Memories And A Very Bizarre Dream

As always when we go away on a little trip, my posting is spotty, at best. And my comments on other blogs are usually nonexistent. And I think that's a good thing. I still get hungry to write and to post but there's just so much always going on and I know where my attention should be. 
And in lieu of much of a post today, I'm going to give you pictures from past trips to North Carolina. They're a good record of how much the grands have grown and how swiftly the years have gone by. I spent most of the day packing which for some reason took hours and hours. I did iron a few things but not a closet full. I also made a run to Publix, mostly to get the things that Mark likes to have here. He has pretty simple tastes. My favorite request that he always makes is for "little Pepsi's" which are the mini-can version of them. I just love buying those little Pepsi's, probably because it's one tiny thing I can do to make Mark happy because he is the most wonderful house and cat-sitter a person could ask for and I WANT him to be happy. 
Mr. Moon is talking about leaving here by nine tomorrow morning and I feel like that's impossible but of course it's not. Not if I get my butt out of bed before my regular wake-up time which is around 8:30. I'll just pretend it's a pottery day, which it would be if we weren't going out of town, and struggle up out of sleep around seven. That should do it. 
I hope.
This morning I had my first AI nightmare. I'm serious. It was pretty awful. There was some guy who was a cult leader and he was trying to recruit members for his cult and he gaslighted them by using examples of AI to convince them of the magic and wonder of this cult, including getting all four of the Beatles together to give a little talk, I guess. I'm not sure if the cult leader himself was AI but I think he was and I just kept screaming, "It's all fake! Can't you people see this? Don't you understand?" and for some reason all of this was happening at my house where there were hundreds of people and children, too. 
There was a battle between me and Cult Guy and it was fierce and bloody. I finally defeated him because unlike him, I am real flesh and blood, and strong enough to give birth to true human life, not fake AI bullshit life. 
Perhaps getting up earlier will prevent more dreams like this. 

Here are some pictures and no, I don't have them dated which I should but I don't. 

Here's very young, pre-Levon August. I have the sweetest memory of when that was taken. Jessie, Glen, and I had taken August out for breakfast and he was so hungry. It was taking a very long time for the food to come out and at one point, August looked at the server and said in the most piteous voice, "Waffies, please..."

Levon loving on his Boppy. 

I swear- this was not prop-posed. That was really the headline of this local paper Jessie picked up to look through while Levon was proving the truth of it. 

Boppy teaching August to fish in the lake at Camp Rockmont where August and Levon just spent two weeks and Jessie was camp nurse. 

August's first fish. His grandfather was so thrilled. 

These next ones are pictures from the year that Lily and Jason brought their kiddos up to North Carolina. We all stayed in what had once been Vergil's grandmother's beautiful house on Black Mountain. It was a spectacular visit. 

The Little Maggie Missy. Lord was she just the cutest cherub or what?

Our suppers together were wonderful 

This may be one of the most precious pictures ever taken in the history of picture taking. 
Maggie and August, posing on a tree stump when we were all at a beautiful river with a little waterfall. 

Not sure where Maggie was in this one but she may have been in the same mood as Levon obviously was. Look at Owen and Gibson. They, too, were still babies, at least in relation to the way-taller-than-me versions of them now. 

A much more recent picture of when we took a tiny little hike in the North Carolina woods. I do believe a waterfall was involved. 

What I remember about this picture is that Vergil had taken us to this beautiful river to swim and Jessie was pregnant with Levon. She had a cold, I think, and was exhausted from being sick and from, you know- creating life- so she was taking a nap in the car. I was just sort of hanging out loving the cold water and this young-ish guy floated up on an inner tube. We started talking a little bit and then he said to me, "I am so fucking stoned." 
"We've all been there, honey," I said. I was very honored that he felt he could share that with me. I felt maybe like I had "Old Hippie" tattooed on my forehead, visible only to those so fucking stoned.

August and Levon trying to levitate with the energy of being so wired and tired they temporarily attempted to lose their grip on gravity. It sort of worked. 

Outside, doing outside stuff.

I am never not amazed at how those boys can navigate the slippery rocks as if they were walking across a kitchen floor. I am in constant fear I'm going to slip and fall and kill myself or at least cause severe damage to my own personal body or head. And Levon rock and root climbing? 
Good Lord.

