People Get BUSY At The End Of December

This morning when I got up I couldn't believe how cool it was- down in the sixties! Oh, the glory of it! I opened up the doors at both ends of the hallway and immediately the cool air dashed and danced right through it, just as this house was designed for.

Jessie and I had talked about doing some birthday shopping while August was in school and so I drove in and went to her house and we took off for the stores. Here are the people we love who are having birthdays in the next week:

Billy, Lily, Shayla, Vergil, August, Owen, and Lily.

You know what happens nine months before the last week in September? 

Yeah, that's right. Christmas and New Year's Eve. And all those party days in between the two. 

So we have a lot of birthday presents to buy. 

Now. Besides my neurotic fear of all things medical, my neurotic (and growing) aversion to making phone calls, especially for appointments of any kind, I also have a terrible and neurotic anxiety about buying gifts. 

It's probably one of the reasons I hate Christmas so much. 

Part of me wonders if I'm just a complete narcissist who only wants to buy presents for myself but I really don't think that's it. I think I just want to give the people I love the perfect gift. The gift that says without a shadow of a doubt how much I know and respect and love and cherish the very essence of that person's soul. 

And you know- it's hard to find that sort of present at, say, TJ Maxx. Kids are easier to buy for, of course. For one thing, they won't remember for a week what you got them. It all blends in together with all of the other presents. You could make a four-year old kid a quilt stitched entirely by hand with love or buy them a bag of Skittles and Gummy Bears and they'd probably prefer the Skittles and Gummy Bears. 

And adults? Well, we come to expect that our presents are going to be less exciting as we get older. That's all there is to it. But dammit- I want to get something meaningful and lovely and that will last for years to come to give to my sweetest sweeties. 

Which makes it almost impossible. 

Some people are just so damn good at gifts. They have a knack, an almost magical ability to know what someone will love. I don't have that. 

And don't even get me started with buying cards. Good Lord but that's one of the most anxiety-producing things I can imagine. 

It's all a nightmare! 

But Jessie and I got a few things for a few people and it was so much fun to have Levon on his own. We were quite literally at TJ Maxx and besides birthday presents, I needed a bar of soap. I don't like body wash for the shower. It makes my skin feel weird. I want soap. Real soap. And TJ Maxx has soap from all over the world. Levon sat in the cart and together we smelled a whole lot of soaps. 

"This is Shea butter," I'd tell him. "What do you think?"

And he'd smell it and say, "Good!" 

When we got to the lavender soaps he liked them so much that he kissed them. 

Levon kissed the soap. 

Oh, how I love him! 

While we were there I bought him a new book about trucks. It has hundreds of trucks in it. I am not kidding. Ooh boy. He loves that book. He is learning to talk by repeating words like, "Hay Baler," "Recreational Vehicle," and "Forage Harvester." 

These things will surely come in handy someday. 

Right? 

After we picked up August we decided that it was time to go see May. So we went to Midtown Pies and there was our beautiful girl! It was a joy to hug her. 

Also- delicious foods! Jessie and I split a Caprese salad and a little pizza with fresh tomatoes and ricotta and other good things. We shared with the boys. 

So, so good. 

Levon and August turned on the charm for their Aunt May as all little (and big) boys do. We got to chat a little bit- mostly about the upcoming GIANT BIRTHDAY BONANZA PARTY that Lily is hosting next weekend. We're all very excited about this. 

And thus, it was all a pretty dang good day. I even stopped at Costco on my way out of town to get August's present which is a magnetic building kit. When I got home the house was still very nicely cool even though I'd turned off the AC. 

And here I am, Friday night with no husband to make my martinis. 

Guess what? 

I can make my own. 

I hope he's having such a good time up in Tennessee with his old friend. I bet he is. Here's a picture he sent me of his friend's sweet boxer showing some love.

I have no ending but I've run out of words. That'll have to do. 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Life On Earth As A Human: Possible Trigger Warning

Lord, I woke up sore this morning.
"I need a massage!" I thought.
Well, actually, it took me a while to formulate that thought. But I knew I was sore right away. That massage therapist worked my muscle attachments and worked 'em good!
Mr. Moon had already taken off for Tennessee when I got up. He kissed me good-bye around seven and if I were a good wife I would have gotten up early and made him a hearty breakfast but that's what they make Waffle Houses for so I just went back to sleep.

I did take a walk today. It was so much cooler and drier which made it much more tolerable. I didn't walk very fast but I did it and I took the picture of that Hibiscus Mutabilis which we sadly call Confederate Rose in my neighbor's yard. Well, to be accurate I took the picture from the church's yard next door but the tree is in my neighbor's yard. I have one too but it gets too much shade, as all of my plants do and it won't be blooming for awhile. I always call this flower the prom queen of flowers because- well, just look at it. They make me think of the flowers that my best friend Lucille and I used to make with pink Kleenex and a bobbie pin. I bet I could still make one, too.
On my way back home on my walk I realized that some neighbors have acquired a new piglet. This is the house where they have the yappy dogs. At this point, the pig isn't much bigger than the dogs but it will be. Trust me.

As I walked past, the little dogs came to the gate and barked at me and the pig ran to the gate and oinked at me. It already thinks it's a guard pig. 

Maybe it is. 

It's pretty cute. 

Jessie texted and asked if I'd like her to bring the boys out after she picked up August at school. I answered, "Of course!" 

And so she did. 

We all piled on my bed and read books. Levon spent quite a bit of time nursing while holding his tractor book and Jessie actually fell asleep for a few moments while that was going on. Bless her mama-heart and her tired mama-bones. August was in a merry mood and we read quite a few books and stories. Coincidentally, one of the books he picked out was our Pig Tales book which has lots of stories and poems about pigs in it. "That's my favorite!" he'd say about each story. "That's my favorite too!" 

He knows which story is MY favorite but it's not one of his favorites so we didn't read that one. 

Sigh. I just love Johnny Squelchnose.

I've always been attracted to the bad boys. 

One of the best things to do at Mer's house is to find things to eat that you don't have at home. Today it was Honey Nut Cheerios. Mr. Moon considers Honey Nut Cheerios to be the only cereal worth eating so we always have some. 

We also had some popcorn a little later on. Kids are an excellent excuse to eat snacks. 

Eventually Jessie decided it was time to take the kidlings home. We'd put the hallway-length alphabet puzzle together and Levon had pushed the babies in the carriage for a good long time. There was even a little bit of TV despite the fact that Mr. Moon wasn't here. 

