All Is Well Here In Lloyd At Least

This may be one of my favorite photos I've ever taken. Can you see what I was trying to get a picture of? 
Here. Let me enlarge and crop.

The anoles have recently hatched and I have been trying so hard to get a photo of one of them. There are several problems with this though, one being that they're so tiny and they disguise so well that it's hard to see them in the first place and the other being they move like they have tiny rockets on their toes. And boy, are they scaredy cats.
So there I was, picking basil to put in a vase to root and also, as a little aromatic house greenery

when I saw that darling baby on a leaf and, again, trying not to scare the little creature I used one stealthy hand to try and get a decent close-up but by the time I got around to taking the actual picture, the anole had run up the fence. And I honestly do not want to terrify such an innocent creature who's just looking for yummy ants or gnats or something to eat. So I left it alone and wished it luck. 

Mr. Moon decided this morning to take his little boat out on the St. Mark's River and making that decision cheered him up so much. "I think it'll be good for me," he said. 
I agreed. 
And so that's what he did and he had a very nice day out on the water. He sent me a picture which is fairly hard to parse but here it is. 

It's a manatee and the trees are a reflection of the trees on the bank. He said he saw it when it was quite a distance from the boat and thought he was seeing an alligator. The manatee swam straight towards him and Glen was thinking that was one very aggressive gator when he realized what it truly was. The fact that the manatee swam to his boat so purposefully makes me think people have been feeding it although you can see scars on its back which were made by boat propellers and you would think the seacow would have been more leery of boats. This is so dreadfully common though, that people who study manatees identify individuals by the prop marks on their backs. And of course, many die from the wounds. There are sections of rivers which are clearly marked as no wake zones in order to prevent this but let's face it- people are assholes. And the assholes in this case are often complete jerks who have speedboats who don't feel that the no wake zone rule applies to them and they speed as fast as they can to express their pride and power. I guess. 
Anyway, he had a very fine day and I'm so glad he took the time to go do something that made him very happy. 

I did too, but it wasn't nearly as exciting. I actually and really cut and pulled a bunch of pumpkin vines which almost ripped my heart out but I did it and that was that. 
Not all of them! But quite a few. And then I weeded and cleared a spot that gets a lot of sun, added in compost and mixed it in and planted two rows of mustard greens. One row is a variety called "India Southern Giant Curled" and the other is an heirloom variety called "Green Wave." 

And then I turned the sprinkler on for a few hours to water them in. I really love mustard greens. While collards are very sturdy greens, mustards are more delicate and do not take as much time to cook. Like spinach but not quite. They cook down a lot which is also like spinach. Collards cook down too but not nearly as much as some greens. I like mustard greens cooked with other greens and in fact, I just love to make a pot of mixed greens, figuring that they all have different nutritional value and they also have their own flavors and textures which is nice. 
But one of the best things about mustard greens is that if you pick them when they're young and tender, they are fantastic raw in salads. They are hot and spicy. Just like...mustard. 
Good mustard. 

It was hotter in the garden today than yesterday because it wasn't overcast in the least while yesterday it was. But I got done what I got done and little by little, I will get this fall garden planted. 

I hung my sheets on the line again today. There is just nothing like line-dried sheets. I like line-dried towels too, although my husband is not as fond of them. He likes the way dryer-dried towels are softer. I feel like the stiffer, less soft ones are more absorbent. Or maybe I just don't mind them not being soft. But we do agree on the sheets. 
Maurice came out to join me at the clothesline. She didn't have a word to say concerning my clothes-pinning techniques. She just rolled about in the hot sandy dirt for a few minutes and then took a nap under the chair I put my clothes basket on. 

