Joy, Joy, Joy

A cool Sunday  morning, sun rays through leaves making pockets of shadows and pools of light where the ferns glow like emeralds, one blooming begonia blossom spotlit from above like a dancer on a darkened stage.

Mr. Moon has already gone back to town to work on our property there and so no excuse to make pancakes today. Ah well. I have plenty to do and glory in the time to do it. I am thinking of a week ago when Jessie and Vergil were freshly wed and we all gathered together again to eat breakfast and hug and cry and wonder and revel and clean up and get ready to go. Really? Just one week?

A very beautiful woman named Dana Villalas

 took pictures all throughout the wedding and she has put up a Picasa site of 210 photos which she has made public. Go HERE if you want to see them. I sort of want to put every one of them on the blog. They are that gorgeous. Dana works with Jessie at Mission Hospital in Asheville on the Mommy-Baby floor and is married to a friend of Vergil's. So- once again- an example of what love and community can come together to create which is far more than each of the separate parts. I am so grateful to Dana for her talented eye, her steady hand, her generosity of spirit.

Shit. I'm crying again.

Here are just a few.

I swear to you, that wedding couldn't have been more beautiful if Martha Fucking Stewart had been the wedding planner and designer. It couldn't have looked more perfect if Ralph Lauren's ad team had set it up.

All right. I'm sobbing like a little baby right now. Just...go on and see for yourselves if you have the notion.

Thank you, Dana. Thank you so very, very much.

With all my heart....Ms. Moon

Joy And Tantrums And Decisions And Shrimp

Turns out that Elmo made an appearance at the Great Cloth Diapering Event which Owen and I missed the actual diaper-changing part of which saddens me but he and I were busy across the street, splitting a bagel. There were so many darling babies and kids that I felt like I might pass out from the sweetness of  it all. I may not have the religion or patriotism gene but I sure as hell got the baby gene.

Along with the bagel I let Owen have a chocolate milk and then at the Event they had cupcakes and by the time we got to Publix afterwards, he was in fine form and did a full throw-himself-down-on-the-ground-and-scream Event of his own. This is rare for that boy but his mama did the same every time we went out in public when she was his age and for one tiny millisecond I had a heart-clinch of muscle memory of being a mama with a screaming out-of-control kid in the store. But then my grandmother heart took over and I bent over and picked that big boy up and cradled him in my arms and kissed his face and whispered into his ear, "I love you, I love you," and he settled right down and all went very well after that.

I swear. I do love being a grandmother.

When we were having our bagel he told me that he was pretty sure that that was not the real Elmo. That, in fact, it was just a man wearing a hat. 

"You think?" I asked him.
"Yeah," he said.
"Could have been a girl," I said.

Gibson, however, took the entire thing as presented and was thrilled. He has no idea who Elmo is but a big stuffed animal was paying attention to him and that was enough to make him happy.

After awhile, Elmo disappeared and then Dora The Explorer showed up and he was even more thrilled. I wish I had pictures but I don't. He kissed Dora repeatedly to the point where I thought she might have to file a complaint. That child just loves to kiss.

So it was a very fun time and although I did not go to the Art In The Park in Tallahassee or the music festival in Monticello, I did get to see a lot of darling children and after we had lunch and had gone to Publix and Costco I came home, unloaded the groceries and fell on the bed and took another coma nap.

Mr. Moon and I just did a tour of the yard and kicked the bamboo and now I'm going to make mustard shrimp and brown rice and a salad. It got cool here last night after the rain and I am looking forward to another great night of sleep. We have to figure out this bedroom/bed thing, Mr. Moon and I. We are now sleeping in the guest room on the magical mattress and sleeping better than we've ever slept since we started getting the Senior Discount and part of it for me is sleeping in a corner under a window, cozy and yet with the air blowing over me at the same time and I don't know whether we should trade out the beds and return to our own room or trade out the furniture and make that room our bedroom.

Well. Whatever. We have choices and we shall make one.
Eventually.
Until then, I am so happy to crawl into that cozy bed with the fan right beside me and the window right above me and I better end this and get to making supper. Brown rice takes an hour to cook and cleaning shrimp takes awhile too.
My husband spent all day working like a demon clearing vines and trees from our commercial property in town and I need to feed him.

It sure is a beautiful evening. I am most grateful for this day.

Yours truly...Ms. Moon

The Possibilites Are Endless

When it was time for Owen to leave yesterday he began to cry.
"I want Mer-Mer and Bop come to my house!" he sobbed.
Which made me cry.
"Oh, Owen. Now you've made me cry!" I said. He looked at me to see if this was true and it was and that made him laugh.
That boy. All day yesterday he kept saying, "Mer-Mer, you the best!" Mostly when he did something that he knew might possibly result in a bit of a fussing from me but which usually did not, merely a oh, that's okay, honey, at which point he would say that. That I'm the best. Because I am the best. Mer-Mer. To Owen. And maybe Gibson but he doesn't know it yet.
God. I am every stereotype and cliche of a grandmother ever invented. And I have decided that grandmothers are basically giant playmates who will do any sort of game or pretending with you that you come up with and who can also change diapers, wipe butts, and make cheese toast.
Also, we are strong. To a three-year-old, at least although as soon as their daddy took them away, I had to fall on a bed and sleep for half an hour to regain enough strength to get up and finish Friday.

When the trains went by yesterday, Owen would go into a frenzy of activity, shutting all the doors and yelling, "Take cover! Take cover!" which confused the heck out of Gibson. This was a new thing and it made me laugh. Where in hell does he come up with this stuff?

So I think that this morning I am going with Lily to some sort of record-setting event involving either breastfeeding or cloth-diapering. I am not sure but there is swag involved for Lily and also, possibly, food. We're in! There are like a million things going on in Jefferson and Leon Counties today but I'm going to go to a baby-mama event. This is my life.

Here's another thing Owen said yesterday: Oh Jesus Heck!
I said, "Some people don't like to hear you say things like that. He thought about it for a moment.
"Who IS Jesus?" he asked.
"Good question," I replied.
"Mmmm. Jesus Hartmann," he said. Hartmann is his last name. I am many things to Owen but I am not his instructor concerning Jesus. No way. His other grandmother has that one covered. I laughed and let the whole thing go.

