In Which I Am Irreverent, Irrelevant, And Irredeemable

 We went to our second social outing in two days this afternoon. As I mentioned yesterday, our across-the-street neighbors had invited us over for oysters and it was actually a very nice little gathering. I got to meet their daughter's fiancee and I give him my stamp of approval. He seemed pretty real to me and for a guy from New Jersey just getting to know Lloyd, quite chill as well. He admitted that Lloyd is like no place he's ever been before but he said it was beautiful. 
Of course I agreed with that. 

I baked a focaccia with sausage and cheese stuffing to take that another woman tasted and then immediately asked the recipe for and said she was going to make it this week for a gathering she was having. So that made me feel good. Turns out she and I have a lot in common and I really enjoyed talking to her. We spent a lot of time talking, not only with each other, but also with a girl in high school, the daughter of another couple there and we ended up giving her life-advice which was mainly the old hippy perspective and I have to wonder what she thought as well as wondering what her parents thought. 
These sort of experiences always make me think of this scene in The Graduate.

But what is it about older people wanting to tell younger people what they should do with their lives? It seems to be something embedded in the human genome although I can't really remember anyone pulling me aside when I was young to tell me what I should do with my life. Well, except for "get a good education!" 
A friend of my mother's did take me to lunch at a fancy restaurant in Winter Haven when I was about to go off to college to give me some advice but I don't really recall what it was. She was a woman ahead of her time and had a job in the upper echelons of a large local bank. She may have been the first woman I ever really knew who didn't work as a teacher or a nurse or a secretary. It was still a little bit unusual for a woman to work outside of the home in those days to be honest. 

But honestly, the lady I met today and I didn't give this high school girl any specific advice, just mostly to be open to different experiences, to listen to what her heart told her and to not be afraid. 

So. Here we are, less than a week away from Christmas and have I finished my shopping? 
The real question would be- have I started my shopping? 
And the answer would be....umm...sort of? 

Oh sweet baby Jesus. How in hell did your humble birth lead to this giant capitalistic orgy of enforced buying, resulting in people wandering around giant stores, picking up and discarding things like gift baskets filled with odd and unwanted sausages and faux cheeses and stale crackers and jars of jam so small that we are led to believe that their contents must be as precious as gold? 

If I make it through until next Sunday it'll be a Christmas miracle.

All right. Our freezer seems to be not working and we need to haul all of the stuff in there out to the garage freezer and I sort of want to make a little bit of supper because even though there was food at the party I didn't feel like eating much of it and such is life.

Hang in there, y'all. The season of fucking joy will be over before we know it. 

Thank god. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Keithmas And More

 Lily had a little gathering this evening, ostensibly for the children to decorate cookies which they did. There was also a lot of playing and laughing and running and throwing a football and I do not even know what. 
Also, food. 
I wish I'd taken a picture of the food table. My Lord! There were even the little meatballs cooked in grape jelly and chili sauce and if you've never had them I feel sorry for you. I've made them with veggie meatballs before and they were as good as the meat ones because it has nothing to do with the ball of meat or meat substitute. It is all about the sauce. 

It was rather laid-back for one of our affairs, actually. Jessie and her family couldn't come because now Jessie is sick! Dang it. This is getting ridiculous. So it was Lily and Lauren and the three Hartmann children, a good friend of Lily's and her four kids, Hank and Rachel, and our friend Kelly and her husband and their boy Wiley. He's the kid up there next to Magnolia in the glasses. Remember when he always called me "Grandma?" I asked him today if he was still going to call me that and he said, "Yes." 
I was so pleased. 
I asked Wiley and Magnolia if I could take their picture together a little while after I took the picture of them above. They both said, "No!" instantly. 
Well. Okay then. 
They've been friends for a very, very long time. 

My mother crocheted that little coat and hat for May, I think, although it could have been for Lily. It was so darling. She was such an excellent needleworker in all regards. 

So we had a good time there, hanging out and talking and eating tasty charcuterie and meatballs and chips and salmon and deviled eggs and fun food in general. 

Tender and mild, a sweet afternoon gathering, and tomorrow we're supposed to go over to our neighbors' house to eat oysters and see their daughter who has come home for the holidays. She's all grown up now, educated, employed, and engaged and I remember her when she was a little girl and one of my favorite memories of her was when her parents brought her over here to watch the Super Bowl which was in 2006 which was fifteen years ago if I can do math which is a bit iffy these days. I don't watch the Super Bowl, of course, but the Rolling Stones were playing halftime and I can recall all of us in our living room being pretty excited as the set was erected in minutes for the performance and and the tension on the field was palpable and then suddenly! there they were! Mick and Keith, Ronnie and Charlie and truthfully, I was thrilled and Sarah looked at her mama and said, "Why are they so old?" 
Ah, lah. They were old enough, I guess, wearing their years and their lives in the lines of their faces, already in their sixties then but when you look back at them, at that performance...oh, how young they seem, seen in the perspective of now. 

And Charlie, dear Charlie, was alive. 

And here we are in 2021 and today Keith turns 78, having caught up with Mick who achieved that age in July and those old boys have just come off the road (with the exception of Charlie, of course) from yet another tour and I have heard reports that Keith struggled during some of the concerts and I have heard reports that he is still the riff-master, that he and Ronnie are getting better and better at what Keith calls "the ancient art of guitar weaving."
And he still looks fine to me. 

