Well, At Least The Beans Are Very Happy

That is what I ended up making last night. Shrimp and grits. There really are grits underneath that seafood goodness. Damn, it was good. We didn't end up eating until about 8:30 but who cares? 
Probably my husband. I tried to make it worth the wait though. For some reason (craziness) I always think it's going to take me far less time to make supper than it does. You'd think I'd know by now how long something is going to take. In my mind I'm thinking, "Well, shrimp just takes a minute to cook," which is true but I had to cook the grits and grate the cheese to put in them and find the Better Than Bouillon in the refrigerator which is generally a lengthy process and get that simmering and then chop and sauté  the onion and peppers and garlic and peel the shrimp and set it aside with lemon juice and Old Bay and make a broth for the shrimp sauce and this all just takes time. And it is so worth it! 
Usually.
I also made a lovely garden salad and of course that doesn't happen in an instant although once again- I always think it will. 

For tonight I planned on making hamburgers. Keeping it simple. 
And guess what Mr. Moon ate in town today? 
He NEVER orders hamburgers out. 
But of course he did today. I can remember my grandmother talking about how Granddaddy always seemed to have whatever she was cooking for supper for his lunch in town. I think this is a pretty common situation. I offered to make us something different tonight but sweet Glen assures me that he will be happy to eat another hamburger tonight. I'm sure almost anything will please him after martinis are involved.

It's rained on and off all day long so I've stayed inside. I got out my ironing board and my sewing machine and after considering the length of the fabric I bought yesterday, I decided it was perfect as it was. 

I ironed a hem all around the edges and then stitched it all up and the whole thing did not take an hour. I do believe this was the first project I've ever done in which I didn't screw up something like sewing a hem on the wrong side of the cloth or something. I mean, it was stupid-simple but I have a history of even being able to fuck things like that up. But no, I wound a bobbin and threaded the machine and it ran like it was made yesterday instead of seventy years ago and...voila! 
I was going to wash the fabric before I did the sewing but I forgot to put it in with the sheets so I washed it afterwards instead with a load of towels and now it is even softer. 
I sure hope the man can sleep under it comfortably. He's had a hell of a week, working on car-related things, helping a friend, renewing his dealer's license (for selling cars), helping Lily find a house, and I don't even know what all. He even came home today with a truckload of compost. The man does not know how to slow down and he doesn't quit until his list has been completed. 
Meanwhile, I was freaking out because there were things I needed at Publix and I did not WANT to go to Publix. Not one bit. So I decided to just go to the evil and horribly unpleasant GDDG and see if I could find what I needed there. 
And by golly, I did. Well, almost, but they had everything I really needed. That place surprises me sometimes. I even found a card for Gibson whose little party is tomorrow that says, "Happy 12th Birthday, Grandson!" 
Perfect. 
And...

Publix does not carry flower seeds or any seeds at all and if they did, they'd cost more than fifty cents a package. 

So that was very good. 

Here's some pictures of southern blue flag irises that are blooming. 

Glorious geometry in shades of blue and purple, yellow and white. They remind me of kaleidoscopes. Now if those took over the yard, I would not be too upset. 

The tung tree. Not a great picture at all as it was taken in the rain and gloom but you can get an idea of how fully and quickly the flowers have opened. It's already dropping petals. 

I am not sure why but the news about Princess Catherine has saddened me. I suppose it's just the fact that any mother of young children who has to deal with something this difficult is hard to hear. I wish her only the best and if anyone has a shot at the best treatment in the world, it would be her, and of course there are probably hundreds of thousands of young mothers who are given similar diagnoses yearly who don't have the resources she does but Catherine gives a face to this disease and its effect on families and reminds us that cancer does not discriminate. And the fact that her father-in-law, the King of England, is also being treated for cancer is only a further reminder. 

***********

I have suggested to Mr. Moon that I make sloppy joes with the ground beef rather than hamburgers and he said that would be nice. So I best get to it. 

Martinis have been made, the sheets on the bed are clean and neat and here we are. 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

P.S. Lily just received notice that her divorce is finally final. She is once again Lillian Rose Moon. She wanted her name back and she got it. This has been a long and difficult journey but all is now well and she is a Moon girl, again. 

