Southern Rural Life

In Jefferson County, Florida where we live, to vote early one must go to the office of the Supervisor of Elections which is in Monticello, the only true town in the county. The population of Jefferson County is around 16,000 people and is not that small in area. Its borders range from Georgia to the Gulf of MEXICO. 

If you locate Tallahassee up there in the armpit/panhandle of the state and go over a county, you will find Jefferson. It is the third most rural county in Florida. 
All of this to say that when my vote was registered today after Glen and I early-voted, I believe I was something like the 813th person who has voted via that route since October 19 which indicates, for us, a large turnout. There was someone in each of the little privacy spaces where you fill out your ballot. I believe there were five. Or perhaps six. Either way, I finished filling my ballot out with great speed, having no need to go over all of it. I had filled out the sample ballot sent to us last week after doing my research and so there was no hesitation on my part. 
I was not fucking around with this. 
There are some very strong Democratic candidates in this race and I honestly think there is a possibility that at least some of them will win. Our governor's race is quite unusual in that the Democratic candidate was a Republican until a few years ago but he gets a lot of bonafides from the fact that the candidate for Lieutenant Governor who shares the ballot with him is Gwen Graham, the daughter of a very popular Democratic governor and who ran for the office herself several years ago. Not perfect but not terrible. 
The Republican candidate however, is a sort of unicorn. First off, he's Trump-endorsed to the hilt. He was a member of the Tea-Party. He's as Maga-ed up as a person can be. He's held positions in Florida's law-making bodies for years. He has climbed the Leader Ladder with persistence and success. So voting against him would be a no-brainer for many folks in Florida and absolutely YES for others. 
Here's the deal though- Byron Donalds is Black. If elected, he would be the first Black governor of Florida. And the conundrum is, all of us left-leaning libtards and most of the entire Black population of Florida would be filling out that little circle by his name if...he wasn't a Republican, Donald Trump endorsed, Maga Cultist. 
It's all just odd. Did the Magas think that liberals and people of color would vote for him despite his political leanings just in order to finally and at last, get a governor who didn't look like a, well, southern politician? 
Despite my great desire to see a Black governor at Florida's helm, Byron Donalds (can you even believe that last name? Can we say Donald's?) ain't the person. 
And here's another thing- will the white Maga voters who have, practically by definition, racist leanings, vote for a Black man? 
I am quite curious to see how this turns out. 

After all of that, it's time for me to make our supper. I made another loaf of the high protein, high fiber bread and it's in the oven as we speak. I'm going to make clam spaghetti and a salad with lots of arugula and basil in it. And in some excellent news, we have heat.

I sort of want to adopt the technician who has taken care of us. He just spent over three hours working on our unit and was good-natured though-out  it all. 
"I'm gonna get y'all heat if I have to stay here until 3:00 a.m.," he said. 
I believed him. 
Glen seems to like him fine too. He's out there now, giving him some ducks to take home and cook. 
John said that duck fajitas will be on the menu. 
Oh Lord. Men. 

I asked him if I could possibly take his picture for my blog and he said that would be fine. So here it is.

I showed it to him and asked if that was okay. He said it was. 

I bet his mama is proud of him. And his daddy too. He has that confidence and ease that people who grew up good seem to have. 

I'm glad for him. 

And I'm glad we have heat. 

Love...Ms. Moon

My Boyfriend's Back, Part One Hundred And Sixty Seven

Another day of no pictures although the lack today cannot be blamed on me not going anywhere.

First off, Mr. Moon got home around 11:00 last night and surprisingly, I was still awake with Maurice tucked up on my legs, my book in my hand. I bought a copy of Barbara Kingsolver's new novel, "Partita" and I am taking it very, very slowly. I wonder what I will think of this one. I have loved most of her novels, even "The Lacuna" which many critics gave short shrift. I, however, loved it and have read it at least three times. I have not found her nonfiction to be as interesting to me but that says far more about me than it does about her writing skills. 
"Demon Copperfield" was her last novel and I thought it was amazing. Difficult, but amazing. The woman is not afraid to step into the realm of truth, as painful and ugly as it may be. 

So anyway, there I was when the man got home and as always, when I haven't seen him in awhile, I am still shocked by his height, his size. Who IS this giant man and how is it that he is my husband? 
I do not know but I am so glad he is. 
There has been no difficulty adjusting to him being back for me this time at all. There was a second when I thought there might be. When he got in bed he told me that my fan seemed to be blowing a little bit on his face which is a no-no. I didn't even stop to think but just said, "That fan is not even blowing on MY face," and since I'm the one closest to it, he sort of just laughed and so did I and that was that. I may also have said something like, "This has been MY bed for the last week, you know." 
I am getting sassier in my old age. I do not think this is a bad thing. 