So that's it. I really need to go cut up some vegetables to make a sauce with for our supper. 

I'll be checking in at some point. You know I can't pass up an opportunity to tell a good story and I am sure we will have a few to tell. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Oh God. Getting Into The Philosophical Here

August and Levon went up the mountain a little ways to Grandma Julia's house this morning to do arts and crafts and came home with things they'd written. I hope you can read them. August wrote a poem which you can see above. And Levon wrote this.

Yes. They are my grandchildren but I think these writings are fantastic! Levon's title alone is perfect. 

I talked to Jessie on the phone this morning. We hadn't really talked on the phone much since they left which is odd but we do text a lot. Relatively. We caught up on some stuff and made plans, both serious and silly about what we'd do when her dad and I get there. 
We both determined that the house I've rented is the same one we stayed in in 2022. The furniture and light fixtures appear to have been changed. We could be wrong, but the outside looks like it to me. You'd think I could remember something like that from four years ago but no, I don't. 

I have packed exactly one skirt. 
I had Glen get my suitcase out of the closet and I put the skirt and two dresses in it and then took the dresses out. I have two other ones I'm going to put in and those and the dress I'll be wearing up there are going to be all the dresses I pack, I do believe. Two pairs of cargo shorts. A few tank tops and tee shirts. Underwear. A nightgown. A bathing suit. Perhaps one pair of jeans and I probably won't need them but it does get cooler there at night than it does here. 
And I won't even need all of that. 
I'm glad we so recently went on our little trip to Tennessee because perhaps I have learned something from that about how very little I really need and how very much I do not need.

We shall see how well I learned these lessons tomorrow when get serious about it.

What I mostly did today was to finish shelling all the field peas I'd picked and then blanching and bagging them. They're in the freezer now. This is a labor of love because it's so labor intensive. Of course it's not hard work and shelling peas does not make my left hand go numb like snapping green beans does. Different movement of the wrist. And I watched a few more episodes of The Bear and am on Season 2 now. I am glad there are five seasons all together because I think this is a show I can easily stay involved with, continue being entertained by. Sure seems like it at this point. 
But here's my entire output of shelled peas which are now in the freezer.

Not too impressive, right? But the peas I'd picked and already shelled will not go to waste and hopefully, when we get back, there will still be more for me to process. And every pea will be consumed and enjoyed at some point this winter. 

Sometimes I feel like I'm being such a fool for spending so much time growing food and canning or freezing or pickling it. I mean- we can afford to buy groceries at the store and if you figured in labor costs, we are not saving any money at all. And even if the food we grow does taste better and is innocent of chemical fertilizers or insecticides, am I making the best use of the dwindling number of years I have left? I wonder this about pottery too. I am not helping one soul in this world by spending weeks on a project, whether fish or flower, and nothing I make is ever going to have any more value than that of nostalgia. 
If that. 
None of these things seem to matter much but if you think about the enormity of the universe and the fact that we are all just going to die at the end of our lives, it doesn't really matter much if something doesn't matter much. 
Do you know what I mean?
So many people have theories about what the purpose of our human existence is on this planet. Is it to preach some gospel so that people will be assured of an afterlife? 
Fuck no. That I am pretty sure of. 
Is it to have the cleanest, tidiest house in the community or the neatest and most well-trimmed yard on the block? 
Is to make the most money, to wear the most expensive jewelry, to have the most sculpted face and body? Is it to be famous, to be heroic, to live forever or whatever the next best thing is, in the history of humankind like Plato or Socrates or DaVinci or Michelangelo or Linus Pauling or Shakespeare or whoever it was that made the art on the walls of caves in France 20,000 years ago? Is it to die a horrible death in the name of a god or a country or a cause? Is it to find the cure for cancer or be the first man on the moon or the designer of a royal bride's wedding dress?
I have no idea. 
Biologically, our purpose is to make more of ourselves. To breed and create new human beings to continue the species but just as every oak tree does not create new oak trees, not all of us are meant for reproductive purposes for many and various reasons including not having any interest in doing that at all. 
Good Old Jesus supposedly said that the most important thing is to love our neighbors as ourselves. 
This is generally harder to do than it sounds but most of us are capable of loving those we love and at least trying to respect those we don't. In these days and times that is not always possible. 
You know what I'm talking about. 

