The Way It Is Today

Here we have a picture of Lloyd Creek where it goes under the railroad track. Now before you shake your head and wonder what in hell has polluted that creek so badly, I rush to assure you that the color comes from all of the tannins in the water from fallen leaves. 

Here's another picture upstream just a bit. 

It's sort of a pretty little creek in its own wild-Florida way. When Hank and May were very young I used to take them to cool off in it. It looked the same then. Supposedly there's a huge alligator around that area but I've never seen it. I would not be surprised though. 

I wanted a different walk today and so I headed east on Old Lloyd Road, specifically to walk on Lloyd Creek Road but that's a mile from my house so I really only walked about half a mile on Lloyd Creek but it was pretty. Hardly any traffic on that road and lots of trees to provide shade. When I had just moved in here, I injured my knee and couldn't walk for awhile so I found a crapped-out bicycle amongst our belongings and started riding that for awhile and LCR was my go-to. It spans the distance between Old Lloyd Road and Highway 27 which is a pretty good ride for someone on a crapped-out bike. It is hilly in some parts and goes past farm fields and cattle, through woods and through little communities, past paths that lead to houses deep in those woods. 

On my way home, I finally met the woman who has moved in next door. She was on her porch and I called out to her. We talked for a good while and I like her. She reminds me in looks of what I used to look like when I was much younger. She loves Lloyd. She loves the train, she loves my rooster, she likes the neighbors. I told her that I hope she is as charmed by it all in five years. I mean- eighteen years after moving here I'm still charmed but Lloyd's not for everybody. She offered to walk with me sometime and I told her thank-you but that I like walking alone, which I very much do. I like to listen to my books or podcasts and I don't like to match my pace to anyone else's. When I am in my walking groove, I just want to WALK fast enough that I don't have enough breath to chit-chat. She said she understood. I feel like now that I am older I can get away with these truths and not have to feel bad about them. I am a grumpy old lady who doesn't socialize much and I deserve, at this point, to be able to just say it out loud. 

It's still rather cool here. In fact, Mr. Moon got cold last night in our bed under the open window. The weather is just delightful and we have decided to wait until next week when the temperatures go back up to the 90's to go to the Blue Spring when it will be hot enough to truly enjoy them. I am so looking forward to that. 

My across-the-street neighbor got in touch with me and we have figured out more people to call about the FDG. She actually spoke to the project manager who of course reassured her that all is being done properly to protect the land. 
Haha.
She said he was very polite and listened to her concerns but of course, nothing has changed. She also discovered that the place where they're going to put the septic system is the exact place where standing water is present. This enraged me so much that by a long twisting path I ended up talking to a man named Cameron with the Jefferson County environmental health department who was also exceedingly polite. He is new in the office and at first he reassured ME that there had been at least two, maybe three inspections of the site. But he kept listening to me as I told that there was a culvert less than a hundred feet away which indicates that at least the transportation department recognized the water-flow problem and also, that a nearby resident (Abraham) who was born and raised in Lloyd and who is eighty years old, told me that there has always been water on that lot. He said that he would go see it and that if I'd like to email him pictures, that would be good. 
He also told me that he does not get final say in a project like that and thus, I am sure that even if he does go to the site himself and inspects it and deems it an unsuitable place for a septic system, it may not make a difference. 
Sigh. 
But at least he sounded sincere. And he thanked me. 
So of course I sent pictures and who knows if anything, anything at all will come of that. 

Probably not. 

And that's what's happened in Lloyd today from my tiny perspective. Not much, in other words. But it has been beautiful and, oh, yes- I threw away Violet's other eggs. Here's a picture of her and her child out scratching. 

Not a good picture but this little one is very shy. 

I just love the way the hen-moms scratch and then step back to see what they have uncovered and if it's something to eat, they make a sort of chittering chirrup that alerts the biddies that there's another dish on the endless daily buffet. 

Darla is blurry here but you can see how the chicks rush to snap up whatever it is that she has found. 
And here they are looking about on their own. 

Every day she lets them get a little farther away from her until she calls them back. Today they were venturing perhaps a few feet away. I am constantly amazed at the instinctual knowledge of the hen when it comes to chick-rearing. It's a very slow and determined process wherein the goals are not only to keep the babies safe but to raise them to be independent of any help from her. 
It fascinates me. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Do Not Read If You Have A Problem With Speculums And Their Uses

This little pair is so photogenic. I need to name that one baby child. Pansy? I think I had a Pansy before but if so, she is long gone. Gosh but I hope the chick isn't a rooster. Violet finally got off the nest this afternoon and has the baby out scratching in front of the hen house. I think it's time to throw the rest of the eggs away. I noticed just now that some hen has laid another egg in that nest alongside the ones Violet's been sitting on. Too little, too late, Missy! 
One of Darla's chicks has been named by Gibson who always names a chick "Dearie." It is tradition. In this case, it's the chick with black wing feathers coming in.

So that's the chicken news. Here's the main thing I did today.

