We Are Here

When we got to the dock on Dog Island the heat was brutal and we had a moment of controlled panic when the car wouldn't start and we weren't sure we'd packed the jump box because truly, this is the kind of heat people die in. But we had the jump box and the car started and we didn't die although when we got to the house the thermostat read 99 degrees and I'm not sure I've ever been hotter in my life than I was by the time we got everything unloaded and up the stairs and into the house. 

The AC is working though and the temperature is now a downright frigid 83 and we went out and laid in the bay for awhile after we'd cooled down enough to even consider such a thing. 

The waters are rising and we are about to lose our pine trees. What can you do?

Still, it's beautiful and we've watched the sun go down and set. 

Coconut pirate is still here, guarding the porch. 

The great blue heron is fishing the sand bar as the tide recedes and the cicadas have begun their evening symphony. 

Dog Island, Florida.

Love...Ms. Moon

It stormed so hard last night. I'm not sure I've ever heard thunder quite like that. It sounded like bowling balls being dropped down stairs, it shook the house, the ground, the world.
And then it rained and I couldn't sleep because of my hips, my legs, and the power was off and this morning I'm awash in the anxiety.

One foot in front of the other.
Etc.

And so forth.

What This Planet Needs Is A Good Detox

I swear to god, I think I just got way overheated yesterday when I walked and never really cooled off and have felt like shit most of the day. Anyway, whatever, I haven't done much today but did get my rug backing all tacked back on so there is that. Whoo-hoo, universe! I have a rug to stand on when I power up the old Sonicare every night.

I'm still listening to Going Clear and it's becoming apparent to me how much Scientology has influenced so much pseudo-science in our culture although I doubt most people touting things like detoxification and cleanses would admit that. Or even recognize it. Everything is related, isn't it? Or something.

Just read on the Internet that "July wasn't just the hottest month of 2016- it was the hottest month in all of recorded history."

Why do we want to disregard the science of climate change which is so completely real and proven and right in front of our faces but want to embrace the bullshit of things like detoxification?

Probably because the one is a lot easier to wrap our minds around and actually do something about while the other just seems to be a hopeless cause and completely overwhelming.

Let's see how well detoxification works when Siberian Anthrax becomes established.

Ah-yah.

One more thought: Please Donald Trump, do NOT step down. Just keep on running and let even your most devoted followers recognize that you're a complete and utter asshole who has no business knowing the nuclear codes and thus stay home on election day.

Heatstroke. I probably have heatstroke.

That would explain a lot.

Love...Ms. Moon

We'll Be Crossing The Great Water Tomorrow. Okay. Not Really. Just A Small Bay

I didn't get out of bed until 9:00 this morning and haven't done shit since then except to take a little trash and go by the post office. I'm just not feeling my best today and so what if I don't get anything done?
Having said this, I just texted Mr. Moon to ask if I should go get our groceries for our planned get-away to Dog Island today instead of tomorrow morning. Do I have the stamina to go BACK to Publix? Oh jeez.
Dog Island.
Mr. Moon's boat trailer has some broken springs and the parts won't be in to fix it for at least another week so we are to take the ferry which I don't think we've ever done together although maybe we have. I've taken the ferry when I used to go to the island by myself occasionally, before I suffered my first real episode of anxiety and having no idea what it was, thought that going to the island by myself would be a good way to shake whatever it was that was going on in my head and making me feel so fucking crazy which turned out to be the worst idea possible and let this be a lesson to us all- IF YOU THINK YOU MIGHT BE SUFFERING FROM ANXIETY, DO NOT GO TO A VIRTUALLY DESERTED ISLAND ALL BY YOURSELF TO TRY AND FIX THE PROBLEM!
No. Just don't.
However, Mr. Moon and I definitely need some down time, some away time, some there's-nothing-to-do-but-hang-out time and even if we take the ferry instead of the boat, which in theory will be an easier thing to do, we'll still need all of our groceries and water and booze and books and whatever else we need over there. We'll just be loading them onto someone else's boat instead of our own.

So. Mr. Moon just texted me back that we'll probably have plenty of time to do the shopping on the way down because the ferry won't be leaving until 3:00 and this is true but I'll stress out about it anyway because that's what I do. And shopping with my husband can be, um, FUCKING NERVE-RACKING because he doesn't spend much time in the grocery store and seems to want to look at the price per ounce of every single product we might need which takes awhile. As in, eons. As in, entire species have the time to evolve and then go extinct and their bones transformed into petro-chemicals.

