This Is A Dream Coming True

Flying Into Cozumel

I did not write a second post last night.
I started to but I just couldn't come up with right words. Not THE right words- just plain old "right" words.
Not that there was anything especially crazy going on. Just regular old great-day-with-Owen and making supper and Lily coming to eat with us and Bop coming home with...
confirmation of a trip to Cozumel.

He did it. He pulled that trigger. He's making it happen.

I'll be...ssssshhhhh....I'll be.....oh my, oh god, oh sweet Mary mother of Jesus....in Cozumel for Christmas.
And New Years.

I am going to do what I've always wanted to do which is to say I am NOT going to do Christmas this year. Every damn Christmas carol on every damn Muzak in every damn store in the world will not be guilting me. That Little Drummer Boy can a-rumpatumtum till his fingers fall off. Various artists can wish for a White Christmas until hell itself freezes over. Santa Claus can motherfucking come to town and I WILL NOT BE HERE TO GIVE A SHIT!
Do you hear me?
I will not be home for Christmas!

I may give Bad Santa to Lily.

So. My entire outlook on life has improved considerably knowing that I will not be participating in the madness and I don't even have to pretend to feel all gooey and Christmas Spirity and my children will have the time of their lives without me going off into other rooms to cry and curse while trying to make them a nice Christmas and I think I will probably have papaya and mangoes for Christmas breakfast and I will be looking at the water and I will be weeping- tears of fucking joy!

All right. Enough of that.

Today is the seventeenth (I think) anniversary of when my daughter May, my gorgeous daughter May got hit by a car walking to school and it was so bad and I can't even really think about it, much less write about, even now. I just talked to her on the phone and I told her I was so glad she is alive and that she didn't die and okay, I can't talk about it.
But she IS alive and she is my joy and she is going to work a double today and cross that street where she got hit as she usually does on this day every year.
On her strong, sure legs.

Well. It's Friday. I am going to Kathleen's to make soap. I better get moving.

I am beyond thankful today. My daughter is alive. I am going to Mexico. I am not doing Christmas. I am married to a man who is taking me to Mexico and we are going to indulge in every glorious bit of it. I am going to be, as Billy said, in my favorite place with my "lov-ah."

And we have two months of vacation foreplay and that is perfect and precious.

All right. Gotta run.

Happy Friday, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon

Daylight Is Good At Arriving At The Right Time

Yep. Definitely chilly today.
I realized last night as I laid down in the bed that my dream world has become important to me in a way I can't really describe. I never ever know where it will take me but it always takes me.
Last night Lily was in labor and I was running around with no shirt on or bra either. Bare-chested. No one seemed to mind too much but when I realized it, I was embarrassed.
I woke up before a baby came.

Before I went to dream world, Mr. Moon and I sat and watched the Martin Scorsese film about George Harrison. I had forgotten how much he did. I had forgotten the pure haunting beauty of his songs. He was, in fact, the quiet Beatle. He was a beautiful man.
At the end of the film, his wife said that when he died there was so much light that anyone filming it would not have needed any other light.
He lived a very spiritual life, George did. And yet, he was as human as you or I.
It gave me a lot to think about and Mr. Moon let me hold on to him so tightly for hours.
That is what I needed.
And it was given unto me.

Well, here's the trailer.



And I am remembering being sixteen years old and lying in a hospital bed and being so close to the edge of this life and that that there were times when I wasn't sure which side of the line I was on and being awake all night, my body wracked with chills and pain and how the song All Things Must Pass would go through my head over and over again and somehow, in some way, George Harrison may have saved my life and here I am forty some odd years later, remembering that, feeling it viscerally and it helps even now as I go about this day here and now.

The dream world, the memory world, what we perceive as the "real" world- all of the worlds swirl together some mornings and this is one of them.
I took my camera out to take note of the world I woke up into and here are some pictures of this life I was lucky enough to grow up to live.

This is what the sky looks like- that blue. Well, the picture does not do that blue justice. It is bluer than that. Trust me.

A few of the great and massive branches which shelter my world.

And a hen on a nest. Could there be anything more prosaic? Could there be anything more symbolic of life? There is the chicken and there is the egg. There is the blue sky and there is the light. There are the branches which grow from the biggest live oak I think I've ever seen which is rooted in the dirt, which sprang forth itself from an acorn.

I believe that what gives All Things Must Pass its most intrinsic beauty is that fact that Harrison doesn't just promise that the bad things will pass away- all things, he says, will, and knowing this as we do, we believe him, we believe that yes, daylight is good at arriving at the right time.



This is one of my favorite hymns.
It will be going through my head today as I walk on this ground, these boards, as I deal with this corporal world of chickens and dirt and food and my grandson. As I tend to myself as the light slowly but surely arrives again.

All things must pass, all things must pass away. And as they do, the good and the bad, the lightness and the gray, we are sustained in many ways.

I am grateful to have been reminded last night of some of them as I watched that film, as my husband held me, as I cried silently, over and over again. It was like a dream but at the same time, as real as salt and water, as real as the man who had lived and who now has died and yet, lives forever through his words, his music, his great, good, quiet soul.

What If It's All A Virus?

The sun came out and I went for a walk. That's what you're supposed to do, you know. Exercise.
I did it.
The air was thick with dragonflies, each on a mission of his or her own.
Yellow and purple flowers are blooming. These are the color of fall here. I picked a few and brought them home and put them into one of my favorite blue vases which shines like a jewel in the sun. I love colored glass. Cheap colored glass. Jewels you can use. That vase was in As I Am.
It held a potion.

Billy called me today. He told me about something that he'd done and he said, "If you tell anyone I told you this I'm going to say you're a liar."
And then he proceeded to tell me a completely hysterical story which started with the words, "So I found some of Shayla's jeans in the freezer," and went on from there.
I am not going to tell you the rest of the story but I did tell it to May and she laughed a lot.
Here's a picture of Billy I stole from the Facebook:

Is he cute or what? Handsome, too.
That's him at work. He works at the local New Leaf Market and he's in charge of wine and cheese or something like that. He's a manager of some sort. Every one loves Billy. You would too if you knew him. He makes me mixed tapes and shares his grandparents with me. He's married to Shayla who teaches "under-privileged" kids and who has red hair and they have a son named Waylon. Not only is Billy about the funniest person I know, he is also one of the smartest. And bravest.

