Chickens And Babies, Same As It Ever Was

There's Ringo, posing in a spot of sunlight in the fallen Bradford pear leaves. I guess I might as well give in to the idea that he and Viv and Vera have gone rogue. I wonder if he's plotting to get Dearie and her babies to join him in a flock all of his own. A jungle fowl flock. It would definitely be a coup in that he'd suddenly have eleven members although how many of the eight juveniles are female is far from having been determined yet. 

Time will answer all of these questions, I am sure. 

Clear and cool today. It froze last night and this morning the rain which had frozen on the leaves thawed and dripped and dripped which was a disconcerting sound as the sun shone so brightly. 

Jessie and the boys came out and we asked them if they'd like to go to Monticello. Levon had no real opinion in the matter but August said that he'd like to go to Cello. And so we did. We stopped at the beautiful little library which always seems terribly empty of patrons. They even had the new Barbara Kingsolver novel in the New Fiction stacks and I would have checked it out but I'm leaving for Mexico a week from tomorrow and already have books I'm reading. The little kid rooms are just charming as hell and I do not understand why they are not more utilized. There's one room with wonderful books and a puppet show theater and bean bags and a two cozy big chairs and a small table and chairs and stuffed animals. 

There's a bathroom for small people and a nursing nook with a comfy chair and even a baby gate on the door so that the littles can't escape while Mama (or Daddy or Grandma or, or, or...) is busy tending other children. There's another room right next to it with some computers with games for children and a big activity thing on the wall and soft blocks for babies and small children. 

We read a few books and August played around with the computers and I followed Levon around the main part of the library as he explored. I have mentioned the librarian there and I always love seeing him. He is a huge man with dark skin and Levon stood and stared and stared at him today, taking him in as he does with strangers. He is the sweetest man and he called Levon by name and tried to get him to high-five him but Levon was a bit overwhelmed. He is a shy boy, or at least a cautious one and besides that, the poor child is getting about six teeth in at once right now and I can only imagine that this must be a miserable thing to do. Molars AND incisors. 

After we had finished with the library we of course went to The Rev for our lunch. The server asked for our drink order and August said, "I'd like some french fries."

He got some french fries. And fish and shrimp and vegetables and he was quite well behaved. So was Levon. He sat in a high chair almost the entire time and ate the same menu as the rest of us. 

After lunch, our routine is to go visit Wag the Dog, the Humane Society thrift store. Always a trip. August glommed on to a Star Wars laser weapon which had no batteries in it but that certainly did not bother him at all. Levon discovered the joy of crawling under racks of clothes to appear on the other side of them and there was much merriment there. Jessie found a few shirts and jeans for the boys and for once, I did not find one thing that I felt was worth bringing home with me. 

Jessie dropped me off on their way home and I told August that I really appreciated him coming out to see me. I told his mama the same thing. 

It is absolutely a sort of miracle to me that my children appear to like my company. I surely do love theirs. Every one in my family is so very different but the one thing we all have in common is a wicked sense of humor and, well, a liberal outlook on life as well. It really is the blessing of my life that my family is so close, so supportive of each other, so funny and loving and smart. No one can make me laugh like my kids can although my grandchildren run a close second in that regard. 

Lucky. I am so very lucky. 

And I never forget that for a moment, even in my darkest hours. 

And just as I told August this afternoon- I appreciate all of y'all coming here to see me. So much. So very, very much. We may be different in many ways but somehow, we all connect with our hearts and that is the very best way in the world to connect, the truest and purest of all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Sure. Let's Call Them Survivors. Sounds Good, Right?

It would appear on first glance that one of the wise men dipped into the sacred wine a bit too freely but if you look at the expression on the camel's face, it might be that the animal, resenting his long trip across the desert with a guy on his back, kicked him while he was down.
Who knows?
Magi Guy is obviously out of commission and the camel ain't talking.

Oh, the things I see on my walk.

Have any of y'all listened to the NPR podcast "Believed"?
It's about the Larry Nassar case. He's the guy who sexually abused/assaulted hundreds (if not thousands) of girls who were his patients, many of them gymnasts. At one point he was a team doctor on the USA Olympic Committee and was also employed by the University of Michigan and an organization called USA Gymnastics.
Unbelievably, Nassar got away with his evilness for decades EVEN THOUGH HE WAS REPORTED FOR YEARS!
He was so well-respected and had such a reputation for being able to "fix" bodies that he would literally respond to some of these accusations by taking a power point presentation into the police who were questioning him which (according to him) demonstrated what he did in his work and how it could have been misconstrued as being inappropriate which it CERTAINLY WAS NOT, NOT EVER, EVER, EVER! NO WAY! NO HOW!
And the police bought it. And the institutions who employed him covered up, destroyed documents, defended him, and ignored the women and their parents who made the accusations.
The crazy, most insane thing about all of this is that much of this abuse happened while parents were actually in the room while these treatments were happening.
This man would use his own body to block the parent's view of what he was doing and the girls trusted him so much that even if they knew that what he was doing felt wrong, they never said a word. Or else they were so shocked that they couldn't speak.
Or else, they did not think that if they told anyone they would be... believed.
And they weren't. Even if they told their parents and their parents went to the police, Nassar's reputation was so sterling and his defenses made so much sense, that he was released, over and over again.
It's just a sickening and heart-rending story but he was eventually arrested and convicted and sentenced to 40-175 years in prison and the judge, a woman named Rosemarie Aquilina allowed every victim that wanted to, to come and address Nassar personally in court after his sentencing.
It took seven days for the more than 150 girls and women to testify about how this one man had affected them and their lives.
And now the organizations and institutions for whom he worked are being investigated and the shameful truth is coming out- that he was protected by them even as he abused more and more girls.
The shit has hit the fan and the mess is going to contaminate the reputations of these organizations for years to come and let's not even talk about the lawsuits that are probably going to arise.