I think all you ladies will figure it out immediately. 
I knew that my bio-identical hormones prescription was going to require a renewal from my GYN and I also knew that I was going to have to go see him as I have not graced his office or exam table in years. I mean- come on. You have to be realistic. I do get my mammograms and last year I did have that ultra sound to measure my uterine lining to make sure things were in balance but that's not a hands-on situation with a speculum in your own personal body parts. 
So I had to make an appointment which I did and today was the day. It literally took me longer to fill out all the damn paperwork than it did to get the exam. And the exam was not bad at all. This doctor is so gentle and kind and puts me at ease right away. Turns out that women over 65 aren't necessarily recommended to get anymore paps which is awesome. He told me he'd be glad to give me one if I wanted one or if he saw anything worrisome but that was a negatory on both issues. 
My "tissues" looked "good." 
Phew! What a relief! Don't we all want good looking tissues? 

I know I do. 
When he saw that Dr. Zorn was my GP he said, "He's got a new office, doesn't he? I'm gong to be seeing him soon. He's my GP too."
Turns out that Dr. Zorn isn't just popular among the young and female and old and female. Even older male fellow-doctors think he's pretty darn great. 
"He looks like a kid," my GYN told me. "But he's a whiz." 

In the end, I decided that overall, I'd rather get an internal exam from this doctor than walk four miles on a hot day. I'm not kidding about that either. This is not to say that I wasn't shaking with anxiety before I left the house. Hell, I took 3/4's of a .5 mg Ativan before I took my shower which was probably the first Ativan I've taken in months. Many months. Those pills are so old I don't even know if they're still any good but the placebo effect is real and if that's what calmed me down a little, then that's good enough for me. 

So I did that and then I picked up a few things at Costco and at Publix, feeling all relieved and shit. I had clean hair, shaved legs, and was wearing a new dress I got off ebay which I quite like. You should see the pockets on this thing! I felt like I was on a date with myself. 

But I will say that I'm fairly exhausted now. Getting so worked up will do that to you, even if there was no logical reason to it. There never is any logical reason for my panic when I have to go to a doctor and I doubt I'll ever get over that. I was thinking the other day about how I even tried going to a hypnotist for the problem but that just did not work out First of all, he was a retired MD. Secondly, he was really old and sort of creeped me out. He insisted on giving his instructions through a microphone that looked like it may have come from an RKO studio in the forties while I was less than four feet away from him which made me wonder if he was insane and also made me want to laugh in a not-entirely comfortable way. The whole situation was so anxiety-producing that it seemed extremely counter-intuitive to go back to him to get treatment for anxiety. The old dude even e-mailed me several times after I told him that no, I wasn't interested in any more sessions, advising me that he thought I would really benefit from seeing him again. 

I guess we'll never know, will we?

Anyway, I survived today and have very little planned for the rest of the week which is just the way I like it. Perhaps Mr. Moon and I should take a day to drive over to the state park that Jessie and Vergil went to on Sunday. It's called Madison Blue Spring State Park and I'm not sure if I've ever even heard of it but it sure does look heavenly.

And it's less than an hour's drive away. 
Yes. I think we should do that. 

Stay tuned.

Meanwhile, here's some roses.

Love...Ms. Moon

At Least I Got My Steps In

 

Coral Bean

Had a decent walk today. I should do a translation of my walk terms. Such as:

Better than no walk at all walk= 1 mile
Dinky walk= 2 miles
Decent walk= 3 miles
Good walk= 4 miles. 

I guess that 5 miles would be a damn good walk but I haven't done that in awhile. 

Anyway, I had a new experience. I was walking by No Man Lord's which had a lot of activity going on and there were a couple of guys that I recognize sitting in the shade and another person getting water from the spigot. Also- a dog that I thought might possibly have been one of the dogs who attacked my chicken a few months ago. So for some reason I stopped and said, "Excuse me! But is that y'all's dog?"
The person holding the bucket came walking towards me and it turned out she was a woman. She claimed the dog as hers and we then began what became about a twenty minute conversation. What an interesting woman! When she found out that I had chickens she fairly blatantly asked me for a hen. She said she has one hen and a rooster but she's trying to get some chickens started for the two guys who were sitting in the shade. I told her that no, I don't give my chickens away because they're like pets and that she should go to the Tractor Supply and pick up a few chicks. She wanted a hen that was already laying though. She was under the impression that it takes a year or more for a hen to start laying. I told her that no, it could easily happen within six months. 
Turns out she is a teacher. That's her calling. But right now she's taking some personal time. I think she's trying to get some sort of business going with the two guys sitting in the shade (who, it turns out, are related to Harvey, aka No Man Lord) like landscaping and painting and simple carpentry and mechanics. 
It was a pretty good conversation and by the time it was over I asked her her name again and it's not an easy name to say and I have no idea how to spell it so she said, "Let's think of a name you can call me that's easier."
I immediately said, "Boss," which made her laugh and she said, "Boss Lady."
Trust me. She is the boss. 

And then I resumed my walk. 

I cleaned the hen house today. Nests that have been used for brooding for three weeks require some tidying up, as you can imagine. The brooding mothers do not poop in the place where they are brooding so that's a good thing but still, fresh straw is called for. I also moved Violet down to the ground, next to where Darla nests with her babies. I set Violet's child down with her and also gave her the eggs she's been sitting on. I hope that Darla doesn't freak out. I see no signs that Violet's other eggs are going to hatch but I'll let her keep them for a day or so. One of them rolled out from underneath her and I watched as she quite skillfully and gracefully, moved it back where it belonged with her beak. 

