True And Eternal Love

I think perhaps I woke up this morning with an emotion hangover. I don't know. It was like my heart had been too overcome in the last few days, few weeks, and it couldn't hold any more. Add to that, my dreams have been very full of the upcoming trip to St. George Island with my girls. 
My girls. The women with whom I struggled through nursing school, studying, surviving our clinicals, especially the ones we took one summer semester to the Chattahoochee State Hospital which is where we did our psych rotation on locked wards with people who ranged from probably suffering nothing more than having been in an institution their entire lives to at least one woman who had, according to her, uh, killed another patient in a different state hospital. She told us this while we were in a sort of isolated kitchen area making chocolate chip cookies with our patients. 
That was an experience I'll never forget. 
That one and many, many more.
We bonded over all of it and we bonded over going out on Friday nights and dancing to rock and roll bands where we all had our favorite musicians and we let off steam and we sometimes fell in love and we all knew every detail of everyone's love affairs and love encounters and, well, all that stuff, and we got dressed together before we went out and Vicky, our Accessory Expert, would advise us as to belts. "Create a waist," we used to tell each other. 
We got through it all. By the time we graduated, I'd remarried and was expecting my third child- Lily Rose Moon. And by the way, I just found a picture of the day she was born. 

Glen did not have a gray hair that day. 
It was not long after, though, that he began to grow many gray hairs. And yes, I had a perm (it was the 80's) and Hank and May were nine and seven and I was deliriously happy and I think my husband of one year and one month was too. 

But the picture I was looking for is this one. 

1985. 
And yes, they made maternity nursing uniforms. 
The woman on the right there was part of our holy/unholy support coven but she has fallen away from us. Long story. Not the time to tell it. 
But Vicky, the woman next to me, and Terry, the woman next to her, and I, plus another woman who has been Vicky's ride or die forever, are the four who get together on St. George to celebrate ourselves, our seemingly (by now) eternal friendship, our bond formed by such hard work, many tears, so many laughs, and a whole lotta love. 
And every time we meet it's always the same. 
We click right back to where we were. I'm the old one, Terry's the baby, Vicky's a year older than Terry is. I think.
And it's the most wonderful thing in the world while at the same time, it is terrifying for me. 
Here's the question I always ask myself- will they still love me? I am the cynic, the cranky one, the anxious one, the most outspoken one on a whole lot of subjects.
But honestly, that's not the most terrifying thing. 
That would be that one of us has had a diagnosis of cancer for several years now. A serious cancer. And you know it's not me. It's one of my other darling girls and I am terrified that each time we meet, it will be the last time although I have seen no real changes in her, energy or health-wise. She has always been the strongest among us in many ways, and if there has ever been a survivor, it is she. She is an eternally powerful force on this planet for good and for love. And she has much to live for. All of it love.
So there's a whole lot of emotion going into this weekend. Powerful, powerful emotions. I know that we will no doubt cry and we will no doubt roar with laughter and we will no doubt tell each other secrets we don't trust with anyone else. But somehow, just thinking about all of it in the days before we meet up, I become overwhelmed.

It's okay. This is the way I am. 

But I woke up this morning with one of those dreams barely faded and add that to everything that's been going on and it's been one of those days. I do not want to be this way right now. Mr. Moon does not need one more thing to add to his list of shitty stuff he can't control or fix. It's okay, though. I told him a few hours ago that as we know, this will pass. He agreed that I'd taught him that and I think he knows he's not responsible for my damn moods. 

So I just did little things today. I used my new basket to try and organize my yarns and needlework tools. It's a beautiful basket. 

The one on the left. 
There was sorting and untangling involved along with weeding out bits and bobs of yarn I knew were never going to be made into anything and weren't worthy of the space they took up. Let's face it- most of what I have won't be made into anything. I am a lousy needleworker. But I am a fool for beautiful yarns and when I find a stash at a thrift store, I have to bring it home. 
So I managed to cut down on the number of other baskets and bags although I now have two nice, empty baskets I don't need for any purpose I can think of. The bags will join the shopping bags in the trunk of my car. 
And that was something. There is great satisfaction in tidying. 

Here's another thing I did. 

Don't know if you remember but quite possibly at least a year ago, I bought those two lamps in Monticello, ostensibly for the cabin. I finally decided that they were not serving any purpose, stashed away as they have been and who knows when they might make their way to Lake Seminole, so I put them on the old vanity in the hallway where I keep the treasures. 
Not sure I'm really happy about them but it's a change. 

