more of the same. It was hot. Thank GOD we only got one cup.
If humans crave fats and carbs above all other foods, this is the perfect food.
CORN WITH MAYONNAISE, Y'ALL!
Shut the fuck up.
It was awesome.

Then we went and had a drink at Woody's where the bartender is from Minnesota but has also been a police officer in Cozumel as he is also Mexican. He says it is harder work to be a bartender but he makes more money doing that. While Mr. Moon watched some game on TV I went and did some more silver shopping. No. I still didn't get anything, but I had some nice conversations. Lord, these people are nice.

Then on to dinner at Abuelo Gerardos and we ate a grilled seafood platter with fish and tiny lobsters and shrimp and conch. And there was rice and mashed potatoes and carrots and squash and onions and guacamole and chips and bread and salsas. And then the waiter brought us tiny plates of delicious chocolate cake AND the very best drink I ever had which was called Beso de Maya, I think, and that means Kiss of the Maya and it had Kahlua and cream and anise and cinnamon.
I could kiss a Mayan all night long.

We walked back in the wind to the scooter and Mr. Moon did not have the key. He was upset. No worries, I said. We'll find it.
We retraced out steps and sure enough, there it was under his chair at Woody's.
We needed the walk in the fresh air anyway.

We came home through the wind and made it safely. Lily had sent me a video of Owen bouncing on the bed and dancing, naked, and I watched it three times.
My boy! I can't wait to get my hands on him again. And on his mama's pregnant belly.

And here we are. The wind whips and the sea crashes.

It will take me all night long to digest this food and half of tomorrow.

Corn and mayonnaise. With sour cream, lime and chili.

Forget the lobster, cake, and Mayan Kisses.

To bed. To bed. To bed.

Solamente un norte.

We will sleep well tonight.

And The Wind Does Blow

2012-01-02T16:06:00.004-05:00

We spent a bit of time in town today, having breakfast with Jessie and Vergil and then seeing them off at the ferry dock. Jessie cried at breakfast- I'm pretty sure she did not want to leave the island. I understood but I told her that she would have adventures and she would be so glad when she saw Uxmal.
Then I cried too.
Damn.
Leaky, leaky hearts.
While we were at the ferry dock we watched a pelican dive and dive, each time getting that huge-beak-sac full of water and then the water would disappear and a fish could be seen going down his gullet. It was beautiful the way he crashed face first into the water, so clumsy-looking, so sure of what he was doing.

Mr. Moon let me shop. I hate to shop. I hate it. I don't know why. I can't do it. I didn't buy anything. I only saw one pair of earrings that I was even vaguely interested in and they were too heavy for my old lobes. Silver has gone up so much. It's crazy.

It's been raining a bit on and off today and the wind is strong. The sea sounds like a real ocean and people are still down on the beach, but wrapped up in big towels, three sisters are cuddling and being silly. They remind me of my girls.

When we were in town I stepped into the church. I took a picture of the Virgin of Guadalupe's statue. I did not light a candle this year. I do not know why.

I am feeling more love for Ixchel this trip and they have no altars for her in that church.
I also took that picture you see in the new header. I do love the nativity scenes here. They add all sorts of animals that we do not. Chickens and rabbits. How lovely! And I have no idea who that little princess is. Is she a shepherdess? If so, I am 100% behind it. You know damn well that it would not be all men who came to look at the baby. There would be a trail of women walking into and out of that manger. And they would have brought the gifts Mary could have used. Extra diapers, some food. A jug of water, some eggs. A blanket or two.

Here. I'll put in another picture of the nativity, just in case you're reading this in the future sometime and have no idea what I'm talking about.

Why is it that in the nativity, the baby is always about two years old? You never see an actual newborn represented. Was Christ born as a toddler? I hope not.

So. We shopped. We walked up to the place where you can get delicious fried fish and shrimp. We sat at the counter and ordered.

I am getting GOOD, y'all, at ordering food.
One of the ladies who was working behind the counter had three of her sons with her and they were a pain in her ass. But she didn't yell at them. She kept telling them to sit down but of course they didn't. They stayed out of the street. I was impressed.

Here's what my sandwich looked like:

I put habanero mayonnaise on it and lime juice. That's what that lime slice is for. No, I was not drinking tequila. I had a Fanta Orange. It was delicious. All of it.

And now we're back at the room and the wind is blowing so hard that the umbrellas are flying around before the waiters can tie them down. One escaped into the pool. It was rescued.
They just seem to take everything in stride here. It's such a mixture of complete chaos all the time and total tranquility. I can't explain it. It's like when the mother was trying to run a lunch counter and take care of her sons at the same time and the fish was frying and traffic was going by and loud frantic music was playing and every time she got a second she started rolling fish in flour again, her eyes calmly keeping watch over everything as her hands did what they needed to do without any other help.
I know, that didn't make much sense.
I'm sorry.

It's nap time.

I think I'll leave it at that.

I sort of wish I'd bought those earrings. Oh well. I know where they are.

I probably won't, though. I probably won't.

Buenos Dias

2012-01-02T09:44:00.003-05:00

I have not seen very, very thin woman since New Year's Eve day. I heard her shower running that night, the hair dryer. Is she gone? I do not know.

The water is choppy this morning, the sky is overcast.
Oh well.
The weather changes like a mood here.

Here is a joke Rogellio told us yesterday:
Why is Disney World like titties?
Both are made for children but adults can enjoy them too.
Haha!
I love that!
I can't believe I've lived in Florida all of my life and I've never heard that joke. Had to come to Mexico to hear it.

Ah-lah. Two more days. Yes, now it is time to count. And I will jump back into it with both feet. Owen is coming to me on Thursday and I have rehearsal Thursday night.

I can't even believe it.

Have you noticed that I don't swear very much in Mexico? It's true. I doubt I've said motherfucker since I've been here. I just don't feel the need.

Mary Moon is profane. Maria Luna is not.

I think that's all I have to say right now. We're about to go to town and meet Jessie and Vergil at the clock tower and have some breakfast and see them off on the ferry. Sigh. They will go have Yucantian adventures.

I still haven't bought one thing except a cloth bag in shades of blue and purple. Not one silver thing at all. Or anything. Well, you know- coffee, rum, tiny bananas.