HOURS In Town. I Am Barely Conscious Now

Since the Bradford pears got taken out, I have a more direct view of this oak which grows on the backside of our yard by the railroad track. I love its color right now, especially contrasted with the blue of the clear morning sky. Every morning I think of Ross and I look up and there it is. 

I met Jessie in town today. We went to Costco and got a few things and saw Ms. Brenda. Always a joy. And then we went to lunch at a Mediterranean place we've never been to before. We were not overly impressed. It was okay but they are not going to be putting our beloved Pitaria or Sahara out of business. We went there because it was close to a nursery and we both wanted to get some plants. But before we went there, we went to Joanne's Fabric across the road from the restaurant where I got some cotton gauze to make Mr. Moon a new cover. 

Yes. Cotton gauze. And if that doesn't work, he's on his own. I will hem up the sides and bottom and top and hope it pleases him. I showed it to him and he said that he thought it would be perfect but was a little sad that it didn't have cowboys on it. Ah well, he'll have to deal with the manly stripes. 

Jessie also helped me pick out the fabric for Levon's name blanket. 

The backing will be the sage green stuff, his name will be spelled out with the red flannel, and the print will be in there somewhere as will the yellow. I need to get out my old Singer and get to it. 
I was rude to the woman cutting fabric. I didn't mean to be but I swear- as I get older, words just pop out of my mouth before I can think. In this case, Jessie and I were discussing going to the nursery and I said that I was really pushing it, just having been out this long and might wait and go tomorrow and the woman said, "Oh no! You have to go to the nursery and get some sun!" 
And then my evil mouth said, "Honey, I spend most of my time outside in the sun. That is not the issue." 
And then I felt terrible because just as "Bless your heart" can mean so many things from the most sincere and loving to the most sarcastic and definitely not loving, the word "Honey" can cover a lot of ground in how it is said. 
I can say to one of my kids or my husband or my grandkids or a dear friend, "Oh, honey, I am so sorry," and that is real and it is a sweet (no pun intended) endearment. I use it that way frequently. Or- "Honey! I am so proud of you!" Or "Honey, would you mind taking the trash?" Or even, "You know, honey, I'm not sure that's a good idea." 
But when you call someone you do not know by that word it is generally not an endearment. It is, quite frankly, way too obviously condescending. Like, "Oh, little girl, you have no idea what you're talking about."

So I shouldn't have done that but I did. I am not as nice as I am sure many of you think I am. 

We did go to the nursery. 

I don't like feeling rushed at the nursery. I want to wander and meander and admire and think about things and so on and so forth. As it was, we both had a timeline and went directly to the vegetables and herbs. We spent awhile looking at pepper starts. It seems to me the trend in peppers is to grow the hottest ones that nature and science can produce. Jessie and I want none of that. We saw one that was called "Death Spiral." We agreed that we had no desire to grow anything that involved a death spiral. I got bell pepper plants and an eggplant plant and some African basil and regular old Greek oregano. I also got a few squash plants and some cucumber seeds. Neither of those will do a damn thing. Everything that can kill squash and cucumbers lives here in our dirt and in our yard. But we always try. 

Again, the radiology place did not call me. I will call tomorrow to see what's going on. My stone did make itself known today. Not horribly, just noticeably. Just- "Hey! I'm still here! Did you forget me?"

I'm thawing out some shrimp and really have no idea what I'm going to do with it for our supper. I had plans for it but got home so late that I don't have time. Ah well. Boiled shrimp with cocktail sauce and a salad is a fine supper. That may be what we have. We are in no real danger of starving. 

Oh! Mr. Moon sent me a video the other day. I can't embed it but I think that if you go HERE you can watch it. It's about what sort of cat you should get if you want to be treated like shit. Maurice is well-represented. She just tried to puncture my very thin skin with her very sharp teeth because I was trying to get my phone out from under her. She did actually bite Glen this morning because he annoyed her when he typed something on his laptop while she was on his lap. 