There's a not very good picture of Mother and Child. At least in this situation, the two small families can share a feeder and a waterer although, as I have said, Darla's chicks are barely eating any of the chick feed. Their mother had them all over the yard again today. They are a busy little unit. 

Lily brought her kids over this afternoon after school for a quick visit. The children got to see the new biddies and Maggie and I played two rounds of the matching game and the boys played Wii with their granddad. Snacks were consumed. Owen is going to spend the night on Friday and so we discussed what he wants for his supper that night. Chicken parmesan. 
That can be arranged. 
Maggie found the doll she left here last time she spent the night because the dolly wanted a stay-over visit. She was glad to be taking the child home and asked me if she'd been a good girl during her stay.
"So good," I told her. "I barely knew she was here."

And now it's quiet here again and I've already partially made our supper- the creamy cashew curried squash and sweet potato soup that I love. All I have to do now is puree the vegetables and reheat it all with the coconut milk. The oven in my Thermonster has suddenly quit working for no apparent reason and so I'll be making naan on the stove to go with the soup. 

Dammit! We've got the stove guy coming out but not until next week. I can't believe this. I am VERY disappointed. The broiler works, the convection fan comes on, but the oven just won't ignite. It worked fine yesterday when I baked that pie. I am so disappointed. 

But of course, this is such a first world problem. I have my air-fryer which is also a toaster oven, a baking oven, a convection oven and an air-fryer so I'll just be baking things in smaller amounts which is not a bad thing anyway. 

I haven't answered comments today because of time constraints but I'll try to get to them. I've taken to checking my spam comment folder lately because it seems as if a lot of comments are getting sent there. I check them off as not-spam and publish them when I find them. I sometimes wonder how long blogger will continue to provide this platform. I can't see how it makes them any money at all. But it does seems as if they are letting things slip. 
You get what you pay for, I suppose. 

Here's another shot of the coral bean. 

It gladdens my heart to see it. 

Love...Ms. Moon

A Very Sweet Mother's Day

Ta-da! 
How cute is that this little one? 

Still only one baby and that may well be it. She/he could be an only child. But that's okay. Violet shows no signs of wanting to get off the other eggs she's sitting on so I'll leave her be for now. They have food and water in their nest so they will be okay. Eventually, I'll move her down to the ground floor where Darla and her three are. 
Those kids are growing so fast. 

I saw one of them fly up about six inches today to perch on a board. It's so crazy, watching those feathers come in, almost right before my eyes. 

So it's been a lovely Mother's Day around here today. My kids had asked me what I wanted to do for today and I said that honestly, I know they love me and they know I love them and all I really wanted was a call or a text and that is exactly what I got and it has all been so relaxing. I feel loved. And I've seen all of my children within the last week. I don't ever want my children to think that they need to prove on one specific day of the year that they love me. To hell with that! I remember the guilt-flowers I sent my mother every year and the memory makes me cringe. Not that there's anything wrong with sending flowers but when I'd ordered the ones to send to my mother, I always felt such a relief that THAT chore could be crossed off the list. Isn't that awful? My feelings about my mother are so fucking complex and possibly unnatural that I don't even try to figure them out any more. They are what they are. 
She wasn't perfect. I wasn't perfect. I think the closest to resolution of my feelings will be to say that I try not to judge her just as I try not to judge myself. 
Being a vastly imperfect person that's not really quite possible but it's not a bad place shelf on which to store it all until enlightenment strikes and I become a Bodhisattva or something. 
Let's not hold our breaths. 

I woke up to a jar of garden roses by my coffee cup along with a love note. And then my sweetheart asked me if I'd like him to transplant my favorite camellia to a place where it could get enough light and have room to breathe. 
Oh yes! I would! 
And he did that which was a LOT of work and at one point I said, "I bet you're wishing you'd just gotten me a card now, don't you?" 

"Pretty much," he said. But oh, how happy that camellia looks, planted between the two blueberry bushes right near the clothesline. 

It's a little hard to see her but she is smiling. 

I made an apple and blackberry pie just because I wanted the pleasure of handling butter and flour and filling the kitchen with deliciousness in the air. Mr. Moon went to town to buy some steaks that he's going to grill along with some corn and I've got a loaf of bread rising and will make a salad. Jessie and her family stopped by on their way home from going to a local state park with a sinkhole and a river that I didn't even know about and just stayed for a few minutes, long enough to see the new babies and for August to build a quick Lincoln Log house. I told him that it was a beautiful house and that I'd let him build me a house any day. He said, "I can only build a little house," and I said, "Well, one day you'll know how to build a real one."

He thought about that for a second and said, "I'll need some buddies to help. Especially if it's a log house."

A man with a plan. I love it. 

When Glen was at Publix he ran into Lily and her brood and they gave him the present that Lily and Maggie had made for me. It is now hanging on the kitchen porch with the lowering sun shining through it. 