So it was a perfectly lovely afternoon and now I've finished watching Part 2 of Leaving Neverland and it gave me a lot to think about. The final bit of it was about the mothers who had allowed the boys who are the subjects of the film to spend endless nights alone with Michael in his bed. Now let me say this- where were the fathers? 

One, yes, was in Australia. His wife left him and took her son and her daughter to LA because Michael Jackson had begged them to come and live there. This was when her son was Michael's boy de jour. And that father had mental health issues and eventually he killed himself. 

So there is that. 

The other father was in LA as far as I know but as in both cases- the mothers had taken over the situation and Michael seemed to have courted them, as I said, and given them reason to believe that he loved them as much as he loved their children (but all in a perfectly platonic way, of course) and there were gifts and travel and adventures involved. Also a house loan which ended up being a gift as well. But goddam! That father should have stepped up and said, "Nah. This ain't happening," from the very start. 

Of course neither father was interviewed for the film. And both of the mothers are adamant that they had NO IDEA IN THE WORLD that Michael Jackson was molesting their sons. As I think I said before though, even if he hadn't been, there was just absolutely nothing in the world okay about letting their little boys sleep in the same bed with a grown man. 

And of course both of the men, now grown up and who finally, after years of depression, anxiety, and all sorts of horrible dysfunction and becoming fathers to little boys themselves, have very mixed feelings about their mothers. And the mothers are filled with regret. 

That whole thing about the non-protective parent is just one of the many, many horrible stinking layers of the entire child sexual abuse onion. And I realize that my perspective is slanted because my relationship with my mother grew worse and worse over the years after I told her about the abuse of her husband towards me and probably towards two of her other sons. To the point where when she died I was still not able to be there for her as lovingly and as gracefully as I should have been. 

I am not proud of this. 

But it's the truth. 

Part of me knows without a doubt that any of my children could have been abused and there is the possibility that I would not have been aware of it. But I also know that I was constantly on the lookout. Whenever anyone came into our home I remained on high alert. And when I had boyfriends after my divorce, that constant wariness doubled and tripled. 

Still- I know that it could have happened. 

It was my greatest fear and to be honest, I still fear that one day one of my kids will come to me and say, "Mom, there's something I need to tell you."

But I will tell you this- if that day ever happens the first thing out of my mouth will not be, "I did not know." 

It will be, "Oh my darling child. Please forgive me for not protecting you. I am so sorry."

And I think that's why my mother's and my relationship became so bad. She never, ever, was able to tell me that she was sorry that my abuse had happened on her watch. Her line of defense was:

1. I didn't know.

2. I had no idea.

3. How could I have known?

She did once say that she was sorry it had happened to me. But she never apologized for not protecting me. 

And I suppose she simply couldn't do that. She also couldn't protect her children from what she quite obviously did know about how her husband treated her children in the light of day which was, in and of itself, horribly abusive. He was abusive towards her too. And things that should have prompted questions or concerns were never addressed. When she did finally divorce him it was after all of the children were grown and out of the house. 

My mother did not have an easy life. My own biological father was a nightmare husband. His drinking was way beyond anything that was tolerable and she was able to leave him only when his behavior became obviously dangerous to the point of being life-threatening. I think that the shame she felt in the late fifties, early sixties, at being a divorced woman was so great that the idea of going through that again was more than she could face. 

So, so many layers. The list of things that childhood sexual abuse steals from its victims is almost endless. Perhaps I should write a series of posts focusing on some of those. 

But one of them is most definitely an inability to have a loving, trusting relationship with a non-protective parent. I am sure that many survivors work this out in a more loving and graceful way than I did. We all deal with the myriad of different aspects differently although there are similarities between all of us. And knowing that can be such a relief. 

It's not just me. 

It's not just you. 

Well, night is coming upon us here in Lloyd. Church is happening next door. The cooler air feels as sweet as a tender promise whispered by a lover. Summer is not over but we have gotten a blessed, albeit brief reprieve. 

My husband has made it safely to Tennessee and he said it was a beautiful drive. 

I am alone but I am not lonely. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Water From The Sky And All The Facts You Don't Need To Know

It finally happened this afternoon- we got a little bit of rain. One minute it was clear blue skies and this endless sweltering heat and the next minute thunder was cracking like the knuckles on god's henchmen getting ready to go out and break some kneecaps.
Or whatever it is that god's henchmen do.
Give people boils. Send down frogs and locusts. Introduce plague.
Whatever.
The point being- it rained! A little bit. It was coming down there good for a few minutes. And it's actually starting to sprinkle again. I believe you might call this "scattered showers." Perhaps I should consult the Meteorologist In Chief. Hell, he probably knows as much about the weather as he does anything else.
Which is to say- not shit.

So- Ms. Moon! How was your massage?
Thanks for asking. It was pretty intense. This lady doesn't go for the relaxing thing except as pertains to getting your body all relaxed enough so that she can get in there and find the spots that need help and that means the spots that really hurt when they get pressed on. Still, I enjoyed it. It felt like something was being accomplished. And she is very, very careful to continuously monitor how the pressure feels to the person being massaged. So I am a little sore right now but expect to feel much better tomorrow.
Or the next day.
But it wore me out! I will admit that. I did a little grocery shopping afterwards and came home and ended up sitting on the couch and doing some more embroidery and starting Part 2 of Leaving Neverland and then I had to take a nap. I'm pathetic.
No I'm not.

Here's an interesting factoid- last night before bed I took some CBD oil and this morning I woke up remembering not one dream and also not feeling my usual horrible morning existential angst. I shall repeat the experiment tonight and see if we can repeat these findings.

Mr. Moon is talking about leaving for Tennessee tomorrow for a hunting-preparedness weekend. There are hurricanes and tropical storms and disturbances lined up in the Atlantic ocean. I actually got four eggs today which is about three more than I have been getting lately. My Americaunas have not given me one of their beautiful green eggs for days. My chicken scratch bag is filled with red ants which means I get new ant bites daily. I cut my thumb barely, barely on a sharp knife this morning- hardly enough to draw a drop of blood- and when I did it I thought, "That's going to hurt like hell," and now it does. I looked up recipes for pork chops in the NYT's cooking app and not a damn one of the hundreds they have look as good as Shake'n'Bake. When I got to the one for "kale smothered pork chops" I quit looking.
Oh. Hell. No.
Lily is on a mini-vacation with girlfriends and was anxious before she left that the children would all be okay during her absence and that her house would not be destroyed when she got back. I think we can all relate to this. HAVE A GREAT TIME, LILY! YOU DESERVE IT!
I am horribly, terribly, awfully homesick for Roseland and I think we might go there for our anniversary which is coming up in October. Thirty-five years! The river and the ocean are calling me and so is the Ocean Grill where I want to eat some shrimp salad and drink some pina coladas. I even want to go to the Roseland Publix and buy things to cook in the beautiful retro-kitchen with the pink stove and the window that looks out on the pool with the spitting lions and the bamboo and the river. I am hoping that the crazy restaurant that decorates for Halloween like the Vatican decorates for Christmas is still open.

