A Southern Baby Shower

One of Lily's best friends is going to have a baby soon and Lily coordinated the baby shower just as she did the wedding shower for her last year. I helped go set up and was basically in the way because everyone else had done all the work but mostly I was there for moral support. There were all sorts of delicious foods including the meatballs cooked with grape jelly and Heinz chili sauce which are the best thing in the world to eat, and the theme was pirates and Hank did the invitations and I sat with the same exact ladies I sat with at the wedding shower last year, completely by coincidence (as if) and we did a thing where we all chose a letter from the alphabet and made a picture to put together into a book the same way we did at Lily's shower for Owen.
What you see above is my picture and I can't draw a baby for shit but I still like it. The picture. The
thought.

Sheltered sleeping sweetness.

Could anything be better than that for a new mother?

My husband is home. We have played cards. I am going to make us some sort of food although we have both eaten so much in the last few days that food has become something we're a bit wary of.

I am just looking forward to bed where I, too, will have sheltered sleeping sweetness. May the dreams be sweet.

The mother-to-be's grandmother was at the shower today. She's a pistol. She asked me, "How old are you?"
I said, "Excuse me?"
And she said again, "How old are you?"
"Sixty," I said.
"I'm eighty-one!" she announced proudly and slapped her knees. She was wearing a turquoise blue pants suit with sequined dragonflies on the shirt. She was strong and hearty and fully present. Later on I heard her talking on her cell phone.
"I'm not going to make the reunion," she said. "I'll be on my cruise."

As we were all preparing to leave she was putting on her lipstick. Her daughter said, "Mama, you don't need to put on your lipstick."
"My lips get dry," the grandmama said as she snapped her lipstick closed and put her mirror up in her purse.

One more thing. The mother-to-be's mother was talking about her two daughters. One, she said, was just like her. The other she said, was just like her father.
"Bless her heart," she said.
(They are divorced, she and the father.)
And I thought to myself as I hooted out loud, "Well. There you go."

Bless all our hearts.
Love...Ms. Moon

If Life Is But A Dream, My Life Sucks

Newest twist on I-have-to-clean-this-filthy-house-and-take-care-of-everyone-dream:

I'm teaching school! And my classroom is a complete mess. And the kids live in it and they share bathrooms which are disgusting and of course, I have to feed the children too.

Just for good measure, my mother was in there.

I don't recall getting a lot of teaching done in this dream.

I swear to you, I think I am going mad.

Trip Report

Ah, lah. I am home. That was a short trip. As I left I told my husband and his sister that  I was so glad that I could come and brighten up their lives for a few hours.
Haha!
Mr. Moon thanked me for the booty call. If you are my child and you are reading this...JUST KIDDING!
(Again I say, Haha!)
I love the drive down to the coast through all the forests and over the pretty little rivers and through all the tiny towns where they sell boiled peanuts and Tupelo honey and there are seafood retailers and seafood restaurants and you can stop at what used to be the Kangaroo convenience store where they have the Xlerator hand dryer that even after YEARS of stopping to use, still makes me laugh to see what it does to the skin of my hands and arms when I turn it on. My very flesh ripples like a river over my bones under the stormiest wind and it is horrifying and hilarious at the same time. Also, they have decent coffee there, even one that claims to be "organic" although I just really don't trust that shit.
They also have a "whipped topping" dispenser. Which I don't use but I sort of really want to. You know?

The place that my sister-in-law reserved for this trip is one of four units in a place we've stayed in before but never in this particular unit. It was amazing. And beautiful. They're all in a restored and remodeled building on the waterfront in Apalachicola and you can go here to read about it.

Every unit I've stayed in has been beautiful but this one took the damn cake. Here's a picture of part of the living room area.

I would seriously live in this place. And quite happily. See those bookshelves? They not only had some popular literature but also (and who on vacation is going to read this, but still...) Carl Sandburg's volumes of the biography of Abraham Lincoln and Phillip Roth and The Three Musketeers and One Hundred Years Of Solitude and on and on and on.
I mean, books that if you were on a deserted island you would want to have with you.
Lord. Lord.

Our bedroom was far bigger than the one we have here at home. The bed was a huge four-poster thing and although not as comfortable as our bed, was dressed in luscious linens and everywhere I looked, things pleased me. Antiques and beautiful wood and old brick and balconies. And terrariums! And a complete kitchen. Where I did nothing but make coffee.
Here's a lamp that I would love to own.

Frog and mouse, peddling away. I think that's a mouse. It could be a cat, I suppose. But oh, how darling. 

Right downstairs from the Consulate is a store called the Grady Market. They sell a ton of rich-people stuff that I would never consider buying and also, a ton of rich people clothing and leather goods that I'd pretty much give my right leg for. Okay. Not really. But maybe a toe. Or at least a fingernail. 