I have decided today that instead of Mother's Day, we should celebrate Badass Nurturer Day. And so here's to all of the people who tend to babies and gardens, dog-and-cat kids, and chickens. To all the people who are the responsible and/or fun aunts and uncles, the unconditionally loving grandparents, and the people who nurture the art, the music, the planet. The people who work with children who make a difference in those children's lives. The people who stand up for the children whose voices have been silenced or who never have had a voice. The people who, for whatever reason, had to give up a child to adoption and in doing so, have given someone else the opportunity to be a mother. The people who have known and loved those children as their own, even as they never forgot the gift they have been given. 
And to the women who are in labor right now, this second, as we speak- I recognize and respect and honor the travail you are going through. It is like nothing else you will ever experience. And although it is often said that women do not remember the pain of childbirth, I am here to tell you that we do. And yet, somehow, we choose to experience it again sometimes, because the reward of holding a life we've created in our own arms is also something else we never forget. 

As I told Hank today, it has been a joy being his mother. A joy and a trip. And so it has. 

Love...Ms. Moon

All Is Well

The biggest news today is that one of Violet's eggs has hatched. At least one. I finally had to force myself to stop bothering the little hen. She is stressed out enough as it is. But on one of my checks, I heard a peeping and sure enough, one of the babies was just about through a tiny hole in the membrane of the egg. Did you know that you can hear them peep before they hatch? Oh! What joy! And I do know that it has entirely hatched now but I have got to leave them alone. I am not sure why I'm so fascinated by Violet's eggs hatching. I mean- they're not even really her babies. Well, of course they are because she will be their mama but not biologically. I'm glad that one of Darla's chicks is Violet's bio-babe. But honestly, I think I'm attached to Violet in a different way because she's been with us so long and because she's definitely an older mother. There's just something so impressive and inspiring about such a big and strong spirit living in such a tiny bird. 
Hopefully, tomorrow I will be able to take pictures of some new fluffy peeps. 

It's been a most beautiful day here in Lloyd. The high was only around 85 degrees which is a sight better than 95. That rain really cooled things off. I walked down to the post office this morning and then to FDG site and unfortunately, the rain did not wash everything away. 

There is more standing water, however. 

I have noticed that there is no building permit posted as of yet which I am pretty sure is some sort of violation. I will be calling Jefferson County Land Planning on Monday about that. Not that it will do a thing. 

Again, I waited until today, a Saturday, to wash the sheets. When I have boy-duty, there just isn't enough time. I mean, there would be if I got up earlier on Friday but let's not get crazy here, okay? And today was a perfect day to hang bed linens and all the rest of the laundry on the line. I also did some garden weeding. Despite the lower temperatures, I sweated through my clothes. Ah! If only that "sweating out the toxins" thing was true. I would be so pure. 

It's been good to have the man back. He's jumped right in and is working on dismantling the deck between the house and the old kitchen. I told him he needs his Levon to help him and he does. Levon is such a good helper. I've never met a four-year old so willing and able to do actual work. Like we all keep saying, if he had a job, he would be the happiest boy in the world. 

From where I'm sitting I can see Darla scratching and throwing up dirt in the back yard and her three little puffballs following behind to eat what she digs up. She is certainly a diligent mother! She has been scratching so persistently that there are long spaces in the yard that look like they've actually been raked. When you think about it, a chicken foot is an excellent rake in shape, form, and function. I wonder if I will ever tire of watching my chickens as they go about their lives. Today one of the hens, Pecky, I think, was standing alone in the back yard under the magnolia tree just calling and calling and calling and calling- one of those situations that always makes me think of the time Lily was here and one of the hens was doing that and Lily said, "Mom, I think your chicken is broken."
Anyway, today while this girl was making all the noise, I suddenly heard Liberace sing out to her. Just a few notes. And I swear it sounded like he was saying, "Would you please be quiet? I'm right here." 
And sure enough, she quit with the bawking. 

The chickens add another layer of life (whoa! what a great unintended pun!) to this small piece of land where there's already so much going on. Their actions amuse and sometimes amaze me, entertain me and pique my curiosity. I admire them, I really do and I am so grateful that Kathleen brought me those first chicks and that bag of starter feed, knowing that I would probably never make the jump unless she pushed me. 
I thought of Kathleen today as I knelt in the garden between rows of tomatoes, pulling weeds. My Lord, but she had a growing spirit! I'm not sure I ever met anyone in my life who was as intensely nurturing as she was despite the fact that she never had children. She nurtured her beloved dogs and cats and chickens and plants and all of her friends. And every single creature and creative endeavor and bit of flora that she put her hand to, was sure to grow in the light of her loving care. 

Well. That's a good place to end on Mother's Day Eve. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Another Very Full Day

I'm home from boy pick-up and hanging-out-with, sitting on my back porch, waiting for my man to get home. He had to stop at Costco when he hit Tallahassee because he had ordered glasses and they are in. He needs them because his old glasses, which were glued together when he left town, broke into four pieces on his trip. He's had a long day today, driving through lots of rain. It poured here too. Rained so hard that I really did not like driving through it on my way home. 
I had a good time with Levon and August. The rain slowed down enough that I could get August the regular way instead of the car pick-up way but I did get caught in that line for a few minutes, making us a tiny bit later than usual which prompted August to tell me that possibly I could leave five minutes earlier next time. Last week he educated me on the fact that I needed to stay where he could see me when they called his name. I think that pick-up time causes him a tiny bit of anxiety and I get that. Be he was happy to see me and his brother and when I handed him an umbrella, he was a complete gentlemen and held it so that it covered me too. 
Before I got to their house today I did something I should have done much sooner which was to buy a two-liter bottle of Diet Coke and some Mentos. They were thrilled! We were going to have our own volcano! And we did. I made them stand a little distance away and when the Mentos hit the coke, it shot up in the air at least five feet. We cheered! They love watching the videos so much that it occurred to me that it was ridiculous not to do it ourselves. "Let's do this thing!" I told them, and we did. 
We also read some books and went downstairs to their basement where Vergil's set up some gymnastic rings or whatever they are called. 

