Easter, 2025

Now you know that Ms. Maggie June had to gussie-up for Easter and she did. 

"Oh, Maggie!" I said, when she came in the door. "I have to get a picture of you right now!"

"I made my whiskers with eyeliner," she said. And she did a very, very good job of becoming an Easter bunny if you ask me. 

Ooh boy. What a day. Started early. I got up and got the ham in the oven and people were already messaging this and that and before I knew it, it was nine o'clock and Jessie and her crew rolled up and then Lily and hers. I'd gotten the green bean casserole in the oven along with the ham and the collards were having their day two simmer. I'd set out the smoked salmon, cream cheese, mustard, capers and crackers. 
Jessie and Vergil brought all the juices and bubbly waters and champagne and orange juice and cold brew coffee AND a hula hoop. 
"Well thank GOD someone brought the hula hoop!" I said. I mean, it's just not Easter without the hula hoop. Am I right? 

And then things got busy with folks getting all the eggs, both real and plastic, ready to go hide and some of the plastic ones had money in them and candy while casseroles and quiches started getting heated up and for some reason, it didn't feel there had to be any rush or craziness and even though there was a LOT of food, it was nowhere like a Thanksgiving where it seems like every surface in the house is covered in dishes and dishes and dishes. 
It felt sane. 
And happy and sweet. 

Eggs were hidden and children exploded out of the house but it's really not the same as it was when they were littles and toddlers. It grows ever more apparent to me that we have passed through so many stages that happened so quickly while we had no idea they'd be gone before we could catch a breath. I am thinking about things like that a lot these days. Not exactly in a mournful way but in a bittersweet way and I realize that by golly I better not be doing too much time-tripping or I'll completely miss the stage we're in right now. 

Owen did not hunt eggs this year. 

Fifteen years ago, he was the one and only bebe and this is what he looked like. 

My little blonde-haired boy. The prince of my heart. 
When he came into the kitchen today I began to cry. Again. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I said, as I hugged him. "I'm probably always going to do this."

And I probably will. It's not just that he's gotten so tall but that he's gotten so big. He is man-sized. Big man sized. And I know that Gibson is just about to hit that growth spurt time too. Hell, Magnolia is going to be far taller than I am. As to August and Levon- they have inordinate height genes on both sides of their family and I would not be surprised if they didn't giraffe-up themselves one of these years. 

But back to the egg hunt- Jessie told the kids to act like they'd just found an egg worth a million dollars. 

And then the process of peeling and deviling the real eggs began. Many hands made light work.

I will no doubt be going to old southern lady jail soon due to the fact that not only did I make my filling in the food processor but I FORGOT THE MUSTARD! 
I am quite certain I've been reported. And the deviled eggs were not that good which just goes to show that you need to follow the rules. Less pickles, more mustard. 
Sigh.

And then everything was done and served up and everyone got plates.

I bought paper plates this year. And plastic forks. And paper napkins. This will also be put into the O.S.L. police report, I am certain. 

But oh, the food was good. Lauren's sweet potato casserole is the best in the world, Lily's pineapple and cheese casserole was magnificent, Rachel's quiches were life-sustaining and affirming and the collards were tender, the green bean casserole delicious, and the ham was a tribute to the royal and worshipped pig and its gifts to humanity in all of its forms. 

Yep. 

We ate outside at a long table although most of the kids ate on a quilt beside us. There was hot sauce and chili crisp and pepper vinegar and their milder cousins, the mustards and butters, salt and pepper on the table which all got passed. 

It was just an outstanding day and the cherry on top of the cowgirl was that those kidlings kicked every bamboo stalk they could find. 
There were times when we were getting things all ready that it was so quiet and peaceful, even with five children and ten adults. We all commented on it. Are the children growing up? 
Well. Of course. But the usual chaos and clamor were not in evidence. 

And yet it was all joyful in a quiet and peaceful way.

And on top of it all, Hank fixed my relationship with Hulu/Disney on the TV and I got to spend some extra time with May and Michael whom I never see enough. 

I love my family to...the moon... and back. 

The boy who made me a mother and the boy who made me a grandmother. 
Still and always my babies. 

And then, when everyone had gone home with leftovers and many hugs and many kisses, I finished up the tiny bit of the kitchen that needed doing (hurray for paper plates!) and laid down "for just a minute" and woke up an hour and a half later when Maurice came into the bedroom meowing to tell me that it was way past time for her afternoon treat and besides that- WHAT IN HELL WAS I DOING IN BED? WAS I DYING?

Mr. Moon is out in the garden making it the prettiest garden I've ever been associated with in my life. 

Oh. And let us not forget that it is also 4/20 today which was also celebrated by a few, a little way from the house, under the mulberry tree. 
Perhaps that is why our celebration was so very peaceful. 

Or at least, contributed to that peace anyway. 