The brand they carry that I love the most is Johnny Was. Do you know Johnny Was? I hate his ass. 

Here's a text conversation I had with Jessie while I was there.

Oh. That blue shirt. Oh, the jackets Johnny has made. The dresses. 

He can bite my ass. 

Or send me free clothes. Either one would be fine. 

I do like my hideous pants. They have more pockets and zippers and buttons and buckles than the law allows. They're ridiculous. And very comfortable. 

So yeah, it was 24 hours of the life of Riley and I haven't even mentioned all the delicious foods and the vodka tonics and the nice walk Mr. Moon and I had today. We went by our property and saw some of our neighbors who reported that a lot of people in that block have died recently. The lady part of the couple told me, "Y'all need to move down and bring us some new blood!" which made me both very sad and want to laugh. They were on their way back home from the Chinese Restaurant in their golf cart vehicle. 

This, my friends, is my future. 

Here's a bit of rustic scenery from the riverfront in Apalachicola.

Those burlap sacks are what oysters are sold in, each one tagged as to the location where the oysters were harvested. The picture of the shrimp boat I posted this morning caught my attention as the guys on the boat were shoveling out their cooler of shrimp. Apalach is a strange place. It has become such a tourist destination and yet, at the same time, it is still a working fishing village. There are ten foot tall piles of oyster shells and men wearing white rubber boots not a hundred yards from where they sell Johnny Was shirts for prices that an oysterman couldn't afford to buy his wife in ten years of marriage. There appears to be a large population of gay men who grew up there, moved away, and came back. There are hundreds of retirees who walk their dogs (they all have dogs) and stop at Tamara's Cafe for coffee and gossip and guava pastries. There's a brewery there now. 

The place that pleases me the most is the bookstore which I have talked about so many times before. I walked in this morning and said to the woman who owns it, "Hello Bookstore Lady!" 

We talked about the best books we've read recently, discussed the Robert Galbraith (JK Rowling) Cormoran Strike novels (we both love them and no, that girl better NOT marry her fiance) and although I didn't buy anything today, it made me feel better, just having been there. 

I packed up this afternoon and drove on home. I stopped at Carabelle Beach park where they still have picnic tables which look like this. 

So very sixties. 

And so very artistic and Howard Johnson colored.

Oh, Florida. How I do love thee. 

And now I'm home and the chickens seem fine and Maurice is glad I'm home and tomorrow I'll help Lily with a baby shower she's helping to put together for a friend of hers and on Sunday, I hope to weed those damn, beautiful tomatoes. 

Well, that's what I've been doing. 

You?

Love...Ms. Moon

Shrimp Boat

And, She's Off! (Theoretically, At Least)

I'm about to pack a little bag and get on the road to Apalachicola.
I say that as if it was the simplest thing in the world, which it IS, but of course for me, the woman who is either agoraphobic or simply loves her house and yard too much or perhaps a combination of both, it's really not.
Oh! The animals! Oh! The...what else is there?
Not much.

I'll check in from the beautiful Old Florida city of Apalachicola where the river meets the bay meets the Gulf.

Or something like that.

Love...Ms. Moon

Heaven, Earth, Rain, Dirt, Ducks And Rolling Stones. I.E. Same As It Ever Was

I have wanted to be outside today even though it has been raining almost all day and I did work in the rain for a few hours. It was blissful. I pulled Virginia Creeper and poison ivy and some other plant which seems to be taking over the front part of the yard and I do not know what the plant is but it propagates via roots and what starts out as a little sprig of something which has vaguely boxwood-shaped and sized leaves becomes a huge bush tree. I pulled and pulled and used the clippers I had in my back pocket when I could not pull hard enough and I wish I could have put in a few more hours, trimming palms and wisteria, fertilizing some things and weeding the tomatoes but it's raining too much for that now. I also want to transplant some things. Move some things. Perhaps tomorrow. Some days this urge to mess with plants and dirt and weeds just takes me over and at least in the drizzle it was cooler.

Oh, this rain! It is absolutely the most soothing thing, the sound of it falling, the liquid kiss of it. The soft gray sky it falls from. As I have said before, for Noah it was the cessation of the rain which brought his god's promise of love and care. For me it is the rain itself. I think of the year I moved here and how dry it was that spring and summer. I actually and really and fruitlessly (and I knew it) put a hose on the biggest oak tree in the backyard by the railroad tracks. The drought had made me that crazy. Sucking up water that the tree was probably trying to suck up on its own to make it travel through a green garden hose threaded through a wire fence to run oh, so ironically at the base of the tree. That tree probably has roots that reach down to the aquifer.
Well, the tree is still alive so who knows? And I think of how sweet the very real water of rain must feel to it and don't tell me that anything as magnificent as a centuries-old live oak has no feelings. I have no doubt that they are nothing like the feelings we short-lived humans have, any more than our feelings are like the ones that those insects which live for one day have. But. Yeah. I have to admit that I believe in the sentience of all things. Perhaps it is merely a romantic idea but I am allowed to have those too.

