Wednesday, November 13, 2019

A Pretty Day Indeed

That's what the sky looked like today. I took that picture at Jessie's house where that giant shrub is in bloom and I can't for the life of me remember what its name is but isn't that a fine contrast?
Even Levon who was working outside with a shovel said, "Pretty day."

You have to love a two-year old who notices how gorgeous it is and remarks on it. 

I went over to Jessie's this morning to help her with the boys while she cleared out her raised beds and planted her own greens and things. August has a residual cough from his last cold and Levon is snotty so she didn't want to take them anywhere and she has really been needing to get things planted. Knowing that if I went to her house and her house only I wouldn't have to change into "town" clothes but could stay in my overalls and Goodwill cashmere, I volunteered to go hang out with the boys while she got things done. 
I had a great time with those boys. I love being silly with them. We read a lot of books. Levon likes to sit beside me with a blanket tucked around him. He loves his blankets. He doesn't have just one favorite, he seems to like to having a collection to choose from. August will sometimes put his  hand on mine or rub my arm while I'm reading and that makes me so happy. 
Before Jessie went outside, she made some noodles for the boys with bone broth and then, to try and alleviate August's cough a little bit, she made tea and served it in the boys' tea set with honey and milk and a muffin. Levon was down for a short nap at that point but August and I sipped our tea and stirred our honey. 

When Levon woke up he had some tea as well and then we all went outside and helped Jessie. The beds were full of very healthy looking zinnia volunteers so first we pulled all of those and Jessie got in the dirt with a pitchfork to break up old roots and fluff it all up. 

While she planted, the boys I went back inside and read some more books. 
She got it all done and watered in and I kissed everyone good-bye and came home. 

Last night one of the young roosters almost lost his mind, realizing after dark that it was getting very, very cold and that sleeping up in a tree was not a good idea. He actually came onto the porch which is quite unusual for him because he's skittish around me. 

He even jumped up and tried to get into the house through a window. That, of course, only works if the window is open which it was not. 
"Ya damn rooster!" I said to him. "This is why you sleep in the hen house!" I half-heartedly tried to throw a towel over him to grab him up and carry him out to the roost but he wasn't having that. 
He spent the night on the porch, I do believe, but tonight he's roosting with the rest of the chickens. He may be smarter than I thought he was. 
He certainly has an extraordinarily long neck, doesn't he? 

And so it has gone. I did a little more work on August's dress and next I'll move on to the pants and to the finishing on both dresses. I need to disguise my crappy sewing on the pockets with some embroidery. I didn't get to listen to much of the testimony from Washington today but if I'd been at home I would have listened to all of it. I know it would have made me angry, hearing the Republicans trying to come up with any reason whatsoever to challenge and disparage the witnesses. These people can't possibly believe that Trump is innocent of trying to use quid pro quo to serve his political interests. I mean- come on. They keep saying, "It's just hearsay," but every bit of testimony supports the whistleblower's claim, not to mention the fact that the funds allocated to the Ukraine were finally delivered within forty-eight hours of the White House getting the news about the whistleblower's report. 
What the hell is in it for the Republicans to be so stubbornly supportive of this serial liar and completely incompetent president? Fear of not being re-elected? Seriously? 
Have they no moral compass at all? No conscience? No love for their country? NO BALLS? 

I don't know. And I really don't believe that the Senate is going to vote to impeach and I really don't think that Trump's supporters are going to change their minds about the idiot one iota because they are truly living in an alternative universe where Donald Trump is the best president the US has ever had and his wife is the classiest First Lady ever to have lived in the White House. 

Classy! Every freaking comment about her on pro-Trump sites uses that adjective. "So glad to finally have a beautiful and classy First Lady!" they say. 
You know what they mean though, right? 
"Okay, so she may not have gone to Princeton and Harvard but she sure is white!" 

Well. That was a bit of a tangent. 

I have the absolute most beautiful loaf of sourdough in the oven right now. I am still experimenting and I think I may have learned a thing or two with this one. We shall see. 

Tomorrow I'd like to dig sweet potatoes. It may rain but then again, it may not. They say it's best to harvest them after come cold weather, that it sweetens them up. That may or may not be true. I just hope they're fat enough to make the effort worth it although if they're tasty enough, size won't matter that much. 
Take that as you will. 

