Gulping Glory

Well, it's day five of Operation Dogs Live On The Porch. They have quit barking. Mostly. All three of the small dogs are now having to spend their days on the porch and they are not happy about it, being used to the good life, as they are, where they get to stay inside all day, merrily peeing and pooping wherever they feel like it, wherever the spirit takes them, which means I spend all day with paper towels or old rags and a bottle of Fabuloso in the spray form and doing laundry because they never met a bedspread or quilt they didn't want to pee on.
They pee and poop on the porch because they're too fucking lazy to walk down the steps and do it outside but I can deal with that. Not happily, but I can.
Pearl, my old boxer dog who is about ten thousand and seven years old in human time, is allowed to come into the house whenever she wants. She is not going to live forever (I guess) and it's too stressful for her to be out in the heat all day.


The rest of them can die of heat-exhaustion for all I care but they don't seem to be suffering too much. They sleep well at night, I'll tell you that.

So it's Monday and I've had my walk. I passed some folks digging worms for use as bait and I asked one man if he was going to catch his dinner. "And my supper too!" he said, with a big old smile on his face.
Sometimes I do love the south and especially my little corner of it.

Someone has moved into the trailer which I pass on my walk and that makes me so sad. It's nothing more than a big tin can and I can't imagine what life inside of it is like. The rent can't be more than one hundred dollars a month and even that's a huge rip-off. At least I haven't seen evidence of children at this point. Why the county hasn't condemned that piece of shit is beyond me.

I took my camera outside this morning and got a few pictures. Here's a flower which I don't know the name of and shame on me. It was here when I moved here and it's thriving although it doesn't get enough sun.

I suppose it's a sort of cone flower.

The sky vine is finally starting to bloom. If I were a bee I would dance in its throat, twirling like a ballerina.

The color of the blossom does remind me of a tiny patch of sky. It is well-named.

The biggest wisteria vine I have ever seen finally rotted and fell from our big oak in the front yard. I have used a lot of it as a border in various beds and this morning I found these mushrooms making a home on a piece of it.

Even in its death, this piece of once-living thing is giving life.

The pine cone lilies in the bed that piece of vine is bordering are sending up their crazy blossoms.

The pine cone thing will swell and turn red and fill with water. I love to pick them and bring them in and put them in vases when they do. They have long, sturdy stalks and I think they are beautiful in all of their stages of growth. It seems like just yesterday I was taking pictures of them but no, it was a year ago. Time goes so fast these days for me. The cycles of blooming and dying and blooming again seem to happen in the span of a week or a day, not the proper year which is the real measure of them.

It all serves to make me feel old, somehow, but then I look up and see the branches of the hundreds-of-years-old oaks and their beards of moss and I realize that everything has a life-span and yes, mine is longer than a boxer's and much shorter than an oak's, and that is as it should be.

There is a certain perspective to it all and I am grateful to be reminded of it. The rebirth of the blooms every year in their own time remind me that the seasons change and that to everything there IS a season, of the heat and the cold, the light and the dark, the sleeping and the awakening, the opening and the shutting down.

The death of things and their usefulness, even in their dying, reminds me that life is, in some ways that are very observable, quite eternal and that is more comforting to me than any promise of a future heaven.

And the oaks, spreading their branches across my patch of sky to collect the energy of the sun and spreading their roots so deep beneath me where I cannot see them to collect the water and nutrients of the earth, remind me that there is a sort of perfection and glory which, if I just take the time and remember to look up, is there for me to gulp with great swallows of awareness that there is life around me all of the time and that my own life, right here beside and over and under it, is a part of it all, for now at least.

I am neither the least of it nor the greatest of it by any means, but part of the wholeness of it. And in those moments, on those days in which I have the time to notice, to really take note of it all, not just in glancing but in true observation, I am happiest and the most at peace with my place here in it, the life and the death, the blooms and the branches, the shining light and the dark shadows of night when I go to close the door of the hen house and the chickens croon me goodnight as I reach into to stroke their soft feathers.

We all have our places, and I am so fortunate to have found mine and to find it so beautiful and such a sheltering and gracious place. Which I share with my husband, my grandson, and the dogs. On the porch. Where they belong.

Tell The Truth And Fear No Man

You know, you know, you know, sometimes life is just odd.

I won't go into it except to say that once again, Mr. Moon was the hero because he killed a chicken. This time it was a chicken who was very sick, probably with an egg stuck in her (nature is not always perfect) and a ten-year old boy asked him to ease her suffering as the other chickens had begun to peck her on her death bed.
Nature is not always not only not perfect, but cruel as hell, too.

And so he did it. He released that hen into death and there was a burial and there was a cookout and there were quite a few people and Kathleen sat there and took phone calls and tried not to look as tired as she was and pretended to eat (she's having trouble swallowing due to the radiation) and I wanted so badly to just say, "Everyone! Out of the way! She's coming home with me!" and then bring her here to let her be quiet and not in charge of anyone's happiness or well-being or comfort, not even a dog's or a cat's, just hers and hers alone and to rest.

But it didn't seem possible and so we just came home and here we are and it's almost another week and so, here we go, life as we know it.

Soon, I tell you, I don't care what anyone but Kathleen says- if I feel that she must be taken and given permission to rest, then I'm going to do it.

I'm warning you, Kathleen!

Let's all have sweet dreams. Let's all get up tomorrow and do what we have to do, what we should do, and let us not worry about the outcome.

Oh! The Rapture Of The Rapture!