I just talked to Lily. It's an Earth Day thing, this event we're attending so it's about the cloth diaper changing. I should be doing the demo for this event. I've changed four billion cloth diapers in my lifetime. At least. Starting with my baby brothers who are now not talking to me for reasons I cannot grasp. Maybe we should have used disposables on them. Oh wait. They hadn't been invented then.

I hope Owen never stops talking to me. He amuses me so much. Gibson talks a lot too but I don't understand his language yet. He can say Mer-Mer though. I understand that. You should have seen the way that little man beamed when his Boppy was the one to pick him up when he awoke from his nap.

Jessie called yesterday from Florence and I got to talk to her and her newly-made husband. It was wonderful. They had just spent two days staying in an olive grove and were now in Florence and learning about bidets and were about to go out to dinner. Boy-oh-boy. I asked what their favorite thing they'd done so far was but they demurred on the answer. Haha! They are on their honeymoon after all.

It was a wonderful day between the rain (which Owen played in, naked except for a pair of shoes and a towel clothes-pinned under his chin so the he looked just like Little Green Riding Hood) and the many and vastly entertaining games and conversations I had with him and the snuggles and kisses and love I got from him and his brother. And Mr. Moon and I had visitors last night and that was lovely and we had martinis and then we ate our supper and then there was romance and hey! We're not on our honeymoon but we're not dead either.

A couple of times yesterday Owen did try me a bit. I admit it. He's a child, he was full of beans and he's got to see if I have my limits. I finally threatened to lock him in the hen house with all of the POOP because poop is his favorite word. He looked at me with a most bemused expression on his face and he said, "No you not."
Dang.
He knows me too well.
I texted his grandfather about all of this and his grandfather texted back to tell Owen that he better be good or that Boppy would spank his butt. I related this to the child. Again with the bemused expression.
"No he not," he said with all of the confidence in the world.
"Maybe," I said.
"Maybe NOT," he answered.
Sigh.

Well, there you go. That's my life, as I already said. I better get ready to go watch mothers change their babies' diapers. Maybe later today I'll plant some beans.

Maybe. Maybe not.

We shall see, won't we?

Happy Saturday, y'all.

Love...Mer-Mer

I'm Smiling

Sometimes I just have to say that my life cracks me up.
Today is one of those days where I just have to let go and let the joy of it all take over.

What did Tom Robbins call it? The Ultimate Goof? Whatever.

 It's a real good thing, y'all.

The blackberries are forming and swelling out in the fields. I can feel them as the rain-soaked ground swells with spring-fed water and warmth. The bamboo needs kicking approximately every fifteen minutes. Faces and folks from the past are here to talk about it all. Pork chops and sweet potatoes are in the oven.

I got no complaints.

These boys wore me out and gave me reason to live.

That's the report from Lloyd, Florida on a Friday night in April, 2013.

Friday Morning

Sky dark and it's going to rain and the garden waits patiently and the chickens call to be let out and the world seems a very scary place and the boys are coming over and the wind hisses through the new leaves like a spirit snake.

sssssssSSSSsssssss....
It says, and it grows and diminishes, the trees waving their green hands in agitation, their new stem-wrists young and thin and flexible and strong.

A hen calls her rusty cluck, a day's egg already laid in the soft-straw bowl in a wooden crate in the garage. I call her Miss Honey because she's the color of tupelo sweetness. Something happened to her tail feathers but they are growing back and she lives here/doesn't live here. I throw her extra corn when she comes round. How I appreciate that daily egg, how the sight of her cheers me. A gift I did not ask for, perhaps the sort which is sweetest. The hens in the henhouse, the ones who do live here, call back to her. Is this celebration or concern?

I got an e-mail from Jessie. They are in Florence now. She asked if we are recovered from her wedding. This is what I wrote her back:

No. We are not recovered and I never want to recover because your wedding changed us in some way. It brought us a new vision of love and community and caring and joy and beauty. Last night Liz Sparks had us and Lon and Lis over for dinner and it was so perfect to sit on her porch, to be in her house, to talk about your wedding and we can't stop talking about it. How beautiful it all was. How beautiful you two are. We kept going back over it, your wedding, reliving moments and images and dances and people. Your daddy and Lon swung in the hammocks on Liz's porch and birds were singing themselves to sleep in the trees. 

And so it is. 

It seems to me that I keep receiving unasked for and completely undeserved gifts all of the time and perhaps, maybe, one day, I will learn that life is full of those. Perhaps it will settle me in some way. I do not know. But I do know that even as the wind hisses and the leaves jitter like a junkie's hands, even as the world tumbles into chaos over and over again, there is sweetness, there is light behind the clouds, there is the unexpected goodness which comes through, even in the strangest of times, and in Florence there is the David, in the garage there is a warm brown egg, and in the dark sky above there is rain which the trees, the ferns, the flowers, the peas and potatoes wait for because it is life. 

Short But Sweet

Because I'd really like you to watch at least one of those videos from New Zealand and because we're about to go out (no, seriously) I am giving you these pictures from today which was a spectacular day with my darling boys wherein we did everything and Gibson fed chickens for the first time and he patted Elvis and he rode the horse for the first time and loved it and when we went to let the chickens out this morning, Owen was tall enough to do the latch himself.
Sigh.

New Zealand- Wow. Beautiful.

First laugh.





Then cry.




They have given me hope for the human race.

Stuff

Have y'all seen that Dove ad campaign with the women and the sketch artist? I'm sure you have and if you haven't, just google that shit. People are swooning over it. I think it's bogus. It's so heavily edited that you have no idea what in hell was going on, plus...all of those women are fine-looking women and if we need an ad for face wash to tell us that we're probably better looking than we think we are, we're in deep trouble.
I'm thinking back to the Jamie Lee Curtis Activia ad and feeling the same vibe.
Whatever. Good morning.

