Friday, September 22, 2023

No Wonder My Dreams Involve Cooking For The Masses


We now have two more Grandparents' Day decorations in our kitchen to go along with four others that Gibson and Owen made us. I think that Maggie really enjoyed having her two grandmothers and her grandfather come to eat lunch with her today. Jason's mom was there and we all ate together. Maggie loved her lunch, from the Pringles (my favorite!) to the watermelon and sandwiches and pickles and elegant cake slices with raspberry. I forgot to mention yesterday that when her mama asked her what she'd like for me to bring for this lunch, she said, "Fish." 
Magnolia June loves fish so much. That just made me laugh. What second-grader wants fish as a treat meal? She is obviously a fine Florida girl.

Lily pointed out that fish would get cold before we could eat it but Maggie countered by saying that there are microwave ovens in the cafeteria which we could heat the fish up in. We will definitely have fish the next time Maggie comes to spend the night. 


I have to tell you that these lunches are always a source of a lot of anxiety for me which I realize is completely ridiculous. I dreamed early this morning that I was making food for so many people and that I was cooking it in giant iron vats of pots on open fires and that portions of the food spilled out into the fire and I could not keep track of everything. I mean, I get that I was concerned that I would make a lunch that Maggie would like but must I take it to that level? 
It would seem that I do.
Also there was the issue of getting there on time, figuring out where to park, finding Maggie, etc. Mr. Moon had gone into town earlier to work out so he was meeting me there and that was another anxiety- would I find him? And yes, of course we both have cell phones and no, it was not a problem to park, and it was quite easy to find our girl and she did like the lunch but Christ Almighty! I had to worry about it all like I was preparing to climb the Himalayas and was responsible for all of the food and the navigation. 
It wore me out. I swear- I've been good for nothing the rest of the day. 

Of course I did laundry and I also replaced two buckles on a pair of overalls that I use for gardening. I'd been holding the straps on with ancient diaper pins. No kidding. Those things last forever. And that is about it. It's really not that difficult to replace the buckles. You have to rip out the stitching on the straps and unthread them through the whatever-those-things-are and put the buckle on and then rethread them and stitch them in place. However, as I have said before, you might as well ask me to put together an entire Ikea kitchen set-up when it comes to something as simple as that threading process with the straps. My brain just does not work that way. 
Oh well. I caught up on a few episodes of Call the Midwife which continues to be a sweet and even timely show as they explore issues which affect us very much to this day like homelessness and single motherhood, poverty, race, religion, family and death, as well as birth, of course, which is endlessly fascinating. At least to some of us. 
Me, for instance. 
Hank just sent us all a text with the Facebook memory he'd gotten today from fourteen years ago which said, "Baby Update, nothing yet."
Oh, how we were all breathlessly waiting for Lily to go into labor with Owen. He was taking his own sweet time, which is every baby's right if you ask me. Or almost every baby. There are always exceptions. 
But that's a whole other subject and no need to go there now. 

I don't have a whole lot to say today about the body issue. I think that I will try to mostly just relate my own personal issues with my body, with hunger, with shame, with... well, all the things I've dealt with, experienced. And try to make some stab at figuring out how these things may have arisen and developed. 
"Hunger" may sound odd, especially in the context that I never suffered from lack of food. We were certainly not rich and we ate a whole lot of bologna and white bread and canned soup but there was always enough. 
And yet, somehow, there was never quite enough for me. I look back and wonder if I was missing some biological trigger that people are supposed to be born with that tell them when to stop eating. I distinctly remember going to a restaurant after church in a place on the Indian River, a bit north of Roseland, called "Em's." Or at least that's what I think it was called. A large group of people from church, including the pastor and his wife and my grandparents and some of the lovely retired folks that were my grandparent's friends, all went there and ate at one huge table. The food was served family style and it may have been the best food I'd ever eaten up to that point. I absolutely recall Em's pot roast with vegetables and how delicious it was. My grandmother's cooking, and my mother's, was adequate but very plain. They did their culinary duties but there was no joy in the food they cooked. Em, however, obviously knew her way around both a kitchen and a cut of meat and fresh vegetables. I ate so much that Sunday that my stomach hurt. And I did not like that feeling at all. But I could not stop myself. 
This was probably my first experience with overeating and it was, at once, both orgasmic and very painful. 
I was probably about six years old. Maybe seven. 

So that's my memory for today and I do not have much of any sort of insight as to why I could not stop eating that good food. Was it because, like I said, I was just born with a grand appreciation for what tasted truly good? That may have been part of it. I've always had a palate which has served me well when it comes to being able to concoct dishes that will please others and, yes, myself. And knowing how much pleasure I receive from eating good food has informed my cooking in that I want to give pleasure to those I cook for. 

