Another Walk, A Lot More Talk

Well it looks like Blogger isn't allowing me to reply to comments. I googled the issue and yes, it's real and I think I could do a work-around by changing my comment format but that's not going to happen tonight. 

I went on another walk (more on that in a minute) and took yet one more picture of the fally-down house. It really is close to being flat. I remember when I used to see signs that someone may have been camping in it and those days are long gone. Not even a toddler could walk freely in it, the ceiling being almost part of the floor in some parts. 

Here's another thing I saw on my walk this morning. 

Anyone know what those birds are? 
Here's a picture off the internet as a hint.

That, my friends, is a guinea fowl, and in this case probably a guinea hen. I am basing that supposition on the chick she has beside her. 
The funny thing is that just yesterday, I think, Hank sent us all a text picture of guinea fowl in their back yard in town! I love the birds. I think they're beautiful in their own way and there are many good reasons to keep a flock, one of them being that they are an excellent alarm system when it comes to any sort of predators. 
But. The very thing that makes them so good at that is the thing that drives some people crazy. They talk all the time. They're like the Rolling Stones once they get started up: they never stop, never stop, never stop...
Here's a very short Youtube that demonstrates their voice.

They are the funniest birds. My next door neighbor used to have about a dozen of them and they would make their way through my back yard every day, on their way out to forage and on their way home to roost and they would be making their rattling call every second of the way. 
They cracked me up when they got to the fence between our yard and the neighbor's. They would stand there, looking at it as if they had never seen a fence in their lives until one of them would remember she could fly (a little bit at least, not unlike chickens), make it into her yard and the rest would follow suit. As the days and months went on though, the flock decreased slowly but steadily and I suppose some predator was not deterred by their chatter and finally, there were none. It was so sad.

So yes, I saw the fally-down house and the guinea hens and all of the things I usually see and the walk seemed very easy to me and I also noted that after yesterday's walk I did not have my usual soreness and joint pain. This would make sense as I am not carrying around nearly as much weight and besides that, Zepbound is actually used to treat inflammation. So yes, I am still considering this drug to be somewhat miraculous and not just because I can wear Levi's again. I'll be getting bloodwork in May and will be interested to see what that shows as to changes in things like cholesterol and so forth. 
However.
Not related to Zepbound, but to kidney stones, one of the reasons I have been leery of walking and exercising in general is that whenever I do, it seems to jostle a stone into a less than optimal position which causes aching, pain, and other issues which I really do not care to go into here. Let's just say...
Well, let's just not. 
Now. Yes. I did go get scans of my kidneys almost three weeks ago and no, the doctor did not call me back to tell me about the findings and no, I have not called THEM back to make a follow-up appointment because calling Dr.'s offices is almost as hard for me as it would be to stick my arm into a viper pit. But today, I did. This morning. I screwed my courage to the sticking point and made the call. I just looked it up and screwing up one's courage to the sticking place comes from Macbeth which I am sure I knew already but needed to check which reminds me that Hank once said that almost every quote we use comes either from the Bible, Shakespeare, or the Beatles. 
Hank is smart and I think about that statement a lot because he's not far wrong.

Mr. Moon is home again. He was going on a duck hunting trip to Louisiana this weekend but it got canceled and rescheduled once, and then just canceled. Ice storms may be involved. So he's stuck here with me. Seeing as how it's Friday, martinis are softening the disappointment I'm sure he feels in not being able to go. He's brought me home some catfish filets he caught this week and I suppose I will be air-frying them tonight. 

I am sure you can tell I'm in a better mood today and I am so very, very grateful for that. Just as I do not know where the past few days' darkness came from, I do not know where this relief comes from. Chemicals. I guess. I believe I am heartened by the number of people who are showing up and protesting in Minneapolis, despite the frigid weather, as well as the one hundred clergy there who protested ICE despite knowing they'd probably be arrested and they were. 
And let us not forget the shut-down in Minneapolis today of businesses, schools, and shopping. 
Of course there are so many things that are not heartening including measles outbreaks, especially in South Carolina where 700 cases have been reported. But somehow I feel able to hear about the horrors without crumbling and that is a good day for me. 