The story he told me used the word "Bedazzled" in it too. That's all I'm going to say about that. I do not want to be called a liar.

So I went for that walk. I picked flowers. I saw dragonflies. I came home and picked up fallen branches. I talked to May and to Kathleen and Billy and Lily on the phone. I did some laundry. I took a bath. I read "Masque Of The Red Death out loud again. While I was in the bath tub. It wasn't quite as abysmal.

Mr. Moon came home and he was wearing a blue shirt and he is so handsome. Blue is a very good color on him. He changed into camo and went out to hunt buck with a bow. It is buck-bow season. There are so many different hunting seasons. I do not know why. Doe-bow, buck-bow, rifle-doe, rifle-buck, muzzle-loader this and that. As far as I know, there is not a season where you can take a deer in hand-to-hand combat. If there were, Mr. Moon would train for it.

It's been one of those days. One of those days where you get through it.
It's so hard to describe depression. And it is so hard to justify it when you have this jeweled, beautiful life. This BEDAZZLED life.
Look- depression has no desire to be justified. It just is. Maybe they will discover that it is a fucking virus like herpes and there are remissions and exacerbations. Maybe it only looks to be hereditary because you catch it a a young age from a parent. Maybe they will discover a vaccine. Or a remedy which does more than treat the symptoms. I think this is entirely possible.

Wouldn't it be a fucking RELIEF to know that it's a virus? Because no matter what they say- that mental illness of all sort is real and that no, you cannot control it with your mind, if you suffer from it, you think that surely you CAN control it with your mind. And then you feel guilty and weak and stupid when you can't.

A virus. The depression virus.

Someone should study this. Someone should get a grant. Maybe the reason that there's so much depression these days is because it's contagious. As in really contagious like the flu, not as in contagious like laughter or yawning.

Maybe I'm talking through my ass.

Well, the sun is going down. Tomorrow will be a different day. It will be colder, that's for sure.
Take care, y'all and as Mr. Moon said in a note he left me once, "Stay warm like the place I have for you in my heart."

Like that. Exactly like that.

I really mean it.

Gray

The black dog is hovering today, one paw over the threshold.

I should not take "Are You Depressed" quizzes in magazines.
It's just too...depressing.

God, it is gray out. And the wind whips up and rattles the leaves and then quiets down and it's still again.

I feel so useless. So behind in everything. I'm supposed to be reading an Edgar Allan Poe story at a thing at the Opera House in nine days and I've only read it out loud twice and both times I did an abysmal job of it. I want to back out. I want to say, "No. I can't do this."

Planning the trip to Cozumel has become more stressful than the idea of Christmas. It's going to cost so much that we could use that money for something real- like painting the house. And every fucking travel sight with their "lowest prices guaranteed" is a lie. And how do you pull the trigger? Sure, let's spend one gozillion dollars and just do it!
No.
I can't.

And how do we get this money for my mother's care from the insurance company? They have guidelines. Okay- here's one- she's not on any anti-dementia drugs and that's one of their criteria. Know why she's not on an anti-dementia drug? Because her doctor thinks they are not effective AND they have side-effects. I think he's probably right. So what do we do? Put her on a drug that is only going to cause problems? Maybe he could prescribe it and she won't really take it.

I don't know.

Also, she hasn't seen a neurologist. Okay, she HAS seen a neurologist but not for the dementia. For the dizziness and headaches. That somehow doesn't count.

Well.

It is hard to believe I am the same person today that I was last Friday when I felt so happy, so beautiful, so...okay.
When I said that I wondered which Mary I would be when I woke up, it was not a joke.
I never know. Ever.

It is gray like a stone table. It is getting cold. The black dog is making little sounds in the back of his growly throat. I don't want to quit writing because I will be alone with my thoughts, with that damn dog.

I keep getting anonymous comments on old posts about Ugg boots. Long ass comments. They are, of course Spam. Do Ugg boots really exude elegance?

This is a strange world.

And maybe, despite everything I feel, I fit right in.

Correction

I just listened to forty-four minutes of a taped conversation between Mr. Moon and my mother's insurance company.
And this is what I learned- my husband IS perfect.
In every way that counts.
He never lost his temper. He had numbers and dates and information available. He listened, he asked incredibly pertinent questions, he was polite, he was personable, and yet, he was not going to let them get away with what they are trying to get away with.
I could hear the representative on the phone wanting so badly to help him, yet knowing that she was being recorded by her company as well as Mr. Moon, who told her that he, too, would be recording the conversation.

"Your son," my mother said, before she corrected herself today- "I had no idea he was so good at business."

No, mama, you didn't. And me? I had a clue, but until I listened to that conversation, I didn't really either.

Mr. Moon- you are amazing. The day I met you was the luckiest day of my life.

Love...Your wife. Who is in awe.

This World Done Gone Crazy

(The Manx Dude. I am not kidding you.)

I swear. I feel like someone has hit me repeatedly with a rubber-ended mallet. Hard. I ache everywhere. It is now raining and has been drizzling all day and besides that I WENT TO TOWN AND NOT ONLY WENT TO THE MALL BUT TO SEE MY MOTHER TOO! and we all know that in so doing, I have broken some sort of world-record for myself.

I had to go to the library. No big deal. Then I went to the mall because, well, several reasons and one of them was that I wanted to buy myself an Estee Lauder mascara and I have a sweet friend who runs the Estee counter and I just wanted to see him and hug him and I did and then I walked around the mall and looked at shit on sale at the Gap but I didn't buy anything. Look- these jeans leggings? Stop it. STOP IT RIGHT NOW!

And I realized that they are selling Spanx for men. They call the men's line Manx.

Okay. I've lived past my expiration date. This is fucking proof. I've had it. I'm done.
Cotton compression undershirts?
Look- the reason women are so damn bitchy is the underwear they feel compelled to wear. I really don't want to have to deal with men whose underwear is uncomfortable too.
Zoned performance undershirts?
Men- stop it! This is a slippery, slippery slope! Next thing you know, you'll be wearing Bros and Manssieres for real and this is not funny and refuse, refuse, REFUSE TO PARTICIPATE IN THE MADNESS!

Shit fire. Kill me now.