Thank you to Rachel and Jessie for most of the pictures and thank you to all of my children and to my sweet man without whom this would not be my reality.

Love is all there is. 

I am so lucky. 

Love...Ms. Moon

 

Transubstantiate This, Y'all

Here she is, my friends. I am thinking she will still be beautiful tomorrow and that will be all of the sanctified holiness I'll need for Easter. 

Traditionally, I write a post with my thoughts about religion in it for Easter and specifically how ridiculous and unnecessary I find the whole crucifixion story and when I say "story" I mean "myth." 

You know what? I don't feel like it today. I'm tired. I've had an emotional day and I've been busy too. No one cares what I think about the Easter story and/or sin and/or redemption and/or the ridiculousness of believing that a guy died for our sins which I don't believe in anyway, and that he got put in a tomb and then he came back to life although even his mother did not recognize him at first, and then he arose to heaven where he's hanging out now with his father who is god although Jesus is god too and we're not sure what the holy ghost is but it plays some role in the system which is important. 
Trust us. 
Yeah. 
No.

I got my okra planted today and pulled a few weeds and trimmed up and pulled some of the kale. Then I came inside to get some of the preparation for tomorrow done but before I'd really started, an old friend of ours showed up to bring over a truck and an RV that she needs to sell because her husband recently died. Don't worry. This didn't come out of the blue. She'd talked to Glen and asked him to sell them for her and he said he would. I know that he would do anything to help her and it was so good to see her and at the same time, so hard. She lost her man, her life partner. And I think about how that would feel so often, probably too often, and plead with all the powers that be to let me go first. 
We hugged hard when she left and of course I cried, as did she. For her, for me, for all of us humans who are going to invariably die and leave loved ones behind and especially, for those left behind to mourn. 
"Death. Where is thy sting?" asked Paul, who truly seemed to believe that if we follow the rules he says that Jesus laid down, we will live forever "in Christ" whatever that means and I'm here to say I can't imagine living forever and I don't want to, either. 
I mean, I suppose Christ could be endlessly entertaining but still. Eternity is a long fucking time. 

But look! The bread she is risen. 
And over risen. Dang. That's the challah I've made for tomorrow. I am not a good braider of bread and I have no idea why the loaf got so very puffed up with itself that the braid came undone and split apart. 
Oh well. It'll taste good.

Better than that stuff they serve you in church called the host. Which good Catholics truly believe turns into the flesh of poor Jesus when it goes down their gullets. If, that is, it has been consecrated by the priest. 

Oh look. I wrote about religion. And now I'm even tireder. 

I'm done for now. I promise.

Love...Ms. Moon

You Know I Have To Say This: Happy Day They Crucified My Lord!

I never think that things are going to take as long as they do. Now, my husband is far worse than I am when it comes to time estimates but I'm pretty bad. Also, I have to throw laziness in there for me. And the but-firsts, wherein you're going to do something but first you have to do something else like when you go to make the bed but first you have to convince the cat to nap elsewhere.
Okay, it's usually more involved than that. 
But this morning I woke up, and Glen was already up and out of the house to head to the river to fish. And I didn't sleep crazy late or anything because I really had planned to get a few things done in the garden and go take a walk before it got too hot and then go to Publix and then get some of the Easter cooking done. 
Well, you know how that goes.

I did not get my okra planted, which is one of the things I'd really wanted to do. Yesterday Mr. Moon made me beautiful straight rows to plant the seeds in but they remain empty of seeds. I don't know why I'm planting okra. It is the most contrary damn plant. It draws ants like crazy which bite the hell out of you when you pick, and the leaves sort of sting you and it can be a damn mess. Also, I never seem to do very well with my okra. However, hope springs eternal and I love okra and pickled okra is about the best thing in the whole world. So why not give it another try? We have the dirt, we have seeds. Might as well.
But that point is moot today because no, I did not plant it and the only thing I did in the garden before I went to Publix was to turn on the sprinklers. I didn't take a walk either. This does not surprise me nor does it surprise you, I imagine. 
I did wash the sheets and got the bed remade so that was done. 
Then I went to Publix which was crowded with all the other people buying their ham and their Hawaiian rolls. I don't know why but I didn't buy my ham at Costco this year. I think I'm just tired of their ham. It's the only ham I eat all year, usually, and I thought I'd go for another brand so I did and it's not pre-sliced like the Costco kind so maybe it'll be moister. 
I can hear you vegetarians gagging as we speak. 
Sorry. 

When I got home I did turn off the sprinklers and pick the collards for Sunday. My collards and kale both are browning and gettin' et by bugs as we say around here. But I got plenty to cook. And this whole chore of getting the collards picked and cut up and in the pot and cooking took me at least an hour and I'd estimated I could do it in about half an hour although why, I do not know. It's not like I've never done this before. But at least they are in the pot, simmering away and after a day's rest, they will be even better on Sunday. 
I was going to get a green bean casserole ready to bake. I volunteered to make that casserole because I still have a goodly number of jars of green beans I canned last year in the pantry and if things go as they generally do with the rattlesnake beans, I'm about to be awash in fresh ones very soon. I'll do that tomorrow. There's always tomorrow, isn't there? 
No. No there is not. 
But in this case, yes there is. 