There's so much I could talk about this morning including, oh, I don't know...how hot it is, but really I just sort of want to talk about the Rapture. For some reason, the idea of the Rapture has been fascinating me lately. For those of you blessed not to know what the Rapture is, it's an endtimes fantasy that certain Christians hold dear which says that Christ is surely coming and that when he does, the true believers shall be snatched up off this earth in the blink of an eye, even the dead ones, I think, and taken up to Heaven, leaving the rest of us non-believing sinners here to be stunned and awed.
And left to our own sinning devices and please- could we just get on with it already?
I got a new perspective on the Rapture just now when I google-searched for a picture of the Rapture. A guy named Daniel Sweet has this to say about the Rapture:

When we go, it's off to Boot Camp. Be ready for that too. We're not going to be sitting around on clouds playing harps... we are preparing to go to WAR! Remember that. Your new job will be a soldier being trained to understand your new body, your new powers, the spiritual universe around you... then come back to Earth to kick butt and take over control. Then we can chill for a while but the Earth is going to be a messed up wasteland by the time we get done with it. It's going to be a really hard time. Lots of re-building. But at least we'll on the WINNING TEAM. I think the victory of it all will be severely tempered by the weight and sadness of all the carnage.

Sorry if I seem to come off as a harbinger of doom. I really do have a positive outlook for the end result. The Earth will be purged of evil, cleansed and God will be in power again putting us in charge. That's cool. I just want believers to be braced and ready for the utter shock and horror of what is to come.

Italics are mine and here's Mr. Sweet's picture:

He purports to be a Biblical scholar and has a church called God's First Word Christian Ministry.

What a fucking hoot. I wouldn't buy an insurance policy from the dude, much less an entire world-outlook and religious philosophy but that's just me.

Anyway, once when I was a kid I was walking down a road and it was around sunset and I looked up and the clouds were in the strangest formation I'd ever seen. They looked exactly like a giant archway and were lit with that incredible gold-colored light that sunset can bring and there were rays shooting all over the damn place and I stood there and trembled in my flip-flops. Surely, dear god, this WAS the Rapture. It had to be. I waited for Jesus to come through the archway but he did not. As I waited though, I wondered, having already learned in school about how the earth rotates daily, how the people on the other side of the world would know it was Rapture Time.

I still wonder about this. Will the Rapture be televised so that if we get the live event here in North America in the Eastern Standard Time, they will get the live feed in Australia? Maybe that's what's taken Jesus so long to come back. The technology had to be developed. Makes as much sense to me as anything else having to do with this bullshit theory.

When Kathleen and Judy and I were in the hospital the day Kathleen's cancer was diagnosed, we suddenly found ourselves in a hallway and we were the only people we could see or hear. It was an eerie moment because just a few seconds before that hallway had been a busy place. We all looked at each other and one of us said, "Maybe it's the Rapture!" and we giggled and not out of nervousness, either. Well, we were nervous about the outcome of all the tests Kathleen was going through but we were not nervous about the Rapture.

At rehearsal the other day, one of the actors was talking about a huge storm which had suddenly come up the night before. I said, "Was it like the Rapture?" She said, "Exactly!" I asked her if she'd called her saintly grandmother to see if she was still here and she said, "No, but I did go check to see if my aunt was there because when the Rapture comes, she is definitely going."

I'd been joking. I'm not sure she was.

And then yesterday I was holding a sleeping Owen and I heard a distant, low, deep grumbling sound and it wasn't thunder and it was too prolonged to be a truck crossing the tracks and there was no whistle so it wasn't our train and part of my brain wondered if it was the Rapture but because Owen's been baptized and he is completely without sin if you don't count that lamp he broke the other day and he was still lying asleep in my arms, I figured it wasn't.

I have no idea why I'm so obsessed lately with thinking about this upcoming mythological event. Maybe because I wish it would get the fuck here and take up all these people who are just waiting to be transported to Heavenly Boot Camp to train for the battle. I hope they have to train for a couple of millennia, leaving the rest of us here to spread out and have more to eat and less guilt to deal with without all those holy people telling us what god wants us to do and not do. Let us plant bigger gardens and go around and pull up all those Ten Commandment signs in people's yards and go into their houses and get all the cool stuff out of them that they won't be needing any more and take them home to use ourselves. They won't be needing diamond necklaces and Sub Zero refrigerators or really good lawn mowers up there in Heaven now, will they? Nah. We'll leave all those Left Behind books though because we WILL be left behind and we'll have no need of that bullshit. We'll be reading banned books and dancing to the devil's music and eating off the fat of the land and growing our hair down to our asses and turning the Vatican into the World's Coolest Art Museum and Bar and visiting all the National Parks and not having to wait in line because there will be so few people there and oh yes, having picnics in graveyards without having to worry about stepping on the dead.

It's going to be so awesome.

Well, that's what I think, anyway. That's how I imagine it. Which is why, I suppose, I keep waiting for it to happen. I'm pretty sure all my friends will still be here and my family too. I'll make Owen do something sinful so he can stay too. Maybe I'll make him not honor the Sabbath or lust after one of Waylon's toys. Shouldn't be too hard.

Wait. I just realized that if I can make a baby sin then what hope is there for the rest of humanity? Who among the throngs of us is truly holy enough to be taken up to heaven by Jesus? Shit. Probably about four people which ain't gonna make one damn bit of difference.
Or maybe it's one of those things where even if you're imperfect and have sinned, as long as you accept Jesus Christ as your savior you're cool.

I feel better now because there are a LOT of people like that. People like Daniel Sweet. People who spend an inordinate amount of time trying to make sense of Revelations which is a big fat waste of time if you ask me. In fact- that's one of the main things I don't understand about religion and certainly not just the Christian one. All that trying to determine what god means and meant and how to get around the rules or how to force other people to follow them or trying to convince other people that you and you alone and your church and your church alone know the Answers.

Hell. I don't even worry about the questions any more. I'm too busy just trying to keep the baby off the stairs and the bed made and the diapers washed and the husband happy and the toilets clean and the plants watered and I'm not doing a very good job at any of those things. The only rules I want to worry about are the rules of gravity and sunrise and sunset and the chicken flock and when it's best to plant your late-summer tomatoes. The rules of good writing and tasty reading and how weight loss depends on calories in versus calories out and how in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.

