Lagniappe

Y'all, I just have to step in and say that A. is at one of the foremost medical centers in the Southeast and before that, he was in a very decent hospital in Tallahassee. 
His doctors, both infectious disease and neurological (and who knows what all else?) know what they are doing. He has had far more tests than I have even heard of. He has been tested for tick borne diseases and mosquito borne diseases and so many bacterial, viral, parasitic, and fungal diseases. Also DNA viruses. In fact, they've just done a test that uses a patient's plasma to detect over a thousand of those. 
A thousand. 
Of course he has had lumbar punctures. More than one. He got one on either the first or second day of his stay in Tallahassee's hospital and has had a least one more that I am sure of. 
So please know that there is nothing that any of us could come up with (unless you are a specialist in any of these fields) that is going to really help, and although I appreciate your thoughts and your suggestions, let's let that go for now. He may not be in the very best hands in the world to try and figure this out, but Shands is pretty close to that. 

So thank you. I'll be reporting in if anything changes because it seems like you are all caring people who would help if you could. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Time Flies And We Fly With It

Ah lah. 
I was hoping to be so productive today. I had a list of six items and was sort of hoping I'd get even more than those things done but as of this point, only three things are crossed out and one of those was done so poorly I feel I should hang my head in shame. 
That, of course, would be the making of the cake. 
As the cake had four different elements to it and I feel as if I did none of them very well, I can now use the first real cussing I ever really heard as a child. It came from the movie "Spencer's Mountain" which was based on a book by Earl Hammer, Jr., and from whence the very popular "The Walton's" TV series was also born. The movie was released in 1963 which would have made me nine years old or so and it was one of the few movies I saw as a young child. The pickings were a lot slimmer in those days when it came to movies suited for children to see. 
Anyway, at one point in the movie, one of the children says, "Damn, damn, double damn, triple damn HELL!" which is something he or she (I forget) had heard the father say. The washing out of a mouth with soap was threatened and possibly the chance of the child going to hell was also discussed. 
I was so shocked I could have fainted dead away. And at the same time, I was thrilled. Something in the nine-year old Mary knew to her bones that cussing was not only something that was done, it seemed like such an excellent thing to do. I would say it under my breath sometimes, or even just in my mind. 
Damn, damn, double damn, triple damn hell!
Come on forth, Satan! I am not afraid of you! 
So the cake was sort of a damn, damn, double damn, triple damn hell situation. 
I made the curd yesterday and it never did thicken correctly. This morning I added an egg yolk and reheated it which is what the all-knowing internet advised. I put it in the freezer and stirred it regularly to get the cold mixed all up in it. Still, it never really got any thicker. The frosting had so much butter and cream cheese in it that there didn't seem to be enough confectioner's sugar on this planet to thicken it up properly either. 
The cake itself seemed fine. It rose and everything although because my kitchen is tilted, the layers are all jabberwocky. So putting all of these elements together, which is what one literally does with a cake, resulted in some slippin' and slidin' and curd running out of where it was between layers like it was being chased by demons and the frosting, which was supposed to sort of dam all that stuff in simply did not do it, and okay, I sort of overly toasted the coconut flakes but by that time I was in true Fuck It mode and did the best I could and then put that baby in the freezer. So now it's frozen into a shape that brings to mind the Leaning Tower of Pisa except it's not that pretty, and, well...
That's the way that went. The kitchen ended up coated and covered with curd and frosting and overly toasted coconut flakes and I could just see the tiny black ants that have been plaguing me on the back porch covering the whole room with a solid carpet of their micro sugar-craving bodies. 
Sigh.
It's all cleaned up now. My hands still feel a little bit sticky despite repeated washing. I'm probably imagining that. 
I did get the chicken cooked for the chicken flautas I'm going to be making tomorrow. I think I may have discussed these before, quite possibly even yesterday. I've had the recipe since about 1978 and trust me when I say there is very little that is Mexican about them but my Lord, they are delicious. And as Lily says, they were one of the very few things I actually deep fried for our family. I'd never thought about that before but she is right. And they were worth it. There's also an "avocado sauce" you serve over them which has nothing in common with guacamole except for the avocados but it, too, is delicious and I will make that too. 