Okay. Here's something in the media which has been cracking me up. Ferrets which were given steroids and then groomed and sold as toy poodles in Argentina. 
Supposedly.

This may, in fact, be an urban myth. But damn. I so want it to be true.

Here's another thing I want to be true- the tiny mummified humanoid alien found in Chili. 

Poor little tiny humanoid alien! Where are your people?

See- I do read the news. 

I just read the things that are metaphorical fingers in my ears singing la-la-la-la!

So that I don't have to read about things like what congress decided yesterday about gun laws. 

Right. Look- if those lawmakers can refuse to pass a few laws concerning background checks and the size of magazines to try and do something, ANYTHING about the horrendous, shameful murders of American citizens by wackos with guns, then I can believe in tiny humanoid aliens and ferrets being sold as toy poodles. 

Moving on. 

The boys are coming today and I'm going to be too busy to worry about anything but them. They haven't been over in quite awhile and it's going to be a fun day. I hope. 

Here's one more picture. 

Jessie and Vergil eating gelato in Rome. Now there's your good news for the day. 

Let's get to it. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Brief Visit

Two young Mormon missionaries just came by my house, knocking on the front door where only people trying to get my vote and people trying to get my soul ever appear, sending the dogs into a frenzy.

"Let me guess," I said. "You're Mormon missionaries."

One of the boys whom I believe may be a bit of a wise-ass said, "How did you know?" and when I laughed he said, "No, really."

"For one thing, you're carrying The Book Of Mormon." Of course there were the cheap white shirts, the black pants, the ties too but I didn't mention those.

"Have you read it?" the wise-ass Mormon kid's partner in God asked me holding forward his plastic-bound copy of The Book.

"I tried. But, uh, no. And..." I looked at them both. "No."

Their shoulders dropped a little. Obviously I was not a person searching for their truth.

"Look, y'all," I said, "You two go door-to-door trying to offer people your message. Right?"

"Yes," they nodded.

"Well sometimes, maybe the people who answer the door are going to give you a message."

The not-such-a-wise-ass kid nodded enthusiastically. "Oh yes. That often happens." He was trying, I suppose, to show me that he was open-minded.

"I'm going to give you a message," I said. "I want you to think about things. I want you to use this," and I pointed to my head. "I want you to think and use your head and not just what you read in that blue book." They both nodded again. "Oh yes m'am, we do." And the wise-ass kid said, "And this," and he thumped his heart with his fist."

"Yes." Now it was my turn to agree. "That's what I do. Use your head and use your heart. And really think about things."

"We will," they said, and they turned and left my porch, almost as if they were eager to go and I wondered how in the world two kids whose age together doesn't begin to equal my years on this earth ever find the temerity to even begin to think they know The Truth when I, old enough to be their grandmother, a woman who has borne and raised four children, who has lived a life, realize I really don't know shit but I'm pretty sure that if there IS a truth, it is not to be found between the pages of a blue, plastic bound book supposedly transcribed from golden plates by a man who translated them with the aid of a "seer stone" which he put in a hat which he then placed over his face which allowed him to "see" into a stone box where the golden plates were hidden from mortal view.

If those little boys believe that, then I'm almost certain that their ability to use their own powers of thought has already been erased, has disappeared as surely as Joseph Smith's golden plates disappeared when he returned them to The Angel Moroni after he and his seer stone had finished with them, never to be seen again.

What Purpose Does All This Serve?

Here is a confession: I have not watched any of the videos or the images from the explosions in Boston. Nor do I plan to. I cannot, for the life of me, figure out what purpose that would serve.
And yet, I feel that people all over the world are obsessively doing just that. Going back to those sites over and over again to watch the horror, the smoke, the blood, the screaming.
See? I can imagine it. And that is as much as I want to do. That is more than I want to do.

As I walked this morning, I took note of where the most blooming blackberries are clustered. I think this is what the human brain is wired to do. To take note of that which can be of potential importance in our own lives and to register and store it until the information is needed. This is true for potential dangers as well. The day I saw a bear track in the dirt road, the hair on the back of my neck stood up, my heart began beating faster and I suddenly became hyper-aware of my surroundings. This was understandable and it could have, if the bears around here were actual killers of humans, which they are not, been a life-saver.
This is the cave-man brain. This is the brain which has sustained the species. The brain that remembers where the fruiting bushes are, the brain which remembers where the bear crosses the path. The brain which can observe that which works and help us to adapt our behavior appropriately and to observe that which does not.

But we are so far removed from the needs which the brain evolved for. Very few of us will need to know where the berries are to ensure the survival of our family or our tribe. Very few of us will need to know where the bear crosses. But our brains, our amazing brains, still have the need to observe and note and store information and the amount of information which it encounters daily has multiplied geometrically to the point where no human brain on this earth can contain it or even receive it and so we have invented these machines which do that for us and those machines deliver even more information to the brain and quite frankly, I believe that this is part of why so many of us are constantly depressed and overwhelmed and anxious.

If we watch images of horror which happened somewhere else in this world, our cave-man brains want desperately to store and DO SOMETHING with that information. But what on earth can we actually do? I sit here in Florida and I can mourn the loss of those who died, I can grieve for those whose injuries will cause them great pain and suffering for a lifetime and for their families. But does that really serve any purpose? Will it help those who are dead? Will it help those who are suffering?

I don't think so.

And will I be any more apt to be careful in crowded places? Now there, perhaps, possibly. But what good will that do? Was there not more security at the finish line of that race than any of us can imagine? Were there not more cameras in one place than at any other place on earth at that moment?
This is the thing about random, senseless violence. Because it is random, because it is senseless (to those of us who are sane, at least) there is no way to predict it and despite all efforts, no way to entirely remove the possibility of it.