I was going to post a video of Keith Richards talking about snorting a tiny line of his dad's ashes but y'all probably aren't as weird as I am. In it he talks about "ingesting his ancestor" and I can relate to that, having not snorted but having licked my fingers after scattering the ashes of some of my beloveds. If you're truly interested go HERE. 

And now you're probably all thinking, "Jesus. When is Mr. Moon coming back?"

Soon,  y'all. Soon. But I'll still be crazy. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Tuesday, November 12, 2019

I Do And Do Not Remember

Well, it feels stupid cold to me and it's only forty-eight degrees or something and it's going to get at least ten degrees colder tonight. It's been drizzly and gray as concrete all day long, the temperature making a slow slide towards the bottom side.
Not pleasant but a good day to stay in and sew.
Which is what I've mostly done although I did go to Publix.
I'm hoping like hell that it doesn't get down below freezing because I haven't so much as covered a porch plant. It's not supposed to but who knows?
Not me.

So I've been thinking all day, on and off, about that apartment I lived in when I moved out of Paula's house. What did I use for heat? I wonder. And I can't remember. I can't even remember the details of moving in. I know that Paula was graduating and so was our roommate, Bruce and I had to find another place to live. I was working at Jerry's Restaurant as a hostess, ruling my little world behind the cash register, wiping down menus, pouring coffee for the counter customers, showing people to their tables, wrapping silverware. I didn't love it but I didn't hate it. I came to dislike my manager immensely though. Let us just say that these days, he couldn't have gotten away with how he treated me. He hit on me all the time and made me uncomfortable, to say the least, but I was nineteen and had not yet formed a backbone and had not yet figured out that no man had the right to make uninvited passes that made me uncomfortable even if he was my boss.
I'd started seeing the guy who became my first husband. He was from Winter Haven and again, I cannot remember how we managed to find ourselves in any sort of relationship. I do remember the night we first got together. I was home for a holiday and a group of us had gone to see Cabaret and well, one thing led to another.
But how we hooked up again so much later is not something I've stored in my memory banks. At the time, he was living in a big old wreck of a house on the outskirts of Winter Haven with some other guys, some of them whom he played in a band with. I'd go visit him on stealth trips, staying under the radar because I had no desire for my parents to know I was in town. And he'd drive his little red VW bug up to Tallahassee to visit me. We were hot and heavy and I took him to meet Bill Wharton because I took everyone to meet the Whartons and they played some music together. They were at opposite ends of the musical spectrum. Jerry played covers, rock and roll, while Bill played what I can only describe as space music. But I think they must have been intrigued with each other.
And then I had to find a place to live. Right next door to where the Whartons lived in an old house on Park Avenue with their two daughters where all sorts of musicians gathered to play music and get stoned, there was another old house that had been made into three apartments. Two downstairs, one up. It was smack dab on the railroad tracks down in a gully, set back from the road underneath some oak trees and it was funky but when an apartment came available for rent, I must have seen it as a gift from the heavens. It came "furnished" which meant that there was a bed and a kitchen table and two chairs and a sofa which for decency's sake required an Indian print bedspread to be thrown across it. It was a true shotgun apartment- you walked in the front door from the porch into the living room, through the kitchen, into the bedroom and it ended in the bathroom. All in a line. It had big windows on the east side of the house, none on the west side because that side had been closed in to make the apartment.
The landlord was another pig of a man who used any excuse whatsoever to come over and harass me.
But the Whartons were right next door and the woman who lived in the apartment next to me was someone I knew although she was, um, well, quite strange. She was one of those hippie women who would go into states of orgasmic ecstasy over the adding of honey to her chamomile tea. But I got along okay with her. And eventually, another woman I knew from The Violinist who also hung out at the Wharton's nightly music circles moved in upstairs with her sweet boyfriend, Tommy. She was a flautist, another FSU music student, and she was blunt and funny and I liked her fine although her cat did climb through my bathroom window and shit in my shower.

So that was my own little place. Far from perfect but I did love it. As I said, I can't remember what I used for heat and there was no air conditioning but a fan in one of the big windows beside my bed made it bearable.