I think that whichever duck it was that was having problems this morning is probably okay. That egg was a big larger in circumference than the usual egg she lays. Or at least, that is what I am telling myself. All of the birds have been quieter than usual today but I think that's due to the rain. They straggle about in it and it does not seem to bother them as much as it just dampens their feathers and spirits. I feel quieter in the rain as well.

It almost frightens me how much I enjoy being alone, to be able to follow whatever whim I have as it occurs without thought for anyone else's needs or wants. It feels very selfish to say that and yet, I know that if I did not have the needs and wants of others to consider, these days of solitude would hold no beauty or enjoyment at all.  I would be so lonely, my life so bereft and without meaning without my husband, my children, my grandchildren. I know that but there must be balance whether in weather or in time spent in company and in solitude. In romantic ideas and fruitless efforts and pragmatism and common sense. In physical exertion and in rest. In fear and in wonder. In joy and in pain. In tears and in laughter, not too get too damn cliche about it all.

And speaking of laughter- I just don't even know what to think about this video but it sure as hell made me laugh.




It's nothing at all like yesterday's video and it's, well, I'm not sure. But somehow, it's hysterical AND the real true voices of Keith and Mick are in it. As well as very cute guys.

There has to be balance between dirt and Youtube, too, I suppose.

I'm going to go cook some chicken with pineapple and onions.

I'd smoke a doob with Keith Richardson. Would you?

Love...Ms. Moon

Let's Just Not Mince Words

It's drizzling again and today was the day I was going to Apalachicola but I am staying right here. Mr. Moon's sister has some sort of a stomach bug and I would not be of any help in that situation and so I will spend time today pulling some of the Virginia Creeper that's taking over the yard, which I have been meaning to get to for a long time.

The existential angst of life has overwhelmed me again and I feel heavy in body and in soul. A day to wonder why I even try- there is absolutely nothing I can do to stave off the inevitable chaos of it all.

Maurice naps on the table and her thoughts, if she has any at all beyond sleepy half dreams of chasing squirrels and lizards, probably center on why her human is such an asshole.

A good day to get dirty, to listen to Storm of Swords. Amazingly, as the book goes on, I find I do remember who people are. Not all of them and I could never name them but many. Most. A tribute to George R.R. Martin's writing and certainly not to my memory.

One of the ducks laid an egg with a little blood on it this morning and then I noticed as she ran to shovel in Luna's food in the pump house that she had a string of bloody mucous coming from her butt. I hope it's nothing but a little extra straining she had to do today. I am not up to any more poultry problems. Especially ones that involve blood out the ass.

Somewhere, someone is dancing in Paris.

Not me, baby.
Not me.

Again I Ask- What Do You Think?

I am still pondering over the video I posted earlier today. And I just have no other explanation for my feeling of unease about it than the most obvious one- that it is almost impossible for me to watch that man and believe such a self-proclaimed redneck (and y'all, I am pretty sure he is not faking that accent) could come out with such truth and profundity and of course... that makes me a stone-cold bigot.

Not a racist in this instance, but a bigot for sure.

I am surrounded by rednecks where I live. And no, a black man would not be afraid to ride through my neighborhood because my neighborhood has more black families than white and that is the truth of it. Do I ever see a white person walking? No. Every person I see out for walks is black. But I have been thinking a lot about how I never see any of these people walking in the woods where I walk and I don't think it has a damn thing to do with anyone being afraid of animals. I think it's because the path I take goes directly across from the truck stop off the interstate exit and there are plenty of Florida Highway Patrol cars around and that some of those troopers would not be loathe at all to stop a black man walking down the road into the woods. An old white woman? No threat there. She may be crazy but she's obviously not up to anything nefarious.
And the odds of any rednecks in pick-up trucks hassling me are pretty low.
I'm so stupid that it's taken me eleven years to figure this out.

It makes me want to just cry because I think of myself as so damn aware and empathetic and blah, blah, bullshit blah. But do I understand, truly?
No. I do not.
I have just accepted my little village the way it is, black folks, white folks, we live on the same streets, some of the trashiest houses and yards are the homes of white folks, some of the nicest are the homes of black folks.
It has not though, gone unnoticed by me that the most obviously poverty-stricken among us are without a doubt black families.