I just saw a hummingbird. At night the bats boil out of the top of the hotel and fly into the sky and across to the jungle to eat mosquitoes.

Good morning, good morning. Good morning.

Family

2012-01-01T19:19:00.006-05:00

Well, there you go. Mr. Moon with Rogillio and his youngest daughter. Or is it Rogellio? Well, I don't know but either way, there you go.
When we got to Playa Corona today, Rogellio and his son, J.J. were there and so we got to meet the grown-up boy. The last time I saw him he was just a small boy. Now he's seventeen and kept his papa up all night last night, worrying about him.
Rogellio put his head in his hands and said, "I never thought this would happen to me."
Haha!
Just wait 'til those beautiful girls get old enough to go out on New Year's Eve. He'll never get any sleep. Ever.

I was so pleased that he went and got his daughters to meet us. What a beautiful family!
And to make it all even better, the reef at Playa Corona is recovering from Hurricane Wilma, finally, and it was a beautiful time snorkeling, too.

Just a really, really fine day.

We sat and talked for quite a while and caught up on things. How precious it was for us to see his children, for him to meet Jessie and Vergil. What fine children he has. And he is so proud of them, as he should be.

Jessie and Vergil are leaving tomorrow for the mainland to go and see Uxmal. They asked us if we wanted to go but I can't bear the thought of leaving the island. Only two more days here. No. I'm right where I want to be.

It was a very good day and a good evening, as well. Dinner was lovely and then a walk around the square. I keep saying that Cozumel would be perfect if it just had more blue water, more friendly people, more good food and more beautiful children.
Yeah. It would be perfect then.
Oh wait...
Yeah.

I see houses with clothes strung to dry on the roofs. I think I could do that.

Well. I have a clothesline where I live.
And babies, the ones all grown up, the one still a boy, the one-to-come.
And chickens.

And I miss them SO much. So very, very much. Well, the babies. It'll be good to see the chickens, but it's the babies I live for, whom I must come home for.
(Did you notice I did not mention the dogs?)

When we left Playa Corona this afternoon, Rogellio said, "Keep having life." Or something like that.

Okay.

You too, Rogellio. You too. Let's all keep having life.

You too.

She Is The Crone

2012-01-01T10:54:00.002-05:00

The band, the horrible band, played last night until four a.m. right beneath us and people partied all night long and it was pretty funny, especially when they did Jimi Hendrix, but sort of horrible too.

Well, we were awake at midnight.

Today the sea is beautiful and that's a happy new years right there. May it always forgive us, this sea. May we all be forgiven our sins, no matter how large or small, even if the sins are not really sins, but small omissions and commissions, and may we find peace.

I dreamed the other night of my basement full of the ghosts of the Titanic and all of their clothing and jewelry and everything, just as it was the night it sank, THAT dream, and I went down and I yelled at all the ghosts to leave and I called someone from a history department to come and get rid of everything, EVERYTHING.

I don't know if that means anything and right now I don't know anything but what I do know is that I don't have to know. And as soon as I am quite sure that I have uncovered a truth, it is revealed to the sand under the shifting water, always moving, always changing, but beautiful in every weather, or at least it is if I perceive it to be so.

Guess what I learned yesterday at Las Ruinas? That Ixchel, besides being the goddess of everything almost was also the giver-of-writing to people.

The moon, childbirth, weaving, sex, the sea, writing.

That she is portrayed as the young woman with the rabbit who lives in the moon, as the mother, and as the crone.

Guess which one I am?

They partied until four here, people. They danced and they sang and they ate and they drank and they blew on noise-makers and I laid in my bed above them and I did none of those things because we were tired and had driven around the island and walked the ruins, my feet walked on the sacred white way of the sacbes and I saw the altars to Ixchel and I was the crone.

Random Pictures, Last Day Of 2011, Day Of The Iguana

2011-12-31T23:48:00.009-05:00

Happy New Year's, Y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon

Patterns

2011-12-31T09:40:00.002-05:00

The little boy with the butterfly eye-lashes is a pistol, that one. He has a little fit almost every morning and his mama has to soothe him. Oh, he is my stand-in for Owen whom I hear has gotten a haircut and who hates it so much that he won't take off his hat.
My poor, shorn Baby Sampson!

I am feeling shy this morning. But I have to get over it. We are going to ride across the island. Maybe go see some ruins. The other side's beach is wild and turbulent.

New Year's Eve. That's what I hear it is.

Today I resolve to try and do what that pool says.

Just Be.

The man has finished raking the sand. It is perfect. Not one footstep has disturbed the pattern.

I would rake that sand every day. That would be enough for me.

The sea's pattern changes with every earth-breath. That too, is enough for me. It is a cradle which rocks my soul gently.

Imagine

2011-12-30T23:02:00.002-05:00

If I could, I would take a picture of the way the moon looks right now over the water. I have tried but it does not come out. Imagine this- silver crescent in smile position over the water, pathway of silver beneath it leading to the Yucatan Peninsula and ending in the approximate place of Tulum.
Imagine that.
Imagine soft air, perfect temperature for human beings.
Imagine water slapping rocks beneath you.
Imagine having had supper in a courtyard with a tree that had a sign on it that said, "Mamay Tree, 1880."
Imagine a waiter who laughed at everything and then brought the girl-child a shot of tequila. Imagine the girl-child kissing her man. Imagine the ride home on the scooter. This part of the ride smells of cigars, this of jungle, this of flowers.
Imagine kissing your own love. Imagine lying down in the darkness and then waking to turquoise made liquid before your eyes, black birds singing one perfect trilling note.

Imagine how, when you dip your face beneath the water, not one of your troubles, not one of your cares is living there.

Imagine riding down the road in paradise.

Yes. It is like that.

Yes. It certainly is.

My Heart. Oh, My Heart

2011-12-30T19:01:00.003-05:00

There, there. The legs at the top left. They are hers. Very, very thin lady. I saw her walking to town today. She does everything so deliberately. So slowly. No wasted motion at all.
"Hola, Buenos Tardes," she said when she came in this afternoon.
"Hola, Buenos Tardes," I said.
Vergil and I were waiting on Mr. Moon and Jessie down by the motos to go to the grocery store.
"There is a story there," I whispered to Vergil.
"I think there is," he said.