And I guess that is truly about all of the news I have to relate.
In the past three hours the temperature has probably dropped twenty degrees. Yep. I just checked. It has. It's gone from 98 to 78.
Talk about your miracles!
And hey- my power's still on. Knock wood.

All right. Gonna go make some pork chops. And sweet potatoes. And salad with pears and blue cheese. And toasted pecans.

Life is truly okay tonight in Lloyd. I hope it is for you wherever you are.

Love...Ms. Moon

Dreams, Heat, And Other Things Which Are Difficult To Deal With

So this morning I was making Ronnie Wood mint tea as one does. All of the Rolling Stones were at my house or somewhere near my house and although I was making that tea for Ron (it required fourteen tea bags AND honey) and was there to see Charlie Watts get his new, stripped-down drum kit I never did see Keith or Mick because I was too busy making that damn tea.
Well, it was good to see Ron and Charlie.
The Rolling Stones seem to have become part of my nightly dream roster and unfortunately the way they've fit in is that I'm constantly trying to clean something or make impossible tea or do some other domestic chores that I am simply incapable of doing just like my other dreams where the laundry cannot possibly ever be done because there are like fourteen bedrooms, some of which I've not even yet discovered and all of the sheets and bedding must washed or else the collected filth and detritus and hoarded-like objects which fill the rooms must be cleaned out which is also a Sisyphean task or I can't reach someone I am desperate to get in touch with because my phone is lost/uncharged/falling into pieces/beyond my ability to operate. Then there are the being-lost-in-a-strange-city dreams or the I'm-working-as-a-server-or-a-shop-tender and have no idea how to run the cash register or perform the most mundane and necessary things in order to do the job. This morning after the tea-making debacle I was looking for a place to buy (haha!) on the beach near Vero and found myself in Ft. Pierce and one had to walk through the houses because they were so chock-a-block along the beach and one old man, instead of being angry that I was in his house, tried to give me a bunch of useless kitchen-wares to carry with me on my house-hunting journey.
Also? The ocean below the houses was deep and treacherous with rocks instead of sand.
And the houses cost too much.

Needless to say that when I wake up I am exhausted, confused, out of sorts, out of body, and ill prepared to start a new day. And that's the non-scary version of how I feel.

I did take a walk this morning. It was quite cool when I got up but by the time I'd come back to myself and dealt with the chickens, and read everything on the internet, and eaten, and read the paper, and done a load of laundry, it was, needless to say, getting a bit warm. Not as warm as it eventually got today which was 99 degrees but warm enough. I did hang all of my laundry on the line though and also watered the garden which felt wasteful because the only things in it that are still growing are the zinnias, a little bit of arugula, a few peas which have survived the heat and the drought and my volunteer sweet potatoes. I can't stand to see those zinnias all shrivel up and die though. Picking a few of them and putting them into vases has made me incredibly happy this summer. Their colors are as true and deep as gowns made of silk velvet and worn by queens.

The weather forecast says that we may actually get a bit of rain tomorrow but I'm not betting the ranch on that. The temperature is also supposed to become more normal for this time of year and it may not even reach 90 on Thursday although it may get up into the high 90's again tomorrow. The chickens are surviving but not doing much laying and they are molting. They seem to be okay, making their dirt baths in the direct sunlight sometimes and I don't know how they tolerate that but I guess that the hot sand feels good against their skin. Or something. Perhaps the heat has fried their little chicken brains and they are completely witless. 

Here is what the blossom of my bananas looks like. 

Isn't that freaking bewitching? 

Here are the fruits themselves. 

There is something just so lush and...naughty about tropical plants and their fruits. They shove their swellings and organs right in your face like a female baboon's beautiful red bottom when she becomes sexually receptive. 

Do you know what I mean? 

Perhaps my little brain is fried too from this heat, this endless summer that drives me inside to sit in front of the TV and embroider useless decorations on things. My project right now is a pair of corduroy overalls for August. He checked out what I was doing the other day and gave me rather specific instructions about how it should be done. Colors everywhere and also, when he discovered the beads that I'd been using for Maggie's dress he wanted those everywhere too. And oh- buttons. 

I told him I would do my best. 

What I was watching today was Part 1 of the Michael Jackson doc, Leaving Neverland. 

You know, it's so weird. I know a woman who is truly devoted to defending Jackson against the accusations made in this film and I can't figure out why. She's not stupid. But how can anyone believe that a man who looked and acted like Michael Jackson did was not a pedophile? But that's not my real question. My real question is- how could these parents allow their little boys to spend the night with a grown man in his bed while they themselves slept in distant rooms or even in distant houses? I can tell that Jackson courted and groomed the mothers as much or more than he did the children but my GOD! Of course, at that time, Michael Jackson was the biggest star in the universe and to have someone of that elevated a status wanting to spend time with your family, your child, was like being touched by Jesus. Or chosen by a king. 

And quite honestly, even if he never touched any of those boys it was still completely wrong and immoral and horrible for any parent to have allowed their child to sleep with him. 

And I am convinced that he did touch them and molested them too. The worst sin, as I see it, is that he encouraged these little boys to fall in love with him which allowed him to do what he did and then he replaced them in his bed and in his life leaving them doubly scarred forever. 

Those boys were as much pets to him as was Bubbles the chimp who, after having grown too old, too big, and too aggressive to be fun to play with, was taken to a wildlife refuge. 

So much for that. 

Tomorrow I go and get my massage and I am looking forward to it. 