One of the things Dixon White said in that video is that we better "motherfucking SEE color," and that when we see incidents of racism we need to speak up. I have tried to do that. I had it out with a man who worked at the trash place one day after he used the n-word repeatedly.
I think he may be dead now. Haven't seen him around in forever. I feel sorry for him. He was a sad and bitter man. And in this case, he could NOT see color because the woman he was talking to was very obviously white but what he did not know was that her adopted father was black. He would probably NEVER have used those words if he had known. And I told him that. So in a way, he did see color and he made the exact wrong assumption based on it.
Not unlike the assumption I have made, watching Dixon White.

Anyway, I'm not sure that I've watched any five minutes of video in my entire life that's given me so much to think about. As our Angella said, he was preaching to the choir here in this blog community but still, he's given me, personally, some things I need to fucking pay attention to. The words this man said were extremely profound and I hope they start a conversation that needs to be had with words that don't dance around the daisy field of color-blindness. And not just a fucking conversation. An entire new era of awareness. And I need to personally realize that someone who looks and talks like Dixon White may not be the person I think he is.
Although to be perfectly honest, I've never met anyone who looked and sounded like him who said anything nearly as profound as what he said.

I just watched the video for the third time.
You know what my deepest unease about it is?
I've always been told that if something seems too good to be true, then it probably is.

But no matter how I try to reach into the most cynical and bigoted parts of my heart, I can't figure out how this video can be a bad thing. Such simple truths. Stop being so defensive. Stop thinking of white supremacy as merely someone in a pick-up with a confederate flag in the back window represents. Or some craven in the KKK. Or some old guy at the trash depot. 
That's a huge responsibility he's telling us to take on.
HUGE. It means we have to step out of our little dream-worlds and yes, fucking SEE color, and while we're at it, see bigotry against disabilities and ageism and sexism and homophopia too. And speak up when we see discrimination. Speak up when we see injustice.
Fucking speak up. Act up, he even said.

Stephen Gaskin used to say a thing that went like, "When you see a situation that you wonder where God is in this, you need to remember that you are God's eyes here."

And if Dixon White is truly the Southern redneck he says he is, I apologize to him too.

I wonder why he kept his eyes closed for most of his speech. I do not know. But I will say this- he has opened some eyes.

Mine included.

Love...Ms. Moon

What Do You Think About This?

And let me be understood. I think that everything he is saying here is exactly true. I can find no point of disagreement.
I just wonder if it's legit. In one of the few interviews I've been able to find, he admits that "Dixon White" is a pseudonym and a good one for this character. And I want to believe that he IS speaking from his heart. The cynic in me wonders though...what is going on here?
I want him to be true. Not just a character.
Do any of you know any more background? I've heard he's an actor and a writer as well. Which is fine. He is using his talents for good. That I believe.
Still. I'm just not exactly sure what to think.

The Frogs Are Tuning Up

Do not even ask me what's going on with the sprinkles bottles to the foreheads. I have no clue.
We were making cookies and that is how they posed for their making-cookies picture.

Owen asked me if we could do that- make cookies- and I pondered for a second and said, "Sure. Why not?" Mr. Moon is about to leave for a week to stay in Apalachicola and go fishing with his sister so I thought it would be nice to make a few cookies for them. I took part of the batter and added pecans to it because Mr. Moon likes pecans and for the boy's part, I let them dump all the sprinkles in they wanted. What is the damn point of being a grandmother if you can't let your grandkids use all the sprinkles their hearts desire? We almost hit a snag in the cookie-making process when I realized I didn't have enough butter but then I thought, "Papa Jay's!" so we put our shoes on and walked down to the store and at Papa Jay's you can buy butter by the stick (salted or un-salted, one buck a stick) and we were saved! It's about a block away if we had actual blocks here in Lloyd and it cracks me up how much of an adventure that little walk is. When we get within fifty feet of the place Gibson starts yelling, "There it is! Papa Jay's!" as if we'd crossed the desert in search of an oasis and it had finally come into sight, the date palms reflected in a pool of cool blue water.

Oh, my babies. I let Owen make the transaction with the money. He is learning. He tried to get me to let him keep the change from a five dollar bill and I said, "No way, buddy."
He plans on doing some more cleaning when they come tomorrow and I will pay him then. He's really on a cleaning jag. His dad's a good cleaner too and yay for that! He certainly didn't get the cleaning gene from my side of the family.

So we came home and made the cookies and if I'd have let them, they would have eaten every bite of the cookie dough and then when the cookies were done, would have eaten cookies until they puked. Lucky for me, their dad came a bit early today so I didn't have to deal with the sugar rush mess.
Yet another perk of being a grandmother.

And so it was a good day and Mr. Moon has the boat hooked up to the trailer and is loading up the fishing poles. I'll probably drive down to join them later in the week for a day or two when I'm not needed for boy-tending.

