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

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