We went to the mercado today and saw fishes and pieces of animals hanging from the ceiling and plastic ware and so many shoes. We got liquados y jugos de fruta. We met three men in the hot tub from London who were in Cozumel for two hours before flying out to Belize. They were British and droll as British people are. That tiny boy whom I have been heart-fluttering over for days got in the hot tub with us. He and his familia are from Mexico City. His eye-lashes are like black butterflies. He is trouble. I grabbed his toes and pretended to take them off. He put his feet back up in the water for me to get them again. His parents said that I could take him and the other two boys as well. They were joking. But they knew an abuela when they saw one.

We went to Mega which is like Walmart but it is in Spanish. We bought rum and cookies and more coffee and water. We drove home and the sun was setting and I began to cry again.

There was hot water for our showers tonight. We are going to town to meet Jessie and Vergil for dinner.

The bougainvillea is blooming as are the hibiscus.

How can I leave this place? I don't have to yet.

Thank god.

Morning

2011-12-30T10:22:00.003-05:00

Hummingbirds in the flowers below. Overcast, calm.

I look up to see a boat the size of China silently going by. It is decorated in streamers of colors- fun guaranteed!

We are waiting for Jessie and Vergil who are renting a scooter and we are going to town for breakfast and then Playa Corona, maybe, to hang and snorkel. I have to study my script. I am starting to panic. Why, why, why did I think I could do this?

I keep dreaming of a friend I had once who is, like very, very thin woman, very, very thin. In my dreams she is the music director of a church. She is working at a bar. She is making overtures of friendship.

Very, very thin woman ate her breakfast. I cannot just approach her. You have no idea of the walls she has around her, whether of her making or merely perceived on my part. I am so tempted to take a picture of her but that would be so wrong.

Perhaps she is the mistress of the Mexican president who is on the island with his family. Or so I hear.
Probably not.

When I see her, I smile, she smiles. That's the best I can do.

One of the black grackle-like birds with the huge tail is standing on the rocks below, finding tiny things to eat.

We are all here, at this place in Cozumel. The people, the birds, the lizards, the fish.

The children are here. Children! Ha!

Love...Me.

Underwater And Above

2011-12-29T19:16:00.003-05:00

The sun has set and the moon-smile is peeking in and out of the clouds and people are having dinner downstairs and Jessie and Vergil are walking back to their hotel and Mr. Moon is watching FSU football on the TV which they installed so fortuitously just in time for the game.
We're going to get on the scoot here in a little while and go meet the young people at the clock tower in the zocaro and go from there to supper.
Mr. Moon is thinking he wants a piece of pork at Casa Denis which he saw the other day while we were having our reasonable bowl of sopa de lima. It was like an entire pork leg and he hasn't been able to stop thinking about it since. Casa Denis is the oldest restaurant on the island, supposedly and the waiter at lunch reminds me of both Keith Richards and Honey Badger- he don't give a shit plus, he's pretty old but still functioning quite well. He doesn't even use glasses. I told Mr. Moon the other day that we go to Casa Denis solely for that waiter- his charming and merry personality. Haha!

When I went on my walk this morning, I met Jessie and Vergil strolling up the road and it was a good day. We went snorkeling. Vergil, of course, has a camera which takes underwater pictures.
Here are a few:

Merman Vergil.

Mermaid Jessie.

My favorite species of fish. No, I do not know it's name. The little black one with electric blue spots.

Here we are at lunch. Well, I'm taking the picture.

This SO does not suck. Thai ceviche? Bless my heart. It was good.

Very, very thin woman seemed changed today. She was more animated. I swear, she looked like she has gained a pound or two. She had her hair up and I saw her check her phone and drink a beer!
I was astounded.

I saw an iguana today. I did not have my camera. I'm sorry. I'll try harder.

Time to go get dressed. Time put on my going-out clothes. Time to go eat a half a pig.
Or...something.

Later, y'all.
Love...Ms. Moon

After Breakfast

2011-12-29T10:25:00.003-05:00

We have eaten breakfast at the hotel every morning. It's nice but I miss breakfast in town and perhaps tomorrow we shall eat there with Jessie and Vergil. They were so tired when they got in last night. They had driven from Asheville to Atlanta, flown to Cancun, gotten the bus to Playa, the ferry to Cozumel. We were waiting for them at the ferry dock and oh, how good it was to see them! The town was busy, busy, the last cruise ships were still in town, people everywhere but by the time we'd finished our supper, all of those people were gone and it was quiet.
We walked to their hotel which is right down on the main streets of the town and it is very comfortable, very charming. We left them and walked back to where our scooter was and drove home. They are coming here today to relax and enjoy the beach and to snorkel.

I am not keeping track of days. I am not even sure what day of the week we are leaving. I don't have to. Not yet. I will not.

The family with the cookies is still here. So are the cookies which are brought out for meals and left on the table for all. There are two little boys and when one of them ran to his daddy this morning and raised his arms to be picked up and then patted his papa's cheeks, I thought I would die for missing Owen. I didn't know I would miss him like this. Isn't that silly? Not that I miss him. That I didn't realize how it would be. The other little boy is wearing his Superman costume today. Just like Owen's. Ay-yi-yi. That boy of my blood.

Very, very thin woman was at table before us and when we caught eyes, she gave me a brilliant smile. How I wish I could talk to her. But I do not think her English is very good and I know my everything-else is terrible. What is she doing here so alone? What are her thoughts? She reads some, but mostly stares into space or sleeps on the beach bed. Is she waiting? Healing? Perhaps she has been ill. She is certainly thin enough to be have been ill. Is she hiding? She keeps entirely to herself, it would seem. Is she in her room when she is not down at the beach? Mr. Moon thought that perhaps she is a dancer but if that is so, she has not danced in awhile. I do not see a lot of muscle there. Mostly just bone. And smile. Sometimes.

Well, I do not know.

The yoga class seems to last forever. I feel guilty that I am not down there, stretching and breathing and being aware. Why do I have to tote my guilt with me everywhere I go? My anxieties are staying quiet, for the most part and what do I have to feel anxious about? Not much, believe me.