There are so many things I could say about this situation, about how it's merely a monstrous magnification of how abusers get away with what they do. I doubt I have anything new to add to the conversation, as we say so glibly, as if we could simply converse our way into understanding and perhaps some sort of resolution.
I don't think that we, as a society, have begun to scratch the surface of the reasons that sexual abuse of all kinds still exists so persistently in our society. We don't understand the basis of why abusers abuse or why girls and women (and little boys and men, too) feel so powerless to report, to confront. We do know that when it occurs, the effect it has on the victims is life-long and poisonous, sometimes fatal as those victims are more prone to suicide or behaviors which are unhealthy.
We also know that it is incredibly common and that abusers are so very often trusted and are even respected and revered members of society, which makes it all the more difficult for them to be reported or arrested.
And I don't have any answers and I don't have any solutions and I wish I did.

Well. That's one of the things I've been thinking about today as I've gone about my chores and my life.
It makes me so sorrowful and so angry to know that even when victims do come forth and tell someone, whether they be young or older, that they are so often not believed. Or even if they are believed, told that, well, what happened to you wasn't so bad. Or...it was your fault. Or made to understand that one man's reputation and the good that he may do is more important than the harm he did to a child.
There is nothing more important than dealing with the harm an adult may do to a child.
Nothing.

And I'll say one more thing about this- anyone who protects an abuser in any way, be it a parent, a teacher, a church member, an organization, an officer of the law, a co-worker, or a friend or mother or father- is as guilty of evil as the abuser.

Back to our regular programming tomorrow, most likely.

Love...Ms. Moon

More Life In North Florida

This is what the frost-killed bananas looked like this morning against the gray, gloomy sky. The bananas aren't really dead. I'll cut them back and they shall spring forth again in the spring. I've never gotten a banana from them but I do love the plants and the way they look and the way their leaves turn and sway in the wind.

The sky has looked like snow all day long although I am sure we aren't getting any. It just has that heavy gray look to it that I remember from Denver the two miserable winters I spent there. I was not meant to live where it gets so cold and mountains do not call to me. I don't mind admiring them from a distance but when it comes to climbing them, rock climbing on them, or skiing down them- well, no thank-you.
Y'all have fun with that.

I'm waiting for Mr. Moon to get home from Tennessee. He flew up but he's driving back which is a work-related story. I think he's had just the very best time. He told me last night that he and his friend have laughed and laughed. That alone would make a trip worthwhile, I think. I hope he isn't too sad to come back to Florida and his wife and home. Maggie asked me yesterday if Boppy was coming back to "me Mer's house."
I assured her that he was. She was glad to hear that.
I have some chicken soup simmering on the stove and a Meyer's lemon pie cooling in the refrigerator. I use the same recipe I use for a Key Lime pie but with the lemon juice instead of lime and it is delicious. I also have whipped cream in a bowl to go on top of it and that, I am sure, will make my husband happy. Jessie and Vergil have a lemon tree in their backyard and it is always overabundant which is a delicious problem to have.

Speaking of Jessie, I met her and the boys at Costco today. What in the world would we do if there were no Costco? We companionably pushed the cart together through the aisles, all of us feeling the incredibly soft fleece jackets which we did not buy, examining the crabs closely. Examining the crabs is something that August and I MUST do in Costco. With our fingertips we trace the sharp bumps of the animals under under their protective plastic and talk about what sort of crabs they are.
It never gets old. Don't ask me why. It's part of our ritual.

Jessie decided that having lunch out today was probably not the best idea. August was in a bit of a mood and when she went to put Levon in his car seat he wailed in rebellion. But I wasn't ready to come home and I had stopped at the post office on my way in and had a brand new Esquire magazine with Bruce Springsteen on the cover and so Bruce and I had lunch together at a local Mediterranean place. I was vastly disappointed in my falafel gyro and dolmades (how can dolmades be disappointing?) but there were very few people there and I did enjoy just sitting and reading, eating what I could of the meal and taking my time with all of it. The article didn't tell me anything I hadn't learned from his tome of a memoir that I read a few years ago. Mostly it's about how a parent can fuck you up good and then you can go on to still love them hugely.
I guess.
Poor Bruce. He's had his horrible struggles with depression and what he calls "agitated depression" but which sounds like terrible anxiety to me.
Well, god knows it hasn't prevented him from being who he is which is most definitely The Boss. On November 15, Netflix is going to start streaming a special of his Broadway show which will be ending on that day. On Broadway. And you know damn well I'll watch it.

Speaking of fathers, I dreamed of my own father last night. The biological one, that is. I'm not sure I've ever dreamed of him before. At least not since I've become an adult. In my dream he was telling me that he was going to be having another child and I got so mad at him. I told him that he'd done nothing whatsoever to help support or raise my brother and me and how dare he just go around fathering children that he was just going to abandon?
This makes me wonder if now I'm going to have to start unpacking my feelings about him which honestly, I've always felt like I'd already done.
It never really ends, does it?

And now Mr. Moon is home, jittered up with coffee and being on the road for ten hours. I hope he can get unstrung before bedtime. He does seem to be pretty happy though, so that's good. And it's good to have him home again.

Ringo and his jungle hens showed up this morning, fine and fit but they've chosen to spend the night outside again tonight. I wish they wouldn't do that but as I said yesterday, there's not a thing I can do about it.
I'm not even the boss of my chickens.
Or my dreams.

Let's all have sweet ones tonight, okay?

Love...Ms. Moon

Babies, Babies, Babies! And Pancakes!

I invited the grandchildren over for pancakes this morning and they all showed up with their moms in tow. I hadn't cooked for anyone in at least two days so I guess I needed to make sure that I still had my skills.
It was so much fun. There's just something about watching all of the cousins interact that makes my heart happy. And I love to feed the people I love. That's just how it is.
I made pancakes and bacon galore and cooked eggs with potatoes and peppers and onions and mushrooms and asparagus and broccoli and we feasted. There was not one pancake nor piece of bacon left when it was all over and only a tiny bite of the eggs. Maggie was the only one of the kids to eat some of those. She does love her eggs.

Maggie sharing her breakfast with Levon.