So. Blessing and curse? 

Who knows? Not me. 

Martini time. 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Thursday, September 21, 2023

More On Body Image, Also Meatballs And Cocktail Wieners


If you look carefully at that blurry picture, you can see two pileated woodpeckers. Those two showed up this morning with a third. They are not completely rare around here but we don't see them every day. I think that this may have been a mated couple and their juvenile child, out for a lesson in finding bugs in hollow trees and branches. 
They are splendid birds, very large and dramatically marked. Here's a better picture that I got off the internet. 


They are not as large as the magnificent and probably-extinct Ivory Billed Woodpecker (aka the Lord God Bird) but they are gorgeous creatures and I feel that I have had a holy visitation every time I see one. 

So that was a fine way to start out my day. 

Next week is the beginning of the mass family birthdays around here. Tuesday is Owen's birthday, Wednesday is Lily and Vergil's birthday, and Friday is August's birthday. Shayla's birthday is on Monday, and Billy's on Thursday. 
I think I got that right. 
Anyway, on Saturday we're having a little gathering for those who can come, over at Lily and Lauren's for Owen. Just a snack and cake thing. So I asked Lily what I should bring for the snacking portion of the event. I offered to make the ever-popular and delicious slow-cooker meatballs with the grape jelly and Heinz Chili Sauce sauce. Do not laugh. Or gag. You cannot believe how amazing these damn things are. And if you google it, you will see that yes, it is a real thing. 
Are they good for you?
Oh hell no. 
Will they be the first thing eaten at a party? 
Oh hell yes. 
Lily said that would be fine and that actually, Owen had wanted some cocktail wieners in that same sauce so I decided to do both together which means that I will be taking a crockpot full of BALLS AND WIENERS to a fourteen-year old boy's birthday party. 
Is that completely inappropriate or completely appropriate? 
I do not know but it is making me chuckle. All of the grown-ups have already laughed about this via the text circle this morning and we will not be bringing it up again at the party. At least while any of the children are around. 

So what all of this is leading to is the fact that I needed to go back to town to buy balls and wieners and grape jelly and Heinz Chili Sauce and some other stuff like toilet paper and the things I need to make a lunch for Mr. Moon, Maggie, and me who will be eating together tomorrow at Maggie's school for yet another annual Grandparent's Day luncheon. They were offering Chick-fil-A lunches for those who wanted them but I refuse to pay those homophobic fuckers one red cent. So I got thin white bread to make fancy sandwiches, cut-up watermelon (Maggie's favorite fruit), Pringles (Maggie's favorite chips) and two slices of some sort of very elegant-looking bakery cake with raspberry filling. Also, sparkling Martinelli's apple juice for the darling girl. 
Maggie is going to a different school now than the one where Glen and I have attended so many grandparent lunches so this will be an adventure. 

Lily and Jessie both have been going through some tearful times lately. Stuff that isn't mine to talk about and they will be fine but it's been HARD for them. So we met for lunch and Lauren was able to come too. We went to a Cuban restaurant and had the best time. We dined. As I have so often said, no one can make me laugh like Lily and that proved true again today. To poor Lauren's embarrassment, Lily, Jessie, and I discussed some rather raunchy topics as well as serious topics. I realize that not every family is able to discuss things that can make others blush but we are one that can and does. Nothing very personal, just...well, we can be salty as the kids are saying these days. 
Much laughing was involved. 

So that was wonderful and then Lily and I went to the Indian grocery store in the same little strip mall where we both bought fun things and I despaired at the realization that there are so many foods and so many spices that I know nothing about and never use, making me an incredibly white-bread, boring American person. Lily has experimented far more than me with Indian cooking and some of their different vegetables. I am proud of her for that. 

And then I came home to find Mr. Moon finishing up his rock garden. 


That is a lot of rocks. And there were a lot of baby trees and weeds to pull up. That man is determined. When he starts a job, he finishes it. Okay, sometimes it takes a few years but he gets it done. 

I have thought a great deal more about the whole body issue thing. My thoughts are still being processed for sure and this may be one of those circumstances wherein I have to think and write and write and think to get to any real understanding of such an incredibly complex issue. 
I so appreciate all of your comments on yesterday's post. One of the reasons I love blogging is that it can be a conversation. A discussion. Anyone who wants to can offer input from their own experience, their own observations, their own cultural and familial influences in this matter which helps us all in our own understanding. 
It is so easy to point to our culture, our society, and blame our inability to love and accept ourselves as we are on them. And you know what? A not insignificant part of of the problem does arise from our culture and society. And it did not start with Twiggy and Jean Shrimpton and yes, Joni Mitchell and the way we idolized not only her incredible songwriting and performing, but her perfect image as having the body and hair we all wanted. Actors and performers have always influenced what we see as desirable. I think of Marilyn Monroe here. No, she was not stick-thin like the pin-up girls of the sixties but it was her body that garnered the attention, the adoration. 