Here's a funny Maurice fact- Mark, our beloved friend and house/cat/crow sitter introduced her to a squeezable sort of treat which she took to like Glen takes to chocolate chip cookies. So I've been giving her a little container of that every evening but I tried an experiment tonight. I know she loves yogurt. Not plain yogurt. Get out of here with your plain yogurt. She likes the sweet kind with fruit. I was in the mood for a lemon-flavored yogurt myself and I gave her a few spoonfuls of it and she ate every visible bit of it. I have no idea where she developed a taste for this. She'll turn up her nose at tuna and chicken and all sorts of things cats are supposed to like but give that girl some blueberry yogurt and she is happy. 
I truly wonder what her childhood was like. 

I did some ironing and finished watching The Bear which is depressing. The Bear isn't depressing. The fact that I've finished the entire series is depressing. 
Okay. Sometimes The Bear is depressing. But it's also a whole lot of other human-emotion things ranging from joy to wonder to panic to regret to...well, all that human emotion stuff. 
Knowing me, I'll probably watch it again. 
One of the things I ironed is a dress that I bought so many years ago at Goodwill. So Lord knows how old it is. 
Despite the fact that it never really quite fit me, I could not get rid of it because I loved it so much. Especially the color which is a sort of purplish blue or blueish purple or, hell, I don't know. But I love it. It's linen and sits easy on my body now. It has no pockets which is its only flaw but I love it enough to overlook that when I wear it. 

It doesn't look like much on the hanger and it may not look like much on me but something about it feels like it was made for me. And that was one of the things I ironed. 

Mr. Moon is home. Martinis have been made. We're eating leftovers tonight and by the way- the shrimp salad was excellent and the heirloom peasant oat cake bread? It was not bad. I sliced it very thin, put out the butter, and all that fiber tasted pretty darn good. So I will heat some of that up tonight and along with the beans I cooked a few days ago and the rest of the shrimp salad, I think we'll survive. 

Okay. This bed looks so good I have to show you.

I think maybe we should sleep in the guest room in order not to mess it up. What do you think? 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

A Definite Lack Of Pissyness Was Felt Today

Oh boy! Hang on to your hats, ladies and gentlemen, because today is going to be a wild ride!
Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha.
I lied. 
And not to needlessly segue but I have to tell you that when Disney World shut down Mr. Toad's Wild Ride, I was sorrowful. I still am. I guess no one reads The Wind in the Willows anymore which is a damn shame. 
Actually, today has had its very nice moments. To begin with, it has really and truly felt like fall. Not so much temperature-wise although it hasn't gotten above ninety degrees, but the humidity is down to almost 50% which makes a huge difference. And it's also the light. The way the light falls as the earth's axis begins its tilt away from the sun. I couldn't describe that accurately if I tried but I viscerally know it when it happens. And the hurricane lilies- of course. They know it's fall. A sure and visual sign.

The pecan leaves which are the last to appear and the first to go are dropping, swirling in the breezes which are also stronger. Another tell. And who knows what I subconsciously register after all the autumns I've experienced? 
Our seasons are not nearly as delineated as those of a lot of the world but we can feel them. They are subtle but they are real. 

And I've had a good day doing just the regular things people do. I decided to make use of the slight change in the weather by finally getting my collard seeds in the ground. 

I dug up some compost and took it to the garden and made two shortish trench rows (crooked, of course) and filled them with the stuff which surprisingly does not smell bad at all. In fact, it almost had a rather pleasant odor. I covered that up and patted it down and planted the little black, round seeds that all the cruciferous greens have over the small attempt at soil enrichment. When I plant these seeds, I always think of the Bible verse that tells us that if we have faith the size of a mustard seed, we can move mountains. 
And I always think, "I wish."
What I wish for are good crops of collards and mustard greens, kale and turnips. Last year's greens were a huge disappointment. I plan on utilizing more fertilizer of the organic sort this year and see if that helps. I know that one of our problems is that the trees which cast shade on the garden have grown ever-taller and broader since we started gardening here, and so the necessary number of hours of direct sun has been cut dramatically. 
Well. We do what we can do. 
I need to get the lettuces in too. The arugula I planted is, of course, dancing merrily into elementary school age size, strong and green. I'm not sure anything can interfere with its desire to live and grow.
I turned on the sprinklers which cover the part of the garden I planted the collards in and so that, at least, is done. And I did not once feel as if I might die of the heat. 
I will be pulling the pumpkin vines soon. For real. They have mostly done their job. I have harvested six pumpkins and have at least two more I will cut from their mother vines soon. 