I don't think that evil, insane acts of horror are on the rise in the world. I believe that history would bear me out on this. But because we have access to every report, every video of such violence, we feel that there is the possibility for it everywhere. This is not unlike the fact that a child's abduction in a town all the way across the country makes us feel as if it had happened in our own backyard, thus causing us to restrict our children's activities in a way that will quite definitely have a negative impact on their lives. This is why I don't read the postings on Facebook about missing children. So many of them have been abducted by family members or have run away because of something horrible going on in a family that it seems to me that more purpose would be served by all of us paying attention to what is going on in our own neighborhoods and schools and families and churches. I am a living example of the fact that most sexual molestation of children occurs in the home by family members. It is almost always a known and trusted person who is the one doing the molestation and these perpetrators are so very skillful at finding the very child who is most needy for adult attention and love to groom and then molest. Of course there are the rare instances where a deranged person unknown to the community darts in and kidnaps a child but this, I believe, is not the common occurrence that we feel it might be because of the media.

We read about these things. We see the videos. Our brains register them as danger to us and to our children. But there is nothing we can do about any of it and so we are left with a lingering and persistent anxiety and fear which escalates into a sort of national paranoia and even insanity.

Look. I'm not saying that we should not be aware of what is going on in the world. Trust me- there is no way to avoid it. But what good does it do for us to obsessively watch the videos, to endlessly listen to the reports on radio or to read the Tweets about the event or to watch the TV news coverage? I think it becomes a sort of sick voyeurism after a certain point.

Maybe I'm just crazy but if I see one more repost of the picture of that precious little boy who was killed in the explosions, I think I'm going to scream. Some of the postings ask for prayers for him and his family but I don't have any religious belief that any prayer I might offer up can do one damn thing for his soul or his suffering family. Again, that's just me. But viewed in this light, what can seeing his picture do but kill a little part of my own soul?

I am still living. So are you. All we can do in the wake of such events is to continue to be one of the many, indeed the majority, of human beings who base their lives not on hate or violence but on love and compassion and caring. Seeing blood and smoke and horror does not foment those emotions in me. It only makes me feel useless and inadequate and horrified and paralyzed and that is not going to help a thing.

And so no, I am not going to watch those videos. I am not going to listen to the news obsessively where even on NPR there are people calling in with ridiculous baseless assumptions, with paranoid theories, with their fears and their anxieties and a sort of pain which quite honestly, is not theirs to feel but which has been thrust upon them by the images which have made them feel as if they were there when it happened. Yes, there is the belief that we are all related, that everyone's suffering is my own, but in reality, neither I nor anyone else can contain it all. That may have been possible when "everyone" was our tribe or our small village but our caveman brains cannot cope with the suffering and pain and horror of the entire world which is now available for us to know.

I've spent too many hours trying to say here what I wanted to say and I haven't gotten it right but more words aren't going to get that job done. Not my words, anyway.

Look- let's love each other. Let's do the best jobs we can with our own families, our own loved ones, our own lives. Let us acknowledge others' pain but let us not try to take on burdens which are not ours to take and which serve no purpose but to weigh us down in ways that prevent our ability to do the best we can for our own. And let us give some privacy to those who are actually and in real life, going through what they are going through.
Is that so crazy?
My cave-woman brain tells me it is the only way I can be. And in this instance, I am trusting it.

Too Many CAPS!

I have said it before and I will say it again- freshly mopped wood floors are like clean sheets for your feet. Ah. 
So nice to take such pleasure in the small, good things.

Okay. Do you realize that for the first time in 2013 so far, I do not have a person dying or a person who has just died or a wedding coming up? OR, an overtly painful body part?

Can you believe that? It's been a long five months and l am grateful to have come through to this moment in time and oh my god, I wouldn't have traded anything for Jessie's wedding but we must face facts- I was a teensy bit stressed.
Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!
And so forth.
So it is no wonder that I feel suddenly and at last, calmer and more serene. Now I can go back to my normal anxieties about such things as medical appointments and making phone calls. Do you realize that to make medical appointments you have to make phone calls?
It's a rough life for some of us, I tell you.

I had lunch with the famous filmmaker, FC Rabbath today. I, of course, am allowed to call him Freddy. To be honest, everyone calls him Freddy. Anyway, I hadn't heard from Old Fred in quite awhile as he has been making commercials and traveling all over the world so he's been out of pocket. He brought his beautiful girlfriend, Vanessa and we had a lovely lunch where we talked for about two hours and he asked me questions like, "Have you changed any of your opinions since we last talked?" which is hysterical. I think that he holds hope in his heart that one day I will accept his Catholic God although I suspect that's a pretty thin hope and in fact, I think he likes me mostly because I'm so irreverent. We also talked about movies and my ape-alien theory and how Jim Carrey onscreen makes me feel quite literally nauseous. Freddy asked what I would do if Bill Murray was in a movie with Jim Carrey. I said I probably would not go to see it and that I would lose all respect for Bill Murray. Let us pray that never happens. It's always fun to talk to Freddy. While we were eating a beauty queen entered the restaurant. How did we know she is a beauty queen? BECAUSE SHE WAS WEARING A CROWN AND A SASH!

Freddy surreptitiously took this picture for me:

Her sash, which you cannot read in this picture, says that she is the Thomasville Rose Queen. I imagine she may have possibly been doing some sort of photo-thing across the road from where we were at Maclay Gardens which I feel certain has quite a few roses in bloom. But that, like the ape-alien thing, is just a theory. We couldn't figure out why exactly she would wear her crown and sash into a Panera Bread place but she did. So I don't feel too bad about posting her picture here without her permission. Okay, I feel a little bit bad but not too bad. Obviously the girl is not afraid of attention. 

I tried to get Freddy and Vanessa to pose for a picture but Freddy's hair, he claimed, was either too short or too long. I forget. We all agreed that he's still sexy though. Mostly Freddy claimed that. He's a hoot and I was mighty glad to see him.

After lunch I went to the grocery store and came home and did the mopping and cleaned out the chicken poop in the roosts and I've been listening to Neil Gaiman read his The Graveyard Book on CD as I work and that makes it all a joy. Mr. Gaiman is one of the finest author-narrators I've ever come across and that's a fact. I am grateful to Hank for turning me on to Mr. Gaiman and if you've never read any of his books you might want to give them a try. They are fanciful and quite delightful. 