Oh Lord, it is hot. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Lunch, Weed, Snakes, Grandboys And Delicious Foods

Today I woke up feeling dark and nothing ahead of me beckoned me with any cheer at all. I didn't want to walk and didn't- what's the point?
Of course there's always a point but some days you just can't see it and even if you can you don't care.
Luckily Jessie texted and asked if anyone wanted to go to lunch and that, at least seemed to be a good idea. I know that even if nothing else appears to be worth the doing, seeing the children will pull me through when nothing else will.
Hank and Rachel could go too and I picked up Hank and we went to Tan's and if any of you live in Tallahassee and have never eaten there, I would really encourage you to do so. It's a good restaurant and the food today seemed especially especially delicious from the Mongolian tofu to the beautiful sushi and the things they do with eggplant will make you dance.
August and Levon were happy boys. Levon told us all about various large equipment. He is quite apt to greet you with the words, "Dump truck," instead of "hello" or "hey" or something boring like that. He was wearing a shirt with a truck on it and he pointed this out repeatedly. I asked him if he'd had a good time on the boat yesterday and between then and now he has decided that he did.
"Daddy drive," he said.
August was an even more golden shade of brown from yesterday's sun. I would be interested to see what his DNA says about where some of his beautiful color comes from. Neither Vergil or Jessie has his perfect toasty color. And his eyes are so dark brown although that hair keeps growing in blond as can be. His mama had just cut it for him and he looked quite stylish.
He was Uncle Hank's boy today. I think he was angling for something from the Hoarder's Delight box but alas! The box was not in Hank's car which Rachel had driven from her office. He accepted this fact with equanimity.

Even without a box of wonders to pick a gift from, his uncle amused him greatly today. 

Our friend John, aka Juancho, aka Husband of Beloved Melissa, also showed up and joined us at our table. He and Rachel work together and had both just gotten out of a two-and-a-half hour meeting and were ready for some lunch. We'd actually been talking about John when he appeared. He and his wife have recently returned from a real, true vacation where they went out west and visited his family and drove around and went to cool places. 

"Who does that anymore?" asked Jessie. 

More people should. 

We asked him about the trip and he said they'd had a great time. His brother-in-law in California is now in the weed business on the construction side. He is building grow facilities and also retail outlets, partnered with another guy who handles the product side. We all admitted that it was pretty crazy to live in these days when all of a sudden, that which would have put you in jail is now big business. It seems like it's happened overnight which of course isn't true. But the idea of being able to go into a lovely store and talk to knowledgeable people about weed is just...crazy! 

Mr. Moon has his medical marijuana card and he brings home brochures from the dispensaries that really blow my mind. It's like Cheech and Chong and Snoop Dogg and Jimmy Buffet had a dream and we're living in it these days. 

Part of me is saying, "Hallelujah!" and another part of me is so fucking angry because of all the lives that have been destroyed by pot laws that everyone has known were stupid and applied arbitrarily, of course affecting African American men in numbers far exceeding what white folks have experienced thus providing business and fodder for the goddammed private prison industry. Laws are changing and some states are releasing prisoners who have been incarcerated on marijuana charges but there are still people in jail literally dying after years of being kept in prison for having been arrested for possession of ridiculously small amounts of weed leaving families without breadwinners, without fathers, without husbands, sons, and brothers. 

Okay. Okay. We all know it's some kinda bullshit. And even if the laws are changing to the benefit of some while others are still looking at years of prison, the change is positive. And not everyone who is bringing home a paycheck because of the new laws is a celebrity with their own weed line, but regular guys like John's brother-in-law and of course there are the medical benefits as well as the fact that reefer is and always has been a positive way to change consciousness especially compared to alcohol and other legal and illegal substances, at least to my mind. 

And let me say that I don't even partake although I used to and if I enjoyed it I would today. Humans in every culture have taken mind-altering substances and always will. 

So who shoved that particular soap box under my feet tonight? 

I never know what's going to come out when I sit down to write. I swear. 

Here's a picture of Levon and Rachel. 

I love those two people. So much. 

And here's one more picture. 

Can you see it? I almost stepped on the poor thing. It's a little oak snake that was on my back porch. I wish I could say that I'm the type of strong, practical woman who can just grab a little snakey and put it outside but I will be honest and tell you I am not. Mr. Moon did catch it for me though, and let it go in the backyard. 

It's so funny how if we're at the Junior Museum and one of the people who work there and who are doing a snake presentation hand me a snake I am happy to hold it but if I come upon one in the wild or on my very own porch, I am the biggest wuss in the world. 

Logic has nothing to do with so much, no matter how big our human brains are and the older I get, the more I realize that this fact pertains to me. 

Love...Ms. Moon

A Simple Trip Down A River (Possible Trigger Warning)

The Weatherfords and the Moons took a little boat trip down the St. Mark's river today and it was practically perfect. It would have been entirely perfect if the temperature had been about ten degrees cooler and perhaps if we'd caught a bunch of mullet but one cannot ask for everything. Compared to the last time I took a trip down the St. Marks wherein it was horribly hot, yellow flies tore us up, the boat didn't run right, the trailer got a flat tire, and the place we ate supper was not air conditioned and had biting flies, it was indeed practically perfect.

August reminded me of a tiny sailor who could climb the rigging up to the eagle's nest if we'd been in a sail boat. He had the time of his life.

Levon, however, was doubtful about the entire enterprise from the moment he stepped on the boat. We do not know why. He insisted that his mama hold him almost the whole trip. 

We weren't going fast, barely puttering along for the most part, and he loves going out in the kayak. Whatever was bothering him seemed to require all of his vigilance. He didn't want to nurse, he didn't want to eat. He just wanted to be held. 

We saw osprey, one who seemed to be escorting us down the river. He or she would fly ahead of us, perch on a tall limb over the river, and when we caught up, fly ahead again. It was interesting. Perhaps WE were interesting to it. We saw turtles, sunning on logs who would plop off as we approached. I felt bad about disturbing their sunbathing but then I realized that falling off a log into the water is probably not that big a deal to a turtle. 

When we got to the bridge we anchored the boat and jumped in the water which was heaven. And oh- we'd seen an alligator AND a water moccasin right where we anchored but Vergil made sure to make a big noisy splash and we felt sure that we would go unmolested and we were. August paddled about in his life jacket and his dad let him perch on his belly as he backstroked around. They looked like an otter and its young. Levon came out of his funk and squealed, actually and truly squealed with joy in the water. He was so happy. Jessie held him as they cooled off and giggled. I treaded water and declared that I would now be cool for the rest of the day which proved to be untrue but it was wonderful while it lasted. After awhile we all clambered back onboard and headed back to St. Marks where we'd put in. 

Levon finally let his daddy hold him and he helped drive the boat. 

It was a sweet afternoon. 

Jessie got to drive some on the way back.

And here's my sweet somber boy. 

When we got back to the marina where we'd put in, we saw something that made us all laugh.
Well, the adults, anyway.

Can you read what it says? Figure it out yet? 