It wasn't that long before I quit my job as the hostess for Jerry's. I think my manager offered to give me a quarter an hour raise but I politely turned him down. And then my Winter Haven boyfriend moved up to Tallahassee. He was burning with desire, not for me especially, but to get the fuck out of Winter Haven. He and Bill had decided that they could form a band together and make some money. That never exactly panned out but they did try.
And that was the end of my time alone.
It's so odd how I really cannot remember much about that time. I do remember that my boyfriend did not always behave well. He had issues. He was twenty-one years old and was a guitar player. Connect the dots.
But we both got jobs at a new restaurant near FSU's campus. I was a waitress and sometimes a sandwich-maker and often times a cashier and he was a delivery guy. I'll never forget how when he was interviewed for the job they asked him if he knew Tallahassee well and he said, "Like the back of my hand."
He'd probably lived here two weeks. But he figured it out.

I have no idea how long we continued to live in that tiny apartment on Park Avenue. Eventually we found a little Jim Walters house to move into on what was then way outside of town. I have a lot more memories of that place.

But for a little while I did live by myself. I can remember cooking for myself and making bread in that tiny kitchen with the tile counter. I had a cat who would claw open the bread bag and eat all of the Roman Meal loaf she could eat. Remember Roman Meal bread? I had a telephone there which we all shared because even a land line in those days was a ridiculous luxury. I remember that when the train went by the entire building shook. I remember the Saturday morning I woke up and found a snake curled up on my stove. I remember my friend Chloe coming by with her newborn baby son, sitting at my kitchen table and nursing him. I remember Bill and his daughters coming over the day Nixon resigned and we listened to the Beach Boys on my shitty stereo.
Those are things I do remember.

Long after I moved out of that apartment it burned down and a new building was built in its place. I look at it sometimes when I drive by. The Wharton's old house is now some sort of business office. It looks fine and I wonder if the ghosts of some of the people who played music there on those nights when it all became more astral than terrestrial and who are now possibly dancing on an astral plane ever visit. I think of the two little girls who lived in that house and who witnessed such odd and beautiful times and who are now living in California and New York City living interesting lives and who work in the arts. I think of Bill, still making his living playing music, bringing joy and funk and gumbo to audiences everywhere. I think of the timid girl I was, craving love with all of my timid crazy heart.
I think of what it must have been like to live there. I wish I remembered more but perhaps it's good I don't.

Well, another memory post.
I guess I should go make my supper.

My heater is still working and I just truly hope it continues to do so.

Be well, sweeties. Be well.

Love...Ms. Moon

Monday, November 11, 2019


This morning Liberace spied something on the floor in the hallway and was determined to come in and peck it up. He was giving his tidbitting call to the hens while I was in the next room, sewing on Maggie's dress. I got up to shoo him out and realized that he and the rug made a pretty picture together. I wish I'd gotten one with the sun shining directly through his proud red comb because that was truly spectacular but if there's a way to make a rooster pose I haven't figured it out.

I took a walk this morning and it felt fine. My knee was a little whiny at first but it soon shut up. I spoke to my first human in two days when No Man Lord Guy raised his arms to me the way he does as I passed and I sang out, "Good morning!" He nodded and went about whatever it was he was doing. Hanging jeans on the fence, I think. I included the Post Office in my walk, having forgotten that it was closed on account of Veteran's Day. I'd collected the mail on Saturday so my box was empty.
Oh well.

When I got up this morning I thought about how I should spend my day and I thought, You know what?  I could spend the entire day sewing.
And that is mostly what I did.
I got Maggie's dress almost completely made and will finish it up tomorrow, most likely, and then start on August's and THEN I'll make the pants that go under the dresses. If, that is, I calculated correctly as to yardage. I'm not sure I did. I am not happy at all with my choices in this project. First of all- the pattern is just not that interesting although it does have raglan sleeves which are far easier to sew than regular, it turns out. I'm not thrilled with the material I chose either. I do like the print I got which has llamas on it but the deep forest green I got as the contrast is just a bit dark and weary for a child. 