But. You know. I had a small epiphany last night or maybe it was a few days ago- who can keep track of these things? and it was about how I always stress out about shit and somehow it all works out, every single time, although not always in a very good way (see above) but in some way and wait. Now that I think about it, I've had plenty of really, really bad times on Dog Island but to be honest, none of them had one thing to do with running out of food, water or booze.
So there is that.
Here's a picture someone posted today on FB of a double rainbow on Dog Island.

Maybe a nice omen? Of course, that's not our house. Not even close. Not even in the proximity sense except that they're both on the same small island.

Still and all, after all of these years, Dog Island is not a bad place to be and I've had some wonderful times there and hopefully, will again this very weekend.

Hey! I finally watched some of the Olympics last night. I saw Simone Biles win her fourth gold-medal and I have to say that watching the Olympics makes me feel oddly uncomfortable and I think it has to do with what the athletes' bodies look like which is, to be blunt, NOT QUITE HUMAN. Also, it all makes me uncomfortable because these people who have worked so hard and sacrificed so much are supposed to be representing an entire country which just doesn't seem fair. I mean, I haven't gotten up early one morning of my life to go learn a gymnastic routine and so why should I get any of the glory just because Ms. Biles was born in the same country I was born in?
Know what I mean?

Yeah. I probably think too much.

Now I think I'm going to go clean the poop out of the chicken house. FOR TEAM AMERICA!
Not really. For team Mick, Trixie, Chi-Chi, Cha-Cha, Butterscotch, Camellia, Dearie, Blossom, and Otis.
To be specific.

Team Maurice is sitting on the table watching the leaves move on the trees. I guess that's what she's watching.

I'll shut up now.

Love...Ms. Moon

Feeling My Age

Just...hell.
I know it's hot everywhere but it's hot here too. Fuck me. It's fuck me hot. 

So I went to town and I had lunch with Lily and Gibson who gets out of his school at noon and Maggie and Jessie and August.
Here's Maggie.

She's adorable. 

I didn't take any more pictures because I was too busy eating pizza and salad. It was delicious.

Then we went to Costco where I didn't take any pictures at all. It's mighty nice having the Tall Girls back together again, wearing their babies on their chests and buying huge quantities of stuff. People actually sometimes ask if August and Magnolia are twins, despite the fact that each one obviously has his or her own personal mommy. 

Oh well. They are close in age. 

I went and picked up my repaired sewing machine from the racist right-winger. I can't help it- I don't hate the man. I don't know why. But for sixty-one dollars he replaced my antique, cracked Bakelite plug, a belt, completely cleaned up the machine and reset the tension. And told me that it was a "fast" machine. 

I felt proud. Of my fast machine.

And not one bit ripped off. 

And we didn't discuss politics. 

I've been to Publix (I know- you must ask yourself- how much does that woman eat? And the answer is obviously way too much) where I wandered around in a daze trying to remember what goes into stir-fry, and came home and got the clothes off the line and simply had to lay down and take a tiny nap which didn't do a damn thing except make me mad because I had to get back up and attend to more stuff. I am hot to the core and cranky and tired of everything and thinking about going and getting into the little kid pool but I probably won't because it's time to make supper. 

All I can say right now is that with any luck at all my day will end with a shower and lying in bed with a book which is my idea of heaven these days. 

Have I told you that I have been sleeping recently in a white cotton nightgown? I rediscovered it in a drawer and am looking to order another online because I love it so damn much. 

White. Cotton. Nightgown. With tucks and buttons. It could be described as "voluminous."

I wore it in Cuba in the Nun Room. Lis had one too. 

Appropriate.

My husband is a lucky, lucky man, don't you think?

Love...Ms. Moon

Walk Report: MISERABLE

Hotter than hell. So humid you need a snorkel. Ant (giant variety) fell out of tree or bush and stung the inside of my elbow.

Bees were abounding in the delightful garden of Clitorea, having beautiful hot sex with the blossoms.

Pink swamp mallow was spied.

Home now with freezer gel pack stuffed down my sports bra. My eyeball hurts. I think I slept on it.

Mission to suffer fully accomplished. 