And I have no answers. All I know is that I do love working in my garden and also in my yard. Actually, anywhere I can be on my knees in the dirt. I enjoy pottery a great deal. I loved my babies more than anything I have ever known and I loved the fact that my body, which I had never loved or respected at all, had allowed these humans to form and grow and be born from and then was able to nourish them, and then my grandbabies too, whose lives I have been so fortunate to be involved with. I love being in a relationship with my husband, even with all of the sturm und drang which has necessarily sometimes arisen in our 42 years together. I love cooking for those I love. I love my house. I love the ocean, the rivers, the creeks, the lakes. 
I love the trees. 
And I love the writing. So much more than you can probably imagine. 

And is loving these things a good enough purpose in life? 

Who knows? Not me. In this instance, I am clueless. All I know is that I think love has a lot to do with it. And love is not always easy nor is it simple. And as important as I think it is, I have no idea if it's the true meaning of the purpose of our lives. 
I don't think I ever will know. 
I do know that kindness is very important. I stand by that. And humor. Where in the world would we be without it? My advice is, never trust anyone who has no sense of humor. 

I've made a soup of the chicken I roasted last Friday (I think) and carrots and green beans and squash and tomatoes from our garden. 
Also, other vegetables. 
I will add orzo in just a few minutes and I'll grate a little parmesan over it before we eat. 

If there is anything I would like to be remembered for, it is that I could cook, and I could dance. But you know what? In fifty years I won't be remembered at all. 
And that is fine with me. 

Love...Ms. Moon

 

Some Days You Have To Cry

Well would you look here. The magic has begun. 
Actually, the magic of this plant began when I put the seeds in the ground. This is the Seminole pumpkin whose vines are so beautiful and so full of big, sturdy green life that I would plant them for their beauty alone. 
Mama does like a good vine. 
I even cut one of the vines back today because it was literally swallowing my peppers and eggplant which would not do. There is plenty of vine left. Trust me. 

You see it smothering the peppers? It's overtaken some of the white acre peas too but I'm just letting that happen. As far as I'm concerned, we have enough field peas. I fear we are leaving at the exact wrong time in regards to those peas. They need picking, shelling, blanching, bagging and freezing and it's a time-consuming situation. However, I believe they will be okay on their vines and even if they dry, that's fine. They won't be quite as sweet and tender if that happens but they'll still be plenty edible. Before we leave I have a few more I want to shell and then quite a few already shelled that I want to blanch, bag, and freeze. 
And of course I have not packed so much as one item. 
I swear on my mother's grave I am not going to take very much in the way of clothes. 
Oh wait. My mother's ashes are still in a bag or box as far as I know. My brother has them. Well, still. I swear. 
I'm going to hell. 

I've had an up and down day today. Mostly down until just a little while ago. Yesterday when Maggie told me that she was going into the fifth grade I didn't think much of it except that yes, she is going into the fifth grade and that will be her last year of elementary school before she goes into middle school. 
But somehow, between her announcement and my acknowledgement of it and this morning, it occurred to me that Maggie is still very much a child. Oh, sure, she's a forty-year old in a child's body but really only in her own mind. She likes to discuss make-up, for instance and she has already decided that she does not want children and she wants to live alone. I have a fairly strong feeling this is not how it's going to be but I'm not going to argue with her. The point is, although Maggie appears to be very sophisticated in some ways, she really is still a child. August is the same age and yes, he, too, is still a child. Maggie is a little girl, August is a little boy.
As far as we know at this point, anyway. In this family we do not assume things like this. But you know what I mean. 
And this led me to thinking about how when I was Maggie's age, I was a damn adult with what felt like the weight of the world on my back. In so many ways, I was. The summer between fourth and fifth grade for me was when my mother married the asshole abuser and that was when the abuse began. Immediately after the honeymoon. It was like now he had some sort of ownership over me and perhaps that is the way he thought. 

Oh y'all. There is so much more. So many, many ways I had to step into an adult's shoes, trying to caretake a mother who suffered deeply from depression, trying to protect my little brother from what was going on in that house. Trying to maintain the illusion that we were a happy, happy family, and mostly just trying to make my way through such bizarre insanity that even a nine-year old, almost ten-year old knew was simply not right. 

I've written about three different posts for this topic tonight and each one was too much. Too very, very much. So I deleted them. 