Add in the boat's engines and we can only assume that this is indeed a party boat. 

Oh, North Florida! Keeping it classy, baby! 

Both boys fell fast asleep on the way home as I knew they would. Four hours in the sun and in the water is a lot for anyone, especially the little guys. I can tell I got a little too much sun even though I used sunscreen. 

For once. 

I thought a lot today about Sunday boat rides and how I suppose I have a little bit of PTSD about them. When I was a child and my mother married the man who abused me, Sundays were the worst days. Sunday mornings were when the abuse mostly happened. Not always but mostly. And then we'd go to church- our happy little family- and then we'd often go out on the Sebastian River and the Indian River in the stepfather's boat. 

I can still remember the registration number of that boat. 

FL6955T

Before he came into the picture, I had loved boat rides. Friends of my mother's would take us out and everything about being on the river thrilled me. The jungle flying by us, the mysterious brown brackish water where I knew porpoise and sharks and giant rays swam. I had seen them. I can remember being fascinated by the wake of the boat, the white bridal path of it, and sometimes we beached on one of the dredge islands in the Indian River, sometimes even Fossil Island where mammoth teeth and vertebra and other bones littered the sandy ground. 

Those times, before the stepfather, were magical. 

But when we were in his boat on a Sunday I was a mass of confusion and (although I could not define this then) burning anger. I was a damn smart nine-year old, ten year-old, but I was not smart enough to know how to think about what had happened on those Sunday mornings. I knew something was very, very wrong but no one seemed to notice, much less care, and I did not even begin to have the words to describe what was going on. There had been nothing in the world that I had wanted more than a daddy. A man to make my sad mother happy. A man to be a father to me and to my brother. A man to make us into a whole family. 

And that had happened. Here we were- on the river in a boat- visible and visual proof of what a good, loving American family did on a Sunday afternoon. 

So for years after, decades and decades after, being out on the water with my own family, especially on Sundays, brought back those feelings of confusion and of anger. Of course I had more insight by then but insight and wisdom can't erase such deeply engrained feelings. 

But I've gotten better. And although I think of those things as we eat sandwiches and float past another jungle, they do not cause me to disassociate. I can stay firmly where I am and today, when August was looking at the spray from the engine and he said, "Look! Rainbows!" I could look and see rainbows and be as thrilled as he was to see them. 

I am so lucky in so many ways. This is just one of them. This ability to find pleasure in what once brought rage and despair.

Life is something, isn't it? 

Love...Ms. Moon

From Weeding To White Privilege

It has been a little cooler today. Still above ninety but not so humid and because of that I was able to get outside and finish up the garden weeding. I am pretty sure that I've never had a garden this weed-free in my entire life. Part of it I think is that I haven't been using hay as a mulch except for that which comes from the chickens' nests and so it has not seeded and sprouted the way it can. This has made things a lot easier. I love the way the chickens get in the garden after I've dumped that poopy hay into a pile and they scratch in it for bugs and seeds (which may explain having fewer weeds too) until it's all neatly spread about. Chickens can be very helpful garden assistants. They do like to snatch some of the field peas but I do not begrudge them that. And of course when the lettuces sprout this fall, I'll have to banish them because they do love a tender lettuce. They don't care a thing about store bought greens but they love the garden lettuces, the collards, the kale. They leave the arugula and mustard greens alone. I suppose they do not fancy the rich bitterness of the arugula or the spicy bite of the mustard.
I am glad I got to get out in the dirt because I badly needed it. I have been so bitchy lately. Just horrible. I fussed at my husband when he came out to kiss me goodbye before he left to go mow because he pulled a handful of weeds. 
"This is MY work!" I told him.
Poor man.
It's a wonder he ever comes home.
But it did me good to sweat through my clothes and rip those weeds from the dirt and watch the butterflies dipping and floating around the zinnias which they love.
And then a dear friend texted me and we carried on a little conversation and that was better than anything, a small sharing which led me to tears for a moment which leaked some of the hotness of my mean soul out to where it could not harm me anymore.
Bless you, friend. And thank you. I love you.

I came in and showered and cooled off and sat in front of the TV and did some embroidering on a pair of old kid overalls and watched a new Chelsea Handler documentary on Netflix. It's called Hello Privilege, It's Me, Chelsea and it was not easy to watch. There were extremely awkward moments as Chelsea spoke to people of color about what it was like to live in a culture where white privilege is so prevalent and taken for granted that many, many white people don't have the slightest idea it occurs. I heard the thing that I hear so often when people are disclaiming their various privileges whether of being white or being male or whatever, which is "I worked my ass off to get where I am. No one helped me."
Which is of course bullshit.
And perfectly illustrates a complete and seemingly conscious inability to understand what the whole issue is about.
There were some startling statistics. There was a heartwarming reunion of Chelsea and the man  who'd been her boyfriend when she was sixteen, an African American man who has spent fourteen years in prison.
I think the thing that gave me most pause was the fact that racism is not the problem of people of color to help us poor little white folks understand or to do something about.
It's our responsibility to do something about it. We got us into this fucked up situation and if there's any way out, it's up to us.
Chelsea Handler is a bit of a conundrum to me. I recently listened to her memoir Life Is Going To Be The Death Of Me and I found some things in it to ponder, to reflect on. Even to instruct, even as parts of it made me cringe. I think her heart is in the right place and I do admire her outspokenness.
Anyway, I think that the documentary was fine for a one hour Netflix piece and it could be a starting point for discussion and for thought. Chelsea seems to be using her powers for good. That's saying something.
Not a one of us is a perfect being, me least of all.
Here I sit in my beautiful old historic house, most likely built by slave labor. At least I realize that. At least when I think of the many, many ways this house pleases me and how it has sheltered so many generations, I am aware of that fact and in my heart I never fail to remember that and to give thanks to the people who felled the pines, who cut the boards, who constructed this place where so many people have probably been born and who have also died, who have lived hard lives and experienced joy. I will never know their names but I honor their souls, their labor, their artistry, their lives.
And I wonder where they lived. I wonder where they are buried.
And I thank them.