And I've gotten little else done. 
The crows were especially demanding this morning, letting me know in no uncertain terms they were ready to eat. Of course I complied. 

I'm never going to get a decent shot of these birds because I have to take the pictures behind the screen and if I so much as move they fly away. I wish I could though, as they are handsome creatures.

I hauled the cardboard and paper which had accumulated in the pantry out to the burn pile and I turned the sprinklers on in the garden. Everything seems to be coming up pretty well but I still have things I need to plant. 

I did laundry, I remade the bed. And honestly, that was about it and that wouldn't have been a quarter of a day's work for me ten years ago but I'm exhausted. 

I had thought that Mr. Moon wasn't getting home until tomorrow but I was wrong. He pulled in right at martini time and I am so glad to see him. I've been a little melancholy today. Not sure why. The weather has been gorgeous, noticeably cooler. I've had the doors open all day long, letting in this good, real air. Although I've enjoyed that so much, I think there is an element of knowing that fall is really and truly coming that, although so welcome, is also the harbinger of winter and the end of another year of life. Things change when you get older. You can be happy about something and yet still aware of a sort of tinge of sadness mixed in. So I'm glad he's home and here.   
A. is still getting tested for many, many things. They have ruled out mosquito-borne encephalitis and west Nile virus. I guess that's good but those are only two of the things that could be causing all of this and there are, as far as I can see, an uncountable number of other possibilities. Other things are going on as to his care and treatment regime. It's all so unbelievable. 

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

Seventeen years ago, Lily had been in labor for over twenty hours and still had many more to go. She was so strong and such a goddess in her laboring. I am still pissed off at the doctors who convinced her that she should be induced because her baby was getting "so big" when he really wasn't anything resembling gigantic and my god- Lily is an Amazon. Her subsequent births were nothing like that one. Gibson and Maggie, born according to their own schedules, came fast and, if not exactly easily, then at least without complication, at home via midwife delivery. 
I could go on but I will not. 

The main thing is, Owen was born at last, and was welcomed with such joy by all of us. He changed our family into one of three generations instead of two. He made Lily a mother, Jason a father, all the siblings aunts and an uncle, and Glen and I became grandparents. 
Such a gift. 
Well, I'll see him tomorrow. So strange how in a short seventeen years he has changed from a baby whom I could hold so easily to someone who could probably carry me if he had to. 

Here's a rose after being watered by the sprinklers today. 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

The Possibility Of Dreamy Realities, Even In These Times

Well, that's today's harvest. Things are slowing down dramatically but hopefully in a month or so, I'll be getting the greens and lettuces. The orange things are not infant carrots, they are tabasco peppers which are still going crazy. I pick a pocketful every time I'm out there. I don't even know how many pepper vinegars I have going in the refrigerator right now. The Seminole pumpkins are still coming along, swelling, and growing ripe. 

Here's another fence-hanger. I did indeed cut and clear some of the vines but not any with pumpkins that showed a strong indication of a good chance at reaching maturity. 

I found my real, true dream house this morning while perusing Facebook. There was a post on one of the Roseland/Sebastian groups that I follow about a beautiful old house right across the street from the Indian River and just a short distance from where that river joins up with the Sebastian River which, as we all know, is MY river. Here's a picture of it which shows the railroad bridge that crosses my river right by where Granny and Granddaddy's house was. 

Can you see my bridge there at the upper left? 

And it would suit Glen fine too as his favorite fishing spot, the Sebastian inlet, is almost directly in front of the house, just a little boat ride away. 

That's the inlet. 

And the house? Well, it's a lovely little jewel, built in 1910, sitting on over an acre of property. 

Here are two pictures of inside the house.