I have no idea why Levon was giving her that look but it's rather adorable. She's so good with him. She alerts Jessie to tell her if Levon is doing something she thinks might be dangerous and he was playing with a fork and she took it away from him. She was born with a protecting and nurturing soul and that's all there is to it.
So was Owen. He carries that little boy around and watches out for him. He's going to be such an awesome dad someday and I know a lot of that comes from watching how his own daddy is with him and his siblings. Jason is as tender and caring and diaper-changing and outfit-picking-out as any mama could be. I admire that in him so much.
Gibson was into being in videos today. I must have made four of them myself. And at the end of them he says, 'Don't forget to like and subscribe to my videos at Gibson dot com!"
Of course that little bit of internet property is already held by the Gibson guitar company but the kid has his eye on the future.

Owen wanted Aunt Jessie to braid his hair and so she did. We all gave our rousing approval and admiration and I showed him pictures of Snoop Dogg in braids. Owen had no idea who Snoop Dogg was but we assured him that he's just about the coolest guy in the world.
"Plus he's friends with Martha Stewart!" I told him.
"I have no idea who that is," he said.
I didn't even try to explain.

Owen is NOT afraid to be a trend-setter. 

Lord, I love that child. 

August was in a cheerful mood. He brought the Rudolph stuffed animal that the guy at the thrift store gave him and his mother had put a battery in the thing so that his nose lights up and he plays music. August is absolutely enamored of it. He showed it to me as soon as I opened the car door to help him out of his seat. 

"You smell yummy," he said. 

I had just sliced an onion. 

He ate four pancakes and one and a half pieces of bacon. I have never in my life seen such a small person able to eat so much. 

Levon is walking better every day.

He toddles after the big kids and wants to do whatever they're doing. This is pretty fine until they go up the stairs. I walked right behind him about halfway up today, holding on to his britches and then I picked him up and took him back down and tried to redirect him. 

Redirecting toddlers is not easy. 

It was, of course, complete chaos while they were here. Three adults, five children- you'd think it would be easy to keep track of all the kids, especially with Owen's help. But no, it's not.
"Where's Maggie?"

"Where's Levon?"

"What's August doing?"

And so forth. 

I am very proud to say that we did not lose any of them. Not a one. 

After they'd all packed up and gotten into their cars (and Maggie can actually buckle herself into her car seat and tighten the straps by herself) and I'd kissed them all and told them I loved them I walked back into the house which was pretty much destroyed. 

Jessie and Lily had offered to clean up but I told them that I didn't have one darn thing I had to do for the rest of the day and that I'd be happy to do it myself. 

The girls, realizing that it would probably be easier for me to clean up than to deal with their children while they cleaned up wisely allowed me to do it. 

So I slowly made order from the chaos and and tidied and swept and put dishes in the dishwasher (have I told you lately how much I love my dishwasher?) and did some laundry and then I did the Sunday crossword in the local paper which is easier than the Monday crossword in the NYT's and enjoyed my solitude and my house. 

I love being the kind of grandmother who has toys and books everywhere, who has a house that welcomes five children playing with their favorite things and floors that don't matter when syrupy pancakes get dropped on them and a high chair for the youngest to sit in and a hallway and kitchen that invites little ones to drive a tricycle through. I love that my grandchildren each have their favorite cups and plates and know where everything is and how everything works and yes, I even love how they all know how to push my buttons and they're all the boss of me and they are loving and kind and funny and smart and beautiful and curious and they know how much I love them and they love me back. 

And sometimes, they even listen to me. 

After I'd tidied up, I picked a few camellias to put in the hallway. 

Do you see my favorite? The Pink Perfection? 

Is it not a glory? 

And so it's been a most excellent Sunday although I'm a bit disturbed because three of the jungle fowl did not make it into the roost tonight. Ringo and Viv and Vera are out there somewhere I guess, in the cold drizzling rain. Perhaps they have decided to make their own flockette and when that happens, there ain't much I can do about it. I'm going to try not to worry. One of the Viv/Veras spent the night outside last night and she's probably talked the other two into establishing their independence although I am not sure why. I certainly haven't seen much disagreement between Ringo and his brother-husband, Liberace, and indeed they have slept in the same nest box forever. 

At least Dearie and her brood are safely in the hen house, cozy in their own private nest. 

I'm going to go make some risotto. And then I plan to eat it. 

Love...Ms. Moon

This Day In HIstory

Family Portrait 

This morning Dearie and her children came to visit me on the porch and before I knew it, that mother hen was pecking at my sweater buttons, trying to get my attention. She wanted food for her and the young'uns and she wanted it NOW!

I have to admit that I gave in and sprinkled some oats on the floor which they all gobbled up like it was candy and then they went for a rest on the chair in the corner. I got that chair at the Bad Girls Get Saved By Jesus thrift store a long time ago and probably paid about fifteen dollars for it. Mr. Moon said, "It'll rot on the porch," and I said, "So what?" and it's still here. I did have to clean some chicken poop off of it today but again...so what? 

It's been a quiet day here in Lloyd. I've just puttered around, doing little things that have needed tending to like unwrapping the porch plants and watering them and doing a little weeding. That garden is a complete and utter failure. Even the dang kale and arugula which always seem to grow no matter what, have remained tiny and insignificant and helpless. And I can't blame it on the weather. I walk past a little greens garden plot about two miles away that's growing like crazy. 

I look at it and despair. 

What have I done wrong? Is it because I planted the rows east to west instead of north to south? Can that really make such a difference? 

I don't know but I'm embarrassed. 

And frustrated. 

Still, it was not too unpleasant, kneeling in the dirt and pulling out micro-weeds by their hair-like roots which even in their miniature state are about to overtake what I planted. 

Harrumph. 

It's been overcast and wet-chilly here today. Not cold by any means but the kind of damp that gets into the bones. Supposed to rain again starting tonight. We've been having record-breaking amounts of rain in the last few weeks and I suppose that is about to continue. 

I'd rather have too much rain than not enough although I suppose that's a vague, blanket statement that does not really cover all of the possibilities of what "too much" and "not enough" could mean. 

So it's December 8th which can be a tricky day for me. Forty-three years ago today I went to Georgia with my boyfriend and we got married at a courthouse by a judge who waived the requirement for us to get blood tests because I was pregnant. No friends, no family, no flowers, no money. We just got 'er done. That night some friends of ours took us out for Chinese food and that was that. 