Yep. That'll do it for me. And the sooner the Rapture happens and takes up all the people who are getting in my way and harshing my mellowing, stepping on my buzz by not recognizing the very miracles which inspired religion in the first place, the fucking better. Me and the butterflies and the hawks and the bluebirds and the stars and the sun and the moon and Keith Richards will be just fine right here without them. The miracles of homemade bread and babies being born and people stepping over that rainbow into death and not reporting back and the womb and the spirit and the rain and the night and the sleep and the waking up and the glory of it all just as it is will continue on and that's what I have to say today.

It's Sunday here at the Church of the Batshit Crazy and it's my job to talk about these things and it's also my job to try and go pull some weeds.

And let me end by saying that if you're pretty sure the Rapture is going to happen soon and you think you might be one of the ones who are Taken and you have some cool stuff you think I might like that you won't be needing anymore, drop me a line and let me know. I could use a good vacuum cleaner and I sort of lust after a fine emerald ring. Ruby would do too. And a Porsche. I really want a Porsche.

Just saying.

Thanks in advance.

Love...Ms. Moon

Bless This Normal Life, Amen

My Lord but it's been a child and baby-filled last four days. Kian and Riley

here Wednesday and spending the night, then Owen here a good deal of the time on Thursday, yesterday and today.
I am, quite frankly, exhausted. After his mama and daddy came and got him today I went to bed and slept for an hour and a half and am now drinking espresso and trying to wake up. We had a rain and it's not as hot as it was earlier but how hot was it you ask?
So hot that this is what Owen looked like after a walk to the Post Office which is about one block away if we lived in a city, which we don't.

The child wouldn't smile for love nor money. I don't think he could. He was just too hot.

But he did smile when we took him out to see his chickens. That boy and his chickens.

When he sees Elvis now, he wants me to set him down. I think he believes he can catch the rooster and pet him.
Not yet.
Maybe soon.
He's growing so fast, that boy. And every day it's something new. He's trying so hard to talk and he loves his books. He brings them to us and when we say, "Do you want me to read this to you?" he goes into his chortle-laugh meaning, oh yes. So very much.
I'll be happy when he likes a book with an actual plot to it.

My dear friend Aint Liz came over this afternoon with lunch fixings and we all had delicious salad and sushi and we shared mangos and feta cheese and tomatoes with the boy. He flirted with Liz and ran around and peek-a-boo'ed with his favorite scarf. We tried to take him out on the back porch to swing and chat but he wanted down and scampered all over and kept me busy taking leaves and various bugs and things from him before he ate them. We abandoned the idea pretty soon.
He showed Liz his Pop-Pop's deer heads.

It's always so great seeing Liz. I've know her since before Jessie was born and in fact, she was with me for that birth. That's a long time. She's raised two boys herself and I've written about her before. She's one of the remarkable women I am blessed to be friends with who never says no to the universe whether it's a paddling trip down a river or four-day festival. It's her house in town where Jessie lives and I couldn't be happier for Jess to live anywhere else. When Jessie asked her if she minded if she stayed for the summer, Liz said something like, "Oh honey. Just stay as long as you want. Stay until you have your first couple of kids."
And I'm pretty sure she means it.
There's always something happening at Liz's house. She throws parties with less fuss than I put on supper and has an extended family of friends that reaches from here to the moon as far as I can tell.
Speaking of Jessie, I spoke with her the other day and she sounds swoony. That's the only way I can put it. She's out in Colorado with Virgil and they're doing all those groovy Colorado things including biking and brewing beer and going to the Farmer's Market and camping. She's supposed to come home tomorrow and I sure hope she does.
If she loves this Virgil boy, then I will too but I am so afraid he might take her away from us and I cannot bear that. He's finishing up a PhD and she's got one more year of nursing school so there's going to be an enforced separation which is going to be hard.
Well, we shall see where it all leads but I pray in my heart that it all leads back to here. I'm a selfish mother, and possessive too. Grandmother, too, dammit, as I have come to learn, and when she starts having the babies....
Well. One can't project. One must be patient and see how things work out.

Anyway, we had a good visit with Liz and she went home to take a nap and then Lily and Jason came to claim their man-cub. Pop-Pop and I were sad to see him go but happy to see him with his mama and daddy. Such a fine little family they are.

Owen hugged and kissed them and then cried when he had to leave his chickens. Mr. Moon and I waved them good-bye in the driveway and I came in and passed out. I hear that Kathleen and her sister-in-law came by while I was asleep. I think it stormed, too, and I was as aware of one event as the other but I am so sorry to have missed Kathleen. It was sweet of them to let me sleep. I swear, even with cancer, Kathleen has more energy than I do. I am not the world's most energetic woman and I admit that.

And now Prairie Home Companion is on and I think I'm going go pick some hot peppers which are about the only things that have survived in the garden to this point and go see if there are any eggs to be found and then make some dinner. No. We are not having hot peppers and eggs although we could. I'm going to make grouper from the freezer and maybe an eggplant dish that Ms. Nancy C posted here this week that I can't get out of my head. I do have a few eggplant from the garden too and they need to be eaten.

And that's what's happening in Lloyd today. Nothing extremely funny or moving or inspirational but it's August and as Liz pointed out, we have 20 weeks of intolerably hot weather here every summer and we have just passed the half-way mark so really, what can you expect?

I just wanted to share. Maybe tomorrow I'll come up with a sermon or a song, a poem or a rant. In the meantime, this is what I have. Babies and friends and chickens. And a husband who is the best grandfather in the world and who changes his grandson and bathes him and kisses him and delights in him and reads him books without plots.

And oh yes! Owen has learned to clap his hands but he only does it while walking.

