Sunday

It's Sunday morning and the Sunday blues have whopped me hard and I need to get ready to go to the beach.
I am.
Laundry is doing and I have two sweet little free-range chicken breasts simmering in organic free-range chicken broth for a soup to take. In my world, there is nothing more I can do than make soup and if I love you, I have made soup for you, or will.

Yesterday was so full and then last night...
Well. I had to get up and leave the table at one point because the tears shook me and I couldn't look at the faces of Lon and Lis anymore because all of our hearts are connected so deeply and there I was, right in front of them, my husband on one side of me and my daughter on the other and another daughter nearby and people I know everywhere in the room and I felt my heart rise up, swell up as Lon and Lis sang and it was too much, too much.

And then I made my baby cry. Oh, that's a song, isn't it? But I did it by joking with her, me and another woman and we were telling Jessie that she has to be HERE, here, when she has her babies and poor Jessie, fresh-falling, free-falling in love with a boy who is as attached to his family and as loved by them as she is to hers, by hers, couldn't bear to joke about such things and dissolved into the very same tears I'd just been overfilled with.

One of those nights.

I had to come home and write her, tell her that I'd been a stupid Old Testament Mother God, Thou Shalt Have No Other Mothers Before Me and that I had been wrong and that her life is her own and her loves are her own and she must do what she must and all will be well and all will be fine and we'll all work it out and that's the way it will be.

And you know, those tears have found their way back to me this morning. I sit and write and leak from my eyes, my heart still overfilled from last night, from yesterday, from fifty years ago and thirty-four years ago and thirty-two years ago and twenty-four years ago and twenty-one years ago and last year and tomorrow too, most likely.
It is the blues song of yes, there is so much trouble but underneath it all there is this impossible joy and love that tangles my heart like roots of a tree tangle a stone or a buried treasure, keeping it safe in the ground, surrounding it and guarding it, touching it in its dark place, bringing it life over and over again as the pulse of them, filled with earth's sweet water and minerals born of other stones, other treasures, feed life which in turn, feeds more.

The chicken simmers and I need to go cut up celery and carrots and a sweet onion. This must be a mild soup, no crazy heat of pepper, just the easy tastes of chicken and simple vegetables, rice perhaps, wild and brown so that Kathleen can eat it easily. If I could impart all of what is in my heart, this soup would cure all ails of those I love and sooth all hearts of those I love.
If it were only that simple.

Well, sometimes it is.
Music, ocean, soup, trees, cicadas, hands, tears, words, wordlessness, dirt, water, light.

Eyes. Tearfilled and not. Hearts. Overfilled and not.

Happy Sunday, babies. Thank-you for being part of it all.

Life's A Beach

I was just at the grocery store and the guy who calls me "grandma" asked me how my day had been.
"I can't even begin to tell you," I said.
And I didn't even try.
Let's just say this- it involved shooting a movie all day at my house and a person suffering the effects of chemo in the guestroom. And four dogs who make a lot of noise and get in the way. And trying to get ready for the beach.
To begin with.
Poor Kathleen. The chemo is kicking in but she's handling it beautifully, she has Vicki here to take care of her and she's determined we're going to the beach tomorrow NO MATTER WHAT!
And so it goes and so we will.
And Mr. Moon is taking me down to the Mockingbird Cafe, just me and me alone, to hear Lon and Lis so off I go to put on a dress and some glittery eye-shadow and we're rolling with the waves, we're floating over them and we're enjoying the sweet, salty flow of this life. Every damn movie-making, grocery shopping, taking care of someone I love bit.
Well, okay. Not the dogs. But the rest of it? Oh hell yeah. Do I wish Kathleen didn't have cancer? Of course. But she does and as Mr. Moon said last night, we are on the path with her and what an honor that is.

Here we go. Let the waves hold you up. They surely will.

Just Because He Liked The Damn Quote

My friend K sent me this via e-mail a few moments ago:

It appears that certain people think that poetry should be a certain way. For these, there will be nothing but troubled years. More and more people will come along to break their concepts. It’s hard I know, like having somebody fuck your wife while you are at work, but life, as they say, goes on. — Charles Bukowski

I wrote him back and told him that I was going to use it. I was writing something but it was no good. Why write shit when Bukowski wrote good? If you are not familiar with Charles Bukowski and his poetry, I suggest you go to youtube and do a search. He was something, that man. I saw him once do a reading in a bar on Tennessee Street in Tallahassee. As I said to K in my e-mail back to him, he was ugly to the point of beauty and during the break he went outside and peed in the parking lot and tried to convince a pretty young woman to hold his penis while he did so. She giggled. It was dark and I do not know if she complied.

P.S. The title of this post is of course a homage to our beloved Ms. Bastard.
K's email subject title was, "Just because I like the damn quote." I need to give credit where credit is due.

There's Already Enough Shit To Go Around

My daughter, Lily, is an excellent gift-giver. She has the talent to find and give the perfect gift.
Last night she gave me my late-birthday present and you can see it above. That tiny charm with the teensiest picture of me and Owen back when he was a babe-in-arms. I am wearing it on a chain with another beautiful little charm that my daughter May gave me which is the smallest rosebud and pansy (I think it's a pansy) in the world, encased in polymer and silver.



I am well-gifted.
And content with the smallest of the small things today.
No. Not just content, overwhelmingly happy with them.
I'm tired today. My legs and hips have been keeping me awake at night, making it impossible to go to sleep. I suppose they go into spasms. I fall asleep and then jerk back awake with the pain and it gets so frustrating. I finally get up and go read and usually fall asleep in the guest room. And my every step, every day, hurts a lot.
I wonder if this is normal. It's normal for me.

I waited today until it was sufficiently warmed up and humid to make my walk an absolute misery and it was. I would have puked but I didn't want to stop. I wanted to get home.
I just can't stop walking. I can't. I have to stay strong for this life of mine. I refuse to be one of those old people who is crippled from a life of inactivity and bad eating. I have to keep going.
But what I am discovering is that I also have to rest. I've always been a napper. I've always said that sleep is my favorite activity and I'm not joking about that. And now I think I need to remember that it's a luxury I can't afford not to indulge in. I'm not saying I want to sleep my life away but I am saying that taking the time to sleep and to nap when I can might be the best thing I can do for myself. It's not laziness, it's a necessity.

There's so much I am learning I have to do and not do these days. I am trying to figure out the balance in it all and of course, that's an almost impossible task. It's all about priorities, as I said yesterday I think, and learning to let go of some things to make sure that the things which are most important get done and get done well.