After lunch I went outside to cut back the dead and blackened parts of the firespike and after that I decided to just add a few yellowed pinecone lilies by the big live oak in the front yard which led to pulling some vines out of the tree which had dead limbs entrapped in them and also cutting some bamboo and other things I didn't want there and picking up fallen branches in the yard but when the garden cart was full I called it a day, hauled it all to the burn pile and returned the cart to the camellia bed where I've been using it. 
I was going to cut some of the camellias in that front yard bush but then I realized that the dark spot in the center of these blooms were entire ant communities. 

If I were an ant, I would love to live in a camellia blossom which has to be one of the softest places to live in the world, not to mention the probable sweet nectar to be found there. 
Okay. Honestly, I have no idea why ants want to live in camellia blossoms. But they do and I have no desire to bring them inside where they might decide to move to the kitchen when the camellias turn brown and die. 
I did bring in a few of the last remaining camellia sasanguas. 

Sigh. 
We're about to get some bitterly cold weather (FOR US!) in the next week and I'm sure that any of the blossoms opening now will be killed while that's happening but I have faith that the buds which have not yet begun to open will be okay. 

One more picture.

The native azalea is budding up once again. That, to me, is hope. 

I better get my ass in the kitchen and coat some catfish with cornmeal. 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Tiny Walk, Tiny Post, Tiny Moon

This is one of those evenings when I write and write and then delete and delete. The first deletion was unintentional but when I tried to recreate, I just did not have the heart and so that went away too. 

What I meant to say is that I took my first walk today in many months and the thing that finally motivated me was that I was hoping with all of my heart that moving my body and being outside under the blue skies and looking up into the branches of the live oaks would calm my anxiety. Also, I've missed these walks in my community, seeing the minute changes that occur as the seasons progress, feeling a part of this tiny place where I live. 

Walking was a different experience in that I probably have not taken a real walk since I was at least twenty pounds heavier and I am here to tell you that it's a different experience. I will not expound on this but it is quite true. 

I don't feel like anything really therapeutic happened but if nothing else, I got out, I moved, and I was glad to have done it. 

One of the camellia bushes in the front yard has popped open a few blossoms. 

Hello, my lovelies. 

The moon tonight is the silver smile of a Cheshire cat, and the only times I long for a "real" camera are when I'm trying to capture the moon in any of its phases. 

Can you see it? It is trapped in the net of naked pecan limbs, witchy and black against the gloaming sky. 

That's all I have to say tonight. 

Love...Ms. Moon

I Left Lloyd

That is the only picture I took today. One lousy (and it is lousy) picture of a blooming redbud against a gray sky. I took the picture right outside where we take pottery which is a park with ball fields and a playground, tennis courts, and nature trails. It is really quite lovely and when I lived in that neighborhood, I spent a lot of time there with my children. 
The redbuds are usually the first to show color which indicates that spring will come. I am discounting camellias because they are absolutely a fall, winter bloomer so not quite the same. I'm also seeing Japanese magnolias beginning to announce their fancy selves and that is always a joy. I went searching for a photo online of them but decided to just wait and give you pictures of the one I have in the backyard which takes a bit longer to bloom because of all the trees around it as well as the fact that it's one of the darker varieties and I think they bloom later than the ballerina slipper pink ones do. 

It was not that difficult to get up in the almost darkness this morning. When my phone began its soft chiming, Maurice got up from where she was sleeping beside me and came up to stick her face into my face to see if I was aware of the fact that it was time to get up. I turned off my phone, assured her I was, laid there for a few minutes, and then got out of bed. 
Maurice of course just settled back down and went to sleep. 
By the time I was dressed, all was well with the world and I drove to Jessie's house and drove us to class after giving Sophie some love. It was cold this morning. 
For us. FOR US! 
37° when I left Lloyd. 