This morning he had already gotten a text from Alan's wife. We are going to go ahead and stop trying to be all protective of identities here. Alan is the name of Glen's friend and his wife's name is Kathy. Or Cathy. I'm not sure which. But she'd texted to tell Glen that things were not good and that if he wanted to see Alan before he well...transitioned, he should come on and see him. 
Turns out that Alan was transferred back to Tallahassee but not to the hospital. He is in a rehab place which indicates that the doctors really don't think they have anything more they can do for him. And the diagnosis they finally came up with was Eastern Equine Encephalitis which honestly, is hard to believe as the odds of contracting that particular disease are one in millions. Literally millions and millions. 
But. That's what all the testing finally indicated. 

So Glen was immediately thrown back into real, real life and of course, he was at Alan's beside as soon as he could get there after giving me a little bit of attention and eating his cereal. 

He met up with Jessie and me for lunch and that was very sweet. Jessie asked him all sorts of questions that I admittedly never have about where he hunts up there, what it's like, what they eat, and so forth. And I think he was very happy to share. I know he is aware that hunting is not something I'm entirely on board with and he sort of keeps that in a different world than the one we share. Not entirely, of course, but he doesn't go into details unless I ask and I generally do not. But he talked about how much he loves seeing the sunrise and the sunset and what the area where they hunt looks like. Things like that. 
I mostly kept my mouth shut and listened and learned. 

A funny thing he told me this morning was that perhaps, if he should be so lucky to be able to go up to Canada again next year, perhaps I could send some of our canned green beans and maybe some field peas and oh yes, maybe some chili or something like that? 
I believe they ate a lot of Kraft macaroni and cheese on this trip, along with duck. 
I told him I had a year to think about it but we could probably work something out. 
And yes, the cookies were very much enjoyed. 

I went to Costco and Publix after we all went our separate ways after lunch. I bought Lily some sunflowers at Costco to take to her at work because one of her cats had to be put down last weekend. Turns out he had a large tumor in his abdomen which caused him to lose weight and then to start having seizures. Their Sonny Boy. She took it hard. Because she is my child and has inherited some of the most useless of my traits, she was not only sorrowful for his loss but also felt a great deal of guilt for not having discovered the tumor earlier. 
Of course that would have made no difference and she knows it but still- guilt. The gift that keeps on giving. 
When I took her the flowers, I could tell she was not entirely her good-natured self, that in fact, she is having a hard time of it. I did all that I could do which was to tell her she'd done the right thing, that it really is just so very hard to let our animal babies go, and that she was not at all at fault. 
And hug her a lot. 

The part for our heater is still not in but all-in-all, we are fine. Although it got down to 44 degrees last night, it got back up into the 80's today. Crazy weather. I sleep well because I love having many covers on me while my husband does not like any weight on him at night that is not completely necessary. 
How in the world did the two of us ever get together? 
I do not know but I'm glad we did. 
And I'm glad he's home. 
Not sure what Maurice thinks but at least she didn't jump out of bed last night when he made his appearance. She stayed right where she was on my legs, keeping me even warmer. If he'd just allow her to sleep on HIS legs he might find himself to be warmer too but no, that is not going to happen and she knows it. 
Speaking of the hell bitch, she just bit the shit out of me, THROUGH a sweater and a long-sleeved shirt because I had the temerity to try and pet her as she was lying right beside my arm as I typed.  
And she can just fuck off tonight as far as I'm concerned. 

I'm telling you, we need a priest.

Sigh. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Stepping Back Into Normalcy

I took this picture last night to send to Glen. I mean, cliched as it is, Maurice is sort of our beloved child. 
Beloved child who needs a good exorcism now and then. 
"Go sit on Daddy's lap," I tell her when she tries to settle in front of my keyboard and I'm trying to type blind over her body. 
"Mommy'll give you your treat," Glen says to her when she meows in the kitchen. 
I knew this day would come. 

Speaking of Mr. Moon, he'll be home late tonight. They spent last night in Springfield, Missouri which is 822 miles from Tallahassee.  
I begged that man not to do drives that long but he claims that his friend Jim is the pilot and as such, he has no control over the situation.
Jim may be the pilot and he may be determined to drive from fucking North Dakota up by the Canadian border to back here in two days but if Glen put his foot down (and I do not mean on the gas pedal) he'd probably have taken it a little easier. Which all boils down to- does Mr. Moon listen to me? 
No. He does not. 
Oh, he probably listens but then he does what he wants to. 
Yes. I feel a little pissy about this. 

Today's been okay. The cat and I did not get up until late and it has been a beautiful day. I haven't done much although I did work on another bird. I haven't felt too bad but not great either. I know I could have slept most of the day but I seem to have some sort of mental block about that. My skin hurts (does yours do that when you're a little sick?) and my eyes feel funky. My arm still hurts but it will for a few days at least. I'm hoping to be back to normal, other than the arm, by tomorrow. 

It's been another day of not speaking directly to another human. You know, sometimes it worries me that I am so content with that. I mostly just don't feel the need. Last night I got a call from Levon/August (they share a phone) but it cut off before I could answer it so I called them back. Levon said, "It was a butt dial. I'm sorry."
I said, "Do you think you can get another lunch with another butt-dial?"
Both boys said that yes, they thought maybe they chould. 
"Well that's not going to happen," I said. And then we had a little chat which was nice. So I did talk to them yesterday. In fact, I talked to the HVAC guy yesterday too, and several people at Publix. So see? I've not been completely cut off from other humans. And I've had some good text exchanges with a few lovely people. 
I just really don't get lonely. 