My entire goal today is to mop the kitchen and one bathroom and to clean out the chicken coop. I have done neither of those things yet. I would love to get to town to go to the library for books on tape and to get to the grocery store. I am out of bananas and milk and tomatoes and apples and peaches and cucumbers. Mr. Moon can shop for those things on the way home but I know he hates it, shopping for groceries. And I can live without books on tape but honestly, I'm sick of listening to news, even on NPR. I think one of the things I am letting go of is worrying about the world. That mosque/community center thing? I just want to tell people to shut up and let it go. Could we quit acting like a bunch of street punks walking around saying, "You disrespectin' me? Huh?" and try to remember that we are adults here and are trying to live a noble experiment which involves religious freedom? Can we?
No.
There's a local election here next Tuesday and I'm going to be out of town and thank god. I get all those flyers in the mail and there are signs up everywhere, trashing the roadways. Every fucking candidate is so sure that he or she is the one we need to "get things done." They all hate big government, they all KNOW how "we" feel. They are all sincere and trustworthy and god-fearing members of the community. One candidate (a woman) even sent her family's recipe for blueberry cobbler.
What the fuck was that all about?
And you know what? I don't care. I hate the political system and the way it's evolved. It's a bunch of shit and I don't think you can be part of it without getting some on you.

Yeah, that's a pretty broad and cynical brush I'm painting things with but honestly- it's how I feel right now. Who in their right mind would WANT to run for anything? And the populace is no better. If a politician gets elected and doesn't create world peace, end global poverty and prevent all natural disasters, they're a failure and a hue and cry arise to vote the fucker out. Or to claim he's a Muslim which leads us back to religion.

Hell. I don't have the politics gene or the patriotism gene or the religion gene and I know that.
I also don't have the gift-giving gene and I know that too.
And there's part of me who wants to just let all of that shit go. Say what you want, do what you want, just keep the damn power working and the roads fixed and give us decent schools and shut up about all that other crap. Oh yeah, health care would be super nice. Take care of the vulnerable and the women and the babies and let people lead their own lives and keep your damn moral views out of it.

Well, that's me today.
I guess I'll go get into some actual shit and deal with that chicken coop. And mop my floors. And maybe go to town. I don't know. If I can find the energy to take a shower and put on a bra, I will. Otherwise, I'll just take a nap.

And that's okay. For me, Ms. Mary Moon at the age of fifty-six, that is just fucking fine.

Happy Friday, y'all.
Love...Ms. Moon

Haiku My Heart, Good Enough To Eat, Even When He's Bad

Boy in cabinet
Kneeling in casserole dish
I shall eat him now.

Owen led me a merry chase last night. He has learned to fight sleep with all his heart and mind and strong little body and he is, like I say, a drunk on too much coffee when he's like this.

I gave him a bath, which he always loves, and then sat him up on his changing table and shot a few seconds of him doing his imitation of a laser beam fight in outer space. He was not giving up any of his cuteness. He was too determined to keep the party going and when I say "party" I mean proving that Grandmother will do anything for him that he wants. Anything.
Yogurt? Pineapple? Read a book? Play ball? Chase him around the house?
Sure. Whatever.
Luckily for me, Jason's surgery did not last very long. He and Lily came home with a very small bottle of about six bone chips the doctor had removed from Jason's foot. Jason settled on the couch with his foot up and Lily went to get him a pain pill.
"You want juice, milk, or water?" she asked him.
"Beer," he said.
"You can't do that," she said.
"Oh, give the boy a beer," I told her. Yes. I am a nurse.
She sighed in resignation and got a beer out of the refrigerator and a pill out of the bottle.
"Your daddy's going to get effed-up," she told Owen.

I giggled and kissed them all and came home.

And now I have made a haiku out of the evening and if you want to read more haikus or if you want to make one of your own, join this little party (and when I say "party" I mean scraping all the cake away from the frosting and savoring the sweetness in your mouth) at Recuerda mi Corazon with our dear Rebecca.

Keepin' On Keepin' On

There's Kathleen getting her hair cut by the talented Ms. Paige. Doesn't she look chic? Aristocratic? Cool?
Yes. Yes she does.
She is also wearing her make-up that she got at the Sephora shop in the Penny's. THEY HAVE A SEPHORA SHOP IN OUR JC PENNY'S, PEOPLE!
Yes, we too may now know the joy of Sephora, right here in North Florida. Smash Box, Urban Decay, all that cool cosmeticky stuff that we've been forced to order online. Plus, the sass-o-frashicious attitude of the Sephora Style. And I have to tell you that the make-up on Kathleen's face looked terrific. And she bought a bunch and bought me a box of sparkly eyeshadows that makes my heart sing. Colors like "Kiddie Pool," and "Half Baked."
Just what a fifty-six year old woman needs.
Seriously- that's EXACTLY what a fifty-six year old woman needs. Trust me. And then we went down to the nightgown section and bought old-lady cotton nightgowns.
We are going to be so stylin' at the beach but we're not leaving until Sunday. So don't miss me yet. And that brings to mind the old song, "How can I miss you if you won't go away?"

And then I did something I hated to do. I called Jan and told her that I just can't commit myself to really being much help in directing the play Sylvia. I haven't been much help as it is, but have made most of the rehearsals up 'til now but suddenly, it's a bit overwhelming. And I told her I'd be there when I could but that they can't count on me and that hurts my heart.
I'm going to go take care of Owen tonight while his papa gets foot surgery (who does surgery at 6:30 at night?) and so I'll miss tonight's rehearsal and we'll be at the beach and I'll miss Sunday's and Tuesday's rehearsals so...dammit.
But.
Life is full of priorities and sometimes you just have to set limits.
At least I do.

And right now I need and want with all of my heart to be available to Kathleen if and when she needs me and also to be available to take care of my grandson and Jan knows that and I love her for telling me that it'll be wonderful when I'm there and not to make it a worry when I can't be.
If only everyone in the world was so easy going.

Which makes me want to talk about that so-called Mosque they're building in New York but I don't have the time.
I will mis-quote Kathleen Parker whom I do not always agree with, when she said that in order to teach tolerance, we must be tolerant.

I think that about sums it up for me.

All right. Time to go back to town and see that boy whom I hear is feeling much better.
Let's all just keep plowing on and forth and so forth and remember:
Sparkly eyeshadow never hurts and a good hair cut can change your life.

And also, the chicken salad at the Mockingbird Cafe is awesome and May is an awesome server and Lon and Lis will be playing there on Saturday night. I hope to be there with Kathleen and her new haircut and Vicki, her BFF. And maybe Mr. Moon if he can be persuaded to take us out.
You'll know us by our sparkly eyeshadow.
Well, not Mr. Moon. You'll know him because he'll be the handsome tall guy with the three ladies wearing night gowns.

I'll be fun!

The Cancer Card

So good morning and can I just tell you that despite the fact that Ms. Kathleen has cancer and just had a massive dose of chemo yesterday she was up before me, filled with plans. They include things like going to the Lancome counter at the mall and getting extra free samples. I think someone may be hearing that Kathleen has cancer today at the Lancome counter.
Who am I to stand in the way of successful free-sample acquisitions?
We may also go and get her hair trimmed very short because she knows it's going to fall out and she wants to go there gradually until the point comes where it must be shaved. And Costco. We must go to Costco because Vicki's coming and we're going to the beach and we need food for the beach. The menu we have come up with so far is:
Caviar for Vicki.
Yogurt for Kathleen.
Chips and salsa for me.
What the hell else would we need?
Right?