Yes. Big news. Or at least...ours.

I hope you are having a good, normal weekend too. I really do.

Desperately Avoiding Sleep

Seven forty a.m. on a Saturday morning and the dogs are on the porch where they belong and Owen's back in bed where he belongs and Mr. Moon is in another bed where he belongs and I have watched half of Desperately Seeking Susan, rocking that boy back to sleep where he belongs and this is where we all belong.

Wasn't Madonna wonderful when she was all curves and crazy hair and rosaries and attitude and black bras?

Good morning.

Rising Up

All of a sudden, it seems like I have no time for the blog. Or very little, at least.
And you know what? This place, this space, this part of myself is so incredibly important to me that I'm panicking a little bit.
I know that eventually, things will balance out. But isn't life a constant battle for balance?
I am determined, at the moment, to reclaim my body and that requires some time and effort both in exercise and in cooking. I am (supposedly) co-directing a play. Owen's other grandma has a blown knee and can't chase that crazy-running boy on weekends the way she has been and so I will probably have him more too.
And all of this is nothing more than more blessings. I feel like I've been sitting on the high dive for a long, long time, waiting for my courage to rise, waiting for my heartbeat to steady and now it has and I am diving, diving, diving deep into the waters of this life.
But.
This place, blessourhearts, is so important to me that I can't possibly live without it.
And thus- the panic.
What if? What if people get tired of my blah, blah, blah and go away because I can't spend the time it takes to stitch up the words that make up the tent that covers this place where I find solace, find comfort? Where I can stick my head out and see the stars and moon and dawning light filtering through the oak trees?
What if?
Well. I don't know.
All I know is that I'm going to do the best I can while still trying to be the best I can here in this house, on this tiny spot of land with this family that I have brought into creation.
I am diving into the love of it all and I am going to try and let my fingers fly my brain-thoughts and heart-feelings, still, here.
Be patient with me, please.
I don't want to lose you.
But I have this life.

I'm doing the best I can. I am in deep water. I am trying to pay attention. I am rising up and I am trying to ration my breath, my energy, my soul.

It's odd. I never expected this at the age of fifty-six. But here I am.
Here I am.
I swear.

This Friday

I sit and drink my yogurt/fruit/flax/prunes smoothie. I am sweating. I took a walk. I thought I might puke before it was done- I was that hot. I have taken the trash to the trash place. I am washing sheets, towels, rugs, clothes. I have my dogs locked out of the house because I cannot deal with them any more or their shit or their pee.

No. I am not a good dog mother, not at all.

The phone rings. It's Lis and we talk and giggle and chat and I glance out the front door to see a flock of vultures descend upon my front yard. There's a dead armadillo out there, stinking up the neighborhood and now THIS!
Can I just say that it's disconcerting for a flock of vultures to descend in your yard? Well. It is.
After I get off the phone with Lis I go outside with my camera because of course that's what I do. All of the giant black birds take off and I did not know this but when they flap those heavy wings of theirs they make a sound like the gates of hell opening and they do not sing, vultures. No, they grunt like pigs. When one flew over me, I actually made a little scream sound and ducked.
But I did get a picture of one brave black bird standing by the deceased.


Poor armadillo. Lucky bird.
Because I am here to tell you that I am NOT going to go out there with a shovel and a bag to get rid of that animal. THAT IS NOT MY JOB!
I can clean poopy diapers 'til the cows come home. I handle most of the trash around here and I can muck out a chicken coop without blinking an eye. I clean toilets with no problem and wonder why people wear gloves when they do it. I can kill and dispose of roaches. Even the ones so big you have to repeatedly hit them with sledge hammers to crack them into death.
Yesterday I sat and watched in fascinated awe as my massive banana spider sucked the living juices out of a beetle bigger than a strawberry with her mouth at one end as her man mated her at the other. This did not disgust me in the least.

But I will not and can not go scoop up a dead armadillo.

And so, I guess I'll just have to put up with vultures in my front yard, won't I?

Well, that's life and Mr. Moon is just going to have to deal with this when he gets home.

And that's me on a Friday in August of 2010. Owen was here until eleven last night and he gave both me and Mr. Moon more hugs and kisses than you can imagine. His Pop-Pop took care of him while I went to a rehearsal and then we fed him his supper. Well, he shared ours. He ate okra, cooked carrots, broccoli, and field peas and rice. With GUSTO! Then Pop-Pop got in the bath with him and they played duckies and I came in to wash the boy up and tuck him into his towel and dress him in his jammies and then Mr. Moon and I sat in the living room and fell into semi-comas as the boy ran around the room laughing hysterically and playing peek-a-boo behind the curtains.
And he'll be back in an hour.
And I need to do more laundry and take a shower and feed the chickens and try to get something going for dinner and hell, I don't know what all.

But I AM NOT DOING ANYTHING ABOUT THAT ARMADILLO! As god is my witness, I am not.

Happy Friday, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon

P.S. I am so fucking proud of that judge in California that I could cry. FREEDOM FOR ALL, DAMMIT! FREEDOM FOR ALL!

Haiku My Heart, New Steps, Old Boards

How many babies
Have learned to walk in this house?
And now it's his turn.




It's Haiku My Heart, Friday, darlings.
Go see Rebecca.

The Traditional Adventure Continues

It's not even nine o'clock yet and I'm ready for my nap.
Riley (who did not get her nap yesterday) was awake when I went to bed at ten-thirty and they were both awake when I got up at seven-thirty. And had gone upstairs and gotten all the Beany Babies and brought them downstairs and I don't know what all. Perhaps created an alternative universe where sleep was unheard of, is what I'm thinking.

When Mr. Moon got home last night they both immediately demanded that he make them walk on the ceiling which is what they remember about him the most. He complied.

I think that Kian's days of walking the ceiling are limited. Either that or Mr. Moon is going to have to increase his weight workouts.