That makes the green look brown and it isn't brown. Trust me. I would NEVER make a brown garment unless I was forced to. 
August's dress will be mainly the llama print with the green for the sleeves and Maggie will get llama pants and August will get green ones. 
In theory. 
But honestly, it all just looks like messy pajamas to me. 
Oh well. It is very soft fabric and they'll be cute when they wear them together. 
Again. In theory. 
And no one is going to force them to wear these outfits so it's not a big deal.
And I've had a very good day, sitting and sewing and listening to an audio book, not feeling guilty in the least.
I may do the exact same thing tomorrow although I do need to make a run to the grocery store.
I should probably do that just for some human interaction if nothing else. It's a bit worrisome that I'm so content to be by myself. Our culture advises against that sort of thing, especially for those who may suffer from depression or anxiety but quite frankly, I am extremely grateful to have reached an age and a place in my life where I am not bothered at all by solitude. I look back at the most stressful times of my life and realize that I have never really been comfortable in situations where I've been surrounded by lots of people.
There have been exceptions, of course.
But I do wish I'd realized a long time ago that there was nothing wrong with me for not being a social butterfly, for preferring to be in the company of one or two people whom I really loved rather than in a situation where a lot of casual chit-chat was involved. As I've written about before, one of my earliest memories is of a birthday party of mine when after the presents were opened and the cake eaten, I went to my room and shut the door, leaving my guests to continue without my presence. My mother found me and chastised me for being rude and thoughtless (I was probably turning five) and yes, she was right- it IS rude to leave one's own party to go hide away but looking back with the hard-learned knowledge of who I am, it makes perfect sense.

Perhaps tomorrow I'll write about the first and only place I ever lived entirely by myself. I have such an inclination to mate and I started having children at such an early age that it didn't last very long- that solo life.
But I remember it so fondly.

We shall see.

I'm going to go roast some cauliflower now.

Love...Ms. Moon

Sunday, November 10, 2019

Not Snowing Here, Thank You Very Much

I have nothing to write about tonight. Not a damn thing. Today's been fine but it's been very quiet and I realize as I write this that I have not spoken to one human, even on the phone.
Which is fine.
I've heard from Jessie and all is well with them. They are camping tonight, I think, with friends.
Hank texted me that he slept very, very well and is feeling good today.
Mr. Moon sent me a picture. 
I'm sure he's having a wonderful time but I am quite glad to be right where I am. It was a beautiful day today, never got much above seventy but again with that sky as blue as the eyes of Sweet Hippie Jesus. 

The first time I ever encountered snow in any real quantity was when I went to college in Denver. I've written about that before, I'm sure, but honestly snow now just reminds me of one of the worst depressions of my life. It must have lasted at least two years. Maybe more. The depression, not the snow. I was a lost little lamb in Denver. I felt as if I'd been dropped onto an alien planet and there was no way I could be cool enough or savvy (I hate that word) enough or anything enough to fit in there. I didn't miss my parents but I did miss my little brothers and also my friends who were all misfits like me who came from families that were broken or sad or dysfunctional in one of the myriad of ways that dysfunctional families can be. I'd had a boyfriend who'd made it quite clear that he wasn't interested in a long-distance relationship when I left Winter Haven. He'd been my first and I've been thinking of him a lot lately which I almost never do. He turned out to be fairly insane and I'd broken up with him a few times over the time we were together but he'd represented a sort of crazy conundrum of safety and wildness to me and in Denver I found myself yearning for him even as I discovered that he was sleeping with a good friend of mine and had eventually found a new girlfriend. These facts pierced my heart and of course in those days there was no e-mail or texting or easy long-distance calling or Facebook. Letters. We wrote letters. 
Or, as in this case, one person wrote letters and the other person never answered them. 
I'll never forget one snowy afternoon I was walking to a place called The Open Clinic where I volunteered, answering phones and talking to people who had problems ranging from feeling suicidal to wondering what sort of drug they may have just ingested might be, to being on the very sharp ragged edge of a bad trip, when I saw through the gray, snowy sky a man walking with a stand-up bass on his back and a sort of suitcase-like thing in his hand and my heart almost burst out of my chest, thinking it was my boy, come to claim me after all. He was a bass player, he carried his bass like that sometimes. 
But it wasn't him. 
All these years later I can feel the disappointment and sorrow in my heart that it hadn't been him. That realizing no, he was never going to show up. That no, he did not want to claim me as his own. 