Well, I got through the mall and I didn't buy a thing except for the mascara and I got a hug with that and then I went to Costco and they were sampling smoked salmon so that was A-Okay with me. Then I called Mr. Moon who told me that Mother had called him to tell him that she'd had a heart attack this morning but since she was still at the Assisted Living, he didn't think she'd really had a heart attack.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I went by there and when I got up to her floor I was expecting her to be curled up in her bed but no, she was trotting down the hallway with her electric-blue walker and she was thrilled to see me and she got a four-ounce Shasta Cola and I got a cup of coffee and I don't know what she had but it wasn't a heart attack. She saw the doctor today and it was yesterday that she'd had the problem and the nurses had checked her out and found her to be basically sound so whatever it was (probably heartburn, as per usual) she has recovered nicely.
We actually had a fine chat, discussing the same things we always discuss which are the kids, the grandchild, how nice the people are there at the Assisted Living, how much she loves my son, no wait, my husband, and chickens. Also, how snotty one of her table mates is and what a name-dropper she is and then she always tells me about her best friend there at the AL and you know- her husband was president of FSU so she knows everyone.
It was quite pleasant, actually.

Then to Publix and then on home and it's raining, raining, raining and yes, it's going to get cold tonight and I am going to make some corn chowder eventually when I can get my energy up enough to go cut up some vegetables. I would pay someone five thousand dollars to come and massage my right shoulder and upper back area but that's probably not going to happen so I guess I should take some Ibuprofen. Mr. Moon, like Mary Poppins, is practically perfect but he does not do massages. In the therapeutic sense, at least.
And he does not wear Spanx for men.
Thank god. I don't wear Spanx for women. As we all know, I can barely stand to wear bras, even the ones that aren't really bras but just stretchy bands of cloth which promise to contain the bosoms and why bosoms need to be contained is beyond me.

Give me my overalls which have enough big pockets for me to carry around an empty tea mug, three or four eggs and an Esquire Magazine, thus leaving my hands free to carry my grandson around the yard. Give me comfort and many deep pockets and you can take your damn compression garments, your Spanx, your Manx, your FUCKING JEGGINGS and shove them where the sun don't shine or at least keep them away from my person.

Would YOU date a guy wearing a Zone Performing Undershirt?

That's all I have to say about that.

Or anything else for that matter.

Let it rain.

I Ain't HIS Mama, But I Am A Mama, And I'm Proud Of That Boy

I can't wake up this morning. I slept like someone had killed me, only with dreams, and now I just want to crawl back into bed and sleep some more. Sleep. Sleep. Oh, god, more sleep.
Am I dying?

I hope not.

Oh wait. It's probably the weather which is about to change big time. We're supposed to get storms this afternoon and then it's going to turn cold. Like, southern air is going to hit northern air and we're in the battleground and that's probably what's affecting these old joints, this old brain.

Either that or I'm dying.

We watched Dancing With The Stars again last night. I have to say that I have entirely fallen in love with Chaz Bono. I am old and I remember when Chaz was Chastity and she looked like this:

When the Sonny and Cher show used to be on TV, I never missed it. One of my favorite things to do was to get stoned and watch that show. I am not kidding you. I was in love with Cher. Not in a "I want to date her" way but in a "she kicks some serious ass" way. She was tough. She used to look like a human. And she'd put her hands on her hips and she'd tell that pipsqueak husband of hers where he could go.
And sometimes they'd bring out little Chastity and they'd sing I Got You Babe and it was just awesome. Especially if you were stoned.

Well, I quit getting stoned and Cher started getting surgeries and she morphed into a creature with big lips and a small nose and a different mouth and she kept getting tinier and tinier in the waist area and bigger in the boob area and she and Sonny broke up and it was all sort of sad.

And then you know- life. Whatever. But Cher never quit being Cher and I even went to see her on one of her "final tours" about fifteen years ago and she's still pretty amazing and some of the movies she has been in are some of my favorites and I still think she's beautiful.

But then suddenly, Chastity was back on the radar screen. She was coming out as a lesbian. Then, a few years passed and she announced that she had always felt as if she were a man and she got the surgery and took the T (testosterone) to become physically who she felt she was really and there will be no more "SHE" about this, Chastity is Chaz and he is he and god love him.
I do.

Is there anyone braver in this world? Not only has his transing had to happen in the most public way possible but he is a person of heaviness and not what we here in the USA think of as a person of grace and athletic ability and yet he has chosen to go on this show which people watch, as a man and DANCE. He is displaying vulnerability not just to his family, not just to his community, but to the entire world. He is saying, "This is who I am. I am a fat man who was born in a woman's body and I am not only out, I am out dancing my heart out."

And that's what he does. He's not a terrible dancer, certainly not the worst on the show (Nancy Grace- what a misnomer there) but not the best, but the thing to me is that he doesn't just dance with his legs and his arms and his butt. He dances with his HEART.

And his heart is obviously huge.

I can't even imagine the bravery it took for him to agree to do the show, for him to place himself in such a public way that could well lead to unbelievable criticism, horrible jokes, and religious damnation. Fuck. I would have had a heart attack the first step I took on that stage.

But here's the thing- he's pushed all that crap aside and he has dedicated himself to dancing.
Dancing.
Which, as I always say, is my favorite form of prayer.

And he's not taking it as a joke, he's working his butt off- literally- and he's serious and he looks like he is having the time of his life and whether he wins or loses is of no matter whatsoever, he is doing more for public understanding of transgendered people than anyone in this world right now.

His famous mother, Cher, admitted that at first she had a hard time with the concept that her darling daughter was not who she thought he was. But she's come around. When she was in the audience last week and Chaz danced she watched with tears in her eyes and she stood up and applauded her son- her very brave son- and I loved her for that.
And if anyone in this world can understand doing whatever he or she can to bring the body to be what the spirit feels it is, it would be Cher. Some people get plastic surgery to make themselves look younger or more feminine if they are women, and some people get plastic surgery to look more like the gender they were intended to be.

Look- sometimes brave is something that we find ourselves being due to circumstances beyond our control. The mother who saves her child, the soldier who saves his comrades. The circumstances dictate and the spirit follows.
And sometimes, bravery is a conscious and very deliberate act and it could be refused. It would have been perfectly fine and acceptable for Chaz Bono to undergo what he has in as private a way possible for such a famous couple's son to do but he has chosen to step forward and say, "Look, this is who I am. I am not the only one. I am not afraid to show you my heart."