I Don't Know/I Do Know

I've been very slow and domestic today, attending to this and to that and I sat down on the couch with a small rug to repair and turned on the TV to watch as I worked, tacking the back on which had come unraveled in the wash. It's just a rug I got at the Goodwill but I love it, one of those Chinese wool ones and I stand on it when I brush my teeth and it feels good beneath my feet.
Anyway, I got to catch the tail-end of The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou which is one of those movies that I love so much, so much, that when it appears before me, I watch it. Was there ever a better cast? Bill Murray, of course and always and Jeff Goldblum whom I've been in love with forever and Anjelica Houston who is a goddess, a stone cold goddam goddess, and Owen Wilson and it goes on and it goes on and if I ever got to meet Wes Anderson I would say thank you five million times for that movie alone, and if I had another four or five thousand hours, I would start in on thanking him for so many other movies I have loved that he's made with such tender-heartedness, such awareness of human frailty and sadness, such belief in beauty and color and story and music and all of it.

I would do that, if I met him.

I went out to the garden and picked some more peas and also green beans which seem to be as tenacious in their living as anything I've ever planted and I got bit by ants, speaking of tenacious, and right now I'm listening to this on my phone.

And dear god if L. Ron Hubbard wasn't at the very opposite end of the human spectrum as Wes Anderson, I don't know who was. I'd say "bless his heart" because someone needed to but I just can't bring myself. I am not Jesus, y'all. It reminds me though, listening to this book, that mad men throughout history have been able to convince so many that their own particular madness is a truth and which has spread and infected millions.
I think of Donald Trump and grow weary at the thought. It would be plain funny if so many weren't affected in such horrible and soul-crushing ways.
What is it in the human make-up which wants to believe that there is a savior? That someone, or rather Someone, can save us from our pain, our fear, the very idea even of death?
I'd so much rather believe in a someone who can create art which, for a moment at least, can lift us above the pain and the fear, can make us feel as if in sharing those things along with the undeniable beauty which does surround us and does indeed live in us, as if we were not alone and that there can be reason to love and to laugh.
Sometimes. At least.

This all sounds so trite.

Well. It may be. But at least it's not completely ridiculous and based on lies and on hatred, whether of others or of ourselves.

I don't know.

I do know that I saw the two banties today, flying like real birds across the yard. I just adore these little chickens which are so much less domestic than the other chickens. I do know that since Jack got his balls cut off, Maurice has been sleeping with us every night, all night long. She was in the bed with me last night when Jack jumped up on the bed and she growled him right off. I do know that the only thing better than a Neil Gaiman book is a Neil Gaiman book read by the author. I do know that I made the ugliest loaf of bread today that I've ever made in my life and that if it came to life, it would be a horrible ogre of such great hideousness that people would run in terror but we shall probably just slice it and put butter on it and eat it. I do know that my sewing machine is ready to be picked up. I do know that we may go to Costco tomorrow. I do know that I am longing for the water and hope to go to the island soon. I do know that I am rich in love beyond my wildest dreams and I do know that the sprays of roses that Publix sells three for twelve dollars are amazing.

 No filter, y'all. Just the picture that appeared when I snapped the iPhone camera.

I also do know that the flooding in Louisiana is unbelievable and I cannot even begin to take that in. And that life knocks me out, over and over again in all ways and that not one day goes by that I am not completely bowled over, knocked out, made humbled.

Sometimes by you.

Love...Ms. Moon

Correction!

It was JESSIE who suggested Otis, not May.

In deep apology mode...Your Mother

A Good Monday Morning

I think my heart is as at peace today as it has been in a very long time. And who knows why? The simple answer could be no more complicated than the fact that Jessie and Vergil and August are home but I don't think that's entirely it. Last night was fun but it was overwhelming. At one point even Hank had to go sit in a room by himself and be quiet.
Hank.
Who of course held August last night in the chaos of it all.

And it was chaos. My GOD! Four children, two spouses, four grandchildren.
Mr. Moon and I wandered about, catching each other's eye and going, "HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?"

When August got here, he had just woken up from a way too short nap and he was overwhelmed. It was like he remembered but he didn't know what he was remembering and it was just all too much. His mama took him into my room and nursed him for a bit and he came back to life and next thing I knew, he was waving at everyone and blowing kisses and crawling all over and playing on the floor with Maggie and pulling on his Boppy's beard and trying to figure out my overalls and banging on the little old toy piano like Jerry Lee Lewis might have done in his own infancy.
There were hamburgers and hot dogs and okra and tomatoes and all of those things I had talked about and the ice cream was good and by the time everyone had gotten in their cars to go home, the kitchen was mostly cleaned up and the dishwasher was ready to run for the fourth (or was it fifth?) time that day.
And I remembered the rooster naming contest at the last second and May gave him his name. I was judge and jury.