I spent that first winter trying so hard to embrace this different life I found myself in. I did make some friends. I bought a coat heavy enough for the weather and a pair of hiking boots too. But I never could make myself feel at home there. The snow was lovely when it first fell and the earth seemed to quiet and soften but then it just turned into ice and I was so cold and I never did fit in and I never did figure out how to either walk on ice or drive on it.
So for me, snow is loneliness and sorrow, it is Joni Mitchell singing "River" while I quietly weep and embroider snowflakes on a denim work shirt for a boy who doesn't love me. 
It's something that falls on mountains in a form called powder which delights people who grew up skiing on mountains while I grew up skiing on water behind a boat in a place where snow was nothing more than a rumor or a picture in a book. 

I have not seen that boy in over forty years. Oddly, I am still friends with his brother and his mother, although I rarely see them. When I ask about him they hem and haw. No one seems to see him. He was indeed, crazy I guess and still is. 
As glad as I am that I escaped that particular nightmare, I still think of him with some very deep emotion. When I do think of him, that is. He was an important part of my life and I can't deny that or disregard it. And if it had been him, walking through the snow on that gray afternoon in Denver, my life would have taken a much different turn. 

Well, I'm pretty fucking glad that that did not happen. I suffered and I survived. I ended up in a place my children like enough to have stuck around so that I can see them whenever I want. And I am long-married to a man who is definitely not crazy and whom I love with all of my heart. 

Yesterday when Jessie got here with her boys I went outside to greet them and held my arms out to Levon and said, "Happy birthday!" and he actually ran to me and let me pick him up and kiss, kiss, kiss him on the neck. 
And that made up a million times over for a boyfriend who was not a boyfriend walking through the snow with a bass on his back. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Saturday, November 9, 2019

Not The Birthday We Were Expecting

That is what Levon looked like two years ago today when he was fresh born and trying to figure out the mystery of it all. Can't you just see the entire world of wonder in those eyes?

I woke up this morning to the clearest blue sky, the finest cool air. I was so happy that it was Levon's birthday and that we were going to have a little party for the boy. I hastened to get my chores done. I swept some and I made the frosting for the cake and iced it. I made myself a good breakfast with an egg and many vegetables and I ate it all in a tortilla with salsa. Everything was perfection. I went back and reread my post from the day that Levon was born. You can find it HERE if you want. Such a fast and beautiful birth. I will never forget how Jessie was cleaning up the kitchen after she made pancakes and went on to folding laundry and then the next thing we knew, it was time for Levon to be born. What a perfect day!

Right around the time people were supposed to get here around one, Hank called. He'd been having ocular migraines- not the headache part, just the visual wavy-lines, bright-lights part. I get those too, maybe once every year or so and that's how he's done it too but since Wednesday he'd been having them frequently and was a bit freaked out. So was I because if anything is wrong with any of my kids I get so anxious. We talked about it a bit and he said he'd go to the doctor next week and we sort of ended there but later he texted to say that May would take him to the doctor on Monday and then the next thing you know, I was saying that no, I'd take him today. Both of us needed reassuring that there was nothing really wrong. And Rachel is in LONDON! Her best friend bought them both tickets as a wedding present for Rachel so she wasn't here to take Hank, and May was working.
So right after all the kids got here I got dressed and went into town and picked him up and we went to a doc-in-the-box where because of the ACA he was able to pay only a ten dollar co-pay (thank you, bless you, President Obama!) and because we were the only people there we got to see the nurse and then the PA right away.
His blood pressure was high and the PA got a good history from him and said that they'd start out by putting him on some medication for that and then we were able to leave, much relieved that things didn't seem very dire.

We'd gotten a text while I was gone that said that they'd had a bit of an incident here in Lloyd. While playing in the bamboo forest, a nest of ground bees had been disturbed and all of the Weatherfords had been stung.
I texted back, "Is everyone crying and screaming?"
"Not anymore," Lily answered.


Those fucking ground bees. Or wasps. Or whatever they are. They're a true danger, especially to anyone who is allergic. Luckily, it didn't appear as if Jessie or Levon or August are although I do think there was some trauma.

But the cake was decorated eventually.