And so that's what we're going to do. Get dressed, get to town, take care of business before the chemo starts to make her sick. And maybe it won't. But the odds are real good that it will so let's get this show on the road before that happens.

I am learning a lot from Kathleen. Get up early, do things you need and want to do, don't complain and use what you got while you got it.

And puree your food if it's hard to eat. That's a good one to remember.

I think I'm going to have a hard time getting around to everyone's blog here in the next few days but please know that I'm thinking about you and missing you.
Remember- my friend has cancer.

I am also learning to use the cancer card. It's powerful.
Sometimes you even get free Godiva chocolate.

Take note, people. Take note. God forbid you should ever need this advice but if the time comes, remember it and use what you got.
If life hands you cancer, make it work for all the free samples you can get.

You heard it here first.

Love...Ms. Moon

Where's The Beef?

Okay. We're home. It was a long day and not nearly, for some reason, as much fun as the day we spent the day at the hospital finding out that Kathleen had cancer. I guess part of the reason is that Dr. G, the Famous Italian Pathologist, was not involved. At all.
It was sad.
And on that day, the day that Kathleen got prodded and poked with a big long needle and fluid drawn off her lungs and her thyroid got biopsied, we were all OVER that floor and got to meet lots of fun and interesting people.
Today we spent the entire time in a very small room with a view of the roof next to us and windows of the building next to us. I noticed this...thing...



across the way and it turns out it is NOT an empty giant condom, it is part of a reverse isolation room.
No. You do not need to know what that is. I vaguely remember the theory of reverse isolation from nursing school but it's weird and odd to realize that something which looks like THAT can be part of the technology.

So there we were, Judy and Kathleen and I, and Kathleen drowsed through most of it. They gave her her teaching and her pamphlets and her chemicals and they brought up a sandwich for lunchtime. Around three o'clock two volunteer ladies came through with a tea-cart with a silver tea pot and cookies and brownies and that was freaking sweet. Kathleen was asleep so she missed it which is too bad because that was really the high point of the day. There was a place on the wall where a TV had been but there was no TV.
Look- if there's one place in the fucking hospital where a TV might come in handy, it might be the room where people get chemo. For hours at a time.

Well. Whatever.
It's done. The first of three. At least.

And when we got back to the house here, Freddie was filming Owen (the actor, not the grandson) in the old barn on the east side of the property and Kathleen and I helped him, holding that thing which must be held (it has something to do with sound) and Kathleen held his other lens (that is not a metaphor) and then did a sound effect for him so that was awesome. Freddie got bit by something and we went in the house and I treated the bite with a paste of baking soda and water and gave him a Benadryl.
I'm a handy person to have around, don't you think?

And that's been my day. How about yours?

What Day Is It?

My boy was sick today. He has a cold and it's the sickest he's ever been but it's just a cold and he'll be fine. He seems to be handling the obvious misery fairly well. He sneezes, he coughs, he's full of snot and he's probably running a tiny fever and he has no energy. Poor baby. He'd walk to the stairs and then instead of trying to scamper up them before I could get there, he sat down on the bottom step and waited for me.
He was still in a decent mood. He didn't whine or cry although when we got out of the tub he did sob for a second as if his heart was breaking. But he gave me some gorgeous grins and even a few laughs. I would have been perfectly content to just sit and rock him for hours but he wanted to get down and play and so he did.
He would bring me a book and I'd pull him up on my lap and read about four words and then he'd slide off again as if to say, "No. I thought that would make me feel better but it's not working."
It's so hard when a baby is sick. You can't explain things to them and it just doesn't seem fair. This little cold is a good reminder, though, of just how healthy this little boy has been.

Quite a week this one is and is going to be. Tomorrow Kathleen starts chemo and she does not feel at all well today either. She woke up nauseous and when I talked to her, she sounded awful. She's not doing any scampering today either. We are both hoping she feels better by tomorrow because I have a feeling that if she is sick, they won't give her the chemo. But we shall see. The radiation is over and what she's feeling today is probably its residual effects. I just hate to think of her feeling sick and being alone. She will stay with me tomorrow night.

And then on Thursday, Jason, my son-in-law, is having surgery on his foot. It's a long-needed thing and since he stands all day long, it's a necessary thing. He will get time off and even Lily will get some time to help him. It's going to be a hard week for them but I'm sure he'll be fine and they'll be cozy at home, the little family, while he recovers and the siblings and the Pop-Pop and the Grandmother will help when they need it.

I feel a bit weary this evening. I'm doing laundry (always, always doing laundry) and I've just made a pasta salad for our supper. I've got rehearsal tonight and Mr. Moon will be coming in from Orlando in a few hours. I cheated and bought bread at Costco and also the turkey roll-ups which I should not eat but do, to take to the hospital with us tomorrow. I also got watermelon and pineapple and again- I cheated and paid the Big Bucks for already-cut fruit.
Sometimes you have to take shortcuts where you can and I am learning that.

I may be tired but I'll tell you something- I am not getting all worked up and wondering what-if-what-if-what-if the way I usually do. That course on mindless meditation may actually have helped me in that I am getting better at taking things the way they come and not passing judgment on either the events or how I feel about them and trying just to realize that things will work out. They always do, one way or another. And it's easier if I don't have preconceived notions on how that should go.
Is it possible that at the age of fifty-six I am finally learning how to live in a more serene manner?
I highly doubt it but I'm trying.

And I'll have a great time at rehearsal tonight. I always do. And then tomorrow will be what it is and I'll bring Kathleen home and tuck her into bed and get her whatever she wants and that will make me feel needed and as if I have a purpose in this life and so she'll be doing her part to keep me out the Scientology Church and for that, I thank her with all my heart. I saw another one of those commercials today for that church and they were all, "What does MY life mean?" And so forth.
The way I look at it is that if you have to go find a religion to figure out what your life means then you're not paying attention.

Oooh. I almost ranted there for a moment.

Okay. I'm done. I've drunk my afternoon espresso and I should go wash up the dishes before I head to Monticello. It always helps me to think out loud here. It always does. And I usually start at one place and end at another and it's almost always a better place.

Now. If I could just cure my grandson's little cold and Kathleen's little c, then I really WOULD have accomplished something. The fact is that I can do neither of those things but I can wash sheets and diapers, I can but cut-up pineapple and watermelon, I can make chicken soup if need be.
And that's enough to keep me out of the Church of Scientology.
Blessings, blessings.
Amen.