Meet Otis. Named not only for Otis Redding but for Otis the Mayberry Drunk. Or at least, that's how I have it in my mind. Otis Redding was magnificent, of course, and Otis The Drunk had a sort of sweet dignity about his drunkenness as this bird has about his rooster-ness. 

Anyway, I think the name fits him and thus- again all of my chicken babies are named. 

So it goes, and so it is and I took a nice walk this morning. Here's a swamp mallow with ants. 

It looks so much like the okra blossom, doesn't it? 

It's the slightest bit cooler today and I can almost feel summer sliding into fall. Or at least the fulcrum of the balance between them has shifted. And of course this happened today.

First day of school and Lily reports there were no tears. At least, not on the boys' part. 

Here is my favorite picture of all the ones she took.

Owen helping his brother get ready for his first day of school. Something about that just touches my heart so deeply and purely. Owen has been planning for weeks now. He wanted his own alarm clock which he got so that he can wake himself and his brother up. He already had his clothes laid out before he came over to our house last night. He is growing up so beautifully and Gibson is too. 

All right. One more picture before I go eat my lunch and hang out some more laundry.

Jessie sent me this picture a little while ago. She can't get August to take his nap because he's too interested in playing with all of his new-old toys. Oh! That boy! 

And Lily just called- she's already picked up Gibson from pre-K and the teachers reported he was great and he seems to have had a good time. I talked to him briefly on the phone and he sounded happy. 

Life keeps on changing, doesn't it? And yet, repeating itself over and over again. 

And I will take a peaceful heart and I will be grateful. 

Love...Ms. Moon

And Now I Shall Go To Bed

Random pictures in no particular order.

Little Party

I'm taking it slowly this morning, getting things ready for this afternoon. It's been awhile since I had everyone over here. Lily's been taking on the chore of having things at her place but I want to do this here.

Mr. Moon has done a few things outside to get ready and I've got the peaches thawing and have made the deviled eggs. The shake-em-up in the mason jar with water works the best to peel fresh eggs. It's not perfect but it's hand's down better than any other way I've discovered. The salad is made, as I said last night and now I just need to make up the ice-cream mixture, the okra and tomatoes, fix the plate with tomatoes and lettuce and onion (I bought big, fat Vidalias at the Costco yesterday) and tidy up a bit. Stuff like that. Perhaps make some iced tea. Oh! And make some guacamole. Always the guacamole.

I got a message from Jessie a little after one last night saying that they were home and safe. I was so glad to see that when I got up. And then a little later, I got this picture.

Our little love, rediscovering his own home. Jessie says the animals are so glad to see them and that August really likes seeing them. It's going to be a big change for that little boy after spending a summer in a big house in Asheville with a whole other family besides his, including a baby girl and another roommate. There was always so much going on in that house with everyone coming and going and cooking and playing music. Now it's just him and his mama and his daddy and his dog and his cat. I have to wonder what he thinks about all of this in that smart head of his. I really have no idea but I do know that we will be more than happy to see him. That he is so loved here by his aunties and uncle, his Mer and his Bop, his cousins Owen and Gibson and Magnolia. I know he was loved in Asheville like a prince but it's nice that he can be here again to get loved on by different folks. 

There is never too much love. Or ice cream, for that matter. 

Later...Ms. Moon

Home

The pinecone lilies are doing their thing again, making fine, fat cones with the tiny little blossoms on them. Soon the cones will be turning scarlet as we head towards fall.

I've had a rough day, physically, emotionally. Just rough. No reason, just the way it is. I hate this. The truth of it is that I would give anything to just be an even-keeled person, taking what comes my way and responding appropriately towards it. I managed to get a few things done despite all, and even went to town and got things I need for tomorrow's little cook out, our ice-cream social celebration. I made a good-looking sort-of tabouli salad, but not really, with quinoa and tomatoes and cucumbers and some green beans that I picked, along with corn and parsley and green onions and lemon juice, a little olive oil. It'll be better after it's been sitting over night. I boiled eggs to make deviled eggs and pray they peel well but dammit, I don't care what peeling trick you use, if your eggs are fresh, they're hell to peel and mine are as fresh as you can get, of course. I have enough okra to make okra and tomatoes which may not be a traditional cook-out food but we're not that invested in tradition around here. The Costco was crowded as hell and I kept running into other people's carts and narrowly avoided knocking a few people over and when I finally did get out of there, had the hardest damn time finding my car. Which is red. I mean, really- you'd think it wouldn't be so hard. But it was.