For some reason, I've thought about Kathleen a lot today and have missed her so much. Who knows why? I did pot up two begonias that I'm trying to root and I thought about how we would do that- go out and buy begonias and share them with each other. Also, Owen noticed something I never ever would have which was thousands of almost microscopic red insects covering my car and I have no idea what they are but she would have known. She knew so much. She was so smart. So funny. And I've had anxiety today and she was always so understanding of that. She didn't tiptoe around it or try to talk me out of it. She just accepted it as much a  part of me as my love of begonias.

My husband is on the road to Apalach now. He and his sister will have a great time, telling each other stories of grandchildren and old friends, remembering those they loved who have gone on, and fishing in the Gulf. I am glad they have this time. I told Mr. Moon to catch some grouper so that I could come down there and cook it for them. I would like to do that. Meanwhile, all is quiet in Lloyd. The birds are saying good-night and the chickens will be making their way to the hen house soon. They gave me eight beautiful eggs today and I have thanked them. There is a sense of melancholy in my bones but it's okay.
It is really okay.

And here is Gibson. He watched an old video on my phone of Owen, when he was a tiny boy, washing things in soapy water at the kitchen sink and he wanted to do the same.
"I am Owen!" he told me. He loves his brother so much. And his brother loves him.

And I love them both. When Gibson stood at the sink with his ducks and his dog and his cat and his frog to wash he said, "Taught me?"
I said, "Do you want me to teach you how to wash them?"
"Yes," he said.
And so I demonstrated with the old toothbrush how to do that. And later, when he was sitting on my lap, he said, "Kiss."
"Do you want me to kiss you?"
"YES! This ear!" and he pointed to the specific ear he wanted me to kiss. I kissed that one and then the other one and then he said, "HUG! HUG!"
And so I did.
And on the way back from Papa Jay's, Owen slapped me on the butt.
"What are you doing?" I asked him. "I can't believe you're slapping your Mer Mer on the butt! What if I slapped your butt?"
"It wouldn't hurt," he said, and laughed.
"You're right. It wouldn't," I said.

Sigh. He knows he has me under his thumb.

He loves to ask me if I remember when he gave me my name. The name of Mer Mer. I always tell him that yes, I do. And he says that it's like he is my mother or my father in that he gave me my name.

Love and the family and the circle of it all.

I swim in the cool oasis of the blue lake of it, the date palms stretching overhead with their ripening fruit.

Love...Ms. Moon

Joyful Days

For some bizarre reason, both Lily and Jessie got married on April 13. Lily in 2008 and Jessie in 2013.

So today is the anniversary of both of their marriages and I celebrate those unions. I could not ask for better sons-in-law than Jason and Vergil in this whole wide world. And Jason is absolutely the best daddy for my grandsons as he is the best husband for Lily. And I feel quite certain that Vergil is going to be one hell of a fantastic father too. And oh, how happy he makes Jessie!

It's funny. All of my kids are so very different and yet, at the core of them all is this pure light of love that they bring with them. And on their wedding days, both Jessie and Lily shone pure bright with it.

Happy days. Happy beginnings. 

May there be no end to their happiness. May there be no end to their love. 

Frogs

For Rebecca

Frogs.

Questions

Okay- query:
Bar soap or body wash?
Why?
Do you use a washcloth?

I just wondered.
Me, I don't like body wash. I never feel like it rinses off entirely which makes me feel slightly icky.
No. I don't use a washcloth. I don't know why.

So yeah, I just took a shower because I spent most of the day in the garden and I was covered in mud. I used body wash because it wasn't my shower, but the little shower in the off-the-kitchen bathroom. Sometimes I use that because it takes approximately eight minutes for the water to get hot in my bathroom which is forty-five steps (I counted) from the hot water heater whereas the little shower is about three steps from the hot water heater so I feel like I am wasting so much less water when I use it. I need to put a bar of soap in there.

Another question:
Do you remember when I listened to the first two Game of Thrones books and then put the third on reserve at the library? Well, that was about a year ago, I think. I finally got a notice that it was my turn and so I went and picked it up. "A Storm of Swords" is the title.
Thirty-nine discs, people.
Thirty-nine.
So I listened to a few of those today and of course I've forgotten everything. I mean, not really everything, everything but a lot. Martin does a pretty good job of doing backstory but hell, Martha! There must be four thousand characters involved.
Oh well. I will persevere.
I did some weeding, a little mulching, and planted some zinnias. Why did that take all day?
I have no idea. It just did. I pulled some of the mustards although I should have pulled them all but I just couldn't. I snapped the bolt stems off and I'm going to hope for a few more weeks of them, just as I am doing with the collards. I'll probably still be listening to "Storm of Swords" when the cucumbers are ripe. Jeez.