36-24-36. 

How many of you remember when a woman's breast, waist, and hip measurement was a thing that was regularly posted in magazine articles? How many of you had your own tape measure and obsessively exercised and measured yourself over and over again, hoping for something close to that magical 36-24-36? 
Or how about this? Doing exercises to supposedly enlarge our breasts while chanting

We must! We must! 
We must increase our bust!
The bigger the better, 
The tighter the sweater, 
The boys depend on us! 

Can you imagine a group of girls saying those words now while vigorously pumping their fisted, crooked arms back and forth?
Or what kind of hell there would be to pay if someone asked a movie star or performer or athlete what her measurements were? 

But you know what? I don't think that things have gotten any better. We may be less overt with some of it but it's all still here. 

We'll talk about this more. 
And I also want to talk about how families can shame their daughters about what they consider to be too much padding or, too little, as many of you pointed out. I will discuss what I now think about the message I gave my own children about body image. 
I ain't proud of it. I fucked up. 
I know it. 

And there is so much more to dig up and uncover and expose. There are religious beliefs about modesty which can cause lifetime shame about our bodies. There is sexual abuse and assault which can absolutely destroy a girl's or a woman's feelings about her body. 

I saw this picture of Serena Williams today on Facebook.


Look at that beautiful, powerful, amazing woman! And yes, the pictures were accompanied by comments about how big women can be beautiful. 
Big women can be beautiful. But only if they're world champion tennis players? If only they're rich and famous? 
You tell me. 

I also saw this. 


So yes. Women over fifty can also be beautiful. 
If they're thin as a rail and their graying hair is long and thick and luxurious and styled and they are wearing incredibly cool outfits and jewelry, influenced by indigenous people. 

Ain't no winning this game. 

More later. Tell me what you're thinking.

And if you do not regularly read comments on posts, you're missing out. This community has a lot to say about this topic. Lots of wisdom. Lots of insight. I welcome all of it. 

Love...Ms. Moon




Wednesday, September 20, 2023

Well. Pondering


Yesterday Glen spent hours digging up saplings of not-insignificant size around a tree by the garage. Years ago he'd brought home quite a collection of rocks from a hunting camp in Georgia. Please don't ask me the specifics of this. Anyway, I really have no idea what he'd had in mind for those rocks but he'd set them around the tree and yesterday, besides digging up the saplings and assorted weeds, he also spent time unearthing the rocks that time and weather had mostly buried. Needless to say, this was a hell of a lot of work. His back hurt so bad last night that he was worried about how it would feel today.
However, he felt pretty good this morning whereas I felt like I'd been hit by boards. When he asked me what I'd done to cause this pain I said, "I lived." Then I said, "I watched the boys do gymnastics." And I limped off to get some coffee. 

Anyway, I did not do much today. I took a walk. A barely acceptable walk. But when I got home I thought, "Hell, you did it, Mary. It's okay."

And it was. 

I have to wonder if my need to suffer physical discomfort or pain to make me feel okay with myself has to do with the realization I had yesterday about always feeling as if my body is my enemy. This need I have to push myself is real and constant. On the days when I don't do anything physically demanding I feel guilt and shame. I can remember all of the years that I dieted, sometimes in a healthy way, sometimes in a definitely NOT healthy way, and the guilt and shame I'd feel if I ate something I had deemed forbidden. This might be as ridiculous as a tiny piece of leftover cheese toast crust that one of my children had left on a plate. 
And I can remember it all starting when I was about six or seven. I was obsessed with the thickness of my thighs when I sat down in shorts or a bathing suit. I'd look at other girls, often skinny little things, and my thighs even then seemed to me to be enormous, gross, fat blobs that were sickening. 
I was called fat by classmates from second grade on. I was taunted, I was bullied. My grandmother's friends, many of whom I loved, would give me presents like jump ropes, hinting that if I just got a little more exercise, I'd slim right down! That's what they called it then- slimming down. 
And I loved to eat. Food was definitely not just sustenance to me. It was pleasure and comfort. I think now, too, that I was just born with an appreciation for delicious food. It was not so easy to overeat or eat the wrong things in my house in those days. Well, we did eat a lot of bologna and white bread sandwiches but my mother could make a can of Campbell's vegetable soup serve as dinner for three- her, my brother, and me. Desserts were rare. 
Thus began my interest in cooking and baking. Which has never left me and as you know, continues to this day. 