I never know what recipe to use for ice cream. The cooked custard kind or the non-cooked kind? One has eggs, the other doesn't. Unless my chickens lay me a good number early tomorrow, it's going to be the non-cooked kind without eggs because I just realized I boiled most of the eggs for deviling.
Oh well.

None of that really matters. There will be hamburgers and hot dogs and good, if not traditional, food and all of my children and my grandchildren too.

These folks are on their way home and I can barely believe they'll be here tomorrow with my Jessie, too. 

Mr. Moon mowed today and the yard looks beautiful, this little piece of my heart-land, where pinecone lilies grow and chickens scratch and move about and take naps in the dirt and so gladly eat whatever and lay me eggs. I gave them fresh water today and Mr. Moon gave them fresh food in their feeder and of course they eat the freshest food all day long- the tiny bugs, the tenderest shoots, bits of whatever else they find that pleases them. All of this under the protection and shade of the old live oaks, their great arms spread as if in constant blessing, most of them thick right now with the resurrection fern which this bounty of rain we've had has brought into full green glory. The butterfly ginger is just beginning to bloom with it's heady, swoony perfume and the Four O'Clocks are blooming too. They smell like old ladies. Sweet old ladies. The poke berries and the beauty berries are purpling, one dark and one fuchsia.  

Mr. Moon and I just took a little evening walk to view all of this and I took a picture of this guy.

I think tomorrow we may have a name-that-rooster contest. I keep thinking we should just name him Lucky and be done with it as he is the only surviving Barred Rock but perhaps a better name can be come up with. He is a handsome fellow and I am sorry that his entire flock consists of two banties who may or may not even be hens. 

I just keep moving. I just keep staying out of bed where I could easily spend twenty hours a day. I just keep loving on the ones I love and being loved by them in return. 

It seems so simple. 

I wish it were. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Drama Queens Run In The Family

When I pulled up to Lily's house, Owen was about twenty feet up a loquat tree.
"Hey Mer!" he yelled, and I stopped and rolled down the window and said, "Be careful, boy!" and he came down like a monkey and hung from a lower branch by his knees and Gibson asked me if I'd drive him the rest of the way to the house which was about fifty feet and so I did.

We went to Target and we were on track. We were focused. Lily had the list in her hand and the boys were...well. Boys. They wanted toys. School supplies are pretty boring, it turns out. Glue sticks, Kleenex, baby wipes, pencil box, twenty (sharpened) pencils, notebooks. In that picture you can see Gibson already having a melt-down as he realized that the area where the cheap toys are usually displayed had been taken up entirely by SCHOOL SUPPLIES!
The agony!

Maggie didn't seem bothered by any of it. 

It was pretty bad. But we managed to find everything we needed except a "primary" composition book which has room at the top for a picture. And finally, whoopie cushions were purchased as a sop to the toy thing which made the boys both very happy with the resulting fart sounds until both cushions were blown out which happened within about fifteen minutes of purchase, one spectacularly so when Owen placed the cushion where his mother wouldn't see it (haha!) and she sat down on it as hard as she could.
Then more tears ensued, of course.

We moved on to a nearby shoe store and bought new sneakers for the boys. Gibson picked his out because they had Batman (I think it was Batman) on them and they lit up. I mean- priorities, people. Owen had a harder time picking his out and ended up with some very comfortable sneakers with memory foam in his favorite colors. Red and yellow. They are not velcro latched, however, and he's going to have to learn to tie his shoes which brought on more agony but we reassured him that his father would teach him and that tying a bow is a life-skill he needs to know anyway, and then THAT was done.

Off we went to lunch. We chose Jason's Deli today because they have a fabulous salad bar AND pizza for the boys. They pretty much have everything. Including ice cream. Hank met us and after lunch we got the requisite Hank Holds Babies photo.

Maggie obviously took her cute pills today. That child! Check out this picture:

I mean, I mean, I MEAN that child is adorable. And that little ruffly dress with bees on it. Can you stand it?

As always, lunch was fun and we talked about everything and caught up on everything by which time we were ready to come home. I needed to run by Costco for my giant bottle of Tito's vodka and we passed Bass Pro World on our way. As we drove past it, Gibson said, "Wait! Is that where Boppy works?" which is hysterical because he knows quite well where Boppy works, having visited him there at the bank many times. I have no idea how that child's mind works sometimes. My favorite Gibson quote of the day came in the shoe store when he said, "I'm not even a baby anymore either!"
Which, technically is true, but he's still my baby.