The Rolling Stones as a band are almost to the sixty-year mark and I hear that an anniversary tour is in the works for 2022. 

As Hank says, Keith is my spirit totem animal and I guess he is. I can't quite explain what he means to me but I suppose overall it is that within this man is the genesis and history of my lifetime. Or at least a good part of it. 

And by the way- today is also the 38th anniversary of Keith's marriage to Patti Hansen and it would appear that they are still loving on each other and happy. 

Keith was never more handsome than when he met and married his wife but they are still a beautiful couple. 

Perhaps even more so.

They have kids, they have grandkids. They've lived through a lot together. 

They have survived together. 
There is a still a guitar always at the ready. Their lives seem to be filled with music and books and family and dogs and love. 

So. Happy Keithmas, a holiday I do celebrate with unabashed delight. I celebrate him, a survivor of the first order, a Rolling Stone, a human man, an icon, a father, a husband, an old guy with extremely gnarled fingers and a beautiful face.

Love...Ms. Moon

Lagniappe

The recipe I use for fruitcake is Mrs. Harvey's White Fruitcake. 

Google it. It's exactly the same recipe as the one I have on an index card in my recipe file. 

 

Domestic Goddessing As Pre-Christmas Trauma Treatment and Prevention

I have been busy today, y'all. By noon I had filled up the biggest bowl in the kitchen with fruitcake batter. There is a pound of butter along with ten eggs in that bowl, also flour, baking powder, sugar, eight cups of pecans, vast quantities of candied fruits and citrus peel, and all my hopes and dreams. 
I had to mix all of the batter and fruit and nuts together with my hands because I think a wooden spoon might have broken from the sweet, dense weight of it all. 

I ended up with one giant fruitcake, one medium fruitcake, and one small fruitcake. 

Due to quality control issues, I sliced into the small one and sampled a bit. It is terrific. Far better than Costco's. I gave Mr. Moon a small slice too and he proclaimed it the only fruitcake he's ever eaten that he liked. 
So there we go. 

Besides making fruitcake, I also made a pot of black bean soup because I've been craving it and that takes a lot of slicing and sauteeing and blah, blah, blah. It's worth it. And that is still simmering. I need to pickle the onions to go with it but that will just take a few minutes. 
And of course it being Friday I've done two loads of laundry and washed the sheets. This job would be a lot easier if I did not insist on sleeping with five pillows. Mr. Moon only has three. It's ridiculous. But, like the soup- worth it in my estimation. There is nothing so delicious as laying in bed, propped up by my pillows, reading a good book. Especially when the sheets are clean. 

I got a bit more done on Maggie's nightgown. I do so much love to sew even though I am not really very good at it and do not have a natural knack for it. I have to use patterns and I'll tell you why- I have no ability to visualize how a garment comes together. If I had to sew a pair of pants without a pattern it would take me perhaps days to figure that out, even though I have sewn many pairs of pants (with patterns) in my lifetime and I know it's simple. I get stuck on things like pinning things together to make them come together correctly. For example- I have finished the yoke of the garment and constructed the main part of it with the sleeves. Now comes the part where the front and back of the gown get attached to the yoke. 

It is almost impossible for me to visualize how this works. It's hard to explain. I don't think I have any spatial abilities. But I'm not at all sure that's the word I'm looking for. I'm just no good at figuring out how things fit together and it's only getting worse in my old age. Whether it's the grater blades for the food processor or a toy that needs fixing or a nightgown, I struggle. 
And yet, when it comes to cooking, that comes to me as naturally as breathing. I simply know what will taste good with what and am generally good with amounts, too. I bet you that when I make rolls or meatballs, if weighed after I formed them, they would be practically identical. My hands can feel the weight of them fairly accurately. I can eye teaspoons and tablespoons in the palm of my hand. I am not bragging in the least here. Anyone who is a good cook knows exactly what I am talking about and yet I am aware that there are some people who must have a recipe and follow it the way I must have a pattern and follow that. 

But back to my original statement- despite my handicaps in the sewing department, I do truly enjoy the whole process. There is something about it all that pleases me even though I sometimes (often) get frustrated and my seam ripper gets used far more than I would like it to. There is a sort of magic to it, just as in cooking, where diverse elements are joined together whether with thread or heat or whisk to create something which is far more than the sum of its parts. Useful, and sometimes beautiful, comforting both in the making of and in the consuming or wearing of, the creation of something that humans need and want- they soothe my soul. 

Here's a picture of Lily and Gibson that I love. 

She was helping at a party that Gibson's class was having. Oh, how lovely it is when children still think it's cool for Mama to come to school and do things. That time passes so quickly. 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

As God Is My Witness

There will be some damn fruitcake in this house for Christmas! 
I was back in Costco today and this time I asked a lady in the bakery department if they had any fruitcakes. She told me that no, they weren't making them this year. I asked why. She said, "Because no one bought them last year."
Well I tell you what, lady! I did! 
So when I went to Publix I bought the fruit. I was afraid that they didn't have any. I had to search high and low and finally found it on my way to ask an employee where it might be. There are a lot of gaps on the shelves right now and it would not have surprised me if candied fruit and citrus peel hadn't made it to the stores this year. But there it was and I bought a bountiful plenty. 