And so he has and so he does with every butt-shake, every fast-step, every costume and every victorious moment when he accepts applause for his performance.

I'll say it again:
God love him.
I do.

Chaz inherited a lot from his mother. Like her, he is putting his hands on his hips and telling pipsqueak-souled people all over the world where they can go.
I think Cher finally realizes this. She is one tough mutha or she would never have made it. She would have never have become Cher.

And by god, her son is a tough man.
Courage doesn't really always look like John Wayne. Sorry to break it to you, but it doesn't. And toughness doesn't really look like Clint Eastwood, either. Not in real life.

Courage and toughness sometimes look like Chaz Bono wearing a tight-fitting disco shirt and dancing with a woman in his arms. Dancing his heart out and being vulnerable as fucking hell in front of the entire world.

Our society is just really beginning to come to terms with the gay and lesbian issue but has hardly begun to even deal with the transgendering issue.
Chaz Bono has kicked our asses into gear and made it quite clear that we have to wake up, we have to realize that there are those among us who feel so strongly that they were born into the wrong-gendered body that they will do anything to make that wrong a right. To correct nature's mistake.
And it's not a joke and it's not a whim and it's not necessarily the right thing to do to keep it a secret nor is it even necessarily a possibility.

So you dance, on Chaz. You keep leading with your heart. You take us all to school. And show us that there is SUCH joy in being exactly who we are if we allow ourselves to do that, if we accept ourselves as who we are, if we strive every day to become our own, unique, wonderful heart-led selves.

No matter what the world might say.

And then- show us that the world might say, "Damn. You sure dance good for a fat man."

The world might say, "Hey- guess what? We love you and accept you."

Lot of pressure for one dude. I think Chaz can handle it.

And one more thing:

Keep having fun with this, Chaz. It sure looks like you are. The more fun it looks like you're having, the less bullshit ammunition the ignorant will have to use against you. And the less it will matter if they try.

Click on the above image to go to Chaz's website. It's a good one.

And now I must move these old bones and get going into my day. The sky is growing darker, the air is so heavy that it's pushing against me like a recalcitrant donkey.
I have no idea what that means. I just like the way it sounds.


Let's all dance on with what we got to dance with whether it's grace or talent or just plain old joy and heart.

Okay?

Love...Ms. Mama Moon

Handsome

It was a damn fine day with my damn fine grandson.
He invented a yoga pose called the "Mingo" which involves standing on one leg like a flamingo.
He took a nap with me. He figured out how to make reins for his horse. He got as dirty as dirty can be. He shared a carrot with the mule.
There was a lot more. Everything. We did everything.

Just a damn fine day.

A Grandmother Post

Monday morning and Mr. Owen is coming in a few hours and will be spending the day here. One of the things I am most grateful for in my life is that Mr. Moon and I have this wonderful place with its entertaining yard for a child to run around in.

And Owen craves being outside, as I think children normally do. He never gets bored with being outside. There is just so much to do, even if it's just hitting a tree with a stick which is a pretty good thing to do if you're a kid. But of course there are the chickens to watch and feed, the goats to pat and give leaves to through the fence, the mule to offer an apple to, the dogs to walk around with, the garden to explore and check for things to eat right off the vine.
There are birds to see and squirrels too. Birds and squirrels can be quite entertaining.
Sometimes there are clothes to help hang on the line or to help bring them in. There are sticks, which can be used for a myriad of activities beyond hitting trees with.
There are plants to water. There are eggs to gather and chicken waterers to be filled.
There is a grandmother to run away from and to hold ones arms up to and say, "Hold me," to.
And she does.
There are trees to climb and to hide behind. There are bugs and lizards and frogs.
There is a porch to drag ones horse out to so that riding can be done in the open air.
And then, at random times a train goes by which is about as exciting as it gets.

All of these things are good. Doing them makes a child dirty and opens the child's eyes to the fact that life is a thing which can be lived both inside and out of a building.

The other day Owen reached down to the black dirt and rubbed his hands in it. I have no idea why he did this but he did. Then he casually wiped the dirt all over his legs. I have never actually discouraged him from getting dirty but this was taking it to a new level. If new research is true, this sort of thing means he is taking an active part in building up his own life-long immune system. And then, of course, when we came in the house, he spent a good amount of time at the sink, washing and playing with water.

He has a basket-full of toys here and he does play with some of them. He still loves his little farm but is mostly apt to gather the pig, the horse, the goat, the sheep, the farmer, and take them to play on the stairs. He likes to arrange them. He likes to throw them. He likes me to make the farmer ride on the horse which is a bit tricky. He likes to get the step stool out and smell and rearrange the spices in the kitchen. He likes to clang pot lids as cymbals. He likes to pretend to cook with spoons and whisks and pans.

We do read books but he will mostly only stay still long enough to read them if we are laying down in pre-nap mode. Lately, he has been fighting his nap with every molecule of his little-boy being. This is slightly devastating to me in that he may not need the rest but his grandmother does. The other day he would not lay down on the bed with me but insisted that he would rather be in the "crib" which in this case is a pack-n-play. Of course he can crawl out of that in a New York minute so that does no good at all.
"Wake!" he announces cheerfully, as if we had already been asleep and I sigh deeply and agree that yes, he certainly is awake.

I dreamed last night that Mr. Moon and I took Owen to Mexico with us. I carried him everywhere. It wasn't so bad. I must really love that child.

You think?

Well, it's Monday morning and Grandmother's Preschool for An Active Boy is about to open. We would fail every health department ordinance there is and we like it like that.
There are hot lunches and cold snacks given upon demand. There are no schedules. The ratio of caretaker to child is 1:1 unless Mr. Moon is home and then it is 2:1.
Educational instruction is haphazard as hell and we like it like THAT, too.
Clothing is not required for Active Boys unless the weather dictates that it must be.

Kisses ARE required and so are hugs. The use of "Please" and "Thank-you" is strongly encouraged. The use of imagination is practiced endlessly.

The love is boundless and covers all fees.

Patience on the part of the Grandmother is practically boundless which astounds her.