When I left my flower bowl last week I wrapped it well in hopes that it would not dry out so much that I couldn't finish what I was trying to do with it and it wasn't terribly dry. I rolled out the little worm-strips to attach to the edges of the petals and using a damp sponge and my finger dipped in water, I tried to get at least all of the outside petals edged but it was a very time-consuming process. I didn't begin to have time to smooth and ensure the stability of the backs of the petals, nor to even begin to work on the inner petals. 
Sigh.
I did manage to lift the bowl out of the slump bowl I had it in and transfer it to a different one that I could better work with and at least nothing came off or fell apart or collapsed. 
I did my best to smooth that edging to both backs and fronts but it was not an entirely successful attempt. 
What was there to do as the time for the class's ending came and then went but spray the bowl down with water and cover it carefully in plastic?  

I do realize that I am still very much in a learning phase of this type of pottery and I can only imagine I will be in that learning phase for as long as I dabble. However, gaining experience through one failure after another can become frustrating and I got frustrated today. 
Oh well. La-di-dah. Life goes on, does it not?

I did mean to take a picture of the vastly flawed bowl at the end of class and even went and fetched my phone with which to do that when something distracted me (I have no idea what) and that plan went to the wayside. 

Lily couldn't make it to lunch today so Jessie and I went to a Mexican place we like and I got what I always get which is a chili relleno because they make them so beautifully. Right after we sat down, a woman came over to the table and told Jessie that she'd been her nurse when she had her baby and that she was the BEST and she thanked Jessie. I know that made my girl feel good. 

After lunch, I went to Publix because it's been a week and how I've managed to survive this long is a mystery to me. 

It was all fine, being in town, being around people, but there were a few minutes in pottery where I could feel my brain's electrical connections beginning to buzz and blur and I will tell you the truth- I took half of one of my emergency Ativans because I do not like getting to that point. There was absolutely nothing going on in that studio which should have made me anxious. There was nothing loud, Gail's playlist was a good one, everyone was being so supportive of everyone else, and my hands were busy with the clay, rolling, pinching, smoothing. I was not worried about propane or running out of onions or any upcoming doctor appointments or my husband running off with that black-haired truck driving woman or not being able to find a baby I was supposed to be taking care of or passing an exam or saying something stupid in a social situation (i.e. "Fuck that shit") or making Thanksgiving dinner or driving a very old car in the dark down long, snaky, dirt roads with children in the back, or...anything. Really. Not anything like any of that. 
Of course there was the never-ceasing fear that all of us are living in at every moment of our lives these days. 
But mostly, I think it was all just being in a room with other human beings, albeit human beings I have come to know and care for dearly, who seem to accept me as I am. 

I suppose this is why it's called crazy. 

Vergil and the boys are up at the cabin right now, eating pizza and salad. Vergil is trying once again to figure out why the internet phone connection gets dropped every time only a few minutes into the conversation. 

So they called me while they were eating their supper and we chatted for quite awhile. The call was not dropped. 
Here's what the bar between the kitchen and living room looked like when it was all set and ready for pizza. 

Now just look how pretty that Fiesta Ware is and how well it goes with the thrift store napkins I bought.  

I better go cook the little piece of salmon I bought today. I still have salad, and spinach and rice casserole and that will make a perfect supper. Perhaps not as good as pizza but good enough. 

You see- I have nothing whatsoever to be anxious about. 
Not one thing in this world. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Please Don't Read This If You're Depressed Unless You Need To Know You're Not The Only One

He made it. KC, the man whose name so many of you found for me showed up late this afternoon and I was incredibly relieved. He was polite and asked me how our Christmas had been but he was not nearly as convivial or gregarious as was on his last visit. I suppose this is what happens when you deliver propane gas for a living in an area which is in the midst of a major cold spell. Everyone probably puts off getting gas until they realize it's going to be below freezing for several nights in a row and then they frantically try to get some fuel in the tank before their pet goldfish's bowl freezes solid. 
Well. Anyway. I have turned the thermostat up to the more tropical realm of 67° although we always turn it down about four degrees lower than that at night. 