We carry on. She is our darling. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Celebrating Spring And Celebrating Gibson

I went upstairs this morning to get some old sheets that I knew were up there to see if one would do as a new cover for Mr. Moon. I found the sheets and some old stained pillowcases, two mattress pads for an extra-long twin bed which I suppose Jessie had used when she lived in a dorm in college, and...Jack. 
There's a closet at the head of the stairs and one of the doors was not entirely shut and I guess this is one of his hiding places for when life just gets too stressful. He was as surprised to see me as I was to see him. I can't believe that cat even goes upstairs, seeing as he was accidentally shut into one of the bedrooms up there for over two weeks once. We thought surely he was dead. It finally occurred to me that possibly he'd gotten locked in upstairs and Jessie went up to check because I was too scared, thinking that if he had been in that bedroom for that long there was no way he could be alive, but she came trotting back down the stairs in a few minutes with Jack following right behind, tail up in the air, sassy as you please. He did go straight to the food and water but he didn't appear to have suffered overmuch. I guess he ate rodents and roaches all that time. He didn't appear traumatized either. 
That whole nine lives thing is no joke. 

I still haven't heard from the radiology place and I guess I need to call someone and see what's up. The fact that I have been in no discomfort today at all has me feeling a bit less anxious about the whole situation. Is it possible that my very own kidney stone is gaslighting me? 

I spent most of the day outside and again, it's been gorgeous. A little warmer than yesterday but not hot. I worked in the kitchen bed again, pulling the damn border grass and chenille plant and a sticky vine and other assorted pain-in-the-ass plants. The bananas, which sent up tiny sprouts just a few days ago, are already making leaves. 

Maurice came to help. 
After I'd pulled all I was willing to pull, I planted a basil plant and a rosemary plant and watered them well. I give them about a 12% chance of making it. 

Then I moved back over to the little yard behind the old kitchen. That whole area is a big mess. 

Slowly I am creating less-of-a-mess. 

Maurice helped there, too. 

Such a fine cat she is. 

I found a few bamboo in the camellia bed and kicked them with vigorous satisfaction. I need to do another complete round of seeking and kicking tomorrow or the next day. 

So it's been a good day but the really best and most special part of today is that it is our Gibson's twelfth birthday. 
How can this be? 

Oh, what a joy that boy has been from the very moment of his birth. 

If you want to read about the day he was born, you can go HERE. 

What a beautiful birth it was. As I may have said before, Lily is truly a goddess. 

It's so hard to believe that this happened twelve years ago. I know that some of you have been reading here since before Owen was born and remember Gibson's birth, as well. You have been here to watch them grow from infants to toddlers, to kids who can walk and talk and dance and have conversations to the big kids they are now. 

Happy birthday, to our Gibson Boy who is the sweetest sweet pea of them all and who thinks very deep thoughts and who is going to be a very fine man. And a tall one, too. 

We love you so and are so happy that you are a part of our lives, this world, our family. We celebrate you.

Love...Ms. Moon

A Sort Of Epiphany

 Bluest of skies, most lavender of wisteria, sweetest of sunshine. 

Sigh. 

A beautiful day and cool to boot. 

I slept forever last night and then this morning, just luxuriated under the warm covers with Jack snuggled up to me. It was too pleasurable to get out of bed although finally, I did.
While I was lazing and listening to the birds singing outside I had a memory and it may explain something- my almost near inability to be lazy without feeling guilty. 
The memory was of my stepfather (aka, the asshole) who, if he felt I was not using my time wisely, would find me and tell me to go help my mother. This infuriated me. I was usually reading when this happened, in my room, and his presence in my room at any time was something I would do almost anything to prevent. Also, he did NOTHING around the house while I helped my mother constantly with my baby brothers with everything from feeding, changing, and bathing them, to sterilizing bottles and getting them to sleep. I also cooked some and helped in the kitchen. I ran, I fetched, I did what was needed. 
I was the very best girl. 
Meanwhile, I doubt that man ever changed a diaper once. I know he never did a load of clothes or swept a floor or washed a dish or cooked anything except for sometimes making an omelet which seemed to be the entire extent of his culinary skills. And as soon as my brother and I were old enough to see over the handle of a lawn mower, we did the mowing. I had so many reasons to hate that man but this was one of them. I can remember thinking to myself, "Hey! These are your babies, not mine!" but of course I never said a word. I was terrified of him. It was not unknown for him to spank me even into my mid-teens. 
My fury would rise within me when he told me to quit whatever I was doing and go help to the point where I felt murderous. And...probably made me overly aware of "wasting" my time with trivial pursuits like reading when I should be doing something useful like relieving the burden of his wife. 