The boys were a bit wild by that time. Levon had been so ready for a nap when we got home from picking up August that I had to carry him in the house so of course he fought it with frenetic activity. He doesn't hang from his knees but instead, twists around and around and then lets himself spin, holding on with his hands in a dizzying whirl. 

I have to say that I feel sorry for Vergil who came out of his office at five and walked immediately into childcare but he's good at that. August gave me a kiss and Levon even gave me a side hug and a kiss and those are better good-bye treats than all of the M&M's in the world. 

Mr. Moon has arrived and I like his new glasses and I'm glad to have him home. He had a great time with his old buddies. He said they all moved slow and took it easy, praising the joys of retirement. I don't think they caught many fish but that didn't seem to bother them. It was all catch-and-release so there wasn't pressure to fill a cooler or anything. 

I was so worried on my way home from town that Darla might not have had her children in a place that would protect them from all the rain. There was water standing in the road in places and the gutters were gushing and I could just imagine those babies getting caught in a tiny rivulet and washing away but no. They are fine. 

I really do need to quit worrying about them. Darla's got it all under control. I laugh every morning when I let them out because in the rush for the door, if any of the other chickens gets too close to her babies for her comfort, she completely goes into attack mode, fluffing her feathers out so that she's twice her normal size and literally brushes the offending chickens away with sweeps of her wings. Violet is still sitting patiently. I do so hope she gets at least one hatchling to make all of this work worthwhile. 

I am very, very grateful for this good rain we've had. We needed it. We are not in a drought or anything, but it has been several weeks. I should go down and see what the rain has done to the GDG project which, by the way, they had laid the foundation for as of yesterday. 
Fuck. 

The church people next door are singing with the windows open. The sky has cleared and rain drips off the leaves. Frogs in the swamp on the other side of the railroad tracks are croaking their mighty approval of the water from the sky we had. Mr. Moon has made us martinis and he's gone out to check the garden. I think I'll go out and join him. 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Bitter And Sweet

All righty! Let's begin again with the chick pic. Would you look at the little feather which has already appeared on that baby's wing? Five days old! My god. I am so amazed every time I see that happen. The peeps are still doing well, Darla is being the best mama imaginable. And not to belabor a point or to compare humans and chickens but even a hen has the inner sense to know when she has all the babies she wants at the moment and has no qualms whatsoever about abandoning those eggs she has no more interest in. And let us not forget that many hens disdain the idea of motherhood for themselves at all and generously and eagerly give their eggs over for another mom to raise. 

Here's one of my girls today, practically shoving Violet off her nest in order to get in a last minute shot at having a surrogate take over. I can just imagine her saying, "Here honey, you look like a good mom. I don't have the time or the energy for that mess."
Of course I'll take that egg away. No chance in hell it's going to hatch when the rest of Ms. V's eggs do. If indeed any do hatch. I've been checking her several times a day now and no signs of pipping yet. But honestly, it could be next week before that happens. 

I took a walk this morning. It was a dinky walk and it sucked and was torturous and hot. I rewarded myself by plucking a magnolia blossom from a tree down the road a little way. 

It is not fully open yet and as the evening draws near, it has closed up even tighter but tomorrow it will open entirely and then the stamens will fall from the center, spilling over like scattered matchsticks. Meanwhile, it is scenting my hallway with its lemon spice, its pale ivory beauty. It is absolutely the most glorious blossom I know and its life is short and deserves to be observed and even (dare I say?) worshipped while it still lives. I may take it into the bedroom with me tonight so that I won't miss a second of its scent and it will greet me when I wake. 

I had to go BACK to town today to get my permanent crown affixed. It is not a bejeweled crown, nor even a golden crown but a regular old enamel-whatever crown on a tooth. I have to tell you that there was pain involved in getting it set and I am not at all sure it's right. I know my dentist and he will MAKE it right if it is not but I'd really rather not have to go through that shit. I thought about traveling on down the road a bit after I left the dental office to go to a different, larger Goodwill but I decided that no, I just wanted to come home. 

And so I did. 

I have been lazy. Truly. And I do not care. Tomorrow will be a Levon and August pick-up day and Mr. Moon will be home so I have just enjoyed the quiet, the sweet cool solitude in my house and on my porch. I sat down at the piano again and negative thoughts began to seep into my brain like, "Jesus, Mary. You really do suck at this. You have made NO improvement in three days!" 
Ay-yi-yi and la-di-dah. 
Improvement? At the age of sixty-seven, almost sixty-eight I should focus on improving something that I was never any good at? 
No. So ridiculous. 
The real question is why I even worry about such bullshit. 
I discovered that in the back of that Second Grade John Thompson book there was a "certificate" that my teacher had filled out. Here it is. 