The marriage didn't last but we had two beautiful, amazing children together and that's something I'll never regret in any way, shape or form. We had a lot of problems, most of them stemming from the fact that we were really too young to get married and and on our fifth anniversary I woke up, took my run, got the newspaper out of the box on my way into the yard and saw that John Lennon had been shot. 

And killed. 

I couldn't believe it and I still can't believe it. 

My world crumbled around me and it took me years to pick up the pieces but there's no picking up the pieces when someone who changed not only your mind but your life and also the world is assassinated. 

How could such a bright and beautiful flame be so quickly snuffed by a crazy man with a gun? 

Not a question that we haven't had to ask ourselves countless times in the thirty-eight years since then. 

It's impossible to explain to someone who did not grow up when the Beatles came on the scene how much they meant to us. Simply impossible. And John was, well, what would you call a saint who isn't a saint? A leader who never wanted to lead? A torch in the darkness who was so often surrounded by darkness? An advocate for peace who struggled with his own anger? A genius who was constantly misunderstood? 

You would call him John Lennon and there was no one like him and he never did what anyone else thought he should do and when he met and married a Japanese conceptual artist instead of a super model just as the binding restraints of being Beatle John were becoming unbearable, the world went insane and vilified him for that choice while he blithely and whole-heartedly joined her in her art as she joined him onstage and in the studio and their very lives became their art. 

Ah. The world did not know what to do with him. 

But my god, we loved him. 

As always on this day, I think of Yoko. How can I not? She is eighty-five now. Still making art, still making music, still saying, War is over, if you want it.

Theirs was a love story the likes of which we'll probably never see again. Stormy and tempestuous at times but when he was killed, they were together and as close as two humans can probably be, the parents of a five-year old boy whom they had gone to the moon and back together to have. John had spent most of those five years being a house husband and Sean's primary care-giver, probably hoping to give his son the love and care and attention and nurturing that his own mother had never been able to give him. 

John wrote so many incredible and complex and extraordinary songs but this one is one of my favorites. It is a very, very simple thing. It is, as Paul McCartney might say, a silly love song. I think it is beautiful. 

Although it is so tempting to wonder what John Lennon would be saying about the world today if he were still alive, it's a pointless exercise. I think it would be a different world today if he were still alive but that, too, is impossible to know.
He gave us what he gave us and then he was taken away.
And I am forever grateful that he gave us what he could and what he did.

So. For all of us who do remember and for all of us who still grieve and especially for Yoko Ono and their son, Sean, and his oldest son, Julian, I say this: I am sorry for our loss. The world is a much poorer place without him, a much richer place because he was here.
You can't imagine.
Well. Maybe if you try.

Love...Ms. Moon

Thoughts And Stuff

I watched Twenty Feet From Stardom last night and it was good.
It was also rather sad as it demonstrated once again that women, especially women of color, no matter how much unbelievable talent they may have are not going to get their due in this lifetime.
So many of the women who were (and are) the vocal talent on zillions of hit records and who make a live concert come alive are relegated to being, yes, twenty feet away from stardom and will never get the recognition, fame, or riches that they deserve.
And that's just the flat-out truth.
You know who DID start out as a back-up singer who went on to have a fairly successful solo career?
Sheryl Crow.
And I have to say that I truly do not believe that it was because of Sheryl's fantastic vocal abilities that she got the deal and the attention. Know what I'm saying here?

One of these things is not like the other, one of these things just doesn't belong.

Well.

This is not to say that a precious few of the amazing back-up singers who were the go-to ladies for recordings and concerts haven't done well. Some of them have.
A precious few.

Lisa Fischer is one of them. She never did get the solo career she wanted and deserved but she was asked to join the Rolling Stones and that ain't nothing. It's something. I mean look- Mick Jagger tried to have a solo career and it didn't work out for him but that band thing has been fairly successful.
And Lisa is still singing with them.

So. It was interesting and rather heart-breaking at times and Bruce Springsteen was part of it and so was Mick Jagger and so was Stevie Wonder. But mostly, it was the women telling their stories and my favorite parts were when they would get together in their older age and sing, spontaneously, and the hairs rose up on the back of my neck.
It is one of the greatest regrets of my life that I cannot, for the life of me, sing harmony. It's not in me. If I do get a next lifetime and if I'm not a lichen, I swear I hope I can sing harmonies. That's it. That's my entire wish. Because it seems to me that being able to close one's eyes and be a part of the weaving together of voices in song is about the highest achievement one could attain whether on a stage in front of thousands or on a back porch in front of no one. Just the magic that happens when two or more people can dance around and with each other with the music that comes forth from their lungs, their guts, their hearts, their souls.

Well.

I drove over to Jessie's house this morning and the boys were climbing all over the sofa cushions whose covers Jessie had in the wash due to peeing incidents.
August is being a bit stubborn about the potty training. He CAN do it and he does do it but sometimes he doesn't want to do it and there you go. He's not worried about it and he's certainly not ashamed about it. Why should he be? He's got a mommy who will take care of any and all problems that may arise due to unforeseen accidents.
And sofa cushions are just as much fun to play on without their covers as they are with their covers.
But we decided, after everything was dealt with for the moment, to go to a thrift store and that was okay although we didn't get much. There were guys working there, homeless men for the most part I think, who were absolutely charmed by the boys and August was gifted a Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer who only needed batteries to make his nose light up and music to play AND a Beanie Baby cardinal and Levon got a Beanie Baby blue jay. Jessie also bought an angel to go on top of a Christmas tree (two dollars) and a shirt for one of the boys. Maybe something else. I can't remember.
And then we met Jason and Lily who had a rare day off together and Ms. Magnolia June at Tan's Restaurant where they have delicious everything from curry to hot and sour soup to a freezer full of ice cream desserts.

Maggie after her Klondike bar. 

We tried very hard to get all three children to pose for a picture and this is the best we could do. 

Good enough! 

By the time I got home this afternoon it was so late that after I got the clothes off the line and the groceries put away and the bed made up with clean sheets it was almost time to put the chickens up. Eggy Tina is in a nest with Dearie and her babies tonight and when I went to shut them up she was pecking at the babies and Dearie was pecking at her. 

They'll settle down. 

And pecking order will be figured out. 

I wonder what PETA would like me to say instead of "pecking order?"

No. No. I'm not going to go there. 