Third question:
Do you remember when I burned my finger a few weeks ago? And I didn't even post a picture because it was so yucky and gross?
It's almost completely healed. I don't even think I'm going to have a scar. Gibson keeps saying, "Where you boo-boo?"
"It's healed up," I tell him.
The body is amazing.
Gibson is learning the uses of the word "up" and let's face it- it can be confusing. The bubbles go up. The wound heals up. The other day before we went to lunch at China First, he told me that his tummy was going to go "up." He demonstrated by sticking it out. After he ate a few bites he said, "See Mer? My tummy is up now."
And he poked it out again.
"Yes," I said. "You are filling your tummy up."
And we all proceeded to fill our tummies up. China First cracks me up. They have EVERYTHING. From your standard faux Chinese dishes like egg rolls and wontons and sweet and sour chicken and cashew chicken and Kung Pau chicken and Owen's favorite which is chicken-on-a-stick, they also have sushi and macaroni salad. Dude! Macaroni salad! And something they call "roasted broccoli" but it sure looks just like good ol' southern broccoli and cheese casserole to me.
And jello cubes. Owen and Gibson aren't very well acquainted with jello. Gibson spent about ten minutes bouncing the cubes in his hand going, "Bounce, bounce, bounce..."
Owen, on the other hand, likes to put a cube or two in his mouth and suck on them for a moment and then spit them out.
"Don't play with your food," said Boppy, who was dining with us.
Haha! I love watching children play with food, especially jello. Okay, maybe it's just that I love to watch my grandchildren playing with food. I don't recall being as amused when my own kids did it. I will never forget when I took them and some friends once to Morrison's Cafeteria (and oh, how I grieve the passing of Morrison's Cafeteria!) and they all started sucking up their jello through straws. I believe I told them firmly to STOP THAT! but I still remember it and it gives me a giggle.
I'd give fifteen dollars for some of Morrison's Cafeteria's rare roast beef with roasted potatoes. Right this second. Or their trout almondine. They had the best tartar sauce in the world.
Be still my hungry heart.

Instead, I am going to make pizza tonight. Mr. Moon has spent all day painting again and we've gone through most of the leftovers so I thought it would be fun to make pizzas.

Last question:
Do I talk about food too much?

Probably.

Okay. Do you have any questions for me?
If so, ask away. I'd say nothing is too personal but that would be a big fat lie.
Also feel free to give me answers. I could use a few.

Love you. Mean it.
Ms. Moon

What Lloyd Looks And Sounds Like This Morning

The aloe is blooming in the drizzle. 

The ash magnolia has opened to fullness. I wish you could smell its heavenly lemon scent. 

The confederate jasmine is starting to put out its flowers and soon its scent will be overwhelmingly powerful. I think the scent when it is in full bloom might best be described as what a whorehouse in heaven might smell like.

Mulberries! I hope the birds don't get all of them. They will grow redder and then purple. The taste of them hurtles me back to childhood.

The peas we planted this year have these pink and purple blooms. I wonder what it is, exactly, that we have growing. We shall see soon enough.

The beans are coming along

while the mustard greens bolt, going to seed. I have actually picked some of the yellow flowers to put in a vase in the kitchen. Oh, how I hate to pull these greens and yet, I must to make room for other things. 

Two duck eggs. One Chi-Cha egg. 

Mick tidbitting for the girls. They take his offerings now which makes me happy and also a little sad. He is really coming along as a rooster. He watches the flock carefully all day and his insane hotblooded need to fuck seems to have cooled quite a bit as he takes his responsibilities seriously. He even stood his ground with Greta the other day although thankfully, she only wanted to play. Chickens do not seem to play. Not in the sense that dogs and even cats, at times, do. So why is it that they make my heart feel so much lighter?

I do not know.

Trixie's song, Mick's throaty tidbit call. Hog dogs in the background.

They are quiet now. 

Love...Ms. Moon

I Think I've Had A Sabbath

Even though this picture looks as if someone had just told these two children that their play house had burned down with their kitten in it, it's merely the only picture I got of Gibson and the darling, delicate Lenore while we were at the game and I wanted to post it because despite their somber expressions and Gibson having his eyes closed, it still conveys Lenore's fairy-child presence and Gibson's love of her.

We were at the T-Ball game and those two run around everywhere like team mascots, even on the field if we let them. I sat on a giant towel with Lenore's lovely mama while her daddy helped Mr. Moon coach the team. I never did get a very good picture of him either but here's what I got.

Isn't my sweetie a beautiful man? I love the orange shirts and the orange clay. He's so tall and some of the children are so little. It was adorable. The kids are playing better and rarely run straight for second base anymore if they hit the ball off the T. One child did try to trip another as he ran from first base but hey- good reflexes kid!

Owen wasn't allowed to play due to his foot injury and was the bat boy. However, he spent half the game running around with his brother and cousin, all of them ending up in piles like puppies on the grass. 