Lots and lots of cypress.

Oh Jesus. Well, it's already under contract and besides that, we'd have to sell everything we own and we'd still need to put in a bedroom and bath downstairs and of course- a pool out back. Oh! And a dock for Mister Sweetie. 
If you want to see the whole listing, you can find it here. 
Perhaps ten or twenty years ago this would have been a possibility but as I told Glen, that ship has sailed and we are not on it. 

Sigh. A million sighs. 

And I am not unaware of the fact that I already live in my dream house, it's just that it's not on the river, not in Roseland or Sebastian or that vague area called by both those names. I still feel so connected to that place where I really only lived for about seven years during my childhood. And I don't think I will ever quite know why that is except to say that as horrible as so much of what happened in those years, there was a magic there made of river, ocean, trees, sky, the funky smell of low tide, the strange and unusual influences of artists and writers and a crazy man with long hair and a beard who drove a tractor down the main street with children and dogs following him and sold turnip greens door to door, and old, old ladies whom we would address as Aunt, who would sit on their porches and tell stories of living there when the Indigenous people shared the river that was the only highway then, and wild cats peeked into their windows at night, along with sea creatures that not many children are apt to ever see except on videos or in aquariums, and citrus fruit and guavas and mangoes and mulberries, right there, free and ripe for the taking. All of that fed me and my hungry imagination and comforted me as little else could have done, realizing that there was so much more to this life then what I was experiencing, and I give credit to all of that and more for the fact that I am still here, sane as I am, able to love and be loved, still loving the sky and the trees and the things that grow, still able to see things in my imagination, still able to imagine things and people who lived right here, so long, long ago. 
And I would suppose that is why I am so emotionally bound to that place.

Mr. Moon is back in Gainesville where, despite all of the most up-to-date equipment and lab facilities, and dedicated doctors and staff, they still cannot truly give A. a diagnosis. I find this unbelievable and yet, it's the truth. I loved Glen up good this morning, held him as tightly as my arms could hold him. I called him my good, big, beautiful man and told him how much I love and admire him. 
As he was about to leave, buckled into the very, very brown Subaru, he said, "Why am I such a good friend?" 
"Because you were born that way," I told him. "And there's nothing you can do to change that."
I kissed him again and off he went. 

I have gone to Publix again to buy ingredients to make Lily's requested Mommy Made Cake which is a doozy. A coconut, lime birthday cake with pineapple, lime curd. 
I have already made the curd and will finish the cake up tomorrow. 
We are having an Owen/Vergil/Lily/August birthday taco bar party here on Saturday so there's a lot going on. The weather forecast calls for it to be 64 degrees tomorrow morning and 57 on Saturday morning! Definitely something to look forward to although highs will still be in the 80's and even the high 80's by the end of next week. 
This is Florida. It gives me great comfort to know there are still pockets in places where time has managed to, if not stand still, then to gently refuse to join in the madness of over-development so that it is still possible to listen to the stories being told by the wind in the trees, over the water, in the quiet, whispering voices of those who came before. 

That's all I have to say. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Turn It Down, Man!