Yesterday it took me all day to do the plant-potting-swap-meet thing. I repotted my beloved seagrape that I grew from seed I picked up under the seagrapes near Wabasso beach a few years ago when we were visiting Roseland. I really hope it will survive the transplant into a bigger pot. I was so careful of it and its roots. 

In the pot it had been in, I planted two small mangos that I started from Roseland mangos when we got back from our trip down there for my birthday when we both got Covid and yet, speaking only for myself, was one of the best vacations of my life. And god, those mangos were good. Thanks, Glenn! (Our wonderful landlord down there.)

I planted three other small seagrapes that I had dug up on that trip (with Glenn's permission of course) into bigger pots than they were in

and finally, I repotted two fish tail palms that I also dug up in Roseland. I put those on the front porch rather than the kitchen porch because I think they were getting more sun than they like. 

All this talk about plants from Roseland is making homesick as hell. Which has nothing to do with anything.

Mr. Moon is home. Four nice little bream are cleaned and on ice in the refrigerator for tomorrow night's supper. Tonight we are having a veggie lasagna inspired by this post by our beloved Boud at Field and Fen. Hopefully, she is doing well in her recovery from hip replacement surgery with her usual determination and all of the skills and knowledge she has acquired from the last few weeks as she has prepared herself for the surgery. 

Here's what the swing-porch Ashe magnolia is looking like today.

I feel sure that by tomorrow, it will have unfurled fully, presenting itself to god and everyone. Including me. 

Happy Friday, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon

I Can't Begin To Understand Any Of This

I slept many, many hours last night and woke up feeling the better for it. There was no crying, there were no thoughts of my personal plan for end of life care involving heroin addiction. I felt, if not great, then at least sort of okay. Another completely gorgeous day, cool and brisk in the morning which of course is not when I took my walk but I did take one. There was a Jefferson County Sheriff in his car, slightly hidden in the yard of the Holy Ghost Revival Center, shooting radar and as I walked by, he rolled down his window. I think he was bored and wanted to chat. He was so friendly. We agreed that people can really get up to amazing speeds in the very short distance between the flashing red light at the corner and the church. In forty-five minutes he'd already made three stops. And he told me that if someone's going a few miles over the limit, he just lets them go. He was a reasonable man. His handcuffs were hanging right there by the window, to the left of his steering wheel and I found him to be very friendly, intelligent, and someone I'd gladly have a beer with. 
"Enjoy your walk!" he said as I got back on my way. I took a picture of the roses you see in the picture at top. There are many bushes of them along a fence and with the sun warming them, they filled the air with their sweet scent. 
Rather heavenly, really. 

And here's what I did not know- just as the sheriff and I were having our little visit, there was a twenty-year old FSU student whose mother was a Tallahassee sheriff's deputy, who had taken an old service revolver of hers which she legally owned, driven to campus in his Hummer, parked right by the Student Union, got out of the vehicle and began shooting. 

I had no idea. None. Until I got group text from Lily at 12:47 asking Rachel if she was at FSU and asking if there was something going on there. Rachel replied that she was not, but there was a report of an active shooter. 

What the fucking hell?

I got home and started watching live local news online and there had indeed been an active shooter and the campus was still on lockdown and details were slow to come trickling out. They were showing film from the main road by the Student Union at FSU and there were an unbelievable number of law enforcement vehicles lined up and down Mahan Drive. Tallahassee Police Department, Leon County Sheriff's Department, Florida Highway Patrol, and even the Florida Wildlife trucks were called in. And a SWAT team. I hear that federal agents were involved too. There were firetrucks and ambulances. It had been reported that ambulances had already taken at least four people to the hospital. 

And now we know what it feels like to have one of those horrible tragedies happen in our own backyard. I can't even tell you how many hours I spent in the FSU Student Union with my best friends and fellow students when I was in nursing school, discussing the world's problems, last night's date, and our upcoming tests over lunch. 

There actually was a previous shooting at FSU ten years ago. A guy shot a couple of people in the library one night. In that case, there were no deaths, although two people were wounded and it was shocking and sobering. 

And here we are. I think a shotgun was also used. Rumors were and are rampant but it would seem at this time that there were two fatalities, six wounded, and the shooter himself was shot. But survived. He was described by witnesses as driving a Hummer, looking like a "regular college dude," white, with light hair. According to some reports, he had written anti-Trump messages on social media. 
The governor asked everyone to pray for the victims. So did a lot of other people. This infuriates me. 