We've gotten a lot of rain today which is a beautiful thing. It has come and it has gone and then it has come again. The temperature has dropped a little. 
Gratefulness is in abundance. 
Oh god. That sounds so new age or something. 
I'll just say I'm happier than hell about it. We're supposed to get more tomorrow. 
Perhaps I'll do a little bit of knitting. Or crocheting. 
We shall see. 

Love...Ms. Moon

So Much In My Heart Today

I do believe the gumbo I made yesterday was the best I've ever made. It was so damn good that when I was tasting it before it was quite ready to eat, I thought it to be so delicious that I almost forgot to put the shrimp in which you only do at the last minute because shrimp just need a tiny bit of heat to cook. Otherwise, they become dry and stringy. As you can see, these shrimp look plump and luscious.
They were. 
I am so glad that I made it last night and can share it with Mr. Moon tonight. I can definitely cook under the influence of a martini or two but it's a lovely treat to not have to worry about it. 
And the bread turned out to be not so bad at all. A little dense, but not brick-like. 
Glen is home and I am so glad. I can tell this is all wearing on him in a way I've never seen anything wear on him before. He just realized today that his hunting trip to Canada is coming up soon- the 14th of this month, so only twelve days away. Honestly, I've never been so glad to think about him leaving the country to go do whatever it is that those men do with guns and dogs while wearing camo. I want him to just be in a place where he has no responsibilities to fulfill. Where he can eat manly foods and make manly conversation, and, well... do manly things with other manly men who, I do believe, are all good guys. And since one of them is an ER doc, I feel just that tiny bit better. 

I've had a fine day. I actually went to town for the tiniest bit of shopping. I didn't even get in touch with any of the kids because I left here after lunch time and wanted to slide in and slide out, incognito. 
Well, not really. But you know what I mean. 
The only sort of "fun" shopping I did was to stop by Oak Tree treasures where I bought a silk shirt and a cool basket and two nice napkins made of linen with one corner per each made of tatting. I plan on using the basket to try and organize some of my knitting and crocheting materials which at this point, are spread among several bags and small baskets with absolutely no sense of order. 
That was my rationalization for buying it, anyway. And the price did not break the bank. 

I had an unexpected exchange today via FB messenger with the daughter of one of my brothers. She is my only niece. I know I don't talk about my brothers much and the reason for that is because we are either estranged or mostly estranged from each other. I have talked about this before. I wish I could give you reasons for these estrangements and I do have a few thoughts on why one brother and I rarely talk, but as for the other two, I am honestly not sure what happened but it happened after Mother died and it involved the will and money, of course, as these things always do. 
I believe the financial stuff becomes the fetid boil which began to grow and fester many, many years before when you are raised in a family as dysfunctional as ours was. 
But I had not been in touch with this beautiful girl for many years and she's all grown up now and living in another state far away and I sent her a friend request on Facebook which she did answer with an acceptance. 
That was a while ago but today, we actually began to communicate. She reached out to me and was very tentative at first which I quickly realized was due to the whole will/money thing and as I told her, I honestly wasn't sure what the entire problem had been and that we should have dealt with it right away but that somehow, Glen and I had deeply hurt both of my younger brothers, the boys I consider to have been my first babies. And I told her that whatever we had done, I know it had hurt my brothers terribly and for that I was so very sorry. 
And by god, I am. 
To think that we have been so out of touch for so long because of something I'm not even sure about but which I do not doubt caused great pain to my brothers. 
But within a few message paragraphs, my niece and I seem to have come to an understanding, at least and my soul was so much more at rest. I told her that I had just thought about her yesterday, as a matter of fact, and how, when she was a little girl, she had sat at my kitchen island and looked around at all the colorful and funky and whimsical stuff I had hanging on the walls and on shelves and she sighed and said, "When I grow up, I want to have a house just like this."
I told my niece today that nothing either before or since has charmed me quite so much. 
And then she told me that she'd read my blog post about that more than once and she still wants a house just like this one.
Oh my heart! 
Oh my darling girl!  
I think of the wasted time, thirteen years between my mother's death and now. Thirteen years of my niece and her brother, my nephew, growing up. Thirteen years of not being in close contact with her father, her mother, and the brother who is a year younger than her dad who has been completely incommunicado since that time. 