They used my bag of vintage cake-toppers and of course that made me happy. Owen's been sticking those things into cakes for years now and August and Maggie have also had their fingers in the bag, choosing between chickens and dancers and little girls with pink bonnets (those were actually mine when I was a little girl) and then sticking them firmly into cake frosting. I have a video of the birthday cake with lit candles being presented to the birthday boy and then him blowing them out. 
The cake seemed to go over well. 

It was a very simple cake- devil's food with vanilla butter cream frosting but it had my heart in it. 

By the time I got home, Lily had taken her kids off because Owen had a Dungeons and Dragons thing going on but Jessie and her boys were still here. August was wrapped up in a soft blanket, sitting in Boppy's chair watching some TV and he showed me some of his stings. 
"Was it terrifying?" I asked him. 
"Yes. It was," he said. 
Jessie had given him a small dose of Benadryl and he was a bit fuzzy around the edges. Poor child. Jessie said she didn't even know how many stings he got. Levon seemed fine. 
They had waited until I got home to unwrap Levon's present. I wish I had a picture of how I wrapped it. It was huge so I used a very festive tablecloth and a few yards of red satin blanket binding to do the job. 
Needs must. 
He was happy with this front-end loader and dump truck and as soon as the tablecloth came off he said, "Open, Mama! Open!"

After that it was time for them to go home and August started complaining of pain in the area of his left jaw. Jessie and I both looked and could see nothing. He has all his teeth so it's not that. He's had a little sinus thing going on and so who knows? It could be an ear infection at this point. He was unhappy though, to say the least. When he got in his car seat I told him that some days are just very hard. 
"Like this one?" he asked. 
"Yes, like this one. But sometimes you just get a very good night's sleep and when you wake up, everything feels better."
He told his mother he wanted to go home to get cozy and could he have a blanket to be cozy in in the car? She went and found him one and then Levon had to have a cozy blanket too so I went back in the house and found him one and wrapped it around him and I kissed my daughter and said, "When you have a baby, you don't expect to have days and feelings like this, do you?"
I could immediately relate, having just been so worried about my son. This is the sort of thing that never goes away or gets easier. A mother's worry, concern, desire above all else to make it right and well and okay. 
And then come the grandchildren and all of that worry and concern and desire to make it right simply increases with each of them as they go through the normal life-passages, some of which are painful or feverish or scary and on top of worrying about the child, you worry about your own child- the parent now- because you remember what it felt like to have a kid who wasn't feeling well. 

It never ends, does it? 

Well, it may not have been the perfect birthday but I think the children had fun. Except for the terrifying parts. 

I am sorry I missed it. Well, again- maybe not the terrifying parts. 
But I am glad I got to be with Hank. Despite the reason we were together, we enjoyed each other's company and were both quite cheerful by the time it was all over. 

It's getting colder. My heat is working but Lord, Lord! the weird sounds it's making are a bit disturbing. But I'm not worried. I can always turn on the gas logs and close the doors, room by room, to make cozy places of warmth. 
I just got a text from Jessie saying that August had a little nap in the car, woke up feeling pitiful but then got some Motrin and had a lavender soda bath and a yogurt and is now in fine fettle. 

I'm so glad. 

I think I'm just going to fancy up a frozen pizza for my dinner tonight. I can't face much chopping and roasting or mixing and concocting. But trust me- POWER greens will be involved. 

And then bed. 

Jack's already waiting for me. 

Stay warm, y'all. 
Happy birthday, Levon! 
And because sometimes I just really do need some Keith Richards, here's something I've posted probably more than once. 
So what? I give it to you again. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Friday, November 8, 2019

Domestic Goddessing, Ms. Moon Style

My house smells gorgeous right now with butter and sugar and chocolate and vanilla and almond. It almost reminds me of the fair, not just because of the way it all smells of sweet, hot decadence but because it is that time of year and indeed, the fair is in Tallahassee right now and so I'm flashing back to walking through the booths where they sell the fried and spun and dipped and fried again foods, through the midway with the games and lights and rides, the neon flashing and the music booming, the children with big eyes and teenagers with arms around each other, the big pavilions where they show the farm animals with their liquid eyes, the chickens with their gaudy feathers, the pies and cakes and breads and jams and the artwork, too.
The fair can be grand if you're in the mood but it can be a nightmare, too.
The very threat of losing a child in the crowd was enough to take the shine off the fair for me once I became a mama but I will admit that I do love the quieter parts of it- the 4-H things, the little kid rides, the way my grandkids flash huge smiles as they go past where we're standing, watching them go around and around in a little car on a track or on a pretty pony on a merry-go-round.
Overall, though, right now I am most happy to be home on this evening in my house with the rain coming down outside.