We had our delicious traditional dinner of chicken strips (those I do make myself) and the Cheese Explosion! Mac'n'Cheese (except for me, I did not eat any- I wanted to! oh yes I did! but I did not) and steamed broccoli and carrots. I will say that Kian ate quite a bit of broccoli and Riley may have tasted a carrot.
And then the traditional bubble bath with the traditional argument over who gets which duck, and then the traditional reading of the books and then the traditional settling into bed with fifteen stuffed animals apiece and then the traditional warning/pleading by me for them to go immediately asleep and NOT GET UP! and then the traditional "He punched me!" tears and well, I guess they did go to sleep eventually unless they created that alternative universe.

I would not know. I stayed in this universe where I slept. I wish I was still there.

Of course when I got up this morning there was the traditional request for pancakes. I made them and they ate them.
Mr. Moon got a few too.

Kian, as you can see, is still rockin' the James Dean brooding thing.
My kitchen, as you can see, looks as if it has been used as campaign headquarters for the Meth And Sugar Addicts' Party Candidate.

Ah well.

And now I have them in the Glen Den where they are watching ten minutes of TV and when I post this we're going to go feed the chickens, look for eggs, and then decorate their dad's birthday cupcakes which I did somehow get baked and frosted last night.

Mr. Moon washed the dishes after supper last night which makes him the VERY BEST HUSBAND IN THE WORLD and I am not kidding you.
As I went to bed he said, "Are you going to read me a chapter of the Yearling?"
"I'm too tired," I said.
"I guess sex is out too, huh?"
I just looked at him. Then I said, "How about you come rub my shoulders which are so sore that my head aches from the tension in them?"
He said, "I'm too tired."

This is why god created Ibuprofen.

Now! Off to feed the chickens! God, we're having fun!

Lord I Feel Old

In four and a half hours I have gone from being the aunt who says, "Let's get ice cream! Let's party like rock stars!" to the aunt who says, "Y'all, don't torment my hens," and "Why don't we find something for you to watch on TV?"

There have been several instances of tears. One when Miss Mable, my black hen, pecked Riley's finger by accident while she was feeding Mable a grape and one when she got her sparkly sandals wet and dirty.
"My mama doesn't want me to get them dirty," she moaned and wept.

Oh well. The chicken didn't break the skin and the sandals are rinsed off and drying. There are tadpoles in a cup and eggs in a bowl which we gathered. We have pulled up weeds to feed the goats next door and we have baby sat for Owen which was a trip because he was mesmerized into silence by the goodly godliness which was having two kids to play with. Big kids.

And we've been to the grocery store where we bought Kraft Macaroni in the Intense Cheese Explosion! Flavor and I am not even kidding you. Two boxes because they claim they can eat A LOT OF IT!
I have a feeling Uncle Glen will want some too.

I love my niece and nephew. Honestly, they are wonderful kids and they amuse the hell out of me and I think I can go for 24 hours without cursing in front of them. I am going to give it my best shot. I have already warned them that I am going to be mean at bedtime, though.
"Why?" asked sweet Riley.
"Because I like to sleep," I said.
"Oh," she answered. I hope she believes me.

Kian has recently adopted a sort of cool, James Dean sort of attitude thing and you can see him posing with it here:

"I have the thickest hair in the family," he told me.
I did not disagree with that one.

Okay. Off to make cupcakes for us to decorate!
Pray for me. Okay?

Love...Ms. Moon

A Paper Bag Wednesday With A Whole Lotta Links

I took that picture this morning in my little office yard. A banana spider has woven one hell of a web and the morning sun was shining on it. She has at least three fellows waiting patiently to impregnate her and I don't blame them. She is a fine spider who can weave a hell of a web and who wouldn't want to join their arachnid genes with hers?

I had a freakazoid attack last night and decided at nine-thirty or so that I HAD to get in touch with my daughter, Ms. May. Do not ask me why. I called her and there was no answer. I called my son, Mr. Hank, and asked if he'd heard from her recently. "Not since Sunday," he said. That's when I'd heard from her last too.
"I don't know why but I feel like I need to get in touch with her," I said.
"I'll text her and let you know."
He texted, no answer.
I asked Mr. Moon- "Do you think I should get Hank to go check on her?"
Now, remember, May is thirty two years old. She has traveled across the country by herself in a truck. She is quite responsible and strong and capable but I just needed to hear from her. To make sure she was okay. For no reason.
Mr. Moon said that if I wanted, he'd go check on her. Or at least tomorrow morning. Obviously, he wasn't too concerned.
Right about then the phone rang. It was May. She said, "Hank told me to call you because you think I'm dead or something."
Relief flooded me. She was fine. Absolutely fine.
And I was too, when I heard her voice.
For those of you with tiny children, heed my words- NO! You never quit worrying about them so get used to the idea.
And I am so grateful that my children don't laugh in my face and call me neurotic. They may well do that behind my back and that's okay. I'd do the same.

We have a local marine biologist who has written some books and has a marine specimens lab near here on the coast whom I've always admired and right now, he's in the national news. His name is Jack Rudloe and I found an article about him on the Huffington Post yesterday here.
When the oil spill happened, he decided to make a sort of Noah's Ark for the creatures great and small who live on and near the waters of his particular part of the Gulf. He and his family have been doing this to great expense and even greater labor. I am so proud of him, although I have no real reason to be. Just- well- he's local. And then last night, I heard an interview with him on the BBC. The BBC, y'all! Jack Rudloe!
My favorite book by him is one called Search For The Great Turtle Mother.
Changed my life and I am not kidding you.
So, anyway, here's to you, Jack Rudloe- a dreamer, a schemer, a Noah with an Ark and a plan. It's people like you who make me proud to be a human being. And that does not happen too often.