This is some fucked-up shit. 
(Niece- if you are reading this you obviously know by now that I curse frequently. I am your profane and blasphemous aunt.)

Here's a picture of my niece and my nephew when they came to spend the night here. 

This has given me the motivation I need to call my brother, her daddy, to make a date to at least have lunch. 

How incredibly twisted and ridiculously foolish and truly and horribly hurt and hurtful we humans can be. Bless our tender beating hearts. 

Dear Niece- thank you. 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Aunt Mary, Ms. Moon

Just...What?

It has been a crazy day. Not right here in Lloyd. Things here have been pretty normal but the news coming in has been somewhat overwhelming. 
First off, A. is being transported back to Tallahassee because Shands has done everything they can do and there's nothing that can't be handled right here at home in the hospital where he originally was. First though, they have to wait until he's recovered from a surgery they did today to deal with an infection...
Y'all. You don't need to know all of this. Just trust me- nothing about this entire situation is normal. There are only about 8-11 cases of this particular virus reported in the US a year. 
So that's what's happening there. 

In other who-in-the-fucking-world-would-believe-this-news, my ex-husband (the father of Hank and May) and his wife were in a pileup on a bridge in South Carolina this morning that involved around fifty cars. This was such an usual event that it's been reported in the New York Times. The ex and his wife were in their Subaru and although they were hit by a log truck, they were unharmed as was their cat, Evie. But the car was totaled and they had to walk off the bridge, get a ride to the nearest town with a kind local, and are now in a motel, waiting to be able to get access to their car in order to collect their stuff, put it in a rental car, and get home. They were on their way back from Vermont where they spend their summers. 
One of those unluckiest/luckiest days of your life situations. 

I've been responding to the in-coming about all of this today and I managed to get a little more weeding in the bed beside the kitchen done. I made a gumbo which I'll have a bowl of tonight and then tomorrow Glen and I will have the leftovers which will be even better then. I made a loaf of my high protein and fiber bread and alas, is is not looking that spectacular. 
La-di-dah. It will be fine to go with the gumbo. 
We've gotten a little rain which is so comforting. 

I think the coolest and happiest thing that happened today is that August got his ears pierced. He's been wanting to do this for a long time and finally got his parents to agree to him getting it done for his eleventh birthday. 

Can you see it? He has an identical one in his other ear. Levon is so jealous. That boy loves jewelry. His time will come. 

But as Hank said about August on our group text, now August is a pirate. And that's pretty synchronistic with the song that's been playing in my head today. I came across a video of the band The Killers doing a cover of Jimmy Buffet's "A Pirate Looks At Forty" and I was so taken by it that I watched the whole thing. 
Here it is if you're interested. If you're not, that is completely okay.

A week from today I'll be on St. George Island with my nursing school forever and ever ladies. I'm having a hard time actually believing that. But it's true. 
Good Lord willin' and the creek don't rise. 

Love...Ms. Moon

A Day Of Light And Depth

As commenter Frances pointed out to me, I linked the wrong thing in my post last night. I did not post the link to the birth of August post but to a post of a Facebook reel with part of an interview that Trevor Noah did with Dulce Sloan, a comedian and actress. I had copied the link and mistakenly substituted it for the one I meant to post. That issue has been corrected.
However, I would like to post that link purposefully this evening. It starts out with Noah asking Dulce Sloan the question about whether she'd rather be in a forest alone with a man or a bear. And her answer is so well-thought out and the truth of it struck me so hard that I can't stop thinking about it. Right now, as the whole Cornell fraternity rape scandal is in the headlines, it seems even more pertinent. 
Listen- I can't even begin to wrap my head around what happened. I can't begin to parse the pieces of all of it together enough to make any sense of it. At all. 
How could this possibly have happened? Fifty-seven young men knew what was going on upstairs in a fraternity house and not a damn one of them did anything to stop it. 
And how in hell can this be? 
I think Dulce Sloan has some insight on this and it is not what most men want to hear, much less believe. 
But she is right. 

So. There's that. 
It's been on my mind a lot. 
A whole lot. 

**************

Here's my pathetic crow. And no, it doesn't really look like a crow but by god you can tell it's a bird. So...whatever. 

I am not greatly disappointed because I have never tried to make any sort of sculptural image with clay in my life. Hell, I gave up when I was still dealing with Play Doh because the only animal I could make was a snake. 