Everyone always wants to know why the shooter did it. What triggered such an inhuman response? 
You know what I think? I think it's pure insanity. And some sort of rage that may have never been revealed before, fueled by something that might even appear to be innocuous but for some reason took on such weight and power in a young man's brain that the only release seemed to be to kill. 
Kill people who had nothing whatsoever to do with it. 

And of course I have no more idea of how this happens than anyone in the world. 

I hear that both of the victims who died were not FSU students but I doubt that the shooter even registered this. I could, of course, be wrong. 

And we will be picking apart and parsing the facts that will be revealed and chasing theories and conspiracies and blaming the mother and probably Donald Trump Derangement Syndrome, while the one absolutely irrefutable fact, which is that without guns a shooter can't shoot people, will be ignored and belittled by the lawmakers who absolutely could help to make guns less available but will not. Will not even consider it. But boy, oh boy, will they be sending their prayers.

And these words I've just written? 
They're as useless as those prayers sent up to their Sky Daddy.

I will say this. My heart is so heavy for the families of all the victims. My heart hurts for the students who were terrorized and traumatized. And yes- my heart goes out to the Sheriff's Deputy who is the shooter's mother because I know without a doubt that she will no more ever recover from this than the the mothers whose children her son murdered. 
I have not heard one word about the shooter's father. Perhaps that will come out eventually. 

Yeah, well. So much for my mood elevation today. 

Still, there is beauty.

The inner sanctum of another Ashe magnolia bloom. 

The incredible perfection of the unfurling of a petal. 

And even still, as life on this earth can be unbelievably beautiful, as roses can perfume the air for days, as babies are being born in a hospital to parents who want nothing more than a perfect life for the perfect child they have created with their love, a man who took up a gun and senselessly shot six people and killed two others can be on an operating table while surgeons and assistants do everything within their power to save his life because that is what they do and that is what they must do. 

I do not understand how this all works. 

I never will. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Mary's Place

I want it to rain. I want it to rain hard and I want the sky to be almost dark as night and it's fine with me if thunder and lightning crash and slash the earthy air, sharp with electricity and portent. 

I want this because I want the outside to match my inside right now which is dark and disturbed and charged with what surely must be negative ions although I have no idea how that works. But no, there are no clouds whatsoever or of any color in the sky right now which is as tranquil and pastel blue as an Easter egg, left in the dye for only a minute and the trees are getting greener every second and the birds are chirping like they have no idea of the sins and horrors and terrors of the world right now and that makes sense as they are birds and do not know. 
Maybe I just wish I was a bird. If I was a bird, though, I'd probably be one of those stupid cowbirds, banging its head into a window for hours on end trying to get to something that would be of no use to me even if I could get it.  

Eh, well. 

Pottery was fine with my girls. Jessie carved on a mug she'd made and why I did not take a picture, I do not know. It is exquisite. Absolutely exquisite with plants and flowers and a bee and it's all so precise and yet so cheerful, too. And Lily worked on the bowl (or is it a vase?) she's making with coils, the way the indigenous people made them. Make them? 
It is taking perfect shape and looks good. 
Me? Ay-yi-yi. I guess I'm making a wind chime with ceramic leaves. Perhaps I will finish this project. 
After class we went to the pizzeria where May works. I always love seeing her there but it's frustrating because there we are, sitting at a table while she serves us, talking and laughing and I feel so guilty and today was especially frustrating because she had so many customers which, I know, I know, is the aim of the business but I could tell that every second she spent talking to us she felt guilty. Not a perfect situation by any means. But at least I do get to see her, to hug her. Today she and Lily discussed details about Maggie and Gibson going to work with May on the county schools' "Take Your Kid To Work Day". Last year Maggie said that this year, instead of going to work with Mom or Dad, she wanted to go to work with Aunt May, and Aunt May had said, of course! and Maggie, of course, did not forget. I am not sure how Gibson got his foot in the door too but he did. 
May said that she was planning on having the kids clean the big front windows and I said, "Good luck with that," and we all laughed. 

So yes, there has been sweetness in my day because any time that I spend with my kids is good time. But even there, in between bouts of laughing (my kids are the funniest), I teared up several times. 

This is just the way of it now.

Two other light and sweet moments:

I went to Costco to get a few things I decided I needed while I was right there anyway and saw Beautiful Brenda of the Mermaid Eyes. We hugged SO hard. And everyone who walked by her said, "Hey Brenda!" and she knew all their names and obviously, I am not the only one who loves that woman. 
And as I was leaving, a woman said to me, "Where did you get those overalls?" 
"Duluth Trading Company!" I said. She responded with such enthusiasm that I believe she may actually buy some for herself. Her husband (I assume) was trailing behind her in a motorized cart and he said to me, "Overalls! I haven't seen any of those for awhile!"
"You obviously haven't been hanging around with me," I said as I loaded my groceries into my car. I wasn't in the mood to discuss it. I suppose if I had been, I would have told him that I am famously known as the Bitch in the Overalls and that is that. 