The mushrooms in the picture at the top are growing in my backyard between two of the crow-feeding stumps. They are probably five to six inches across. 

I am no mycologist by any means whatsoever but these giants have intrigued me. 

What if they are some sort of delicious gourmet mushroom? 
So I searched that shit up (haha!) and it would appear that they are false parasol mushrooms. The real parasol mushrooms are indeed prized for their taste. The false ones won't kill you but from what I've read, you might wish they had because the gastric reaction to them is quite intense. And painful. And uncomfortable. 
Oh well. I can enjoy them for their beauty. 

I did not make the gumbo I was thinking I would. It's not a difficult thing to make but it's time consuming and I just did not feel like it. Instead, I decided on the old stand-by, shrimp salad, and honestly that takes just about as much time and effort as gumbo. 
Sigh. 
I've also made a bread dough that I know is going to bake up dense and brick-like. I believe I will tell Mr. Moon that it is from an heirloom recipe for peasant oat cake. That'll work, right? I mean, heirloom seeds and plants are greatly valued these days. Why not...peasant oat cake?

Mr. Moon's friend's condition has not improved. 
I don't feel as if I have the necessary information or authority to discuss this further but it is very much affecting my husband. 

We never know, we never know. 

What I do know is that I was moved to stop and just look and listen and feel today while outside. To feel the changes, to see the changes, to hear what the birds have to say about it all. I swear, I can hear the difference in the air. I did not tell myself to do this. I was just aware that I should. It struck me as all being quite beautiful and I was grateful. 

Love...Ms. Moon

It Was Worth Getting Up Before The Sun Came Up

It took me two and a half hours to do the dark green, light blue, and pink scales near Dotty Frances' tail and to start lining the parts of the fins. And add a little bit to her face. 
Two and one-half hours. 
And I wasn't stopping for coffee breaks, either. Oh well. I am going to work on it here at home some more because if I don't, that poor thing won't be fired by the end of this session. 
Pottery seemed rather light-hearted today while at the same time, everyone was busy. Most of us were doing something with glaze. 
Glazing, I guess we would call it. Lizzie was painting her little doggies and cats and snakes. Now THAT is fussy work. I should have gotten a picture. Her hand is far steadier than mine.
Jessie was working on glazing and painting a planter pot she's made for August's birthday which is coming up quick, quick. He has a fern he's been growing on his window sill but it needs a bigger pot and so his talented mama has made him one. She painted a dragon on it which is a copy of a dragon in a series of books that August loves. I believe the dragon's name is "Skywing." She was overwhelmed when she first sat down with her glazes and brushes and the picture she wanted to follow. 
"I can't do this," she said. This is not something I usually hear Jessie say. 
Lizzie and I told her that of course she could and so she began and by the end of class, here's what she and the little pot looked like.

Here's a closer look. 

She painted August's name inside and also Happy Birthday! 
I think that boy is going to be thrilled. 

We were all fairly industrious and I saw a lot of good work being done. 
Gentleman Caller™came in just before class was over. I made Lizzie and him pose for a picture. 

Now is that an adorable couple or what? Lizzie won't be in class next week as she is taking one of her daughters to Belize to celebrate milestone birthdays for both of them. I have to say that Lizzie is a far better mother in many ways than I am. Grandmother too, to tell you the truth. 
Oh well. We get the mother we get. Some kids get a Lizzie, some get a Mary. 

After class, we met Lily for lunch at the former Japanica! now Kyoto. Jessie and Lily got sushi and I got a Bento box with tofu. Of course. And it was good. 