Now. The logistics of the engineering are probably all wonky. The bird may just fly right off the magnolia leaves at some point in the firing process. If it doesn't shatter, there is always super glue. And at least I have the leaves balanced on their little ball supports enough to keep it level. 
I think. 
This took me the entire two and a half hours and if I'd had more time, I would have spent it. It took me at least the first hour to figure out what components really make up a bird and what they look like. I am not a visual person, as I have said. 

But that's that. 

Jessie stayed home with August as she had said she probably would but Lily texted to see if I wanted to meet her and Lauren for lunch and well, of course I did. We went to Midtown Pies, the pizza place where May works running the place, and because Lizzy and Gentleman Caller™ go there for pizza almost every Wednesday, we got to eat with them too. 
I had a really good time. GC™is a most interesting person. He's not JUST a sartorial delight. 
Here are two pictures of my girls and of me. 

I love how the "Order Here" sign is directly over May. We did not plan that. 

After lunch, I went by Jessie's house to drop off some of the excellent (in my opinion) muffins I made last night and to see August. Vergil was there, but working, and Jessie was at an appointment so I had August all to myself. We talked for a good hour, I think. He's feeling better but I can tell he's not anywhere near a 100%. 

Here he is with the completed Pokemon something-something that he built from a kit that Aunt Lily and Aunt Lauren gave him for his birthday. 
In the background, you can see Sophie, draped over the back of the couch. "Do you suppose she's comfortable like that?" I asked August. 
"I guess so," he said. 
We talked about the series of books he's reading and somehow we got into what a good man his grandfather is. I said to August, "Aren't you glad I married him?"

And August said, "Yeah. If you hadn't, I wouldn't be here."
And boy, did that take us to some interesting places. Like- if he hadn't been born to his mother and his father would he just never have existed? 
We discussed genetic stuff like DNA and we also talked about how even identical twins were not exactly the same and how environment, both pre- and post-natal influenced these things. He wondered if humans somehow survived on this planet for some huge number of years would there ever be a baby born with the exact replica of another baby's genetic make-up who'd already been born? His in particular? 

Holy shit, man! 
And all I could do was to answer that I really did not know. I didn't think so but I honestly had no idea. 
But these are the deep things. These are the questions philosophers have been asking forever. And here this boy is, just-turned-eleven, turning over this stuff in his head. 
Phew. 
I am not worthy. 
But I surely do love talking to him about things that are so honestly deep and thought-out. 

And then Jessie came home and off he went to reclaim the TV watching time he'd been promised when Jessie left but which I'd interrupted. 
God, I love that kid. 

Mr. Moon is back in Gainesville. I don't even know what to say about that except that a diagnosis has been made and it's not good. As if there was any question about that. 
It's been about twenty-two or twenty-three days since A.'s been hospitalized, basically unresponsive. The diagnosis he's received is one for which there is no treatment. The fact that he's still with us is pretty amazing. It's so rare they are asking if they could include A. in a study of the disease.
His wife has been by his side for all these days, her only breaks occuring when Glen has come to take her place at A.'s bedside. 

I am just truly starting to realize the effect this is having on my husband on so many levels. 
It is a lot. 
He admits that it's very, very hard and that he's still struggling at the suddenness and seriousness of the onset of the illness. And I know that he is thinking about the things he feels he needs to do around here, the things he wants to do that bring him pleasure, and how it is affecting our time together. How could it not? 
And yet there he is. And what can I do but love him and do the best I can to take care of him? Hell, I don't even begrudge it when he takes his trips to hunt and fish and hang out with his guys. How could I possibly resent the time he is spending making sure that A. is not alone, and that his wife has some small bit of time to breathe the air outside of the Shand's ICU?

We go on the best we can. 