Monday morning and a beautiful day in Lloyd and I can't wait to get my hands on that boy.

Here we go, here we go, he'll be here soon.

What We Eat

I figured out that between our pancakes this morning and our supper tonight, we have had ten different fruits and vegetables. They are as follows:

Sweet potatoes
Peaches
Bananas
Corn
Potatoes
Onions
Red cabbage
Carrots
Green beans
Mushrooms

Plus venison.
Plus lots of garlic.
Plus pecans
Plus flax

Many colors. Many flavors.

Not bad. Not bad at all.

I can't wait for Owen to come over tomorrow to see what of the leftovers he will want. Corn, for sure. Plus, there's already a smoothie waiting to be blended up for tomorrow morning and he'll want some of that. There's pineapple and berries and bananas and dried cherries and prunes and almonds and flax and yogurt in that.

We eat good around here. I ain't kiddin' you. We do. This may be our saving grace.

Does it Always Boil Down To Math?

Well Jesus Pleezus, we found the source of the death smell in the guest room. The most recent one, at least. I was in there cleaning and decided that this time it was definitely coming from a closet. A closet which had a whole bunch of stuff it. All of it Mr. Moon's stuff. And hey- there are plenty of closets that are filled with MY stuff, this one just happened to have his in it.
Old computers, keyboards, printers, an actual TV, gun-cleaning stuff. Etc.
None of the electronics have worked in years. That closet was a graveyard for dead electric shit.
And, it turns out, a graveyard for a very, very dead...okay, I'll just say it- RAT!

AGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!

Naw. Just a rat. So what? I suppose I should be seriously upset but mostly I'm just damn glad we found the thing and it is now far, far away from my house. The closet has been emptied, cleaned (bleach and Fabuloso were involved) and I am burning incense in there now which is not going to do a thing except mask the scent which I fear is going to linger for quite some time. The dead electronics are going to the trash depot where there is a section just for them.
It's a relief, to tell you the truth. Not just to get rid of the dead rat but also to get rid of the dead things.
Ah-yah.
We humans are such pack rats and maybe that's why I can't get too damn upset about the idea that there was a rat in my house because what are we but big ol' rats that walk on two legs and don't have fur?

I don't know. Maybe I should get more upset about shit than I do but I seem to save getting upset about shit for shit that's not even real half the time and if it is real, nothing I can do anything about for the most part which goes to show that I'm probably crazy but I'm okay with that. Mr. Moon is formulating an anti-rat plan and I trust him.

So it was a big day here at the Moon Residence.

I keep thinking about a very vivid dream I had last night wherein Rick, the star of Pawn Stars, had had to go out of town and was entrusting me to run the Pawn Shop. I'm not kidding. But it wasn't the elegant uptown pawn shop that he has on TV, it was a run-down piece of shit pawn shop but that didn't bother me and I had a pretty good time, greeting the customers who came in with their stuff to sell. I totally sounded just like Rick.
"Hello. What can I help you with? What do you have here?"
But nothing at all came in that was interesting. Mostly old typewriters and I had to tell every person that old typewriters just didn't sell and that we couldn't buy them. The only thing I bought was an old sewing basket that an old lady brought in that had beautiful antique buttons in it. I gave her ten dollars for it. I was a tough pawn shop lady.
I was nice, though. I swear. Polite. Just like Rick is.
"Thanks for coming in," I said to each customer. "Sorry we couldn't help you out."

I was relieved when Chumley and that ugly son of Rick's (Big Hoss?!) came in to take the evening shift because it was starting to get busy with a bunch of druggy-types coming in trying to sell microwaves and stuff and I did not want to deal with them.
It was a long dream with lots of characters. Rick's dad was there but he was asleep and I didn't want to wake him up. And no, this was not being filmed. This was "real" pawn shop stuff.

So maybe my dream was a foretelling of the worthlessness of junk. Who knows? Not me.

Anyway, that closet is cleaned out, the whole guest room is cleaned. I have washed and dried on the line all of the bed linens in there and I'll get it all put away and straightened up eventually. The Panther Room will be back in business with only the faintest whiff of death and that, too, will at some point disappear.

Mr. Moon just took that big old truckload of shit away and I feel lighter, somehow. I weeded today, too. It's been that kind of day- weeding out.
A good balance for a weekend where there has been so much pouring-in.

Give and take, add and subtract, x has been quantified and solved for, and we shall worry about y and z tomorrow.

Time To Make The Pancakes

I woke up this morning and thought I might write about the protests that are going on everywhere including right here in Tallahassee, the state capitol of Florida. My brother wrote me that he and his son had protested out in Washington State and I have friends here who have protested and I am still pretty vague about it all.

I even called Hank. Hank is my go-to guy to explain everything to me that I do not understand. Hank told me that the protesters are showing their solidarity to the non-rich. Are the non-rich. The ones who are not CEO's and well, the filthy 1%. Hank didn't say that. I did.

I still don't get it.

I never was a protester. I wasn't a protesting sort of hippie. I was too self-absorbed and still am, I suppose. Plus, I was always breast-feeding. I did march on the capitol back in the seventies with about a million other people in support of the ERA, which for those of you who do not know, stood for Equal Rights Amendment which we were trying to get passed which meant that women would have equal rights with men but it never got passed even if Alan Alda did speak.
My brother says he remembers protesting the death penalty with me but I don't remember that and as we all know, Florida still loves its death penalty.

Now I'm not saying that I don't believe in protest and shows of support. I do. I'm just saying that it's not really my way.

Plus, to be honest, I still don't really understand.

But before I could write any of this, I got a call from a man whom I think of as a friend, even though he is mostly the friend of some of my children. This man- well, I respect him so much I can't even tell you and he called me because he's been going through some very deep and uncomfortable questioning and he wanted to talk to me about it and we did talk and it was that sort of really profound talking where you leak hearts and fears and souls about death and life and what does it all mean and how do we live with the knowledge that everyone we love is going to die?

All before ten o'clock on a Sunday morning and as we talked, I looked out on the day and the light and the flowers and the leaves and the massive tall oaks with their moss-bearded branches and it was the perfect time and place to talk and ponder about all of these things.
We both cried some.