Speaking of low, I have been feeling rather flat these last few days. I mean, who hasn't, right? I think it's quite possible that I have not left Lloyd in a week. I know I went to pottery last Wednesday but as far as I can remember and as far as my posts seem to report, I've been right here. 
The point is that I've been hiding or hibernating or rolling up into a ball like a doodlebug who has been threatened by a child's probing finger. And I've done nothing of value or interest in that whole time. A little mending and patching, a little jig-saw puzzling, a little laundry, cooking, dusting, sweeping, and putting Seminole Indian dolls on the wall. I promise you that all of these things could have fit into one day, the keyword being "little". 

I started wondering this afternoon if it wasn't near the anniversary date of my mother's death and so I looked that up on the blog by searching for "Mother's death," and easily discovered she died on January 16, 2013. I cannot believe it's been thirteen years. 
Thirteen years since that day I was with her in the hospital as she took her last breaths. I wrote it all out on the day after her death and that can be found HERE if you're interested. It is not graphic or weird or anything. Just a plain recounting of her last moments. It's funny that what I remember so strongly is that "Sister Morphine" by the Rolling Stones was playing in my head which was appropriate because of course they had given her morphine at the end to ease what they call "air hunger" and I was in the middle of my journey of discovery about Keith Richards and, well, that was the sound track to the death of my mother for me. 

Yes. It is true. The body remembers. It remembers anniversaries, it remembers what our minds do not and perhaps have even tried to cast aside, to bury deep in steel boxes strapped with iron bands locked with fierce determination, the keys as lost as we can lose them. 

I do not even need to mention the madness of the man who would be king and who is finally being called out by other world leaders as insane and as such, a person who cannot be reasoned or negotiated with but who must be stopped before the entire world falls into the same horror that began in Hitler's Germany. 

Still, I feel as if instead of falling into any sort of immovable darkness, I should be doing the things you're supposed to do in the face of times like this. Move your body, get involved, GET YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS.

Thank god I have pottery tomorrow. That is exactly what I need. I will get up early, I will drink my coffee. I will put in my hearing aids so that I can hear what is being said in the studio around me. I will focus on something that has nothing to do with my mother, my country, my fears, my regrets, my guilt, myself. 

Look what I found today. 

The trillium. In going back and looking at old posts from this time of year, I saw my photos of it then and wondered if it had come up already this year. 
And it has. 
The bed it's in is a complete mess, a chaos of weeds and frozen ferns and downed oak branches and browned pinecone lily stems but there it is, alive and well and beautiful and strong and showing proof of the continuation of life. 

And then there was this. 

Look up, look up, don't stop looking up. 

And having said all of these things, I cannot stop watching this. 

I think it is probably one of the best live videos ever taken of the Rolling Stones and I'm trying to describe how I see this song, this performance, as a testimony to the depths to which we can fall and yet, rise out of. Make art of. Help some of us come to terms with things we find impossible to understand. 

I'm a mess. 

Love...Ms. Moon

A Cold Day In The Hell Of Our Reality

Well, as I said to my kids in a text this morning, we have no pumpkins but if we did, the frost would be upon them. That's what it looked like in my backyard when I got up. When I tried to open the screen door on the back porch to go outside and take a picture, I realized it had been frozen shut with some of the standing rain on the steps we'd gotten yesterday. I had to give the door a good kick to open it. That was new. 