Anyway, by the time I got home, this had happened:

And now the garage looks like this. 

Well, let me be clear about something. That's what about one third of the garage looks like. This is not counting the upstairs part of the garage which is big enough to put an apartment in. No, really. It was built with this option in mind. But doesn't that truck look like it's happy to be here? I think he and the Cutlas are going to be good friends. 

They sure don't make vehicles like they used to. 

It's a 1960 Chevy and Mr. Moon is, as we speak, perusing a repair manual for it which is as big as the family Bible. And yes, I do have a family Bible. 

All right. One more thing before I go make our supper (ground venison and rice stuffed peppers, in case you're interested). Buying school supplies reminded me of my own story of school supplies when I was in first grade. Of course in those days, back in Pre-History when Cleopatra was just getting her first menstrual period, school supplies were pretty simple. I lived in an extremely poor area and I don't remember if we had to bring our own pencils and crayons or not but I do know that as first graders we had to use those awful fat pencils and crayons and what genius decided that tiny-little six-year old hands needed those? 

But that's not what the story is about. 

We were all told to bring in a cigar box to keep our pencils and crayons in and I guess that cigar boxes were more ubiquitous than they are now because everyone did indeed bring in a regular cardboard cigar box. 

Except for me. 

My wood-loving carpenter grandfather lovingly sanded and lacquered a wooden cigar box for me and burned my initials into it. It was a thing of beauty.

And I hated it.

I wanted a regular, regulation cardboard cigar box like everyone else had but even at the tender age of six I knew that there was no way I could voice this because Granddaddy had gone to all of that trouble and work and so I cried hot, silent tears in private about it. I already stuck out as it was because my mother was a teacher in the school and there were only seven teachers and a principal in all and because I didn't have a father like all of the rest of the kids. Okay. So some of their fathers beat their mothers every Friday night but at least they had fathers, whereas I had none, only this ancient grandfather who gifted me with a freaky freaking wooden cigar box to hold my fat pencils. 

Isn't it funny, the things we remember? And now, ironically, I sort of collect old wooden cigar boxes and give them away as gifts and keep love notes from my husband in them. 

All right. Off to make the stuffed peppers. 

It's been a good day and my grandchildren made me laugh a lot and in two days I'll get to see August again as well as his mama and his papa and there ain't nothing wrong with that. 

All love...Ms. Moon 

At Least There Are Animals

No newspaper in the paper box and so did it not get delivered or was it stolen after?
Who knows?
Not me.
Yes. We still get the paper. Which is printed on paper.

Friday morning and I'm slow and I need to get ready to go to town and I'm just sort of tired of everything which is a horrible thing to say and sure to jinx me in the great funny game of life where even if you don't believe in god you might believe in the universe or energy or whatever and the older I get the less I believe in any of it. I go through Facebook and I want to kick people in the actual face who post things like "I believe God has a plan for all of us," which is simply and obviously not at all true unless God's plan for some people is a fuck of a lot of pain and suffering.
Which could well be in which case God is a insufferable and cruel prick.

Well. Someone got out of the wrong side of the bed today, didn't they?

Aw well. It will be fun to hang out with Lily and the kids and probably Hank for lunch at least and who doesn't still want bright, shiny new school supplies? Pencils all fresh and ready to be sharpened and paper all still blank and ready to be written upon. Do kids still write on paper? With pencils?
Guess I'm fixing to find out.

Maurice tried to bow up on Jack yesterday and Mr. Moon told her to cut it out. That it wouldn't be a fair fight any more. Jack seems to be recovering well and is as lazy as he ever was.
And that's all the news from Lloyd this morning.

Oh! Owen had his first grade orientation yesterday and Lily says that his teacher is about two inches taller than he is. And that his best friend is in his class again this year which is excellent news.

Target, here we come.

Happy Friday, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon

Small Missions, Accoomplished

I went to town today. I was going yesterday but I couldn't get out of bed, if you'll recall.

And I've had two things that I really wanted to get done and thought that I'd combine the errands and so I did.
I wanted to take my little old Singer sewing machine in for repair and refurbishment, and I wanted to go take the prints I got at the Havana Museum of Fine Arts to get framed.