Love...Ms. Moon

Loving Boy Day

There were grandparents lined up to sign in and get their visiter badges at the boys' school this morning. For some reason unknown to me I had woken up with some fairly bad anxiety and I had to remember to breathe, to focus on what was before me. My pass was already made and ready to be picked up and Mr. Moon joined me and we went on in to find Jason's mother already there. We went on to Gibson's class- the only grandparents there today. Gibson was beside himself with happiness. He is just the most loving child. He sat between me and his other grandmother at lunch and he kept hugging us, one after the other. Lily had told him that I had a surprise for him and when I told him that I was going to check him out of school early he said, "Is that the surprise?!"
He was thrilled.
So we ate chicken roll-ups from Costco and spicy Doritos that I stopped in the little village of Capitola on the way to buy. It was a big deal for me- that stop. I've passed that little store fifty thousand times and never once had I been in it. Wasn't much to see, truthfully. A rather dark tiny convenience store with a few wall coolers with beer and with a tank for bait outside. And they had Doritos. And now I've been in there.
My cookies were enjoyed.
After Gibson's class left, Owen's class came in and we sat with him in the media center where they had tables set up with lovely plastic sheeting for tablecloths and fresh flowers in vases on each table. Owen said that they'd joked earlier in the day about how it looked like there was going to be a wedding. That boy finished up the roll-ups and ate some chips and cookies too. We mostly just watched him eat and chatted. Lily and Jason and his mother are taking the kids to the beach this weekend and they're going to a water park and they are very, very excited. I'm glad they're going to get to go have some fun.
I went to the office to check Gibson out and I thought about our own Jennifer who is an office secretary (or is it receptionist?) at a public school and what an important job that is. The women working in the boys' school office are so kind and caring and they seem to know every child. Gibson was beaming like a pure ray of the light of Jesus when he came to the office and we drove off, discussing our plans. He wanted to go to the Bad-Girls-Get-Saved-By-Jesus thrift store which I figured he would want to do and he said, "And then can we just go to your house?"
"Of course!" said the agoraphobic grandmother who could not possibly have been more pleased.
They had some excellent bargains in the store today. Here's one of them with Gibson in it, the only dang picture I got of either boy all day long.

A solid oak table for forty bucks! Too bad I don't need one. 

Of course Gibson wanted to look at the toys which we did. He ended up with a stuffed animal- a snake. He loves that snake. Who knows why? We picked out a twirly net petticoat skirt in bright scarlet for Magnolia and I found a big set of magnetic building things for Owen. Gibson was quite concerned that they get presents too. 

And then we came home to my house and Gibson drew some pictures in his new sketchbook and played with his new snake friend and found a place along the snake's back that needed stitching up so I stitched it up. He also made the snake a necklace from some new craft beads I'd bought for the kids. 

Swanky snake. 

We played the matching game and we watched some of Mary Poppins Returns. He ate two pickled okra and after all that, it was time to go home. Maggie loved her new skirt although I brought it home to make the waist-band elastic a little smaller and Owen glommed on to his new building set with great pleasure. It's so strange when he hugs me now because he's almost as tall as I am and I am just not ready for this. Maggie kissed and kissed me and Sammy barked at me but not very much. I asked Maggie how her dance classes were going and she said, "I love it now!"

I bet she does. They got to be butterflies in yesterday's class. 

Gibson thanked me for his fun time and his snake and his drawing things and I thanked him for coming over to my house and hanging out with me. 

I drove home and looked for the pig that I'd seen earlier in the day, crossing the road like she owned it and then trotting down the side of it. She was still out when Gibson and I drove back to my house from our shopping. It is the hugest pig and very furry and soft-looking. She must have the wandering gene. Either that or she's just a very curious pig. I didn't seen her on my way home and hopefully, she's back in the bosom of her own family again. 

The picture at the top of the page is the coloring and work sheet that all of the kids did for their grandparents. My favorite parts are that Gibson thinks I am 64 which is very close and also that I always say, "Lets cook emup."

I'm not sure when I've ever said this but who knows? He also thinks I make good salid. I actually do. 

Here's the one he made about his grandfather and it made me laugh and laugh. 

He claims that his grandpa's name is Joe and the reason he did this is because he did not know how to spell Boppy but he does know how to spell Joe. 

Mr. Moon laughed too. Perhaps I shall start calling him Joe which is a fine name. According to Gibson, Joe is very good at baskit ball and that pleased his Boppy too. 

I'm glad I got to spend some time with that funny boy. I am so curious to see who he grows up to be or at least who he grows to be in the time I will be allotted to observe him. He still makes up pretend stories with things and today in the car he was doing just that with his new snake. I couldn't hear what he was saying but it charmed me that he was doing it. I remember when he was just a tiny boy and would do that with the salt and pepper shaker in a restaurant. Maggie often does the same thing and I see this behavior as the sign of great imaginations and future story-weavers.

Wouldn't that be wonderful? 

Friday night. Got a beautiful venison meatloaf with portobello mushrooms, onions, and red peppers ready to go into the oven. I'm sipping a delicious martini with two of my Big Lots cheese-stuffed olives speared in it. 

I'm okay. 

I hope you are too.

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Just Being Chatty

My Lord but I have been a good wifey today.
It started last night when my husband kept scratching his legs in the bed.
"What are you scratching?!" I finally asked. There may have been an edge to my voice.
"Fleas!" he said. We battle fleas constantly. We've bought the cats the most expensive, toxic flea collars on the market. They may help but they sure don't solve the problem. Lloyd fleas are probably far more vigorous than your run-of-the-mill fleas.
But back to being a good wife.
Did I get up and get him some Benadryl cream? Did I make soothing noises or say words of sympathy?
No. I did not. I probably snorted.
The fleas don't like me so I can ignore them. The blood under my tough old hide is not on their menu whereas Mr. Moon's blood vessels are so close to the surface that he is the gourmet buffet of their dreams. So I am really not as sympathetic as I should be. This is a fault of mine and I know it. I just laid there and hoped that maybe he'd go sleep in his chair.
Which he did.
And I finally got some sleep.
Please note that I don't think that we have fleas in our bed and that these pests attack him when he gets up to use the bathroom although it is possible because Jack does like to sleep with us at night and spends his days mostly napping on the bed although I do heft him up with great effort to place him on the floor so I can make the bed in the mornings.
But I washed the sheets this morning and hung them on the line and washed two other loads of clothes and hung them on the line and I took a damn walk which has nothing to do with being a good wife or anything at all as far as I can see.
While I was doing this Mr. Moon was working on his tractor. He had planned to go up to Tennessee this weekend to get some pre-hunting work done there with a friend. For those of you who do not know, hunting involves 90% land preparation and 9.99% sitting in the woods and 0.01% shooting something.
I'm serious.
Anyway his friend hadn't gotten things ready to get things ready if you catch my drift and so he'll be here this weekend and he needs to get the land where he's going to hunt locally in some semblance of readiness which involves the tractor.
Don't ask me. Just don't.
But I do know that at one point today he told me, "This makes me so happy!"
He was drenched in sweat and smelled of gasoline and did indeed appear to be in a state of transcendent pleasure.
He finally got the tractor running to his satisfaction and has trailered it to where he's going to be using it and for all I know, has begun doing whatever it is he's going to do with it.
In his defense, he did ask me yesterday if there was something I'd like to do this weekend with him. He hasn't forgotten me entirely. I told him that I miss the beach terribly but that it's just too hot.
Too hot for the beach?
Oh yeah. It happens.
So in the spirit of being a good wife, I am encouraging him in his tractoring and whatever it is he's doing. I have a feeling that he's going to be so tired tonight that fifty fleas could bite him and he wouldn't even know it.