So this morning, as I lay in bed, feeling a little guilty as usual, I remembered all this and I realized that my husband was not about to judge me for lazing about for a few minutes, and honestly, did not care. I could stay in bed all day and he would not chastise me. No one I love or care about would! 
I am pondering this now, being amazed once again how things that happened so very long ago have influenced my life so profoundly. 
Of course I have to add my grandfather into this equation. Anyone who slept until 7:00 a.m. was a useless sluggard in his opinion although he never really said anything about it. It was just assumed that good people don't sleep late. But somehow, that was different. He grew up on a farm and I'm sure he milked the cows at six every morning from the time he was seven years old until he finally left Pennsylvania to go to cabinetry school in New York. 

***********

We almost had a semi-tragedy here today. I have been noticing for a few days, at least, that when the heater came on and I was on the porch next to it, I could smell gas. We use propane and have a tank. I was also smelling gas when I turned on my oven. Not so bad, but...it was there. And then today, the gas smell with the heater was bad and finally, the heater quit working. 
Now. Did I put two and two together? No. I did not. But I did tell my husband and he called the heating repair guy who came out and cleaned the burners of the heater/AC unit, and it still wasn't working and told me that he didn't think the heater was getting enough gas to keep the burners lit and asked me to go check the flame on my stove and it was very low. 
Huh. 
Did we have a gas leak? Or...were we simply out of gas? 
Our gas company, which has us on a schedule, has changed hands and although nothing has really changed except for the name, they did not carry over all the clients' schedules and we have not thought to check our gas meter lately. 
Guess what? The gauge read Zero Percent. 
It was already getting on in the afternoon when this all came to light and Mr. Moon was in town getting business done but he called the gas company because it's supposed to get down into the thirties tonight and I was freaking out a little because we are Floridians and could quite possibly die of exposure in an unheated house in those temperatures. 

But then...

Beep-beep-beep! 
Sweetest sound in the world. 

My main take-away from all of this is how absolutely pleasant the repair and gas-people were. I mean... just sweet. Of course by the time the heater repair man left I knew how many children he had and their ages and funny things that they've said and that his wife owns her own hair salon, and, and, and...
I AM nosy but really, I am interested. 
Tell me your story and I'm a happy woman. 

Meanwhile, Mr. Moon worked his ass off all day long, dealing with everything from licensing for his business to cleaning up behind Moon Plaza where a lot of assorted trash has ended up, to going to see another house that Lily might be interested in, to helping our friend Tom with an automobile issue, to picking up a prescription of mine. 
I mostly answered questions today from the people helping me including Candie, the cleaner-sweetie, and the repair and gas people. I did a little more clearing of the bed beside the kitchen and, uh, that's about it. 
And I don't feel guilty. 

Off to go heat up St. Patrick's Day dinner. I was afraid for a little while that not only would I not have heat tonight but would not have a functioning stove either. I could have used the microwave to heat up the leftovers which would have been fine, and I'm sure we would not really have died from the cold but boy, am glad that we don't have to make certain of that. Especially the dying part. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Is It Too Early To Go To Bed?

 It's been a weird day. 

I did not sleep much last night. I guess I was anxious about this morning's appointment. And just the whole kidney stone situation in general. My side started aching in the early morning hours, but not too bad. Just enough to remind me of why I was going to the doctor. 

I wasn't in the doctor's office long at all. When he came into the room, I said, "I bet you're sick and tired of me," and after he shook my hand he protested that no, no, of course he wasn't and then proceeded to tell me that my urine was pristine, with no blood in it so I believe that led him to think that my stone isn't really moving at all. I described my symptoms and he nodded sagely and then asked if perhaps it was just that my back was hurting and I told him that no, it was not, I remember exactly what this feels like and also that I'd had some nausea and he agreed that nausea very often accompanies a stone on the move. He asked me if I needed anything for pain and I told him that no, no, I'm not having THAT kind of pain and that is what I'm trying to avoid. He was ready to whip out that prescription pad and I do appreciate that even though I know that pain meds are over-prescribed or sometimes, alternately, under-prescribed. But I was being truthful. I am definitely not in that sort of pain. 
He offered the theory that perhaps a small piece had separated from the mother stone, shall we say, and I passed that. Frankly, I don't think so. But he could be right. He has a lot more experience and knowledge about all of this than I do.  