Okay. Here's another picture which I am not completely comfortable posting because Gibson is a tiny bit exposed in it but gosh darn it! it's just too cute and precious not to post. 

Is that not the sweetest thing you've ever seen in your life? Or at least, today?

(Sorry Lily if you are unhappy about this. If you are, let me know, and I will take the picture down. Of course that would RUIN MY WHOLE POST but for you, I will do anything.) 

It's been two days since I've seen those boys and I'm afraid I miss them quite a bit. God. I am SUCH a grandmother. It's ridiculous.

Mr. Moon is on his way home, the house smells of good soup and baking bread. Some of the floors are clean and it has been a very good day. I can hardly imagine being in a better mood. I suppose it's possible but Bill Murray isn't coming over for dinner and neither is BB King or Keith Richards so I will take the mood I'm in and revel in it and besides, my husband IS coming for dinner and so there you go. The chickens will have poop-free hay to rest their pretty little butts on tonight and good Lord! I think I just say two cardinals mate in the yard!

Doesn't get much better than THAT! At least not in Lloyd. WAIT! Elvis just fucked one of the hens! But of course he always gets a little before he goes to bed so that's not really a big thing. NO PUN INTENDED, ELVIS! I'm sure for a rooster he's probably extremely well-endowed although I've never actually seen what he's working with. 

And on that note, I believe I will end this.

Have a pleasant evening, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon

My Own Tiny Kingdom

It is good to be back in Lloyd where the mountains do not shock me every morning with their beauty and height which makes me feel a little bit as if they might fall on me. I am a flat-lander and even Lloyd is a little too hilly for me sometimes and even as I recognize and appreciate the beauty of places like Black Mountain, I know that my feet belong on level ground and hopefully, near an ocean or at least a large body of water.
Still, I am so glad I went away and had almost an entire week to get up every morning and go outside to see those beautiful mountains, to be there at a time when every day there were more new leaves on trees which had been bare when we arrived, to see the flaming forsythia (I think), the weeping cherries, the distant clouds on the mountains.
But Lloyd is beautiful too right now. My yard looks gorgeous, even though the wisteria and the Bradford Pears and the Tung Trees have finished blooming and are now leafed. It is so green again. Even the pecans are leafing and we know it will be hot soon. And the Magnolia Grandiflora will bloom with its huge lemony blossoms, almost too big to be called flowers. Here are a few pictures of what I can see in my yard this morning.

 The Ashe Magnolia is open. Smaller and more delicate than the Grandiflora but with a heavenly scent and its own fragile beauty.

When I first moved here, I would make a practice of digging up ferns in the woods on my walks and transplant them into the bed which became the camellia bed. Here is one which has certainly taken hold. In the background, you can see one of my giant begonias which overwintered in the house and which is beginning its tiny, disproportionate bloom.

My six beloved hens and their protector, Elvis. He did a good job of watching over all of them while we were gone. They are all safe and sound and yesterday I fed them leftover cornbread and also some watermelon and they are happy I am home for that. Otherwise, I am certain they do not care which is perfectly fine with me. They are laying regularly now, as is the rather feral hen, Miss Honey, who lays in a nest in the garage. I just collected two of her eggs, one of them as warm as a baby's neck.

A pot of pink Knock-Out roses. Soon they will be too shaded by the pecans to bloom but right now, they are lovely.

Buddha in the hollow log with impatiens and a pot of fern. He is always laughing, that Buddha. It is good for me to remember that.

A little pot where wild violets have found their way to grow and thrive.

And so yes, I am home on my two small acres, in my old house. My therapeutic soup last night was some of the best I've ever made and I am looking forward to sharing it tonight with my sweet man who is off earning a living. It was strange to turn on the TV while I ate and I couldn't abide any of the Real Housewives and settled on a few moments of Rushmore and, like the making of soup, the faces of that early Wes Anderson movie calmed me and I went to bed and read some more of The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel which I read aloud to Mr. Moon for eight hours on Sunday as we drove from the mountains through the flatlands of Georgia where we stopped for a meal at a place where the other diners made me feel almost slender and we got the Senior Meal which was huge and cost $6.59 and I got Greek baked chicken and green beans and fried okra and a corn muffin and I couldn't even finish it all and then we got back into the car and I read him some more as we drove through the south, through the storm, and then through the calmer darkness. We were in Black Mountain with our memories, we were in Georgia with our car, we were in London and in India with our minds as I read the words of the book.

The world is huge and it is available to us all in one form or another and if we are lucky, we have our own beloved nests to roost in, to settle down in, to come home to, to make and eat our soup in, to sleep in.

I believe I will get out the sourdough starter this morning and stir it up and remind it that it is alive and make a loaf of bread.

I am home.

Like the violets in the small pot, I thrive in small places. I know that about myself. And even as I am here, being grateful to be home, I am thinking of Jessie and Vergil in Rome, I am wondering what they are seeing, how they are feeling, what they are eating, how love feels in Italy. I imagine it is amazing.

Good morning.

Love...Ms. Moon

Oh, My Darlings

What a day this has been. I've been going at it slowly all day long and just got the final load of clothes in the washing machine. I've mopped some (but not enough), taken trash, unpacked, watered porch plants, gone to the post office, cleaned out the refrigerator and made soup thereof and also with a few things from the garden, and best of all-visited with Lis for a few moments when she came to trade cars. I've also talked to Jessie who is sitting in the airport in DC, waiting for something on the plane which is about to carry her and her husband across the sea to Rome to be fixed.
Not worried. Nope. Not me.
And of course I've been obsessively listening to the news.
What in the world? I can't even comment except to say- I don't understand. And as soon as I heard about the explosions, I immediately headed to the kitchen to make that soup because there is nothing in this world that can calm me like the making of soup.

Mr. Moon is on his way to the auto auction and now the guy who cuts the grass is here and so instead of the perfect peace one might wish for, there is the sound of the giant mower and also a weed-whipper but I am not complaining because when they are done, it is going to be beautiful.