I'm off to town soon to collect my niece and nephew. They haven't come to spend the night at Aunt Mary's for a very long time and tonight's the night. I am excited about their visit. They are darling children and smarter than whips and livelier than whip snakes and funny and loving. We shall collect eggs and make supper and eat it and beyond that, I have no real plans. I'm sure they will guide me as to activities. I bet we'll read some books. Oh yes we will. And have pancakes in the morning.
Their papa, my brother Chuck, had a birthday yesterday. He turned forty-four. I was twelve when he was born and I remember it like it was yesterday. Chuck was almost like my first baby. I helped raised that boy and he turned out real good. He's the best father I've ever seen and the proof is those kidlings of his.
I'm sure there will be pictures.

I need to learn to shoot video. Ms. Anna asked me in a comment if my camera will do that because I need to get vid of my chickens running for the cat food in the morning. It does and I don't know how the hell to do it. But I'm going to. I swear.

And that's about it for me. I don't know why but I just felt like doing a shot-gun blog post this morning. Blast it out and get on with it.

And I just spoke to the mythological FC Rabbath and he asked me if I would do whatever I can to get the word out about his films. And you know what? I will although I don't actually see how my little blog here is going to do much to help him. but I'll put a badgey thing up on the sidebar here with a link. I've told Freddie that his company should be called Pull It Out Your Ass Productions because that's how he does it. And he works very hard at getting into festivals with his films and he isn't associated with a film school or an organization. He's just himself with his camera and he's so young and he's so dedicated and hey! he is letting me act and I enjoy it more than I can say. He has talent and that's undeniable and he manages to get some really fine actors to work for him for free under completely ridiculous situations. And even hold the boom when he can't rustle up someone else to do it. I feel very honored that he's let me into this group.

So. Okay. I think that's it.

Please recycle your paper bag when you are done with it, except for you, Ms. Bastard-Beloved, because I know you don't have time for such motherfucking bullshit.

Freddie- This One's For You

I got quite possibly the best comment I've ever received on my post from last night.
Here it is:

HOLY FUCKING SHIT!!!! YOU KNOW F.C.RABBATH!?!?! HE'S A MYTH!!! PEOPLE DON'T THINK HE EXISTS!

Which makes me feel like I'm definitely one of the cool kids now. Or, on the other hand, mythological myself.

Noodle Boy And His Auntie Kathleen

Well, since Hollywood didn't call this morning I took a walk and picked up a bag of trash along the way. When I went into the post office to get my mail, I left the trash outside and forgot to pick it up and bring it home. I was only half way home when I realized this and I was so fucking hot that I did not turn around and get it. Either some one else will do something with it or it will be there tomorrow and I'll get it.
This heat is a killer.
Maybe that was what was wrong with the woman who drove into my yard this afternoon. Heat stroke insanity.
I can't come up with any other reason for her behavior.
Judy and I had just gotten back from going to the doctor and then lunch with Kathleen and this gold SUV pulls into my driveway and pulls up where two other cars are parked and then, for some reason I cannot BEGIN to fathom, drives back to the garage and starts to circle my garden.
There is nothing even slightly resembling a drive around my garden. And it doesn't go anywhere. It's just got bushes to two sides of it and a fire pile to another.
She finally came back to the house where any normal person would have stopped and I went out to say, "What the fuck?" but instead said, "Can I help you?"
She had two dogs which had been running in the road near here a few days ago and was looking for their rightful owners. Both had collars but no tags.
I told her I did not know the dogs and she went on her way but goddam it! I still wish I'd asked her What The Fuck???!!! because I'd really like to know what the hell she was thinking.

So the appointment with Dr. B. went just fine. He's a bit frustrated because Kathleen is having pain but every pain medication he mentions is one which has made her puke in the past. She says her pain is not so bad but the radiation doctor thinks it must be fairly profound and that Kathleen is either not admitting it or just has a really high pain tolerance and she wanted her to talk to Dr. B. about that.
So she did.
And she starts chemo after she's finished with her radiation and we'll see how she tolerates that. He didn't make it sound like it would be SO bad but he does always mention that she'll lose her hair. I gave her a kerchief today for when that happens but I don't think she was completely taken with it. It's the tackiest rendition of the Virgin of Guadalupe you'll ever want to see and has lots of purple and yellow in it (I told you it was tacky) and she does not really care for either of those colors, especially when it comes to wearing them on her own personal body.
But hey! She has it if she needs it! She may need a laugh at some point and this kerchief will certainly help with that.

After the appointment we went to lunch at a nearby place which has sushi and Thai food and I called Lily and she and Owen came and met us. Cheered me right up. The boy ate noodles and rice and bean sprouts and chicken and tofu. He eats everything. He's a real human being which is awesome because his mama doesn't have to tote around jars of smushed up food to feed him. He's like a baby bird and just opens his mouth and accepts what you give him.
I like that about Owen.
I like everything about Owen. Whenever we laugh now, he fake laughs. He doesn't get the joke, most likely, but he's trying to be socially appropriate. This makes us laugh harder and so he does too. It's a wonder we ever stop laughing around him.

So now I'm home and I see that Hollywood still hasn't called so I guess I'll wash the dishes and take a nap.

I'm old and forgetful and it's about to rain and I think a nap before tonight's rehearsal should be just the ticket.
See? No one but old people say just the ticket.
Truthfully, I don't really either but I thought it would be funny.

You can fake laugh if you want to. I won't know.

Well, I Guess I Didn't Break The Camera

Freddie's film, Faceless, in which I play the mother of the faceless dude is up on his youtube channel.

Check it out if you want to see what I really look like. The whole thing is only like six and a half minutes long. I come in at around four minutes.

You know what? The guy who played Jeremiah, Owen Provencher? He is some kind of an amazing actor. I'm so sorry that you never get to see his eyes because they were mesmerizing. My entire acting scheme in this was just to play off what he gave me and he gave me everything I needed with just the face you cannot see.