I think I will take a walk. Mr. Moon is trying to find the best wireless connection for his poker game and will wait for Jessie and Vergil although I told them not to rush this morning. To come when they felt like it. This is Mexico. Vergil wants to rent a scooter now, I think. These men and their need for a scooter! I want to go across the island to the other side but the idea of riding the entire way on the back of a moto makes me want to die a little. My bones are not as young as they once were. Besides, if we are on different scooters, I cannot point things out to Jessie, to say, This is where we...Do you see this?...Isn't it beautiful?....
I want to go down to Punta Sur, to see the tiny ruin which I call the Alux House. El Caracol, I think is its true name. To perhaps climb the lighthouse, look out over the Caribbean, see the ghosts of pirate ships, of boats carrying Mayan women to come and worship Ixchel.

We will.

There is time. We will. Jessie and I will shop for silver, we will all snorkel, we will have many more meals, we will go down to Playa Corona, we will visit the other side, we will....

Today

2011-12-28T21:25:00.004-05:00

Resting Day

2011-12-28T12:06:00.004-05:00

I am having my resting day. I feel like a new mother on the third day after the baby comes, which is the day the midwives say that the milk and the tears both come in, even though this is the fourth day or is it the fifth? Time. Whatever. And I am not crying.

It IS the day that Jessie and Vergil are coming and I am resting up for that. I am nesting in this room, my fantasy of doing nothing but lying on the bed with the sea in front of me come true.
My belly is a bit achy but I am not sick nor have I had any real gastric distress. I did not get my chicken enchiladas last night but another chili rellenos as the restaurant we had the cab driver take us to in the rain did not have chicken enchiladas (what, what?, what!) but they did have the most delicious white bean soup and there were more local people there than tourists so it must be an okay place to eat. There was an entire table of women, perhaps a dozen or more, and if I am not wrong, they were of the sisterhood, and when I say sisterhood, I guess I mean lesbians, and most of them had very short hair but stylish, also, and wore golden sandals and so forth and not necessarily "sensible shoes," but still...
They seemed so happy. All of them were lit with smiles. I wish I had known what exactly was going on. I am so curious.
I have not seen Very, Very Thin Woman today. Is she still here? I think so but am not sure. She probably needs a break from me trying to observe her from the corner of my eye. Yesterday she was eating breakfast at the same time we were and she ate all of her fruit, very slowly, and when she got her eggs and beans and chilaquiles she had perhaps two tiny bites of the juevos mexicana and that was all but she spent a good half hour, buttering and eating the white toast they bring with strawberry jam.
She is not American.
She was struggling with the beach umbrella yesterday and I got up to try and help her. She has the most beautiful smile and teeth. "It is very...strong," she said and it was heavy, the base of it where it sits, and I said, "We need a man!" and then there was one of the waiters, coming down the steps to help us.
"Thank-you," she said.
I tell you, she is hardly as big around as my one thigh and my thighs are hardly the biggest part of me.
Some people compel our curiosity and some do not. There is not so much to wonder about when it comes to large families and children or to young couples, even if they are of another nationality. There is familiarity there, no matter the language, the tattoos, the color of their MacBooks.
Yes! MacBooks come in red and black, at LEAST! I have seen this with my own eyes. Why are we restricted to no-color? Huh?
Everyone has electronic devices. iPads at the very least. Even I with my Kindle which almost seems like an ox cart surrounded by jet packs. I love the Kindle. I just finished reading Ann Patchett's State of Wonder and hated to see it go.

So anyway, curiosity killed the cat but it has never harmed me.

Anyway, I have sent Mr. Moon off to explore on his own this morning and to turn in the scooter and trade up for a car so we can take Jessie and Vergil around. Mexicans may ride en familia on scooters but Vergil and Jessie and Mr. Moon and I would add up to more than two dozen foot-lengths and no way, Jose. It is a sight, just to see me and Glen on one, his knees sticking way out into traffic. I am happy here this morning, just to lay on the bed and read, to sit here and write this.

So happy. The past few days have been enough to fill me up so full that I need to be still and collect myself. And who knows? I may have picked up a tiny bug but it will pass. Sopa de lima for a late lunch will cure me. I do not feel sick so much as just lazy, my bones and hips a bit louder than usual and it's fine, it's beautiful, it gives me this excuse to do nothing I really do not want to do; this evening I will get my hands on that girl and her boy and I am aching for them, for all of my children, really, and for Owen. Every child I see reminds me of him or of the one to come. There was a chattering boy at the table next to us at breakfast this morning, he sounded like a bird talking in Spanish, his voice rising and rising with the excitement of it all and there was a beautiful little girl baby, maybe six, seven months, her eyes as blue as this water, and she looked at me and Glen with great seriousness and attention and it was all I could do not to scoop her up or at least to reach out and touch the merest tip of her tiny fingers. She had tiny gold earrings in her ears and she was perfect.

I keep feeling like I am forgetting to put things down here - oh yes - the little girl who came running after us in the downtown two days ago after Mr. Moon had exchanged money. She could not have been more than six and her mama had sent her off to find us because they thought we had left a ticket of some sort there. She explained in Spanish when she caught up to us at the church and we had no idea what she was talking about- I know the word for "ticket" but couldn't get more than that and another woman translated as much as she could and we followed her back through the shops (she knew all the backways and short-cuts), her black hair swinging with the sturdy, important stride of her, to make these two Gringos follow her back to the small exchange office where she presented us to the mama and no, it was not our ticket, but if it had been, wouldn't we have been grateful to have gotten it?

I wish I could give you all of this, all of these pictures that are in my head, the tiny children and the tinier old women, the way town had almost shut up last night due to the wind and the rain- a town with few walls must necessarily do so- and this water in front of me, choppy today but as fabulously blue as Tropical Fabuloso, as unbelievably blue as a blue-raspberry Icee.

Ah-lah.

Ah-lah.

It is a resting day and the sweet, strong breeze blows around me, through me, fills me up even more.

Rain

2011-12-27T19:35:00.006-05:00

Rain on bougainvillea at night. Cozumel, Mexico.

Ah, here I am, all ready for supper, sparkly eyeshadow and all and it is raining, raining and the wind is blowing and of course, we only have the scooter.
Ah well. There are always cabs.