I've written about all these things before but today they arose again as I am sure they will for the rest of my life, and mostly, I am simply so very grateful that my grandchildren have not had to take on the role of a parent to a parent or lived in fear of a footstep in the hallway. 
And bless that darling, amazing, precious Magnolia June who can say with confidence that fifth grade is going to be great. 

Enough. 

Ms. Moon

A Private Dance Party Did Occur

We're having our regular afternoon/early evening thunderstorm and although this one isn't extremely thunderous, it has still cooled the air and the rain is nice. Gentle, rather than pounding. Mr. Moon has not yet returned from fishing but I think he will be home soon. They came in off the water earlier today than usual and I'm not sure why but it may have been because there was a young'un onboard. I really don't know how young but he's the grandson of Big Debby. 
Who is Big Debbie? you may ask. Well, here in the United States of America we have a company called Little Debbie that makes all sorts of delicious chemically enhanced and infused dessert products, most of them individually wrapped snack cakes. Oh. Excuse me. Snak Cakes. 

That's Little Debbie. 
I think this may be a Southern oriented treat situation. I am not sure. Here are a few of their classic snak cakes.

I believe I have only ever tried the Oatmeal Creme Pies and the Nutty Buddy's but they are both delicious. The oatmeal creme pies are the best in my opinion. Oh, that delicious chewy, sort of gooey oatmeal cookie surrounding that definitely not found in nature cream filling. Or, creme filling. Sorry. It is a taste treat like no other. 
So, Big Debbie is a Little Debbie distributor and he is big, from what I've heard, and he is very good at bringing Little Debbie products wherever he goes and so, he is known as Big Debbie. He fishes with the crew quite frequently and asks everyone what their favorite snak is and then he loads them up. 
They freeze nicely. 
Now I haven't had a Little Debbie in a very long time and I don't really miss them but in a moment of need, I would probably eat one. If it was an Oatmeal Creme, at least. 
So Big Debbie's son and Big Debbie's grandson were on the boat today. Big Debbie, Little Debbie, and Littlest Debbie. 
I am awaiting the report. 

Speaking of food that's probably not the best for you, I met Lily, Lauren, Owen, Gibson, and Magnolia at Chow Time today where we had a lovely meal. I find it so amusing that Maggie's favorite foods there are sushi and chicken on a stick and miso soup. Give that girl a spoonful of tofu wrapped in seaweed in the miso broth and she is a happy child. 
How did that happen? Also, how did THIS happen?

And why are Owen's eyes always semi-closed? That's just the way he is. He is getting so big. When I gave him a hug, I could barely reach up high enough to get my arms around anything but his middle. Forget putting my head on his shoulder. I would need a step-stool. Gibson is getting there, Maggie too. She informed me today that she is going into the fifth grade this year. I told her that I was aware of this and that I am very proud of her. She's looking forward to school starting because school is at least not boring except when it is boring and then it's boring. She told me a long story about taking a stuffie to her best friend because the best friend was going through some unhappiness which I can't remember at the time as to the specifics, and Owen had to be bribed to drive her there. I think he was promised an order of chicken wings. This reminded me of Hank's story about when I would force him to go to Publix for me when he was young. 
Some things never change. 
Somehow we got on the topic of how much I embarrassed Lily when she was young just by my very presence on earth. She agreed that yes, that was the way it had been. 
I remember that well. So very, very well. And now, she does the same to Owen although Owen denies it. We then got into talking about mothers who may perhaps walk around with very little clothing on and how embarrassing THAT can be if it happens inadvertently when a child's friend is over and I looked at Owen and said, "See. It could be worse."
"You're right," he said. 
And by the way. That was NOT me. I don't think. 
We also discussed other kids who have two mothers although Lauren says that she does NOT claim to be a mother. Still, somehow, I think the kids sort of see her that way. As a parental presence, anyway. And she certainly does a lot of parental type things like picking them up or taking them places or just generally being there for them. Always. Lily told me that there were two other kids on Maggie's softball team who had two mothers. 
"Who?" Maggie asked. Lily told her their names but Maggie couldn't remember one of them. Lily described her as best she could and then said, "And she has two mothers!" 
It appears that the children of two mothers are often enrolled in softball. We are not surprised. 
After lunch, Maggie and Lily and I all went to Oak Tree treasures where Lily got a few things and I got two vintagey-looking pillowcases. I don't think they actually ARE vintage but I like them anyway. 