At pottery I got Ms. Fish on the rack of shelves where we put things to be fired. I managed to get it arranged so that it only cost me four tickets. Between that and my caladium, I now have two tickets left. There are ways to get more if I need them. 
Lizzie wasn't in class because she's on her way to British Columbia to see one of her sons and his family. I am so incredibly lucky to have all my kids and grandkids living right here. But Lizzie loves to travel so it's all good. There were several other missing people in class so it felt different. No one was using a wheel. There was lots of glazing going on. There was chat. It was pleasant and we did laugh a lot. 
And what could be better than that? 
I really didn't know what I wanted to work on today but before I left home I picked five magnolia leaves and I am trying to make a dish out of the clay leaves I made, using the real ones as templates. I got the clay rolled out, cut the leaves, trimmed them up, smoothed them, drew in their veins, and tried to stick them together to make the dish I have in mind. 
To stick two pieces of wet clay together, one uses a substance called "slip" which is nothing more than clay mixed with water. It's clay glue! You have to score the pieces of clay where you want them to be attached, spread on the slip, and give them a little squeeze. Then smooth them out again. 
I'm pretty sure I'm one of the messiest slippers in the southeastern area of the US. 
I don't think "slippers" is used like that but so what? 
Now the hardest part of what I did today was to try and create the arrangement of the leaves so that they will not only be somewhat bowl-shaped after firing, but that the individual leaves will have some cup-like shapes of their own. 
That was the idea. 
What I ended up doing was to put the entire arrangement over a bowl mold and then I used crumpled newspaper to try and create the three dimensional shape of the leaves. 
Jessie tried to help me by suggesting perfectly logical ways to do this and she absolutely has the mind to see what I don't which is how the dish is going to balance out in the end. I put three little knobs on the bottom of it which I am hoping will do the job. I am not seeking perfection here. 
And thank goodness for that. 

My brain just doesn't work that way. Jessie sees the parts that have the most clay and will be heavier, thus having the potential to make the dish tippy. And other things that could very well interfere with form and balance. 
So the whole thing is an experiment and next week it will be dry enough for me to see how it worked. If it's not completely useless, I plan on making a crow to perch on the stems. Perhaps. Or somewhere on it. I have no idea how to make a crow and it may well end up being a crow-like thing. If it even looks like a bird, I'll be pretty happy. 
I was telling Glen about this and he asked if the crow would look like a crow. I thought about that for a second and I said, "Well, it will definitely be black." 
And no matter what I find next week, I did very much enjoy the process today. And of course it is all supposed to be a learning experience but I'm not sure if my ability to learn from my mistakes is very sharp at this point. 
To be truthful, I'm not sure my ability to learn from my mistakes has ever been very well developed. It's just less so now. 

Today's lunch out involved Lily and Lauren and Jessie. Yes, we all just ate together with August and Levon two days ago but so what? We went to the sports bar with surprisingly good food and I got my usual, the Asian chop salad with ahi tuna. I was determined to get something else but that salad is just so damn perfect. 
A funny thing happened. Lily and Lauren were sitting on one side of the booth, Jessie and I on the other. She was sitting in the inside seat position, I was on the outside. Our server was a guy who could not have been more than twenty, if that. And he was friendly and helpful and attentive but my GOD! He was so loud. Like...his voice was booming. Every time he came to the table we all side-eyed each other. Finally, when we were almost finished, he came to ask if we needed to-go boxes or something but he began talking before he got to the table and he was so loud that I visibly flinched. It was a major flinch. It started out as an unconscious reaction but because I am who I am, I had to add a little drama to it. 
The ladies at the table laughed and I said to the guy, "Simmer down, man!" 
He had the grace to look a tiny bit abashed and said, "I often have this effect on people." 
I wanted to say, "Honey, that is not mysterious. It is easily solved. Just lower the volume," but I did not. I think I'd played my old lady card just about enough. 
And I left him a good tip so hopefully he'll realize that I wasn't mad. Just...overwhelmed. 

So that was my day and I did not go to either Publix or Costco afterwards. I just came home. Mr. Moon caught me up on a situation he'd been trying to take care of for A. and his wife that needed taking care of. It had not gone smoothly. 
Of course. 
And he is not very happy about it. He'll figure it out though because that's who he is. 
I think he's heading back to Gainesville tomorrow afternoon as A.'s wife has an appointment she cannot miss and I think Glen will stay Friday night too. 
You know what really amazes me? The man does not moan or complain or talk about how difficult this is or how little sleep he gets in the ICU or anything like that. Not one damn thing. 
I would be martyring all over the damn place. "Oh, look at me! Look at what I'm doing and going through for the sake of my friend!" 
Nope. He just does it. 
I really do not understand how he does it but do it, he does. 

