Feed Your Head

When I woke up this morning I already had a text from Lily saying that Maggie would like me to come to dance if I could and of course I could. I rushed around here and got a few things done and then drove to town and as always, I enjoyed it so much. It's amazing how much confidence all three of the children in that class have gotten. The parents joke about the first day. How there were tears and fears, weeping and gnashing of teeth.
Now they float along and do what their teacher asks. They point their toes and they tap, tap, tap, and they do summersaults and spins until sometimes one or two of them falls over and we watch on the video screen and cheer them on even though they can't hear us.
They come out of the studio to change their shoes from tap to ballet and then they come out after ballet to take off their shoes entirely for tumbling. Today when Maggie was changing into her ballet slippers she said, "Look, teacher! I can do it by myself!"
I loved that. "Teacher." What a beautiful word.
After class Teacher had special treats for them, Little Debbie brownies decorated to look like reindeer and Maggie did pose with hers but the smile was not entirely convincing.
Still, she tried.
After dance class I ran by Jessie's to drop off some bread and my not-being-used Christmas tree skirt. Levon was asleep and August was at school and Jessie asked if I'd like an espresso. I most certainly did and she made me one and we got to chat a little, sans children. I think that the last time that happened was when August was in utero. It was quite enjoyable!

I had decided that today would be the day that I would GET MY SHOPPING DONE!
And you know what? I think it is done. After I left Jessie's I went to the decidedly local Quarter Moon which is what you might call a hippie shop which sells some clothes and jewelry and Indian print bedspreads and funky things to hang from walls and doors and ceilings. They sell chopsticks and funny magnets and candles and Guatemalan bags and socks and night lights and tchotchkes from India and Mexico and it all smells delightfully of incense. I like to spend a few dollars there every Christmas because every town needs a good hippie store. Am I right?
The phrase "head shop" just came to mind and I haven't thought of head shops in years, not by that name anyway, but those of you who are as old as I am probably know exactly what I'm talking about and those of you are not as old as I am are probably thinking that they must have had something to do with sex but not really unless you count the flavored body oil that many of them carried.
Anyway, yes, the Quarter Moon smells like a head shop but I didn't notice any smoking apparatus which is odd in that medicinal marijuana is now legal in Florida and I'm sure that lots of people are still using it illegally as well as legally and what in hell are they smoking it out of?
I know, I know. Just kidding.
Sort of.
I wonder how the bong business is going.

After I left the Quarter Moon I stepped next door to a consignment shop which I'd never visited and I wanted to hang out there all day just to listen to the owner who was a complete hoot. I mean, I wanted to ask her if she'd be my best friend but I didn't. Another woman was there and was writing a check. The owner said, "Just make it out to The Blond Bitch."
"I can't do that!" said the woman.
"Well then, make it out to the Blond Bitch Goddess!" the owner said.
I didn't buy anything there but I'll go back just for the ambiance and the two darling doggies who greeted me when I walked in.

At this point I realized that I had to eat. My blood sugar had suddenly plummeted and so I took myself to Maria, Maria's which was just a few blocks away and had two delicious tacos which fixed me right up. And then, and THEN I had to enter the world of possible Christmas hell again but I girded my loins and pulled up my big girl panties and went to Marshall's where I found three more gifts and ta-da! That was all I needed! And the gifts don't suck! I would like those gifts!
Then to Costco and Publix and it was almost four when I got home but I was done and DONE!
I texted May when I left Costco: "I have bought the fruitcake so all is well."
May and I love fruitcake. I used to make my own but when I discovered Costco's fruitcake I stopped that nonsense. Their fruitcake is far superior to mine. Okay, not really but it sure is easier and it's damn good. I don't think anyone in the family really likes it very much but May and I make up for that with our unwavering devotion to it. One Christmas she and I ate so much that Lily cried and hid it from us.
I am not making that up.
She was still quite young and had never seen either May or me gorge ourselves on anything like that and it cracked the reality of her universe, I believe.
Now it's a favorite family story. And who knows? This year it could be Owen who cries and hides it from us.
He better not.

So that is that. And I am still quite cheerful although I am exhausted.
I still have to wrap presents and I do want to finish Maggie's nightgown. I took my measuring tape with me this morning to get some idea of how long it should be and how much elastic I need for the wrists. I tried to measure the child but she lost her mind.
"NO! NO!" she cried as I attempted to see how many inches around her little wrists are.
"Hmm..." said Lily. "Judging from that I'd say to make sure they're not too tight."
Noted!
And good advice for all garments as far as I'm concerned.

I might even set up my ancient nativity scene tomorrow.
Then again, I might not.
We shall see.

Love...Ms. Moon

Untitled

It occurred to me as I was falling asleep that last night's post did not even mention the historical event of a president being impeached and I was not unaware of the fact it happened. I actually listened to the events all day. I suppose I should be thrilled but I'm not.
The country is fucked.
Not one Republican voted for the articles. Not one.
And while it was happening, Trump was at a rally bringing his base to a frothing mass of hate.

But yeah, that happened.

Just wanted you to know that I'm aware.

I would just rather write about grandchildren and libraries and Keith Richards.

And mice.

Whatever.

See you later.

Love...Ms. Moon

He Better Live Forever

For some, self-care (and I hate that term for some reason) translates to a long, steamy bath or perhaps getting a pedicure. For me, self-care gets no better than going to the story and crafts hour in Monticello at the library with grandchildren. There is very little in this world that could make me happier than being in a room in a library where kind librarians read books to beautiful babies and then helping glue pom-poms onto paper. It's sort of my idea of heaven.

When Jessie and the boys picked me up today I told August that I was so excited to go to the library to see Mr. Terez and Ms. Courtney with him. He said, "I'm so excited to go see them with you!"
We were a little late and missed a few pages of the first book but I think we got the drift. There were children a bit older than August and some younger than Levon. There were mamas and grandmamas. And there were Terez and Ms. Courtney.