But I am not sure at all where my body shame originated. Why did I look at my little girl thighs with such self-loathing? 
Look at this picture. 


See that little child, second from the right with two missing front teeth? That was me. Was I fat? Was I chubby? Were my thighs giant blobs of disgusting grossness? 
No. 
Now in truth, I did get chubbier as I got older. I did not slim down until I was in the sixth grade when I had a serious parasite issue in my left foot. How crazy is that? I had to get worms in my feet to get thinner? 
Of course there was more to it than that. 

But that's all I have in me to talk about today. Perhaps this will become a series of sort, a tracing of one woman's body image throughout her life. 

But I have been thinking of these things today as I've gone about my little tasks. I got the kitchen drawers cleaned and sorted through and lined with the new liner. That's my junk drawer up there in the top photo. Not too bad, really, although please know that I have bins in the pantry with so much more in them that some people would put in junk drawers, from batteries to cookie cutters to food processor accessories. All that stuff. 

And I just made a delightful discovery. One of my favorite plants is what I think is called a Xanadu philodendron. A few months ago I put two leaves of it in a little pitcher of water in the window of the kitchen bathroom, trying to include a small bit of the node from which the plant propagates. The two leaves have lasted all these months which seemed odd to me and finally today I pulled them out of the water to find that one of them has rooted like a world champion!


The other one? Nada. But when I saw all of those beautiful hair-like roots I literally hooted out loud. And then I found a pot and planted the darling thing in it and watered it well. I shall coddle and love on it. And if it sends up a new shoot, I will be ecstatic. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Tuesday, September 19, 2023

No Title

Hurricane Lily duo.


This is going to be fast because I just got home from MerMer'ing wherein two boys were picked up at school and taken to gymnastics and I just got home...to a very clean house. 

I hired one of Lily's best friends to come clean for me and although it was quite odd in many ways to have someone doing what of course I feel like I should be doing, I think it is just time for me to get help with this. It's not so much that I can't do it myself. I could. And I have been. For almost sixty years. 
But. I have never liked housecleaning. In fact, that is putting it most mildly. And now I am at the age and stage where I really do not have to do it all myself and so I have hired C. to help me. She can use the money, I can use the break. And she is sort of like family. She calls me "Mom" and Mr. Moon "Dad" which tickles me. 
So that is good. I just have to get over myself and my Grandfather's Puritan work ethic although I will point out that my grandmother had a cleaner her entire life, even in Roseland in their little cottage. 
Which honestly doesn't mean shit but there you go. 


The pine cone lilies by the old kitchen. 

It was good to see August and Levon. They both hugged me when I picked them up and of course wanted to know what treat I had brought them. Did I remember they wanted Kinder Eggs? I did! But that was for after gymnastics. I had gotten them some fruit and Publix fried chicken for a before-gymnastics snack. This plan was approved. 

I really enjoyed being back in that giant gym with the little guys. Coach Tai (Tye? Thai?) is their coach again this year and I just love her. She is so tiny. By the end of the year, August may be taller than she is but she is amazing with the little guys. 



I had a sort of epiphany today, watching them, the way those children completely inhabited their bodies so joyfully. They WERE their bodies. There was no division between body and spirit. 


You can see Levon, his entire body poised to do what Coach Tai is asking of him. Look at August, on his toes, ready to do the same. They are bursting out of their little strong, lithe bodies, all muscle and sinew and fearlessness, so eager to jump and tumble and cartwheel and leap and run and hang from the parallel bars. 

And my epiphany was this- as far back as I can remember, my body has been my enemy. I don't think I ever once felt the way about my body that August and Levon do. 

I have so much to say about this but tonight is not the night. 
I need to ponder this. 



The putting together of the Kinder Egg toys. 

And okay, okay. One more. 


I got this jigsaw puzzle at a thrift store last week for them. It is one hundred pieces so not entirely simple at all. I gave it to them as I was leaving today, around an hour and a half ago. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Monday, September 18, 2023

It May Not Be Fall, But It Is Fall-ish


Some of you live in climes where seasons just click right into place at the appointed time. At least it seems that way to me. 
Here?
Eh. Not so much. The seasons do not so much arrive as they wander about awhile, take their time, change their minds, wander some more, and finally, get tired I suppose, and settle in. 
Except for summer, of course, which arrives with the sudden intensity of a hammer blow to the head. 
So although I could tell that we're nearing the equinox due to the way the light falls, it's not been until the last week that we've really had strong indications of autumn coming. But today was rather glorious. Still is. It feels like fall is coming. Cooler for sure, dryer, too. 
And the red flowers are headlining the event. Funny how that works. I guess pine cone lilies' blooms aren't really flowers though, are they? They might be. 
I don't know. 
I don't know shit. 