I realized that my wedding posts have missed a few things. One of them is that I haven't posted a picture of my Hank and how that happened, I do not know. So. Here is one that I especially like from the night before the wedding at the cookout.

My man-baby. Should I talk about the fact that he had a date his first night on Black Mountain? Oh. Well. Maybe not. Someday I am going to write a book about Hank. I will win the Pulitzer. Or perhaps Hank should write the book about Hank. Or maybe he could write the book about BEING Hank and I will write the book about being Hank's mama. We might both win the Pulitzer.
There is no one like my Hank.
Trust me, my loves. Please do.

Also, I wanted to tell you one of the things from last week that charmed my heart so much that I will probably never, ever get over it. I was watching the boys so that Lily could go do girlie-things with her sisters when Jason was still on the manly river trip and we were downstairs in the little apartment where Lily and Jason and the boys were staying. Gibson and I were on the bottom bunk of one of the sets of bunk beds and Owen was playing with a flashlight when Owen said, "Mer-Mer, let's pretend I the daddy and you my little girl."
Now this was completely new to me that he would want to play such a thing but I was all in and we began our game.
"What are you doing, Daddy?" I asked him. He took the flashlight and crawled under the bunk and said, "Oh, my darling. This bed really broken. I have to fix it."
My darling. 
Are you kidding me? My heart stopped for a moment. And then he proceeded to fix the bed and call me "my darling" for the entire time we played.
I almost couldn't stand it.
"My darling, this bed really broke. You help me fix it." And we pounded on the metal bed frame for awhile.
"My darling, it is time to go to bed." And he crawled up on his parent's bed and I laid down on the bunk with Gibson and we slept for about four seconds before he popped up and said, "Good morning, my darling! You have a good nap?"
I will never forget that. Being called my darling by my three-year-old grandson.
I talked to Lily on the phone today and she said that a day or two ago he called her "my darling" but then he said, "No. I call Mer-Mer my darling."
I doubt I could be prouder than if I had won the Pulitzer Prize.

And here's another picture of something I missed because it happened after we left the party.

Jessie and Vergil playing music together at the jam.
There. That.
Jessie playing mandolin in her wedding dress, looking into the eyes of her newly-made husband. I have no idea who took the picture (I got it off Facebook) but I love it with a passion.

What else is there to say?

But wait. Stop. I have one more thing.
I was talking to Jessie, and Vergil's grandmother, Ann, the night of the family meet-and-great-Greek Dinner and Jessie was wearing red shoes. Now Ann is an older woman. Somewhere in her eighties, at least, and she told me that she liked what I had told my daughter about wearing red shoes which Jessie had related to her, which is that a woman cannot have a bad time wearing a pair of red shoes, more than what her mother told her about wearing red shoes.
So I asked Ann what her mother had told her about wearing red shoes and she said that when she was a young woman, she had bought a pair of red shoes and when she showed them to her mother, she said to her, "Ann, there are two types of women who wear red shoes. And you are NOT a ballerina."

I can't stop laughing about that. Ain't nothing wrong with that lady's mind.

Well, that's it for now. Lis just called to tell me she made it home safely and we giggled and cried a little more. We're in some sort of withdrawal from each other. And Jessie just texted me that they are in their seats on the plane. The chickens are making their way to the roost and the men are still working in the yard. I am exhausted and happy. I can do more mopping tomorrow and tonight, my only job is to sleep. I have soup to eat and I also picked some tiny lettuces from the garden which I can make a salad of and I am still time-tripping. I am going back and forth between memories and the right-here-right-now and I am going to sleep so damn good tonight that Morpheus will be impressed and send me gorgeous dreams.

I am thinking of Jessie and Vergil, about to take off for their honeymoon and I hope that when they begin that always-a-little-scary trip down the runway, they will hold hands and kiss and know that they are about to fly off to another sort of beginning. And I am hoping that in their lifetime together, they will have many such moments because a honeymoon can be sweet no matter how many years you've been married.
Trust me.
But this is their first married honeymoon and as such, it is special.

I wish for them many honeymoons during their lifetime and in fact, I prescribe exactly that for a long and happy marriage.

Sleep well, my darlings. Sleep well.

Back And Forth In Time

 We're home. We got in around eleven last night and it was about the longest day ever. We unloaded the car and fell in the bed and slept. 
Slept and slept and slept.
I didn't get up until almost nine although Mr. Moon had gotten up and gone on in to work.
My work is here. Ooh boy. Is it ever.

But. It was so very much worth it and last night as we were driving home, a HUGE rainbow appeared to the east of us. It was the most spectacular rainbow I think I've ever seen. It stretched all the way across the sky and Hank and I were texting each other about it because they were in approximately the same vicinity and when we pulled off the highway to get gas with the rain coming down and the wind whipping in huge gusts that threatened to lift us up and take us to Oz, a woman in the restroom said, "Did you SEE that rainbow?" and everyone was talking about it. It was, like the whole week, really something.

The day started yesterday with us going down to the camp for a breakfast and the joy had not abated. Believe me. Lon and Lis had to leave but before they took off, the four of us posed for a picture because obviously we had all gotten the memo as to what to wear. It was hysterical. The men matched and so did the women.
Here's what we looked like, yesterday morning and I'd already cried a few times.

And of course, when they left, I cried again. 

When I was cleaning up the house before we left, I felt as if I was moving away from a much beloved home. We had done so much living in that house in less than one week. First Lis and I there alone and then all of the family coming in and Jessie and Melissa stayed there the night before the wedding and Billy and Shayla and Waylon stayed the night of the wedding. Here's a picture of them as they were leaving yesterday morning.

Do you know how much I love them? Probably. Maybe. 

Anyway, back to the house. Gibson walked all over those floors and on the porch and Owen played on the tire swing out to the side of the house and we cooked so many meals in the kitchen and we did so many loads of laundry and the ladies got ready for the wedding there and so all of these images were in my head. 

Okay. Here's a rather random thing- when the girls were getting ready, I went down to help and Pearl, Vergil's sister, who was one of the bridesmaids, asked if I could help her with her hair and of course I did and I was standing there behind her, trying with inadequate pins and clips to create a hairdo for this woman I barely know but to whom I was about to be bonded to for life, and Steel Magnolias came back to me because in that play, I spent the entire time on stage making a wedding hairdo for Shelby, and I cried again. All these little circles and all this joy. I was so grateful to be able to do that for Pearl. To have my hands in her hair to help prepare for this event. Pearl has a wonderful husband, Ben, and a beautiful baby daughter only a few months younger than Gibson. 

Okay. Where was I going? 

I don't know.

Cleaning the house. Packing up left-over food and booze and all of the sheets and towels we'd used and wiping down the kitchen and that long table where we'd eaten and sat at night to laugh and watch Whip My Hair and Lis making her ribbon flowers which all of the bridesmaids wore and it was just so powerful. We had LIVED in that house. All of us.

More pictures from the wedding. First, the wedding cake. 

Have you ever seen anything so beautiful? Top layer, Russian Chocolate. That is the anniversary cake. Second layer, carrot. Bottom layer, lemon buttermilk. And of course there was the chocolate groom's cake. 

Those are Vergil's initials on top. And Lis put both their initials on the top of the bride's cake.

Weatherford. Moon.

There were the truffles too, and Lis and Liz and I served plate after plate and almost everyone wanted what we were soon calling The Sampler Platter which was a slice of each except for that top layer which will not be touched for a year.

Here's Mr. Moon, waiting to take the bride down the aisle with me.

The daddy, my husband, my tall, handsome love. May and Melissa in the background.

Lis sent me this picture which she took of us walking her down the aisle as musicians played Here Comes The Sun. Do you think I was crying? 

And Owen DID perform his ring-bearer duties! Oh bless his heart. That is one of my favorite memories and images. Boppy walked him down to where the people were seated and he was perfect. When he got to all of the people though, he had a moment and put the pillow (and why don't I have a picture of that? and of course Lis made that too) to his face and stood there for a second so Boppy encouraged him and directed him to where his mama was standing up front and he bravely soldiered on and made it all the way to the front. I was SO proud of him. 

Vergil wore a beige linen suit that he'd picked out all by himself and he was such a handsome groom. The ceremony under the beautiful bower that Lon and Glen built with Matt's help went lovely. There were two ladies who sang, holding hands, sisters, and their voices rose in perfect, loving harmony and we all cried. Vergil's Aunt Susan read from first Corinthians, the verses about love, which Vergil's grandmother had picked out. She ended by saying, "This is the word of the Lord," and it was so solemn and when I got up to read what I had written what popped out of my mouth first? "These are NOT the words of the Lord," and then I thought, "Oh shit." And then I thought, "Oh well," and then I read my own words which were about Jessie and her birth and how she is so filled with light and joy and love and how she dances through this life and how Vergil is the same way and now it is time for them to dance together, always, and to not stop dancing. And Jessie said, "Yes, ma'am," and everyone cried again, including me. And then Barbara, the officiant, said beautiful things and Jessie and Vergil said beautiful things and what Jessie read was the journal entry she'd written about meeting that boy and in it she'd said, "I think this may be the one. I think he may be my husband." And she stopped reading and looked up at Vergil and she said, "I did! I really said that!" And when Barbara asked Vergil if he would do all the things that officiants ask of the married couple, instead of saying, "I do," he said, "Absolutely!"

God. I am crying again.

They were radiant. As bright as the sun was that day, Vergil and Jessie outshone it. 

Okay. More pictures from the party which was the most fun party I think I've ever been to. I actually have video of the first dance which they did to a waltz which Lon and Lis played but I have yet to figure out how to get it posted. I will. They were so incredibly graceful. 

And here's another amazing pair of dancers:

Jason and Hap, Vergil's stepdad, dancing to Beat It. I am not kidding you. They cleared the floor. Lily looking on in amazement. There was so much dancing. Owen even danced with a darling little girl who sort of forced him into it, and I wish I had a picture with all my heart but I do not. Here he is, loving his best girl, his mama.

Another thing I don't have a picture of except in my mind, where it will stay forever, is of Gibson walking all the way across the room, shaking a Mento's container with gum in it, right towards his grandfather as Hap gave his toast and Mr. Moon was waiting to give his. It was such a solemn, loving toast and there went Gibson, little man in a suit, shake, shake, shaking that gum, walking on his ever-more steady legs to his grandfather. 

Here he is, sleeping in Liz's arms. 

That is my other Liz. You've seen her, you know her. But you don't really know her or what all she did for this wedding. And she's been a part of Jessie's life since birth since she was with me on the day Jessie was born. She is...well, I don't even know how to say. Her last name is Sparks. And that is perfect. She is the most say-yes to life woman I've ever met and I doubt I could ever have had more of a blessing than in my two Lizzies. Liz decorated the hall and the tables and the flower decorations and gathered flowers and- okay. Look. I can't even begin to tell you how big a part of this thing she is. Jessie lived with her in town when she went to college. And I can't even begin to tell you the role she has played in Jessie's life. Just like her Lis. Jessie's fairy godmothers. 

Lis and Liz. 

Everyone just gave and gave and gave for this wedding. Vergil's parents are the most remarkable people and I fell completely in love with Julia, Vergil's amazing mother. She is one of the most remarkable women I've ever met. We are Sister Mamas now. And I feel so honored to be. She and Hap and Vergil's bio-dad and his wife all are part of the reason Vergil is the way he is and need I say more? I could. Believe me. But Hap and Julia made this thing happen. They did. 

I don't even have an inkling what all they did to make this happen. I am eternally in their debt. 

There was so much loving help. May and Lily, of course, attended to Jessie and all the tiny details. As did Melissa. And Matt was always there to help wherever help was needed from the bower to watching the children, which he is so good at. And may I say that he caught the garter? Mmmmmm....

Jason, who is the best father in the world, did everything from getting his sons dressed for the wedding to going on the wild men's river trip and telling all those guys what it means to be married and a father. 