Love...Ms. Moon 

A Boy Turns Eleven

Eleven years ago this is what was going on at the Weatherford's house. A tiny new person and two new parents were settled in to take the best nap of their lives. If there is any one thing that stands out to me as being the absolute best thing about home birth, it's that sacred moment when the impossibly hard work of bringing a baby into the world is done, everything is cleaned up, tidy, and set to rights, the baby has been deemed perfect and the mother fine, the baby has nursed and the parents have eaten and they are left to be alone together, their first real moments as a new family, and blessed peace is upon them. 
In the hospital, there is so much going on after a delivery that it's almost impossible to truly rest and of course the beds are not set up for two adults and one baby and there are tests and things that must be done and blood pressures taken and uteruses checked to make sure they are behaving as uteruses should behave after a birth and questions are being asked and stuff is going on all over the unit and the smells are not your smells and the air is not your air and the germs are not your germs and the bed, as noted, is not your bed, and it is simply not the same. At all. 
Not every delivery goes as well and as smoothly as we would want and that's just the truth but so many do and being able to be at home afterwards is an experience that I, for one, will never forget. 
Even after Hank was born in the hospital, I left against medical advice and was able to go home and be in my own bed with my baby for the very first night. Also, we were able to have a few visitors, a family of choice, and I'll never forget two little girls whom I adored, oohing and ahhing over baby Hank, chucking his chin and, I swear to you- making him laugh. 
Can a brand new newborn laugh? 
Yes. He can. 
But Hank has always been unlike any other in so many ways. 
Just as every new baby born is absolutely his or her own self from the moment of birth and quite possibly for some time before that. 

And my daughters have been able to experience that utter sweetness and peace after the births of their own babies. 
We are so lucky. And thank all the midwives who help women be able to experience that as well. 

For the full story of August's birth, you can go HERE I have to tell you though, that if you don't wish to get into the details of what a birth can and does involve, just don't. I mean, it's not that graphic but it's real. 

Birth stories are my favorite stories but I realize that they aren't for everyone. 

Here are a few pictures of August before he became a grown boy of eleven years old. 

Could a man be any happier? 

The beginning of a beautiful relationship. 

August the Explorer with the golden hair. 
 

Back when he called himself Little Boppy.

Cherub cousins. 

When a child is born, although their personalities may be as embedded into them already as the color of their eyes, it takes awhile for us to come to recognize and understand it. I have enjoyed watching August's unfold so very much. He's serious and he's sassy and Jessie's had to gently inform him that not all other children are as interested as he is in doing math problems. He reads all the time, he's funny and although he is shy in showing affection, I often feel that he's one of the most loving children I know. He just shows it in very subtle but very real ways. 
I can't begin to tell you how much I love him. As with all of my children and grandchildren I am in wonder at how I could have had anything to do with the genetic make-up that created who they are. Am I really in there somewhere with who August Glinden Weatherford is? 
I must be. And yet I am constantly amazed. 

Today's been an at-home day. I weeded some in the garden and some in the bed beside the back porch steps. I really don't have any idea what I'm going to plant there but I am so tired of looking at the bedraggled border grass that's taken over along with a few crocosmia. It's not easy work, pulling that stuff up but doing it a little bit at a time gives me the positive reinforcement I need to keep at it. 
Glen's on his way home from the log cabin on Lake Seminole. He spent the day mowing there. I know he feels so frustrated that his work there has all but stopped while all these other things have risen up to demand his energy and attentions. 

All right. I've just spoken to the birthday boy and he's not having the greatest day in that he threw up a little while ago. 
Sigh. 
But he sounds pretty cheerful about it all. He won't be going to school tomorrow which means Jessie won't be going to pottery. 
Sigh again. 
We will persevere. 

Oh. Did I tell you that August is saving up to buy a house? 
Well. He is. The boy is good at saving money, too. 
He is who he is and that is pretty great.

Love...Ms. Moon

Flora AND Fauna

Glen spent all day mowing the yard which he claims is not that hard a job although I don't want to do it. He does have a nice riding lawn mower but it's still hot as hell, it's nasty work, and he has to pick up sticks and stuff as he goes. He uses a grabber for the things he can but he can't use it for everything. 

But oh, it looks so pretty now. That's a view of the backyard from under the wisteria arbor and speaking of which, I was cutting back a few out-of-control vines on it today and saw something I'd never seen before which was that one of the vines had made its way through the freaking screen on the window beside it. 

Can you believe that? 

Here's the window where that's occurring. 

The flora in this yard is simply not civilized in the least. It is feral. Every damn bit of it. 

And yet, there is so much about it that I do love. 

I put on my overalls and my old Southern lady wide-brimmed hat today with my sweat rag in one pocket, my pruners in another, my phone in a plastic bag in yet another, and finally, my gloves which were shoved in their own pocket, and headed out to the garden. And oh! I had two packets of seeds in the bib pocket. Dang I love overalls. 
I was so happy. It wasn't exactly really cool, especially in the sun, but it wasn't evil hot, either. I cut back more of the Seminole pumpkin vines which are looking a little punky anyway to make room for my kale and my turnips. I have five (count 'em!) pumpkins that I do believe are going to make it to maturity. 