And we both felt better, I think, about life in general when we hung up, not because we had come to any epiphanies but because we had shared our thoughts and laughed and cried and that helps, god dammit. That helps. Once again we are as different as two people could be and yet, there is a place inside of us which requires no explanation- we have visited the same places, he and I, on many levels.

And I thought to myself and I am thinking to myself that no, I am not a protester. I am not really interested in a personal level in being one more body to show support. I am more interested in the touching of souls which does not mean I don't care about the issues that are being marched about. It's just that it's the issues of the thinking part of the human which interest me the most, which require my attention.

And that's all right. That is who I am.

Mr. Moon is just back from the woods and I am going to make us some sweet potato and pecan pancakes and from there, I don't know where the day will lead but I feel fine about it already, this day. This weekend has been one of so many separate and surprising events and my conversation with my friend was another one of those.

So that's all. Another Glory-Be moment in this Glory-Be weekend.

Not a real sermon from the Church of the Batshit Crazy. Just a little discussion about how some of us march and some of us ponder things.

One love, y'all.

Glory be.

Egg Moon Magic

We went out tonight to hear Lon and Lis. It was so magical that I wish I could have had every one of you there with me. I actually thought that at one point- how I truly do believe that each and every one of you would have enjoyed that music. Lis always sings like an angel but tonight her voice was especially ethereal and somehow, there was more than music going on on that stage. Well, hell. What can be more than music? But it was music as it CAN be, which is not always the case.

Freddy said something yesterday which was that creativity, when it is focused, is the greatest force in the world.

That may not be exactly what he said, but that is what I heard.

And so it was tonight. It was one of those nights where you might experience a healing if one was needed. There may have been healings. I may have received one.

A woman came up to me and said, "I just have to ask- are you the sister of the singer? You resemble each other so much."
I was flattered beyond belief.
"No," I said. "We're not blood-related. But we're heart-sisters."
She nodded and said, "You have the same beaming smile."

That tells you a lot right there.

Another thing I was thinking of tonight when I was listening was how amazingly crafted their songs are. The ones which they have written. Lon and Lis both are songwriters of great capability. I consider myself to be something of a, well, appreciator of the well-written phrase and the songs they have written shine and sparkle like gemstones which have just come out of the tumbler. Quite frankly, I am in awe of the wordsmiths they are and then- THEN- they have put these words to music and THEN they play them and sing them.

Yes. You would have had a good time if you had been there.

Before we went to the Mockingbird where they were playing, we stopped off at Lily and Jason's to leave Zeke for the weekend. I think we are going to share custody of that dog with them which is a beautiful thing. Owen has just recently really become enchanted with the dogs and they with him. When we got there, they had just gotten back from an October Fest thing at Jason's mother's church where Owen had not only ridden a pony THREE TIMES but had seen Elmo too. Lily related this to me on the phone and when I told Mr. Moon about it he asked, "Did he explode?"
When we got to their house, Owen was wearing his cowboy hat and a pair of jeans. He took Zeke's leash in hand and proceeded to walk him around the yard. Mr. Moon went with him and when Zeke actually pooped, it was if a great victory had been achieved. "Did it!" yelled Owen and then trotted Zeke back into the house with him.
I hope that at this moment Owen is asleep on his big-boy bed with Zeke snuggled in beside him.
The thought brings me joy.

It has been such a good weekend already.

I spent some time tonight looking at my husband across the table. He didn't know I was watching him, but I was and my heart filled up with the loving of him. I thought of all we've shared and all we do share and how even just this one weekend has been such a gift. There have been moments which I can't even talk about.
You know what I'm talking about. Those moments which... well.
You know.

I wonder how I will will feel tomorrow- which Mary I will wake up to be. I never have any idea, but I am here tonight to say that for this moment in time, I am grateful to be the Mary that I am. Grandmother, wife, mother, friend, gardener, chicken-mama, heart-sister.

The moon lit our way home, not quite round, almost egg-shaped and it was huge and orange and another piece of magic to fit into the whole of these past few days. Right now an owl is hooting like a chimp from the side yard and in my mind's eyes, I see a bird the size of that moon. It is that loud. More magic. He is calling to a mate and I wish I could see the resulting act of this call of love. It would be something to remember for the rest of my life.

I wish you could have been there. I wish you could be here.
Let us all sleep well in our own separate beds, apart and yet somehow connected.

I feel it strongly tonight as the owl hoots and the moon shines down. That connection.

I do. I hope you do as well.

Good-night, y'all. Good night.

This Is Living

I just talked to my Lizzie on the phone and she and Lon are back from their mini-tour. They drove all the way from almost-Maryland yesterday morning and arrived home around ten last night and are so thrilled to be home, but so glad that they went.

Lis assures me that they made "tens and tens of dollars."

She also told me that when they were somewhere in South Carolina yesterday eating lunch, the waitress put her hand on Lon's shoulder and said something like, "Can I get you anything else, darlin'?" and they thought, "We're home!" and Lis says she never wants to leave the Southland again- this place where her people are.

And I know that people up north and out west and everywhere, in fact, are good people and kind and loving but I know that here in the south we call each other darlin' and we aren't afraid to stop and even touch, sometimes, on the shoulder, on the back, and perhaps that only means that we have not yet become afraid of making human connections. I don't know but I know I am grateful for it.

When I was planting Maw-Maw's turnips last night, I was thinking of Lon and Lis and how much I knew they were yearning to plant their fall garden and sure enough, one of the things Lis said was that they couldn't wait to get that garden in. There's just something about getting things in the dirt when the season is right that completes some of us. We cannot rest until it is done.

That raw row on the right is where I planted my turnips. It does my heart so good just to have the seeds in the dirt. Because I do not depend on my garden for my existence, it is almost more satisfying for me to plant than it is to eat what results from the planting, although the eating is fine and shopping in the garden is even better than shopping at Publix, where as we all know, shopping is always a pleasure.

After I planted last night, I grabbed a few leaves of mustard and a spinach-like plant which I've got going and some yard-long beans and they made up part of our salad for supper. There IS something to be said for knowing that between what grows in the garden and what the hens so cheerfully lay for us, there is almost a full meal to be had at any time. Add in what's in the freezer in terms of venison and fish, and there is great richness.