So he's sending me for a CT scan and they have to call me from the radiology place to set up an appointment and I hope it's soon. The doctor will call me with results. I don't want to think about this stuff anymore. 

I was texting with a friend today and she said something about how we never expected all the things that would come our way when we got older. I told her that I definitely agreed with that and I am NOT aging like a fine wine, but in fact, I am aging like a bottle of Ripple. 

Any of y'all remember Ripple? 

It was Fred Sanford's drink of choice. And how many of you remember Fred Sanford? 

I was planning on staying in town and doing my shopping and then meeting Glen for lunch and going to see a house Lily was looking at after that. I did my shopping and I had lunch with my husband but then I decided to come home. I was tired and operating on anxiety-brain which meant that I was not exactly sharp if you know what I mean. I probably shouldn't have even been driving. 

I did have a small high point today, though. Glen and I went to Chow Time and I finally tried the seafood soup they serve there which is basically a spicy broth with large, unpeeled head-on shrimps and tomatoes and peppers in it. 
Y'all- it was good. I think that my beloved hot and sour soup may have to take second place to this stuff. 

A little while ago Jessie and the boys came out to return the the things they borrowed for camping and it was great to see them. The first thing those boys did was to start talking about Pokemon. They, like Owen and Gibson before them, are completely convinced that something will flip in me and that I will suddenly understand their obsession with these creatures and want to learn all about them and boy, do they want to teach me. 
What is it about Pokemon? 
I listen and nod my head and try to change the subject. At one point, Levon had to run back out to the truck to get a book about them to show me his favorite Pokemon whom I think is called Mega MewDew X. 
Nope. I just looked it up. It's Mega MewTwo X. 
And I will remember that for approximately five minutes at which time my poor, overloaded brain will completely wipe it off the old hard drive. 

But I was glad to see them. They reported that they'd had a very good time camping and showed me their no-see'ums bug bites. I snapped a few pictures. 

Levon had a top that he was spinning. 

August was contorting his long, skinny, strong arms and he wanted me to take his picture from the side so that I could see that his feet were not on the ground but on the tiny ridge of the bottom of the kitchen island. This was a feat of agility and strength. As you can clearly see. 

He also insisted I take one from the back and he was quite pleased with how it turned out. 

Oh, my little boys. How I love them. 

Of course seeing them was the real highlight of the day. 

The tung blossoms are exploding and almost overnight the tung trees on the interstate are gracing us with their flower-clouds. I wonder how many people traveling that highway even notice? Not many, I'm sure. 

Here's a photo that I saw on Facebook this morning and had to save. 

That is Dog Island in the middle. Our house is in the wide part in the belly, so to speak, right on the bay. The island below is part of St. George Island, and across from them is Carrabelle, Tate's Hell, and East Point. 

That is Florida. Heaven and Hell in one photo. 

When I was in town today, stopped at a red light, I took this picture.

As my friend said when I sent her the photo, "I'm going to Del Taco but thanks for asking, Random Sign."

That made me laugh for sure. 

I kicked bamboo a little while ago. That shit is getting serious. 

Life in Lloyd.