Halloween! 

In 1964 I was in the fourth grade at Sebastian Elementary School. Mrs. Muller had dated the book at the beginning when I started it on July 30, 1963, two days after my 9th birthday, which means it took me over a year to get through the lessons, the songs, in that book to my teacher's satisfaction. There is no filled-out certificate at the end of Book Three. 
My life in the fourth grade changed radically as that's when my mother married my stepfather and I have some pretty big chunks of memory missing. None of the things I do remember are happy. And in the interest of historic placement, Oct. 31, 1963 was twenty-two days before the assassination of JFK. Which I do very much remember. 

Ah well. 
It is still somehow miraculously a joy to sit down and reach for those notes, most of it nothing more than muscle memory, and I wonder what these gnarly fingers looked like when I was nine years old, stretching to reach an octave. I could not have possibly imagined then what the years would do to my knuckles, my soul, my heart, my innocence, my mind, my world, the world. 

At least I still have most of my original teeth. 

Oh! Here's a blooming aloe. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Curses And Purses And Other Things

Here is your daily chicks-and-mama picture update. As you can see, they are all doing well. I have thrown out the last of the eggs that did not hatch as obviously Darla has no interest in sitting on them any longer. She has those chicks all over this yard. How they can cover so much ground on those tiny little legs, I do not know. She scratches and scratches and scratches and cluck-tuts for the babies to come and get what she's found. The chick-starter feed I had Mr. Moon buy has hardly been touched. This mama-raising situation seems to involve mostly natural food. She's tid-bitting the way roosters do when they find something tasty he wants to share with the hens. The noises she makes to call the babies even sound like the rooster's when he is calling his ladies. I have noticed that Darla does take rest periods with the children. She wallows down in the dirt and they settle in beneath her feathers, safe and cozy and invisible to predators. Yesterday evening I even got a little worried because one of their nap times seemed to be going on for a very long time and I was afraid that she would not get them into the roost by dark but I kept telling myself that she knows what she's doing and she really does. When I went to shut them up for the night, she had them all beneath her in the hen house in the little nest place I made up for her. 
Violet is still sitting and I feel so sorry for her. It's getting up into the nineties every day now and that can't be comfortable. As far as I can tell, she hardly ever touches the food or water I've put in the nest with her. I can't wait for her eggs to hatch so that she, too, can get off the nest and resume the daily activities of a chicken which involves scratching, eating, drinking water, and taking dirt baths in the sun. I really also hope that at least one or two of the eggs she's sitting on hatch. 
I could be wrong, but I think that Dottie, Darla's sister, may be getting ready to brood again too. She's been fluffing and spreading her tail feathers the way a broody hen does and making little broody sounds and as I recall, she did this last year before she settled on a nest. 
We shall see. 

I am still, quite understandably, very upset about the Supreme Court leak. It is so obvious that this whole save-the-unborn crap is pure-T bullshit. The people who spout it have no interest in the lives of the children who might result from unwanted pregnancies. They're the same ones who constantly vote to cut any sort of social services that might actually help the mothers and children who are struggling now. It is all such a smoke screen. It's a weird and bizarre kind of virtue signaling (which I despise even though I'm sure I do it too) because it's so fucking easy to cry and moan about killing babies. It's a hell of a lot harder to do anything about the poverty which leads to crime and imprisonment, or the rights of disabled people, or health care for mothers and children, or ensuring the type of education that produces people who are qualified and trained to join the work force. 
Oh, it's just all so fucked up. 
Regulate penises! Okay? You know what leads to unwanted pregnancies? 
Ejaculate. 
Every. Fucking. Time. 
Can you IMAGINE what would happen if suddenly the rules and laws and regulations were being made by women who decreed that men should not have the right to use their penises in the service of intercourse unless they are ready to sign a document stating that any child those organs cause will be financially and emotionally provided for by them? FOR THE REST OF THEIR LIVES?
As I have said recently, the older I get, the more the scales fall from my eyes concerning the way men are regarded and treated versus the way women are. And it is not pretty and it is not defensible. 
And it is in no way close to changing. 
Obviously. 

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe, Mary. 

So I went to lunch today with Lily and Jessie. We had a good time, eating Mediterranean-type foods and laughing about things that I am so grateful my daughters and I can laugh about together. I am so damn lucky there. And then I did something CRAZY and went shopping in an actual store. 
I have confessed before that I love and adore and have a sort of unhealthy relationship with purses. In the last several years, I have had the whole thing under control. I haven't bought a new one since before Covid. And the last one I bought I am still using and it is fine because I only buy good purses, quality purses, made of delicious leather. But lately I've been jonesin' for a new one. I have tried and tried to restore one of my oldest, favorite back-pack bags that I actually bought at a Goodwill many years ago. I used the leather products I have here. I ordered some super-recommended leather treatment online and used that. I have scrubbed and rubbed and it is still not supple and lovely the way I want it to be. Plus, it smells of mildew. 
So what the hell? I went to a Marshall's which was right down the street from where we ate lunch but their purse-selection was sad and uninteresting to me. 
Sigh. 
I did buy a hat and some stainless steel cleaner and some essential oils to sprinkle in the shower. Whoo-hoo! 
And then I went to Goodwill- the same one in fact where I bought my beloved back-pack bag so many years ago. The most interesting thing there was a lady I'd seen at Marshall's, too. What are the odds? She was a very tall woman and she sang to herself as she shopped in both places. She was gorgeous. She'd pull a dress off the rack at Goodwill and stop singing to say, "This is so cute!" The dresses she was obviously attracted to are what I would call club dresses. Short and elastic and shiny and glittery which she could pull off with great style and grace with her body and ten-foot long legs. As she shopped at the Goodwill, she was wearing a sort of sombrero with the tag hanging off it. 
I fell a little bit in love with her. 
She may actually have been a drag queen. I don't know. I don't care. She was awesome. 