I took a walk this morning and it did not feel bad at all. I stopped when I was almost home to talk to a neighbor. This is a woman who is probably as apt as I am to stay to herself but when we do talk, I always enjoy it. She's so smart. She grew up here and has just retired from teaching at the local community college. She lives in an old house too, which is next door to her brother and sister-in-law's house, the same house her mother lived in before she died. I believe she lived in this house too when she was a child. 

Anyway, that was pleasant and look what came in the mail. 


I could not be more thrilled. I finally found the ones I wanted online. I have no idea why, but most overalls come with a buckle that looks like this. 



Now you'd think that design is fine and I guess it is but it just doesn't last. See that little Dutch-hat looking bit at the end of the loop there? Those fuckers break. They split. And then they are of no use whatsoever and you can easily find replacements that are made the same way but they, too, will break. I can't tell you how many times I've opened the washer or dryer to find one of those little metal clasps, having reached their use-by date, rendering the rest of the buckle completely useless. 
Another good thing about these new ones is that they cost fifty cents apiece which is CHEAP! I got them from a company called Round House Jeans and although they claim that their buckles will only fit their overalls, that is not true. So I've spent some time today replacing buckles. It's so odd that a good pair of overalls will last forever, no matter how much punishment you give them. But they make these overalls that are made with iron fiber or something and then put those damn buckles on them that are guaranteed to break. 
I ordered ten of them and I think I should go ahead and order another ten. 

Here's another picture of that oak tree. I wonder how old it is. It has to be close to ancient. One of the things my neighbor and I were talking about was how we now see things that may be coming to the end of their lives, like oak trees and houses, and think, "I hope it lasts at least until I die."


Or on the other hand, to gauge how long a pet might live and make the decision not to get one, based on that. No one wants to outlive their dog. 
"Isn't it strange," I asked her, "How quickly it seems that this has become an issue that we have to consider?"

So, yes. Fall is coming. It will be front porch weather again. 


This little porch is sort of hidden in plain sight. It's in the front of the house, but not right out front like the other one. If you look at the picture in the header, it's to the left of that one. You can see a gray door there. You can gain entrance to that porch from either the guest room (where the gray door is) or from my bathroom. I know. That's a little odd, but this is an old, winding and wandering house. Owen and I spent so much time on that porch when he was little. I read him so many books there, sang and rocked him to sleep so many times. 

Oh my. 

Can you believe that he is just about to be fourteen years old? Next Tuesday. Impossible. And yet, obviously quite possible. I am so grateful that I got to spend so much time with him when he was little, and his brother Gibson, too. I was the main nanny when both Mom and Dad were at work. I'll never forget how nervous I was the first day Lily brought him over for me to take care of. We found our groove though, that boy and me. And he named me MerMer and I love him so much. So does his Boppy, and we are both so proud of him. 

And always will be. I hope he always carries that knowledge with him, no matter how old he gets, or where life takes him. I wish for that so much. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Sunday, September 17, 2023

Outside Stuff


Well, that does not look very attractive does it? And yet, to me it is gorgeous because what it shows is a mostly-weeded garden, ready to be tilled and planted for the fall and winter garden. We really need to get some mulch on that garden but the oak leaves that people in Tallahassee neighborhoods so thoughtfully rake and bag-up and pile on the side of the road for us to pick up have not yet begun to fall nor will they for quite awhile. The oaks really don't lose their leaves until the new ones push the old ones off. 
"Bye, Pops," I can hear them say. "Good job. We'll take over from here."

Now I have to get to the nurseries and buy my seeds. I guess a lot of people start their fall vegetables inside but I don't. They seem to spring up pretty fast as soon as we get them in the ground and watered. I don't know, maybe I'm just lazy. We've been discussing switching over to raised bed container gardening but we're having a hard time committing. There are dozens of options and methods and ways of doing this and they all seem to be

A. Very expensive if you buy the containers pre-made, or

B. A lot of work if you make the containers yourself, or 

C. Both. 

No matter what sort of container you use, you have to fill them up with good soil and compost. I suppose this is one of those projects where once you get everything going, it's pretty easy and pays off. But oh, the getting-it-going part is definitely not easy. 

I made an extremely short video today when I was weeding, of ants hauling a tiny caterpillar somewhere. I have no idea where they were taking it. To feed their queen, possibly. But look at these guys go! 


Interestingly, while I was watching those guys haul ass I was listening to a book entitled The Island of Missing Trees by Elif Shafak which has, as one of the first-person narrators, a fig tree who discourses about many things in the natural world including different varieties of trees, mice, bees, Mycelium, birds, humans, and...ants. 
I find the parts of the book in which the fig tree is given voice to be the most interesting. There is also a love story, a war, and lots of talk about Middle Eastern foods, both Turkish and Greek. It's interesting but truly, the best comes from the mouth of the fig tree. I am learning things that make me want to go and hang out with my own fig tree whom I must admit I ignore terribly. 