Love...Ms. Moon

NSV (Not Suitable For Vegetarians) I'm Sorry

How many of y'all remember Hints from Heloise? Anybody? It was one of those regular syndicated columns in the newspaper like Dear Abby or Ann Landers or the Daily Horoscope. It was always in the section of the paper where the women's news was. You know- recipes, articles on flower arranging, marriages, births, etc. 
Anyway, Heloise's column was filled with household hints. I read her every day as a child because I read everything I could get my hands on as I was reading-material starved. People would write in with their household hints which we would probably call "hacks" now. Ways to do things around the old homeplace that you might not think of. Heavy on the cleaning side of things. Ways to make the housewife's life easier. Mostly I remember a spell of time when everyone was writing in about things you could do with nylon net. All I remember about that was using it to make a scrubber for cleaning the dishes. 
But I'm sure that a lot of good ideas came through that little column and I sort of miss it. Don't we all need a Heloise in our life? 
So here's my Heloise hint for today. 
See that avocado on top of that salad up there? I can't even tell you how old that avocado was. Weeks? At least. Maybe a month. Maybe more. And it is beautiful, isn't it? Perfectly ripe, but not overly so. 
What I've discovered is that if you put an avocado in the refrigerator that's the tiniest short of being soft, it will last for a very long time. That's all- just put it in the refrigerator. 
I discovered this from buying avocados at Costco. You can get like five organic avocados there for six bucks or something but most of us probably don't use up that many avocados in the time that it would take some of them to get overripe. I mean, some people probably eat an avocado a day, at least, but I'm not one of them. So I was wasting a lot of avocados until I learned, mostly by accident, about refrigerating them. I was stunned! 
You will be too! 
I am using a lot of exclamation points on purpose to share my enthusiasm about this great avocado hack! 

It takes so little to excite me. 

I have my corned beef simmering away in a pot. I really do not have any emotional attachment to St. Patrick's Day. I think I am probably at least some percentage Irish but whatever. In case you haven't noticed, I'm not much of a nationalist. Yesterday when Glen and I were driving around looking for that house, we passed this...thing...that was built of wood that had at least a dozen smallish American flags flying from it. 
"Huh," I said. "Guess we're in America."
This thing wasn't even in someone's yard. It was on the shoulder of the road. A paved road. 
But here's what I do very much like about St. Patrick's Day- it gives me an excuse to cook a corned beef with cabbage. I love corned beef, even (and this is gross) the canned stuff. I NEVER eat that any more but I would if I thought I could get away with it. A good corned beef hash made with that meatlike substance is hard to beat. Throw a couple of eggs on it and you've got heaven in a skillet. 
But no, this is the real kind of corned beef, or at least the sort you buy in the package that has slimy blood all around it along with a tiny packet of spices. I've got mine simmering on the stove now and will be adding the potatoes and onions and carrots and turnips and cabbage in a little while. 

Those are some gnarly root vegetables, aren't they? My carrots are just disappointing this year. They usually do so well in my garden but this year they've either not grown much at all or else split before they got big. The turnips have done much better. Mr. Moon is not fond of cooked carrots, in fact, they rate right up there with canned peas in his estimation. And he doesn't jump with joy for turnips either. I make him sound so picky and really, he's not. He's like all of us. He likes what he likes and doesn't like what he doesn't like. It's not a character issue. It's just personal taste. 

I tell you what he DOES love, though, and which I also make for St. Patrick's Day and that's Irish soda bread. He loves it. Who doesn't? 

So it all evens out. 

Here's a picture for you. 

Can you see the tiny anole? What great camouflage. He or she was hiding in the pea  vines. It was so small I can't believe I saw it at all. I took the picture blind because the sun was shining was shining so brightly. I was picking peas AGAIN. That two rows of sugar snaps has given us a nice bounty this year. Vergil's father, who is a practitioner of biodynamic farming, suggested to Jessie and Vergil that instead of pulling up their pea plants, they should just snip them at the ground, leaving the roots behind. I had known that peas are nitrogen fixers for the soil, but I did not realize that leaving the roots encourages this process. So I am going to do that too this year. 

It's been a quiet day here, nothing out of the ordinary. Not too hot, but certainly not chilly. Supposed to rain tonight and start getting cooler tomorrow. I'm going to go see the urologist at 10:45 tomorrow morning and then I'll probably be going to the radiology place to get another look at that stone. It has not bothered me much today, although I may just be getting used to my back aching. Of course I'm second-guessing myself AGAIN about lithotripsy. 
I'm sorry. I'll shut up about it. 

Here's a picture of the very healthy-looking buckeye volunteer coming up in the bed beneath the giant live oak in the front yard. I am at the point in my life where something like this thrills me, as does a new shoot on a slow-growing houseplant. 
As I said, it takes very little to excite me. 

Perhaps I should buy some nylon net and see what I can do with it. 
If that happens, I'll be sure to share. 
Meanwhile, do you have a favorite household hint? I'd love to hear it. 