"Mer," he told me. "I'm not supposed to run so I only do it when my mama isn't watching. Don't tell her."

Like she didn't notice. 

He also picked clover and brought his other grandma, his aunt and me pretty little flowers. I stuck mine in my braids. He's such a gentleman, that Owen. 

After the game we all went to lunch. Jason had to miss the festivities, being at work. 

Here's a picture of Gibson loving on his Boppy. 

He loves to hook that arm around your neck. He is the most affectionate child. Yesterday when they were leaving and he was in his seat I went to kiss him. "No," he said. "No kisses."

But before his papa could drive away, he was yelling for kisses. He grabs me by the chin and pulls my face to his and would kiss me until the moon came out if we didn't eventually have to put an end to it. 

Here's what the three cousins looked like after lunch.

I swoon. 

Mr. Moon went over to the rental property we have to paint after we ate and I came home. It was raining and I washed up the breakfast dishes and then, with the rain as an excuse, got in the bed and read until my eyes closed, which took about fifteen minutes, and then slept for an hour and a half. 

This is probably the least productive day of my life and I love it. 

It is still raining but very gently and I did go out and collect the eggs. The ducks and chickens do not seem to be disturbed in the least by the rain. I just went outside to take a picture of the ash magnolia's opening blossom and they rushed me for food, the ducks quacking in their rusty demanding cry. As I have said before, they think of me as nothing more than a mobile food dispensing unit but according to my dreams, I see myself the same way so there you go.

Here's the ash magnolia blossom.

That beauty is as big as my hand. How it thrills me when it blooms! I planted it when it was naught but a tiny thing. 

And so now Maurice and I are waiting for Mr. Moon. I'm going to go cook some rice to go with leftover beans, make a salad with tomatoes and avocado. It is so nice to remember that being productive can mean taking rest, taking stock, taking pictures of beautiful children, taking care. The rain falls and I feel as if my world is being taken care of on its own as the mulberries swell, the confederate jasmine blossoms begin to unfurl, my beans and peas and cucumbers and potatoes continue to grow, and for once, at least, I can let it all happen as it will. 

Why? WHY?

If I have one more dream about having to clean up multiple gross and icky sinks, refrigerators, ovens and stoves before I can cook for what appear to be hundreds who are VERY HUNGRY, I am going to quit sleeping.

I wake up exhausted every morning.

Off to T-Ball!

Love...Ms. Moon

Because It's Still Friday

"You can't accuse me of anything I haven't already confessed to."

"The idea of retiring is like killing yourself. It's almost like Harikari. I intend to live to 100 and go down in history."

Because It's Friday, It's My Blog

And I just fucking feel like it.

And speaking of the environment as we were yesterday....

Seriously, y'all. Let's do it for Keith.

The boys have gone home with their daddy for Super Dudes night, I'm checking out of Mer Mer mode, my old man's coming home and we are going to have martinis and PARTY ALL NIGHT LONG!

Just as soon as I drink this shot of espresso I made in my Mickey Mouse jelly glass and tidy up the house from boy and dog play, clean up the bathroom where Gibson took a shower after having a monumental poop, and fold up the second of three loads of laundry I'm doing, it's going to be a gas. A Jumping Jack Flash of a gas. 

Trust me. 

Or, alternately, we'll have a martini on the porch and maybe walk around the yard, eat some leftovers and get to bed early because Boppy has to coach Owen's T-Ball team tomorrow morning.

Whatever.
I'm ready.
Bring it on.

So to speak.

Love...Ms. Moon, The Once Wild And Terrible, Now The Tame And Way Too Good

Just To Walk Is Good

I remember when I used to walk in town in the pre-dawn darkness and I would choose my routes to go past houses that I loved especially. Some for the way they looked, some for the way they felt. I could imagine myself living in some of those houses had I lived but a slightly different life. I can remember knowing in which houses people got up in early, their lights coming on and once I saw through a window as I passed, a father waking up his son. One tiny brief second and I will, for some reason, always remember.

Now I walk past trees that I love especially. That one above being one of them. It is not as large a live oak as many of them are here in Lloyd, but you can see its age in its gnarled branches and I love it. The house which some of the branches stretch over is abandoned now although when we first moved here, an old man lived there.
He is dead now and the house is beginning go fall apart. The tree stands watch over and beside.

On my last stretch today, I was walking past that house and the Sheik came walking out of the woods beside it. I knew he was coming from a road which lies behind it. I walk there, too. That's where I saw the rattler last week. We greeted each other. He was on one side of the highway, me on the other.
"Do you live back there?" I asked him.
"Nah, my brother does."
I wondered if it was the brother with the golf club who lost his eye in a bar fight but I did not ask.
"Okay," I said.
"How are you today?" he asked me.
I hesitated. "Some days are just harder than others," I finally said. "You know."
He nodded gravely. "Yes. They are."
I think he was probably on his way to Miss Liola's to check in. I was on my way to the post office and then home.
We wished each other a good day and went on our ways.