That's two of them. I have had so much fun watching these things grow this year. 

I made my rows and planted two of kale and two of turnips, none of them very long but I did something different in that each of the two sets are in different areas of the garden so that as the position of the sun over the garden changes, both sets will be getting full sun for at least a portion of the day.
 

This is the more northern part of the garden and on the left you can see the okra which I have to say really is not doing much, and that patch back there of green which is arugula and as we all know by now, argula wants to live as much as the wisteria vines. 
The two left rows are different lettuces and the the two right ones are turnips and kale. Turnips to the left, kale to the right. 
I think. 

This is the more eastern side of the garden with rows running north to south. The two rows on the right are my mustard greens and the two to the left are again, turnips and kale. 
As you can see, the marigolds are still happily blooming and so of course I'm not pulling those up yet. 

The Tabasco pepper is still strutting its stuff for sure. She ain't going nowhere. Too pretty by far. 

And it felt good to get that done. Tomorrow, hopefully, I'll be doing some weeding along the northern fence and the western fence which is where we plant the green beans, but not until spring. Still, I don't want to lose control over that area. I am taking great pride in my relatively weed-free garden. 
I watered everything in and, as always, it thrills me so much to be able to do that. To offer what nature can not right now. 

I did a quick trip to Publix to get a few things while Glen was mowing and the sprinklers were watering. The very best part of that trip was my bagger when I checked out. This was a very young woman who was as beautiful as any flower I've ever seen. Her hair was a mass of long, natural, soft curls and her name tag said, "Heaven." 
"Heaven!" I said to her. "That is the best name ever!" 
And I pointed to my own dear old granny white hair and made a face that I am quite sure indicated how swoony in love with her hair I was. She smiled so wide and pure and gorgeous. When I left I said to her, "If you ever need another grandma..."
This was at Lily and Lauren's Publix. I must see what they know about this beautiful child named Heaven. 

And so it has gone today. Nothing huge or life-altering although who among us truly knows the things we do or see or hear about which we don't give a second thought to that may indeed prove to be life-altering at some point? 

The crows have not disturbed their gift-stone and so I suspect they are not overly fond of it. I shall substitute something shinier and perhaps more metallic and see if they prefer that. I'm not sure why I feel the need to give them a trinket gift when I give them very fine meals every day. I suppose just to experience what it feels like to engage with wild birds on that level. 

Oh! Here's a sweet little anole who was hanging out on the wicker of the throne chair we got from Tom. 

Strangely enough, she/he did not seem disturbed at all by me taking its picture although I did not get too close. 
Here it is looking at me from another angle. 

I have to tell you I am still very much liking the camera on this phone. Look at those darling long toes! That sentient, slightly suspicious eye. 

Shall we meet again tomorrow? 
I hope so.

Love...Ms. Moon

Trash And Treasures

Bee balm and roses. 
Bee balm is such an interesting plant. Until Liz Sparks gave me some cuttings, I had never really noticed it.

Bee balm! Where have you been all my life? 
 

The bees are drawn to it for sure but no more, and maybe even less, than they seem to be attracted by the African basil. 

Today has just been laid back. I didn't do nothing but I didn't do a lot. I got a few little things done and that felt like enough. Toilets cleaned! Whoo-hoo! Porch plants watered. They are so happy. Two loads of tablecloths and napkins washed, folded, and put away. These are things that I do not mind doing at all. And then of course there was the trash run. I don't think I've ever taken a photo of what our trash depot place looks like. I don't even know what to call it. Not really. Maybe next time I go I'll take a picture of the whole thing for educational purposes. It's pretty much a mess as you might expect. What we dump the actual garbage in, not to be confused with furniture or appliances or big items like rugs or other various and mysterious items, are two big containers which have masher things in them. 
"Masher things" is, I believe, the correct term. 