It was a good day, overall. Jessie was hankering to go try Chow Time, the newish buffet that I talked about a few weeks ago. The place that looks like a movie theater or a casino with about half an acre of food. So Lily joined up with us and Levon came along too and we feasted. We did not leave feeling like the man whom we saw coming out who stopped for a second, tried to pull his pants all the way up and said, "Oh my god," before heading to his car. But we were sated, shall we say. 
I should have stopped after my sushi and hot and sour soup. But of course I didn't. I had to eat at least a few of the other things. Levon was the one who really surprised me. He ate (and this is what I can recall) macaroni and cheese, chicken, green beans, french fries, a piece of pizza, and about six kinds of dessert. He and I decided that we like pudding even better than we like ice cream. 
It was a good lunch and we got to talk and share some things that have been roiling the waters of our souls and of course we laughed a lot and there were a few tears. Not Levon's. He was a happy guy. 

When we left, I made them pose for a picture in front of the Christmas tree. 

So that was a hoot and then I went to Costco and wandered around looking vaguely for gift ideas. I sent a picture of a Lego set to Lily and asked if either of her boys would like it and she sent me back a message that she had no idea and then I sent Jessie a picture of a building set and asked if HER boys would like that and she said that I gave August and Levon the exact same set last year which of course I had no memory of although now that I think about it, yeah. I did. 
I got to see Brenda and she gave me the BEST HUG EVER! 
So all was not lost. Her hugs just stick with you. 

On to Publix where I noticed this sign for the first time. 

I have so many questions. How long has that sign been there? When did miniature horses become service animals? How did that happen? Can a miniature horse bring you your phone in its mouth? Or, you know- a banana or something to eat? If miniature horses can be trained as service animals, why not miniature donkeys? Why not monkeys? Hell, they have hands! And parrots! They can even talk human!
But honestly, people have been getting away with saying that their beloved pupsters are service animals that they need for emotional support and although I can completely understand that, it's just a way for folks to bring them to the store with them. Which, quite frankly, I don't mind but things could get out of hand, I suppose. There was that German Shepherd on St. George Island that killed a chihuahua a few months ago in a beach bar. I mean, that's traumatizing, to say the least. 

And that was my day. I'll make the fruitcakes tomorrow and no, they will not have time to soak in rum before Christmas but dammit, un-soaked fruitcake is better than no fruitcake. 

And quite frankly, I am looking forward to getting out the old recipe and creaming butter and sugar and eggs and folding in the fruits. 

Christmas has been saved. 

By me. The agnostic/atheist. 
Just don't ask me to sing any Christmas carols, okay? Because I fucking won't do it. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Betty Cracker Is More Like It

I made some progress on the nightgown today. It's hard to see but I even got the three buttonholes put in. The buttonholer I use (gotta be careful with that word, eh?) is such a clunky old thing and it isn't a Singer product but made by a company called Greist. Oddly enough, our family was briefly related to the Greist (of buttonholer fame) family. It's not my story to tell but anyway, those are the barest of bones and it is true. 

And it is also true that although the attachment is clunky, it makes fine buttonholes and I can't help but get a little thrill every time I manage to put it all together on my machine and use it correctly. Once you have it set where it needs to go on the garment, you just mash the pedal with your foot and as if by loud, clicky, magic a buttonhole is created right before your very eyes! 
So except for sewing on the buttons, the yoke of the nightgown is finished. I am afraid that I did not buy enough of the pretty trim as by the time I was giving the cutting lady my requirements, my brain was rattling around in my head like a BB in a coconut, completely overstimulated by the amount of merchandise, the people, the choices I had been making. For those of you who have never sewed a garment, one does not just buy a pattern and the material. You have to have the notions, as well. I love that word in sewing. Notions. 
Notions are things like thread and trimming, elastic, and buttons. I've always loved buying the notions, matching the thread color to the fabric as closely as possible, picking out the fancy stuff. But yesterday the aisle of laces and trims just overwhelmed me completely. I do like what I bought, though, and if it's not enough, well, either the sleeves or the hem won't have any. 
The world will go on. 

Besides working on that today I did a little garden mulching and cleaned out the hen house. Fresh straw for all! I really do want to spend more time outside, trimming and fertilizing, cutting back and pruning, weeding and tending. I haven't trimmed back the GeeDee confederate jasmine on the fence in two years and that stuff is going to take the fence DOWN if I don't do it this winter. Now that is a messy job as the plant seeps a milky, sticky sap when it is cut and the tendrils of it get so thick and so twisted and braided among itself that it's like a puzzle, trying to figure out where to use the pruners to my best advantage. 
I'll get to it eventually, I'm sure. 

Mr. Moon is going to a basketball game at the ridiculously late time of 9:00 tonight which means he'll be leaving here around eight. I've made up a lasagna sort-of casserole to pop into the oven so that he won't have to rush his supper. 
The phrase "pop into the oven" makes me feel like Betty Fucking Crocker when I use it. Can't you just see me as a brunette with a clean, starched, red apron on, wearing semi-high heels, pearls, and oven mitts, sliding a lovely casserole into the oven? 
Yeah, me either. 
The weather is so warm today that I put on an old sleeveless dress that's missing a few buttons with a shirt that has literally worn itself into threads in a few places and when my husband came in the house and first laid eyes on me he said, "Are you going to town?"
This is how low I have sunk in the sartorial department. If I'm not wearing overalls and a holey shirt, then obviously I must be going to town. I feel so sorry for my husband. I remember when I first started feeling invisible due to age and how I resented it. Now I wish I WAS invisible and I dress as if that were the case. As if no one, not even my husband, could see me. 