It has been a fairly easy, loving day today. Not horribly hot and according to the weather widget on the phone, it's supposed to get down into the sixties tonight! WHAT?!
Getting up tomorrow morning will be worth it simply to see what that feels like. Is it possible that summer's fiery grip has finally loosened its hold upon us? 

Here's what may be my new favorite picture.


May and Michael and Jessie and Vergil met up last night to go hear and dance to a band they all love. It's the same band that played at May and Michael's wedding. Aren't they beautiful? 

Nothing makes me happier than thinking about my children having good times together. 

It's been as still as a photograph here for the last few minutes and now, we are starting to get the tiniest bit of rain. For a second there, the leaves began a little dance of their own, just a flutter of skirts being moved gently from side-to-side as the musicians first begin to play. A tiny bit of ankle revealed, the merest hint of a petticoat. A flirt, a wink, an invitation. 
Come on, rain. Dance with us. 
Come on.

Love...Ms. Moon


Saturday, September 16, 2023

Monticello Adventure Report


The granddog came over today for her first visit. She is such a teddy bear, that dog. Jessie said that she recently almost kicked the little Doodle Bug out of her way, thinking she was a stuffed animal. I described her today as a small, solid center surrounded by a cloud and that is what she feels like. She likes it here at Mer and Bop's, I think. Plenty to smell both inside and out, different people to cuddle and pet her. 
August wanted a little snuggle himself with his Boppy.



Jessie and I decided to take the boys to Monticello to eat lunch at the Mexican restaurant and so we did. Mr. Moon was going to watch the FSU game on TV and said he'd be glad to babysit Sophie. I loaded up on quarters before we left because they have about eight of those bubble-gum/prize dispensers and I figured we could use the promise of a prize as a bribe to ensure good behavior. 
It sort of worked. 


"Take our picture!" August said when we got to the restaurant. And of course I did.

Every time I go there I am once again shocked by how colorful and pretty the place is. And the food is so good! 
I tell you what else I was shocked at- how much August ate. The kid must be in a growth spurt. He ate about a basket and a half of chips, all the bean dip, and a chicken burrito with queso sauce, guacamole, and sliced avocado on the side. 


Isn't that pretty? 
He told his mom she could eat all the lettuce and tomato on his plate but NOT THE AVOCADO!
Understandable. 

And they were good boys so they each got four quarters to use in the machines. They both got stretchy, sticky toys and silver rings. I told them about the time when Uncle Hank was about Levon's age and got a sparkly ring out of a dispenser like those and he asked me if the diamond was real. 
"No, honey," I said. "They don't use real jewels in those rings."
"Maybe they made a mistake!" he said. 
I have no idea why but I will never forget that. It was so precious.

Of course we had to go to Wag the Dog after lunch to see if they had any treasures for us today. Both boys got something and Jessie got a few things too. I didn't see a darn thing that would have made my life any better. Then we went to the library to see Terez whom we had not seen in a long time. Such a sweet man. 
"I'm a fan of Terez's," Levon said on the way over there. 
We all are. 
The library has new guinea pigs which we admired and after we visited with Terez we went in the children's room and read a few books. Monticello really does have a fine library. 

And then one more stop at the Winn Dixie. Although Winn Dixie is not Publix, this Winn Dixie is a pretty darn nice one. Jessie needed frozen pizza for the boys because she and Vergil are going out on a date tonight and that would be an easy meal for the babysitter to make. I needed to get some good sandwich rolls because we're going to have fish sandwiches made with two beautiful pieces of leftover air-fried grouper from two nights ago. 

My bread last night turned out lovely. It was really not sour enough because it had not had enough time to rest and it was a little too soft for real sourdough, although it was real sourdough. But it was very good and held the butter quite well which is bread's main purpose in life, unless you have some nice olive oil with herbs to dip it in. 


So that's the Saturday news from Lloyd. A very nice day, especially in that Maurice did not kill Sophie, even though I had a dream early this morning that two people were walking a dog by my house and stopped to chat and Maurice was there. "Does your cat get freaked out by dogs?" asked the man in my dreams. 
Maurice was so puffed up and howly that she looked like a Catzilla and I told the man that yes, she does, and in fact, she gets freaked out by everything but for some reason, the couple just stood there with their dog. 
And dream scene CUT!
I thought it was funny and odd that I had that particular dream right before a real dog came to visit. This is not a regular occurrence by any means and I've never had a similar dream in my life. But there was no showdown. Maurice was jumpy and made herself scarce, and Jack, who was in the kitchen when Sophie came in, looked at her like, "What fresh hell is this?" before running for the back door. 
Sophie, of course, is quite sure that everyone in the world loves her and was not disturbed in the least. 