There's a little shack-like place where the attendant hangs out. It has air conditioning and a TV. Also, a recliner. I believe these things were salvaged from items people dumped. Sometimes the attendant comes out and helps people unload their trash and sometimes he does not. I say "he" although there was, for a week or so, a woman attendant. I have not seen her in years though. She was quite attentive. 
Today I did not see the attendant. I tell you what- I would not want that job even if it paid a whole hell of a lot of money and trust me, it does not. There are lots of flies, it smells atrocious, especially in the heat of summer, and the facilities to relieve oneself is a porta-potty provided by the "Doody Calls" company. 
For some reason, taking the trash is not a dreaded chore for me though. I always drive slowly by the household stuff, looking for things I myself want to salvage and I have found some pretty cool things there. People sometimes leave items they know are still in working order or which someone might actually want to take home on the flat parts of the trash container. When I first moved to Lloyd, I found a bag of vintage bottles that I suppose someone had found and been keeping and then decided to toss. I thought life was going to be far more exciting in Lloyd than I had imagined. I've never seen another such treasure bag. At that same visit, I found something that made me incredibly sad. It was a box of notebooks and loose printed pages of poetry, mostly, written by the author, Connie May Fowler, who had lived here before we bought the house and which I assume she'd left here when she came in and did a ninja-loading of the furniture and possessions she wanted to take with her. She had a truck and helpers and the almost ex-husband was no doubt absent that day for some reason. She had it planned. 
And then he had dumped the poetry. I will admit I read a little bit of it and it made me so sad. It seemed like their love had been pretty sweet at first, and for quite awhile until it wasn't. 
I found proof, when I was cleaning here before we moved in, that he'd not been the most faithful of husbands and just upon meeting him, he was not someone I would have trusted with my heart. 
Hey. We all make mistakes. Or we all learn lessons. Or, whatever. We've all been fooled and had our tender hearts broken. 
Now I don't know both sides of the story but the book she wrote after she moved, "How Clarissa Burden Learned To Fly" definitely tells her side of things. It's a novel set right here in Lloyd in this house and it follows the protagonist for twenty-four strange hours as she discovers and uncovers the realities of her life and marriage. 
Ghosts are involved. 
I've written about this book before. I was so looking forward to it, already living here when it came out but was vastly disappointed. It was just...
I don't know. 
Anyway. Those are two things I found at the dump depot. Some of the bottles I brought home, the poetry I left where I found it which seemed both sacrilegious and respectful of the privacy of a marriage. She didn't value it enough to keep it and he certainly didn't either. Who was I to take possession of something like that? 
I still think about that, though. 
And from what I see online, Connie is a now-happily married woman married to a man with whom she is restoring a house built in 1911 in Maine. He is a carpenter and seems to know what he's doing. I wish them both the very best. 

Boy, did I wander off the rails in that one. 

Mr. Moon went out to set up some solar powered trail cameras at one of his hunting areas. I don't mean that in the sense that he owns the areas, but he has permission to hunt there. Unfortunately, not everything went smoothly and the mission was not completely successful. This year the taking of deer to feed the family seems more important than ever. The price of meat in grocery stores and the distrust in its origins and certifications makes deer meat seem like a better-than-ever option. 

Meanwhile, tonight we are having some grouper made with a recipe I have used before and enjoyed immensely from the NYT's cooking app. 
Coconut fish and tomato bake. 
I haven't made it for while but I have coconut milk leftover from making The Monstrosity. I had the ginger, the limes, the spices, the cilantro and the tomatoes. 
Let's do this thing. 

One more thing I did today is yet another experiment in crow/human relationships. I always read about crows leaving gifts for the humans who feed them and the crows I feed have indeed gifted me. 
But what about humans gifting crows with pretty, shiny things? 
So today, I got out the jar of stones and rough gems we got when we went to a place in North Carolina where we "panned" for treasure. It was such a fun day and we did find a few things that were quite interesting. We all kept our favorites and I have a mason jar of ours in the library. I picked out a smallish, glass-like piece that google-lens tells me is probably quartz. 

And I took it out to one of the stumps where we feed the crows and left it there. I am so curious to see if one of them takes it. 

I really hope so. But if not- well, perhaps a crow's taste is not anything like mine. Who knows? A piece of crinkled aluminum foil might be a better offering but then again, that piece of what is either amethyst or purple glass they brought me (I think) indicates that they do have pretty sophisticated ideas of what is valuable. 
Still, we must consider the rock they left me. 
Oh, it's all just such a mysterious and curious thing. I am not looking for crow love. I do not want to make them pets of any sort. 

But hey...a crow tattoo? 

Nah. Not going to happen. 

Love...Ms. Moon