So yes, I decided to get to work on bird number...three? Four? I found a bird-making video that did not look too hard which sort of made things a little clearer about how to shape a bird from a lump of clay. I did not follow it exactly because it was what I would call a "cutsie" bird and I wanted, if not a crow, then at least something that looked like it might actually perch on some magnolia leaves. 
I worked on that bird for about two and a half hours and I will admit, I got frustrated. I also pulled up a fine picture of a real crow from the internet and kept checking that to try and make my bird more of a corvid but finally gave up on that and decided that if it even reasonably resembled a bird, any bird, I would be happy. I probably spent at least an hour and a half on just the wings and the eyes and I am not really happy with either but I am hoping that after firing and sanding and glaze-painting, it will be...another useless object but one that I don't hate. The bird is definitely NOT a crow but it is a bird. And I did not throw the damn thing across the porch which I thought about doing several times. I hope the scoring and slip application I did will hold the bird firmly to the leaves. The leaves had dried out more than would have been an optimal for that to be guaranteed to work. I had wrapped them securely in plastic but that only works for so long. But I scored and I slipped well. 
I did my best. Or at least the best I could at this point in time. And I learned a few things, one of which is that I need a few better tools. My tool collection is pathetic. Still, fingers are my favorite tool. 

I wasn't going to even take a picture of it but I just did and here it is.

Thank all of you who have made suggestions. I used a little bit of all of them and I'm sure I will again at some point. 
However. Please, I beg of you, do not tell me that this one looks like a cross between a weasel and a possum. 
Here's a weasel. 

Here's a possum. 

I can see what my anonymous critic was saying but really, that was not helpful in the least. I KNEW it was all wonky. That much I did understand. And there was a period of time today when I was working on the new bird that I decided the beak looked more like a porpoise snout than a bird beak but I think I sort of fixed that. It also went through a stage wherein the eyes looked more like the eyes on a dinosaur than on a bird but hey! At least those two things are related, right? 

And in news that is actually important, it turns out that Elon Musk did indeed slow down Starlink to Ukraine in order to render their drones essentially useless. He has blamed Trump and the US military while Trump, of course, has denied any responsibility. 
Look. Hilary Clinton warned us ten years ago that Trump was Putin's bitch and every day it is more and more apparent that was the absolute truth. 
Well, she didn't use the word "bitch," at least in public, but she did use the word "puppet." 

Dear god, let this nightmare come to an end. Or at least come to the very real and legitimate and undeniable beginning to the end. 
Actually, I think that may be exactly what is happening.

Vote. Vote, vote, vote. When Mr. Moon gets back, we'll be heading over to Monticello to early-vote and I have never in my life been more convinced of the importance of that one small act. 

It will be interesting to have my husband home. Interesting and of course good. It always takes me a day or two to readjust to having him back. There will be more noise, more activity, more laundry, more consideration of someone else's needs. 
I suppose, as always, I will readjust. 
The hugs alone will be worth it. 

Off to go cook some more tofu. Last night was salmon and it was so good. 

As is my life. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Dammit, Maurice!

Marbles I've found around here in an old bourbon bottle. I love finding things in this yard. I so often wonder what all lies right beneath the surface of the dirt of my yard. 

I woke up this morning in a fairly pissed off mood. Ms. Maurice insisted on sleeping on my legs all night long and I guess she kept waking me up because something surely did and it took me awhile to go back to sleep every time and before I knew it, she'd changed position or was doing a little late night grooming or something and I was awake again. 
Sleep is sacred. 
But of course I do like the company and a little extra warmth doesn't hurt right now. A guy from the heating and cooling place came over this afternoon and figured out at least one thing wrong with the unit and he ordered that part which will take 1-3 days to get here although he cautioned it may be longer than that. He said that as soon as the part was in his hands, he'd be back to get things running.
And I believe him. He was a sweet guy. And just as polite and friendly as he could be. And he liked to talk but not so much that I wanted to scream which has happened before with repairpeople. 
His accent identified him firmly as being from around here and since he grew up in Monticello, that would make sense. 
We ended up talking about turkeys (he and his girlfriend have six pet turkeys) and chickens and dogs and how he and his girlfriend will get married when they can buy a house. He's pretty proud that he has a good job already. And he should be.
When it was time for him to go he stuck his hand out and said, "It was really nice to meet you," and it sounded like he meant it. 
"It was really nice to meet you, too," I said. And I meant that quite sincerely.

Before that whole thing happened, I went to town and got my flu shot. I figured that since I have nothing planned for tomorrow I might as well get it out of the way. It's inevitable that I'll feel like shit tomorrow and actually, it's already hit me, that always-surprising WHAM of aching eyes and aching muscles and feeling cold. 
Or maybe I just feel cold because I am cold. 