After crafts, the boys played with drums and it was all so noisy and cheerful. 

And then there were books and a computer game for August. Levon kept finding books about trucks and other heavy machinery, wanting me to read them to him. He got so attached to one that he wouldn't let it go. Luckily we could check it out because he wanted to take it home! I also found the newest Elizabeth Strout book, Olive Again, and I brought that one home to my house.

Terez was kind enough to bring the new little mice out of the habitat that they've just put in and we thought the boys would love them but Levon was a little afraid of them and August was so involved in a computer game showing him how to tie his shoes that only Jessie and I held the little critters. They were curious and soft and I realized my abundant hypocrisy because when I see a mouse in my house I am FAR from amused and yet here I was, oohing and ahhing over a tiny rodent with eyes like black seed beads, crawling around on my own personal body. 

Humans are weird. 

But golly, mice are so cute when they clean their noses with their tiny clever paws. 

After the library we went to lunch at a new seafood place that got a very good write-up but we were not impressed. There were french fries and there was ketchup so the boys were happy and we had fun anyway. 

And I have felt cheerful all day long, even when I had to move my porch plants to the back of the porch and cover them all up as best I could because it's going to freeze tonight.

Besides being happy about going to Monticello I've also been celebrating (mostly by myself) the fact that it is Keith Richard's 76th birthday today. Every December 18th that the man is still alive is a good day for me. And not only is it his birthday, it's his 36th wedding anniversary to the beautiful Patti Hansen. 

Their wedding day in Cabo San Lucas. I assume that Keith has his arm around Patti's mother and for sure, Patti is hugging his dad, Bert, whom Keith became very close to in his older years, best mates, beloved companions. His dad traveled the world with Keith and the Stones and yes, when he died, Keith did snort a line of his ashes with a little coke.

And here's what Keith posted (or had posted) on his FB page today.
I think that maybe the marriage will make it.

I'm sure I've posted this before, but here's the poem that the amazing and inestimable Tom Waits wrote for Keith.

I'm sure that a lot of people really do not understand my love of Keith. Ten years ago I wouldn't have understood what that was all about either. But then I read his amazing memoir, Life, and I fell in love with him. I had believed all the myths and hadn't known much of the truth, most of which was far more interesting and sometimes more outrageous than the stories that had sprung up out of nowhere and become legend. 

He is a legend. Authentically and deservedly so. His place in the history of music is firmly set, the way he plays has been copied but never bettered. He created the image of what a rock and roll guitar player should be. He is honest and he is funny and he has a heart the size of Texas. He was a junky, he is now clean and has been a million years. He loves his family and he loves his friends and it appears that once he falls in love with a person, he loves them for life. 

But I think what he loves the most is music. 

He is the guitar player for the best rock band in the history of the world. Don't even try to convince me that I'm wrong. 

By all accounts he should be dead. But he's not. And he's still the guitar player of the very best rock band in the history of the world. 

Here's one of my favorite videos of him. He's singing with Norah Jones at a tribute to one of his best friends, one of his closest mates, Gram Parsons. And this is one of my favorite songs of Gram's. 

That face. How I love that face.

Well, that's the news from Lloyd today. I may not have the best blog on the internet but I bet you almost anything that it's the only one today to talk about grandkids, story time at the library, mice, and Keith Richards.

It's all about self-care, babies.

Stay warm.

Gold rings on ya.

Love...Ms. Moon

I Am So Tacky

Oh Lord. I've just spent two hours writing a post about Christmas that wandered and meandered and held resentments and memories and resentful memories and feminist complaints about how it's always the women who are expected to create the impossible Christmas magic and I've deleted all of it. 

Anyway, that's a picture from my kitchen where the Christmas ornaments and lights have hung for over a decade (I sure got my money out of those twinkly stars!) and that's not even all of the Christmas kitsch that decorates my kitchen and house year 'round. 

I have stayed home all day long. It rained like crazy and now it's getting cold and I have felt and do feel much better. 

I don't hate Christmas. I just hate Christmas the way we do it now. 

I think that pretty much sums it all up. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Tis The Season

That is the picture of a rose whose vine/stem has inserted itself in the fringe of a banana leaf. I took the picture this morning when, even though I could not seem to stop crying, I was still able to see the beauty in the day.
It's been a hard one and I am so tired now.
Let's face it- I am not meant for Christmas.
I didn't want to get out of bed this morning. I wanted to stay right there in the warm covers with the cool breeze blowing over me, drifting back down under where nothing matters. But of course one must get up. And I did.
I'm simply feeling overwhelmed and unable to function which is stupid because there is no reason for me to be overwhelmed. It's not like I'm going to be making Christmas dinner for fifty or actually, anyone, and I have enough money to buy my family presents and they know I love them and I don't have to prove my love to them with gifts anyway. I sternly lectured myself with all of these logical facts but it did no good at all and in fact, only served to make me feel worse because if I would just get off my ass and out of my head and be grateful for everything that I have and quit being such a fucking little wussy, everything would be fine and GODDAM IT, WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME?

Well. Something. Obviously.

I did laundry. I hung it on the line. I took the trash. I made the bed. I went to the post office. I cried through all of these things.
I got dressed in town clothes and drove to Home Goods to look for presents and it was horrible. So many people and so much pure junk, destined to be in landfills sooner rather than later and the aisles were blocked by people with carts and my mind was whirling away to somewhere else and I had to keep reorienting myself in space and time and the whole time I was there I was beating myself up because I'd run into someone in another store where I'd gone to look for shoes and I KNEW I knew this person and knew her fairly well and she hugged me and I hugged her back and we talked about kids and grandkids and for the life of me I could not figure out who she was.
I'm losing my mind, I'm losing my mind, I'm losing my mind kept chugging through my head like a broken belt in a car engine, whirling and snapping.
I bought one thing. One thing. It's an okay thing. It was a made-in-Mexico thing. When I checked out, the cashier looked as if she'd been crying. We both asked the other how we were doing and we both lied and said, "Fine, thank-you!" as if we were.
Then I went to TJ Maxx where it wasn't as crowded but there was nothing that I wanted to buy anyone. I drove to a kitchen supply store and that was okay because it's a smallish local place and I found what I wanted quickly and there weren't many people there and then I had to go to Publix and I did and by the time I got home it was four o'clock and I had to get laundry off the line and folded and put away and the dishwasher unloaded and buns made for Tennessee barbecue and a salad picked from the garden and I did all of those things too.

