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

It Has Been Accomplished

 Fourteen of us gathered today to celebrate four birthdays. 
And it was pretty swell. 
Of course today is the actual day of Owen's birthday so in a way, this was especially his celebration but his mama and Virgil and August did pretty well in the being feted and loved area. 
Owen, as you can see, has not stopped growing at the age of seventeen. And as you can also see, his Boppy is pretty darn proud of him. 
We all are. 
Tomorrow's date belongs to both Lily and Vergil. 
Here's a picture I love of Lily and Owen. 

I could not love it more. I swear to you- Owen has every Moon gene there is, or at least every one of them his mother could possibly have passed on to him. Lily looks just like Glen's sisters and Owen looks just like her. 
I often feel as if I was simply an incubator whose mission was to grow, protect, and deliver my husband's DNA on to the next generations. 
And that is fine with me. 

It was a good day. I didn't get stressed out in the least and the cake, although I labeled it The Monstrocity, turned out to be a pretty delicious cake. I had a few bites and the cake part was especially nice. Everyone else liked the frosting but...cream cheese. 
Cream cheese goes on bagels in my opinion. But no one else seemed to feel that way. 
Here's what it looked like when a good portion of it had been eaten. 

The chocolate on the knife is from when it had been used to cut the incredibly delicious cheese cake Lily had made Owen at his request. Bittersweet chocolate ganache was involved. 

The tacos were good and Kelly, Lily's best friend since forever came and brought my favorite part of the meal which was the Velveeta cheese dip. Don't even bother to tell me how gross Velveeta cheese is. Just hand me a spoon and leave me alone to eat in peace and privacy. 
Kelly is our go-to for all things surgical or for doctor recommendations. She's a surgery tech who's seen it all and knows who's good and who it's best to avoid. And she'll tell us, too. Her knowledge has been a huge help and comfort to our entire family. Kelly is the woman you call, not only when you need advice on a surgeon, but also when you need a meal because you just had surgery. She is probably the most hardworking, goodhearted, loyal and steadfast woman I know. 

More pictures.

Rachel took that one. 

August's eleventh birthday is on Tuesday so he is one of the candle-blowers too. 
Presents were given to all the birthday people. Sweet ones, funny ones, impressive ones, loving ones. 
And cake and cheesecake were eaten. 

And then everyone helped clean up and put tables and chairs back where they belonged and I did very little. In fact, I am about 80% less exhausted tonight than I was last night. 

Here's a picture Vergil took upon my request of August and me. He'll be taller than I am soon. 

In honor of the birthday celebration I wore my Frida Kahlo t-shirt with the neck cut out which I've probably had for at least fifteen years. Also, please note- great grandmother's pearls. And I just realized that you can see the wild white explosion of the hair growing back on my head. I call it my granny hair. It reminds me very much of my mother's mother's hair. Soft and white and fine although hers was permed weekly and kept in place with a spiderweb-like hair net. Perhaps I should get one of those. Either that or just stay out of situations where I have a light behind me. 
Hmmm...
But isn't August beautiful? I cannot believe he is about to be eleven. 

And here's one of Levon that Vergil also took in my hallway. 

They were packing up to leave and he had a backpack filled with sports equipment, the four balloons you see, and a football. Both boys were experimenting with balloons to make as many different incredibly loud and obnoxious noises as they could. 
The possibilities are endless. 

Now, you may ask, where are Gibson and Maggie? Well, it is one of Gibson's best friend's birthday today too and he wanted to go the party being held for him. I so get that. At the age of fourteen, family events cannot possibly compete with peer events. We missed him but we all understood. 
As to Magnolia, she was there but stayed in the background, mostly. She is ten, soon enough eleven, and that's a tricky age, I think. She was sweet and funny and played with her cousins but as I said, she was not so interested in socializing. 
Again, I get it. 

And May and Michael, as I said yesterday, I think, were both working. Damn but I hate not having them with us. We are just not whole without them. 

Billy's birthday is Monday and he asked if I wanted to get together with him then. I told him that since it was his actual birthday, it was a lot of I-am-not-worthy. 
He told me I was. So I'll be driving into town and finally seeing his new apartment and giving him the fishy spoon rest I made him months and months ago. 
Something very dear to look forward to. 

We were talking about all the birthdays this week and Owen said, "It's almost like New Year's Eve was nine months before or something."
We all laughed. Owen generally doesn't even begin to go into the, uh, more intimate aspects of life, so I was a little surprised, and a little delighted. 
When he hugged me good-bye he told me he was going to go hang out with some friends and I told him that that is exactly what seventeen year olds should be doing. "Have a very good time," I said. 
"I'll be safe," he said, as if I had forgotten to give him those words of wisdom.  
"Well then, you'll be doing far better than I did when I was seventeen," I answered. 
He laughed but I was quite serious. What's up with these kids of the Alpha Generation? Don't they understand how to be teenagers and drive their mothers insane? 
I guess not. And perhaps that is a very, very good thing. 
But what do I know? 
Very little. 
But I do know that I have probably hosted more birthday parties and baked more birthday cakes than I could ever have imagined doing as a child. And this one was one of the really, really good ones. 

Love...Ms. Moon

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