I'm going to go cook some scallops and pasta, a salad, and some more of my very, very special oatcake bread! 

And yes- I am feeling better today and I thank all of you for listening to me whine and bitch, or as you Brits might say, whing and moan. 
Same-same. 
I doubt it will be the last time. 
Y'all are precious.

 Gecko on the screen. 

Maurice in the garden. She is not dead.

Love...Ms. Moon

 

Still Sad

This Far Side comic was stuck to the side of my refrigerator for a long time, back when the kids were young. I was reminded of it when Lizzie sent me a different one this morning. 

I miss Gary Larson. I dare say most of us do. His weird and sometimes inappropriate humor so very often just hit the right spot for me.
My poor children. I doubt they ever really thought I would eat my young. Then again, I was as close to insane in those days as I ever want to get. As I never want to get again. 

And that really has nothing to do with anything but I suppose I could call it my autumnal equinox gift to you. So many of you celebrate this day and I suppose I do in my own very subtle way, meaning I recognize it, I feel it happening in my bones and in some deep part of my brain, but I don't have any rituals or ceremonies I practice. My friend Kathleen was all about the celebration of Pagan and Celtic days of observation and although I honored her doing that and believed her to be sincere in her own Kathleen, curious, humorous way, it's just not for me. I've been thinking about this lately. How it would seem that it's not just the religions that are more regularly recognized here and now that I stay away from, I don't feel comfortable practicing rituals of the ancient ones, either. I always say I did not get the religious gene and I do believe that is true and applies to all of it. 
For me. 
And sometimes this makes me feel as if I am definitely not one of the cool kids. Especially as a woman, I suppose, because so many of those ancient beliefs included so much positivity about the strength and life-giving nature born to all women. I mean, I do believe in that. I know the patriarchy has been trying to silence the voices of the ones who are actually the life-givers, who have powers that men never will, simply due to our biology. 
Why am I talking about this? 
I don't know. 

Mr. Moon is home again. He will probably be going back down to Gainesville later on the week but for now, feels that his friend's wife will be comfortable enough at Shands to be okay there on her own for a few days. 
And can we now start calling Mr. Moon's friend A. as that is the first initial of his name? 
I think we can. 

I'm glad my husband is home. I've been weird and off and very sad all day long. I was so anxious this morning that I actually took a very, very rare half a Xanax which sort of dulled me out for the rest of the day. These Xanax are so old that I'm surprised a half of one would do a darn thing but it would appear it can. 
I didn't even make it out to the garden until just a little while ago. Nothing has changed much there in the last 24 hours. I did a little yard walk-around. I had noticed some blooms in the Japanese Magnolia which usually does not bloom until February or March. I figured the few blooms I saw were merely a late random blooming, just as the wisteria always throws forth a few of its flowers during the summer. But when I actually checked out the tree, I found it had far more than one blossom. 

I've looked this phenomenon up and see it is not unusual after a long string of very hot days in late summer. So there you go. The tree itself doesn't look in danger of dying anytime soon so I'm not going to worry. 

The pinecone ginger lily cones are taking on their scarlet color. 

Will this be the year I actually try milking some to get the liquid out and try it as a shampoo? One of the other names it goes by is shampoo lily which is why I always think about doing this. For some reason, I am never motivated enough to try it. 

I finally and at last finished up my fish. No. I did not take a picture. I am not taking one more damn picture of that fish until it's out of the kiln. I'll take it in tomorrow and set it on the to-be-fired shelf. I'm not sure what I want to work on next. I have a few ideas although my favorite ones intimidate me and I feel as if there is no way I can bring the ideas into any sort of decent reality. 
Well, I can give it a try and if it doesn't work, I have other ideas. None of them, at this moment at least, involving fishes of many colors. 