Trash Day And Quadriceps

Here's an amazing quad exercise:
Be in a movie. Specifically, shoot a scene where you race to the front door and watch your man walking away to see what is going on in a possibly post-apocalyptic world, leaving you behind and you, being quite dramatic and having abandonment issues out the yang, end up sliding slowly down to the floor behind the door.
Do this about fifteen times.
Slowly. Hands on window, palms pressed to glass.
You may find that the next day your quads are not pain-free exactly. In fact, you may find that they burn like the bush of Moses.
If Moses did indeed have a bush.
But that's another subject.

Okay. Good morning. I stayed up too late again. I was reading magazines. Yesterday, being the top-of-the-line sort of day, I got Esquire, Vanity Fair AND the new New Yorker in my mail box and well, I snuggled into bed with them and the next thing you know it was very late. Mr. Owen Baby is coming over in about an hour and a half and I have things to do. People to see. Chickens to fry. I mean, feed.

And if you have eleven minutes to spare, here's FC Rabbath's short film, Trash Day.



This is the one where Natasha makes her appearance. I'm still a little bit pissed that I couldn't be filmed dead, being dragged across a lawn on a sheet. It started raining. And get this- in the film he's making now where I play the post apocalyptic wife? I die again and just as I died, it started raining!
I believe Freddie should take note.

All of the actors (and believe me- I don't include myself in that term) in this film are terrific and once again, Owen Provencher and his amazing face (and you get to SEE his face in this one) steal the show for me. I feel so incredibly lucky to get to act with this man. There's something that happens there that I can't explain and I can't describe. I am SO glad that Freddie has decided we have "chemistry," me and Owen. (And his name WOULD be Owen, wouldn't it?)
Listen- I am thrilled to play that man's mother. I would play his grandmother. I would play his GRANDFATHER! And somehow, it would work. He would give me exactly what I needed to BE his grandfather.
Wow. He's something.
And then- I just googled him? Whoa. He's a real actor. I mean, real.
Owen Provencher. Check it out.

Oh Lord. I am running so far behind. Well, with the condition of my quads, I am actually limping so far behind.

Watch the movie if you want. That's my friend Marcy's house that you'll see. It's another old beauty. Life is interesting, people. I swear, it is.

My Chickens. And Elvis Has Sex

Freddie has unleashed a monster.
Look- I promise not to make this a habit. I would hate for people to come here and see yet another video and groan. Hate it.
And yet, here I am, learning new things which make it possible for me to share my story, my life in another way.

This video is of my chickens and it's PG 13 rated because Elvis, well, he gets him some off Miss Mable right in the middle of it.
You can't plan this stuff, it just happens.

But maybe you'll find it interesting to see and hear what it really looks and sounds like here in Lloyd. I hope so. And if you don't want to watch the videos, well, that is just fine with me. I understand. Life is short. Why would anyone want to watch a video of me feeding cherries to my chickens?
I don't know. I don't even know why anyone would want to read the things I write.

It's been a beautiful day. First, that light and then a good walk and then lunch with Owen and his mama and a good long playtime with the boy. He has learned to throw his head back and flirt like a pro in the past few days. There were some beautiful ladies at the restaurant, standing in line for the lady's room and I thought he was going to throw himself backwards out of the high chair, doing that thing with his head. It was SHAMELESS!

Pop-Pop came by Lily and Jason's house to kiss his grandboy and Kathleen came by too. Owen flirted with her although he was so tired that he was like a drunk on a rolling deck.
"He's a happy drunk," I told Kathleen.
"And may you always be a happy drunk," Kathleen told him.

I walked her out to her car with Owen on my hip and we both agreed that something has tipped in the weather. Summer is no longer speeding towards us or smothering us. Fall is in the offing. There's a feel to the air, a look to the sky and the light and the green of the trees. The peak has been reached and we going to start noticing cooler mornings and less steamy days. Not all of them, believe me. We are not done with summer's heat quite yet, but we have been given notice that it will indeed end at some point and there will be moments soon when fall blows its breath on us from wherever it is standing in the wings. We who have lived in Florida forever will stop and take notice when that happens. Our seasons may not be as obvious as the seasons in other places. They are subtle but we know when they are changing.

And in two days, Kathleen who brought me these chickens in the first place is going to start her chemo and Judy and I will sit with her while the weapons of mass destruction drip into her veins. I'm going to bring turkey roll-ups and magazines. We'll chat and laugh and crack jokes and I'm telling you the truth when I say that we'll have a good time.
Chemo? Good time?
Sure. All you need are the right people and the right situation and you too can have a good time.

By this time next week Kathleen may not be having such a good time but between then and now, we will have as much fun as we can. Her BFF, Vicki, is coming in on Friday and on Sunday we are heading for the beach. We are all three women raised on the water and we will draw sustenance and strength from the flat line of the Gulf as the water roils and tumbles to our feet and the sky meets the water and the dolphins break the surface as they pass by.

All right. This video is taking FOREVER to download or upload or whatever sort of loading is going on and I should just quit writing now. I selected the higher quality video and I suppose that's why it's taking so long.

I'm learning. About video and chickens and friendship and grandsons and summer-into-fall and I'm learning to get out of the way and let life pull me along.

Do you want to know a secret? I wouldn't go back, even to my forties which were, I had always thought, the best time of my life, for anything.

This. This time is the best.
Thanks for being part of it.

Night, y'all. Enjoy the show. Or not.

I'm just glad you're here.

P.S. The higher quality video? I don't think it would finish uploading before the Rapture so I'm going to post the lower quality one.
I will figure this shit out.
I promise.

Thank You, Freddie

Well, don't even bother to full-screen this puppy. I'll figure it out.
But here's my first real video, shot of my grandson (of course) today. He has a bit of a cold and looks a little rough, that boy, but here you are, Owen in his mama's kitchen, Grandmama taking the pictures.

Every Molecule Sings

When I went out to get the paper this morning the light in my yard was so amazing that I ran in and grabbed the camera but I can't do it justice.
Freddie picked up my camera yesterday and said, "This is just like mine except, well..."
And then he proceeded to say things like, "The wide angle is all off," and other things that I can't even remember because I had no idea what he was talking about. And then he showed me how to shoot video with it. The picture I posted of me yesterday is one he took with my own camera.
One of these days I'll learn to take advantage of the camera I have.
I feel like there's so much right now that I want to learn. I am a tiny being here, peeking over the edge of the world and catching bright glimpses of things that my heart is pushing me towards. It's....
almost like waking up and going outside and seeing that light pour through the trees and puddle on the ground at my feet. Every place I put my gaze on, I see something new or something lit in a way I'd never noticed. I reach out my hand at night to find my husband beside me and he is there, solid and warm and he says, "I love you," and he does and I love him so much I can't find the words to tell him. My heart feels tender towards him in a way that almost breaks it in half.
He has put up with me and my various insanities for so many years and because of that safe, loving place he has given me, I am not only still alive, I am here.
I tell you this- I feel like one of those people who's wealth is so immense that there is no way to spend it all in one lifetime.
This is not a wealth made up of money but a wealth made up of love and light. I know. It's Monday morning and I'm talking about love and light. I can't help it.