And because it's Friday night and because I watched that documentary last night, I offer you this. 

I love it on so many levels. One, because it shows Keith doing his flying/dancing/hand-slapping thing as he goes onstage. Another because it shows Charlie Watts being Charlie Watts, playing the drums as only he can do. Another because this is what rock-n-roll is and lastly, because Lisa Fischer gets her due here. Mick (who annoys me somewhat in the video but let's face it- there would be NO Rolling Stones without Mick Jagger) shares the stage with her and lets her be who and what she is which is a powerhouse who can out-sing him, out-dance him, and who gently puts her hand on his back which says so much about the connection which they so obviously have.
Gold rings on ya'.
Happy Friday, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon

What A Sixty-Four Year Old Woman Does When Her Husband Is Out Of Town

Mr. Moon got up at the horrendous hour of 3:00 a.m. and kissed me good-bye.
"I love you," I mumbled. And then I said it again, just for good luck.
And promptly turned over and went back to sleep.
When I got up five and a half hours later I found a love-note and my coffee made and freshly brewed.
I love that man.
He made it to Tennessee just fine and appears to be in very good spirits.

Lily is fine too. Whatever hit her yesterday was fast and furious. It came, it conquered, it left. I don't think it was gallstones as she had no pain in that area. Simply the intense nausea of food poisoning or a stomach virus. Anyway, it's over and she went back to work today, a little tired but otherwise feeling fine.

I took a walk in my new shoes and they're okay. Unfortunately they don't make me fly or spring into the air with each step which is a disappointment. I suppose I'll never get too old to have the secret hope that new shoes will make me into some sort of super hero.

I went over to Lily's in the early afternoon as she had to go to work and Jason had a little more time before he could get off work and take over. When I got there, Maggie was asleep and when I woke her up to get her dressed and into the car to go get her brothers at the bus stop, she was so sweet.
"Hey, darlin'," I said. "It's MerMer."
She hopped right up on the bed and reached around and hugged me tight and I buried my nose in her soft curls. She was happy to see me and let me dress her and we giggled and I pretend-bit her feet with their tomato-red socks on to see if they tasted like ketchup.
On the way to the bus stop, Jason called to tell me he was on his way home so when the boys got off the bus I had to give them the bad news that they weren't coming to my house again today.
They were so upset. Maggie was too, truthfully.
"I want to go to me Mer's house!" She breaks my heart.
Owen tried to convince me that we had to go to my house because he'd borrowed a toy from a girl at school and he'd left it at my house yesterday and he absolutely HAD to return it tomorrow.
"I had to beg her for a whole day to get her to let me borrow it!" he said.
"Yeah," I told him. "I found it when I cleaned up yesterday after y'all left but I forgot to bring it with me. I brought some tomatoes to your house, though. Maybe you could take her a tomato."
He looked at me as if I were insane. And then he said, "WHAT?! A tomato?! Is that what you used to pay for toys with when you were a kid? A TOMATO!!!" And so forth.
I laughed so hard.
I should have told him that toys hadn't been invented when I was a kid.
I delivered them to their father who'd already gotten home and after discussing how Owen HAD TO TAKE THE TOY BACK TOMORROW and with Gibson pleading that they had to get a Wii game from my house to bring back to their house, Jason said that he'd bring them over after Owen did his homework because he had to pick up the meat grinder too.
And he did and Maggie cried because she couldn't get out of the car and when Owen came into the house to get the toy and the disc he said, "You better go kiss the children because they are crying."
The children.
Gibson wasn't crying. He was just excited to get the Wii disc. I promised Maggie that she could come back and play soon and off they all went with their wonderful exhausted daddy.

And then I leisurely cleaned the hen house and put new straw in the nests. As you can see, Dearie is choosing these days to sleep with her children in a private nest. I know I keep posting pictures of them all together but they're just so dang cute and soon they will be bigger than their mama.

Mr. Moon and his buddy are going to an actual pro-football game tonight. I told him that although that sounds like my worst nightmare, I hope he has fun and that I imagine he will.
I myself am almost delirious at the thought of eating my little supper and watching Twenty Feet From Stardom which I cannot believe I've never seen. I am ridiculously excited about this.
As Owen implied in his tomato speech, I am old. But as I know, he was teasing me because he can and because he loves me and because this is how we are. I tease him about being young and he teases me about being old. And in some way, we both know that our hearts are the same age.
At least that's what I tell myself.
And it's going to make my heart happy to sit on my couch and be warm and cozy and pick up my knitting after I eat and watch these gorgeous (mostly) women talk about their lives and their work which absolutely gave life to the soundtrack of my life. The most joyful, ethereally transcendent, dancing moments of it anyway.

And there you have it.

Love...Ms. Moon

Another Heart Day

Oh my goodness! What a full day! And although Lily has not had a good one (more on that in a minute), I've had fun and there has been sweetness.
Jessie texted this morning asking if anyone wanted to go to the Jr. Museum and I decided that yes, I did want to go. Getting out and being with the kids and their mommies and seeing the animals and being in the beautiful outdoors sounded perfect. Lily offered to drive me if I came by her house on the way and so I did and we met Jessie and the boys.
Look at Levon walking! He is our sturdy little toddle-legged human. Maggie keeps saying, "Levon is so cute!" I do believe she may have heard this word a time or two in her life.
Another friend of Jessie's who has a little girl and a boy the same ages as Levon and August met us there and it's a bit tricky, catering to the needs of two one-year-olds, a two-year old, and two three-year-olds. But of course we visited the old caboose.

And the old schoolhouse.

August ready to give a lecture on bulldozer-repair. Or Socratic Thought. Or strategies on winning the Iditarod. Or something. 

We visited the snakes. 

Levon and this oak snake (or was it a rat snake?) had some sort of Vulcan mind-warp communication going on. They were both fascinated by the other. 

Our path into the animal habitats was blocked due to flooding and so we decided to let the kids play on the playground and eat our lunch. This we did. Much merriment and enjoyment. And then, suddenly, Lily began to feel not good. As in...her stomach was very much not happy. 

What followed was the sudden onset of gastric symptoms and I drove us home, wishing desperately that I could do something to ease her distress. She may be a grown woman with three children of her own but I am still her mommy and and still feel that I need to DO SOMETHING to make things better.