Pillowcases don't take up much room, do they? 

Now let us get to the meat of today's discussion and answer the burning question I am sure you all have which is, Ms. Moon! Did you make another martini and dance in the hallway?
You betcha. That was the most dancing I've done in many, many years. And it was glorious. I danced my little heart out to the entire new album and guess what? 
It is good. 
It is not good like, "Well, that's pretty good for some old dudes in their eighties."
No. It was just good. Damn good. And very, very danceable. The songs were amazing, Mick sounds like a boy-man. I'm not sure he's ever sounded better. Ronnie Wood's guitar playing is sharp and clear and clean. And Keith is right there with him, doing what he calls the ancient art of guitar weaving. 
He always gets at least one song per album which is his. He probably almost entirely wrote it and he sings it. Keith's voice is not what we would traditionally call a great one. It is rough and gravely and is his and his alone. But it is as real as granite, as true to himself as his face. The song he does on this album is called "Some of Us". It's a slow and humble plea to a lover. Or at least that's what it sounds like to me. 

"Yeah, 'cause all we need's a little loving
Yeah, just a hug or just a squeeze
You know that we can't get everything

But some of us are on our knees
Some of us are on our knees

Begging for it

Some of us are on our knees."

The last song on the album is "Beautiful Delilah" which was written by Chuck Berry and it is pure blues and rock. The Stones played it at their first American gig in 1964 and here it is again, so simply arranged, acoustic guitar and slide guitar. Mick's voice is simple too, doing what he started out doing with Keith, paying homage to Black American blues musicians. The blues is what brought them together, and is obviously still the glue that binds them.

Many of the songs on the album are quite political. Elon Musk is named and shamed. 
I want to listen to it many more times. 
I will say that although Steve Jordan, the drummer who took the stand behind the band after Charlie Watts died, is a a terrific drummer but no one, NO ONE can or ever will replace Charlie. I miss him. 

I don't want to say this and it hurts my soul to say it but if this is the last album the Stones ever put out (please god, no) it will serve well enough as proof of the talent and heart and soul and love of music that has made them an over-sixty-year old band who still has something to say and who know how to say it in their own imitable way. 
And who will still make you dance. Or, me, anyway.

I suppose I better go rustle up some supper. Roast chicken dinner leftovers tonight. That'll do. 

Love...Ms. Moon

An Abundance Of Riches, Or...You Can't Always Get What You Want But If You Try Sometimes You Just Might Find, You Get What You Need

I am so damn stupid. Really. For some reason I just thought that the day an album was released, it would be available in stores. Of course, Tallahassee has no "record" stores that I know of but places like Walmart and Target do carry a small selection of vinyl but come on! Did I really think that there was the slightest possibility I'd find "Foreign Tongues" there today? 
 Well, I figured that Target might have it. Maybe? 
But I went to Walmart first because I was right there, having had lunch with my husband who was in between getting home from the lake and packing up and leaving to go fishing tomorrow. 

I hate Walmart. 

I hate it with the heat of the burnings surface of seventeen suns. 
Okay. Not really. I just feel so uncomfortable there. Like...Help! Get me out of here! Oh wait. Maybe I need a pink hand mixer. You think? 
No! No! You do not! Head towards the exit now! 
And the lighting is horrendous and the shelves are messy and crowded and there's too much. Just way too much.
For some reason, Target is so much better. So I went there. They didn't have the album either but I did pick up one more pair of men's cargo shorts, two tank-top tee shirts, a bar of Dr. Bronner's citrus scented soap, and so forth. 

I am ready for our trip!
Which begins next Wednesday. 
More on that later.
And somehow, instead of becoming agitated and anxious as I do at Walmart, I am slightly soothed at Target. Not quite sure why but the employees at Target look a lot less angry than the ones at Walmart. And that means a lot to me. 

I've written enough about that part of my day and shall now move on to these.

Google tells me they are fairy ink cap mushrooms. They're so tiny and so cute and so abundant around the tree stumps where I feed the crows their meal worms. 
Another sort of mushroom is growing around a different stump.

These may or may not be honey mushrooms. Any thoughts out there? Any mycologists?
I am a Googologist which theoretically means I know everything that AI knows. And that's a lot! 