And I didn't find one other thing I wanted to buy. There was a rather nice vase of vintage make and design but they wanted twenty dollars for it and it had obviously been broken and repaired. 

When I got home I did something that I did yesterday as well. 

I sat down at my ancient, incredibly out-of-tune piano, got out one of my old childhood piano books, and played around. 

Oh my heart! I have never and will never have the least bit of facility on the piano or any other instrument but I did take lessons for a few years when I was young. My teacher, Mrs. Mueller, screeched (Flat, Mary! Flat!) at me regularly, knowing, without a doubt, that each and every hour she spent with me was a complete waste of time. She was a professional musician. She and her husband had a duo called "Harry and Hildred" and they were a popular act for local Women's Club luncheons and so forth. He was a short, round, jolly man who sang the hits. She had cat's-eye glasses that dangled from a bejeweled chain when they weren't perched on her nose, and accompanied him on the piano and harmonized as she played. 
To this day I could not and would not ever play a note in front of another human being and am slightly embarrassed to even play in front of the cats but I have to tell you that there is a joy in even the simplest chords, the most ill-timed measure, the fact that my fingers still remember where the notes on the piano are in regard to the notes written on the page.

Why do I deny myself this pleasure? 

I do not know. 

Love...Ms. Moon

 

What Kind Of Country Do We Live In?

I am so very, very furious at the leaked Supreme Court draft that came out in the media today. I have somehow thought that reason would prevail in what we call the highest and holiest of courts in our country but obviously, this is not to be the case. This is one more thing that we can pin on the orange man with no soul. And the thing that probably galls me the most about that fact is that I have no belief that he has any qualms whatsoever about what happens to the "unborn" and in fact, I would bet everything I have that he's paid for plenty of abortions. This is absolutely nothing more than the patriarchy attempting to clamp down on what it sees as a threat to their eternal control of women. And the women who support this end to a woman's rights to control her own body are the handmaidens of that patriarchy. And it's not just a woman's right to control her own body- it's her right to control her own destiny. Her own life! 

Well, I know I'm preaching to the choir here and I'm sorry but this is so heavy on my heart, my mind. In all other regards, I have had a beautiful day. It's been leisurely but somewhat productive. I've walked, weeded, swept, hung clothes outside, played around a little on my ancient, out-of-tune, missing-some-of-the-black keys piano, watched Darla and her babies as they've traveled around the yard, and picked some vegetables which will be my dinner in one form or another. 

But even as I've done these things, these mostly pleasurable things, I have heard the message of what is about to come which quite simply is this- Get back in your box, bitches. Not even your womb is your own.

And there is a smoldering in my gut that leaves no room for grace. 

Ellen, at Stuff From Ellen's Head, wrote a post about it all this evening and it is excellent. You can find that here.
Thank you, Ellen. 

Yours In Grief And Anger...Ms. Moon

The Rites Of Spring

There are actually still three chicks but only two are in this picture. They are fine and healthy-looking, curious and completely adorable. This morning one other egg looked to be hatching but this afternoon I cannot find it. Now. Did Darla kick the egg into the straw below and I just haven't found it or did she eat the egg? Did she know that it was not going to successfully hatch? Do those eggs have a smell about them? Who knows? I have read that this is possible and before you judge chicken cannibalism, remember- protein is protein. A mother cat or dog will eat the placentas that come with her babies. This makes a great deal of sense to me. Would I eat my placentas? 
No. But then again, I have never suffered from caloric deprivation except for the times I was trying to lose weight and that was a very different situation. 
I've moved the eggs, the three young'uns, Darla, the water and the food down to the floor of the hen house and sort of blocked it in with a crate and a bale of straw which isn't going to prevent any egress or access. But I didn't want those babies falling out of the nest they were in. It's about four feet off the ground. 
I hope I'm not fucking up everything. 
I'm thinking that it's possible that those three chicks are going to be the only ones I get from Darla's hatch. She seems to be done with that part of the process. But we shall see. 

So this morning Mr. Moon and I were discussing the trip he's going to be taking tomorrow up to Alabama to bass fish with some friends. They have a cabin on a lake up there and I know he's going to have a good time. He said that he'd like a snack bag to take with him and I asked him what he wanted in it. 
He sort of looked around the kitchen like maybe he'd see what he was thinking about and said most sweetly, "Cookies would be nice."
I immediately realized that he was actually asking me to bake some cookies and I laughed and then said, "Oreos or fig Newtons?"
We both laughed so hard we snorted. 
Maybe you had to be there. 