I hope my sadness passes. It's such a useless emotion when there's no real reason for it. Not one I can figure out, at least. One of the ways it's affecting me is that when Glen's near me, I feel like crying. Whether this is from my fears about his health, influenced, of course by A.'s sudden and unexpected illness or something else I do not know. I just have this feeling of wanting to cling to him, to keep him close and safe and have him do the same for me. Which is ridiculous. Why am I feeling so needy? 
I do not want to cry around him. He has enough sorrow and worries and health fears relating to A. as it is. 
I tell you what- I do not feel like a big girl, a grown-ass woman. I feel like a needy child or, perhaps a rather useless, weepy old lady. 
Maybe all those things. 

It is, as they say, complicated. 

Pottery tomorrow. 

Please let me remember to bring a pillow. Sitting in one spot for two and a half hours is more than my flat-ass, old white-woman butt can handle. 
Forgive me if I offend. I'm just speaking the truth. 

Love...Ms. Moon

It's Like This

 

Here are the collard greens, just breaking ground. The mustard greens are doing the same. The lettuce will probably take more time. We'll see. I was cheered to see the tiny, green proofs of life this morning when I went out to check on things. As every gardener knows, a daily exploratory stroll of the garden is almost mandatory whether there's much growing or not. 
I woke up rather sad today, most likely because I knew that Glen would be heading to Gainesville sooner rather than later. There's a huge teaching hospital there called Shands which is definitely the best medical facility within many miles of here. For some reason, which I do not know, Glen's friend was transported there last night. Hopefully, this means there is a better chance of recovery than had been assumed. I haven't gotten a report yet from Glen so I really have no idea. His friend's wife was a bit vague as to the purpose of the transport except to say she'd been told they have better resources there. 
And that is certainly true. 
So Glen took off this morning in the brown Suburu, to drive to Gainesville. He asked me if I wanted to go but, well. No. I don't. And I'm not sure what good my presence would do anyway although perhaps I'm just rationalizing not going because I might be a comfort to my husband while he is being a comfort and a support to his friend's wife. I imagine they will tag team, taking turns to stay with him in the ICU there. 
As I told a friend of mine in a text today, Mr. Moon is an incredibly good and faithful friend and I am so very grateful that I am married to such a such a man but still, it makes me sad to see him go. And I've cheerfully kissed him goodbye so many times for fishing trips or hunting trips or trips with his sister but this feels different. 
It just feels different. 
I will be fine, of course. It will be fine. But this morning when I went to do a bleach load, I lifted an undershirt off a peg in Glen's bathroom to throw in with the rest of the whites and I held it to my face and inhaled and I put it back on the peg because...well. Just because. It smells like him and I love that smell. 
I've never done this before. 

But I had a very fine distraction in that the kids had a day off school for Yom Kippur, I think (and happy Yom Kippur if you celebrate!) and so I met August and Levon and their mama AND Lily AND Lauren at...Chow Time. Lily was on break from work and I think Lauren may have been off but Owen and Maggie and Gibson were at their Dad's. 

It was a good time. August told me that it had been five months since I'd seen them, which was a bit of hyperbole but I told them that yes, it had! Or maybe five years because they were definitely taller than the last time I saw them! 

I forgot to take any pictures and for that I am sorry but I will give you one that Jessie sent to me last night. 

Unprompted book reading! Do you know how rare this is these days? 
Sophie though, looks very sad. I think it's because she doesn't know how to read. I suggested they get her some audio books. 
Now THERE'S an untapped market! 

After lunch I did my shopping which I generally seem to do on Monday. Costco was not so busy and it was fine. I didn't buy anything weird or outrageous. The usual- peppers, avocados, dates, toilet paper.
I don't think we're going to need to buy toilet paper again until 2027. 
Fine with me. 