I worked on my crow again this afternoon and again, I ended up smushing the clay back into a ball and feeling frustrated. I realize I have absolutely no idea how to form anything more complicated than a cartoon fish or a flower or leaves from clay. As I've said, when I was of the age to play with Play Doh (can you remember that sort of salty smell it had?) the only thing I could make was snakes. 
I have not progressed very much but I will continue to work at it. I got a comment from Anonymous on yesterday's post with some helpful suggestions as to how to go about creating this bird and I was not adverse to reading them and pondering them but the part where they described my first attempt as looking like a cross between a possum and a weasel was a bit disconcerting as well as hysterical. I do not entirely agree but as I said in my reply, that did not do a lot for my confidence. 

For those of you who are interested in the eggplant recipe, I will send you HERE which is an old post of mine from seven years ago and if you read the whole thing you'll see that my life has not changed so very much in seven years. If you want to skip all that fiddle-faddle, just go directly to the part in bold print and go from there. It was sweet to realize that Joanne, whom we so recently lost, was the one who had asked for the recipe. 
It is a good recipe in my opinion. 

Now, as to the very crispy tofu- the recipe I got is from the New York Times cooking app and I really don't know how legal OR ethical it is to do screen shots and copy them here and besides that, the recipe is for the crispy tofu with lemon rice and raita and I have not made either the lemon rice or the raita, I'm sure they are very good and I'm just going to do a little slicing and dicing of the recipe and pass on the ingredients and directions for the tofu. 
Okay? 
The recipe is from Nisha Vora. 

Crispy Masala Tofu

Ingredients:

Two cups water
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper 
1 fourteen to sixteen oz. block of extra-firm tofu, drained
2 teaspoons garam masala
3 tablespoons cornstarch
3 tablespoons neutral flavored oil

Directions:

Heat the two cups water in a small pan until boiling, add 1 Tablespoon kosher salt or half that if using table salt or sea salt and mix until salt is dissolved. 
In a large heat-proof bowl, tear the tofu into approximately one inch size chunks. Tearing the tofu rather than slicing it is one of the reasons it becomes so crispy when cooking. And if your chunks are of pretty varying sizes, that is okay. I know this from experience.
Cover the tofu with the boiling salted water, cover it, and let it sit for ten minutes. Gently drain it and spread the tofu onto a dish towel and dry the bowl for reuse.
Gently pat the tofu to dry it with another dish towel and return it to the bowl. Sprinkle the tofu with the cornstarch, garam masala, a sprinkle of salt, and a few grinds of black pepper. Mix carefully with a spatula until well coated.
Heat the oil in a large skillet until it's rippling. Add the tofu in a single layer and cook undisturbed until it is golden brown and crisp on the bottom, five to six minutes but you know- judge for yourself. 
Flip the tofu and cook the second side until browned. Transfer to a large plate lined with paper towels. 

And that's it. 
You can substitute curry powder or cumin or whatever you want for the garam masala which I realize not everyone has on their shelf. 
Feel free to fool around with the spices but if you use a knife on the tofu instead of tearing it up with your fingers and if you don't use the cornstarch and if you don't let it brown enough, it is not going to be as crispy as it could be. The boiling water is absolutely mandatory. 
I eat mine with just a little soy sauce on it but again- you can fool around with whatever sort of dipping sauce you like. 
I have spent half my life trying to figure out how to make real crispy tofu, freezing it before cooking, pressing it before cooking, freezing and then pressing, etc., and this is the first time I've ever really achieved crispiness. I want to try it in the air fryer to see how that works and I will do that soon. 

Mr. Moon has made it to Iowa and if all goes as planned he will be sleeping in Illinois. He will be home when he's home and my hope is that he and his buddy Jim will not be crazy about driving long hours without stopping. He kept back one small bag of cookies to stash away for this Gun Dog Express journey home. I like to think that those will make the drive just a tiny bit better for them. 

And now my arm hurts. Wah-wah-wah. And la-di-dah. 
This is nothing, nothing at all, compared to the flu which, if you've ever had the real thing, are quite sure you never want to have again. 

It's SCIENCE! Which I believe in. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Conchita and Unnamed Baby. 

 

I Am Not Lonely Yet

You may notice that I changed my header picture. The photo of my house that has been up there was just too dark and made it look as if it was haunted which I'm pretty sure it's not. I think I'd know after all these years here.
Linda Sue of Lady Margaret's Curlers made that excellent and beautiful mermaid cherub ornament and sent it to me some years ago. The child reminds me so much of Magnolia June when she was younger and there is never a time when I look at it that I am not pleased and simply delighted all over again. It's been hanging in that window in the laundry room the whole time I've had it which is perfect for me because I walk by it many, many times a day. 

This little Mexican paper mache dancer or circus performer or perhaps something entirely different has now come to roost among the plants I have on that table in front of the window. This is the folding table Glen built me several years ago and it's one of my favorite spots in the house. The beautiful bark cloth the plants and lady are resting on was also sent to me by Linda Sue. 
That sweet lady artist is represented all over this house. 

Today? Well. Let's see. It was cold when I woke up. Maurice and I did not want to get out of bed. Of course what I call cold is barely even mild in the more northern climes. But it was in the low fifties and that, to us, is pretty darn chilly. So I just kept burrowing under my covers until finally Maurice came up to my head to see if I was still breathing and when she found I was, she jumped off the bed and went to attend to whatever it is she attends to when she gets up and in a few minutes, I got up too. It was a two cashmere sweater day and one of those sweaters came to me from...Linda Sue. 
I set the thermostat to 68 degrees to warm the place up a little and then forgot about it until later when I realized I had not heard the heat come on and when I went to check it I saw that it had not come on and it was 66 degrees in the hallway where the thermostat lives and so I did what I do which is to stare at the thermostat for awhile, hoping that my mere presence and force of mind will fix whatever's wrong with it and I fiddled with the temperature again and neither of those things worked. 
They never do but a woman's gotta do what a woman's gotta do. 
I knew I wasn't going to freeze and so dismissed the whole thing until later when I realized I'd been cold all morning. I plugged in a space heater and guess what? 
It isn't working. 
Of course.
Still, not to worry, right? 
I went out to the garden just to look around and be depressed about my greens and pick some more tabasco peppers because those and basil and one more Seminole squash are the only things I've got going. Well, except for arugula. That's still doing pretty well. 
And then I had a moment. 
Maurice came out to the garden too and she had a sip from the shallow dish I have out there to catch water for the bees and I saw the other orange cat by the compost pile, probably looking for anything new which I might have put out there which he would like to eat and he saw me looking at him and he froze and Maurice froze. I don't know whether she saw him or not. And I seemed to be caught in whatever space/time event they were in and we all just stood there in the sun for at least three or four minutes, simply being still and being surrounded by the intense color that fall somehow brings with it, as if a new filter had been added to everything. It was so quiet. I listened for birdsong and did not hear any. I held my basket with the few peppers in it I'd picked and was still.
It was odd and yet, it seemed to be exactly what we all needed to do. I swear I could feel the three points of energy the three of us were emitting coming together and I am not a casual user of language like that. 
And then I took my eyes off of the other orange cat and when I looked back a second later, he had disappeared and I realized Maurice had too. And so the spell was broken but for those moments, it had felt very natural and a little powerful too. Not that we had the power but that together, there was some sort of force. 
It wasn't what I would call a spiritual experience and I didn't gain any enlightenment from it but it was something. 

And interesting. And peaceful in a way but also, not exactly peaceful. 

Again. This is not really me but I know what I feel and that's what I felt. 

Perhaps this is what happens when you go for three straight days without seeing anyone or speaking to anyone, being alone and not unhappy about it. 

Later on this afternoon I did something I've been wanting to do for at least a week, which was to get out my clay and the few very, very simple tools I use to try and recreate my crow on magnolia leaves. 

I picked three smallish leaves and used those as templates. I have everything I need here for this stage of building something from clay. Parchment paper, a rolling pin, an old small kitchen knife, plastic wrap, small bowls for water and to make slip in. Slip being the sort of glue made from clay and water you use to attach pieces together, theoretically. And this is what I did.

I believe I was more mindful working here at home on the back porch. 
No time constraints, no worries about other people seeing and possibly judging what I'm doing although I will say I don't feel judged in pottery class. Still, if no one else is around, there is no chance whatsoever that any sort of criticism, silent though it may be, is possible. 
I fooled around with making my bird and I have not found my way with that at all. I was texting a friend about that and she said that the whole thing about crows is their personality. I agreed with her but added that the figure should at least resemble a bird. 
This is all entirely new to me. I have never, ever thought of myself as anyone who could make a ceramic bird or hibiscus or fish, for that matter. But I find so much pleasure in trying. 

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

Mr. Moon is leaving Canada probably as we speak and will start the 2,400 mile drive home tomorrow. 
Hoo-boy. 

I wasn't going to bother him with the whole heater situation but when I looked at the forecast for this coming week, I decided that it would be okay to mention it in hopes that he would either have some suggestions about how to rectify the situation or at least get in touch with whoever it is that does our heat and air care to see if he could schedule a visit from them. 

I'm sorry for being a wimp but 47 degrees? 
That's cold. Real cold. For me. 
When Jessie and I were shopping at TJ Maxx last week we came across a pair of leggings lined with some sort of fleecy, furry substance that was so soft it could not possibly have come from nature. I swooned a little and Jessie said, "Buy them!"
"Oh, I don't need them," I said. 
Haha. 
I wish I'd listened to my child. 

Anyway, I'll be fine and the heater will be fixed at some point and Mr. Moon will be home soon enough. And now I'm going to go heat up my supper. Last night's crispy tofu along with the eggplant casserole made me incredibly happy. This tofu recipe is brilliant and if any of y'all are really interested, I'll pass it on. 
So tonight I'm having some of that along with the eggplant casserole warmed up and I've also cooked a small pot of pinto beans because I wanted them. 
I may or may not bake some blueberry corn muffins. Having the oven on might warm up this end of the house a little bit, at least. 

I just finished listening to this today.

Again, it was not great literature but I surely did enjoy it. Where it could have been precious and smarmy and cliched it wasn't. There was just enough perfectly placed profanity as well as some tragedies and realities of life and lessons hard learned to keep it from slipping into the space of wondering why in the world you're wasting your time reading this. 
Also there's an orange cat who is a death doula. 
I think I'll remember this one for awhile and that's saying something. 

So. There's that. 

I have gotten The Duck out of its summer storage, which is to say a plastic garbage bag, and put it on the bed. All will be well. And Maurice will be pleased. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Critters

Sometimes, as Lily once so famously said as a bat flew around her in the bathroom, "Too much nature!" I think there may have been a roach in underwear involved there too. 
But it's been a slightly nature-ish day. Well, okay. The gecko in the sink was from last night. Now I like to think of myself as an old, strong, country cracker granny who can handle most things on her own but that is a big fat lie. There are a lot of things I can't handle, most them having to do with any sort of mechanical breakdown. Those things are Mr. Moon's job. Sorry but that's just the way it is around here. I cook, he fixes stuff. 
He also handles the wildlife which may mean taking care of a dead mouse, killing a rat in the dining room, removing a snake from a bathroom, or catching a darling little frog in the house and gently placing it outside. I'm not bad, really, at dealing with the dead things as long as they're not too big. I don't like it but I gird my loins, shut my eyes, and do what it takes.  
Dealing with the live creatures though is above my pay grade. So last night, when I discovered a gecko trapped in my kitchen sink, I was not happy. First off, I've never seen a gecko in the house, secondly, he or she seemed quite freaked out and last but not least- excuse me? How can a lizard which can literally walk on ceilings not get out of a damn sink? 
Just use your little suction cup toes there, Sister, and walk yourself out. 
But no. Not happening. So I put a cutting board at a slant in the sink so that the unhappy reptile could simply climb the slight incline of it and scuttle off to wherever it came from. 
Gecko was obviously not that smart. I changed cutting boards, thinking perhaps another size would work. 
Nope. 
So I finally just took a dough scraper and gently urged it out of the sink and before I'd even blinked, it had disappeared. So that was relatively painless. 
And then this morning, I woke up and came out to the porch to find that there had obviously been a drunken peanut party sometime in the night. I keep the crows' peanuts in a plastic bag and either I had forgotten to slide the little slider or else whatever had been having the revelry had figured out how to unslide it. This does not sound likely but raccoons have incredibly clever little hands. And I did suspect raccoons because they'd been up on the table where I keep the nuts although, possums can climb too. So who knows? 
There were peanuts and peanut shells scattered everywhere but they were easy to clean up and I wasn't too disturbed. Then I found the hole in the giant bag of sunflower seeds that Mr. Moon buys to feed the songbirds with, of course, sunflower seeds spilling out. 
I'm not sure what I'm going to do about that. I can't exactly animal-proof the back porch because there's a largish screen rip under the dog/cat door and I don't know what I could use to block it all off. 
Why, we may ask, did Maurice not chase off these nut and seed loving critters? Probably because she was asleep with me. 
And oh yeah- that bag of sunflower seeds weighs fifty pounds so I can't exactly move it. 

Too much nature.

Nah. Not really. It's just sometimes really annoying nature. I am sure the animals feel the same way about us, the clumsy humans who seem to fuck everything up but then again- there would be no sunflower seeds or peanuts without us. 
Glen'll deal with it when he gets home. Until then, I'll just be sweeping up stray sunflower seeds every morning. 

All right. I have some words to live by. As you know, I frequently say that I don't know shit but I do know some shit and one of the things I know for sure is that if you just think you smell something not right in whatever area it is you keep your potatoes and onions and so forth, there really is something that's not right and by the time you smell it, it really ain't right. 
I seem to have to learn this lesson over and over and over again. 
Today was this year's continuing education on that issue. 
First off, I did something I've been putting off for at least, well, I don't even want to admit how long it's probably been but I finally got around to mopping the kitchen, bathroom, and pantry. I have no idea why I do this so rarely. The whole process doesn't take forty-five minutes and that includes moving everything out that can be moved, sweeping twice, mopping twice, and moving everything back in. 
And it's so rewarding! 

 I always do this in the late afternoon so I can see how nice the clean floor looks with the late afternoon sun streaming in through the kitchen door. 

And let us not forget the wonderful smell of Fabuloso and vinegar that lingers after. 

Except today when there was another odor which seemed to be coming from the pantry and suddenly I knew exactly what was going on and yes, there were potatoes on my shelf in their basket that...well, look. Nature was involved. Nature's very own clean-up crew! So I immediately controlled my gag reflex, picked up the bag the offending, rotting, purifying, maggot-crawling potatoes were in and carried it directly to the compost and dumped the contents. Then I rinsed out the bag in the spigot because there was no way I was putting that bag in the trash in the state it was in. 
That is not all true. I didn't really have to control my gag reflex. I have a pretty strong stomach. 
But then I had to wash the potato basket and hang it outside and scrub the shelf it had been sitting on and somehow, still, the pantry retains a very slight odor of the horror which had occurred. 
I should be so embarrassed to tell you all this but somehow, I'm not. This is just life. Or at least my life. 
I tell you what- potatoes can turn on you in a heartbeat. Especially ones you buy at Aldi's. I am never buying any produce there whatsoever again. 

I have a lot more stories of my very exciting day but I think I'll go make my eggplant casserole and Crispy Masala Tofu that I am having for supper. These two things don't really sound like they go together, do they? 
Oh well. They are what I want. 

Here are two pictures I like. 

Cabbage palm transplanted from our property in Apalachicola to the old barn on our property. 

An extremely ancient oak on the back of our property which is so very sadly in the last decades of its life. I hope it's still decades. I could be fooling myself.
When we moved here twenty-two years ago, this tree was almost as big as the one next door. Majestically huge. Part of it split away in a storm, though, and this is what it looks like now. 

The moon is a beautiful waxing silver crescent hanging in a black velvet sky right outside my porch. A very tiny gecko is on the screen, patiently waiting for...what? A mosquito? A gnat? 

It's so young it's still almost transparent. 
Stay out of my sink, little guy! 
Thank you very much. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Weight. And Weighing

In the years before I started taking Zepbound and before I lost weight, I never, ever stepped on a scale unless it was in a doctor's office and I hated that experience with all of my being. The reason I did not weigh myself is no mystery. I knew I was gaining weight and I simply did not want to know how much. When I had to weigh at a doctor's office, there was no denying how many pounds I had, in fact, gained in the last several years. 
I've always had a fucked-up relationship with the scales. When I was in high school, I flirted with disordered eating as so many girls do. Luckily, I was simply not cut out to starve myself to the point where I did actual damage to my body. But for awhile I became obsessed with keeping track of every calorie I consumed and weighing myself. I honestly cannot remember how long this lasted but I know my anxiety about my weight started probably in the second grade. Kids will be happy to point out the fatty in the class. Well meaning adults were happy to step up and express their worry about my weight. This included my P.E. teacher in the fourth grade who, under the excuse of talking about what a healthy diet was, picked me out of the class in front of the class and asked me what I'd had for dinner the night before in order to show the other kids what an obviously unhealthy diet was. Since a lot of the kids in my class were skinny due to everything from intestinal worms to simply not having enough to eat, this was not only cruel, but ridiculous. 
In college I became a vegetarian, mostly in hopes that I could control my weight like that. I wasn't too stressed about it all, as far as I can remember but I do recall a psychiatrist I was seeing for clinical depression asking me if perhaps my weight was making me unhappy. 
Actually, it wasn't. And actually, I believe I was probably gorgeous. And actually, at that point in my mental un-wellness, that question was not only absurd but horribly unhelpful. 

And so on and so forth. I struggled with my weight and my feelings of inadequacy due to thinking I was overweight for years after that. And then, after my first two children were born, I determined that what I needed to do was to get skinny. Fucking skinny. 
And I did. I cut down my caloric intake to a dangerous level and I began running. 
And this is the method I used for years to lose weight. 

After I had Lily, I found Weight Watchers and I learned how to eat in a relatively healthful manner and still lose weight and then maintain it. I loved Weight Watchers. It was great. It wasn't easy. I never quit craving the foods I did not allow myself to eat or that I could only eat a little of. But I became far more educated about diet. It was a constant struggle though, keeping track, once again, of everything I ate. And I was pretty darn compliant. 
Eventually, I decided to work for Weight Watchers and I did. I can't remember at exactly what period of my life that was. Possibly after my fourth child. I was a good Weight Watchers leader. I really was. I was good at speaking to a roomful of people, I was funny, I was empathetic as hell, I was properly educated on the program, and I believed in it. There were times, though, when I felt like some evangelical minister preaching the Gospel of Weight Watchers. 
And yet, I still believe the program has helped many, many people and even now, I don't think it has the earmarks of a cult. 
Besides that, their cookbooks have some of my favorite recipe and I'm not kidding. 

Anyway at that time, I weighed once a week and that was at work. All the employees had to chart their weight because we were all active members of Weight Watchers and weighing once a week was far better than stepping on a scale daily or, okay, more often than that. 
And to tell you the truth- I got a hell of a lot of positive reinforcement for being fit and thin. Not skinny. But slender, shall we say? And the reinforcement came not only from my fellow employees and class members, but from the people I knew and saw regularly. 
And I felt pretty darn good-lookin'. 

After I'm not sure how many years, though, I decided I'd quit working for Weight Watchers. The pay was shit, we'd just moved here to Lloyd where I was deeply and purely in love with my new house, and I had an agent for a book I'd written and wanted more time to spend on that. 
Fine. Good. 
But over the years, I quit keeping track of all my "points". The vast relief of not having to measure every fucking bite of peanut butter I ate was unbelievable. I still kept up a lot of my good habits and made meals that were healthy and I still walked regularly. 
And yet, with just that tiny lapse of discipline, I began to gain weight again. 
Which leads us to where I was when I started taking Zepbound which I have been doing for about seventeen months now. I was very overweight. Unhealthfully overweight. I had aches and pains that I knew were associated with what I was carrying around. As I so often mention, it was difficult for me to get up off the floor or ground. I felt...well, I felt old and unattractive, to say the least. I groaned every time I got up from the couch or a chair. I did not look into mirrors unless I had no choice about that matter. 
I was not only uncomfortable in my body, I was miserable in it. I did not want to be fat phobic. I did not want to judge my own body in ways that I would never judge another person's. 
And yet I did. 

Finally, at an appointment with Dr. Zorn who had NEVER ONCE commented on my weight, I asked him about the possibility of getting on a glp-1. And he helped me do that. 
From the first day I injected myself with it, my relationship with food changed utterly to such a degree that it was miraculous. 
And it was nothing like taking drugs that promised to "suppress the appetite". And who among us women who have struggled with their weight have not tried a few of those, both OTC and well, a bit more sketchy?
The Zepbound simply made it so that eating was not an overwhelming force in my life but something that was pleasant enough but not a major force in my life, always on my mind. 
And I mean always.
It's gotten a little less powerful after all these months but it's still a miracle and I still can eat just enough and that's all I need. 
Will I be on it for the rest of my life? 
As things stand right now, I believe I will. And that's fine with me. 

But ALL of this is to say that I ordered a new scale today. Since I began taking this drug, which I give myself every Friday, I have weighed once a week. 
Once a week. I am not tempted to weigh more than that and the only reason I do weigh myself is to keep an eye on things. I can tell you though, that I still have some of the same feelings about stepping on a scale as I always have. It's just far more manageable and far less toxic. 

That picture you see at the top? That is the scale Mr. Moon and I have been using to weigh on for the last twenty-something years. Or at least, he has. I've only being using it for the last seventeen months. I got that scale for cheap when Weight Watchers decided to get rid of all of those scales and replace them with scales probably made in the twentieth century. And it's been a good scale. It's hefty. It feels like something you can trust, like it's a professional scale. It's not a lightweight itself. It makes squeaking noises and clunking noises. It has been a trusty and trusted item that lives in my laundry room. 
However. In the last few weeks it has become less and less able to be balanced properly which one does with a screwdriver and that black rectangle looking thing on the left side. I believe it may have finally sprung a spring or...whatever these scales do to indicate an end-of-life situation. 
So today I sat down and did a little research on reliable scales which do not have to be paired with an app, do not attempt to analyze your bone density, do not calculate your body mass index. 
A scale that simply tells you what you weigh when you step on it. 
And I fucking ordered one. 
And I will use it once a week. 
I have no idea what we'll do with the old clunker. Perhaps Mr. Moon will want to keep it. Fine with me. But I'm done with it. 
I think. 

It's been a good Friday. Not a GOOD Friday, you understand, but a good one. I hung laundry on the line and have made up the bed with those nice, clean sheets. 

I turned on the garden sprinklers to give all of those plants a little drink of water. I took pictures of marigolds shining in the late afternoon sun. 

I did more weeding in the area by the gate. 

I still have this (the stuff you see in the back of that photo) to attack. 

I'm sort of excited. 

Maurice has been my girl. She slept with me last night and she followed me around today, making sure I knew that she was only in those places by accident. 

Oh wait. 

This is not Maurice but her sort-of doppelgänger who lives in the yard and under cars and I don't even know where. 
He's sort of really handsome, isn't he? 

And Steve! 
Here are the sea grapes. 

This is the largest one, the one I started from the seed of a sea grape seed I picked up off the ground in the parking area of a little museum situated between Sebastian Inlet and Wabasso Beach. 

These are the ones I've grown from tiny seedlings I got in Roseland. 

I doubt anyone but you, Steve, can appreciate the thrill I feel, having grown these myself in North Florida.

I know I wrote too much tonight. I'd say I'm sorry but I'm not. I am not asking anyone to read it all. 
I have a feeling though, that I am not the only woman to have experienced the same things, thoughts, feelings, and actions as I have in their lives as pertains to body weight and body image. 
And there may be some men, too, who can relate. Body dysmorphia and disordered eating is not entirely a female thing. At all. And I think it's becoming more and more of an issue. Social media makes it all so much worse. 

Well. Happy Friday. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Correction Time! Credit Where Credit Is Due

 

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. 

Do NOT believe everything you read online. 
You'd think I would know that by now. 
Despite what I posted last night, the Aunt Sue of Meme Fame who got escorted out of a Trump rally in Syracuse a few days ago is NOT the Aunt Sue who is the founder and CEO of Biatch Tequila brand. That is Sue Hrib who, from what I have read (true?) is indeed a bad bitch in and of herself.

The Aunt Sue who was in the video making its way across the internet in huge numbers is a woman named Sue Secaur, a seventy-three year old retired school employee and animal rescue volunteer. Here's an excellent article about her from Syracuse.com.
Which is supposedly a reliable source. 

This woman deserves to be identified correctly, respected, admired, adored, and given a Nobel Peace Prize. 

That's all. 

Love...Ms. Moon