Damn Duluth should be paying me. Or at least giving me free overalls. 

Somehow this video seems appropriate. Yeah, it's too long. No need to really watch it. But it's made me feel a little better. Springsteen suffers greatly from depression which is sort of crazy, isn't it? But when he's onstage, he is happy and when he is onstage, he is making thousands of others happy. I have certainly been one of those. 
Bless him. 

Let it rain. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Pictures And Pictures

I was desperate enough to take a walk today and I think it did help. I often wonder if the positive effects of that on my mental health are more about the body's reaction to exercise or the fact that I have an undeniable need to suffer in order to feel good about myself. 
And that says a lot about me. 
I am not proud of it. 

I got added benefits out of the walk because it's getting hot and I was soaked through with sweat by the time I got home. I only walked up to the county line and back, all on the sidewalk, and it was overcast, as you can see in that picture so it wasn't nearly as bad as it's going to get. 

I am seeing many, many blooming blackberries and I think it will be a good year for them. I love blackberries- who doesn't? But Lord, it is a pain (literally) to pick them with their thorns that rip skin and the heat that is always a factor by the time they fruit. And for some reason, snakes seem to love to hang out by the blackberries. I once saw the most beautiful indigo racer under a blackberry bush that I was just about to pick off of. They are harmless, magnificent snakes but for whatever reason (Adam and Eve, probably), my initial and immediate reaction to seeing a snake is to jump back, Jack and my body immediately goes into flight or flight until I can identify the snake and decide whether it is a threat or not (almost always, not) and even then I'm still a little shaky for awhile. 

I am seeing a few blooms on the magnolia grandifloras but as always, the branches which get the most sun are the ones to blossom first and so they are still very high up in the trees. No pictures of those yet. Soon. 

No comment. 

Here's the church next door to my house. 

The big oak tree you can see behind it is actually in our back yard. Our property is a weird T-shape and stretches behind our neighbors' house on the other side too. I think that the Holy Ghost Revival Center is a very good name for a church and from what I hear coming from their windows when they are gathered together, they have the best music. 

Drums are involved.

A few more pictures.

Blueberries of which we will probably not get a one as the squirrels and birds always get there first. 

The pink rose that grows with those deep, red, velvet ones. 

I apologize for today's post. I am okay and I have gotten a few things done. Tomorrow is pottery. But I am feeling flat, mostly, and this post reflects that. 

Mr. Moon just got home from town. He got a haircut and he looks very dapper. And handsome. 
As if being the good man he is wasn't enough. 

Sigh.

Love...Ms. Moon

 

Rules Are Rules, Dammit

That was my dump find today. It's a plant stand, and it's tiny. Only about two and a half feet tall or so. But it's cute. Not a thing wrong with it. So I brought it home and sent a picture to my kids. Lily really loves it so I'm going to pass it on to her. Meanwhile, it's sitting on the porch which I imagine is where the black dog is, trying to slip into the house to torment me. 
I am not of sound mind right now. I'm stumbling along though, doing my best. I've suffered much worse than this and that's for sure. 
Fucking depression. It so often starts when kids are young. Mine did and I had no idea what was going on. I watched my mother go through her own depressions and she had no idea what was going on with her. Times were different but I am sure that often things are the same. People do not realize they are suffering from a very real and treatable mental disorder, a disease, in fact, and that it affects every aspect of the life of anyone who has it. Also, unfortunately, the lives of those around them, who often love them the most. 
Well. 
I got a few things done around here this morning and early afternoon. Not much. I find it extremely hard to be motivated to do anything when I'm feeling like this. But I went to town this afternoon. I had a few things I needed to pick up and also, I wanted to look at purses at TJ Maxx. 
One of the things I'm feeling right now is that I am not good at being kind to myself. I love purses to the point of ridiculousness but unlike in my younger days, I do not buy new ones very often. And I am very particular and very picky about what I need in a purse. The one I use now fills all my purse requirements but I've never liked the color of the leather and yes, that's ridiculous but so what? So I stopped at TJ's before I went to Publix and there were no purses for me and I wandered around the store for awhile looking at stuff and they had some nice things including some reasonably priced Talavera planters but my stupid head just kept saying, "What's the point? What in the world is the point?" and I walked out with nothing. 
There's a Trader Joe's right next door and so I went there. So many people love Trader Joe's and I've just never really understood the appeal but I walked the aisles, a distraction, and I got some goat cheese and some feta cheese and a bag of pretzels. 
And then I went to Publix where I visited with Lily for awhile. Since she's moved to the liquor store she has more time to chat with her mama. If she's got everything shelved and stored and done all that she's supposed to do and there are no customers, we can talk. Which is so nice. Just for a few minutes. 