Man. I had so much fun doing that.

The one where Natasha makes her appearance will be coming out later.

Work In Progress

I got my hands on that boy today. I ran out to the car and grabbed him up and hugged him close and said, "Oh, there's my boy."
It was a fine reunion.
We went almost immediately to feed the chickens some apples I cut up. As soon as he gets here, he points that little finger towards the chicken house and makes his Elvis noise. Elvis comes running up and they communicate, boy-to-rooster. My neighbor, Ms. Liola, whom I talk to when I walk sometimes says that Elvis is trying to protect Owen. That he thinks of him as one of his flock.
This may be true and is a very interesting idea to me.

I am looking forward to fall and cooler weather so that Owen and I can spend more time outside. He is walking so well and I can't wait to see him walk about the yard. Or run. He can literally run in circles now, that little ten-month old man. He walked about the house today and went into rooms that we usually just walk through with him on my hip and he was delighted to be able to study things at his own pace. Everything is new with Owen and his new-eyes make everything new for me, too.
I can say to him now, "Do you want to play pat-a-cake?" and he grabs my hands and starts to clap them together. I can say, "Do you want a bottle?" and he laughs out loud. "Yes!" he is saying. "I DO want a bottle, and how did you know?"
He's such a delight. Such a delight.
We went into the library and he started pulling books out. He found one that he fancied and brought it to me to show it to him. Ten months old!
I gave him a bath (he needs one after traveling the floors and porches of this house) and he was tired and when I took him out and wrapped him in his towel, he laid himself upon me and didn't move. I thought I would die with the pleasure of that baby hug. He is kissing spontaneously now. He'll dart in and lay a big one right on my mouth and then run away.
He hides behind his Pop-Pop's big chair and peek-a-boo's from one side and then the other, chuckling like a little old man when I say, "There he is! There's Owen!"
My god, my god! I love that boy.
He's so strong. He's so sturdy. Look at the thighs on him.


And so it goes. This boy is growing up so fast that I can't catch my breath between one stage and the next. He has such a happy disposition and why shouldn't he? His parents adore him and are the very best parents a baby could have. When Jason was leaving today I said, "Thank-you so much for bringing him here and thank-you so much for being such a wonderful daddy."
And I meant it with all of my heart.
It's so amazing to watch your own baby become such a fine and attentive and gentle and loving and intuitive and nurturing mother. I can't begin to tell you the joy of that.

I got to meet Kathleen's nephew Christopher this afternoon and he is a fine young man too. So polite. He hugged me when he met me which tells me that he's had good raisin', as we say down here. I offered him graham crackers and juice and apologized because I didn't have cookies and fruit punch and he assured me that what I had was fine. He kept saying, "Yes, ma'am," to me and I finally said, "You're very polite, aren't you?"
And he said, "Yes, ma'am."
He stole my heart and I am so glad he's staying with his Aunt Kathleen. He told me that they're having a wonderful time together.
"I'll bet she's really fun, isn't she?"
"Yes, ma'am," he said. And he was being truthful. How special to have a grown-up love you the way Kathleen loves him and his brother. There is no law which says you have to love your nieces and nephews you know, so it's just a pure blessing to have an aunt who adores you and wants to have fun with you. Christopher is ten and so he already has a good sense of humor in place and that's such a great age. I didn't ask him what I like to ask kids his age when I meet them which is usually something along the lines of "So, are you married?" or "Do you have a job?"
It cracks the goods one up. Maybe I'll ask him those questions next time I see him. He'll probably look at me as if I'm crazy and then he'll realize that yes, I am a friend of his Aunt Kathleen's so of course I am. And then he'll most likely smile.
I hope so.
He and Kathleen left with muffins I made last night (for Kathleen) and some Pop Tarts that Hank left here (for Christopher) to go home to eat tacos (it's international night at Kathleen's place) and they were cheerful and happy.

And tomorrow Kathleen and Sweetie Judy and I are going to go see her oncologist for an appointment where we'll get the details of her chemo regime and that will be something. This whole cancer journey and its treatment is such a process. We learn new things every day, we will continue to learn new things. Because Judy has been through the process herself, she is such a great person to have on the team. She's been there, she's done that, she is strong and healthy and fights wildfires and now is the warrior for Kathleen. I think I will be the one who says, "Can I turn your pillow, darling?" and "Would you like a martini?"
No. I will not say that. Not until she's well. And then I'll say it every chance I get.
I am looking forward to the day when the treatment for cancer somehow focuses on the healthy cells being made so robust that they do not allow the rogue cancer cells to grow, instead of the way we do it now. I honestly think that this is the way we shall "cure" cancer eventually. Not with warfare, but with a reinforcement of health. But we aren't there yet and we must accept and follow what the doctor prescribes. It's going to be a hard time for Kathleen and I know that but I know also that she is up for the challenge. Judy and Denise and all of us who love her will do what we can but the bottom line is that the cancer is in her body and the drugs used to fight it will be administered to her. I just keep thinking about the way plants, when cut or frozen back, respond with added and more vigorous growth. I hold that image in my heart and it reassures me.

Ah lah. Life is something, isn't it?
There is so little we can do but take it as it comes, the glorious and the profane, the joyful and the painful. And it helps to share it all. And having these babies, these kids, to love on and hold tightly and kiss and feed tacos to, to laugh with and take care of- well, that makes it all so much better.

I'm going to go water my porch plants and then cook the tiny piece of wild salmon I bought for myself today at the store. I shall cook it with peppers and onions and mushrooms and spinach and edamame beans because that is the way I like it and Mr. Moon is out of town.
It's been a good day, this first day home. I've had some anxiety and I've dealt with it by accepting it as it has come and trying to accept it for what it is and not fight it.
That's all I can do. It's like the heat. It is what it is. And of course it has helped tremendously to have my grandson's arms around me, to catch his kisses as he ran by me, and to meet Christopher, a very polite young man.