When you wake up and you go outside and you see light shooting through the branches of the old oaks and covering everything you see in gold and silver and illuminating each drop of water from yesterday's rain, each spider web, each leaf and bloom and blade- well, like I told Kathleen in an e-mail this morning- it wasn't like a PROMISE of heaven. It IS heaven. Right here. Right now. In this place.

This place where I live on earth.

And my heart opens and receives it and that is a miracle too. And every day I am here on this earth, I can learn more about how to receive it, how to record it, how to say, "I am here, I was here, this is how it was."

With words, with pictures, with open arms.

I am the luckiest woman in the world to be living in this sort of light, in this sort of love.
I promise you I am.
And I would bow my head and close my eyes in a prayer of gratefulness but if I did that, I might miss something which has been given for me to see and that would be wrong. So I am keeping my eyes open and I am trying not to miss a thing. And I am praying with eyes open and head raised to this day, this life, this unexpected and most profound beauty.

Sweeter Than Honey

Another day of shooting and this one started with me believing that because it was happening at my house, I need to make...food. Of course.
Food.


So I made a potato-crust quiche with peppers and onions and spinach and capers and I made oat bran muffins with peaches and bananas and of course, no one wanted anything except for Sweet Mean Aunt Jessie who came out because Freddie wanted to shoot her in another scene.
It's funny because Mean Aunt Jessie is going to play a murderer. Here's a picture of her I took while shooting was on hold so that people could go down to the truck stop and buy Vitamin Water.


Ah lah. My beautiful daughter is going to be in a movie.

We shot over at the old van where our generator lives and poor Freddie. Yesterday, every time he tried to shoot, a car went by. Today, every time he tried to shoot a rooster crowed. Elvis, realizing that something was going on, came over to where we were and crowed which excited the neighbor's rooster and so HE crowed and then Elvis crowed again and well...poor Freddie.

In this movie, it turns out that I have a husband and the actor who is playing him is someone who wrote a letter to the newspaper twenty-one years ago defending me when a column was written about me being told by a security guard that I couldn't breast feed in the mall. All these years I'd never met him and here he was today in my kitchen, playing my character's husband.

It's a small world.


And it went from there. Oh my. A movie. It's going to be called "Disconnect." It's about what happens when all communications in the entire country are taken away from us. TV, newspapers, internet...all of it.
And the chaos which ensues.

So there will be film of Jessie and me and this house and yard. And Elvis. I feel sure that Elvis will be in the film. I hope so, anyway.

When Freddie is filming, he's like a machine. "Do this, do that. Again. One more time. Okay. Great."
Etc.

At one point I said about the man who plays my son, "I love this man's face!"
And he said, "I love this woman's face!"

And I was so glad to be fifty-six years old and have the face I have because that is the face he was talking about.

And there you go- life in Lloyd on a Sunday at the church of the Batshit Crazy which is soon to be on film at a Youtube near you.

Stay tuned.

And tomorrow? I get to babysit my grandson.
Yeah.
Life is good.

Trust me.

Wildest Dreams

Ah lah. It was another good day although it was a hot and sweaty one.

Freddie showed up with two actors, his beautiful girlfriend and his sometimes crew member. Jessie was here and she was immediately recruited as an actor. Freddie explained the concept of the next movie to us and then we went down to the closed corner store and he filmed Jessie and another actor for about two hours in the steamy, buggy heat and I never, ever knew there was so much damn traffic in Lloyd.

"Action," he'd say, and then he'd shoot for four seconds and then another car would come through.

Ah. It was hard.

But I found it thrilling. This is all just so new to me and I actually love the way Freddie works. It reminds me of how when we were kids we would pretend.
"You be a mermaid and I'll be a pirate."
"You be Tarzan and I'll be Jane."
"You be a soldier and I'll be a nurse."
And then the pretending would begin.

It's just like that, only someone is filming it and that doesn't get in the way at all.
I love watching this process. It's like the film Freddie gets is the raw material and he takes it home and weaves it into his vision of a whole cloth of a movie. It makes perfect sense to me although I know this is not how it's usually done but because of budget constraints it's how it has to work. He's almost apologetic about this but frankly, I think it's the guerrilla nature of it which charms me.
And they're coming back tomorrow and then I'll get to "act." Again, I am playing the mother of the actor who was Jeremiah in Faceless. Freddie liked our "chemistry."
Which is fine. These are two completely different characters and whatever Freddie wants me to do, I'll do. Up to a point, of course. Freddie has a lot of religious beliefs I do not have but I respect his and I think he respects my point of view. I even gave him a rosary today that someone had given me a long time ago. My feelings about the cross are not positive- to my mind, you might as well wear an electric chair around your neck or have at the front of your church, but that's just me and so it seemed to me that giving Freddie this rosary was something that would say to him that I recognize that he believes what he believes and also, it would get that rosary out of my life and into someone's who would appreciate it.
"Perfect," as Kathleen would say.

And now it's Saturday night and Prairie Home Companion is on and I'm going to bake sweet potatoes and cook pork chops and Lis is on her way home and I feel good, even though I cried a little when she told me she had to go.

I am constantly amazed these days at all the goodness in my life.
Amazed.

All right. Off to cook pork chops for the man I adore who got to go play with the grandson I adore and there you go- if it could get any better than this, I couldn't handle it.
Let me add that I filled out a Gallop poll today about wellbeing and I think I probably skewed the results right off the charts.
I am filled with wellbeing.
My favorite question was, on a scale of one to five, how truthful is this statement for you?
My life has exceeded my wildest dreams.
I gave that one a five.
And then shook my head in disbelief.

But it was true.

And on top of everything else, the butterfly ginger is blooming outside my kitchen door.
If there is a heaven, I have no idea what the streets will be paved with but believe me- they will be lined on both sides by constantly-blooming butterfly ginger and the air will be filled with their fragrance.

Joy! Part II

Last night was one of those nights. Kathleen wrote about it here.
It was an evening of too much. Too much martini, too much love, too much sweetness, too much fun, too much heart-talk, heart-spill, too much joy.

And as my friend Bill Wharton says, Sometimes too much is just enough.

I am so glad we took our pictures. We were all sprawled out on my bed, our eyes done in sparkly colors, our jewels in place. Okay. They don't show up but they were all there.

We all needed it. We all got it. It was good.

And today Lis is going to go sing at a funeral. She is getting ready right now and she will look beautiful and she will sound like an angel. Kathleen is home with her family there and I am here, supposedly getting ready for Mr. FC Rabbath to show up with some other people to shoot something that will turn into a movie of some sort.
Dress-up, play-acting, action.
The link I posted last night took ME to a new movie of Freddie's but now I see the link has changed. I'll repost when it comes back to the new one where Natasha makes her short, silly appearance. We all watched it last night and it was fun.

I am trying very hard these days to just do as rightly as I can and then let the universe takes me where it will. To try and stay out of the process as much as I can. Which is the way I feel when Freddie is using me in one of his scenes. Same-same.
And I have no beliefs that there is a Director standing up there in the sky saying, "Do this, do that, let me take care of the final cut," but that doesn't seem to matter in the least.

Such a damn relief.

And such a damn joy to fall into these moments of grace with women like Lis and Kathleen who shared themselves with me last night and I with them and we grew tipsy and the world tilted us towards each other and we held on tight.

Joy!

Manic Behavior

Wow. I feel like a donkey on meth. Hee-haw! Hee-haw!
Or something like that. It's been a great and full day and is only getting started. Lis is about to appear and also Kathleen and Hank and Mr. Moon and we shall party DOWN! I've got the chili all mixed up and I think maybe it's going to be too hot to handle. Hmmmm.
Let me just say that that one pepper I cut up? Well, afterwards I accidentally brushed my eye area with my hand and it's burning like a house afire.
And I don't even care! Well, about my eye. I do care about the chili. I'll be able to handle it but I'm not sure about anyone else. Maybe the beans will dilute the hotness.
(Shit. Now my hands are burning.)

Okay. That's it. I was going to say stuff about how I am probably not going to have time for anything tonight or tomorrow, blog-wise, but you know me. I eke it out. Mr. FC Rabbath is coming over to film here tomorrow and I'm expecting nothing but chaos from Pull It Out Your Ass Productions but I'm thinking it will be fun, too.

We shall see.

I hope you all have a wonderful Friday evening with the ones you love or the ones you hope to love. You know what I mean.

Happy Friday, y'all.
Love....Ms. Moon

Haiku My Heart, Using Hands And Heart In Love

If hearts are to give
And hands are to hold our loves
I am truly blessed.

I've already run this picture but I love it too much for one single outing. I keep getting comments about how good a friend or a grandmother I am for doing the tiniest, simplest things for these two people but it is these two people who give my life its sweetest purpose these days. Who honor me by allowing me to use my hands and my heart so very purely in their behalf. I am not saying this out of some sort of false umbleness, as Uriah Heep would do. I am saying this with a fierce realization born of my years that there is nothing which makes me feel more alive and more at one with the universe than being able to do what I can for someone I truly love.
There is not one whiff of a sense of duty here. Not one. There is only pure joy and the very presence of Kathleen and Owen in my life have enriched that life more than they will ever know.
Thus, my haiku for this Friday.
I think that our rebecca, who hosts Haiku My Heart on Fridays will understand this perfectly.

New Moon

Didn't go to Wakulla Springs today. Storms. And all day I have thought about Owen and have missed him. That wild boy. That kamikaze hugger. That open-mouth smacker on the mouth.

I cooked soup and custard for Kathleen because she can't eat fake soft food and she doesn't feel like cooking the real stuff. She's so tired. I went to see her, take her the food, and she's just so tired. That's normal, I'd suppose, for a person undergoing radiation. The doctor didn't really warn her of that, though. He made it sound as if it would be some possible throat pain, a bit of skin burning, nothing big, nothing to fear.
Well, Kathleen doesn't fear much and it sure would be nice for her to know these other things might happen. Even with the chemo she's about to get he only keeps saying she's going to lose her hair and then he told her about the chemo class that was offered. She went. She got a folder with recipes. I have a feeling she's not going to be much interested in those either. Cooking or eating them. I'll surely cook them if she'll eat them but we'll just have to wait and see what's what. Who knows? After a lifetime of not eating meat she may suddenly want a ham. I doubt it, but I suppose it could happen. You better believe that if she wants a ham I'll bake one for her. With brown sugar and mustard sauce. Mr. Moon would go out and shoot her a wild pig if that's what she wanted. I know he would.

I shouldn't be writing tonight. I'm just tired and have some blahs. Babyless blahs. Feeling-like-I-ain't-good-for-nothing blahs. Feeling-like-I'm-really-old-and-everything-hurts blahs.
Not even blues, you understand. Just blahs. The moon's a tiny double-ended hook in the sky and my heart feels like maybe it got a little too close to one of those silver points. Just one tiny drop of blood, maybe. Nothing mortal, just a tiny, sticky red rose of a wound on my heart.

Well, it's time for bed anyway. Guess I'll go lay down and see where my dreams take me and where they drop me off tomorrow morning when I wake up. Mr. Moon's lunch is packed for tomorrow, the smoothie is set up to be blended in the morning. The coffee's set to go off at seven. The beans for tomorrow night's venison white bean chili are cooked. The guest room sheets are clean. Sweet Lis is coming tomorrow night and maybe we'll do another kissing picture. If we have martinis we probably will. And we probably will have martinis.

My heart will probably mend in the night and maybe my old bones will settle themselves into a more comfortable position within me. One can hope.

One can dream.

Good night.

Arthur, I Love You

Mr. Moon has no idea sometimes how close he comes to seeing me go up in flames. This morning was one of them.
He stayed out late last night, playing poker while I stayed at home, which is fine with me. I got a lot done and went to bed pretty early.
But this morning he came out to the porch to tell me that although he noticed I did remember to shut the chickens in, I had forgotten to turn off the porch ceiling fan.
"I know it's hard to remember," he said sweetly.

"Arthur," I thought to myself. "Oh, Arthur."

I read a book once, an autobiography by Gloria Stuart, called I Just Kept Hoping. Ms. Stuart is a remarkable woman who played the very old woman in Titanic. In the book she said that when she got really mad at her husband she would say, quite reasonably, "Fuck you, Arthur!"
And that amused me and so our code, Mr. Moon's and mine, for not being amused when one of us does or says something that pisses the other off is simply, "Arthur!"

Yes. I forgot to turn off the ceiling fan.
But. I weeded, I did some plant trimming, I did some laundry, I cooked an entire meal so that he could have a lunch and a dinner tonight while I'm at rehearsal and cleaned up the kitchen and oh, who knows what all else I did?
And thus, the "Arthur." Which I did not say out loud but sat and just looked at him and nodded and said, "Oh yeah. I'm sorry."
I sat and seethed a bit for a few moments, thinking of all the things I DO remember, such as to do his laundry and buy food and then remember to prepare it. I remember to buy toilet paper and sometimes even remember to put it on the holder when he, for some reason, forgets. And I remember to buy the dish washing soap and the laundry detergent and light bulbs and cat food and his supplements which I also remember to hand to him because he never remembers, and I remember to take the trash and do whatever housecleaning gets done around here and all the things I do but that no one ever even thinks of because...well, it's done.

ARTHUR!

And then I stop and I think about the fact that he works so hard to make the money for all of these things and he remembers to go to work every day and he remembers to go work out every day and he remembers to thank me for the meals I make and cleans up after sometimes and how he always remembers to buy chicken food and dog food and beer and how he takes such good care of Owen and even changes poopy diapers and how Owen is in such bliss when his grandfather kisses the back of his neck with his beardy face and then, and THEN, when I took the dogs to the groomer this morning and came back and found this note:

well, what could I do?
Sigh and say, "Arthur. I love you."

Marriage. It's a funny thing and there are bumps in the road and then there is such sweetness your heart melts all over again.

Good-morning, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon

Simple Stuff

Well, it's a real nice evening here in Lloyd. Not as hot as it has been. In fact, the last two days we've all remarked on the subtle change in the air. It's a promise of fall that only people who have been slowly roasting to death in ninety-seven degree temperatures with ninety-nine percent humidity can detect. But detect it we do and we're grateful for it and we discuss it among ourselves when we meet up on the road or in the post office.

"Almost 'fraid to say anything, but don't it feel a bit cooler?"
"Yep. You're right. I mean, it's still hot but it's not AS hot."
"And it'll get hotter again, but this is nice."
We nod at each other and go on separate ways having discussed something which, to us, is of grave importance.

And it is nice and I went out and pulled a few weeds from the garden from around the sweet potatoes. The garden has gone to HELL, I tell you.



The tomatoes are dried vines and the green beans are too. The squash is long gone and so are the big eggplants. I have a few of the small Italian ones still and some of the tiny, lethal peppers and the sweet potato vines but you can't pull them until after first frost. Or so I hear. I've never grown sweet potatoes before.

There are some volunteer marigolds and zinnias from last year but the zinnias are all a shade of dusky pink which doesn't do a thing for me and I grieve for all the beautiful blooms I might have had if the yard guy hadn't cut all my new plants down a month or so ago.

I mourn the reds and the yellows, the oranges and the greens. I mourn the whites. Well. Next year.

But the weeds are easier to pull this time of year than the tiny hair-like ones we're so vigilant about in spring and I did sweat, pulling them, but it wasn't as bad as it would have been three nights ago and I sort of enjoyed it. The chickens came in the garden and scratched in the clean dirt I'd just cleared and I threw them a tomato hornworm and they pecked at it with great curiosity.
There is little in this world which brings me as much pleasure as watching my chickens in the dirt and the yard.

I've learned to make the same sound that Elvis makes when he finds a tasty treat and wants to call his hens. I feel as if I'd learned French or maybe even Chinese when I make the sound and the hens come running. I'm a simple woman. Let's face it. It's true.

I stayed with Owen for a few hours today. When I got there, his mama said, "Thank god," and handed him over. "He's driving me crazy," she said. He was tired but fighting sleep which results in some pretty frantic behavior. I got down on the floor and played ball with him and he laughed like a hyena when I started bouncing it off the side of the couch. When his mama left to go to work he said, "Bye!" and waved his whole arm with great vigor.
He can say "Hi!" and "Bye!" now, as well as you or I can, and when Lily and I demonstrated throwing kisses, he looked at us with that calculating look in his eye and I know he is thinking, "I can do that. I just have to think about it for awhile."
And he will. He's a damn genius.

So Mr. Moon has a new toy. It's one of those ATV's.


I hate those motherfucking things but he bought it for a purpose and because he's Mr. Moon, he will probably end up making a few bucks off it when he's done with it. Everything he buys is an investment and dammit! He's right. It is. I don't think the man has ever lost money on anything he's bought, whereas everything I buy is NOT an investment unless you think of flax seed as an investment in our health.
Whatever.

He keeps calling it a "quad" and I finally said, "Quit calling it that! It makes me think of quadriplegic which is what you're going to be when it rolls on top of you."
"Okay," he says. "I'll call it an ATV."

Last night when we were going to bed I said, "You know, Ozzy Osbourne flipped his and was really hurt."
"Ozzy's a moron," said Mr. Moon.

I had to admit he's right although I do love Ozzy. It's strange- when he was the Prince of Darkness I couldn't have given one shit about him but after I watched him on that reality show I fell completely in love with his sweet, bumbling self. I watched the show faithfully and my kids laughed at me. I couldn't help it. I loved him. He may be a moron but he loves his family to distraction and his stupid, little dogs too.

Anyway, Mr. Moon is careful and he is not a moron and I trust his ATV driving abilities. Plus, he's a grown man and who am I to tell him he can't have an ATV? It's making him happy and I'm all about that.

Well, I think the chickens have gone to roost and so I need to go shut them up and cook some supper. It's been a good day. A good walk in a slightly cooler world, a visit with my grandson, a few weeds pulled, a chat with Kathleen on the phone, another chat with May on the phone, five good eggs from the hens, and I think maybe Hannah will get a few gifts from people she didn't even know cared about her.

The cicadas are humming so loudly I can't hear myself think and tomorrow Lily and I might take Owen to Wakulla Springs.
There will be pictures.

I'm really busy these days but I'm loving it. I'm good.

I hope you are too.

Love...Ms. Moon

It's A Baby Shower For Kori's Daughter! (Let's Go Shopping!)

When I first started blogging I kept seeing, in comments, the moniker, See Kori Rant.
Mmmmm....I thought. Who is this Kori who rants?
And so I started reading Ms. Kori's blog and oh honey, what a blog. Kori is a no-holds-barred, tell-it-like-it-is mama/woman/blogger who has been through some STUFF! Can I get an amen on that?
And yet, every time something happens in her life that threatens to push her down, she somehow gathers the strength and the courage to rise again and face whatever needs facing. When I think of Kori, I think of a Mama Lion because I know she would do whatever it took to protect and raise her young'uns. And she does.
I also think of a strong tree which knows enough to bend in a high wind, who never gives up although she sometimes despairs, who doesn't even KNOW her own strength.

When Kori told us some months ago that her seventeen year old daughter was, ahem, pregnant, we of the blog community rushed to her with our virtual support because

(a) We have come to love Kori, and those of us who have been reading her for awhile know that Hannah is as brave as her mother,
and
(b) Most of us, ahem, know quite well we could have been pregnant at seventeen.
Well, speaking for myself.

So today I want to throw a virtual shower for Beautiful Hannah because her sweet daughter, Aubry is due to arrive around September 10th and it's one thing for us to rush to give our support with words and it's another to support this young mama-to-be-really-soon with a small giftie of some sort.

It's so easy these days, of course, with online gift registries.
Hannah is registered at

The Target Baby Gift Registry
The JC Penney Baby Gift Registry and
The Walmart Baby Gift Registry

Just type in her name, which is Hannah Dunn and go shop. It's fun! I did it!
And let's show sweet Hannah and sweet Aubry that blogging is about more than words.
And that words mean something.