It is harder today. I do not know why. I slept ten hours last night and could have slept longer. When I woke up, I hurt everywhere, especially my legs and hips. A long-time chronic thing and obviously, it is not going to be the death of me. I don't hurt very much when I am taking my walks. My body just does it and mostly my mind goes away somewhere, to the book I am listening to, to the sky above where I see soaring hawks, vultures, the swooping pileated woodpecker, to the ground below me where I see the prints of animals, sometimes human footprints, to the woods beside me where everything now is so green, ten thousand shades of it as the new growth comes in, begins to grow into its summer maturity, the white blossoms of the blackberry in fields which have been cut but not for a year or two, the yellows and purples of the wildflowers.

The spiderwort. If I were a queen, I would wear nothing but gowns of silk or velvet in that exact shade.

And so I walk and sometimes I have to go a little ways into the woods to stop and pee and often, because of that I notice the tiniest of blooming things on the floor of the forest and the softest mosses, the fungi growing on downed branches. I always wonder what I am missing as I walk. Which animals are above and beside me, observing me even as I have no idea of their presence? I also wonder what the names of the plants and bushes I see every day are. Some, of course, I know. Most I do not.
Wonders and mysteries.

Now I'm home and Greta, my grand dog is here. She and Maurice are fine friends and touch noses upon greeting. Maurice slept with us last night, curled up, touching me. When I got up once and then got back in bed, she put her head to my hand and I scratched her until we both fell back asleep. She is a comfort to me. She is lying on the table now where I am writing this, Greta snoozes underneath. The magnolia leaves sigh in the breeze, the birds sing, the boys will be here soon, I am glad I have had my walk and I have taken Ibuprofen and it's probably going to eventually kill me but once I stop moving, the pain comes back and I am a human and would rather avoid as much pain as possible.

For this moment there is peace.
One cardinal sits on the feeder, two hens are beneath it.
I hear Trixie singing her hen song.

Happy Friday, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon

Let's Be Honest

I am destroying the environment. Yep. Me. Right now.
I have the air conditioner on which is bad enough. But do you know why I am running the AC? Because the house is really warm due to the fact that I am baking a pie.
This makes no sense.
Does it help to know that in a little while I'll be baking sweet potatoes?
No. It does not.

I feel so guilty. Jesus. But let me ask you this- if all we should eat in the summer are salads, why do all the lettuces and greens go to seed just as it gets warm? At least here in Florida, which, let's face it- may truly and really be Bizarro World and should you doubt that, just google "Florida man" as I have suggested before.

Did you see this?

That, my loves, is a picture of a bobcat which caught a shark in the surf at the Sebastian Inlet State Park which is my old childhood stomping grounds. We used to go there before it was a park, before there were people living there and I, an eight-year old, would walk on the beach by myself for long distances. Not that I think a bobcat would have come after me. But oh yeah, we did swim there a lot too.

Florida. 

Okay. How did I get from destroying the environment to this?

Don't know. And yet, I have. 

Anyway, I am making a pie because Jessie and Vergil are coming out. They are spending the night so that they can get up at the crack of dawn and drive Mr. Moon's truck down to Tampa to pick up their kitchen cabinets. I think. So it's their fault I am destroying the environment. 

That is so not true. It's because I'm a wuss and wanted the AC on and I'm selfish. 

And which is why my grandchildren will not have the world I live in when they are grown. 

Of course, I wouldn't have thought there would be bobcats coming out of the jungle to snag sharks from the Atlantic in 2015 so there you go.

Which is a form of stupid thinking and also denial and may I add- thank god for the parks system. 

So I had lunch today with Mr. Moon and Lily and Gibson and Owen. He is proud of/hates his boot. It is hot. The sock is hot. The boot is hot. Together they are really hot. But he is sort of proud of it. For what it cost even with insurance, Lily may make him wear it for the rest of his life. 

That's all I have to say except that today at the library a very dapper older man said to me, "I like your gray hair."

I was wearing it down because when I went to town it was so wet from sweat from my walk (not kidding you and gross, huh?) and I didn't quite know what to say so I said, "Thank you!"

And then he said, "That is very attractive to me."

I almost blushed and it was not one bit creepy or weird. 

As I told a friend, that was the nicest compliment I've gotten in forever. Then I added that it was probably the only compliment I've gotten in forever.

Okay, seriously. That really is all I have to say. 

I'm going to go make squash croquettes. In the air conditioning. 

Love..Ms. Moon, Destroyer of the Environment