And now I'm home and that was that but I've forgotten to talk about my experience in the post office today. I went in to check my box and damn if there wasn't more of that Christian literature on the counter.

 I.Was. Not. Having. It.

The postmistress was in and we said hello to each other and then I went into my rant about how nothing but US Postal Service materials were supposed to be on that counter and I actually stood there and read out loud the part of the rules that are posted under glass on the wall concerning this very issue. I was almost shaking by the time I was done. I knew full well that this woman was probably a church-goer herself and I did not want to offend her but it is her job to follow these rules. I was not loud or sharp. I tried very hard to just point out the facts, as posted by the US Postal Service.
This was our new postmistress. She goes by the name of "T". She didn't even know the books were there because she stays in the back and waits on customers through what used to be the ticket master's window when the post office was a train station. And she remained totally cool and polite and didn't seem offended at all. I brought her the books and handed them over and she said as she looked through them, "I might take this one." 
I said, "That's great! And if someone had come into the post office with these books and asked you if you wanted any and gave you some, that would be fine but they left them here and that is not legal."
Finally, I tried to tie up all the loose ends by saying, "Look, this is my pet peeve and honestly, I'm just a bitch."This caused Ms. T to laugh and laugh. "I remember you!" she said. "You wear the overalls!" 
"Yes," I said. "I am the bitch who wears the overalls," and the waters became calm again, all was well and peace was restored. 
Thank god for humor.

Having single-handedly saved Lloyd from the Caped Christian Literature Crusader, I will now go cook our supper. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Once Again- Laughing And Crying

This picture is honestly a good representation of what August and Levon frequently look like. I'm not sure I've ever seen brothers get along as well as they do. They are each other's best friends and play buddies. They share remarkably well. They each think each other is hysterically funny at times. They chatter like little monkeys in the car, sitting next to each other in the back seat. When you pick them up from school, they immediately begin the conversation, telling each other what they did that day. You are nothing but their chauffeur. 

Here's another from the drunk-on-ice-cream-and-rootbeer-float series.

Oh, they're human so they can be hurt by the other if one wants to do something that doesn't involve his brother or something like that. August's love of reading has been a small division between them because he could spend all day and all night with books while Levon is more apt to want to play, to have adventures. 
They work it out. 

They were a joy to have and as you can see, Levon felt pretty all right. They took their baths and got into their sleeping attire which has nothing to do with pajamas anymore. They've outgrown that mess. They wear shorts to bed. Like real men should. Last night I told August to get his underbritches on and they both laughed themselves silly. "Underbritches? Underbritches!!??" 

It was that time of night. 

We read Chen Ping and His Magic Axe which is rather magical and a deliciously illustrated story about where selfishness and lying and greed can lead you and how goodness is rewarded. Levon fell asleep two seconds after I had finished reading it and August and I talked for a few minutes and then the light went out and he was asleep too. 

Pancakes this morning and then we forced them to turn the TV off and they played marbles and then we did some crafts and they made beautiful cards for their mama and daddy. At this point I had about run out of ideas so I decided to take them to the little playground by the library and we did that. I made us a picnic and it was quite pleasant. 

It was cool under the oak trees and while we ate our lunch, I read them elephant jokes from my phone and we laughed so hard. It occurred to me that the people whom we can laugh with, who laugh at what we laugh at, are our people. And somehow, laughing with kids, truly gut-laughing at stupid elephant jokes under an oak tree is about as good as life gets. 

Levon did not seem to be running a fever but he was still acting a little lethargic so we didn't stay too long. I had told them that if they did not talk about watching TV anymore, or ask me one more time if they could, they would probably be able to. In the car on the way home, they did their usual chattering and making up games and finally I said, "Y'all. Could you please be a little more quiet?" and they decided that they needed to play the quiet game so that I would let them watch when we got home. 
Levon laid out the rules for the game which were, "You can't say anything unless someone is killing you."
Oh my god. THAT made me laugh and laugh and laugh. 
Yes. If someone is killing you, you are allowed to talk. And I thought to myself that it's no wonder that I have such a bizarre sense of humor. I have spent my entire life around children. 

There was indeed more TV although a lot of it was the Masters which wasn't as fun as Power Rangers or whatever they like, but they agreed to it because it was TV and they cheered and clapped along with their Boppy. 

And Boppy did this for me. 

He planted my new palms in the pots I wanted to use for them. They look beautiful. 

Although those pots may not be big enough for them. They were completely root bound in their nursery pots. 

I think that the anniversary couple had a very good weekend. They looked very rested and very happy when they came to get their sons. I sent them home with chicken and dumplings and I got good hugs from the little guys before they left. Probably because I gave them each a mini-cupcake, leftover from Maggie's lunch, as a bye-bye treat. I am under no delusions. Some day those boys are going to look back at their times with me and smile deeply and their hearts will tug, but for now, they are fairly certain that my role in their life is to spoil them. Boppy's too. 
But, in a way, I guess that is a grandparent's role in life when it comes to those kiddos. 