So I went to Costco and bought stuff and came home and unloaded it and got the sheets in off the line and made up the bed and baked cookies and then I did some ironing and it's about time to make supper. The main thing I had to buy at Costco was chicken roll-ups because tomorrow is Grandparent's Day at Owen and Gibson's school and we are invited to have lunch with our grandkids and it has become a tradition that I bring the roll-ups. Their other grandma will be there and I don't know what she's bringing but I'm also bringing the cookies I made which Owen may not like because they have not only chocolate chips in them but also raisins and pecans. And oatmeal. They are sort of the perfect cookies but that boy can be picky.
After lunch, I'm going to check my Gibson out of school early and do something fun with him. That poor kid- he's such a middle child. Not only does he have an older brother but also a younger sister who is, quite possibly, the cutest girl in the world. Also the bossiest.
So old Mer is going to do something special with the boy and I don't know what that will be yet but I did get him a nice sketchbook and some pens at JoAnn Fabric the other day (they may not have patterns but they sure do have crafts!) as a little gift. I think that just getting out of school early will delight him. At least I hope so.
I love my Gibson.

So that's the news from Lloyd today. Still no rain but it looks like we may get some by Saturday. It continues to be as hot as August was and that's frying-hot. I've already had one shower today and will take another before I go to bed. It's not really that pleasurable to take showers these days when you've been working outside because you don't quit sweating while you're in the shower and then when you get out you're still sweating and it's impossible to dry off which makes it hard to put your clothes on.
Bitch, bitch, bitch.
Or, just reporting.
Jessie sent a picture of a naked-except-for-gardening-boots Levon. She said they spent a couple of hours outside naked (well, not her) and I'm sure the boys loved that.
Lily sent a picture of Magnolia taken from the video screen wearing butterfly wings at dance class.

She said that the girl had a blast at class today and it's as if that in her first class she was playing a role because she's been so happy in it since then. I will deliver her new dress tomorrow which, as you can see in the photo at the top of the post, I have embroidered and beaded quite enough although I may had a few more of the sparkly beads tonight while we're watching "Outlander" which we've taken up. It's okay. I keep thinking of all of the hours and hours and hours I spent listening to those books via the audio version and all of the miles I walked while listening. So far I think that the series is fairly faithful to the books and I am not displeased with the casting. 

I hope my husband is okay out there in the woods and fields. I bought him a ten-thousand pound flat of Gatorade at Costco today (I told you I'm a good wife) but who knows if he took any with him? 

I'll report in tomorrow. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Not A Tribute

I babysat for two wild boys today while their mama went and got a massage from the lady who gave me mine a month or two ago. The one who works specifically on problem areas. I haven't been back although I said I would, for the simple reason that making appointments is another of my neurotic inabilities. I actually asked Jessie if she'd make an appointment for me which she did and she made one for herself too. I think this therapist is working on at least half my family now. She's really good. Anyway, Jessie's appointment was today and so I went over and hung out with the little guys and we had a good time. They're truly good boys and we read some books and had some laughs and Boppy came over to eat his lunch with us so it was sort of a party. While I was there I was thinking of how Levon used to be so wary of anyone but his mother or father and how easily he accepts his grandparents now. He pooped right after Jessie left and I said, "Come on, let's go change your diaper."
"Mama do it," he said.
"Mama's gone bye-bye. I'll clean your poopy butt, boy." I told him.
He thought about that for a minute.
"Auga do it," he said, and we all laughed. I can only imagine that August could change his brother's diaper if push came to shove but it would be highly amusing to observe.
And then he graciously allowed me to do the honors with Auga watching closely to show me where everything was. After I'd gotten Levon's butt all nice and sparkly clean and diapered again and set him on the floor, August climbed up on the changing table like a monkey.
"This is Levon's changing table," he told me. "Mama and Daddy are going to get a more stabler one for me."
"Oh yeah?" I asked. "Do you want help getting down?"
"No," he said, and proceeded to show me that indeed, he needed no help at all.
They both climb like monkeys and when I asked them to pose for a picture before I left, August wouldn't show his face but demonstrated how he climbs the back of the sofa and Levon tried too although finally he would let me see his pretty face and said, "Cheese!"

And that was the most important thing I did all day long.

Jessie showed me the bananas they have growing in their yard. They have two stalks of different varieties that look like they're going to be amazing. I am so impressed! Their yard gets a lot more sun than mine does and they've planted quite a few fruit trees.

So yeah, it's the anniversary of 9/11 and just like everybody else in this country I have my own stories of that day. I am not one to observe anniversaries like this. A lot of people are remembering how the country came together after that horrible tragedy and bemoaning the fact that that did not last but I don't even like remembering that part. It seemed to me that it was the beginning of this blind jingoistic patriotic phase we're in. People were buying and flying American flags and keeping survival supplies in their garages and basements as if having a week's worth of water and MRE's and plastic to seal windows and doors would be of much use in case we were further attacked as a nation. There was no glory involved in that day. There was chaos and there were undeniable acts of heroism and there was a president and a vice president in a bunker and there were rumors and there was panic and fear and no one thought we'd ever laugh again, and then the president told us all to go to the mall and shop like good Americans do and Saudis with close ties to the White House were flown out of the country on an emergency basis even though 15 of the 19 hijackers were Saudi and of course we ended up going to war with Iraq and nothing has been the same since.

I hear that just minutes before Trump and his woman observed a moment of silence in remembrance today he was tweeting about how the lamestream media is fake-newsing about polls and how he should get a third term as president. Also, Melania posted a picture of herself wearing a coat which, from the rear, showed white stitching and a button tab that some claimed represented a plane flying into one of the Twin Towers but to me looked looks more like a you-know-what pointing up to her you-know-what.

I mean- who said this was a good choice? 