What a very nice day. We did snorkel and I saw a fish eat a fish! I saw skates and an eel. I saw a barracuda slipping off into the deep. They are shy, those fish. They know that there are people who want to spear them. There is something so incredibly soothing about snorkeling. Maybe it is, as one of you dear ones said in a comment (I am reading them, I am cherishing them!) that snorkeling is like a meditation. You breathe in and you breathe out. You can hear your breath, it is steady and slow as you move through the water. Your eyes are focused on the coral walls and the tiny fish swimming in and out of them, the larger fish, schooled up and treading water, waving back and forth with the current. There. That is all you need. That breath, that sight. It is so amazing to me that you can be so close to the surface that you can hear the birds call while being in a completely different world, so very, very close and yet, unless you are in it with a mask, there is no comprehension of it at all. It might as well not even be there.
But.
There.
You are and it is there and there are probably worlds upon worlds we have no idea of.

I took a beautiful walk this morning. Mr. Moon started out with me but he has a blister and had to come back to the room to get a band-aid. On my way home, I found him, sitting on a bench, waiting for me. I was so glad to see him. On my walk I saw men cutting the grass with machetes in front of villas. I saw a woman walking with another woman and she had her beach things in a bundle on her head. She was so straight and so golden that I thought perhaps she was a statue, walking. I saw four very old abuelas, walking together, holding each other up. They wore dresses in butterfly colors. I saw butterflies of red and black and yellow.

We drove down to Playa Corona at sunset time. Would Rogellio be there? The Mayan pirate? Oh yes, there he was, big as life.
"You are still alive!" he said. "I was just thinking of you!" He shook Mr. Moon's hand and hugged me. I couldn't help it. I pressed his head to my lips and kissed his cheek hard. I'll never forget that first time we saw him, twenty-four years ago, standing on the dock. Rogellio does not look like anyone else in this world, believe me. He looks more like himself than anyone I've ever met. I said to Mr. Moon, "Remember when you went night diving with Rogellio? And I was so worried?"
"Is that what we told you?" he said. "Night diving?"
Haha.
I can't wait to introduce Jessie and Vergil to Rogellio. I have known Rogellio longer than Jessie has been alive.

They are getting in tomorrow, those two. Their plane lands at 1-something in Cancun and then they will have to get a bus to Playa del Carmen and then get the people ferry to Cozumel. I have no idea when they'll get here. I hope we're at the ferry dock when they arrive but our back-up plan is for them to meet us at Plaza Leza on the square if we don't. It's a small island. We won't lose them.

Well, the storm may be abating. It was something there for awhile. Rain pouring and lightening and thunder and the wind howling through the outside hallways. Rain is always a blessing, even if it does interfere with your supper plans.

I really want some chicken enchiladas tonight. I am serious.

Plus- sparkly eyeshadow? Hello, Ixchel? I have been doing my best to worship you and all you stand for. Are chicken enchiladas too much to ask?

Ah-lah. There will be chicken enchiladas.

I am in heaven.

And yes, I miss my children. I miss my grandchild. But oh, I have this man here. He is my love and my friend and we are already starting to read each others' minds. This always happens. And tomorrow Jessie will be here. And Vergil. And it will be different but it will be wonderful and if you think that maybe I am trying to figure out how we could all live here, somehow, someway, you are right. Dreams are good. Dreams are like tiny fish that eat tinier fish in order to grow bigger.

All right. That's all I have to say for now.

Buenos noches.

Con amor...Maria Luna

Who, What? Why? Where? When?

2011-12-27T15:20:00.003-05:00

What if? she asks herself.
What if? her mind whispers.

She walks and sees wrecks of cement houses, shaded by jungle, fifty yards from that ocean.

Could I? she wonders.
Would I? even more to the point.

Which is a moot one.

But for these days, all of the questions can be entertained.

Why do we limit ourselves to what should be? Why are we so afraid, even to ask the questions? The what could be's?

The most difficult one:

What if?

Morning Again

2011-12-27T08:58:00.004-05:00

I woke up early this morning, thinking I would go take yoga. They do yoga here by the sea and really- why should I miss that?
Oh. You know.
Laziness. Inertia.
But. I was going to. I got up, I turned on the coffee. I came out to the balcony to see the sea and the waiters are setting the tables for breakfast and Victor is already here. No yoga lady. I called the front desk.
"No yoga today. It is for tomorrow."
Phew.

Good morning. It is beautiful here in Cozumel. It is a miracle of beauty. It is a a Caribbean dream of beauty. It is...almost too much. I feel as if I can't drink it in enough. As if I do not have all of the proper taking-in organs for this beauty.

Oh wait. There are people going down to the yoga place but not the regular yoga lady who is about fifteen feet tall with a crown of hair wrapped up on her head. Who are these people? They are not the regular yoga people I think. I will not worry about them. I will take a walk later. I will snorkel.

We rented a scoot yesterday. It was so easy. Mr. Moon asked down at the desk. The price was good. We agreed. The scooter man was here in ten minutes with it and the paperwork. No bullshit. Listen- the people here are not trying to rip you off. Believe it or not.
I had told Mr. Moon that I was not going to let him rent a scooter. Too dangerous. One cannot dissuade Mr. Moon, however, when he makes up his mind.
When I got on the back of it behind him, I was so glad.
It was another level of "I am home."
We drove to town through some of the nabes. We parked and walked around and had sopa de lima at Cafe Denis. Same everything. Especially soup. Oh yes.
We drove to Chedraui, the super market. They have EVERYTHING at Chedraui including furniture and tires and washing machines and octopus and shrimps and a mile-long row of yogurts. Deli, bakery. Pharmacy. Baby clothes.
Everything.

We brought the coffee that Kathleen had given us which we have enjoyed so much but we had almost used it up so we bought coffee. We spent fifteen minutes in front of the coffee, trying to read labels. My favorite one claims that it is as hot has hell, as dark as night, as sweet as love. Mr. Moon said, "You're going to buy that kind because of the label, aren't you?"
"No," I said, thinking, why not? We bought some other kind that looks organic. We shall see how it makes up. It is lovely to have coffee on the balcony before we do down to breakfast.
We bought tiny bananas, two mangoes, two limes, more cokes to go with our rum, fancy cookies for Mr. Moon, fiber cookies for me, orange flavor. I cannot buy these in the states. I love them. They are like dense muffins.