Wash the dishes, do the laundry, kiss the babies, meet the young men, hug the friends and family, kiss them all, wish them safe travels and at the end of the day, go to bed with a good book.

Get up. Do it all again.

And so it goes, as Mr. Vonnegut would say, and he was a very wise man.

Just Some Clucking

Sorry. The camera lens won't stay wiped clear of condensation long enough for me to get a good picture but there's Miss Broody Betty, still sitting on a nest. Poor little thing, hoping to raise some babies when I keep taking her eggs. I just know that I do not want any more chickens right now and if babies are hatched, some are sure to be roosters and well, Sam made good chicken and dumplings but poor Mr. Moon- it's not easy for him to slaughter our own birds.
Although, now that I think about it, I am being nothing but sentimental and silly. If we eat chicken, which we do, it would make far more sense to eat our own.
Oh hell. I don't know.
Back in the olden hippie back-to-the-land days we all would have made out a lot better if we'd grown or shot some of our own meat. We did raise one pig, my first husband and I, but it was not a pleasant experience. We weren't set up right and had no idea what we were doing. But eventually, she did become pork chops and fresh hams. And thinking about that, I wish I had a smoke house. Mr. Moon could hunt wild hog and WE COULD MAKE OUR OWN BACON!
Wow.
Awesome thought.
Who knows? Maybe.

Meanwhile, back at the not-ranch, I just took the chickens a bunch of leftover treats and let them out. No matter what I put for them in the coop, if the door is open, they want out. And out they go, running like crazy for the cat food which they love above all other treats.

Owen is coming out soon. His daddy is actually off today but I pleaded for time with the boy and since Jason is helping his mother redo her flooring, it was somewhat convenient for him to bring Owen out here. I CAN'T WAIT TO GET MY HANDS ON THAT BOY!

And I just spoke to Miss Jessie Moon who is about to go out to Denver to see That Boy. He has a name. It is Virgil. We have not met him, the friends and family of Jessie, but we are trusting her judgment. She knows by now what a good man looks like and acts like and she surely thinks that Virgil is one. But still- that baby is flying far from her mama's nest and it's hard to let her go. I knew this day would come- I've watched her grow her wings and they are glorious, believe me. They open like slow dawn, big as the whole horizon, glowing pink and rosy and fine and strong. It is inevitable that she must use them.
This is one of the hardest parts of being a mother, watching your child fly, even if at the same time, it is the very experience which tells you that you have done your job.
Well. It's too hot to get all worked up over it and it wouldn't do any good. I am just happy for her and I hope all the pilots of all the planes she is going to be on today had a good night's sleep and did not quarrel with their spouses this morning.

And I'll get to see Kathleen this afternoon. She is coming by with her visiting nephew after her radiation treatment. Mr. Moon and I got her a silly present in Madison, Georgia. I can't wait to give it to her. Mostly I can't wait to hug her.

So here I am- home again with my chickens and grandson about to be here and my beautiful old funky house and my beautiful old funky life and I could not ask for more.

Pictures From An Amazing House

Another shot of the exterior of the house.

Yes. I am obsessed by the chandeliers.







Pool? Uh-huh. We did not get in it ONCE! Just as we were about to, a huge storm came up, cracking the sky in half.
But. Here it is.

The fanciest bathroom. And this picture does it NO justice.


Mr. Moon and I kept walking around going, "Look! Here's another door to another porch!" And "Oh my god! Another bathroom!"

We never got to meet the woman who care-takes the inside of the house but these are a few things she left for us:

Seriously?
Yes. Seriously. (Did you notice there was bacon?)

Yes. These are real.

Mr. Moon and Jack, the soul of the house. He was there to greet us good-morning and we were sad to say good-bye to him.


Thank-you so much, K, B, and Mrs. C.
We only wish you had been there, too.

Love...M & G

There Is No Spell-Check On Yellow Legal Pads

Home

Well, laudamercy, chilluns, we are home. The Great Birthday Tour of '10 is over and we are back home where, as hot is it was everywhere we went, it is hotter here by far. And more humid.
It's so hot that I heard that people can't even go swimming for the heat. And that is not a joke.

But. Still, we're home and that's a sweet thing. The chickens are running around the yard and here I am in my sweet old shabby house and it's good to be home.
We spent last night at the home of the mother of my friend K's wife. Got that? When K heard we were in Albany, he wrote me and said, "Hey! If you want to, go check out the house and property on your way back. Spend the night."
And we did.
The mama lives in Winter Haven, mostly, where K and his wife live and this beautiful old home is sitting in a park-like setting with no one in it but there is a caretaker for the grounds and his wife is the caretaker of the house and I doubt I've ever seen such a beautiful place except perhaps on a tour of some sort. It really is that gorgeous. Ceilings have to be fifteen feet tall and everything about it is perfectly perfect. We were somewhat awestruck to tell you the truth.
I'll post later with more pictures but the one above is what part of the front of the house looked like. I could have wandered around with a camera for days.

But now I have to go to Monticello for a rehearsal and of course there's unpacking to do and even though the children left the house in good shape, I have to do all of those things that make it mine again. Peeing in the corners, I call it, although the dogs have taken that particular chore for me themselves.

It was a wonderful trip. I don't think we could have planned out a better itinerary, even and including Helen, Georgia because of the great post I got from it and all the laughs. So, there is that.

But now we're home and trying to run to catch up to that train which is perpetually leaving the station, hauling our bags, holding out our hands and saying, "Wait, wait!"

And so it is and it's fine.
It's good to travel away with your love and good to come back to where you live with him.


I'll be catching up over the next few days.
I have missed you all so much.

Love...Ms. Moon