I went to the sewing machine repair place first and had a nice little chat with the repairman/owner and then we realized we live just a few miles down the road from each other and he started going off about the new sidewalks and what a waste of money they are.
Yikes!
I told him that I was pretty sure that they'd been paid for by funds which were earmarked exactly for projects like this with a certain population density and blah, blah, blah which I'm not certain about but I think this is true. They wouldn't just throw sidewalks down in Lloyd because they had extra money in the Jefferson County coffers. Of this I am sure.
And then he started talking about handicap ramp access. And other handicapped things required by law and how although some people did need them, it was a lot of money to help the very few.
So, okay, I had to gently try to explain to him that all people deserve access to all places and I did the best I could to try and do a little education about how access to all is just a basic right. And THEN he started talking about yeah, he guessed it was better to spend money on that than it was to spend money supporting people who were perfectly capable of working but who refuse to get a job and he linked that with the newest sidewalks which lead to the truck stop where these welfare people are walking to get their lottery tickets and by then I knew I was talking to a stone-cold right-winger and probably a racist and I should have probably clutched my little old Featherweight to me and backed out of the shop but I did not.
I was, to be quite honest, taken aback. Everything had been so pleasant while we were just talking about sewing machines and their belts and so forth.
And now that I think about it, this guy doesn't even live in Jefferson County. He lives in Leon County so whatever money was spent on sidewalks is none of his fucking concern anyway.
Well, he met one goddam liberal today who was as kind and empathetic to his POV as possible. Lucky for him he met me on a good day.

Then off to the picture framing place and the ladies there were sweet and we didn't discuss anything but picture framing and of course I'm going to be spending a fortune getting two extremely inexpensive prints framed but they mean the world to me. Sometimes you just need to spend what you need to spend (if you can, of course) on what makes you happy. And I will never forget the day I bought those prints and how I couldn't stop crying because of the huge emotion one of them had unleashed in my soul and how sweet Felix kept hugging me and patting me and saying, "Don't cry, Mary," and somehow, that picture just summed up everything I felt but could not express about Cuba. Hell, I teared up when I unrolled the little print in the framing place.

And so I feel as if I got something accomplished and I feel a little better. This morning I was going down into a very, very deep place and thinking that I might have to get back on my antidepressant which I am so loathe to do but will if I have to. Tomorrow I'm going with Lily and the kids to buy the boys' school supplies and new shoes. School starts on Monday for the boys. Owen will be in first grade, Gibson in preschool. I still can't believe that nor can I visualize him in a classroom but then again, I couldn't visualize Owen in one either and that eventually worked out just fine.
As it does.

And Jessie and Vergil and August are coming home this weekend. Maybe we can have a little late Sunday afternoon cookout and ice cream social to celebrate everything. I would like that.

So here I am, still living and feeling a little better about life although I will tell you this- I never, in my wildest dreams, thought that life would be this complicated at this age.
Why I thought that is a mystery to me and I need to just get over it because it's a bullshit lie. Life probably doesn't get less complicated until we die and that'll happen sooner or later no matter what we do.
Meanwhile, it's one new surprise package of mixed blessings after another and good or bad, they're all complicated.

Trust me.

Love...Ms. Moon

At Least I'm Not Running For President

One of the very worst things about knowing you're crazy and yet, sometimes quite sane, is trying to decide which part of the mess your mind is operating from.
Especially if it involves people you love.
Mostly if it involves people you love.

It is horrible and it is exhausting. I spent part of the day in bed which I understand is not unusual for even the sanest among us to do but for which I feel incredibly guilty.

Luckily, my cooking ability seems to transcend it all.
As if that makes one bit of difference.

And so it goes.
I am here. And supper is almost ready.

I Just Can't

Why, oh why, is it so hard to get a good picture of my beloved chickens?
There are Miss Butterscotch and tiny Dearie and the rooster whom I have not named, helping me in the garden today as I weeded. Butterscotch was especially interested in what I was doing and when I found a nice little green grub, I gave it to her and she gobbled it with speedy greed. At one point, I looked up to see one of the Chi-Cha's let loose a little stream of poop and my first thought was, Oh good! Fertilizer!

Jack is home and hiding somewhere, I suppose. He staggered around a bit as if he had no idea where he was or what he was doing and then I lost track of him. He's a tough old thing and should be fine and I'm certain he'll make his way back to the food bowl eventually after he sleeps off the drugs.