And so it's been a good weekend but for reasons which I am not unaware of, I have been on the verge of tears all day long. As you may know by now, this is not what we would call highly unusual, but this feels different, somehow. It's like I have a splinter in a thumb and every time I touch it, it hurts and until I pull that that splinter, it's going to be there. It's going to let me be aware of its presence. And it's one of those things, those issues, I need to deal with. Of course it's never that simple. It is never like a splinter that once you pull out, is no bother any more. It's more like a deep ache that has its roots in a bone you broke as a child or an accident you suffered years and years ago. 
The original problem must be addressed or the ache will only get worse.

Ah. If these things were easy, we would all be so much happier, so much more content, so much more authentic and at peace with who we truly are. 

I am always so torn between moaning and feeling as if my feelings are of utmost importance in my world, while still knowing that my entire presence here in the time and the space of the universe is ludicrously and infinitely microscopic. 

Should I not say anything unless something is killing me? Does Levon's take on the Quiet Game apply here? 

Here's one of our favorite elephant jokes today: 

How do you raise a baby elephant? 

WITH A FORKLIFT! 

Maybe you had to be there. But honestly, I think it's a good joke. 

Love...Ms. Moon

I Wonder What We'll Have For Breakfast Tomorrow?

Yesterday when I was getting out of the car when we got home from our lunch with Maggie, I saw that the roses on the back of the pump house were blooming. I almost cried. The color of these roses is the deepest, darkest red I've ever seen. I'm pretty sure these blooms come from the rootstock of the rose which is a crazy wild-looking thing that I cannot prune enough to control it. The other roses on the vines are a pale, dainty pink. 

Every year I try to clean and weed the bed those roses are in and prune them back hard and every year they look as if I've never touched them or the ground they grow in. Also, they have thorns like the teeth of a piranha. They will cut a bitch. 

But I doubt I'd ever try to get rid of them. In their wildness they are a sort of perfection. 

We had another lunch out today at Chow Time which is where the kids chose to go. Glen and I were doing an August and Levon pick-up after they spent the night with Lily and the cuzzies. 

Here's what they looked like after lunch.

You might note that Levon looks a little under the weather. And he is. Lily called me last night to say that he'd thrown up but seemed pretty okay. We decided not to tell Jessie because what could she do? She'd just worry and feel guilty for not being with him which is ridiculous but you know how that goes. 
Mothers.

This morning he had his cereal and seemed fine but he felt warm to me when I hugged him at Chow Time and looked and acted a little puny and barely ate. August ate so much that I told his mother on the phone a little while ago that they had to shut the restaurant down after we left because he'd eaten all the food and there was none left. 
That was a little hyperbolic but the kid did put it away. 
Maggie charmed me by bringing the new stuffed bobcat we bought her yesterday and had fixed her up all fancy in a dress I made for a doll of hers. It fit perfectly and the bobcat looked quite elegant and ready for a ball. 

We brought the boys home and I took Levon's temperature. He had a little one and I ran up (haha- I drove) to the GDDG and got some kids' tylenol and kids' ibuprofen. I gave him a dose of the ibuprofen and just a little while ago he was happily eating boiled peanuts with his brother and his grandfather, all of them watching the Masters Tournament which, as I understand it, is a very big thing in the world of golf. 
The boys did let me read them two books on the swing on the porch outside the guest room and I loved them for that. Otherwise, it's been golf, golf, and more golf. I just don't think Levon feels like going outside and kicking bamboo and frankly, I don't either. 

I'm going to go finish cooking our supper. The kids chose chicken and dumplings ONCE AGAIN and all is done except for making the dumplings and putting them into the pot to cook. I want to get them to bed at a reasonable hour. I doubt they got a huge amount of sleep last night. 

Oh! We have reached an agreement with the owners of the cabin and it will soon be ours and when I say, "we" or "ours" I mean, of course, Glen. Yes, yes, it's all our money but this is his dream, his project, his new reason for joy. How could I not support that? 

I will say though that they better get some GeeDee internet out there and some cell service too. 

If the fucking apocalypse is about to happen, I need to know.

I just read the article HERE. 

Pretty sure I might vomit before the night is over too. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Seeing Versus Looking

This is a print of a painting that hangs beside my bed. I bought that print in Havana when I was there with Lis nine years ago. I wrote so much about that trip and sometimes I look at Lis and say, "Can you believe we did that?" And I, with my stupid social anxiety and every other kind of anxiety say, "I must really love you."

Anyway, I bought that print and one other in a museum gift shop we were touring because both of the pieces made me stop dead in my tracks and cry. Art often has that effect on me. I can't help it and I see no need to.
Last night, as I was getting in bed I looked at the framed print and I had that sudden realization you get sometimes when you've been looking at something for so long you no longer see it. 
I'm sure you know what I mean. 
But for whatever reason, I truly saw that painting last night and it stunned me all over again. The artist is Ruben Alpizar and the title of the painting is "The Night Cradles the Moon." 
La Noche Mece a la Luna.
And my eyes are welling even as I write this.