I was thinking that I might give a small review of two books I've read recently. One with my eyes, which is "Marrying the Ketchups" by Jennifer Close and the other, via audiobook, "The Calamity Club" by Kathryn Stockett who also wrote the wildly successful "The Help."
Very different books but I enjoyed them both. Okay, I haven't quite finished "The Calamity Club" by Kathryn Stockett but it's almost thirty hours of listening. I have to be honest and tell you that although I thought "The Help" was probably an important book in some ways, in others it was very much a book written via a white woman's perspective which I am sure could have been better written by a Black woman but you know what? The white woman's perspective of what was happening in the south (and still does- trust me) in the early sixties has a place in the literary world. I certainly have my own memories of that time.
I'm going to give Stockett credit for writing a damn good story in "The Calamity Club." There are parts that are a tiny bit (okay, very) hard to believe but the author really does take on topics that are difficult to discuss, even now. In this book, she puts a face and a voice to sex workers in the Great Depression. And other things. Class, the role of women in society, not to mention how children who, through no fault of their own or even their mothers, end up in institutional care. Hypocrisy is in there along with race, prohibition, alcoholism, vice laws, child sexual abuse, poverty, wealth, the patriarchy ...well, as you can imagine, a 650 page book can cover a lot of ground. 
One complaint I have about it which is definitely not really a major complaint but which bugs me nonetheless is that the main character's name is Birdie and why does every novel set in the south written have a female character named "Birdie"? 
I have never met a Birdie in my life. It's a fine name but let's move on, shall we?
Also, the narrators of the book are very fine. 

As to "Marrying the Ketchups," well, that is a completely different sort of a story. It's about a family restaurant and the characters are terrific. Ms. Close has either spent some real time working in food service or has done a hell of a lot of research although it, too, has a few places where the circumstances may be a little hard to believe. But not many. And in fact, it inspired me to revisit the Hulu series "The Bear" which I tried watching quite awhile back and decided was not for me. It, too, is about a family restaurant and its characters are both well-written and well-acted. In fact, it's the characters who are drawing me back as happens in any series. If you don't care about the characters, it's hard to love the story. 
That's what I think. 

So. Mary. What are you going to do about procuring a vinyl copy of "Foreign Tongues?" 
I had thought I could come home from shopping today, order it from Amazon and probably have it tomorrow. 
But no.
Expected delivery would take place on July 19th and we will still be in NC and I hate having to ask Mark to look out for packages because sometimes they are left in front of the fence and so far, no one has stolen even a one but it's still a responsibility I do not want to lay on his head. 
So. I shall wait until we get back to order it. 
Meanwhile, I have bought the album on iTunes which means it's on my phone and here in a minute I will put my ear buds in and play it. That will have to do for now. 
Should I make another martini and dance in the hallway? 
This could happen. 
A blog reader named Mary sent me a link to The Guardian's review of the album which was quite positive, four stars out of five, and in it they linked the video for one of the songs, "In The Stars". 
I started watching that video a few days ago and it was so obviously AI created that it turned me off and I didn't watch the whole thing but this morning I did and I'm so glad. 
Yeah. AI is involved but the music is all Mick, Keith, and Ronnie. It has ear wormed itself into my head and I think it may be one of the best songs they've ever written. Here's one of the verses:

Well, there's a poisonous cloud, there's a sickness in the land
All the judges in their robes got their rubber stamps
Well, do you wanna dance 'til the roof caves in?
Yeah, and the guitars scream and the choir still sings

Oh. My heart. And there is such dancing in it. And I swear to you- Mick Jagger's voice has never sounded better. So, I'm going to embed it here and if you want to watch it, you can, and if you're eschewing all the AI you can, I understand. I do. I really do.

Here I go. I may, as I said, dance. 

We shall see.

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Thursday Blog Attempt, Part II

Well, Gee Dee. 
I was just writing my little old heart out here with pictures and a video and everything, talking about a book and a series on Hulu and the amorality of Donny Dementia Boy and of course field peas, 

when I accidentally deleted every damn bit of it and I can't find any way to recover it. 

Oh well. 
Here's the video which is now floating somewhere around in the ether. 

That was a rainstorm we had here this afternoon with thunder included. It is quite short. The fact that I managed to get the thunder in there is fairly amazing. 

What else? I am obviously not going to talk about DT.

How about this?