Love...Ms. Moon

What's It All Mean, Mr. Natural? Part Bazillion

An attempt at wrens' nest building in our bedroom. I discovered that the screen was not entirely closed. Poor birds. All that work. 

***********

I felt flat-out crazy this morning. Crazy as a betsy-bug as my mother-in-law used to say. I could not stop crying. And then Mr. Moon sent me a link to a house he sort of wanted to look at and I opened it up and got furious because it's on a lake that I've told him a million times I'm not really interested in living on but which he's told me a million times that he really is interested in having a house on. 
The deal is, after we sell the Dog Island property, we have to reinvest the money in more real estate within 45 days or we'll be taxed like a billion percent. 
Okay, I am using some hyperbole here today. I told you I was crazy. 
So he's going through some emotional trauma about letting the island property go (as am I) and he's also in a bit of a panic to figure out where to put this money. And I understand this, every iota of it, and I understand that he has always wanted a place on a lake with a dock so that he can fish to his heart's content and the grandkids can fish too. 

Understanding does not mean complete acceptance though. 
We had a bit of a spat. Rare for us. And I couldn't stop with the crying and I felt like I had a demon in me and y'all- that's just not a good way to feel.
To make a long story short we made up sweetly and I told him I'd go look at it with him and we drove about forty-five minutes to where the house was and unbeknownst to me, not only was there no way for us to get in, but also every blind in every window was snapped as shut as a turtle's mouth on a junebug. 
He'd called the realtor who'd given him instructions on opening the gate but that was it. 
The lot was nice. Some citrus trees, cedar trees, magnolias, crepe myrtle. But the dock wasn't as fine as I think my husband had hoped and it was also shared with a close neighbor. Physically close, of course. We don't know them.

I mostly sat in a swing overlooking a small part of the lake and contemplated the meaning of life. 

The pictures of the house I'd seen online did not do much for me. But...I'd been willing to give it a look. Since that was impossible, we left fairly soon to go find lunch. There was exactly one restaurant in the area and it was called "Country Boys." The interior looked about what I had expected it would. 

Fluorescent lights, a picture of boats (in this case, oyster boats looking towards the bridge to Apalachicola) and a paddle on the wall. When we got there, there were only the people you see in that picture. It was about 1:45. The menu was typical for the area- fish and shrimp and oysters and hamburgers and and chicken sandwiches. Etc. 
Our server was a woman who was probably younger than me but not by much. The way she walked told me she has spent a lot of time on her feet in her life and she is probably in pain most of the time. Her grandson works in the kitchen and there were two other women who had no doubt gone to the same hair stylist as she had. 
As she walked away from our table, I realized she was wearing a shirt that said, on the back, "Respect everyone's differences. Work together, not apart." And there was a graphic of hands of different colors grasped together in a circle.
Not what I expected. 
By the time we got our food we knew a lot about her including the fact that her husband died two years ago and since then she probably hasn't cooked two meals. Also, her son is a fireman. 

The food was fine and by the time we left, there were at least fifteen new customers there, most of them Black while the entire staff of the restaurant was white. There was nothing but grace and joking, ease and good food. It may sound ridiculous to even notice something like this, much less to comment on it, but I am here to tell you that I remember the days when restaurants, almost without fail, had signs that said, "We Reserve The Right To Refuse Service To Anyone."
"But what does that mean?" I'd ask my mother or my grandfather. No one ever really told me the truth of it and I wondered for years what grievous sin one had to commit to be denied entrance into a Tastee Freez. 
God, things are slow in changing but at least, they do change. 

We drove home and I went out and kicked some bamboo. It's coming up for sure. In sweeter news, the wisteria is suddenly blooming. 

There is a glory about wisteria, even though it, too, is considered invasive. The way its vines can climb up into the sky is magical to me and it's grape-like clusters of blossoms draw the bees. 

I had to check on the tung tree to see if it had started blooming yet and just a few lone flowers have opened. 

That picture is deceptive in size. The tung blossom is only a bit bigger than the small individual clusters of the bridal wreath spirea. I love these flowers with their delicate red-orange veins against the palest of peach petals. When they are in full bloom along the interstate here, they look like clouds drifted down from somewhere in the Far East and indeed, they do come from China, brought here to produce tung oil. 