We came home, back through the neighborhoods again, then down the sea road to the hotel. We had coffee on the balcony, went down and got in the hot tub for sunset.
Perfecto.

Back to town for dinner. A famous restaurant. Famous with tourists. Oh dear. It was fine. Too many people. The waiters were beside themselves. I asked for dos vasos de agua. They hate that. They want to sell you bottled water. But he barked out the order to another waiter. They were brought. Often they just are not. Well, I understand. It costs them money to buy purified water.
We drank margaritas. Perhaps too much? I couldn't finish mine. Mr. Moon did it for me. Then we went for coffee.
Una mocha, por favor, y una cafe con leche.
Margaritas give me the gift of Spanish.
At least I always think so. Probably not.
Families with babies and children sitting in the cafe, drinking yummy drinks. Artwork on the walls. The mermaid you see above.
People seem to stay up forever here, including children. But I see them in the early morning, too. When do they sleep? We are ready for bed by nine, nine-thirty.
Which was when we went to bed last night.

Very thin alone woman has the room next to ours! She came down to watch sunset yesterday too, but did not get in the hot tub. She got in a hammock and gently swung. She is not just thin, she is a bone. She will smile if you look at her and smile. She is not American. I wonder. I do wonder.

I think today we plan to spend mostly right here. More snorkeling, more reading. They serve a ceviche here which is one of the best things I have ever had. I could live on that and guacamole. With salsa. I think that might be the perfect diet. Not diet-like-lose-weight but diet-like-what-to-eat-to-live.
Maybe with a mango.
Speaking of which, I am the fattest woman on Cozumel not from a cruise ship. I am as fat as an abuela. Oh wait. I AM an abuela.
Oh well.

Jessie and Vergil will be here tomorrow. We rode past the hotel where they have reservations. It is right on the edge of the 'hood. It looks lovely. What a joy it is going to be to see them! I can't even imagine, but I am trying. Again- a concept.

Good morning.
It is beautiful in Cozumel.

Good morning.

These Pictures Just Take Themselves

2011-12-26T22:29:00.000-05:00

Images

2011-12-26T11:56:00.003-05:00

This place we are staying is very family-oriented and we are actually some of the few USA'ers staying here. There are families of grandparents, children, grandchildren. They swim and snorkel and they kiss and slap backs and this morning an abuela brought out three giant containers of home made cookies and put them on the table for the family and I thought of her, baking those cookies and then bringing them here. She was wearing her bathing suit, a white hat, her granddaughters had legs like colts. They sit at the table for hours, gathering and going off to swim, coming back to sit and talk some more.

There was a woman here for two days whom I never saw with anyone else. She had very long hair and was thin as a knife and she would lay on one of the beach beds and read or just smoke and stare off into the space and every hour or so she would get up and climb down the ladder into the sea and immerse herself and then climb back up and wring her hair and begin it all again. What is her story?

There are children as young as Owen and they play happily from pool to hot tub, always someone to watch them. I saw two brothers play together without incident in the sand this morning for at least an hour, coating themselves and each other with sand like sugar and then building a sand castle with the help of a bucket and shovel.

Families love the hot tub and it is almost always in use, the perfect place to watch the sunset.
The waiters wear black pants and white shirts and the main guy seems to be Victor who is actually from Canada and he works like a dog and has a funny sense of humor.
"I'm sorry the water isn't blue," he will say sadly.
"Or green," I answer.

We walked to town again last night after spending all day here, snorkeling and laying in the shade and reading. For some reason, the walk took about one quarter of the time it had taken the night before. Or so it seemed. I had no idea why. I wasn't really hungry but we found a place for supper and I had some pasta with tomato sauce and fresh cheese and it was good and we watched fire dancers with drummers in the square- not Mexican at all, but Gringos and I thought about what it would be like to be traveling entertainers, spreading fire and drumbeats throughout the continents, passing the hat, trusting on faith. When they are grandparents, they will look back in wonder, thinking, "I did that. I was a beautiful girl who twirled fire, who danced in fire while the drums beat under tropical moons and huge-eyed children watched me, holding the hands of their parents."
It will be something. It is something.

My god. The water is just so blue. It is something I cannot get tired of. I could just watch it all day and yesterday I did when I wasn't in it. Which is better?
I do not have to know. I can choose both.

Today we will walk to town, figure out something to rent to get us around. Sigh. I do not enjoy that part of the trip. Too much bargaining and joking and words.

I have bought two new dish towels. They were in the same grocery store at the exact same place on the exact same shelf as they have always been. They are really mop cloths and they cost about a dollar and they are heavy cotton and last me for years and years. I will bring home a stack of them. The rum was in the same place too and we bought some of that. The rum will not make it home.

I think of home and it's a concept like life on another planet, perhaps.

Oh, the water is blue. And it is green and it is turquoise and it is violet and it is colors we have no words for. Why should we? The water in our country doesn't come in these colors so no need to try and describe them.

My fruit plate this morning had bananas, papaya, watermelon, cantaloupe and orange. I had juevos mexicana with tomatoes and onions and peppers chopped fine and some black beans.

Here I am.

The cruise ships are in this morning but as long as I stay right here, I do not have to even think about them. I can look at them and enjoy the sight of boats as big as continents. At night when they sail away, they are beautiful, like lighted cities floating silently by. They hold a million people but that, too, is just a concept. They come and they go.
I am here.

I am so glad.

Fish Electric, Corals Waving, Purple

2011-12-25T18:58:00.001-05:00

We snorkeled today.

I want to be a mermaid as much as I did when I was seven.

Soft Air, Soft Light, Soft Love

2011-12-25T09:49:00.003-05:00

You're going to get tired of pictures that look like this.
Oh, too damn bad.
I'm not.

Merry Christmas, y'all.

This might just be the best Christmas of my entire life.

I am so glad to be here. And yes, I cried and sobbed when we flew in. I was sitting there thinking that I didn't even feel a bit like crying. Ah-lah, the magic might be gone. And then it came over me like a fit of being taken-hold of and shaken until the sobs forced themselves out of me.

And thus- I knew I was home again. Or at least, this other home. This home of my woman-soul because I think that is what it is.