And my foremothers nod their head in agreement, they beam their approval when I get those seeds in, when I pat that dirt over them which, as I have said, feels so much like bread dough, like a baby's bottom, that substantial yet firm giving-ness. I can feel the genes of those women flowing through my blood when I reach in and gather eggs, hold them up to my face to feel the just-laid warmth of them. Living food, it's all living food.
It is loving food.
And once you've gotten involved in it, that need to participate in the growing, the tending, becomes very strong. It is as if a switch is somehow flipped and I can feel, actually FEEL, those foremothers sighing in satisfaction at the knowledge that all of their eons of learning and doing are still part of the human race.

And Lon and Lis feel that too. We don't even need to discuss it. It just is.

A garden, chickens, hunting, fishing- these are all things which are considered to be luxuries these days for most of us. Back yard chickens are almost, at this point, a fashionable hobby. And yet, if we think about it, it's the going-to-the-store and buying our food wrapped and packaged and labeled and pre-prepared which is the actual luxury. We have turned things upside down and we don't even realize it! Isn't that odd?

Believe me- I am not going to give up buying food and coffee at the grocery store. That is another type of gathering but the switch has been turned in me and it has been turned for many years and so the satisfaction of gardening and chicken-tending is a completely different thing. It is, well, it is right. I may not need to do it but I HAVE to do it.
Does that make any sense at all?

Here is Elvis, watching his flock.


Here is this winter's salad, coming up.

Here is the blossom of the yard-long bean and as I have said before (and will no doubt say again) when Nature finds a design she loves, she uses it over and over again.


Here is some squash coming along.


And here is a bloom of the Parlor Maple and that is nothing but beauty, which is another thing that Nature seems to approve of.


I think we all seek balance, whether we are aware of it or not and I think that in today's world it is becoming harder and harder to find that balance. Part of that is the giving-away to others and to technology that which we are programmed as a species to do for ourselves, whether it is in the way we get the food we eat or the way we give birth or the way we die.

And I am so grateful to be here, where I am, in a place where I can touch or be touched by other humans, the dirt, the egg, the bread dough, the beauty.
I am so grateful I could have my babies the way my body was designed to do, that I could feed them with that same body, that I can take my grandson out to the garden and let him pick beans and eat them straight from the vine, that I can show him how the chickens need to be fed, how their poop helps the garden grow, how their eggs feel on his face, freshly laid, how they feel in the palm of the hand, how they taste when they are cooked.

Yes, I want an iPhone. Yes, I love my Mac. Yes, I adore my washing machine and oh yes, yes, yes, I am so grateful I do not have to haul my water from the river or the well either one.

But. I know that these things are not the end-all and be-all of my existence. I acknowledge that I am a living being on this living planet and as such, I need to be firmly aware of that which is living around me and to be a part of that too.

All right. That's what I'm thinking about this morning and now it is time for my late-breakfast.

I believe I will cook an egg.

Good morning, darlin's. Good morning.

Oh My God, It Was So Fun!

F.C. Rabbath and Vanessa Vandy.

Me.

Freddy and me. I made him put his sunglasses on so he'd be cool.
It worked, didn't it?

Mr. Moon being a movie star. Isn't he darling?

Yes, yes he is.


From a Jacksonville Arts magazine.

That's acting, y'all.
Ha!

All pictures were taking on an iPhone and I am totally getting one of those ASAP. It GPS'ed us right there and took pictures and looked up stuff for us and I don't even know what. I'm convinced. I think Mr. Moon is too.
Freddy took all the pictures, of course, except for the one I took of him and Vanessa. Aren't they precious? Yes. Yes they are.

The part of Jacksonville we were in was just charming as hell. I'd love to go back and explore. The venue was an old downtown theater and we ate lunch at a funky little Italian restaurant.
There WAS popcorn at the theater. I had some.

And now we are already home and I'm back in my overalls and about to go plant Maw-Maw some turnips. The day is as bright as a newly-minted dime and I'm in about as good a mood as I've been in forever.

If I gave an awards acceptance speech it would go like this:
"I'd like to thank Freddy Rabbath and Glen Moon. Two completely different sorts of men with completely different sorts of special talents but united in one very uncommon and special way- the both make me feel beautiful just as I am.
Which means they are magic."

Now. Time to go plant the turnips.

Good Lord, I'm happy.

A Different Sort Of Friday

Yes, I slept last night like the dead and if I dreamed, the dreams slipped away into the cool night air and it is still dark.
I can't believe I am going to go to Jacksonville today. Jacksonville is a place I avoid at almost all costs. It is huge and spread out for miles and forever. Truly, I think mileage-wise, it is one of the biggest cities in the US. We go there only to take people to the airport or some other such thing and I remember once Mr. Moon and I took Lily and her best friend Amy over there for a music festival and we dropped them off and let them roam it and it was among the tensest five hours or whatever of my life- they were almost old enough to do this and we let them and we found them at the end, they were good girls, or at least they didn't die and were approximately where they were supposed to be at the prearranged time.

Today won't be like that, I'm sure. Freddy and Vanessa are going with us and Freddy has his iPhone and there will be no getting lost and he's done this festival thing a million times or at least many. I'm thinking now, though, as my morning anxiety builds, that I wish I hadn't said I'd go. Right now I'm thinking that the sight of my face filling a screen is not going to be as amusing as I thought it might be.

And I have no idea what to wear.

And my eyebrows look like someone's grandpa's. And, and, and....

It was so much easier to film that thing. It was the day after Christmas and it was Freddy, one crew guy, the other actor, and me. And it snowed that day. And it was all outside and we were so cold that we were ridiculously silly. The notion of it snowing in Tallahassee is absurd and we became absurd and the day passed and "once more" and "give me that face again" and there was nothing for it but to just enjoy every second of it- why not?

For me, at least.

I did. I enjoyed every second of it.

Anyway, we're going and that's that.

The light is creaking open the day and yes, we're going and I need to get ready. This is such a little thing. We're in a category of Florida Shorts and it's not like there's going to be a red carpet or paparazzi or...anything.
I wonder if there will be popcorn.

Such a strange thing to do on a Friday. Drive to Jacksonville.

I'll report in later. You know I will.