Dammit, right after we got there, Lily said something that made me laugh so hard and I swore to myself that I'd remember it but of course I do not. I'm pathetic. Anyway, I remembered to take their picture. 

Am I a lucky mama or what? 

I have recently learned a new term which I adore. I got it from Elizabeth Aquino's Substack. At least I think I did. The term is "search it up," which takes the place of "look it up" or "google it" because those are now insufficient in a world where there are many, many online sources in which to gather information about whatever you may be wondering about. 
But I simply the love the sound of it and how it so accurately describes what we do now when we are looking for answers to all of our questions. 
Search it up! 

And today I learned a new one. It's the slang word "delulu." Jessie told me this one. Miriam Webster tells us what it means and its derivation HERE. 
It's pretty self-explanatory as of course it comes from the word "delusional" but gosh. How can you not love delulu? 
Are you delulu? Wake up! 
Now will I start using these? 
I shouldn't. When older people use popular slang, I am always reminded of the pastors of churches where guitars were used instead of organs who said things like, "Our god is a GROOVY god. He is a FAR-OUT god." 
Know what I mean? 
Just...no. 
But I hate being cheated out of the opportunity to call someone (including myself) delulu or to tell someone to search it up.
I know I'm old and I would never try to make myself seem cool here in my old age but gee-whiz, Beaver! 
You know what I mean? You get me, man? 

Well, we shall see what happens here. 

Meanwhile, I'm going to go cook some grouper and some sort of vegetable matter. We could have leftover collard greens but despite those hours of simmering, they were tough as old shoelaces. What a disappointment that was. 
However, the beans with smoked turkey were fantastic. So was the cornbread. 
I do have some store-bought okra but I'm thinking I'd like to make a gumbo with that. 
Oh gosh. So many culinary problems. 

Better get to it.

Love...Ms. Moon







 

I Am Not Cranky. I Am Pissy

Here we have a Gulf Fritillary on a marigold. Now, because I have the weird need to point out my deficiencies whenever possible, I will tell you that I was pretty far away when I took that picture, thus the vast imperfection of it, but I was holding a basket with one hand, the phone in the other, and did not want to move because I was afraid the butterfly would get scared off. 
So. That is what you get. 

I've been cranky again today but mostly in my mind. I think I'd rather call how I'm feeling as pissy. Yes. I am pissy. But again, I've been as nice as can be to my husband and also to a young man who's been doing some work for Glen on Tom's house and property. He came over this afternoon for a few minutes and he was just the sweetest guy. Well, the guy isn't that young. He has children and everything. He and his wife are friends with Jessie and Vergil, I do believe. 
Whatever. The point is- my pissiness mostly extends to myself. I am simply in a rather angry mood and feel as if I am a worthless old woman who is taking up space that would be far better used by, let's say, a young person with children. 
Now please, please do not start telling me that's not true and listing ways that I am not worthless and so on and so forth. I know all of that. It's just that sometimes this is the way I feel and there's no getting around it. 
It will pass. 
And I have to tell you about a truly almost-magical experience I had today. I was working outside on one of the beds beside the back porch steps, trying to clear out border grass and crocosmia and so forth. We all know this story by now. It was shady there and I thought it would not be so horribly hot but it was. Still, I managed to work for almost an hour before my glasses were so covered in sweat that I couldn't see. 
And that translated to this much cleared space. 

Why, after all this time, do I think that pulling up these vile plant-enemies of mine will be such a simple task? 
Because obviously, I am a slow learner. 
But I did that much and I trimmed a bit of the wisteria growing on the arbor right beside that bed and then, when I had done all I felt I could do, I went to go into the house via the back porch steps when I looked down right in front of the door we go in and out of on the top step to see this. 

My brain didn't even register it at first. And then...it did. 
What in the world was this? 
I bent over and picked it up. It may be glass but I really don't think so. I believe it may be uncut purple quartz which we also call amethyst. I can recognize no shape or form of glass it could have been a part of and honestly, it doesn't matter. 
I can think of no other reason for it to be right there where I was sure to find it than that a crow left it for me. 
It did not fall from the sky. It did not fall from the pecan tree. It did not fall from the roof. Glen did not put it there. Maurice most certainly did not bring it to me. I have never seen it in my life. 
And you know- I feel a certain sort of wonder at this. How could I not? 
I will readily admit that I began feeding the crows because of this very thing. That people who feed crows are often given gifts, often of shiny things, the crows seem to leave for them as...what? Tokens of appreciation? Equal trade representations? Encouragement to keep on feeding them?
Whatever it is, it feels like an acknowledgement. Just as I have come to recognize these five very, very large crows who come to eat at the stumps where I lay out their mealworms and peanuts, they seem to recognize that I, the woman they see placing those things on the stumps and whom they can see opening that porch door and going down those steps with their food in my hands, am responsible for these goodies. Whatever their motive is in leaving treasures doesn't matter to me. I can't even begin to understand what goes on in the mind of a crow. What I do understand is that they have come to know me and my habits and that is pretty darn swell. 
I am quite overwhelmed, to tell you the truth. 

I've been cooking a pot of black, pinto, and red beans with smoked turkey leg pieces most of the day. The reason for the mixture is that I didn't have enough of one kind of bean to fill the pot. They look lovely and they taste very, very good. I'm also cooking a pot of collard greens but obviously not collard greens that I've grown. I feel sort of like a person who sticks artificial flowers in vases for a photo shoot. This is cheating. 
But I'm craving them, plus, I want to taste some of my pepper vinegars. The greens have been in my refrigerator for days and they certainly weren't exactly young and tender when they got cut up and put in the bag in which I bought them. 
Oh well. Needs must. And I am doing the southern MeeMaw thing and cooking the ever-loving hell out of them. 

Perhaps I'll make some rice to go with or perhaps I'll just make some cornbread. 

I've worked on my fish some more. Why is this so satisfying? 

Tomorrow is pottery and so I'll wrap her back up and pack the glazes and see what I get accomplished in class. 
I am sort of thinking that my next project might be a bowl in which I can put our collection of crow treasures in. I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not. Would it be shaped and glazed to resemble a crow or would it be a regular bowl with a crow image inside it? Or a leaf bowl with a crow inside it? A magnolia leaf bowl, perhaps. 
I shall ponder. It will come to me. 

No change in Glen's friend's condition. 
Maurice continues to spend a great deal of time on his lap. 
As he said, "She knows."

Love...Ms. Moon 

If Cursing Offends You, This One Is Not For You

I am just fucking cranky today. That's all there is to it. And things like these displays at the Costco have not helped. 
And actually, maybe I wasn't cranky so much as just not in the mood to take any shit. I think I was pretty sweet to my husband and Jessie when we had lunch together and I was nice to our server because she didn't annoy the living hell out of me and when I made a funny face at a little guy in a cart at Costco and he smiled and started waving to me I felt like I'd been handed a hundred silver dollars. 
But when a woman behind Jessie and me in line waiting to get our carts checked with our receipts started saying things like, "This is totally inappropriate!" because for whatever reason there was only one employee doing that instead of the regular two and then, when the Karen said, "I'm going to start going to Sam's!" I really, really wanted to turn around and say, "Well, please do, lady. Get your spoiled white hiney over to Sam's and see if they recognize your obvious superiority to the rest of us who are waiting patiently in line."
And I don't know. She may have been on her way to an appointment to get her gallbladder removed. 
Probably not, but you know what I mean. 
And I considered that perhaps she was going through something I had no idea about and shouldn't judge her and then my evil side came back out and said, "Fuck that."
And then, and THEN, when the guy in the liquor store said, in response to something, "There's a purpose for everything," I said, "And it's not always a good one."
Then he started talking about how even when it appeared to be something bad, we could always choose to learn something from it. 
And of course he was probably about thirty-two years old, if that. 
So I said, "Yeah, I used to believe that too." Which was truly just rude. I admit that.
And I guess I did used to believe in the theory that everything happened for a reason and blah, blah, blah. Now I pretty much just believe that random shit happens and some of it is really, really fucked up. Of course you can choose to learn that from a bad experience. Which isn't very positive. 
I think about Glen's friend. 
Y'all- he is not doing good. His prognosis is not the best. At all. And despite what is probably the best medical care he could be getting from various doctors who are all specialists in their fields, he is not responding to treatment. A week ago, he was a seemingly healthy, hale man and then within moments, he was in danger of dying. 
What's the purpose of that? What can he or his wife or his family or any of us choose to learn from that?
Oh sure. Life is tenuous. We never know from one moment to the next what's going to happen. But do we not all already know this? Was his condition laid upon him by the universe for others to learn from? 
Oh hell no. 

Okay. One more thing. And this is really petty. 

I was at Publix. As I so often am. And the woman who was bagging my groceries is a manager of some sort. First she asked me if I needed help unloading my cart. I had about five things left to put on the belt and none of them were heavy in the least. Plus, they were all right there in the child seat place. I didn't even have to lean over to retrieve them. At first I really didn't understand what she was asking. Obviously I didn't need any Gee Dee help. I was doing just fine unloading bananas and light bulbs. 
But then, when I went to take my groceries out to the car, I realized she had packed my big canvas bags so lightly that some of them literally had one item in them. A bunch of bananas in one bag. A tray of okra, some ginger root, and a bag of Pepperidge Farm stuffing in another. Do I really look this old and incapacitated? 
When I got to the car, I rebagged the items. She had my stuff in six bags and I easily condensed them into three. And then, just to prove how very not incapacitated I am, I carried those bags, plus the bags holding my Costco groceries in one single trip into the house. Plus my purse. Plus my thermal water bottle. 
See this, lady? Yeah. I sure showed her, didn't I? 

And none of it should have upset me like this. None of it. 
Okay. Maybe the Karen. Karens upset everyone. Well, except other Karens or Mr. Karens. 
It's just...life. 

I wonder what I'm really angry about. I honestly do not know. Quite possibly the fact that I am aging at a not insignificantly rapid rate and even worse, I look like it. 
Even as I feel younger than I have in years. 
Mostly. 
Well, pretty much. 
And I was even wearing a really cute dress! With pearl earrings that I discovered I owned when I took a bracelet I had hanging on my bathroom wall off it's little nails (storage AND decor) and which I had no memory of ever having. The earrings. Not the bracelet. I got that and also another outrageous vintage bracelet from Lynn, years and years ago and as I recall, she knew someone who'd had a house fire and everything smelled like smoke so she was getting rid of all of it and Lynn took the bracelets, thinking I'd like them. 
I love them. 

These charms are huge which is why a pair of earrings with relatively large "pearls" could be hidden behind them. 
I should actually wear these bracelets. And isn't that what an old lady would and should do? Wear crazy costume jewelry that clanks and clinks when it moves? That has missing stones and has perhaps lost its luster? 
I've never thought of myself as a "big" jewelry type of woman but perhaps it's time to simply move into that stage of age and accept the fact that if not now, when? 

I know I look like an old lady. I have white hair, my skin is...well, let's face it...ill-fitting as I said the other day. My bosoms are exactly what a pair of bosoms that joyfully and successfully breastfed four babies with should look like (and no bra-like garment is going to change that fact) and my ear lobes, no matter what beautiful earrings dangle from them are stretched and Buddha-like. 
Still. I am not yet too weak to carry more than one bunch of bananas at a time. 
That day, if I live long enough, will come. 
Until then, please don't condescend to me and make assumptions based on nothing but age discrimination. 
And don't say stupid shit about how everything has a purpose which is exactly like saying, "God's ways are not our ways," and also, if you don't have the patience to wait forty-five seconds in a line at Costco, just order your shit from Amazon. 
Okay? 
Spare the rest of us your inability to be comfortable with the fact that we are all in this together, whether it's a line or a life. Can you imagine having a life in which something like there only being one employee checking receipts is a major disruption in your day? That it could be labeled as "inappropriate"? Oh honey, I could tell you about inappropriate and that ain't it. That ain't even close. 

Carry on. 

Love...Ms. Moon

 

It's The End Of The World As We Know It

I got up this morning and glanced through Heather Cox Richardson's newsletter which today was mostly about how the Republicans do not intend to give up the majority they hold in the House and the Senate and a few of the vile ways they could go about that and the possibility they will. 
I believe "the end of democracy" was mentioned as a result of all of that. 
And then the NYT's and a few other news sources increased my worries and fears about AI and I see that Obama has come out to warn about the very real threats to, uh, humanity that even the AI guys are talking about and I just thought, "Well. Is this going to be it?"
I really have no understanding of AI and how it works and how it appears that it is able, at this point, to, well, do things that could kill us all. I read that some expert said that we need to stop thinking about it as a technology and start thinking about it as an alien species. 
And again- well. Sure. But it all sounds so very impossible, so Sci-Fi, so outrageous and yet...Obama? The man is not an alarmist.
I feel like I need to sit down with Hank or Vergil or Michael and see if one of them (all of them) could tell me in the language that a seven-year old could understand what in hell is happening here. One minute we're all worried that AI is being used by college students to write their essays and the next we're talking a 10% chance that it's going to wipe out our species? 
It's so overwhelmingly inconceivable to me that I really can't believe it and yet, I do believe it. 
None of what's going on seems to make any sense to me. Not the AI, not the absolute disregard for the Constitution and the fact that a convicted rapist who is rapidly falling into dementia's cruel arms although, that's not really the problem, he's always been a complete asshole, is our president. I mean, just the fact that this Natalie Harp woman seems to have stepped in to the First Lady's shoes is beyond belief and that's not even a tiny pimple on the butt of the problem. 
And I believe with all of my heart that this war in Iran which is fucking up the economy of the entire world including ours to the detriment of all was started for no other reason than as a distraction from the Epstein files. 
In short- people are dying and starving and in very, very dire situations because Trump is a pedophile. 
I don't think that's just a theory. I think it's a fact. And I am no conspiracist. 

So what do we do in these days which seem so impossibly bizarre? 

I guess we make breakfast. 
We feed the crows. 
We make the bed. 
We do the laundry. 
We drink our coffee and we look up and we look all around us and maybe we'll see more hurricane lilies shooting up. 

I mean- what else can we do? What else can I do? 
I kissed my husband when he got home from spending the night at the hospital. I watered the porch plants and put on my overalls and went out to the garden, determined to cut and clear some of the pumpkin vines to make room for the mustard greens, the collard greens, the turnip greens, the lettuces. 

The vines have taken over and show no signs of slowing their roll. 
But you know me. Cutting back living plants which are still producing blooms and fruit is almost more than I can bear to do. I did a little bit. Not enough. I pulled up a few spent pepper plants. I weeded the patch of arugula I planted. I picked another pumpkin. Quite honestly, if I let the ones that are maturing ripen and pick them, that will be quite enough pumpkins. 

It's still too hot for me to work in the sun for more than an hour. I suppose I could but I also suppose I could experience the very first fainting episode of my life and I am not interested in that. 
In the least.

And so I sat back down and painted a little more on my fish who only seems to grow happier and happier. 

It's slow going but I listen to audio books as I work and it's a pretty perfect way for me to spend time. I downloaded a new book yesterday in a sort of desperation stab because it almost seems as if I've heard every audio book available on Libby, although of course I have not. 
I'm sick and tired of being offered either ridiculous rom-coms or sinister thrillers and the book I chose is neither. 