Well, I guess I better go pop that bad boy in the oven. And by the way- I do not even own an oven mitt. Which reminds me- I need to crochet some more potholders. 
My work is just never done, is it? 
(Irony intended.)

Love...Ms. Moon

Quite A Day

I woke up today wishing that there was a nearby cliff I could possibly jump off of. I'm not even kidding. The kind of day where I resent my children because I love them too much to even consider jumping off a cliff. I was feeling scared and depressed and angry and anxious and hopeless and futile and about every other negative way a sixty-seven year old woman can feel about herself, her existence, her life. 

I crept around here and wondered why I even bother to read the news because it's all always horrible or attempt to clean anything because nothing will ever really, truly be clean around here or do laundry because that's certainly never done or- well, you get it. 
I had the morning blues for sure. 

And then I don't even know what happened. I forced myself to do the chores I needed to do and started a loaf of sourdough even though my starter hadn't been fed in a week and the next thing I knew I was taking care of a miniature rose bush in a pot that I've been trying to ignore for about a year and then I did a few things with the porch plants and watered them and I decided to bring in my tiny little Christmas tree that I bought at Publix last year and which I did actually transplant some months ago into a pot. It looked like this when I bought it. 

You can't tell much about the size of it but trust me- it was, as I described it last year, elfin. This is the second Publix Christmas tree that I've bought over the years in this house, I think. The first one got too big to be a porch plant and I planted it in the actual ground at some point this year and it's still alive which is both surprising and thrilling. 

Anyway, I brought the newer one in today and set it in the hallway and oh- by the way- I never took the ornaments it came with off- and I put two of the tiny strings of lights on it and TA-DA! My Christmas decorating is complete! 
I sent a picture of it to the kids with just that message. 

Within minutes, Hank sent back the picture you see at the top with the message, "The White House tree is truly lovely this year!" and I laughed and I laughed and I laughed. 

And I've felt cheerful ever since. 

I washed the rooster flannel, dried it, ironed it, laid it out and pinned the pattern to it, and cut it out. Everything was going so smoothly that I KNEW that something was going to go wrong. I mean- please. I did almost cut one piece upside down but I noticed my mistake and rectified it, repinning the pattern. I marked the fabric where it needed to be marked and then I opened up the old, old Singer case. I knew my machine needed oiling so I got out the little handbook with the illustrations of where the oiling points are along with the oil and I plugged in the machine and to my great amazement, it started running by itself as if the ghost of some old woman wearing shit-kicking brogans had her foot on the pedal! 
WHAT? WHAT? 
Dammit. 
I unplugged it and decided to go ahead and oil it anyway, which I did, but that did not magically fix anything so I looked at the pedal itself and sure enough- where the cord exits the device, it was frayed with bare wires showing. 
I sent a picture to my husband who was in the garage. 

Bad picture but you get the gist. 
He texted back that he'd look at it when he came in and he did and he took it all apart and cut the wire and resplit it and taped it up and put it all back together and now it works as it should. 
Phew! 

I am so grateful. 
It was a little late to start actually sewing when he finished but everything is ready to go tomorrow. The pattern pieces are all folded and waiting, the machine is oiled, my scissors and pins and measuring tape are all set out. 
My bread is in the oven. It rose just as well as if I'd fed the starter yesterday. And what's up with that? Once again I feel as if the "rules" of sourdough baking are all pretty much bullshit. 
And best of all, I am still cheerful. In fact, I feel better physically and emotionally than I have in weeks. Now this is not to say that I won't wake up tomorrow and once again wonder about the availability of cliffs but for now, all is well. I'm even contemplating bringing out my tiny nativity and setting it up, just for the joy of putting Buddha behind the manger. 
Now don't get me wrong- one pop star's ear-splitting, voice gargling rendition of O! Holy Night and I could snap and start throwing Christmas china from one end of TJ Maxx to the other but perhaps if I stay out of places with Christmas muzak no one will get hurt. 

Here's the one Christmas song that's been going through my head that doesn't make me want to eat candy canes for the pure pleasure of puking them up. 

Thanks, Bill. Thanks, George. Thanks to Mac Rice who wrote the song and to Albert King who released this version in 1974. 

And thanks to Hank, whose job, as he has noted, is to know things and be funny. 

Keep it funky, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

HO-HO-Fuckin' HO, Once Again

I went to town today and not only did I go to Costco and Publix, I also went to Tuesday Morning and to Joann's Fabrics. 
I got nothing at Tuesday Morning. I was going to buy a pot for a plant but the line was about five people long and there was one checker-outer and she was being very friendly and making sure that each of her customers felt as if she was giving them all of her attention because she was and while that's fine, I could not see waiting for however long it was going to take to buy one pot, even if I was made to feel special for a minute or two. 
So. That was a bust.
At Joann's I somehow managed to spend about a thousand dollars on three tiny strings of battery powered lights and a pattern and the material to make Maggie a flannel nightgown. And the lights were 60% off! 
Okay. It was not a thousand dollars but let's just say that this may well be the most expensive sleepwear that Maggie ever owns unless she buys her honeymoon trousseau at a couture house in Paris.
Of course I had to look at flannel for about half an hour and that's no joke. Despite the large selection, I could not find anything that I thought she would just love so I ended up getting her rooster printed cloth. 