I could do nothing to alleviate her discomfort but I could take Maggie and go pick up the boys at the bus stop and that's what I did. And then we came back to Lloyd where I think everyone had a very good time. Maggie played with toys and her dollies. Gibson and Owen played Wii. I short-order cooked, making everyone snacks. Maggie helped me collect the eggs and when she wanted me to cook her one, I did. 

She liked it so much that she wanted another one and I cooked her another one because who could say no to Maggie when it comes to cooking an egg or two?

It was good to have the kids over for a few hours. I feel more and more like Owen and I are quite seriously bonded for life. We had some good conversations and he is pretty wise for a nine-year old child. We were sitting in the dining room at the table and I was shuffling a deck of cards for us to play Battle and I pointed at the baby-walker in there and said, "Well, I guess it's about time for me to get rid of that."

"You never know," he said. "May might have a baby or Jessie might have another."

"You're right," I told him. "But Vergil thinks they should only have two children."

"I've heard that," he said, as solemn as a fifty-year old. "But it seems like in these situations, the girl usually gets her way."

"You're right about that, dude," I said, as I started dealing the cards. 

Jason came in before we really got very deep into our game but Owen was already whipping my butt. As he usually does. And so now they've gone home and before they left, I kissed all of them in the car and Maggie called me back for another hug and I so gladly gave it. 

Mr. Moon has gone to a Ducks Unlimited dinner meeting in Tallahassee and tomorrow he is flying to Tennessee to go hunt with one of his oldest friends and will be driving back a car he bought for a customer on Monday. He's packed and will be leaving the house at four in the morning to fly out. 

It's supposed to freeze tonight. Wasn't it so hot I didn't want to work outside about four days ago? Haha!

I've covered up the porch plants again. 

I so hope that Lily feels better quickly. 

Another thing that Owen and I talked about was how I used to help him learn his numbers with playing cards and how my grandmother used to do that with me. 

"And so you're going to have to do that with your grandchildren," I told him.

"That's going to be a long time from now," he said. "Like fifty years."

"Yep,"' I told him. "And the time is going to go by so much faster than you can even believe."

"I know," he said. 

But he doesn't. 

But he will. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Why I Need Eyeshadow

I just don't have it in me tonight.
My life seems pathetic and small, the same two songs repeating endlessly on Hell's iPod.
I felt okay this morning. I took a small but decent walk and got things done around here and then decided to go to town to shop for make-up.
Yeah. I know.
But it's sort of part of my ritual before I go to Cozumel. I like to put on make-up every night when we go out and when I say "make-up" I mostly mean eye make-up because I'm under no illusions or delusions that anything I put on my face is going to change much in the way I look. I just like decorating my eyes, I guess. I distinctly remember the first time we visited the island and I bought some lovely water-proof eyeshadow that came in pencil form, blues and teals, and I loved it. It was all part of the experience, somehow, even though there is not much glamorous about Cozumel and it was far less so then. A diver's destination with a few very loud and very hot and very fun bars and some wonderful restaurants but not a whole lot more. Well, of course there were the ruins and the lighthouse and yes, a disco. I think there were actually two discos but I only ever went to one.
Scaramouche.
Ay! It was wonderful!
So much dancing.

But back to today.
First I went and bought a new pair of walking shoes because the ones I've been using simply are not adequate. They are very comfortable but offer no real support or cushioning. I might as well be walking barefoot. So. Got those.
Then I went to one of those cosmetic places that's spread out in maybe a quarter of an airplane-hanger-sized store where you can not only buy products but also get make-overs AND/OR get your hair cut and I drifted around, looking for just one beautiful eyeshadow palette compact with blues and greens and golds and silvers and pale, pale blue.
Forget it.
Almost everything I found was "neutrals."
WTF? If you're going to put stuff on your eyelids, why use neutral shades? My eyelids already are neutral shades.
I wonder where Brenda gets her eyeshadow. She is my make-up hero. She is not afraid of color or of glitter and I love her for that.

Yesterday before I went to Costco I tried to start getting in the swing of things by doing a little eyeliner and shadow and August asked me where I got my blue eyes. I told him that I'd put on some make-up.
"Why?" he asked. Of course.
"Because I wanted to look pretty. Does it look pretty?"
"Yes," he said.
"Thank-you," I said.
It says a lot about me that a compliment which was practically coerced from a three-year old made me feel good.
But it did.

Anyway, I didn't buy a damn thing at the cosmetic place although I did spray a little Chanel Gabrielle on my wrist as I walked out for no apparent reason. I like it. I've been sniffing my arm all afternoon and it still smells nice.
I might actually buy some of that.

Goodness. What has happened to Ms. Moon?
Nothing. Nothing at all.
I just like being a little bit different in Mexico. And I am.
For two weeks I do not lift a finger.
I do not cook or clean or do laundry. I do not garden or do yard work or chicken-tend nor even fill up a cat-food bowl although I will admit that I do give treats to the hotel cat, Bagheera. I love giving Bagheera bits of fish we've brought home from restaurants or cheese that we buy at the grocery store. Because we do shop. I love to shop at the Mexican grocery stores and at the Mercado. We always buy yogurt drinks and mangoes and cheese and crackers and avocados and cookies.
And beer and rum and Coca Cola and limes.
Beyond this, I am not in charge of any household duties. I am not responsible for anyone or anything except for my own self. My husband is in charge of driving, of getting the ice for our sunset drinks, for dealing with all of the money situations. He pays the tabs, he exchanges dollars for pesos, he leaves the tips.
And in turn, I am his girlfriend, his wife, his love. I dress up for supper. I put on make-up and my silver jewelry, much of it which I have bought in our thirty-one years of visits. I can be silly and foolish and ridiculous. I can weep over sunsets and the perfect guacamole and the colors of the water and the sweetness of the people and how much I love my husband.

So. That's why I wanted some new eyeshadow.

Waterproof.

I guess I managed to find something to write about, even if it was only make-up.
Sort of.

Time to figure out supper. And when I say "figure out" I mean what I'm going to cook. In sixteen days that will mean "where shall we dine tonight?"