Then on to Publix where for some mysterious reason it took me hours and days and months and years to get the relatively few things I needed. Part of that time was taken up in birthday card buying which is one of the hardest things in the world for me. Starting on Saturday, we have five family birthdays including Billy who is family. Obviously. 
Owen's birthday is Saturday, both Lily and Vergil have birthdays on  Sunday, Billy's is Monday and August's is Tuesday. 
It's a lot. 
So I hung out in front of the cards for way, way too long because I always imagine there will be a perfect card for someone and honey, Hallmark just doesn't always have cards with the funk and humor and love and appreciation that I require in a birthday card for someone in our family. 
I know there are plenty of other card companies. 
I KNOW! 
But I don't want to go to any other stores. 
And I know I could make my own. I used to do that sometimes. I'm not sure why I don't any more. 
Sigh.
I finally checked out and am very happy to report that Becky, my cashier, and Ravi, my bagger did not ask me any ridiculous questions nor did they assume I couldn't carry more than three bananas at a time and by the way, Becky- if you are reading this- you have beautiful, gloriously thick white hair. I like your style. And Ravi- you're cool.

When I got home I had to take the trash to the trash place. It was almost getting to a dire situation so I bagged everything up and took it to the garbage facility which is no big deal at all. It's far less than a mile from my house. And all went well until I did the stupidest thing and slammed my little finger on my left hand with the hatch of my car when I had removed the bags from the hatchback and thrown them into the big crusher thing and was ready to scoot on back home. 
Now the thing that was so scary was that the hatch, the lid, whatever it is, went completely down and latched. The hatch did latch, shall we say? And I'm standing there with my little finger trapped and I'm freaking out and wondering if the tip of my finger has been separated from the rest of the finger and is now resting among the canvas grocery bags and the beach umbrella and the lawn chair I keep for emergency beach needs. Or perhaps still attached to the finger but now flat as a strip of uncooked lasagna pasta. 
And I was also wondering if I could open the damn hatch because what if my finger was jamming it or...something? 
But I managed to open it and was quite pleased to see that the finger was intact, not flattened, and I could wiggle it in all the ways one needs to wiggle a little finger. 
I was so relieved and yet, at the same time thinking, Jesus, this has been a day when really, it's been fine. 

Here's what my finger looks like now and please don't worry about the crook in it because that is permanent, yet another badge of older age I wear proudly. 

As you can see, it looks fine. A little swollen, and a tiny shadow of a bruise. 
Frankly, I'm amazed. It hardly even hurts. 

So really, it's been a fine day and I am fine and all is fine and to make it all even finer, when I was walking out of Publix, pushing my cart to the car, Owen was coming towards me, pushing a line of carts he collected in the parking lot, taking them back to the store. 
"Hey Mer!" he said cheerfully. 
"My boy!" I said. I was so glad to see him. He told me he'd get those carts put away and come see me for a minute and he did and he gave me an Owen hug and we discussed Boppy's trip to Gainesville and I told him that his grandfather is a very, very good man. He told me he knew that. 
He's gone fishing twice with Mr. Moon and the friend he's with right now at Shand's. And he knows his wife and his step-grandaughter. Glen had already told him about what was going on but he didn't know the news about Shands. He said he'd get in touch with Boppy and I told him how much his grandfather would appreciate that. 
And he will. 

So see? It was a perfectly fine day with some very good moments.

But I am still sad. 

Love...Ms. Moon

  

A Sort Of Not-Much Post

Well, at least I am pretty sure I know what species of fish Dottie Frances is- she is a clownfish. 
Am I right or am I right? 
I got her almost, almost finished today. I just have a little more to do and then I can use up the rest of my tickets and get that lady fired. I can start another project and the thought of that is somewhat exciting. 

We got rain today and I am thrilled that it has fallen on my planted seeds. Grow, babies! Swell up and put forth life! Let's get this garden party started! 

And in the course of this evening I have written a review of Hamnet which was not flattering and talked about how there are so many well-regarded books that I am not in tune with at all. 
In a way, this makes me feel uneducated and also weird. 
La-di-da. 
I am who I am. I like what I like. And I do not like what I do not like. I deleted the whole review. 

Skyflower with firespike. 

Such a pretty girl. 

Here's another pretty girl. 

More tomorrow, most likely. 

Love...Ms. Moon