We are about to go downstairs and eat our Christmas breakfast. Papaya will be involved. The water is indescribable. The crackles sing their melodious note. The water boils in the tiny bay below me. We walked to town last night and my feet reclaimed this place. We passed the jungle and the huge estate on the water of where El Presidente of Mexico has a home. The walls were huge and covered in vines and giant trumpet flowers bloomed in the darkness.

"Thank-you for coming back," said the man who has been welcoming us to Plaza Leza for twenty-four years. We gave the musicians ten dollars for which they played us three songs. Same faces as forever. Beat-up old guitars, notes coming forth, voices.

The water below me just gets bluer and bluer. And greener and greener. As if it covered emeralds and saphires. I just discovered that spell check here is in Spanish so I am on my own with that. If I make mistakes, forgive me.

Merry Christmas.
Oh, so merry Christmas.

Made It

2011-12-24T17:30:00.000-05:00

Adventure!

2011-12-24T08:16:00.002-05:00

There's just nothing like getting to the airport at seven thirty a.m. and going to check in and being told that your flight to Atlanta has been delayed because of the regulations about crew rest time which means that you're going to have approximately 15 minutes (if all goes perfectly!) to get on your flight to Mexico which will depart from a completely different county (or, might as well be) and THAT'S THE ONLY FLIGHT TO COZUMEL THE ENTIRE DAY!
So yeah. Who knows? We might be spending Christmas Eve in Atlanta.

You know, I try to be an understanding person but if they have flights scheduled for a certain time it seems to me that they should be able to figure out the crew rest thing. I mean- really.

Oh well. Whatever.
We'll make it or we won't.

I'll let you know.

P.S. DELTA

2011-12-24T05:52:00.003-05:00

The stars in Lloyd this morning are as brilliant as diamonds thrown on the jeweler's black velvet.
This is what I know-
I am not running away. I am running towards.
And when our time is up in Cozumel and our eyes are full of the stars of the Yucatan and our hearts are full of the magic we make with each other, we shall come home to this place where our loves live, where we live our love day-by-day with its joys and its work-a-day pleasures and difficulties and we will be the better for it.

My children- I love you so much that my heart bursts.

We'll be back.

Lily- I'll be Grandmother again on Jan. 5. Schedule me in.

Merry Christmas to all.

Love...Me

And Finally, The Wind Ceases

2011-12-23T20:32:00.003-05:00

Owen just left. It's like, oh, you know? When you've been in a category four hurricane and then you're not any more?

Yeah. Like that.

When I was putting him in his car seat he pretended to be a lion and scratched me with his mighty claws and roared his mighty roar.

I'm gonna miss that kid.

Time to finish packing.

I'm so tired I don't even have the slightest idea what I'm doing.

Love...Ms. Moon

Really?

2011-12-23T08:35:00.002-05:00

How in the world can it be winter? It's about seventy degrees and dense gray skies and it must have rained because drop, drop, drop, heavy drops come off of the trees.

I took my fate in my hands last night and said to Mr. Moon, "I am going to sleep in the guest room because I want to SLEEP," and I did, snuggled down with a book and I read and read and read and then I turned out the light and I just slept.
I will be like a remora on him for the next ten days and it will be wonderful but I wanted one night of my own, just me, and look- we all need and deserve that sometimes and this morning I am actually not feeling anxious so much as excited. Maybe some nervous but nervous is normal and good whereas anxiety is sickening in every sense of the word. It is a dis-ease. Instead of butterflies in the stomach which nervousness brings, there is barbwire in the stomach with anxiety. I don't think I can state it any more plainly than that. Today I have a little bit of barbwire but there are a few butterflies dancing around it.

I wonder what my dreams will be like in Cozumel. Will they be informed by light and water? Will I still dream of the chickens and people coming to my house and needing food and beds? We generally go to bed pretty early in Mexico and get up early too. When the sun goes down there, it does not linger babies. It drops like a rock into lava and the fire flies up into the sky and colors it and the water too. When it comes up in the morning it comes UP, and we generally do too.

Oh my god. Mr. Moon is grinding deer meat in my kitchen right now as we speak. Are you kidding me?

I married a hunter. At one time, I was his prey. Tomorrow I am going to remind him of why that was. Today I am just the wife, the grandmother, the do-er of laundry but tomorrow?

Tomorrow? Really? It's tomorrow that we're leaving?

Lord. I gotta run.

Feed the butterflies, blunt the barbwire, fluff the velvet, paint my nails.

Sharpen my remora suckers.

Going to be a busy day.

Holy Night, Holy Shit

2011-12-22T19:04:00.001-05:00

Oh holy night. Owen was just here for a quick three-hour visit while his daddy helped his granddaddy cut up and wrap Mr. Moon's doe from last week. Owen was in go-for-it-mode and he did. He ran around like a caffeine-hopped up rabbit and I just followed him around. Lord, that child. Run, run, run. Jump, climb, go under, ride...whatever, just keep on going.

"Jump, Mer!" he says as he leaps into my arms. That's all the warning I get, too. It's a wonder I haven't dropped him yet. The day I do is the day he learns something about life.

I asked him today, "Who's my boy?" and he said, "Owen!" and I said, "And who is Owen's Mer?" "Mary!" he announced. I can't help it. I love it when he says my name. He's started calling Bop, Boppi, which I think is just charming as hell.
He ate three energy bars without asking permission, two "bits" of dog food ("liscious!") and an apple. When I changed his diaper I called him a Pee-o-sauras and he laughed. When I asked him for a kiss good-bye he said, "Sure," and pulled my chin to him.
I'm going to miss that child.

And boy, do I need a break.

So I packed today. Then I took a bunch of stuff back out so that I could get the suitcase zipped. I'm about 90% done with the packing. Honestly. I charged the camera batteries. I have the Kindle loaded and charged. I asked Hank to buy me a used copy of Lonesome Dove because mine is MIA. I packed sparkly eye shadow and mascara and stuff like that. I figured out what I am going to wear on the plane. Believe me, it is festive, silly, and will be comfy. Velvet is involved. Yes. I am wearing red velvet to a Caribbean Island. So what? It's Christmas. Let everyone else travel in PJ's and cargo shorts. This woman is wearing velvet.

Two more nights.

I'm about to go pimp a frozen pizza. That's all I can handle at this particular moment in time.