I wish I had some deep thoughts or even handy household tips for everyone today but the fact of the matter is, I just don't. I do not feel wise or smart or very capable in any way. 
I think that August (aka Truth Teller) may have summed it up for me when I stumbled a little bit at one point this afternoon and said, "Why did I do that?" and he said, "Because you are old?"
Yes. That's how I feel. Old. 
"You're right," I said to him. "I am old. Now hold my hand while we cross the street," and he put his little brown paw in mine and we safely crossed and I do love being old in some ways because that means I get to be a grandmother. The rest of it can sort of go to hell. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Friday, September 15, 2023

Slowly We Begin To Brave The Outdoors Again


 Lily sent that picture to our group text last night. She said she'd gone to tuck Maggie into bed and that's what she found. And no, Maggie does not wear glasses but I assume that whoever she was being at that moment did. That child's imagination is a rich and fertile country. 

Mr. Moon and I are both moaning and bitching this evening. He's having muscle cramps in places he didn't know he could have muscle cramps. I just hurt. He worked in the woods most of the day doing...I have no idea. Something that involves getting ready to hunt. Tomorrow bow-hunting season begins and although he just told me that he is not at all interested in going out in this heat with all of the mosquitoes to hunt, he feels like he has to help the other two guys that hunt on this particular piece of land. I don't understand any of it. What I do know is that the actual hunting is about five percent of what they do and that the politics of property and hunting etiquette are mysterious and unknowable to me. Which is fine for all concerned. But it was hot and muggy today and I can't believe the men worked outside all the hours they worked, but I guess they did, including the really older guy who goes by the name of Odell. 
Odell sounds like a character. Perhaps not a very pleasant character, but a character. 

If you know Odell, don't tell him I said that. Please. 

So when Glen got home he was hungry and a little grumpy and he took his shower and sat down in his chair to eat the lunch I made for him and I think he's been mostly dozing in there, only waking up when he gets the damn cramps. 

Now I just worked in the garden for a few hours and that was enough to do me in. But I did get all the sweet potatoes pulled and a lot of weeds, too. 



Those are the sweet potatoes I got today. Not a huge harvest by any means, but considering that I did not plant them this year in the first place and also that I probably left about fifty pounds of them in the ground, not so bad. I really have the barest inkling of what I'm doing when it comes to growing sweet potatoes. I planted them one year and they've been coming back every year since. That's been about four years now. You'd think I'd know a little more about the process by now but I don't. 

Anyway, I got hot as hell and although I can kneel on my knees again, my left one gives me fits and my lower back screams at me when I've been bending over pulling weeds for awhile. I did not get ant-bit today which was a good thing. I came across a nest of huge red ants but was able to avoid it. 

Bitch, bitch, bitch. 

So we're limping and, like I said, moaning, and I'm hoping that martinis perk us up a little bit. I've been making what amount to be Thanksgiving dinners every night lately and we're going to have leftover gumbo tonight. I did just put a dutch oven full of sourdough dough in the oven so that will be new. I started the dough this morning and I broke every rule in the Sourdough Book of the Bread, and yet I think it's going to be pretty good. I don't even want to tell you how I made it. I mean, I didn't commit any mortal sins like adding yeast to it (I cannot say I've never done that before) or sugar or...well, whatever. But I did not handle it correctly, the starter was not freshly fed, and the Kitchen Aid was involved. 

I am not Rebecca. She is the queen, the artisan goddess, the dough whisperer, the...well, we've discussed this. But I really can't get over what her loaves look like, especially compared to mine. And I am content to sit at her feet. 

Martinis have been made. Clean sheets are on the bed. I hung the laundry out on the line and before it was fully dried, it began to rain so I ran outside to take it down and by the time I was back in the house, it had quit and the sun was out again. 
Oh well. I finished up the drying in the handy drying machine. At least it will have that sun and air smell. And quite frankly, I could probably happily sleep on a dog bed tonight. 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon






Thursday, September 14, 2023

A Lot

I got a call this morning from a friend who is way up north, being with his brother who is in his last days. My friend, we shall call him J., has been holding his hand, singing him Beatles' songs and talking to him, even though he is not responsive. He is in hospice care and is not eating and is drinking very little. They are keeping him comfortable.

I'm not sure why J. called me. We are not close. I think he sees me as a motherly type who would never judge him for being gay. I can't remember how we met but I think my reputation as being Hank's mom preceded my actual introduction into his life. Hank is sort of a hometown hero and celebrity because of his early coming-out, back in high school, the first openly queer kid who'd ever attended that school. Also, Hank is just very cool and quite beloved.