The frost thawed not long after that because the sun was fully shining, but it never got warm enough to suit me. I am going through massive anxiety because the gauge on our propane tank is way down in the red area and although Glen has called the propane guy twice now, we've still seen no truck show up with the magical hose that stretches for half a mile to go over the fence and down into the tank where the life-saving liquid is stored. The man at the gas company guaranteed Glen that his driver/deliverer would be here either today or tomorrow. 
I guess it's going to be tomorrow. 
I surely hope so. 
Do you remember me recently (as in the past six months) writing a post about the gas delivery guy? The man who was so kind, so sweet, so empathetic, so beautifully and proudly loc'ed? The man who told me he was freezing because he grew up in Jamaica and he was not used to this cold? The man who had played college football at Stetson University? 
Obviously, the man made a huge impression on me and yet, I cannot remember his name and I cannot find the post I wrote about him. I've done searches for "propane gas," "gas delivery," "locs," "kind strangers," and I don't even know what and I can't find a damn thing. Except for the fact that this is definitely not the first time I've gone a little bit crazy worrying that the tank will run dry and I shall die of exposure and frostbite. 

And of course Mr. Moon is back up at the cabin (which he is now regularly calling the camp) and I feel a little deserted in my hour of darkness although what the hell could he do if we did run out of gas? So I've set the thermostat down to 66° and am keeping my fake-fleece-lined hoody on over my long sleeved shirt, long sleeved sweater, and long-sleeved cardigan. He tells me that the heater up at the camp works quite well. He is doing more painting and told me this morning that he wants to get the bedroom all fixed up so that I'll come and stay with him and I made some not very convincing "Ummmm's" and hugged him tightly and well, I am hoping like hell that between a lovely very pale green bedroom and a kitchen with a brand new stove and very cool Fiesta Ware I will indeed be lured into being okay with the concept. Of course, he needs to get that downstairs bathroom finished too before this finicky princess even considers such an idea. 
And I am a woman who has not only camped where we had to dig our own latrines and was fine with that, but also lived in a house for almost a year that had no running water which meant we used an outhouse. Which snakes took shelter in. 
As did wasps. 

Well. 

I watched most of a movie today that I have been meaning to watch since it came out. Pamela Anderson's "The Last Show Girl." I don't know why it's taken me so long. My god. Pamela Anderson doesn't miss a beat. You do not catch her acting. She IS the character. 

Jamie Lee Curtis is also in the film and although she does a fine job, I've never found Jamie Lee to be completely convincing in her roles. I love her politics, her outspokenness when it comes to queer rights, her heart which is most definitely in the right place but the fact is- I DO catch her acting. I can see her trying her hardest to inhabit a role which is admirable but somehow, in this case, it does not work for me. 
Still, I sort of love her character. 

The movie asks the question of what happens to a woman who has based her entire life, sacrificed everything, in the name of beauty and youth as she ages? Who has based her self-worth on the things men worship and is now losing? 
It's powerful. 
Pamela Anderson is a force and that's not something I ever thought I'd say. 

I've made a pot of pinto beans, my favorite, and cooked some rice which is going to go into a spinach and rice casserole that I love. That will be supper tonight. I had what I thought might be a hankering for a big salad at lunch and did my chopping and slicing, and mixed miso and rice wine vinegar and garlic and ginger and other delicious things to make a dressing and, well... it was okay. But bottom line is, I've had a lot of vegetables today and a bowl of beans and a dish of comfort casserole is just what I need. 

Another picture of Lloyd on a cold morning in January. 

Thinking of Martin Luther King, Jr today, of course. Hoping with all my heart that the  things he accomplished in his way too short life will not have been in vain as a completely insane man has the reins of the country which Dr. King wouldn't even recognize today. 
Or perhaps he would. 
We should hang our heads in shame. We should raise our voices in protest in whatever way we can. We should remember and honor King and all of those who marched and protested and faced the guns and slavering dogs so bravely with the determination of knowing that what they were marching for, risking their lives for, was the generations to follow as well as the generations who came before. 

Love...Ms. Moon
 

A Dreary Sunday But Still Okay

Jessie and Vergil found this lovely couch in their neighborhood by the side of the road. There was another couch and a decent looking lounge there too. They scooped this one up and brought it home and the boys organized their toy room to fit it in. As Jessie said in her text when she sent us the picture, "The sides are torn up from cat scratches but that works well with our aesthetic." 
We are not casual spenders around here. Nor do we overly value the new. We search for the classics and when we find them at great prices, or, better yet, FREE! we are happy. 
Could those boys and Sophie look any cozier on a brand new sofa from a designer furniture company? I think that may be the best picture of Ms. Sophie ever taken. The girl knows how to work a pose, does she not?

Well. The weather here was dreadful for most of the day and then suddenly, in the later afternoon, the sun came out and the sky turned blue whereas five hours before the forecast had called for sleet for the next hour. Some parts of North Florida got a little snow but we didn't. I'm not even sure we got sleet but we sure did get rain. It's supposed to be clear tomorrow but it's going to get even colder. This winter stuff is stressful. It takes so long to get dressed in the morning! 
You got your socks, your however-many-layers of shirts and sweaters and jackets, then your britches or overalls, finally your shoes. And of course if you go outside, you need more jackets and a coat. How do y'all do it? If it got Ohio cold here or Canada cold here or Pennsylvania cold here, I'd just stay in bed all winter. Either that or I'd have one small room with a wood stove (and of course I'd have central heat, too) and I'd just huddle in there all day, feeding the fire and wrapping myself in blankets and phoning for pizza delivery. 

I am really, really boring this evening. I didn't do a damn thing that was constructive after I made our breakfast. Mr. Moon passed on the dawn duck hunting and subsequent he-man breakfast with the guys and so this was the first Sunday breakfast I'd made in a long time. I was worried I'd forgotten how to make biscuits but they turned out all right. Of course we didn't eat until noon but, oh well. Mr. Moon never eats lunch on Sunday anyway, preferring to have a huge bowl of popcorn that he makes in the Whirley Pop. He has his routine down pat, melting the butter, getting out the salt and nutritional yeast, layering the butter, salt, and yeast over the popped corn in the bowl in order to ensure that all of the corn is equally coated with the good stuff. I laugh at him but I really shouldn't- we both have our habits and routines and we do hate to break them. I'm far worse than he is. 

I think tonight I'll make this quite brief. I'd like to get supper on the table before we perish of hunger although Mr. Moon should be good for at least a few more hours after all that popcorn. I'm making some fish and grits and cooking some artichokes. I don't usually serve artichokes with fish and grits (don't call the southern cooking police on me, please) but if I don't cook those things they're going to dry up and shrivel into nothingness. I believe there will be some yellow squash with onions too. This will all take a little time so I better get to it. 

I am so grateful to have such a sweet, warm home and sweet, warm  husband on this cold night. I wonder if Maurice will sleep on my legs as she did last night as I dreamed every one of my dream tropes. All of the usual elements were involved, including the huge, museum-like house with all the rooms. I was trying to explain the house to someone, telling them that there were rooms that still had the old clothes in the closets, the original sheets on the beds, make-up and hair brushes on the vanities, and jewelry in the jewelry boxes. Whoever I was talking to about it wasn't really listening so I gave up. The stepfather was there and so that was a lot of angst, and somehow he was at fault for me not having the right food to cook for Thanksgiving (once again), and oh yes, there'd been some sort of school event for the children and I got roped into cooking for that too, but in this case, in a big industrial kitchen. My old therapist was there. I got lost driving around in an ancient car. I was taking care of a small child whom I KNEW needed to be potty trained and was absolutely sure he or she was old enough and mature enough for that to happen. This is a rather new addition to my list of things to dream about. I don't think Glen left me for the black-haired, truck driving bitch in this dream but I know I had a lot of laundry to do. 
Somehow it all blended together, not seamlessly, but in the way it often does. 
Oh. I forgot to mention all the heavy machinery being used to clear land and build new roads. 