Kale and bok choy and baby collards and mustards and arugula and two different types of lettuce. I rinsed the leaves and they are resting, wrapped in a clean dish towel in the refrigerator. 

Those. Those are real. That is what I can handle. Something tiny that I made happen that grew from seeds I planted and that I weeded and picked and washed and will dress with a little olive oil, a little vinegar, some salt, some pepper. 

That is what I am capable of. 

I finally remembered who the woman is that I ran into at the shoe store. She was our postmistress for awhile here in Lloyd. We talked almost every day. We shared stories. She invited me to her house for some sort of thing which I did not go to. But I liked her. Despite the fact that I didn't know who she was when I saw her today, I could remember that I liked her. 

I still don't remember her name. 

I'm losing my mind, I'm losing my mind. 

I am losing my mind. 

Whip, whip, whip goes the radiator belt. 

Ellen, your roses are still blooming. They smell sweet and deep and spicy and wild and like the skin of the Virgin of Guadalupe if the Virgin of Guadalupe was real or maybe like the hair of Frida Kahlo who was most certainly real after she rinsed it with rose water and combed it out in the sun in her garden. 

I need to go make supper. 

Love...Ms. Moon

A Lot Of Food Talk Amongst The Other Stuff

The man is home and this morning pancakes were made and two little boys came over to partake in love and carbs. They got plenty of both. I really do not know how such small humans can eat so many pancakes. And these are not light pancakes. The ones this morning were made with flour and buttermilk, oat bran and ground flax seed, grated apple and sweet potatoes and banana.
Sturdy pancakes for sturdy boys who surely were happy to see their Boppy. They both had to sit by him on the porch where we ate our breakfast on the prettiest, sunniest day. This weather is spoiling me.

So yes, Mr. Moon got in last night just a little after 11:00. I was already in bed, snuggled in with Jack who didn't even look up although I hear that he tried to sleep on the man's feet all night. That cat. I was so glad to hear the kitchen door open and know that my husband was home. He came in to the bedroom and gave me kisses and then took a shower and got into the bed and sighed.
We do have the most comfortable bed in the world.
He spent a lot of time this morning unloading the truck and he's been busy all day, playing with the boys, putting things away, going to town to get ice to put on his deer, and now he's vacuum sealing Tennessee smoked bacon into serving sizes to go into the freezer. He did get a little bit of a break watching some TV with August and Levon.

Levon now insists on sitting in the chair with Boppy and Auga. Do you like his outfit? He is picking out his own clothes these days and he is inordinately fond of pink shorts which he likes to wear over long pants. I think that it's a good look. I admire his bold style choices. 

There wasn't too much time spent watching TV. The beautiful day called to them to go outside and they did. They talked Boppy into letting them play in the camper van where they pretended to be...camping...of course. 

"It's nighttime, now!" said August. 

"Nighttime now," said Levon. 

And then they had to play in the boat and Levon did a little shoveling, too. 

When it was time to go they both wanted a leftover pancake for their going-home treat. Seriously? August wanted butter on his and you know I buttered it. 

After they left I did some laundry and weeded a bit in the garden. Things are coming along there, although slowly. I think I can get a salad out of it tomorrow for our supper. And then I worked a little more on Maggie's nightgown which suddenly, looks like a nightgown. 

I hope she likes it. 

And so that's how Sunday has gone. I'm listening to a book, The Dearly Beloved, by Cara Wall. I am not sure how I am going to feel when it ends about the author's belief in god, but I know quite well how I feel about her writing- it is luxurious. She reminds me a bit of Barbara Kingsolver or Ann Patchett. It's a debut novel but it surely does not read like one. As I always say, I love it when I start a book and know immediately that I am in good hands- that the author knows exactly what they're doing. Cara Wall knows what she's doing as she explores the subjects of religion, faith, doubt, love, loss, politics, academia, friendship and more. Just thought I'd drop this in here in case you see the book on the shelf in your local library or in your audio book app. Even though as I said, I haven't finished it, I don't think it would be a waste of time to choose it. 

I have soup simmering. I have last night's bread waiting to be warmed up. I am feeling no more sure about my place in the universe than I did at age fourteen. 

Okay, maybe a little more but not nearly as much as I thought I would be at the advanced and astonishing age of 65. 

Well, I thought I'd be dead by now so that's not entirely honest. 

Still, it would appear that no, older age does not make everything clear and/or easy. Not one damn bit. 

I have learned recently that parchment paper may be the answer to life. 

Or at least to a lot of things that go on in the kitchen. Why did it take me so long to learn this? 

I do not know. 

Really, I don't know shit.

Obviously.

Love...Ms. Moon

This Is What Happens When You Spend Too Much Time Alone

The little golden hen I've been calling Sissy tried again to roost on a potted plant on the kitchen porch tonight.

I saw her on my way out to shut the other chickens up for the night and I thought I'd try again to catch and carry her to the roost with the rest of the flock. I did manage to grab her but she cackled and bawked hysterically, flapping her wings with all her might. Liberace heard her from the hen house and called out to her and when she escaped my grip right by the clothesline she ran towards the roost as fast as she could and although she hesitated at the door, she did walk in and I, right behind her, shut her in with the others.
I really would like for her to start sleeping in there without needing my interference. I think she's still afraid of the now-gone roosters who probably tormented her at bed time. Perhaps she will realize that she's safe from their attentions now. I hope so.

Mr. Moon is on the road home with an ETA of 11:00 tonight or so. I hate thinking of him on the road so late and I know he got up early this morning for one last sit in the deer stand. But by the time he'd gotten the truck all packed up and then stopped to get some Tennessee barbecue to bring home it was far later than I'd like him to be starting out. But he's a grown man, a full grown man, and although I can plead with him to be safe and to please stop if he gets sleepy, he's going to do what he wants to do although he did respond to my text with a "I sure will, baby."

I mopped the kitchen and adjoining bathroom today which requires that I take everything in those rooms not nailed to the floor or too heavy to move out into the hallway which is the hardest part of the whole operation. That and putting them all back. And for a few hours it smelled deliciously of Fabuloso and vinegar but now even that has faded. I had thought last night that Mr. Moon might be home by supper time tonight so I started a loaf of bread rising and it's about to go into the oven with no one to eat it while it's warm but me.
Feels like a waste.
I was going to make soup too but discarded that plan when I found out that he wasn't getting home until late. Maybe I'll make it tomorrow.
And I will eat leftovers tonight.
Which is perfectly fine.

I've been sewing on Maggie's nightgown but it's felt like I've been working underwater or something. It took me hours to deal with the buttonholer attachment and make three simple buttonholes. I could not for the life of me manage to get a good marking on the fabric with the tracing wheel and marking paper which didn't help. And although I finally got the job done, the placement is wonky to my eye and it would probably be wonky to yours.
Well, that's the joy of sewing for a child- they hopefully do not notice such things nor would they care if they did. The rate this project is going I figure I'll have it finished in time to be part of her trousseau.

"Darling," Maggie's beloved will say on their honeymoon when she comes out of the bathroom, wearing a shy smile and her unicorn nightgown, "Why are you wearing a child-sized flannel nightgown with unicorns and rainbows and white eyelet on it?"

"It's complicated," she'll say. "Do you love it?"

"Well, I love YOU," he or she will say. And I will look down from heaven and snort beer from my nose with laughter. 

Of course this is all ridiculous. I'll never get into heaven. As we all know.

All right. I'll be back tomorrow to tell you what it's like to have a man around the house again. 

I wish you all peace and sweet dreams in your personal human equivalent of a hay-filled hen house where you can choose to cuddle with others of your kind or with a dear friend of another species or absolutely alone, whichever makes you happiest. 

Love...Ms. Moon

In Which I Remember A Little Bit About What Christmas Can Be

Well, not only did I set foot in a church today but while I was there my Grinchy old heart swelled a few sizes. August's preschool had their Christmas concert and they have worked so hard on it. So hard, in fact that they asked if August could come to school five mornings a week instead of his regular two for the past two weeks so that he could learn all the songs. It was such a truly precious event. It hit my heart so hard that I had a moment of wishing that I had never lost my love of the baby Jesus story, the wonder of it all.
The whole thing only lasted fifteen minutes which was perfect. How many Christmas concerts have I been to where I've constantly scanned the program to see how close to the end we might be getting. I probably shouldn't admit that but WHO AMONG US HAS NOT DONE THIS?
And now you're going to tell me that no, you never did that and I will feel like such a shitty mother.
Oh well.
But this was seriously fun.
Of course Vergil and Jessie and Levon were there as well as Maggie and Lily and also, our Liz Sparks. She'd texted about a possible lunch and when I told her about the concert, she asked if she could come.
I love that woman!
So she was there, too.
All of the little girls were angels, all of the boys were shepherds. Well, there was a Mary with the requisite blue headscarf and I suppose a Joseph but I didn't see him.
After the songs there were cookies and snacks in the fellowship hall. August seemed to take the whole thing in stride. He said he'd had a good time and he waited patiently for his treats afterwards as the line was so long that I didn't even stand in it but, clutching Levon to my hip cut in and said, "Excuse me. This child needs a cookie."
Old ladies can get away with that shit.
And he did need a cookie. With sprinkles.

After we'd fellowshipped enough we all went to lunch except for Vergil who had to get back to work. We went to the place where May works so that we could see her. We ate pizza and Maggie gathered the actors for her pretending.

Today's family was quite large. 

And after lunch, Liz and I went across the street to a real, true locally owned bookstore where I got three beautiful children's books for Christmas presents, one so sweet and tender and beautifully illustrated that I'll probably cry every time I read it to one of the children. 

So it was a really good day and I loved being with some of my family and with Liz who is also our family. We call her "Ain't Liz" although she is one of the least contrary people I've ever met and in fact, one of the most likely to say "yes" to all things that life has to offer. I wish I were more like her and she reminds me with deeds, not words, that this is how life should be led. 

On my way home I had a True Lloyd Experience. I was on the road that goes through my neighborhood, right past my house and got behind a Highway Patrol car. I could not figure out what in the world a FHP officer was doing on a back road in Jefferson County but at one point, he slowed down and then came to a stop, right in the middle of the road. I had no idea what was going on but I stopped too. When he finally started rolling forward again I could see what the hold-up had been. That giant white furry pot-bellied pig had crossed the road right in front of him and was now on the side of the road, completely unperturbed at having caused the delay. 

The officer drove a few hundred feet and then took a left on a little side drive and as I drove past, I looked in my rear-view to see him turning around, probably to go and see if he could find the owner of this dangerous pig. 

And I will say that if you hit that pig, it would be a mess. Airbags would deploy. 

I myself had to slow down to a crawl and almost stop when a doe crossed the road in front of me. She hesitated before she got to the other side and looked back towards the woods where she'd come from but after a moment, she finished her crossing and I drove on, more wary than I had been before. 

I do believe my husband is coming home either tomorrow or Sunday. He's been gone so much in the past month that I'm having difficulty remembering what it's like to be a wife. 

I figure I'll remember when he gets home. 

And here's a picture that Lily sent. 

A Christmas miracle! They're all smiling. Look at my beautiful babies! 

And now, just to prove that I have not melted into a striped puddle of peppermint candy-canes, I give you this. 

Ho Ho Ho. 

Hahaha. 

Happy Friday, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon

A Post With A List

Woke up this morning to a gray, chilly, raw day.
To combat the cold and the dreariness I put on my favorite Goodwill cashmere sweater. It is mulberry colored, or perhaps a darker shade of Beauty Berry. One of those succulent purple colors. Of course I'm the only one around here to appreciate it and I do. The warmth, the color, the softness. I swear- cashmere is one thing in this big old world that is not overrated.
Here are a few things that are overrated in my opinion paired with things that aren't:
1. Chick-Fil-A...Krispy Kreme
2. Vacuum Cleaners...Dishwashers
3. Non-Stick cookware...Cast iron cookware
4. Kale...Collard greens
5. A date...a mate
6. Body Wash...Bar Soap
7. "Cage Free" eggs...Yard eggs
8. Billy Joel...Anybody else
9. E Readers...Real books
10. Four hundred Facebook friends...Four real friends
11. Scented candles/incense/plug-in scented oil dispensers/potpourri...The smell of whatever you just cooked
12. Walmart...Costco
13. Donald Trump...Greta Thunberg
14. The promise of heaven...The reality of this one and only life

Well, that's a few.

I went to Costco and Publix today. I talked to an employee at Costco and we both ended up crying about how incredibly sad Christmas can be. I told her that she was a beautiful soul and a beautiful woman and that my daughters and I often talk about how gorgeous we think she is. That made her smile. And then she told me that she thinks that August is the coolest little boy and that made ME smile.

I really don't have much else to say. I am neither here nor there tonight. Neither happy nor sad, neither joyful or in despair.
Just...here.

Tomorrow I'll go hear and see August sing Christmas songs at his preschool. Jesus will be mentioned.
Aw well. I do love a baby, conceived via virgin birth or swimming pool or IVF or donor sperm with turkey baster.
Ain't none of my business how the child got in there anyway. I just love 'em when they get here.

Love...Ms. Moon

Outside And Inside

I just realized that I have not spoken to one human today. Not with my voice, anyway. I didn't even go to the post office where at least I I exchange greetings with our postmistress. But it's fine. The world would probably be better off if some of us shut up for a day or so now and then.
It certainly did not subtract from my enjoyment to be silent. I had a lovely day. It was cooler this morning and I did some work outside, cutting spent lilies and cleaning the hen house, watering porch plants and cutting flowers to bring inside.
There are SO many roses in that vase. It's a messy bouquet. I admit that. But these are all heirloom roses and their petals are soft and some of them, when they're open, already look blown even though their petals are still stuck firmly on. In a few days there will be rose petals all over that little vanity and on the floor of the hallway where it sits, too. Who could mind that? The roses scent the air and I feel as if I have an abundance of rich sweetness in that vase.

Besides the roses, I also cut camellias which, it came to my attention, are starting to bloom.
Here are some of the Camellia Sasanguas which bloom first.

I love them. They hardly look real and remind me of the crepe paper poppies people wear on Memorial Day. The bright golden yellow stamens bring to mind sea creatures as much as they do of anything terrestrial. 

Anemones, in fact, is what they look like to me. And having just looked up sea anemones, I have now learned that they themselves were named after the flower anemone. 

Well, there you go. 

And here you are.

The Pink Perfections have started blooming. 

And you know how much those perfection confections make me happy. 

They remind me of a newborn's cheek, a little girl's dream of love, the clouds of sunset or sunrise, barely tinted by the sun in transition. 

Sigh...

Although it was lovely this morning, it's been drizzling a bit since this afternoon and it's getting cooler again. It's not going to be cold but it's cool enough for cashmere and I like it like that. 

Besides all of that outside stuff, I've also tightened up some buttonholes on a dress, cut out Maggie's nightgown, and taken my new iron out of the box and used it. 

I swear to you- finding pleasure in a new iron is not something I'd ever thought I'd do but there you go. It's so steamy! A steamy, dreamy iron. While I was doing the buttonhole thing and the ironing, I watched a movie called I'll See You In My Dreams. 

A New York Times reviewer, Stephen Holden, called it, "A modest, quietly touching portrait of an older woman radiantly embodied by Blythe Danner."

And I agree. 

At first I thought it was just going to be one of those old lady movies and it was but it was more than that. There were some fine actors in it. Blythe Danner plays the lead role and a lovely triad of other older woman play the supporting friends. June Squibb, Rhea Perlman, and Mary Kay Place. And in the heartthrob role we find Sam Elliott. 

Sam Elliott. 

What can you say about that man? 

How about this? 

Somehow at the age of seventy-four, he makes most all other men look like male embryos.

And I have to say that Blythe Danner is incredibly beautiful. And both of them are seasoned actors who know how to convey the deepest emotions with the smallest of gestures and expressions. No histrionics required.

There's a kissing scene that made my toes curl. 

Compare this to the highly publicized new movie on Netflix, The Marriage, with Adam Driver and Scarlett Johansson which I have also watched this week and which I found completely unsatisfying. It was as if scenes from many different movies about divorce had been cut and pieced together and I couldn't manage to muster up a bit of empathy for any of the characters and to tell you the truth, Adam Driver always makes me think of a big whiny baby. When I first saw one of his movies I was intrigued by his unconventional features which is what I generally find attractive but, eh, I don't know. 

Big whiny baby. 

And Johansson's performance was so understated that I could practically feel the restrictive pain of her emotional Spanx. 

Well, who am I to cast judgement? 

No one. 

But I'm allowed to have my opinions and those are mine. 

I also ordered some Christmas presents for my grandchildren today. I fear that most of them won't be here until after Christmas but la-di-dah. 

I haven't paid much attention to the news today but I just checked and it would appear that Orange Imposter is still alive. 

We persevere. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Hanging Out With My Littlest

Well, there you go. Ho-ho-ho. That's my Christmas decoration. I made that wreath before Jesus was circumcised. I do like the cardinal although it's obviously going through a molting season.
I'd bring in the Norfolk Island Pine and decorate that but it and the pot it's in weigh upwards of fifty pounds and I'm not up for that. My husband, being out of town, can't help me and there you go. He called today to ask my permission to make an unexpected trip to Arkansas to duck hunt which means he'll be gone longer than expected.
I just laughed.
"Sure, baby. Go. Have fun."
He didn't really call to ask my permission. Mostly just to see if I minded. I often wonder what he'd say when these things come up if I put on my headmistress voice (I have one, trust me) and said, "No, dear. I don't think so."
He would fall over.
And it's a moot point. As long as he is able, it's fine with me.

Levon was here when he called and he talked to his Boppy. He and I had a fine time together today. He's acquiring so many words lately. The thing he kept saying today was, "That's so RUDE!"
He also likes to say, "That's so funny!" which he said a lot while we were watching "Mighty Little Bheem." I love that series. The artwork is beautiful. It's set in India and Bheem is a preternaturally strong baby who is the joy and the torment of his mother.
And Levon is right- a lot of it is so funny.

Besides watching a little of that, we read books but he's mostly interested in the ones with trucks and tractors, etc. He had snacks and dipped graham crackers in milk which made a huge mess but I did not care. We sat out on the front porch for awhile and rocked in the chairs. He kept making me switch chairs with him because whichever one he was in was "too hard" to rock although he certainly seemed to manage fine.

Such a beautiful little boy.

Here he is showing me how he can raise himself up on his arms so that his butt is above the chair seat. I'll be honest- I was impressed.
I was also impressed that he noticed and commented on the fact that I was wearing a dress he'd never seen before when he got here. It got up to almost 80 here today and so I switched out my overalls for a very old hot pink linen dress. "What's this?" he asked, pointing to it.
"That's my dress," I told him. "Look! It's the same color as your shorts!"
He pointed to my dress again and then his pants. "Green, green!" he said.
"Um, well, close!" I said.
But I tell you what- the kid can count to thirteen. At least.
He's a precious little guy and I probably told him two dozen times, at least, that I loved him today. I was a bad Mer, though, in that I did not get him down for a nap. I don't think I realized the importance of that and I could tell that Jessie wasn't thrilled that his schedule was so screwed up. But hey! I asked him if he wanted to take a nap. He said no. 
Who was I to question that?
Oh yeah. The adult.
I'll try to do better next time.

When Jessie and August got here to retrieve the boy, I asked August about the movie. He'd loved it. I asked him how big the screen was and he said, with many exuberant hand gestures, that it was bigger than my whole house! I asked him if there was much kissing and he said no, but there was a lot of hugging.

So that's been my day.
I'm going to make some spinach pasta tonight. With baby peas. The longer my husband is gone, the more baby peas I get to eat.
Here's what my baby garden greens salad looked like last night.

The perfect salad. There are probably ten different types of greens in there along with vinegar, olive oil, salt and a little feta cheese. I could eat that every night of the week but at this stage of the garden, I have to pluck and pick very sparingly. Each and every tiny leaf is precious to me. 

The hens are back on the nest for sure. I got three eggs today. Before I know it, the problem of having too many eggs will be a reality again. What a lovely problem to have! 

Another thing I love about Baby Bheem is that their chickens lay green and blue eggs. Just like some of mine. Levon and I took a walk around the yard and when we got back in the house, Liberace and one of the hens were in the kitchen. I have to tell you that a full-grown rooster is almost as tall as a toddler. Levon sort of hung by the door while it took me a second to register that the birds were in the house. 

"Scat, y'all!" I said. "Get on out of here!" 

And I chased them out while Levon watched with great interest. We talked about that all afternoon and when we were watching Bheem, there was an episode where all of the animals came into their house. The cows and the pig and the goats and the chickens. We both laughed because we could relate. 

Have you seen the moon tonight? 

Life in Lloyd. Not so very different than life anywhere. Or least anywhere that chickens lay green eggs and sometimes wander into the house.

Love...Ms. Moon

In Which I Get Stuff Done With The Help Of Magnolia June (And Her Mother)

I had a few errands to run today and Lily and Maggie came with me. We started out at Costco where I bought a new set of headphones. I'd bought a set at Best Buy yesterday but despite the clerk's insistence that I would love them, I did not. The sound was tinny to my ears. Why do I listen to employees? His name was Dakota although he looked more like a Sherman to me.
"Okay, Dakota!" I told him. "I am going to trust you!"
"You can trust me," he said. "I've owned more than eighty pairs of headphones."
I thought about that for a second and said, "Well, if you'd found the perfect pair you wouldn't have needed eighty pairs."
I should have realized then that perhaps Dakota was not to be entirely trusted.
Anyway, when I got home last night I opened a Costco mailing and they had a pair of the same brand I've been using and which I like very much but which I fucked up due to a fault design (in my opinion) user error involving the charging port so I decided I'd get a pair of those. And be more careful in my charging technique.

So we went to Costco and I got the headphones and we looked at a bunch of stuff and Maggie wanted toys, of course, and Lily did end up buying a huge box of goop for her to share with her brothers and I got a few Christmas presents and then we had to go to lunch because I was hungry.
We went to Jason's deli where Lily and I like the salad bar and Maggie loves the cream of broccoli soup. Yes. She actually chooses that soup over pizza.

After lunch I took my Dakota-recommended headset back to Best Buy where I had a completely pleasant transaction with the customer service lady.
Some people were just born to be in customer service.

Then on we went to Joann's fabric so that I could pick out a nightgown pattern and some flannel to make Magnolia a nightgown. She was not in a good mood because she wanted to go home and play with her goop although her mama kept telling her she couldn't play with it until the boys got home anyway. But she had no desire to look at patterns or material with me and in fact, told me quite bluntly that she did not want a nightgown.
Too bad, little girl. You are getting one and you will wear it!
Well, I don't really care if she doesn't want to wear it.
One of the sweetest things my mother used to do for me was to make me flannel nightgowns. I did love them. They always had eyelet on them and so shall Maggie's. But instead of a sweet little flower pattern on the fabric like mine always had, Maggie's looks like this.

Looking at it now I'm not sure why I bought this particular print. But I did. Lily liked it and it is sort of interesting in a goth-rainbow-unicorn sort of way. 

And then, to Maggie's even deeper annoyance, we went to the shop next door to look for presents but we bought nothing there. 

When we got in the car to FINALLY go home, Lily gave Maggie a small can of Pringles that she'd gotten for her at Joann's. The picture at the top of the post is of Maggie saying NO! to my request that she share a few with Mer. No sharing of the Pringles, people. Just forget it. 

When we got to Lily's road, Gibson had already called about four times. When he and Owen get off the bus they are allowed to turn their phones on so that they can be in touch with Mama on the mile walk home. Lily says that they call every day to ask her to come and pick them up which she generally does not do. But today we saw them on the way home and stopped to let them get in the car. They were delighted. They were even more delighted when they heard about the goop. They both wanted Maggie to share her chips with them but she refused. However, she did offer them to me at that point. 

The child could teach a class in How To Piss Off Your Brothers And Weld Your Power Against Them. 

She also wouldn't give Gibson a kiss. 

"Oh, come on, Maggie!" he said. 

"No," said the little princess and that was that. 

While all of this was going on, we kept getting texts from Hank and Rachel. They adopted a new cat! 

They are both so thrilled. They have named her Honey Belle which I think is the perfect name. All I can say is- that is one lucky kitten. If your Facebook isn't working it's because Hank and Rachel have completely exploded it with pictures of their new baby. 

And who could blame them? 

Before I'd left Lily's house, the goop was out and being played with. Warnings had been given about not taking any of it out of the dining room and specifically not off the table. Glitter was involved. 

When I got home the quiet and peace were lovely. I did some laundry and plugged in my new headphones (which seem to work nicely) and punched down and kneaded a new loaf's worth of sourdough which is now in the last minutes of its baking. 

Tomorrow Levon might come stay with me for awhile so that his mama and brother can have a little movie date. I don't think that August has ever been to a movie yet and I know he'll love it. And I think that Levon will have a good time here with his Mer. I hope so. 

I've picked enough tiny greens and lettuce leaves to make myself a small and tender salad. I got one egg today but it was in the nest and that is good. I haven't heard from Mr. Moon since this morning but I'm sure he's fine and I know he's enjoying himself. 

And I am enjoying the time alone as I generally do. 

I better go check that bread. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Warning Or Invitation? Nudity Ahead And Vulnerability Too

December 8th is a tricky day for me. It's a double-anniversary in way.
It's the day that thirty-nine years ago John Lennon was murdered.
It's also the day that forty-four years ago I married my first husband.
Both of these days are deeply embedded in my memory and they are entwined together.

I woke up this morning alone. Mr. Moon had gotten up at five a.m. to start his journey to Tennessee. I felt adrift and weepy. I stayed in bed as long as I could because I just couldn't face the day and it soon came to me that it was December 8th, that deeply emotional day.
I got up and nothing cheered me.
I think that the body does remember anniversaries, both the good and the bad. Maybe especially the bad. The ones I call "death days."
My first wedding anniversary is not a death day, not at all. The man I married that day gave me my first babies. We had some lovely and loving times, some fun times. We tried. And he was never physically abusive or less than loving towards the children. He was, and is, a decent man in many respects and we still love each other in some ways and are amazed at how things have turned out so beautifully. We talked about that, briefly, when I went to hear him play Thanksgiving Eve and he even said a few words to me that I have always hoped to hear but never thought I would.
Words that mean a lot, even after all of these years.
But there is still and always will be sorrow for the breaking up of a family. And the day I truly knew that we would be breaking up was on our fifth anniversary. "Double Fantasy', John and Yoko's last album together was released a few weeks before that day and I had been listening to it obsessively. It was the ultimate love letter from one partner to another in a long-lived marriage that had been through hell and back and there was such brutal honesty in it as well as so much tenderness.
It was the story of a marriage that had been through fire and which had survived and which was being celebrated with all of the genius of two remarkable artists.
And I knew that my marriage was never going to reach that place. It simply wasn't going to happen.
Not only that, we both were hoarding our own piles of resentments and disappointments which were way too sharp and painful to hold. We were so young.
We went out to supper for anniversary and on the way home we argued. I remember that so well.
And when I got up the next morning and went to take my run and then stopped at the newspaper box to get our copy and saw that tiny article bordered in black with the headline, "John Lennon Shot And Killed," something in me just died right along with him.
And not long after that we split apart, my ex and I and I made many huge mistakes and I did a few things right and I mourned for Lennon and I mourned for my family and I mourned and I grieved and I upended everything that I'd known.

I will never, ever recover from John Lennon's death. Those of you who did not grow up in the sixties and seventies can have absolutely no idea how my generation felt about the Beatles. And John was...well, I can't even describe what he was to us. He wasn't a god. But he, along with his band mates, had absolutely, as Yoko said, "changed the world."
Does this sound ridiculous?
Well. It wasn't. It was profound and it was true and I guarantee you that this world is indeed a different place for them having been here and for John and Yoko's passion to work for peace no matter how they were ridiculed or criticized.
And suddenly, John was dead.
Want to hear something funny? (Not funny.) When John was murdered, I had just finished reading some trash biography of Keith Richards which was full of lies and gossip and one of my first thoughts on hearing of John's death was, "Why wasn't it Keith Richards who got shot? He's been trying to kill himself for years!"
Well. There's a bit of irony.

So December 8th is filled with all of these emotions for me. Sadness and grief and yet at the same time, gratefulness that we DID have John Lennon. And that I did marry a man who not only fathered two of my favorite, most beloved people on earth but who has been a loving father to them. Those are two completely different things and I am well aware of that.
And as always, I have to say that Yoko Ono is in my thoughts today and my heart as well. My god, what a woman! What an artist and survivor and a true believer in peace. And in love. A woman whom the world vilified simply because she was not a blond model but a Japanese artist whose voice was as shrill and loud as it needed to be and John fell in love with her and jumped from the safe path of being a Beatle to being brave enough to bare his naked soul as well as his naked body.

And thus, he freed himself from being Beatle John and allowed himself to be exactly who he was.

On the last day of his life, Annie Leibovitz took this picture. 

Still naked. Still in love. And as vulnerable as a man can be. 

Well. Here's a love song. 

At the very beginning of it, and you have to listen closely, he says, "You hold up the other half of the sky."

There was no one like him nor will there ever be.

Love you, John. Love you, Yoko.

Always...Ms. Moon

Royal Tannenbaum Day

Today was the day that Hank and Rachel had scheduled to go to the little town north of here, Havana, and cut a Christmas tree at the Christmas tree farm. They invited us all to go and Lily was going to go just for the fun of it (they already have their tree) but Gibson seems to have some puking situation going on so she bowed out and of course, May was working.
Sigh...
That girl. She works her ass off.
But I got in my car and drove up to Havana and Jessie and her boys came in Vergil's truck so that she, too, could get a tree. It was a gray day and a bit gloomy but all was cheerful and bright at the Christmas tree farm. Lots of people were wearing their holiday clothes for picture taking and the boys were beside themselves with the excitement of it all.

August was in the very best mood, as excited as a puppy on a walk in the woods. He had a chat with Uncle Hank about typewriters and he has been promised his very own typewriter which he's going to have to help fix up and then, he can type words. That's what he wants to do. Type words. 

We had to look at every tree, of course. But that was fun. Measurements were taken and all sides of trees examined.

After a pretty good look-around, two trees were chosen. One for the Weatherfords, one for the Thigpen-Tullius family. Rachel and Jessie sawed their respective trees and we carried them back to the place where they shake and trim and wrap with the tree with netting because we are not weakified wimps who must use golf carts to haul our trees! No! We are STRONG! 

Well, some of us. August and Levon somehow needed to ride on hips. August claimed that he was tired and that, uh, his leg hurt. I didn't mind. Any time that boy lets me carry him I will gladly do it. He's still not very heavy although I tell him that he is and that I am just a strong grandmother. 

Here's one of my favorite pictures of the day.

Levon was standing there like a man, hands in pockets and chewing gum like it was his job. 

Our baby men. 

In the little place where you pay, they have various trees set up with ornaments for sale and the boys got to pick their own. Guess what Levon chose?

A front-end loader! 

Which, before we got to Maria-Maria's, where we ate lunch, he had taken off the ornament string and turned it into a toy. Which was fine. 

And yes, we ate lunch at Maria-Maria's, which was delicious as ever and helped a tiny bit with my visceral memories of Cozumel which start appearing this time of year. As usual I am having a hard time with Christmas. Haven't bought one present. I am sticking my head in the sand and singing la-la-la-la-la! as loudly as I can, fingers in ears. 

I did sing a verse of Happy Christmas, War is Over to August while I carried him. 

Mr. Moon is at his credit union's party right now and I am not there. I...just...couldn't do it. 

He may tell them I was not feeling well. I don't know. As far as I care he could tell them the truth- that I have social anxiety and also, that I detest Christmas. 

Despite the fun I had today- and it was fun, truly!- I am in a funk. That's all there is to it. 

Eventually, I'll crawl out of it. I always do. But I swear to you that I am simply tired of feeling this way. One does tend to feel that this state of mind is as eternal and unchanging as the popularity of Dolly Parton when one is in the midst of it but again, I tell myself that no, this is not true. 

And again- I don't really believe that. 

I read a thing the other day on Facebook which is where all the fucking wisdom comes from these days that said, "One cannot be both grateful and depressed at the same time," and I thought, what a bunch of crap that is. 

I consider my fortune and luck every day and know that I am as rich as anyone on earth with the things that truly matter. Not for one moment do I forget that. But it doesn't prevent me from being sad, too. 

Days like today bring back every sadness, every failure, every flaw, every dream disappeared, even as I can pair every one of those with something beautiful. 

Eh, well. Whatever. This is who I am and how I am. 

Oh! Mr. Moon dispatched the two extra roosters this morning. 

"It was not easy," he said. 

He took them to No Man Lord. I asked him if NML had seemed glad to have them. 

"Yes," he said. "He told me he was hungry."

Which made me too sad for words. 

But right now I'm thinking about two Christmas trees, lovingly and carefully chosen, taken home and put up and decorated with lights and ornaments, of children enchanted by the magic of a tree in the house, the scent of pine, the pretty decorations, the sweet shining lights. 

I am thinking of how grateful I am that I was there today to share in a little of that magical process and ritual. 

And also, that someone who was hungry has something good to eat. And that the hens' lives will be so much easier now. It always comes down to the simplest things, doesn't it? 

Light and love. Enough to eat. Warmth and shelter. Freedom from fear. 

Why is this so hard? 

Love...Ms. Moon