And I haven't even mentioned Vergil's crew. Such a grand merry crew of men and women who played music and made food and brewed beer and cleaned up and canoed across the lake and again, I don't even know what all. If there were ever a more community-based, hand-made wedding, I've yet to hear of it.

Oh god! I haven't even mentioned Hank and how he was the Emcee of the whole event. He did the songlists and made the dancing music happen and he kept everyone on schedule with dining and toasts and he was wonderful. And the food! The very best barbecue ever eaten and it was a feast and there was even barbecued tofu. You dined like a king if you were a carnivore or a vegan. It was all there for you. 

And the quilt which Julia and Pearl organized. That was the secret wedding stuff that I kept talking about after my mother died. It was a surprise for Jessie and Vergil. Everyone had made squares and Julia and Pearl got them all made up into a quilt for the couple. 

Okay. I have to stop soon. I have a million loads of laundry to do. That bamboo is almost as tall as I am and as big around as my ankle. I haven't unpacked a thing but my toothbrush. The hallway needs mopping because of the dogs. Which I do not wish to discuss and yes, they are still alive. As are the chickens, which I AM grateful for.

At the end of the night of the wedding (for me, at least) a great many of the younger people had gone off to jam in one of the lodges but some of us stayed behind to continue dancing. Hank was playing the booty music by then and all of us old people were on the dance floor, being lewd and happy and even Lis Williamson danced! I was there to witness it! Put my hand on the Bible. We danced around Jessie and we shook our tailfeathers and no one's hip popped out of joint and it was tribal. It was magnificent. 

As it all was.

I just spoke to Lis. And we cried again. She and Lon drove my car back home last night and she has to get in that thing and drive it over here to pick up her car today. I just said, "Can't you spend the night and we can have martinis and talk about it all?"

She is tempted but I know she has to get home and, like me, resume her normal life. 

Our blessed, normal lives. 

And I should feel guilty about sitting here this morning writing this when so much needs to be done but you know what? I do not. Jessie told me yesterday that right before she and Vergil went to sleep on Saturday night, he said to her, "I can't wait to see what your mama says on the blog about it all."

Can you believe that?

I'm crying again. 

And I'm thinking of all the things I haven't mentioned like people who came from so far away like Mr. Moon's sister, Brenda and my friend Kerry and I'm thinking of the shot of tequila a group of us did in Liz Spark's room in the lodge and I'm thinking of Jessie, in the middle of the ceremony saying, her voice choked with love and with tears, "I love you Vergil Weatherford!"and how it was maybe the truest thing she's ever said, and I am thinking of Vergil flinging off his tie and getting down on his knees to retrieve with his teeth the garter that May made for her sister off of Jessie's leg, half his entire body under that confection of a dress, I am thinking of all the tears, all the joy. I am thinking of dancing with my husband, my daughter, my new family, my tribal women friends and my daughters. I am thinking of my husband dancing with his daughter. I am thinking of Glen and Vergil dancing together. I am thinking of Stephanie saying, "Well, I can't ever have a wedding now. After this one, there can never be another to compare." And I'm thinking of the tiny remote controlled airplane with it's banner saying Jessie and Vergil flying over the pond as those groomsmen canoed in and how corny and wonderful and glorious it all was and I am thinking of Owen waking up in the mornings and saying, "Good morning! Are there pancakes?" and I am thinking of being with my family in that house and I am thinking of how we have more family now and such a GOOD family and I am thinking that yes, we performed a sacred ritual from the sharing of tequila to the making of cakes to the changing of poopy diapers to the worry and the transcendence to the saying of the words to the dancing to the hugging and the crying and the laughing and the singing and the glory of it all. 

And now I must bring myself back here, to Lloyd, to get this mountain of laundry done, to go collect the mail, to make some sense of it all. The potatoes are growing up high, the peas are climbing the fence, the tomatoes are growing, that bamboo is taking over. It is blue-skyed, it is home and Jessie and Vergil will be getting on a plane and flying to Rome and then, after a week in Italy, will go to Bhutan where there will be another wedding. 

So it goes. It never stops and this is the thing- every now and then we are privileged beyond measure to be part of something huge which celebrates so much love that there is hardly room to contain it. And we do not have to contain it. It contains us and is part of us all and in this celebration, we are all made better. We come together and with our own love, our work, our talents, our joy, we somehow refine and make more of it. And then we go on about our normal lives, more conscious than before of the very miracle of them. 

Good morning.

Love...Ms. Moon

This Is Honestly The Best I Can Do Right Now

I have a three story house where about fourteen people have been eating, sleeping, living in to clean up, packing to do, the breakfast to attend, and eight hours of a drive ahead of me. And a great many of those people are still here.
So. Here are a few pictures. I used my own camera and hardly like any of the pictures I took but my friend Kerry sent me some from his phone which are beautiful and I'm going to post some of those. There will be more eventually, I'm sure. These pictures are heavy on us old folks but you know what? You can see the love in them so clearly that they seem to me a reflection of the whole event.
It truly was the most beautiful wedding I've ever attended.
And the party was amazing.
So. Here we go:

They Are Wed

It has been glorious.
Pictures tomorrow.

Love...Ms. Moon

In No Particular Order

It is Lily and Jason's fifth anniversary today! Aren't they beautiful?

Well, it's the wedding day. And it's the most beautiful day imaginable.

Last night was the big cook out and it was lovely and we sort of had a rehearsal for the wedding and yes, canoes are going to be involved. Not for me personally, I hasten to add.

Oh Lord. It is going to be so beautiful. And this morning we're rocking and rolling despite the fact that the old folks stayed up way too late and okay, maybe drank a little too much Tito's vodka but it was so much fun and well, hell. No blood, no foul and Jessie's off doing pre-wedding things and I hear that there are biscuits and fruit salad down at the camp but we're having french toast right here and the girlies are all getting ready to go get pedicures and the sun is shining off the mountains and Gibson is toddling around and Owen is excited to be the ring bearer today and the men have made the most beautiful arbor.

My little girl is really getting married.
I keep offering to give her sex advice but we both know I'm joking.

Stay tuned.

Much love...Mother Of The Bride