Well, whatever. 

Nothing is as it seems. 

Here's a hurricane lily in my backyard. 

Here's to those who lost their lives on that terrible day which everyone says was the most beautiful sky-blue day imaginable. Here's to those who lost their loved ones on that day. Here's to those who are still dying from the results of that day. 

I'm not good at this, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Another Memory Post

Those are the four remaining of the five chicks hatched by Darla a few months ago. Can you tell which one is the hen and which three are the roosters?
Hoo boy.
Here's something interesting- I have noticed a great reduction in the crowing around here. Even from Liberace. It's as if none of the boys wants to be challenged by the others. The new ones because they are below Liberace in status, age, and size and perhaps Liberace because there are three of them and only one of him. I don't know. But at this point those four are their own flock and stay mostly separate from the others. If all of the roos start going after Sissy (that's what I have named the one hen) they're going to be eliminated and the NO MAN LORD guy down the street is going to be eating rooster stew again.
That's the cruel truth.

So I've been thinking more about that first year I moved to Tallahassee and how things proceeded. It took me a very long time to come out of that depression. I can actually remember a moment when I realized that things were starting to be more colorful, not just black, white, and shades of gray. It really felt that way to me. I was living with Paula then.
No surprise.
One of the greatest gifts that D. gave me was to introduce me to Bill and Ruth Wharton. Bill I met the first day I was here. I told the story about him coming over to show D. his Ovation guitar. Bill and Ruth lived in a big old house on Park Avenue which had once been a stately neighborhood but was now a bit crumbly and there were a lot of hippies living amongst the old people who were holding onto their family homes with trembling fingers. The Whartons had two daughters who were almost the same age as my youngest brothers and I fell in love with the whole family as did so many others. They were the Mom and Dad of a whole bunch of hippie kids and musicians and they accepted me into the fold as generously as they did so many others.
It was different times in those days. People in our community weren't really judged on what they wore or where they'd gone to school or where they were going to school or what sort of work they did or did not do or who their parents were or even if they'd spent some time in jail or were just flat-out crazy. It's like everyone was respected for what they brought to the table and if you get right down to it, everyone brings something. And usually, if you look hard enough, something of value.
Almost every night at the Wharton house people gathered to play music. Everyone sat in a circle and music was played and joints were passed. There were violinists and flautists and guitar players and bass players and vocalists and hell, I don't even know. There were classically trained musicians as well as self-taught folks.
And it got cosmic.
Perhaps this is why the Grateful Dead never impressed me so much. They did not invent the space jam, trust me. And I heard some amazing music back in those evenings. I once took a friend of mine who was visiting from Winter Haven who was a horn player and percussionist, to one of these sessions. His mind was blown. He'd never heard music like this, much less gotten to participate in it. Notes were woven and braided and untangled and tangled again. They soared to the heavens and they sunk to the funk. It was quite indescribable and actually- you had to be there. My friend was speechless. He literally did not have the words to use to interpret what he'd just witnessed. 
Me? I had nothing to add but no one begrudged my presence. I was just there. Who knows? Maybe I played the part of audience.
I met a lot of people who came through those open doors. Sweet people. I swear to god. Some of the sweetest people I've ever known, some of them so shy that they only seemed to speak with their instruments. But they came because they wanted to play, they wanted to be a part of...whatever this was.
I'll never forget it.
And please understand that my ability to FEEL as if I fit in never really settled upon me. It was no one's fault. I was just heart-torn and so insecure. But I kept going back. Sometimes with D. Often with D. But before too long he wasn't my only friend there.
And this community became more than just nighttime jam sessions. There were treks to the mushroom fields and there were camping trips to the beach and to local festivals. I remember once a bunch of us drove to Cape San Blas which was then an almost unspoiled piece of Gulf beach with a state park where we could pitch tents and cook on fires. We bought shrimp on the way down and boiled it and realized none of us had brought anything to make cocktail sauce out of and so we ate it dipped in melted butter and Tabasco which is still my favorite way to eat boiled shrimp. And of course Bill has his own brand of hot sauce now and it is delicious on shrimp and in the gumbo he cooks during his stage shows.
You can order it HERE. 
But what I remember about that camping trip was the fog. The ocean fog that drifted in and stayed and how lonely I felt. It seemed like everyone was part of a couple except for me and I walked on the beach alone and cried and wondered what I was doing on this west-coast beach when I was raised on the Atlantic on the other side of the state. Instead of sea grapes and palm trees this area had pine trees and dunes and the sea was so much flatter. In some ways it felt like an inferior ocean to my beloved Atlantic but here I was.
Here I was.
I did not miss my family at all (except for my brothers) but I did miss my running mates back in Winter Haven. We had been a bunch of kids from weird and dysfunctional families who were, not to put too fine a point on it, pretty intelligent geeks and we had become our own family in high school. That's a whole other story and not the one I'm telling tonight but I did miss them. I also missed my first real boyfriend who had dumped me hard and sometimes, when I was so low, I would think of all of the men I'd loved who'd left me starting with my very own father whom I hadn't seen since I was five. The one who'd stuck around- the abuser- had betrayed me the worst quite actually, because I had loved him too. I didn't have the knowledge then to realize that but I'm sure that deep down I knew it.
So all was not perfect but I had found this new sort-of family with a real mom and dad who loved their kids and raised them in a new and honest and profound way that I'd never witnessed before (yet another story) and I hung on, even in this place where the ocean didn't roar with power but gently rocked with sea-spray and where I desperately wanted to fit in even though I did not feel that I truly did and where there was music that, although I could not create I could bathe in, and people who seemed to like me fine despite how I felt about myself.

That's enough for now.
It's been a quiet day here in Lloyd. I walked on White House Road. I cleaned out the hen house. I beaded part of a butterfly on Maggie's dress. Tomorrow I am going to babysit for August and Levon for a little while at their house. August has promised to show me his library books and told me that I can borrow one if I want.
Who knows? I may.

Last night I dreamed of my stepfather. It was a nightmare. It was a call-911-nightmare. After over fifty years I still have these dreams. The past is never the past, is it? Not the bad, not the good. It is all inside of us no matter how far we have come, no matter how much we have grown, no matter how much we have changed.
I suppose we make peace with it if we can.
But we still remember whether it's the feeling of panic and fear or the feeling of despair as we walk along a beach in deep fog, the waves rolling in and out, wondering if we are the only person in the world on this beach, to feel these things, to have no idea where we are going.

See you tomorrow.

Love...Ms. Moon