I picked a bouquet of azaleas and spirea to bring into the house.

The spring-breakers have all come home safely. Here are two more pictures of their trips.

I imagine you can figure out where this was taken.

Look at all of the pristine beach that they had to themselves. Okay, sure. They had to paddle for two hours to get there and two hours to get back but I am sure they would say that it had been more than worth it. 

I am looking forward to hearing all of the stories. 

Love...Ms. Moon

 

Ignoring The World

 I believe this sums up how I have felt all day. 

That is Jack's tail. Many nights when I'm getting ready for bed, I find Jack waiting. He's probably not waiting for me so much as just already asleep on the bed. Sleeping on beds is pretty much Jack's life. 

This is fine and lovely except for the fact that I have to rearrange the bed every night because Mr. Moon cannot sleep with more than the lightest of light-weight covering. He sleeps under a sheet and what we fondly call his "blankie" which I do believe was a tablecloth at one time, washed so often that it is very, very soft. He actually has two of these. I have patched these things over and over and they are now past mending. I don't know what we're going to do. I have quite frankly been freaking out about this because those things are in tatters. They rip if he moves his feet. There are very few things this man is picky about but what he sleeps under is definitely one of the few. 
But anyway, at bedtime I have to fold back the cover on the bed or whatever it is that I'm going to sleep under, and put his pitiful cover on his side. This means that I either move Jack or else I just fold the quilt over him and let him figure it out. I mostly choose that method because he does not seem to mind that nearly as much as he minds me trying to move him. It may even be a game now. He just lays there with his head under the cover and his tail sticking out for as much time as he considers he needs to convince me and himself that this is a pleasure for him which he has chosen to enjoy. And then, he turns around and sticks his head out. 

I try not to threaten his dignity, but simply accept that this is the way of Jack. 

But yes, I haven't felt like even sticking my head out of the metaphorical covers today. I was planning on doing yard work again but I just could not make myself do it. My back does not feel very good nor does my stomach, and I suppose it could just be more kidney stone-related malaise or perhaps I am telling myself that, just as Jack tells himself that he likes his head being underneath a quilt or comforter. 

Perhaps part of my malaise is due to the news about Trump getting one delay after another in his trials. How the FUCK does this happen? Remember when Ronald Reagan was called "The Teflon President"? He had nothing on Trump who seems to be able to weasel (at least temporarily) out of everything from keeping classified documents in a bathroom to being tried for fraud involving using campaign funds to pay off the porn star he had sex with when his wife had just had a baby. But that's not the worst part to me. The worst part to me is that his groveling, ass kissing, American flag and Maga Hat wearing followers just do not care. THEY DO NOT CARE! They don't care that he rapes, cheats, steals, lies, snorts drugs like a Hoover vacuum, and can't hold a cognizant conversation. They don't care that he really does NOT know the best words or chooses the best people or that he tried to overturn an election with violence that ended in the deaths of some, or has stated quite plainly that his goal is to be a dictator and that he is well along with his plans and now pretty much owns not only the RNC but also the entire fucked-up Republican party and the Christian evangelicals are so far up his ass they breathe through his mouth. And perhaps worst of all- they choose not to understand that Donald Trump does not give one goddam shit about them. That he is no doubt laughing at them as they send in their widow's mite, convinced they are saving the world with each dollar they give. 

Oh god. I'm just so scared. I think that's it more than anything. Scared for my children, scared for my country, scared for the entire world. 

All right. All right. That's enough of that. 

Hey! Here's what the collard greens look like as they bolt:

A little like broccoli, don't you think? I'm sure we could eat those stems. Soon all those little pod-things will open up to reveal yellow flower clusters. 

And here's what my buckeye looks like. 

Can you see those yellow and red flowers? 

I try to concentrate on things like blooms and blessings, beauty and my babies. 

Mama's reading the boys Harry Potter after a long day of hiking. Reading Harry Potter to her when she was little was one of the most pleasurable things of my life. 

A sunrise, I think. Could be a sunset. I don't know which way they're facing. 

There is much to be grateful for even as there is much to be terrified about.  

Maybe a martini will help. For a little while, at least. 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon