And I Am Feeling Twice My Age

Quiet and fairly still here. I just don't think this storm is going to have much to do with us. I hear that it's tracking a tiny bit east of where they thought it might which is giving the coast over there a little less in the way of wind and water but it's still a very dangerous storm and from what I can hear, the interstate is still humming.

We are in the negotiation phase of lunch- where, when, how? Hank's car isn't working, he's babysitting until 12:30, Gibson is running a fever and isn't in school but doesn't feel too bad and so should be okay to go to lunch but we can't kiss him.
And so forth.
It's always like this. It'll be good for me to get out though, go see my babies and I need to go by the store.

It's Friday.
Stay safe.

Love...Ms. Moon

Fretting

Well, alone again. Can't stay off the internet, torturing myself with updates on the storm and they're all just stomach-churningly horrible. I have so many friends on the other coast and I worry, I worry, I fret and I worry.
And that does no good.
The interstate which is about half a mile from my house has hummed all day with westward intent. What a time for the truck stop to be closed, eh?
And this just in: Disney World has closed for only the fourth time EVER!
Ever.

Right now it's still as a held breath in Lloyd, air-wise. I wonder if we'll get winds and rain. Probably. But honestly- we'll be fine.
I just have to stay busy and focused. And spend less time on the internet, of course. Between the politics and the hurricane, it's not doing me much good.
Or any good. Whatsoever.

I think I'll make a spinach and rice casserole because I'll get comfort in the making and in the eating. And tomorrow, if all goes okay, I hope to go to lunch with my babies because we haven't done that ALL WEEK LONG and I miss them.

Here are two pictures Jessie posted last night on FB of August, pretending that a chocolate bar is a cell phone.

Now. If that doesn't cheer me up, then I need to just go jump off a cliff.

All love...Ms. Moon

Nature Is A Very Broad Subject

This little wren has been visiting me on my back porch the past few days. I'd say she was looking for a nesting place (several little wren families have been raised here in the past) but isn't this NOT the time to build a nest and lay eggs?
Oh, I could look it up but I'm too busy looking up Hurricane Matthew and thank those of you who have inquired about it and its possible effects here. It is a monster, scary storm and I am very, very worried about the folks I know living on the east coast where it is supposed to hit and even the ones I know in Central Florida but it's not supposed to be too much danger for us.
And yet, I keep going out to speak to my husband as he puts the fence back up and is getting his things all packed up to leave for Georgia this afternoon, my anxiety obviously apparent, and he keeps reassuring me that it's all going to be fine, just fine. He even said at one point "not to worry so much" and then he laughed a little and said, "Who do I think I'm talking to?" and I laughed too but it wasn't really that fucking funny.
I'm sure he's right.
And I'm sure if I begged him to stay home, he probably would, probably being the key word there, and I don't want to find out that I'm wrong so I'm not going to do any begging.

Ah well. I need to just get on with life.
Here's a picture of some of the prettiest little flowers I see blooming right now. They are so determinedly orange and cheerful. I have no idea what they are but their vine leaves look like Morning Glories.

Otis keeps trying to mount Violet, the wind is gusting, and Maurice is watching it all. 

I need to get busy.

Love...Ms. Moon

Mindfully Grateful

Not a great shot by any means but I love how the red of Otis' comb and wattle is the same shade as the red of the passion flower blooming on the fence.

I've had the most laid-back day due to the fact that a guy was supposed to come inspect for wood-destroying organisms at three never has shown up or called and so I spent the entire late afternoon being lazy, reading, mostly. I texted Lily and Jessie that the most frustrating thing about it was that I wanted to take a nap but was afraid to fall asleep lest he show up and I didn't hear him and then I texted that that had to be the wussiest thing I've ever said in my life.
But I do wish I could have taken a nap. To be honest.

Last night Maurice slept with me again and this morning she was adamant that I get up when she thought it was time and after kissing me on the lips (yes, she does this) and gently nipping at my hands, she then jumped onto the bedside table and knocked off the lamp, which did not break, and my plugged-in phone, which did not break, but the charger it was plugged into did in fact break, the little part that sticks into the phone coming completely cracked off the base of the charger. I had to pull that little part out and the phone seems to be working fine but dammit, Maurice! you owe me for a charger! And it wasn't an off-market charger either It was an official Apple charger!

And I was just bragging on her last night because she hasn't drawn blood from me in over a week.

Why do we have pets? Why?

Anyway, the interview on Fresh Air with Bruce sort of restored my soul a little and I've felt more at peace today. If you can't get enough Bruce and didn't hear the interview, there's a link to it here.

And so it goes again. Another day. I've got chicken cooking with fresh pineapple and onions and cinnamon and I have jasmine brown rice simmering on a back burner, artichokes steaming on another. Mr. Moon will be leaving for Georgia tomorrow afternoon for more hunting activities and I'm hoping he gets the garden fence put back before he pulls out of Lloyd so I can plant my seeds and bedding plants. I will miss him and hope to have the garden all sown and lovely by the time he gets back. We are so late this year but it is what it is and maybe the mushroom compost will speed things along, or at least, support our efforts in positive ways.

Again, I have to say that I am as lucky as any woman on earth could possibly be, and luckier, by far, than most.

Love...Ms. Moon

And I Quote

"Physical pain?
Physical pain is my friend.
I pursue it every night for four hours. I'm a good Catholic boy."

Springsteen in response to Terry Gross's question on whether or not physical pain had contributed to his depression.

Springsteen Speaks

Another day, another walk. In the past eight days, I've walked six and am proud of that. Done crunches and stretches too. And I feel stronger.
But just as crazy.
Got twenty pages into the Springsteen autobiography. We all knew the man could bump some verbs and nouns together in a tasty way, as Juancho might say and I am not disappointed with his style, his voice, as he writes. By the age of seven he'd already been fucked up by an overly permissive grandmother, a drunken father and the Catholic church.
I always said that if you wanted to raise true artists, fuck 'em up as kids as much as possible.
Of course I didn't mean that but it does so painfully often seem to be true.

Well, Terry Gross is interviewing the man himself on Fresh Air right this second.

I think I'll listen.

That was the good thing today and although nothing really bad happened to me whatsoever, not me personally, it's been hard, so hard, and I'm quaking inside for no reason whatsoever except whatever it is which is making me quake.

What The Hell?

Woke up this morning with my anxiety-meter redlining for no reason whatsoever. I had strange dreams but nothing too scary and Maurice had spent the entire night with me close enough to touch and her eye is mostly healed and it looks normal again and I truly thought she was going to lose it or be blind at the very least, so that is good, and it's a beautiful cool day and so what? Why? How?
Fuck.
I don't know.

I did my crunches, my stretches, started laundry, downloaded a new book, took up my walking stick and headed out because what else do you do? Sit home and tremble?
Sometimes. Sometimes you do but if you can, it's best to move.
And so I did, down the sidewalk and onto the little path where the beautiful old house under the beautiful old trees sits, it's Make America Great Again: Trump! sign still there up next to the ancient wire fence.

The other day as we drove past the truck stop it looked closed and Mr. Moon told me that he'd driven past it the other morning early and no lights were on and so I went to explore that and sure enough.

I peeked into the windows and the shelves are bare as bones, the coolers and refrigerators empty as well. This is so weird. In the forty-something years I've either lived in or haunted this area, that place has been open. Nasty, dirty, bereft of any charm whatsoever, stinky, unwelcoming, with food (when the restaurant was open) that would hardly please a starving person but still- open.
You know?
This leaves the one convenience store and Subway right next to the truck stop open and that store is scarier than the truck stop ever was. No matter when you go in there you see the same employee- an old woman whom Flannery O'Connor might have been frightened by, her skin as blue pale as skim milk, her eyes somehow flat and wild, both, as if she were eternally and always being held hostage, as if she would simply discorporate if she so much as dared step outside the store, and I've always suspected she sleeps on a cot somewhere in the nethers of the place. And yet, she manages somehow to ring up the purchases made by unsuspecting travelers who have wandered off the interstate, the local people who have no transportation or other choice.

Oh, Lloyd.

Well. I walked and I walked and I sweated and I sweated and now I'm home and feeling no less anxious but tired, so I guess that's an improvement although it hardly feels like it.

I'm going to eat some lunch and shower and go to a nursery and buy my bedding plants, my seeds, even as I am thinking of Haiti and wondering if it will even be there after this storm passes, people living in tents still, all these years after the earthquake. I am thinking of how much damage the relatively mild storm which hit our area just over a month ago did and wondering how in hell life can be preserved when a storm with twice the windspeed covers an island where people live in such tenuous conditions on hillsides and beside crumbling walls.
I am thinking of so much today, too much, some of it close to home and some of it far away and wondering how we humans can go on, day after day, and yet- we do. We do.

We go on and we hold on and somedays we wake up and it's all right we felt tenderly held in the light and those days do come.

I wonder what's going to happen with the truck stop?
Like so many things- I have no control over that at all.

Love...Ms. Moon

You Don't Need To Walk On Water To Be A Miracle In My Book

I tell you what- this whole being physical and productive shit is killing me. I was doing great up until about four-thirty this afternoon at which point I thought I might die. But I did not die, as per usual, and got Mr. Moon on the road to auction with his snack bag and popcorn and kisses and admonitions to be safe and to text me when he gets there and so forth.
Because, you know how it is- the ONE TIME I forget to tell him to be safe, he won't be and it'll be MY FAULT.
That is in the Mother's Handbook which is issued to every woman when a baby she's either given birth to, adopted, or perhaps just came in contact with, triggers the delivery of. You've never seen a copy, you say? That's because you've never looked at a mother's DNA under an electron microscope. It's there. Trust me. And some of the stuff in it is transferable to being a wife, too.
Definitely for being a grandmother.
So. You see that darling girl? You know what I let her do today? I let her chew on a dead, dried up tiny worm.
Yes. Yes I did.
We were outside and she was chewing on something and so I did the mouth-sweep, as you do, and was horrified to discover not the leaf I was expecting, but a tiny curled-up worm jerky.
Oh Lord.
Well, good for her gut bacteria, right? What could possibly have more beneficial bacteria than a worm? Have you seen any of those yogurts or probiotics advertising themselves as having more beneficial bacteria than worm jerky?
No. You have not.
Because they don't.
I need say no more.

So I did my job as a grandmother today and also, I kept all three of the children alive which is not as easy as it used to be since Owen learned to climb trees and swing from the branches like Tarzan or a monkey.
Gibson is sick with jealousy that he can't climb the tree and desperately wanted me to put him up there and I not only refused, I told Owen that he had to come down because it was making his brother crazy but I don't think I fooled him. He knew exactly who was being made crazy.

But we had a good time and when I left, Owen said that I should tell Boppy that "Owen loves him," and then Gibson chimed in and said, "Me too. Tell him that Gibson loves him," and Maggie, safe and happy in her mama's arms actually reached out her arms to me and I held her one more time before I left, giving her one more chance to rip my earring out of my earlobe but I deftly avoided her quick grasp and handed her back to her mama, earlobe still intact, cheek kissed again.

And so, a day that started out well looks to be ending well and the little birds went outside the coop today and then went back in and I even took the trash and recycle and did laundry and I've washed my new nightgown for premium softness and oh, boy. I sure am looking forward to bed and my book.

I'd love to post a video Jessie sent me today of August demonstrating how to say "book" in both English and sign language but unless I post it first to Youtube, I can't figure it out and dammit, I just don't have the energy for that sort of foolishness tonight.
It's amazing and funny and as I was saying just a few weeks ago, no matter how many times I went through the normal development of a child with my own kids or saw it in my friends' kids, every time I see it again, it blows me away and makes me believe that each of my grandchildren are geniuses.
Which, of course, they are.

Which, of course, they all are.

We all are.

Love...Ms. Moon

Just Put On That Tail And Become A Mer!

It has been a terrific day so far and I'm not joking. I took a good walk and when I got to the Post Office, those two things were waiting for me. My Bruce book and my new sexy, hot, voluminous white cotton nightgown. I plan to spend many happy hours wearing my new sexy, hot voluminous nightgown in bed with Bruce.
Before I start the Bruce book though, I have to finish the one I'm reading which is an older Kate Atkinson book which is, in some ways, the funniest book I've ever read.

I can't describe it but I will say that Atkinson, as we all know, has a master's ability to deal with many levels of reality at once, braiding and twisting and revealing as she wishes. Dang. She's good. And, as I wrote my daughter May, who just finished the book, in some strange ways it reminds me of Larry McMurtry's novel, All Of My Friends Are Going To Be Strangers although on the surface one would never see the resemblance. Both books, however distant in time and space, portray the insanity of graduate English departments. Not that I'd really know but now I can certainly imagine. 

So. There you go. I'm not going to go buy seeds and plants today but am going to babysit three of my grands for awhile and I have to go to the grocery store. It is a beautiful day and whatever niggling worries I am carrying in my gut are controllable. When I was collecting my package at the PO, I inadvertently left my beloved walking stick which Mr. Moon made for me, beside the window and when I went back to get it, I discovered that the sweetest old man had given it to the post master for safe-keeping. He had longish white hair (think Will Geer) and was wearing tidy dark blue jeans and a crisp white shirt with suspenders and his eyes twinkled. 

Yes. A terrific day so far and I feel good and strong, albeit sore, but that's a fact of my everyday life and as long as I keep digging in the dirt and walking down the roads and paths, I'll be okay. 

Love...Ms. Moon

P.S. Jo shared a video on FB today which has brought me great joy. 

Here it is. May it bring you joy as well. And inspiration. 

The Topic Is Mostly Shit, Once Again

So, I thought, as I shoveled and toted and spread the mushroom compost today. What the hell is this shit?
I had a vague idea that it was the leftover material after mushrooms had been grown on it. It seemed to contain what I would have to call horse shit (I've shoveled my share of that, believe me), along with straw and, well, I didn't know. It smelled not poopy but a little acrid. I could smell ammonia. I could smell something almost like creosote. What was I putting on my garden?
I came in for a break because I had to take a break about every twenty minutes and I'm not kidding you. It feels lovely cool in the house but out in the sun working it was Sweat City. Not to mention that I'm sixty-two years old. Anyway, while I was on my break, I googled mushroom compost. 
Here's what I found on the all-knowing internet:

Spent mushroom substrate is the composted organic material remaining after a crop of mushrooms is harvested. Mushrooms are grown in a mixture of natural products, including horse-bedded straw (straw from horse stables), hay, poultry manure, ground corn cobs, cottonseed hulls, gypsum, and other substances.

Yep. That made sense. 

So. Between the two of us, Mr. Moon and I got all of it spread out on the garden and then Mr. Moon tilled it in and now I'm watering it in. As it is, just off the truck, it's too salty and intense to germinate seeds in, which would sort of negate the beneficial properties of it so it has to mellow a bit, as does horse shit or chicken shit. Oh god. Y'all don't need to know this. You really don't. And if you're a gardener you already do so I'll shut up now. 

About shit, anyway.

So now neither one of us can hardly walk and we're moaning and complaining about every movement we make and we're laughing, too, because GOD DAMN! how'd we get so old? Mr. Moon also worked on his deer blind project and smashed his thumb and I got stung by a wasp that had crawled into my glove to take a nap while I was taking a break. This is not the first time that's ever happened to me and it's my own stupid fault for not checking before I put them back on. Why a wasp would want to crawl into a nitrile coated glove, I do not know, but it happens. 

And so it goes. My anxiety got sweated out of me, mostly, and I have venison marinating and the laundry is put away and it's peaceful here in Lloyd. The chickens are having their last scratch-about before roost time. I opened the door to the big coop today to let the Darla, Dottie, and Nicey II go out to explore the world but I believe the very idea frightened them so much that they spent most of the day huddled in the baby coop. 
Them chickens ain't right. 

Maybe tomorrow I'll go buy my seeds and get those started in the ground. Maybe even a few already started plants, too, just to get things going. I am SO ready to start eating some fresh greens. I remember back when it was only in spring that I got the garden fever but these days, it seems to come on at least as strong, if not more so, in the fall. 

Let us all sleep well tonight, my dears and dream of green and tender things. 
Having said that, I'll probably dream about shoveling shit all night.
Well, there are worse things to dream of. Trust me. There's shit and then there's shit and horse shit is not that bad and good things can come forth from it.

Love...Ms. Moon

Blurry Reality. Typical For Sunday

My dreams were weird last night and this morning and so I've woken up to a knotted stomach, dream-driven anxiety. I hate that.
But. Time to work it out.
In the garden.

It's another beautiful day and I am thankful that Trump seems to be flailing and failing although I'm still scared shitless and I'm grateful that the sweet potato biscuits I made this morning were decent and I'm grateful that there are books to be downloaded from the library for free and I'm grateful I'm not religious and have the fear of GOD to worry about along with everything else I worry about (although wouldn't it be lovely to just be able to hand everything over to that god and have such faith that he would take care of everything, no problem, all will be well if not in this life, then surely the next?) and I'm grateful that the frighteningly powerful hurricane Matthew is not headed this way but I sure am worried about Haiti and Jamaica and Cuba.
As Mr. Moon and I agreed- if it were headed this way, we'd be scooting off to some place safer but what can you do when you live on a small island or an island where you have no transportation to escape the path of destruction?

Well.

Sunday.

I just watched little Miss Dearie fly OVER the wisteria arbor to land under the bird feeder.

I better get busy.

Love...Ms. Moon

Birthday Party For A One Year Old Boy

It was such a fun birthday luncheon with this little goof ball. Just...sweetness. Vergil grilled some burgers and squash and zucchini (is that redundant?) and there was potato salad and cole slaw and beans, guacamole, chips, salsa, and my personal favorite- pimento cheese!
And cup cakes.

The babies played with each other. Or, played next to each other. Or taunted each other with chips.

Or, sat on each other. 

(Possibly best picture ever taken.)

Okay. Only Maggie sat on August. Poor August. His little cousin is already dominating him. And is bigger than he is. And seems to completely bewilder him. But he had his moments in the limelight.

He was perfectly cool when it came time for his candle and his birthday song.

Here he is playing one of his favorite games. You put something on your head and pretend to sneeze and the thing on your head falls off. Hilarious laughter ensues.

The sweet family. 

 He loved his new kitty book.

And his new doll. When Owen saw it, he said, "Look! August got his own brother!" 

Speaking of Owen, here he is with with his daddy and his adoring sister. She loves her brothers more than anything on this earth. Well, except maybe for her daddy and mommy. She seems to like them too.

So it was just practically perfect. It would have been better if May and Michael could have come but they were working. 

Sigh.

I kept refusing offers of a beer while I was there because as I said, I had to come home and shovel mushroom compost. And then what happened when I got home? 

I got on the bed and stretched out in the cool with my book and read for a little while and then took a heavenly nap. When I got up, I did go out into the garden and picked peppers. 

I swear to god, y'all. It took me forty-five minutes to pick those peppers. But it wasn't very strenuous labor, I have to admit. 

Oh well. I can shovel compost tomorrow. Right? 

And here's my pinecone lilies.

At least I kept one of my promises. 

I do my best. 

Love...Ms. Moon, aka Mermer, Proudest Grandmother In The World And By The Way, Gibson, Who Is Only Four Years Old, Is Learning His Left From His Right. 

Are you kidding me? 

Brilliant grandchildren. Just brilliant. 

Babies, Men, And Other Amusing Things

Lily posted those pictures of Maggie on FB at about eleven last night.
Looking ready for bed, right?
Oh my god. I can't believe how that little squishling is growing up. She just loves life, that one.

I'm loving life well enough this morning. It's actually chilly. As in- I'm wondering where my slippers are. Also, the mushroom compost delivery truck is here. Mr. Moon took down some of the fence last night so that the guy can dump the compost directly into the garden which is going to save us countless hours of work. It's still going to be a lot of work, but not as much.

That's one pile. There's another. They're both steaming in this cool morning air. I'll be sweating by the time the afternoon is over, you can count on that. As soon as we get back from August's little party I'll be putting my overalls on and getting out there with a shovel. 

The pinecone lilies are beautiful right now. They are at maximum scarlet. 

I need to cut a few and bring them in to put in a vase. I doubt anyone but me even knows they're out there. Mr. Moon does the big picture thing. He looks out at the yard and sees whether or not the grass needs cutting. I look out into the yard to see what shy thing might be blooming. 

Speaking of which- he's out there now, mowing. He's on GO this morning and has been since before I got my sleepy ass out of bed. He's got a deer blind building project with a deadline that he's trying to get to.

No. The trip to Canada was not the only hunting he's got planned for the year. Of course not! He's also got the hunting camp up in Georgia and I don't even know what all. 

Ah lah. I love that man. 

So that's the news from Lloyd this morning. Yard mowing, mushroom compost spreading, birthday party attending, deer blind building. 

And so forth.

What's going on at your place?

Love...Ms. Moon

A Good Day's Work

I feel right smart proud of myself today. I did a good day's work, proving to myself that the heat and humidity and mosquitoes have not just been an excuse for me not to get outside and get things done because today I was fully invested in it, body and soul. The mosquitoes came out pretty fierce the last hour I spent in the garden but I just slapped them and kept on moving and got almost the whole garden cleared out and ready for a load of mushroom compost we're getting tomorrow.

After we get all of that spread and Mr. Moon tills, I'll be able to plant my collards, my kale, my lettuces, my carrots, my onions, my beets, my ARUGULA! And whatever else I'm forgetting. I'm pretty darn excited. Winter is the best season for gardening in North Florida and that's all there is to it. I have yet to dig my sweet potatoes, assuming the vines have produced any, but I'll get to that. 

Besides all the gardening, I cleaned out the henhouse and got fresh water for all the chickens and washed the sheets and did other laundry and took a good walk and swept the kitchen and hallway and everything looks tidy and nice and I just feel a tad bit more in control of my life. 

For the moment, at least, and I hope I'm not cursing myself by saying that but I know it's all an illusion anyway. 

Mr. Moon has mowed most of the yard and here's a picture I got of the grown-up chickens pecking their way through the freshly mown grass. 

I have noticed that Otis is having his handsome roostery way with tiny Miss Violet and so I know she's laying somewhere and damn, but I wish I could find those eggs. Sneaky little hen. Dearie probably is too. I keep looking but I ain't finding. 

So. Friday night. Might be a martini in my future. I better get off my ass and start supper. It's one of those days where I'm just happy to be living my life, as crazy as it gets sometimes. 

And can I just say a sincere thank-you to all of you who are here for the good times and the bad? The crazy and the saner, the silly and the ridiculous? Thanks for putting up with my obsessions and my imperfections, my rantings and my ravings. 

Happy Friday night, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Friday Report

Today really and truly feels like fall or at least fall as we know it in North Florida. The temperature is lower, the humidity is too and the mosquitoes in the yard are not nearly as fierce although when I stopped in the woods to pee, I was attacked unmercifully.
Lily suggests I just invest in some Depends but let's put that step off until we truly must face it, okay?

I have my doors open and thus, the front porch is again part of the world in which I live, not just a vague concept of a place where I go to water once a week, having sprayed with OFF! before I attempt that small chore.

Such a beautiful space. The Confederate roses right beside it are blooming. 

Not a good picture but the light is blasting them right now. I'll get better ones soon. 

I am staying at home today if all goes as planned. Owen seems fine but we are still concerned and as always, it would seem that when it rains it pours and other things are going on which are not exactly welcome to deal with but, that's life. 

That's life, that's life, that's life and for right now, I am going to hang clothes outside and clean the hen house and just do the little things which bring me comfort and soothe my soul and be grateful for this clear, good day of fall in Lloyd. 

So. Things Happen

Well, August's birthday party has been postponed until Saturday.
Lord, y'all. It's been a day.
Jessie and August and I had big fun shopping for the doin's we were going to have tonight but then Owen had a weird spell on the bus coming home from school and he had to go to the ER and Boppy and I babysat for Maggie and Gibson and thus, the party will be on Saturday.

My Owen boy, my heart, my love, has checked out fine and I got to see him and give him about a thousand kisses and he is looking upon it all as a grand adventure at this point. He is home now in his pajamas, I am sure (he puts his pajamas on as soon as he gets home no matter where he's been) and I'm also sure that his brother and sister are glad to see him. Maggie has the snot-nose again and a cough and DAMMIT KIDS, CAN'T YOU JUST STAY WELL?

So. Not the day or evening we were expecting but, as we all know, life is what happens when you're busy making other plans and to tell you the truth, August's reaction when he first saw me at Costco was enough to thrill me for an entire first birthday celebration. He joyfully bounced up and down in his seat and pointed at me and I swear (I am not making this up) he said, "Mer!"
Plus, I already gave him the giant kangaroo mama and her joey that we were going to give him tonight so my job, essentially, is done.

Mer's having a vodka tonic now and will be going to bed soon.

May all be well and may all be well and may all be very, very well.
And we shall celebrate August on Saturday.

Love...Ms. Moon

Happy Birthday, August!

And what were we doing a year ago today?
You can go here to see. 

It seems like a million years ago and it seems like yesterday.

Quite literally. Both.

I'm about to go to town to help his mama get ready for his little birthday party tonight. 

Here we are, here we are. 

Here he is. August Glinden. Still strong, still loved, still really likes to nurse. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Can I Get A Witness?

I've spent half the day making a crockpot full of soup which, of course, is now large enough in volume to feed all of Lloyd and let's not talk about the loaf of bread in the oven.
I'm like the queen of rock soup. I can start with one almost completely picked chicken carcass and end up with something that's either a disaster or a thing of beauty, depending on your perspective.

So Bruce Springsteen is live on Facebook right now. Looks like he's really doing a lot of promotion for this book he's written. I've preordered it, of course, and will be getting it in a few days along with a new white cotton nightgown, both from Amazon.
Modern Life.
It's a beautiful thing.
So- what's the deal with Bruce? He looks like he's been working out in the fields for the past decade. It doesn't look like a fake tan. He doesn't look like Donald Trump. Maybe he's been riding his motorcycle a lot and the whole rest of his body is as white as a dumpling. If so, he obviously doesn't wear a helmet.

I wonder if I'll love his book as much as I love Keith Richards' autobiography?
I seriously have no idea.
I've loved Bruce for longer in a true-love sort of way. Ever since I saw him play in Jacksonville in 1979. Maybe? He was still a skinny little guy at that point, jumping up on speakers and launching himself into the audience which he still does. I fell in love big time that night and his music has been my rod and my staff when I needed it throughout my life since then and I wonder if the words in his book will kindle an even deeper love.
We shall see.

All will be revealed.

It looks like Maurice may keep her eyeball. I hope so. Man, that's been a bad one. I love that damn cat. She's mean and she's sometimes cruel and she's bloodied me and Mr. Moon both countless times but she chose us and we can't help but love her. She's a cat and as such, cannot be judged by human standards and I will not.

Oh, y'all. Life is so tenuous and we need to take whatever comfort and love we can and I say that after having just gotten off the phone with a friend who is facing a whole mess of decisions and treatments and worries and cares.

Tomorrow is August's birthday and this time last year, Jessie was just starting into labor.

I try so hard to live the simplest life and I do, but in reality, there is no simple to any of it. And if someone says there is, they're lying out their ass.

Love...Ms. Moon

Diet, Exercise, Excuses, Excuses, Excuses. Plus- Other Stuff

Remember before Hermine hit and I was trying to eat all healthy and shit?
Boy. Those were the days.
So funny how little it takes to introduce chips and cheese back into my diet. Hysterical! Simply hysterical! Oh yeah.
And let's see- how long has it been since that storm? Weeks. And weeks.
But hey- Mr. Moon went out of town and so of course I had to eat a chicken pot pie because...well. Because.
And swiss cheese because he doesn't like swiss cheese and so when he's gone I can freely eat swiss cheese. Goddammit! Right?
And my walks? Hard to walk in a hurricane.
Which lasted one day.
But then...the mosquitoes! The heat! The...fuck if I know.

And you know, I didn't really eat that badly while he was gone. Many mornings I got up and made myself my own personal mason jar smoothie with fruit. And I put spinach in just about everything I cooked. And I ate salads when I went out.
Of course the salads I ate were so laden with delicious not-entirely-vegetable ingredients that I might as well have eaten hamburgers and curly fries.
Let's be honest.

Why is it so fucking hard and why do I even care any more?
Two more questions I don't have the answers to. But it is and I do.

Can I tell you that when we went to Sephora yesterday for Lily's birthday shopping fun, not one employee even asked me if I needed any help? And some of those employees were approaching my age range so we can't blame it on callow youth. Obviously, I am beyond the sort of help that Sephora can offer, even with their wide selection of beautifying and anti-aging products.

Ah well. (She said.)

So good morning and let me make one thing clear- I was not saying in yesterday's post that I am thinking about quitting writing here on the blog. I'm not sure I could if I wanted to but what I was saying is that my writing has become something that I am not very proud of.
And wondering how to make it better.
Let's make Ms. Moon great again!

Anyway, I took a walk this morning, feeling every ounce of my extra weight and that's the thing- the bigger you are, the harder it is to exercise which means you exercise less and then you are bigger. But here we are and I can still walk and for that I am grateful. It's harder every day and hurts more every day but I am not feeling overly stressed or depressed, simply facing the reality of it all.
The colors of fall around here are gold and purples and if nothing else, getting out and seeing them is sweet and a reward in and of itself.

It is supposed to get cooler this week and into the weekend, dipping down into the lower sixties at night at least, and that will be another sweetness.

So. I just watched a video which for some odd and baffling reason seems to me to be the perfect antidote to the current political bullshit which I can't seem to pull my head out of.

It made me cry. The fierceness, the feeling, the meaning, the strength of people moving together in an ancient and proscribed way. Watch it if you want. Don't if you don't. Could just be me and my particular brand of crazy it touched.

And hey- it's Billy's birthday.
Talk about fierce.

Wax on. Wax off.

Love...Ms. Moon

Thoughts, Deep And Otherwise

It's funny how little I feel like writing these days. Funny. And disturbing to me. The writing has always been the thing that keeps me from feeling as if I am falling through the arms of the universe to the vast nothingness below. And I'm not sure why it is, this reluctance to write. Do I feel as if I have nothing to say? Nothing new to say? Am I censoring myself too much to make the writing feel genuine? Not censoring myself enough?
It's a fine line, that one, between too much revealing and not enough. I cringe sometimes when I read the things people write, especially if the writer's children may be reading those things. This may be wrong-thinking, I may have become a prude in my old age or may have always been one, but still, I admit, I do believe that there are things about their parents which children just don't need to be enlightened to. I have always tried to be honest with my own kids about my life, to a degree, but there are things that they just don't want to hear, just as there are things about their lives which are none of my business and which I don't want to hear. I love that we can joke about a lot of subjects which were necessarily off-limits (in my house, at least) when they were young but which we can giggle about and relate to with each other now. But even still, there are other people involved and there is a part of me which feels quite strongly that at least when we are discussing sex, that it is a thing which is shared by two people (well, in most cases, not always) and part of the bond of it is the keeping of it within the relationship.
This is ours. It belongs to no one else.
Not in word or deed.

But sex isn't the only thing I feel shy or resistant to writing about. We all, I think, keep certain things to ourselves. Things we may not be proud of or things we are too afraid to say out loud lest they be taken from us or dreams that we may have which seem too farfetched or ridiculous or...whatever...to admit to. Sometimes it's even a matter of not writing about things because if we said them out loud they might sound like bragging. And that is our right, you know. Just as Johnny Depp does not owe the world details about his personal life, neither do we.

These blogs, once so popular, are becoming less and less so as people move to even quicker and less complicated (emotionally and literarily, at least) outlets for sharing: to Facebook and Instagram and whatever else there is now. Snapchat? I don't know a thing about that. But still- I feel that it is a huge pleasure and an honor to be able to read whatever thoughts we may be given by others. Things which touch the incredibly painful, the incredibly joyful, the hopeful, the despairing, the very, very real.
And sometimes I think it is enough that we who do continue to blog, paint in the outlines as best we can and allow others to take what they can from it, to fill in their own details, to fill the spaces we leave with their stories and hopes and dreams and shames and blessings and deeds and thoughts.

Isn't that, in a way, what poetry is?

We all have such different styles. We all come to the page with different needs and beliefs and interests and experiences.
Especially the experiences.
And for me, one of the grandest things about the community I have found here is discovering that although so many of us may have experienced different things, at heart, we are so much the same. And that we have so much to learn from each other.

But in the meantime, as some of us may struggle with this need to write, this need to communicate, this need to share it all, it is so easy to simply say, "Today I did this and I did that," and maybe even to drop a feeling about it all here and there, and then to move on.

I feel as if I have been doing that lately.
And it doesn't make me happy and I don't know that it makes anyone else happy either.

But.
Today I went to town and met up with my daughters at the mall and we did have fun. Even if it was the mall. And for me, it was mostly the fact that I was out in public with my beautiful girls and two of their babies and we laughed and were silly.

To see how my children love each other and get along so well. To know that despite my constant grinchy harping about the mall and how much I hate it, they love me too. To play with the babies, to pass them from one to the other, to make them laugh in their strollers. 

To make them try on ridiculous things.

Whether they like it or not.

They are precious to me, these people whom I gave birth to and to whom they gave birth. All day I kept thinking about how 31 years ago I birthed my Lily and how here she is- this mother, this force of nature.

Lord knows I've done my job and yet, there is that part of me which wants to do more, even if that more is nothing but loving and loving and loving.

And appreciating.
Maybe that is the most important.

I don't know. I don't know much and as I grow older, I know even less but that which I am sure of, I grow more sure of every day.

So, well, there you go. Some thoughts, some pictures.

Writing. Whatever.

Here I am. Or my words, at least. Fill in the details as you wish.

And I'd like to quote something that Emily Dickinson, that homebody poet, said that a good friend of mine sent me yesterday.

"To live is so startling that it leaves little time for anything else."

Absolutely. And which requires (in my case) a lot of naps. And which, for some reason, I feel I must write about.

Love...Ms. Moon

Happy Birthdays!

Birthday week continues with today being the birthday of both Lily and Vergil. I'm supposed to be at Lily's house in thirty minutes and there are plans and I'm not sure what they are and suddenly, life has exploded out of the cannon again and did you see the debates last night?

I guess that about sums it up.

I wish I had Hillary Clinton's stamina.

Love...Ms. Moon

Welcome Home, Boppy!

The Quieting Down Of The Soul

Some time in the early, early morning I was woken up by my husband and my heart was happy. So happy. I turned in bed and reached for him.
"You're home!" I said and "I'm home," he said and there we were.

I had thought maybe to stay up but I simply couldn't. It had been a long day of birthday partying and I had had the very worst heartburn and anxiety I've had in forever for most of the day and I finally caved and took a valium and let sleep take me away from it all but I did wake up to kiss that man's face, to hold him tightly. We talked a little bit and then he, beside me in our bed again, fell asleep and he was right there when I woke up this morning too.

All feels right with the world again. He's unpacking and I'm about to start on the marathon laundry event. We've spoken to Owen on the phone because today is his real and actual birthday.

Some of you remember the day he was born. Here's what I wrote seven years ago.
And here are some beautiful pictures.

Like this one.

Oh golly. He was just freshly born and Lily was just freshly reborn and we were all so very, very happy. Our Owen was here. 

What an amazing journey it's been, having that boy in our arms, in our lives. From baby to boy and the time has gone like one sweet kiss, one little nap and in those seven years I have become grandmother to three other beautiful children and the world has turned and turned and turned and I swear- I can't even really fathom it. 

Tonight we're going to eat supper with the Hartmann's and I think that hamburgers are going to be involved. Lily's letting Owen have a day off of school today and they're at the Junior Museum to see the animals, both woodland and farm, feathered, furred and scaled. 

Speaking of animals, none of the animals in Canada were taken by Mr. Moon. He didn't shoot his gun or bow once and I don't think he's too disappointed. He saw plenty of creatures and that seems to have made him happy enough. He surely seems glad to be home though. 

And I am surely happy to have him, feeling that all is well in the world, or at least in mine. 

I hope it is in yours, too.

Love...Ms. Moon

It Was Sweetness All Around

Know Nothing

Husband on his way home, chickens all alive, orange cat with one eye swollen shut; she will not leave the other cat unthreatened and he responds.
Trash taken and mailbox checked. I always feel as if someone is in that little post office room with me, no matter how empty it is. Is it haunted? Maybe. Maybe not. An old, old train station. Who can know how or if these things happen?
Breakfast eaten, sheets in the washer, texts sent and received about status of birthday party preparations and Owen's excitement level.
Very. 

All of this so good, except for the cat, of course, so fine and the sun is shining and the air is shimmering and firespike is catching a light and a squirrel is climbing a tree with a mushroom in its mouth that he just plucked from the ground and I'm going to get to see all of my kids and all of my grandkids and other people I love and then later, my husband, and we're celebrating my first grandchild, the one who's been my best friend in some ways since his birth, and all of this is so good, so good, so very fine indeed and I'm in knots and tatters and I'm really tired of this.

Well.

The squirrel ran back and got another mushroom and ate it, perched on the side of a clay pot holding it in his little hands and taking enthusiastic bites. I guess these mushrooms must be delicious and probably not deadly. I do not know a thing about mushrooms and quite frankly, it shocks me how I can be the age I am and know so little about so much.

I guess that's about it for now.

Love...Ms. Moon