Know what it is?
I'll tell you. It's a mosquito, perched on the top of my MacBook, studying me closely to see which part of my body or face she wants to land on, inject itchy stuff into, and suck my blood out of. 
This happens at least three times a day, a mosquito using my laptop for an observational tower. 

And here's a another picture. 

Carrots from the garden. I cut them up to use as a platform for the chicken I am roasting. 

Like that. 

Volunteer zinnia in the kitchen garden. 

Hank reports all is good down in Eastpoint. Here are two pictures from last night.

Hank's most requested birthday meal is shrimp salad and here we have it in a buffet form. All the ingredients and you get to pick the ones you want. 
I feel certain that Taylor had a lot to do with that. She is a real, true chef, y'all. 

And here's Hank, ready to enjoy. I am so glad to see that the goop has been made and looks just right. 

Tomorrow the Rolling Stones are releasing their thirty-third studio album and I have been loving the pre-release interviews. One can't help but think that this really could be the last one and yet, they all seem as excited about this one as if it were their first. They came together in a studio, they played songs together that Mick and Keith wrote, and they are happy. 

I have to go to town tomorrow. I may just have to see if I can find it. I want the vinyl, of course. 
For an interview Keith did on The Today Show go here. 
I wish I could embed it but I can't figure it out. 
Oh, what beautiful faces those old boys have, every crevice a testimony to the power of their love of the music they make. 
I think Keith may still be wearing eye-liner. 
Be still my old heart.

Love...Ms. Moon

P.S. I just clicked the link to the rain video and it sucks. It did not look like that on my phone. I wish I could fix it but I can't. The audio is the best part anyway. 

Quiet

 

On Sunday evening when we were having our martinis I asked if we could go out to the front porch for a little while and everyone agreed that we could. We so rarely use that front porch and I can distinctly remember vowing and declaring when we moved in here that we would never, ever, quit sitting on that porch. 
And now, well. These things happen. 
But I had a yen for us to sit out there and enjoy the golden hour and we did until the mosquitoes arrived in great numbers to suck our blood and make us itch. 
But while we were out there, I went to do a quick check of some of my porch plants and I found this.

A perfect little house wren nest and although you can't really see, it has four eggs in it. I had no idea if the eggs were still viable or not, or if the mama and daddy were still tending to them so yesterday I went out to check on that situation and sure enough- as soon as I leaned over to peer into the nest, a parent bird flew out of the nest at great speed. 
Aha! 
Yes. And maybe we shall get babies and maybe they will live. I hope so. 

Today was pottery. Up early, drink coffee, read blogs, etc. I made it to class just a few minutes late and it really does not matter in the least when I show up. We are a very relaxed group. Pottery Lizzie was there, back from her sort-of-a-family reunion wherein Gentleman Caller got to meet everyone and I feel quite certain that must have been a stressful situation but I hear everyone liked him very much and that the two-year old granddaughter decided he was her favorite and today while we were in class, she actually called Lizzie and asked for him. 
And what could be a more honest and heartfelt approval than that? 

My leaf platter had not been fired and I had not even put my fish bowl on the shelf because it needed more drying on the mold so of course it wasn't ready to begin the glazing process. 

I unwrapped the little fishy I've been meaning to get to for months now and began to glaze paint on that. I had envisioned it as part of a silly little project, sort of evoking a fifties wall decoration feeling, making more fishes and perhaps bubbles that could all be hung on a wall. 
I estimated I could probably get this not-quite-but-almost-tiny fish done in an hour, tops, but after two hours and some minutes, I still wasn't done with it. 

Oh my god, it's so fucking ridiculous. 
Well, it is what it is. 
I'm thinking I need to go back to hibiscus. 

And while I'm thinking about it, I did take a picture today of the barracuda fish that I spoke of last week but I'm not going to post it because I don't have the artist's permission. It is powerful, though. And not in a friendly way at all. Her husband is going through some very serious health issues and I am wondering if the barracuda is representational of that in some way. 
Or maybe not. 

I took myself to lunch after class and then made a quick Publix run-through, and THEN I went to the library. When I went into the library, it looked seriously like it might rain and when I came out, no more than twenty minutes later, if that, it looked like there'd been a major rainfall. Parking lot holding puddles, steam rising from the pavement, etc.
This is Florida in the summer. 

Mr. Moon's at the cabin and he sent me this picture.

Peace. He is in sore need of that.

Love from Lloyd...Ms. Moon