Anyway, J. knows he can talk to me about shit- any shit- and I'm going to do my best to understand and to tell him that he is loved, that he is doing a beautiful thing. 

He was able to make the trip to be with his brother because of a program called "Give a Mile."
I'd never heard of this organization nor had J. but his boyfriend found it online. They are dedicated to helping people get flights to see their distant loved ones who are dying. Check out that link. And according to J., within the matter of a few days of his applying to qualify, he was indeed on a plane, headed to be with his brother. They made arrangements to help him schedule and have a wheelchair at each airport he flew into. J. has had health problems for years, one of them being diabetes which has claimed one of his feet. So this was not an easy thing for him. I am so glad that this organization exists, that J.'s boyfriend found it, that J. qualified. 

What a beautiful, beautiful program. 

So I mostly listened to J. and told him I understood so much of what he was going through, has gone through, with family, with pain, and now with this holy and hard work and gift of being with his brother when he dies. 
I feel honored. He was so very close to his mother, J. was, and she died a few years ago and he misses her. It's funny that he has another extremely maternal friend whom I have known since Hank was a baby and I have no idea how she and J. met and formed a friendship but here we are. I am sure he has called her too. 

Yesterday when I was talking to May, she mentioned how coworkers come to her with their problems and I told her that this is how it is for people like us. We are motherly and non-judgemental. It's amazing how so many people just want someone to listen to them, to tell them that they are good people, that they deserve to be loved. 
Such a simple thing. Although, in real life it can sometimes become complicated, especially when it comes to boundaries. But in situations like the one I had today with J., that just isn't really part of it, is it? 

It's been a productive day for me and it's not over yet. I took a walk, and it was fine. Quite warm but not hot-like-the-breath-of-Satan hot. 

For months now I've been looking out the back door of the laundry room to see a whole patch of those damn glory bower plants. The ones that have beautiful blooms, stink like hell, and reproduce like, well, Satan's spawn. 


They're not that hard to pull but like the crocosmia, their root system is never entirely eliminated and they do come back. Still, every day for months I've looked out there and seen those devil plants and thought, "Oh god, Mary. Get rid of them NOW." 
But it's been so hot and any energy I've had to work outside has been mostly spent in the garden. Today, however, I decided to pull those fuckers which I did, and I also picked up sticks and limbs and branches and pulled more of the glory bower and other invasives in the old kitchen garden and in the camellia bed. I got nowhere near done getting it all in order but it was a start. 
Because you cannot just leave these invasive plants in a heap to rot because they will take root and spread all over that area too, I put them on the burn pile to dry up a little so that we can incinerate them. 
Would you look at the size of this thing?


That is going to be a serious fire.

I roasted peanuts for my sweetie who was mowing and picking up sticks all over the yard as he went. I did laundry. And then, I felt compelled to tackle the cabinet under the sink. 


And I did. I threw away a bunch of stuff and I cleaned the cabinet and I put down some of Ree Drummond's fancy liner in place of the ancient newspaper that had been there. 


It is not perfect but it is better. And more cheerful! Thanks, Pioneer Lady!

We're having fish again tonight and I've had a very small head of cabbage in the refrigerator for days and decided that coleslaw would be good to go with the fish and so I've made that. I got out the grating blades for the food processor and they make the job so fast and easy that I did the whole head of cabbage and a good amount of carrots and some onion and now I have a bowl of the stuff that would be big enough to be appropriate to take to a covered dish dinner. 
Sigh. 
I really miss having chickens and one of the reasons is that they would always eat the dregs of things like coleslaw that we just could not finish. 

And that is that for today. I better get in that kitchen. Coleslaw does not a fish dinner make. 

Oh! I read a review of the Stones' new album, Hackney Diamonds, in the NYT's today and the critic loved it. LOVED IT!
One of the quotes was this:

"The result is “Hackney Diamonds,” a loud, cantankerous, unrepentant collection of new songs from a band that refuses to mellow with age."

And here's the final paragraph of the review:

"But then there’s an epilogue: a Jagger-Richards duet on the Muddy Waters blues that gave the band its name: “Rolling Stone Blues.” It’s just Jagger’s voice and harmonica and Richards’s guitar, unadorned in real time, circling back to the love of the blues that brought them together as teenagers. It could be a career postscript or a reaffirmation.

“There were six takes total,” Watt said. “The one that made the record is take four. And as they went through each take, they moved closer and closer together. Closer and closer.”


Makes me want to cry.

And oh, yeah- they're going to tour after its release. 


The old boys. 


Time to cook! 


Love...Ms. Moon