I still can't believe it.

Love...Ms. Moon

I Don't Know Shit, Part 4978

When I woke up this morning, the sun was actually and truly shining. In fact, it was illuminating the little Japanese Maple tree in my back yard. That is not the greatest shot in the world but you can get an idea. Here's another and again, not a good photo but you can see the light in the leaves.

I had not seen any of my grandchildren since Friday so of course I had to see them today. We concocted a trip to Costco because you ALWAYS need something at Costco, even if it's just a ten-gallon-sized bag of onions or a giant block of cheese. 

Am I right? 

So I met Jessie and the boys and Lily and Maggie and we got two carts. One for the children (Levon was asleep in his car seat carrier) and one for actual groceries. Maggie and August were delighted to see each other and wanted very much to sit together and so they did. 

Are they not the most gorgeous of children?

Together their cuteness quotient seems to multiply by five hundred percent. Their conversations, their interactions are the most precious things I've ever seen in my life.

Before we went into the coldy room, I wrapped them up in my sweater. August was helping Maggie cover up and I'm not sure what Ms. Mags was upset about. Something. She got over it. 

It is one of the greatest joys I have ever known to be a part of these children's lives. It is a sweetness that I never expected nor imagined possible. The love I feel for all of my grandchildren is so often overwhelming that I don't quite know what to do with it. And yet, it's different than what I felt for my own children which was also astonishing to me in its depths and reality. I can't explain it but sometimes I feel as if I was put here on earth to absolutely fill each one of them with as much love as I can while I am here. Ideally, enough to last their lifetimes. As a parent, I was so busy simply taking care of the children's daily needs, the unceasing scheduling of trying to keep a home, of feeding everyone, of getting everyone where they needed to be, of providing for immediate needs of love and attention, of doing laundry and tending to sick kids and attending teacher-parent conferences and the endless lessons and performances and competitions of ballet and karate and softball and volunteering in their classrooms and just trying to be a halfway decent mother (which I never felt as if I was even halfway capable of) that sometimes I missed the pure, holy miracle of watching them grow and develop into themselves and change and become exactly who they were. 

But with my grandchildren, I have the perspective and the leisure, too, to observe, to note, to cherish, to encourage, to have fun with, to sit down any time to read a book with, to have long, deep conversations, to mostly just love and sometimes to spoil and make them feel as if they are the princes and princess of my world. 

And it is glorious. 

We went to Japanica. August wanted extra tofu in his miso soup. And he got it. 

Maggie loved her soup too but was happy with the regular amount of tofu.

Levon? If it's food, he wants it. And he wants to do it himself. 

After our lunches, we went into Big Lots for Jessie to check out the mattresses. Vergil is making the boys bunk beds and soon they will be ready for the mattress part of the situation. And then we went to the Goodwill bookstore where I must admit I let the mommies take care of the babies while I drifted about the store looking for books to take to Mexico. At one point I heard one of my daughters say, "Where's Mom?"

"She's deserted us," said the other daughter. 

This, too, is part of being a grandmother. I can let the mothers deal with their children while I make myself scarce. 

It does not suck. 

And so that was my day. 

Oh! I forgot to mention my trip to the post office where my bathing suit did arrive. It fits in that it is made of stretchy stuff and contains my body in a modest way, although I look like hell in it. Let's face it- I would look like hell in anything. So. Whatever. I'll keep it. 

Not only was my bathing suit delivered, but also a meat grinder which Mr. Moon had ordered for processing deer meat and making sausage. 

The post mistress hefted the box it was in to the window and said, "I'm not sure this is going to fit through."

It did. But my god that thing was heavy. 

I insisted that I could carry it and so I did. But I have to tell you that before I even got to the door I was thinking, "I really should not be doing this." 

It's huge. It's made of lead. Or something professional. Definitely not plastic. 

And now it's unboxed and gleaming, sitting on my kitchen island and I have a feeling that my kitchen is never going to be quite the same again. Mr. Moon is actually planning on making sausage tonight. It's seven o'clock. He will be up until the wee hours. 

Trust me. 

He's watched the video and knows what he's doing. 

God love him. 

I do. 

And one more picture. 

This is ONE of the nests in the hen house where the chickens roost. I have eleven grown chickens and eight (hopefully) young ones. There are six nests in that hen house. And in this one nest there are six mature chickens including Liberace who is huge AND the eight chicks. 

Sometimes I think that chicken life is so much simpler than human life. 

And then something like this happens and I realize that it's not really simple for any of us here on this planet and that is what it makes it all so beautifully mysterious and endlessly curious. 

Love...Ms. Moon

And The Rain Still Falls

I am a lazy AF composter.
i.e. I don't compost.
But I keep all of my food scraps and dump them outside for the chickens to examine and plunder and eventually, everything either gets eaten or breaks down into the soil. As the chickens scratch through the scraps, they keep the weeds back and also poop which fertilizes whatever is growing there. My main dumping place is under the banana plants in the little garden area off the kitchen but sometimes I put the peels and leftovers in another planted place beneath palms and lately I've been emptying my old enamel-ware pot that I keep the scraps in underneath an azalea by the back porch which has never really recovered from the dogs peeing on it and which is choked with border grass.
See? Lazy AF. But. Thank-you, chickens!

Anyway, this morning it rained so hard I thought the aquifer was going to bust through its limestone and come right up to the surface of the dirt but a little after noon it slacked off and I went outside to do a little clearing. I started out with that bed beside the kitchen, cutting back and pulling some frost-browned lilies and some four o'clocks and trimmed up a rose bush, mostly just enough to get under to work. And what did I discover beneath all of that stuff when I'd gotten it cleared? A tiny mango orchard from where I'd thrown all of the seeds of the mangoes I'd brought home from Roseland. They look far healthier, actually, than the ones I started in pots.
Which is how it goes, of course.
And that's what you're seeing in that picture at the top.

My garden this year is not doing a damn thing. NOTHING! The poor little plants are pathetic bonsai weakling seedlings. Why? Has it rained too much? I don't know but I'm sorely disappointed and sad. I feel like a failure.