I must worry a lot. 

There is a lot to worry about these days. Too much to worry about. So possibly these dreams are just a distraction to keep me from obsessing about the real horrors. I do not know. 

Meanwhile, stay warm unless you're in the down-under portion of the planet in which case I hope you stay cool. 

Love...Ms. Moon

  

More Dolls On Walls, Spider Plants Gone Rogue, And Quotes From Magnolia June

I went through a phase of buying souvenir costumed dolls that represented all the countries of the world. At thrift stores, of course. And then yes, I'd hang them on the wall. Mostly. Sitting them on a table or shelf or something was too boring and tacky to even contemplate but hanging them on the wall was absolutely not boring. 
Now. Is it tacky? You tell me. In my opinion, no. Something as unexpected as dolls on walls is interesting. Besides that, people have made fortunes with tackiness. Let us consider the films of John Waters. Some would call him tacky, tacky, tacky. 
Many call him a genius. AND an artist. 
Am I a genius and an artist for hanging dolls on the walls? 
Oh good Lord no. I'm just saying that "tacky"is the first cousin of "whimsy" and let's leave it there. 

Let us ponder this lovely señor y señora. They are not dolls, exactly but rather plaster, uh, things that someone hand-painted, I am sure. I don't have the slightest idea where they came from. But they have graced a wall of my kitchen forever. 
Do you notice the little white chips on both their noses? Makes them look like they've just snorted a few lines, doesn't it? 

Moving on.

This is the top of my kitchen hutch and the things on the wall above it. Liz Sparks made me the beautiful Virgin of Guadalupe and I bought the angel at an antique and vintage store in Monticello a long, long time ago. It is made of celluloid, I think, and was meant to light up as she has a hole in the back of her neck where you could put a small light bulb. I've never done that but I'm sure she would be so very radiant if I did. I think she qualifies as being rather doll-like.
The clock is a clock. I like that clock. 

Some dolls I do not put on walls. Here's a little tableau in my bathroom. 

Okay, yeah, that snake plant is probably dead but maybe not. I love those two dolls very much and I like them right there where they are with their seashell and their hopefully not dead snake plant in a pot that had been my grandmother's. I think it is rather beautiful. I especially love the little bebe head poking out from behind the mother who is carrying her in a back sling which I just looked up and see that it's real name is a "manta." Now we know. Textiles, Boud!

The baby's eyebrows remind me of something Maggie said awhile back which was that she is starting to get eyebrows like mine.
Of course, mine are gray. Mostly. But yeah- if she means eyebrows like Eugene Levy's, she ain't wrong.
And this ALL reminds me of when she was born and Lily said, "She doesn't have any eyebrows!" 
"Don't worry," said Jason. "She'll get one." His side of the family has very healthy eyebrow growth too. 

So that's a little wander around my house on this drizzly, getting colder night. Before the rain this afternoon, I did some tending and tidying in the camellia bed. This is not a one-day operation. What I mostly pulled up today were spider plants. 
Yes. Spider plants. Everyone's favorite house plants. 
This is what happens when you put a potted spider plant outside in my yard and then ignore it for awhile. 

Yes. Even spider plants are invasive in my yard. And here's something I did not realize until today- spider plants are hell to pull up when they're not in a pot. They have bunched tubers with strong, thick roots coming off of them which grow deep into the dirt. 

Well, live and learn. 

Mr. Moon is at an FSU basketball game and I just got this picture from Vergil.

I know Boppy is so proud to be at the game with his boys and their parents. A few weeks ago it was Maggie he took. I asked her which  she had enjoyed more- going to the basketball game with Boppy or going fishing. 
"The fishing," she said. 
"It was more relaxing."

That's our girl. She knows what she likes as should we all.

Love...Ms. Moon