In a more current and less emotional topic, we went and had lunch with Maggie at her school today and oh yes, today was definitely the day. When we got there, we realized that people had parked up and down the street in front of the school as far as we could see AND the temporary parking area they'd set up was completely full. It seems that many, many grandparents were quite eager to come and eat lunch with their grands in a school cafeteria. 
And Maggie was so glad to see us. 

I unloaded the bag I'd packed with our sandwiches and cantaloupe and chips and mini cupcakes and we lunched away. It was a bit hard to hear in that setting. 

There was a LOT going on. Children and grandparents and parents, too, I think, were all chatting and laughing and it was a circus. But Maggie liked her lunch. I had made it just the way she wanted it although she does not like cantaloupe. 
Oh well. 
She does like mini cupcakes. 
One of the things she and I discussed today was the fact that she wants a little sister very badly. She knows that's probably not going to happen but she wishes it would. I told her that the good thing about being a girl is that she can always have friends who will be like sisters to her. That, however, was of no solace to her. 
"I just want someone who is not my age to take care of," she said. 
And I knew exactly what she meant. If it were possible to harness all of the maternal energy of nine-year old girls, there would be no unloved babies on this planet. Not ALL nine-year old girls have that maternal urge but I think a lot do and I'm sure that it's one of the reasons the human race has survived. Back when women had baby after baby, the older girls (and sometimes boys!) were often given the responsibility of taking care of the younger ones. I half-raised my own baby brothers and I loved those little guys in ways I've never loved any one else in my life. It was pure and it was strong and it truly helped me to feel more confident when I became a mother. 

We walked her back to her room after we ate. Her teacher knew Lily in high school and she has children roughly the same age as Lily's kids. Her boys played sports with Owen and Gibson and both she and Lily had tiny babies while attending the games, one of whom was Magnolia June. So she's known Maggie for a long time. 
Mr. Moon turned out to be the celebrity of the day. Over the years I have gotten used to people staring at him due to his height and not infrequently asking him how tall he is but let me tell you something- kids are a whole different matter. When we were waiting for Maggie's class to come out, Glen was leaning up against a wall and I heard a little boy say, "Oh my god! He is so tall!" Kids just have no filters about those things and kids in the cafeteria and in Maggie's classroom blatantly expressed their amazement. The didn't ask him how tall he was but had questions like, "How did you get so tall?" The little boys in Maggie's class were all over him. I loved it. Maggie's grandfather is the tallest man in the world! 
Almost.

So as we walked back to our car Glen said, "Well, we did it. Another year done." 
And so it was. 

We didn't have to get any vaccines this week but I did need to pick up some things at Publix. Since we've been home I have been domesticating. I finally made my attempt at Lebanese pink pickled turnips. I am not overwhelmingly certain that we're going to like these. It was a very simple pickling process. They're refrigerator pickles, not canned ones, so there was no sterilization of jars or doing any sort of water bath. I just peeled and cut up the turnips and made a brine with vinegar, water, salt, garlic, and a little pickling spice. There is also a half a beet in each jar which hopefully, will make the pickles pink. 

And will definitely ensure that Mr. Moon will not like them as even that much beet is more beet than he is willing to tolerate. They supposedly need to rest in the refrigerator for two weeks before we eat them. I am very curious as to how they will turn out. 

Martinis and weekly toasts have just made. Clean sheets are on the bed. I have peanuts in the pressure cooker with water and salt in order to create that southern delicacy, boiled peanuts. And if you've never had any or never had any cooked right, you have no idea what you're missing. A really nice looking loaf of French bread is rising while the oven heats. 
And no, we're not having boiled peanuts for supper. They are for snacking purposes. Mr. Moon loves them so much. I do too but not to the extent that he does. His daddy used to say that the best meal in the world was a Coors Light and a bag of boiled peanuts. 

He was a wise man, born and raised in Tennessee, and he knew what he was talking about. The best boiled peanuts are purchased on the side of the road on the way to the coast from a guy or a woman who has a giant pot of them bubbling away on a camper stove who dips the cooler done ones into a plastic bag which he or she will present to you with some paper towels and, if they are of the highest quality of purveyors of this heavenly treat, will also give you another bag in which to put your shells. It's like getting your body and soul ready to go dunk themselves in the Gulf of Mexico. Saltiness within and saltiness without. We are all sustained in a briny soup in our mothers for nine months before we are born and it is from that briny soup our oldest ancestors crept out of and onto dry land all those many eons ago. 
So yeah. Boiled peanuts. And pickled whatever. 

Happy Friday. 

Love...Ms. Moon