Nothing says Christmas Cheer to a little girl quite like roosters, does it?

It is very soft. 

I better get started on that tomorrow. 

In Costco I realized that I could not find any fruitcakes. Do you understand what this means? It means that for me, any tiny shred or wisp or hope or sugarplum fairy of a dream of having a decent Christmas just flew out the window. If there are no Costco fruitcakes. 
I give up. 

I suppose I could make one. I mean, I have before. 
Sigh.

By the time I got my lunch this afternoon, it was almost four o'clock and I sat in my car in the parking lot of a sporting goods store next to Publix and ate a sandwich and realized that they were tearing up and tearing down a small piece of woods that separates the parking lot from a road. 

In the time it took me to eat a sandwich, the lot had been over halfway denuded. It was so depressing watching those giant T-Rex machines crunching their way through the trees, pulling and snapping giant pines as if they were blades of grass. I swear, the trees screamed as they left the dirt. I have no idea what they're going to build there but I'm sure it will be ugly. I have absolutely no right to complain because just a little way down the street is Moon Plaza which we built and which had also once been a patch of woods. It now houses a Dunkin' Donuts and a few other businesses. I'm as big a hypocrite as anyone on this earth and I know it. 

I swear to you- I never meant to live in Tallahassee. I moved here by accident, in a way, in 1974 and I've never gotten any farther away than Lloyd which is not very damn far. And Tallahassee may have had its charms forty-seven years ago but it's growing less charming every day. 

I'm so bitchy today. Also, tired. 

Well, here's a picture that Jessie just sent. They got their little living tree up and put up lights. It's a cheerful sight, for sure.

The wolf cubs seem happy with it. 

I'll try to be more cheerful tomorrow, y'all but I can't promise anything. 

Meanwhile...

Love...Ms. Moon

Gotta Love Her, She's The Mama

Well, it is December 12th, and you know what that means! 
No, no. It's not Keith Richards' birthday. Hold your horses. Slow your roll. Simmer down, now. 
It is, however, the feast day of our Lady of Guadalupe, aka La Reina de Mexico, aka Virgin of Guadalupe. The picture above is a sort of mash-up of the Virgin's image and an image of the Aztec goddess Tonantzan which many believe the Spanish Catholics appropriated and merged into a more acceptable sort of goddess for their particular brand of religion. They have a very lovely story involving a guy named Juan Diego and roses blooming in winter and a priest and the Lady's appearance and all of that kind of Catholic magic. 
I should not make light of this. I have very little doubt that Le Reina is far more popular and gets far more candles and prayers than her boy Jesus in Mexico. Everywhere you go in Mexico she is represented and in Mexico City the cathedral has its own feminine Shroud of Turin in the form of Juan Diego's cloak with her image imprinted on it where millions of people line up to gawk and worship and pray every year. 

I prefer the folk art renditions myself but that's just me. 

Lately I've been having serious thoughts about getting rid of some of the images of the Madonna around here. I have many, not just of our dear Lady of Guadalupe, but other versions of the so-called Virgin too. Some of which were given to me, some of which I've bought, some which I inherited when my darling Sue died. She did love a Holy Mother. I'm quite torn about the whole Madonna thing. On the one hand, there is not one damn thing wrong with having an affection for a loving mother image but on the other hand- that whole idea of her being a Virgin is so based in the fucking patriarchy that it makes me furious. 

And I can rationalize it by saying that to me, she represents not some holy virgin but a goddess, a woman, a mother, a representative of the spiritual and physical aspects of the divine female. 
Or something like that. 

It's funny how many posts I've written, not only about the Virgin of Guadalupe but about my many and various madonna images as well. So, so many. 

There's one here, if you'd like to read it, written seven years ago on this very date. 

Anyway, it's been a real bitch of a Sunday, filled with the angst of approaching Christmas, the fear that I'm living my life as if I'm just waiting to die, and wondering what, if any, meaning this life holds. 

You know- the usual. 

I need to go make supper so I'll end here. 

And happy birthday, or feast day, or whatever you Catholic people call it, to a little lady who has the heart of millions of fans throughout the world. I hear that even the Pope loves you! 

And hey- happy birthday, Tonantzan! You came first. Love you, Mama. 

Love to you all, too....Ms. Moon

We Had Visitors!

 Last night I finally had to go out to the garage to collect my husband for martini purposes. I am quite capable of making my own but I don't like to get started without him so I closed the chickens up, walked over to the garage, opened the door, walked through three bays and finally found him sitting in the engine well of one of the Camaros, fiddling with wires.
I laughed. 
"What are you doing?" I asked him. 
"Trying to figure out this damn wiring," he said. 
Well. Obviously.
He had no idea what time it was and in fact, had thought I was still asleep because when he'd left the house HOURS EARLIER I'd been taking a nap. 
"Lord, honey," I said. "I wasn't that tired."

Today was a good day. Jessie, August, and Levon came out to visit and since Jessie had told them in no uncertain terms that they would not be watching TV while they were here, not to even bother to ask, they asked immediately if we could read books. 
"You bet!" I said. 
But first they found the bag of fireball jawbreakers that their grandfather had bought on his journey back from Tennessee. Do not ask me why. Of course they HAD to try them, despite Jessie and I warning them. At first they shared one. 

Pretty soon the messiness of that operation overwhelmed us all and Levon got his own. Of course a few minutes after that, the real heat of the fireballs kicked in and they demanded water and soon after that they were easily persuaded to abandon the entire project. They were, however, delighted by their red tongues. 

And then there was some book reading and then some lunch and then we played cards. Also, August made his mother and me laugh a lot by demonstrating various varieties of snorting and inhaling. He can inhale so hard that his nostrils close, making him look somewhat like a snake. I did not, unfortunately, get a picture of that. 

All-in-all, it was completely delightful and I have missed seeing those guys so very much. They are funny and smart and they do love their Boppy and Mer and only part of that is because we spoil them to pieces. Well, not really. Just sort of. They know how much we love them and they respond to that. Same with Owen and Gibson and Maggie. I know I talk about this all the time but there truly is a special sort of bond between grandparents and grandchildren and it is a very grand thing. The knowledge children have that their grandparents just adore them has to make their hearts happy. 

It sure makes our hearts happy. 

Here's August's school picture. 

I love it so much! He chose that background himself. Little dude has a sense of style. 

In a way, school pictures are the greatest scam ever known. What kind of a parent doesn't buy school pictures of their precious babies? And who among us does not look back at those pictures and think, "Jesus Christ. Did I really look like that?"
Yes. Yes we did. 

And it's good to be reminded. It's good to remember how we looked and felt and were when we were so young. If we can. And in remembering, it makes our hearts so much more open and softer for our grandchildren, knowing what they have to go through, realizing that they too have deep thoughts and worries and dreams, even at that age because we did too. 

Well. As I so often say, that's enough of that. 

It's still warm, it's still humid, and I am still getting peppers galore. 

I am not complaining. 

Love...Ms. Moon

A Quiet Life

This little one is a green tree frog. The color did not really come out very well and I do not know why. He's not nearly as brown as he looks there. He is clinging to the clothesline and I never in a million years would have seen him if I hadn't been hanging the laundry out today. They are native to this area and not rare but it's always lovely to see one. I love their little faces, their big eyes. There is a page HERE where you can listen to short snippets of their calls. 
Or, if you'd like, you can watch a Rated R very short film of what might be happening when you hear them calling. 

 

Sexy times with an intruder sneaking in for the prize. Poor little wooer guy. He sang his heart out and then... well, you watch if you want. Get out your hankie. 

Mr. Moon got in last night around 8:45. I was eating my supper and he walked into the Glen Den and I yipped and jumped up to hug him. He was home! He didn't shoot a Tennessee deer or a Tennessee anything but he did stock up on some Tennessee barbecue which is great because no one needs to clean it or cut it. It's done done, as we might say. And it is delicious. 
The cats were happy to see him, Jack presenting himself to be petted by the man and Maurice strolling by and pretending not to be interested in the fact that he was back. I think she is very glad he's home though. 
I know I am. 

Here's the other alpha male around here. Liberace. 
The lovely feathers you see on the back of him in front of his tail feathers are called saddle feathers. Makes sense. They refer to a "waterfall" of the saddle feathers. And the feathers around his neck are called hackle feathers. And there you go- yet one more expression we use based on chickens and/or their behavior. We all know what happens when Mama raises her hackles. When roosters are angry and in attack mode, they raise those feathers high, making themselves look bigger and fiercer. Liberace is not a really fancy rooster but I think his golden feathers are pretty and when the sun shines on them, they glow and glisten as if they'd been oiled. He's still growing his feathers out after his last molt and the tail feathers will get longer. He's a fine rooster, an excellent and very attentive watch guard for his flock, and always on the lookout, not only for potential threats but also for food. When he finds some, he makes his tid-bit call to tell the ladies that he's found treats and they run to see what he's got. And best of all- he's not a mean rooster. He's never so much as raised one hackle around us and he seems to treat the hens with loving care. 

A good rooster, like a good man, is a fine and mostly gentle thing. 

Well. This has turned into a nature lesson, has it not? I suppose that's because I really don't have much else to write about. I'm still not feeling so very well and took a nap this afternoon. I've left clothes on the line for overnight and that is something I never do. But they're not going anywhere. 

I hear the drummer at the church next door getting into his beat, car doors slamming, children calling out. Here we are on our own little plot of dirt, Friday night, maybe a martini won't kill me. It's warm and muggy, December in north Florida, frogs tuning up in the marsh down from the railroad tracks. I can almost feel the camellia buds swelling and opening in the dark, their leaves as green and glossy as the magnolia grandiflora. The ashe magnolias look like sticks now but they are as alive as anything could be, just taking their rest time as are the Japanese magnolias with their bare branches. Before I know it, they will be putting out their lavender-mauve buds, one of our heralds of spring. 
I suppose I'm getting ahead of myself there. But time flies so quickly. A blink, a nap, the season has moved on. 

This is the way it is. 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

He'll Be Here Soon!

Here are the colors carpeting my back yard right now. Reds and yellows, oranges and golds. As much as I wish those trees were not there, I can't help but appreciate the beauty of their leaves when they fall. 

I am, as we speak, waiting for my husband to get home. He left Nashville this morning and should be pulling up pretty soon. And you know what? I'm a little nervous. 
After all these years together, all of these years and months and weeks and days and minutes...
There is still part of me that worries desperately that after being away for awhile he'll see me and think, "Nope. That's enough."

I am pretty sure that won't happen and yet, I am never one hundred percent sure that it won't. 
I sigh and chalk that up to my deep fear of abandonment, my equally deep fear that if someone really knows me, they cannot possibly love me. 

I'm going to go finish making the shrimp salad I picked the greens for earlier. I have no doubt that my cooking is worth sticking around for. Well, mostly. 

Talk to you tomorrow.

Love...Ms. Moon

From Here To There

This nice little brown anole posed so patiently for me this morning. I have a windowsill and nook where I have small plants transitioning from rootlings to growing in dirt which I think of as a nursery and almost every time I pass it I actually take the time to look at it, to check on the green babies to see how they're doing and today's little visitor made me happy. I would rather have seen a green anole but we are seeing fewer and fewer of those lately. Here's a good article about why. 

Sigh. 
It is absolutely inevitable that the invasive Burmese Pythons which are creating such havoc in the Florida Everglades will eventually be moving north and the day I see one of those motherfuckers in the wild is the day I...
I just don't even know. Scream? Move? You know a Burmese Python can eat a chicken. Hell, they can eat DEER! 

I did go shopping with Lily today. We went to Target. Since I was there last (and I have no idea when that was but I know I've only been once since covid started), they've redone the whole place. I was already completely disoriented and having a good old fashioned panic attack and that did not help. Poor Lily. She's having a difficult go of it right now and there she was in Target with her mother melting down like the bad witch from the west after having had a bucket of water thrown on her. I wasn't helping, to put it mildly. I did my best to pull up my big girl panties and get along with things and we managed to get the kids some presents despite the fact that the toy selection has already been been cut by what looked like half. The store wasn't packed but there were several traffic jams in that particular section. 
After we checked out we went to Welcome to Moe's! otherwise known as just Moe's. It was quite obvious that the staffing shortage has hit them hard. Things were NOT running smoothly and one of the burrito makers had a slight melt-down of her own while we were there. Still, every now and then a nice Moe's burrito is a fine thing. 

It has rained here off and on since yesterday and it actually got into the eighties today. I am NOT happy about the heat. I am also not very happy about the fact that I am still feeling unwell. I should not be surprised, I suppose, seeing how the kids have kept their colds, or whatever they are, for weeks now. I feel a little achy again today and tired, my sinuses seem to be unhappy. August is still coughing but has indeed now had a chest x-ray and he does not have pneumonia. I think I may go to bed early tonight. I'm getting close to finishing the book I'm reading ("Harlem Shuffle" by Colson Whitehead- very much recommend) and can't imagine anything much better than settling down with it and a cat. 
I talked to Mr. Moon last night and he asked me if Maurice was still alive. I sent him this picture this morning and said, "Here's your kitty."

She's been sleeping with me the past few nights. Unlike Jack who seems to want to merge his cat body with my hip, Maurice is quite happy to merely sleep on the pillow next to me which is absolutely representative of our relationship. She sort of wants to be near me but she doesn't really want to get into any of that mushy stuff. A little kiss on the lips now and then, a little ear-scratching, she's good. 

And as we all know, she makes her boundaries clear. 

Oh. Today is not only the date which marks the day I married my first husband 46 years ago, it is also the 41st anniversary of John Lennon's death. If the body remembers (and I am convinced that it does), it is no real wonder that I have struggled today. Both of those things affected my life in ways that will of course never end. I think back on the woman who experienced both a marriage at the age of 21 and the death of a beloved icon at the age of 26 and I barely recognize her from this distance but she is still inside of me, just as all of the ages of Mary are. Just as all of us hold all of the ages we've ever been inside of us. 

Well. 
I just felt like listening to this. Maybe you will too. 
As always on December 8th, I think of Yoko. And Sean, that beautiful boy. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Same-Same-Same As Almost Always

The house next door is coming up for sale and I wonder how that's going to turn out. The last people who lived there before the current owner, went upside down on their loan which they'd gotten during that horrible time when companies were begging for your business whether you had any money for a mortgage or not and they tried and tried to sell. Never could. I think they just ended up handing it over to the bank or whoever owned the mortgage by then, and moving on. 
It stayed empty for a very long time and it made me so sad because it's a fine house, not too big, not too small. The guy who ended up buying it started out so very gung-ho about living in Lloyd. He had many plans for the yard and possibly the house. I'm not sure. He did a lot of restoration with his father, I gather. He had ideas about getting rid of invasive plants and doing aquaculture and all kinds of other things on his small lot and these projects did see the light of day but I don't think any of them ever made it to fruition. 

I hear that now his girlfriend doesn't want to live so far from where she works in town so I guess it's their turn to move on. I'm sure he views me as the cranky old woman who lives next door and I don't blame him. After I welcomed him to the neighborhood, I proceeded to give him a rousing verbal beating for taking out one of my favorite camellias ever. He protested that: 
A. He wanted to concentrate on native plants in his yard, and
B. His mother actually cut it down. 

Harumph. Obviously I am still not over that. 

The other thing I did that no doubt pushed him over the edge when it came to me was when I went over one day and beat on his door when his band was practicing to ask him to please turn it down because I couldn't even think on my back porch because it was so loud. Or to at least shut the windows on the side of the house where they were practicing. 
I hated doing that. I've been around musicians practicing my entire adult life and I know how important it is and I hate beyond reason being such a bitch about such a cliched old-person complaint but I'd tolerated it as long as I could and then some before I walked over there and made my plea. 
He thanked me for not calling the police which shamed me terribly. I would NEVER do that as a first action when it comes to loud music. 
Anyway, he's actually been a good neighbor and I just wonder what the next neighbor will be like. 
Lis has always wanted that house. I think she's possibly wanted it since before we bought this one. What I wouldn't give to have her and Lon living there! But I don't think they'd leave Gatorbone in reality. Lis has come up with some grand schemes for us to buy it and turn it into an AirBnB but that sounds like way too much work for me. And do people really want to stay in a tiny village with no place to eat except for a Subway down near the interstate and a train track that goes through the backyard? 
Well, actually it goes through our backyard which is behind that backyard because our property is an oddly shaped T with arms that stretch behind that house and the church next door on the other side. 
Whatever. 
I cannot see running any sort of lodging establishment in my future. 

Anyway, that's the big news here. I got the hen house cleaned out and some weeding and more thinning done and then...it began to rain! 
Glory, glory. 

I'm beginning to wonder if my husband is ever coming home. I suppose he is. He hasn't come up with a return-date yet. I hope it's this year. I miss him. I mean, everything's fine. And I really want him to enjoy that part of his life- the being-outside-with-other-guys part of his life that he loves so much, that brings so much joy to him. 

Well, here's a loaf of bread I'm baking. 

And three nice eggs in a nest. 

And lastly, a hen in a tree. 

I know. Terrible picture. Hard to see. But that's my dear Bella, the only hen in that last clutch of hatched eggs. She still refuses to go to bed in the roost with the rest of the chickens. I don't think she ever will feel comfortable enough to sleep with them. 

Which makes me very sad. 

Stay tuned for my possible report tomorrow evening. I MAY be going Christmas shopping with Lily. 

Hoo-boy. 

Love...Ms. Moon

A Tiny Trip Out Into The World

I took that photo this morning when I went to let the chickens out of the coop. The light was filtering through the air so beautifully that I had to at least try to catch it and I'm not displeased with how it came out. 

It's been a good day but I am filled with a certain sense of melancholy here at the end of it. I very much enjoyed my lunch with Liz, and Jessie got to come and join us. Both Jessie and my daughter May have lived with Liz at different points in their lives. She is beloved by all of my children. She was even with me when I had Jessie. There is no one like her. She's been all over the place in the last year. Her mother is from England- was a war bride- and Liz took her over last summer and helped her in her garden and her cottage. Before that, she'd nursed and tended her after a broken hip. As she was relating adventures with Mom Care, I turned to Jessie and said, "Are you taking notes?"
Ooh boy. 
The Tom Kha Gai soup was absolutely delicious and I drank every molecule of it. I also got a salad and it was good too but nothing compared to the soup. I have got to start making my own. I should start growing lemongrass again which I did in the yard of the last house we lived in before this one. The only problem with it was that it got huge! It became far more of a dramatic ornamental plant than an herb. But it was growing in direct sun which it definitely would not be here in Lloyd. 

After lunch I went to Publix and then stopped into Costco briefly where I couldn't find the things I wanted and didn't feel like wandering the aisles aimlessly so I took my grape tomatoes and checked out and left and drove home. I was tired by that time. And, as I said, a bit melancholy. I think perhaps that I am becoming a little too used to being alone which is not really good for me. I noticed at lunch and while shopping that I was doing some dissociation and had to work hard to keep my mind in my head and connecting with what was being said and was going on. I think I was a little quiet. Maybe not. And it's ridiculous to be that stressed out, eating lunch with one of my oldest friends and with my daughter. It's a strange thing, a strange experience. The more I silently advise myself to "be normal," "pay attention," the more I think about the fact that I am not being normal or paying enough attention. Which only makes things worse and I begin to feel like an alien in human skin. But I knew that it was okay, that Liz and Jessie do love me, even if I have lost every social skill I ever had which were never abundant to begin with. 

Shopping was the same. Feeling as if I was up somewhere near the ceiling, unsure of what in hell I was doing there, but I clutched my list and my pen and checked things off as I went in Publix, and in Costco, I just could not concentrate but that's okay. I know it really is. We will live without maple syrup or pecans in the pantry to replace the ones we are about to run out of. 

A little while ago the setting sun painted the sky to the west that intense red-gold pink that somehow the iPhone camera just cannot pick up but now it's dark. The chickens are in the roost and it is very quiet. A few frogs are chirping behind the railroad tracks, begging for rain, I am sure. We are in need of it. 

And please know that I am not lonely. I am quite content. This is just all part of who I am and I am way past the point of worrying about it overmuch. Tomorrow I need to clean out the chicken coop, take the trash, stop by the post office, and do a little more weeding if I feel like that. I have an incredible life and soon my husband will be home. Despite having to haul my mind back to reality the way one would tug on the string of a balloon, I had a wonderful time at lunch. 

All is well here in Lloyd for me. 

Love...Ms. Moon