I'd never heard of the book or the author and in looking him up, I found this short author bio: 

James A. Levine

Born and educated in England, James A. Levine is a professor of medicine at the Mayo Clinic who has worked with impoverished children in the United States and internationally for more than thirty years. He has won more than fifty major awards in science, consulted to numerous governments, and lectures to humanitarian groups around the world. He is the author of the novel The Blue Notebook.

That was last updated in 2014 so...
Still, the book is shockingly good. I really don't know how to describe it beyond that. 
I am so glad it was offered on my Libby list. Was that AI? 
I have no idea. 
I really have no idea about anything. 

Glen's friend's situation has not changed. He is still in ICU. Glen said that he has been very surprised at what good and attentive care he seems to be getting, from techs to aids to nurses to doctors. 
A week. A week ago he was a strong, able, reasonably fit man. 

Again I say to you- love the ones you're with. Tell them you love them. Show them you love them. And let them love you. 

On a completely non-related topic, I know that many of you are experiencing yet another Blogger problem in that your list of the blogs you read is not being updated. 
I do not use that method of keeping track of updated blogs. I use an app called Feedly. Check it out. Since I use the most basic form of it, it's free and it works well for me at least, and you know that means it can't be that difficult to figure out. There are others available. 

Anyway, good Lord willin', the creek don't rise and AI doesn't kill us all tonight, I'll see you tomorrow. 

Love...Ms. Moon

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Well, I have been a hunting widow, a fishing widow, a working-on-the-log-cabin widow, an auto auction widow, and Lord knows what all else. 
And tonight I am alone because Glen is spending the night in the intensive care unit with his friend so that his friend's wife can go home and sleep in her own bed and just...have a moment. Since last Monday I don't think she's hardly left the hospital and as we all know, if you don't take care of yourself, you certainly can't take care of anyone else. 
It was one week ago today that Glen and his friend were out on the Gulf. 
One week. 
I don't think things have changed much as to his friend's condition. Glen sent me a picture yesterday of the IV bags they have with meds and fluids and nutrition running into his veins and I could count at least twelve. 
I believe he's on six different antibiotics because they're still not sure what the infectious agent is and it's possible it's not even bacterial, but viral, and that would require an entirely different treatment. Maybe they got results back from lab tests today. As I've said, I'm only getting this information third or fourth hand. 
I remember when Glen's sister was in the ICU many years ago, and how he would spend the night with her, too. Of course there's nothing any of us non-medical people can do in reality but there is great comfort in knowing that if the person in the bed can somehow sense a loving presence beside them, that's enough. 
That is enough. 

I wish I was half the person, the kind of friend that Mr. Moon is. 

But I am not and I spent my day doing a little of this, a little of that. I got my sweeping done, I took the trash. It would appear that the Stillwater Farm Shop is now open. I did not stop and go in. For one thing, I wasn't wearing even a bra-like garment and for another, I had no money on me. After having looked at their newest posts online, I don't think I would have really wanted to buy anything anyway. The shelves where the My Gypsy Soul Boutique kept things like "natural" seashells and homemade soaps and local "art" and...I can't remember...now seem to hold a few small pumpkins, honey, and some other unidentified objects. I see a few tee shirts, a few little mugs, a few mums in pots, and a cooler with what is probably raw milk in it. 
I saw a cross on the wall but I saw no eggs. Or produce. Or homemade soap for that matter. Let's face it- the shelves and the shop are mostly empty. 
Well, good-luck. 

We've gotten more rain and that has caused some rotten branches to drop. I saw this in the front yard.

The photo is deceptive as to size. I filled up the garden cart with its various parts. 

Such beautiful lichens, fungi, and mosses.

And then there's this mushroom, growing from one of the stumps where I feed the crows.

And I finally set everything else aside and got out Dottie-Frances and my paints and brushes and that was the best. 

I work slowly and yet, my lines and my colors are still untidy. 
But. 
As I said the other day, that's me. 

I guess I'll go make myself some supper. 

Love...Ms. Moon