And let me add that unfortunately there is not a gift registry for grandmothers. If it did, it would include a bottle of Ativan and two cameras (one for back-up emergencies).
But there isn't.
So let me just say that Kori doesn't really need any gifts right now because she's about to get the greatest gift of her life. And I say that from experience.

All right. Go shop!
And Hannah- we send you love above all else and as you go through this new and incredible journey, remember you are in no way alone.
And most importantly- you're about to find out what real love is and welcome to the club of mama's. Best club in the world.
Congratulations.

Name That Belly!

Guess what we're doing tomorrow?
Hint:
It has something to do with...a pregnant lady.
And no, there are no pregnant ladies in my family that I know of but this pregnant lady is one of our blog world family, our little Batshit Crazy community here at blessourhearts and no, it's not Mwa, either.
Mwa- do you have a baby yet? Externally, I mean? We're waiting for news.
But no, this is not about Mwa.

So, just check back in the morning and after I take my walk and feed my chickens, I'll let you know what's going on.
Here's another hint:
If this were real and not virtual, we'd need crepe paper and a cake.
Mmmmm....Cake.
Maybe one like this...


Just to get you in the mood.

See you tomorrow.

Love...Ms. Moon

Black And White

Sometimes when Mr. Moon is out of town, I stay up and read too long. I did that last night. I am reading Patti Smith's book Just Kids about her young life in NYC living and loving with Robert Mapplethorpe. Such an alien world to the one I live in, the one they occupied back in the sixties, trying to figure out what it meant to be an artist, trying to figure out how to get food to eat, a place to stay, how to keep body and soul together enough to stay up all night and make art.

Patti had a baby and gave it up for adoption when she was very young and then went to New York with no money and no place to live. She slept sometimes in doorways, she met a beautiful man who took her in, she fell in love, they became lovers, he discovered and explored his love for men, she tried to understand, she had a straight job, they moved into the Chelsea and met artists of all kinds. She had an affair with Sam Shephard. She cut her hair like Keith Richards. She acted, she painted, she wrote poems, she learned to play the guitar.

It's like there were no boundaries for them, those kids in New York City. Want to live at the Chelsea but have no money? Leave your gray-wrapped-with-red-ribbons-portfolio with the owner and maybe he'll give you the smallest room in the hotel.

Don't have the sixty-five cents for a sandwich at the automat? Perhaps Alan Ginsberg will show up with the dime you need, think you're a pretty boy instead of a boyish girl and give you the dime.

Did the people you went to high school with think you were ugly? Take that ugly and enhance it with scissors and never-enough-to-eat and define beauty for yourself.

Find the prettiest boy in New York and throw your lot in with him. Try to understand him and let him try to understand you.

It's hard to put the book down. She is, of course, a very good writer and she has lived a life.
I never really understood Mapplethorpe's art with its violence and christiness.

But it haunts.
I never really understood Smith's music but I understood its power and honesty.


I understood that she was a woman who was redefining what a woman was and in sharing her music, she was helping me to redefine who I was, little hippie wife living in a small trailer with my two babies and my guitar-playing husband. Not unlike Yoko Ono who was also called ugly and who wailed, "I'm such a mean chickie baby."



These other lives so alien from mine and yet, they touched me and part of who I am and how I see the world was changed by them.

Isn't that what art is about?

Here is my reality. I have made it as clear as I possibly can. Can you understand what I'm trying to show/tell/sing to you?

I may not especially like or identify with it but if it is real, if the artist has put her or his soul into its creation, and I take the time to look and listen and set aside my judgment, I may understand, at least a little. I may be changed, at least a bit.
And my world gets a little bigger and my understanding grows to include that which I never even considered before.

Yes. Sometimes it's good to stay up too late, reading, because the next morning, you may be a slightly different person living in a different world where the boundaries are not so tightly defined.

Your Mantra Can Be Yum Or Yuck, According to Tom Robbins; You Make The Decison

There is a deep urgency to my life these days which has been informed by two things:
My grandson and my friend, Kathleen.

There is nothing which will perk you up and make you pay attention to life more than a baby and a friend who has cancer. You can quote me on that one.

And what I'm realizing is that no matter whether your life is brand new and you are learning to talk and walk and hug and kiss or whether you are older and learning to deal with radiation and chemotherapy, life is all about learning and I, too, am learning new things every day.

Let me tell you something- this life is way bigger than any of us know and we do create our own realities and the best thing we can do is to let our eyes and hearts and minds be open to whatever the universe has to reveal about itself to us as every damn day.

I am coming to this realization as a woman who is an admitted agoraphobic and who had thought herself settled into a sort of retirement after raising four children into adulthood. My job is done, I thought, as my youngest set herself off into the world and I settled down into a routine here in my dream house with my dream man and all of my dream children within arm's length.

Hahahaha! The universe said as I went and auditioned for a play and met new people and my daughter met and married her own dream man and they had a dream baby and my other children lived their lives and followed their paths and dragged me along with them, sort of, at least.
Hahahaha! said the universe as I started this blog and sent words out and became part of another community which became such an important thing to me that I dream of it, this blog-world.
Hahahaha! the universe chuckled as Kathleen brought me chickens.
Hahahaha! chortled the universe as I passed the quarter-of-a-century mark with my husband.
And even hahahaha! as my floors need mopping and I start reading a new book and I learn to cook the venison my husband brings home and old friends become even dearer to me than ever.

Ah yes.
I learned to say YES to the universe when it offered new paths. I remember the first day Owen was left in my care and I was so nervous that I almost had a stroke, almost blacked out, even after raising four babies of my own. I learned to say YES when Kathleen brought me chickens and when she called Freddie to set up an audition and when the people at the Opera House said that I could be part of that crew.
I am learning to say YES when I feel a need in my gut and I need to respond to the message that it sends.

But here's the thing- I am learning every day. I am still the woman who wishes she could stay in her house tending her flowers and her yard, picking up dead branches and perhaps venturing out into the world enough to buy plants for her garden. But I am learning. I was not blessed with the sort of soul that says yes. And my childhood taught me that saying no is often the safest way. But as I grow older, I am learning that safe is not always the right way, even for me.
Sometimes it is.
And sometimes it is not.

And the older I get, the more I just feel that I need to be open to whatever comes along. It's hard. Don't get me wrong. It's hard for me. But every time I say YES, something happens which makes my world so much richer that I can't even believe it.

And if there is an urgency, it is an urgency which promises that my part in the whole scheme of things is important, but not indispensable. I have the right and ability to say no, if I please.
And so the things I say yes to are that much more meaningful.

This is what happens as you age. You realize that there is so much more than you ever imagined in this life, no matter what your life is. But that the things you say yes to must be the things that your heart yearns for, the things that your spirit depends on.

And I have no idea why I have the feeling that passing on this stuff that I am learning is important, but I do and so there you are and here you are and now I'm going to go eat some leftover curried eggplant.

Yes.