There's so much more in the world to talk about than grubs and poop and cats but it's all too much for me right now and so I will stick to the subjects I feel comfortable with. I can understand with all of my heart and with my bones and blood why chickens in the garden are a good thing, why a male cat needs to be neutered, but I cannot for a second understand what's going on out there, beyond my fence, beyond the boundary of my home where it would appear that the inmates are taking over the asylum, where the boundaries seem to get looser and looser by the moment and where The People (who ARE these people?) seem to feel quite comfortable with that.

No. Thank you. I'll stay right here where the fence separates me, metaphorically, at least, from all the rest of it, even with the open gate which leads to a road which in theory at least, could take me anywhere in the world I choose to travel.

For right now, I choose to stay right here where I am confused enough as it is, grounded as I am with shit and dirt and grubs and the small creatures, including me, living out our lives.

Act/React/Act/React, Rinse/Repeat

In just about an hour I'm going to go pick up Jack who was neutered this morning.
Finally.
God that cat is going to get fat. He's suddenly had a growth spurt and his head has gotten huge. He's about the laziest cat I've ever seen as it is and not having any testosterone isn't going to help that situation. But of course it had to be done. I know of at least one litter he's fathered and that's not acceptable.
Oh, Jack. My cuddly little man cat. Every night when I get in bed he comes in for a snuggle and a scratch and then when Mr. Moon gets in bed he stays for a few minutes and then, "Thump!" off the bed he goes to find sleeping arrangements of his own.

I'm having a slow, slow day. I just can't seem to focus on anything, start anything, accomplish anything. I am at one of those flat, hopeless/helpless places where I feel entirely powerless to have so much as a shadow of a dream of something good or new. I know this is depression but it feels situational to me. And I will keep moving. I will.
It may be as little movement as going to go get Jack and bringing him home and working in the garden but goddammit, I know I can't give up. What does that even mean?

I don't ever want to find out.

Love...Ms. Moon

Caption This

I absolutely adore this picture. To me, Gibson looks EXACTLY like some old guy in the middle of an extremely important phone conversation from back in the day. If old guys back in the day had worn Spiderman boots. Look at that face. He is getting into it. You can practically see the five o'clock shadow. He's a method actor, I can tell. I think maybe he's talking to his bookie. What do you think?
I got this shot at the main library today where we went to get new books. They have an actual pay phone in the foyer and Gibson is in love with it. He punches the buttons and checks the coin-return repeatedly and then he talks.
He's a good one, that boy. There's a place where kids can climb up some steps to a platform in the kid area and today there was a little fifteen month old girl on the steps and he went up to her and offered his hand to help her climb.
Maggie will soon be climbing but at the moment is working on crawling.

She can get where she wants to go but it's still a work in process. She keeps hitching up that cute butt of hers like she just wants to stand up and start walking. Can you see her cute butt in the mirror behind her? When I walked in to the kitchen at Lily's house this morning she clapped her hands and grinned and made her I'm-excited sounds. Such a little darling of a child she is. I can't wait to see her and August back together again. Which will be...next week!

Ah-lah. 

After the library we went to the Chinese buffet because school starts in a week and so we let the boys pick our lunch spot. Many noodles were consumed. Owen discovered that soy sauce is salty. Maggie took a nap. Gibson's fortune told him that he's about to start a new business. I can't even remember mine. It must have sucked. 

After lunch we went to Publix. I actually needed things. Well, you know. In the first world sense of the word "needed." Pokemon were hunted and captured. I guess. Fuck if I know. 

"You know, Mer," Owen told me today, "Hunting Pokemon could change your life."

I told him I was sure it would and yet, I still wasn't interested. But hey- I'm not judging. There was that short period of my life when I got addicted to Tetris. I mean, really addicted. Catching Pokemon is probably far more interesting than fitting little blocks into other little blocks. Owen also told me today that it was nicer to say "elderly" than "old." 

I told him that I preferred "old."

So that was our day. When I got home and got everything unloaded and put away, I laid down and took a nap. It was heaven. Now Mr. Moon is trying to figure out how to use the new Roku remote which we had to buy because ours disappeared. He's just discovered that we could have simply used our iPhones instead because...there's an app for that. 

Oh god. 

I have nothing else to report. Oh! We're having pork chops and sweet potatoes for supper. And broccoli. I really don't like broccoli so I make a sauce with both cheese and nutritional yeast AND lemon juice to put on it. By the time I eat it, it's probably not healthy at all. 

But it's edible. 

Here's what I made last night. 

Yeah. It was good. 

Love...Ms. Moon