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

I Call Him Monkey

Owen is being a two-year old today. He is leading me a merry chase. Literally. He has run around the yard stark naked and barefoot, laughing his ass off with me behind him saying, "Owen, Owen! You do not have your clothes on. You do not have your shoes on!"

He does not care. He was happy. He flopped on the ground and had dirt everywhere. Including in the penis area. This did not trouble him one bit. In fact, it made him happy.
He peed off the front steps of the porch. This made me happy. He's such a boy.

He's been eating dogfood every chance he gets. In fact, this is what he's eaten today since he's been at my house:
Dogfood
Mixed nuts
A large banana
A yogurt
Some smoked turkey
One and one half energy bars
Four raw beans from the garden
A wild phlox blossom
A carrot

He has not taken a nap. He has drunk juice and cossie (coffee- warm water in a mug.) He's ridden his horse, he's helped me clean out the hen house, he's patted the goats, we've read books. He's played with his farm, he's ridden his scooter bike. We've collected eggs. He played in the sink with the water and the coffee drip funnel for about fifteen minutes. He's taken Buster for a walk on the leash. He's gone in my office and told me not to come in. He's had a bath and gotten dirty again.

These are the things I can think of that he's done and that we've done. There are others, believe me.

All right. Here's one more thing he did. It's not a very good picture but I was laughing so hard I almost couldn't take it.

That's a boy. Half in and half out of the dog door.

Oh my.

We are ALL going to sleep well tonight.

The Sun Is Out Again

This is a tiny part of my back porch. My Lis gave me that brass planter and I love the shape of it. The doll is one I found at Goodwill and she is lovely with her fan, her lace mantilla which is covered right now with spider webs, as is everything in my house.

She looks a little like Amy Winehouse, don't you think?

She's probably older than Amy would have been if Amy were still here. That still makes me sad.

But I do not feel especially sad today. Not sure why, just as I am never sure why I feel sad but I am just grateful. So grateful.

Last night Mr. Moon and I went to a tiny birthday celebration for our dear Billy's Maw-Maw. She turns 76 today and it was an honor to go and honor her. I took her some roses and a dozen of our eggs, brown and blue, and she thanked me for the "real eggs" as she calls them. Here she is posing with her roses.

I totally stole that picture off of Facebook from Billy. I don't think he'll mind.

Billy was blessed to grow up with the grandparents he had and he adores them and they adore him. "Adore" doesn't begin to cover it, actually.
I could write volumes about Maw-Maw and her sweet husband of almost-fifty-eight years, Paw-Paw.
Billy G. and Nell.
They've recently had to move from way down at the crick, as we call it around here, due to a myriad of health problems but Maw-Maw is a scrappy and determined woman and although she weighs approximately 42 pounds now, she is managing with some help to take care of her handsome husband. They have made a new home in a house near Tallahassee and as in each of their houses over the years, have made bedrooms for their daughter and son who of course are very much grown up and living on their own, but that's the way they do it and so it is in this new house, too.

We had hummingbird cake and coffee ice cream and Maw-Maw had her rum and coke. Billy and Shayla's son Waylon and Billy's sister's daughter, Adah, entertained each other and we old folks sat around and talked and gorged on sweetness.
It was a fine evening and I kept going back for more good-bye hugs from the incredibly handsome Billy G. who said with each one, "We love you, Mary."
I love the way he says my name. I love that it's always "we." He and his bride, Maw-Maw.

Maw-Maw wanted to know if I had a garden in this fall and specifically if I had planted turnip greens as they are her favorite. I have not yet planted turnips but I will put in a row just for her. I love turnips too but this year's turnips shall officially be for Maw-Maw.

We drove home under that full moon and when we got back I took its picture and now the moon has taken her veils and gone to bed and the sun is up again. I drink my coffee and think about the walk I'm going to take and about Owen coming over this afternoon and I sent Mr. Moon off with an egg and cheese sandwich. The dogs watch me to see if I'll let them in the house, the Spanish Lady holds her fan with her delicate fingers.

Another day and one in which I am not smothered in grayness.

And I just got a call from Freddy. "Hey," he said. "Want to do something you've never done before?"
Well. Who could turn that down?
(Me.)
But As I Am is going to be screened tomorrow in Jacksonville at a film festival and he thought I might like to go and dammit, I would! And Mr. Moon said he would go with me and so I'll see my big ol' face on a big ol' screen and Freddy's right- that is definitely something I've never done before.

And just for the hell of it, I'll go ahead and put the film back up here so if you've never seen it and would like to, you can.



All right. Walk! The sun is out. It's time to move into this day which has already been quite busy and will grow ever more so when my grandson gets here.

Yours truly...Ms. Moon

Lunacy

This is the full moon as viewed from my back yard. It is a bit of a shy moon, covering her face with white silk cloud scarves and then peeping back out to show her face.
Or maybe she is a sly moon, not shy at all, keeping her charms and her face to herself.

I don't know.

I don't really feel like talking so much but there's the moon. It's full. I saw it. I took its picture.

Not The Best Of Days, Part II

All I have done today is to take a walk and clean up after the dogs and sit here staring at the keyboard and wondering why I can't write.

I have now exiled the dogs to the porch. They will pee and poop out here and then I will kill them and then my problems will be over.
Well, the problems concerning dogs.

I am just overwhelmed. My mother's fucking insurance company is denying her claim for her need of assisted living. Turns out if you can get food to your own mouth, you probably don't need assisted living. Also? If you're not in diapers. So if you're continent, even if you can't use a washing machine or if you can fork up the calories, even if you couldn't get a meal together if your life depended on it, all those thousands and thousands of dollars you paid for insurance don't get handed back to you, baby.
I love how they write the letter to HER. As if she could make heads or tails of it. I love how they don't give a shit that you can't take your own meds or find your way to the lobby without guidance or remember when it's meal time or know what day it is or...
They are like honey badger. They don't care and they don't give a shit and someone should have read the fucking fine print.

Well. So there's that.

Beyond that, the dogs and the insurance company, I guess I have nothing at all to complain about. And yet, nothing at all is amusing me. No. We are not amused.

I need to take a shower. I smell like Satan's sulphurically scented elder sister. I look like her too.

Hopefully, the tide will turn, the moon will flip, the rivers will rise, the dogs will die, the insurance company will be brought to task, world peace shall spontaneously erupt, and we shall be amused again.