It's been so humid and so warm here today that working outside was not really a pleasure. December 2nd and I'm sitting here at six o'clock in the evening wearing a sleeveless dress. I just checked my weather widget. It's 72 degrees, the humidity is 96% and the chance of rain is 70%. It's dripping a bit but supposedly it's going to be raining on and off all day tonight and part of tomorrow.
I was joking yesterday about the frogs but I've actually heard a few making their hungry-for-love whistles.
Yes. Frogs can whistle. Or at least that's what it sounds like.

And I don't even need to say a thing about climate change. Because obviously, the climate has changed, is changing, will change even more.
Oh, what a fucking mess we've created.

But hey! I still have roses blooming.

Roses and camellias. I couldn't bear to trim back that plant because there were buds all over it. 

Those roses may not look fancy, and they aren't. But they smell like roses should smell. 

And the tea olive has broken forth in its delicate little flowers which can scent an entire yard. 

After all of these years I've never really figured out when the tea olive blooms. It seems irregularly random to me. 

Ah. I've just looked it up. 

"The plants typically flower at several times throughout the year, with some bloom cycles heavier than others. Flowers of the species type are creamy white, while improved cultivars offer yellow or orange flowers (Osmanthus fragrans 'Butter Yellow', O. fragrans 'Apricot Gold', and O. fragrans f. aurantiacus)."

From University of Florida Gardening Solutions

I sort of love that. ...typically flower at several times throughout the year, with some bloom cycles heavier than others.

So I'm not crazy and it's blooming is irregularly random. Sort of like a woman. 

Of course I will forget this and next time it blooms I'll be saying, After all of these years I've never really figured out when the tea olive blooms. 

And then perhaps I will google it again. 

And be delighted again. 

Speaking of which, they are experimenting with using ultra-sound technology to treat Alzheimer's. Have you seen this? 

The rain is coming down nicely again. Despite the fact that we've had plenty lately, I still love to hear it fall. It is, as I have so often said, the reverse of god's promise to Noah. It is the promise, not of never flooding the entire earth again by a deity who realized he'd made a huge mistake and needed to wipe it out and start again, but of a planet which is still capable of providing all living things with the water which we need to sustain life. At least this tiny part of it. 

Just trying to look on the bright side. 

Or, as it is right now, the cloudy side. 

From my crazy world to yours.

Love...Ms. Moon

Here. Sit Down. Let's Chat

Well, GW Bush died. I can't quite come up with a lot of sadness there. He was far from my favorite president and although everyone is praising him now for his kindness and politeness, I don't really remember that about him. Mostly I remember, "Read. My. Lips."
He had really thin lips.
Plus, he was 94. That's not a bad age to die.

I've felt better today but I haven't really done anything. I watched another movie. Julie and Julia. 
I'm probably the last woman in the US to watch this. I read the book years ago and am not sure why I never saw the movie. It wasn't bad. Meryl Streep is an actress whom I am never quite sure about. I mean, you CAN see her act. You never quite forget that she's acting. Of course, as you watch her doing this you're thinking, "Wow, she can really act!"
Do you see what I'm saying here?
Also, you never forget she's Meryl Streep. Who is one charming-as-hell woman! She's darling! She's precious! She's strong and she's so talented!
Oh, I don't know. I'm so judgey and have no right to be. I have to admit that I adored the parts of the movie that were about Julia Child. I enjoyed the parts about Julie the Blogger, too, but Julia's life was far more interesting to me than Julie's was. Perhaps because Stanley Tucci played Paul Child and it sure did look like they were having fun together. And Tucci is just a damn good actor in my book and I love the way he can inhabit a character.

Enough of that.
It's rained all day here in Lloyd. At least it isn't cold. Supposed to rain tomorrow too and get up to 76! Warm and soggy.
Perfect.
For frogs.
I barely stepped out of the door except to go pick some arugula and look for eggs and shut the chickens up. Mr. Moon went to town. He had some business to attend to and he also decided to go clothes shopping which he does about once a...well...never.
But he had to get a bathing suit for Cozumel and he got a few long-sleeved shirts for work and two nice, cozy plaid flannel shirts. It's difficult for my husband to find clothes because he's ridiculously tall. And has proportionally long arms. But he's not round. Big and Tall shops usually feature Big. I've never yet been able to walk into a store and find him a pair of pants that were long enough. Ever. When you ask a sales person if they have jeans with a 38 inch inseam they laugh and laugh.
Hahahahahahaha!
But he found some things that fit him at Kohl's, believe it or not. I think I've been in there twice. It freaked me out.
Then again, what doesn't?
He even found a pair of shoes! Size 16. When he's out of town, I just leave a pair of his shoes on the porch to deter bad guys. It's worked so far.

I saw a headline today on FB from NPR. Here it is:

President George H.W. Bush's Choice Of Bold, Whimsical Socks Made Him A Style Icon

I cracked the fuck up. All it takes for a man to be a "style icon" is to wear bold, whimsical socks. 

Done. 

And all Mr. Moon has to do to find some bathing trunks or whatever men call those things they swim in is to find a pair that are big enough around the waist. 

Again- Done. 

"Twelve dollars!" he said proudly. 

"That's great!" I said. And it is. Hell, they even have pockets. 

Meanwhile, I guess I have enough dresses for Cozumel. I have no shorts that fit me and I don't really plan on buying any. Linen dresses, mostly. I bought one off of e-bay that was not cheap. Not cheap at all. And damn if the thing doesn't make me look like a nicely embroidered cargo container. I think I might need to go see the tailor again for that one although it's not really the fault of the dress. My fanciest dress (and we'll be there for New Year's Eve) is one May found me at Goodwill two years ago. It is lovely. And no, the bathing suit I ordered online has not arrived. 

I suppose I should investigate that situation. 

Not that I'm going to like it when it gets here. 

I guess that's enough idle, meaningless chatter. 

I just went back and read some of my posts from the last time we were in Cozumel and now I'm crying a little. My god, but that place has my heart and my soul. This is what it looked like at sunset on New Year's Eve, 2016. 

Here's the post if anyone wants to read it. 

I cannot wait to be blogging from Cozumel again. 

But until then, I'll be right here in Lloyd where it's good to be a frog, it's fine to be a chicken, and it ain't bad to be me. 

Love...Ms. Moon