Owen's coming back tomorrow afternoon and will be here until seven-thirty. Hank's coming to spend the night and take us to the airport on Saturday morning. I have a few presents to wrap for Owen. I need to make the traditional Moon Chicken Salad before I go for the kids' Christmas celebration.

Oh holy night. Oh holy shit.

Grandma is ready for her vacation.

Belief

2011-12-22T09:47:00.000-05:00

So quiet this morning here in Lloyd. Until my dogs get the idea that someone is coming and begin to bark. And then the quiet is split apart and my back tenses and if it doesn't snap entirely before I leave, it will be a miracle of some sort.

I was reading the paper this morning and there was an editorial (I do love the editorial section) that made me laugh, be sort of pissed, and shake my head. All at the same time.
It was about Santa and the myth of Santa and children's belief in Santa. The man who wrote it was discussing how his five-year old niece was questioning the reality of Santa. He assured her that yes, darling, there is in fact a real Santa. And then, at school, someone in authority told the child that no, there was no Santa and the child called her uncle and sobbed and accused him of telling her a lie.
So the uncle talked to someone he knew in the educational system and how she responds to children's questions about Santa Claus and she said, "We've been told not to discuss things like Santa Claus with the children. They don't want us teaching children about things they can't see, hear, touch, or feel."

Sounds sensible to me although I don't know why a teacher would tell a five-year old there is no Santa. That's inappropriate for that age if you ask me but anyway, let's get on with our story.

The uncle asked the person who had given him this answer this question:
"How do we raise children to have faith and to become spiritual adults if we're teaching them to be nonbelievers before they even start to believe?"

Haha! Exactly!

He went on to say that if all the adults would just stick to the same story, children wouldn't call it lying.

Yep. That about sums it all up for me. When it comes to religion.
I don't believe I even need to add any discourse on this one.

But, that's just me. I do believe in what I can see, hear, touch, feel. And I have seen things and felt things and touched things that gave me enough wonder to open my mind to the possibility of so much more than I can actually explain. But I don't need to attribute any of that to a faith of any particular sort. Now if you have, then that's fine and I'm glad for you.

But I ain't going to believe something based on a lie even if "everyone" agrees to tell the same lie. This is true whether it pertains to religion or politics. Or nutritional advice, for that matter.

Well, there you go. My thought for the day which is no more and no less valid than the guy who wrote that editorial if you want to get right down to it.

The shortest day of the year has passed, it is now truly winter. The days will begin to grow longer, the nights less so. This is something which can be measured and it is something to celebrate.

Let us do so.

Amen.

No, Really. Siri, Where Am I?

2011-12-21T19:18:00.000-05:00

I got a pedicure. I figure I can paint my own damn fingernails. I always choose the same color. OPI's I'm Not Really A Waitress.

It's red. Dark, shiny red. It's like with eye shadow- if you're going to wear it, WEAR IT!

Plus, I really like the name.

I called Mr. Moon today and told him that I thought maybe I should get a bigger suitcase. Mine is just a tiny bit bigger than a carry-on and honestly, it's just not big enough for an extended vacation. "What about that suitcase of your mother's?" he asked me.
"Did we bring it home?" I asked.
And yes, we had and my husband even remembered where it was and it's awesome. An American Tourister and it has a yellow pom-pom on the handle, even. A homemade pom-pom. That may or may not stay attached. Not sure yet.
I really can't tell you how excited I am about that. Thanks, Mom! I will have room for my stuff.

I took care of Owen for a few hours today at his house. Lily set us up with the TV to watch Toy Story 3 and all was well until the screen got some message on it about the fact that things were about to end and I'd have to readjust the settings for the movie to continue.
WHAT THE FUCK?
And sure enough, the damn thing stopped and I had no idea what to do. None. There's another TV in Lily and Jason's room and Owen needed a nap. Believe me. And he didn't take to the idea of Mr. Peep and back-rubbing but said he'd lay down with me if we could watch a movie. Do you think I could figure that out either? Haha! No way. Owen got so frustrated with me.
"I can't do it, Owen. Mer doesn't know how to make it work."
"Maybe!" he said desperately. He was shoving DVD's in drawers, trying to show me how.
Jesus.
Lily called to check on us and told me how to play a DVD, which I did and Owen laid back and watched Franklin's Christmas or some such shit. Turtles do NOT walk around on two legs wearing their shells like a backpack. They just don't.
Whatever. I read a book and kissed Owen whenever he'd let me and Zeke cuddled up next to my leg. It was fine.
I made the mistake of telling him that Bop and I were going to get on an airplane and fly over the ocean to Mexico.
"Owen come?" he asked.
"No, just Bop and Mer," I said.
Oh boy. That was a mistake. There were tears galore. The promise of presents meant nothing to him. Nothing at all.
When Jason got home and it was time for me to go, I crept out feeling like the most inept grandmother in the world. I failed at technology, I failed at taking him to Mexico, I failed at everything.
He kissed and hugged me anyway.

And this is exactly why I need to go away.
Look- I do not love with part of myself. I love with ALL of myself. I love that boy and my children so much that my soul can't keep up with it all. Does that make sense?
It's not work or living in a place I don't love that I need to get away from- it's the overwhelming sense of needing to be the best, best, BEST that I can be for these people.
I need to go somewhere where all I need to be is Mary who loves her man and who can spend hours doing nothing but watching the sky and the sea and waiting for the cooks to start grilling the damn garlic.

Who can wake up and say, "Where's my coffee?"
Who can say, "It's ten o'clock in the morning. I want my nap."
Who can say, "Look at the beautiful children."
And need to do nothing for any of them. Who can hold my husband's hand twenty-four hours a day if that's what I want.

Three more nights.

I'm cooking brown rice. Time to go tend it.

I'm not really a waitress. I want to wear silver. I want to be in a place where if you asked Siri where I could get a margarita, she might explode.

Three more nights and Cozumel is waiting for me.

Tomorrow I pack. Here we go. Yellow pom-poms and all.

Room for my clothes and my smooshed-up pillow and my make-up.

Jessie and Vergil- are you ready?

I am. I am so ready that the walls between my realities are shimmering like eye-shadow, like the doors between perception, like the air over the grill where garlic is cooking and the sun is setting and the Maya are speeding home in boats over the water like the gods of the sea they are.

Oh yeah.