So I have made him cookies, of course. His favorite- the oatmeal/raisin/chocolate chip/pecan cookies. The ones that will sustain life with nothing more than water. For awhile at least. 

And we both went to town today, in separate cars. He took mine for an oil change and I drove his. We met up at an Indian restaurant for Jessie's little family birthday lunch. Vergil was there and Hank and Rachel, May, and our friend Liz Sparks who was with me when Jessie was born and who is officially Ain't Liz around here. Lily had to work which sucks but such is life. 
None of us took one picture which is odd. But it was nice, just sitting around on the patio of the restaurant, eating our delicious foods and talking and laughing. Jessie did post some pictures they'd taken on the river yesterday and I am stealing a few. 

Look how beautiful the Wacissa is!

If I am not mistaken, this is the part of the river called The Blue Hole, which is probably one of the spring areas. It is endlessly deep and the water is clear and cold and gorgeous. 

Here's August paddling away. He's been kayaking with his mom and dad since he was an infant. He's already a far finer paddler than I am. 

So that's been my day today with pictures from yesterday and for some reason I'm exhausted. I stopped by Costco and Publix and that could explain some of it. I just do not tolerate crowds or stimulus (stimuli?) very well these days. In Costco I had to force myself to pull my mind back to where it needed to be. It wanted to float off, leaving me stranded in the area between the bakery and the fish and we cannot have that. But I am home now, looking out at my very, very green backyard, watching birds at the feeder, listening to the chatter-songs of so many different varieties. My husband will be gone from tomorrow until Friday and I will have the peaceful solitude that my soul craves, even as I know I will miss him. 

Oh my. I see Darla in front of the hen house with her babies. They are learning to scratch, I suppose. It's just so insane that a two-day old chicken can already scratch in the dirt in search of bugs, and know to eat them. And yet, they most certainly can. 

Again I say- I hope I haven't fucked up. 

If I have, it certainly would not be the first time. Not even the first time today. Trust me. 
Chickens may know how to scratch, but humans know how to fuck up. 

At least that's my own experience and observation. 

Love...Ms. Moon

A Birthday Party At The River

Jessie and her family met up with friends at the Wacissa this morning to kayak and swim about. We had a leisurely morning and made it there about 1:00 or something with a very tarted-up cake that looked like I'd given a four-year old the colored icing to decorate it with. I added a few of our vintage candle holders and cake pretties and some rose buds and there it was. So tacky. 
So homemade.
And pretty darn good. 
August was extremely excited at the prospect of cake. That boy loves sugar. 

There were mamas and daddies and kiddos in the group and it was a sweet day at the river. Children meeting up and making immediate friends and joining in projects together involving sand and buckets and shovels. New couples, holding hands in the water. An older man leaning on a cane and a grandson's arm to enter the cold river. A group of adolescent boys whom I looked at and said to someone, "They should be off hunting the saber-toothed tiger." 
And they should have been but instead, they were jumping off the cypress tree rope swing and walking about with sabor-toothed tiger hunter swagger. There was a man with a kite and his beautiful girlfriend who had the biggest Afro I've seen since the seventies. 
It was lovely. Our first trip to the Wacissa this year. I did not get in the water. It was so perfect, sitting in the shade with a good breeze blowing that I felt no compulsion whatsoever to jump in. Next trip, I will. 
When it was just about time to pack up, the sky grew dark and thunder began to rumble. It astounds me how often this happens when we go to the river. We can almost count on it. 
We left before it rained and went through a few cloud bursts on the way home but it wasn't enough rain to truly matter. Certainly not enough to wash the FDG lot away. 

Mr. Moon and I checked on the hatching situation this morning and there were two peeps in the process of freeing themselves from their shells. Darla was extremely agitated and we let them be but when we got home this afternoon we went out and checked again.

Coming right along. One of those chicks is Violet's baby and this definitely answers the question of whether or not Liberace successfully courts the little bantam. They are all a yellow-orange, taking after their father, I assume. 
I've put some water and feed in the nest box and Darla, at least, has availed herself of both. I talked to a friend of mine about raising baby chicks. She has many, many chickens and she says she just lets the mama take care of them. So I am leaning that way again. 
Violet is still sitting. I do not expect any action from her eggs until at least later on in the week. 

All this baby-birthing and I am thinking today about the day Jessie was born. I told the story in an abbreviated form to the other mothers at the river who were there with their babies and young children. About how it rained all day the day I was in labor but how Glen and I would take little walks between showers and how, right before she was born, the rain stopped and a rainbow appeared. 
True story! 
The mothers all told me that I had done a great job to create such a beautiful woman and I smiled and said, "Yes. I did." 

On one of our labor walks that day thirty-three years ago, my husband picked me a magnolia blossom, huge and creamy white, and its scent filled the room Jessie was born in. Maybe that's why she's always been so sweetly-tempered, so beautiful and light-filled. 

For whatever reason, she is a glory and a dancing woman. And her father and I love her far more than human words can express. 

Happy birthday, my Jessie love. Thank you for being born to me. 

Love...Ms. Moon