I slept so deeply last night that I don't even think I turned over once. My sheets were barely disturbed. But I did wake a few times to hear rain falling and it's been raining off and on since then. The cold weather is right behind it.

I went to town this morning to meet up with Lily and Lauren and Maggie and Jessie and Levon. August was at school. We gathered at Jessie's house.

Levon and Maggie had a wonderful time playing together. Maggie found the doctor kit and gave me a thorough exam proclaiming that I had a templeture but she cured me right up with a round of injections. Levon also listened to my heart with the stethoscope but he didn't have much to say about what he heard. We ladies all talked a lot and while we were there, Jessie had a conversation on the phone with the doctor (a genuine doctor in this case) about how she is doing on the diet and so forth. I asked her if he had told her he was proud of her. 
"Sort of," she said. 
She's working so hard at this, giving it every real chance. I told her I was proud of her. And I am. 

Lily and Lauren and I decided to throw diet and caution to the winds and went to Maria, Maria for lunch. I just love that place. I got a chili rellano which was perfection and a Maria's tostada which was too damn good. I love the way the food there tastes like it should- real. Not gooped up with too much sour cream and lardy refried beans and yellow(ed) rice. And it reminds me so much of Cozumel. The place was packed when we got there, empty but for us when we were finished eating. So hopefully, they're doing good business and can continue to serve the food that makes me so happy. 

After we ate I went to JoAnn's Fabrics and bought a pattern and flannel to make Maggie and August their dresses. I also got enough material to make them both a pair of pants to wear under the dresses. Winter clothing. 
Well, Florida winter clothing. 
Tuesday Morning is next door to JoAnn's so I stopped in there, too, feeling like maybe this shopping thing was indicating a micro-manic incident but when I walked out thirty minutes later after having purchased nothing, I felt like it probably hadn't. 

And then home where I put the washed sheets into the dryer and made the chocolate cake for Levon's birthday. I offered to make it and Jessie took me up on it. She's got so much going on right now and it honestly makes me happy to bake a birthday cake. It won't be fancy but it will be good. The tiny party will be held here tomorrow. It's just family and there will not be a bouncy house or really anything at all except for some food and the cake and presents. Two-year olds don't need a lot. The kids can play and Levon won't have to wonder why there seems to be so much pressure on him to fulfill some mysterious need of the adults in his life for him to be thrilled about something he doesn't begin to understand. By the time he's ten, a bouncy house will be in order but for now- simple is the best. 

I can't believe it's been two years since that little boy was born. It's so fun getting to watch him grow, seeing who he is and falling in love with him. He learned a new phrase today from Maggie who hates to leave Jessie's house. 
"One more minute," he kept saying to his mother as she was trying to get him into the car to go pick up August from school. "One more minute!" 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Thursday, November 7, 2019

When Your House Is Your Friend

Mr. Moon left this morning sometime around 2:00 a.m. and last I heard, he was in Seattle with enough of a layover to get something to eat. So, he's off on his adventure and I am here in my little world and happy to be so.
Jessie brought the boys out around noon for a visit. We played and read books and snack-lunched. We walked down to the Post Office. I thought about how I used to stroll and then walk with Owen to the post office every day that he stayed with me. And then it was Owen AND Gibson. It's not much of a walk. Less than a block, really. Levon wanted to push his stroller which is missing a few parts but that does not concern him in the least.

The pushing is the important part, of course. 
Here are both boys in the Post Office. 

There was absolutely nothing in our box so I said, "Well, let me at least get a picture," and for once, they were compliant. 

We walked around the volunteer fire station for a bit. There's a nice bit of grass there. It's also the helipad in case someone needs LifeFlight. I find that rather reassuring while at the same time I hope never to need it. And of course while we were exploring, Levon zoomed right in on a big piece of heavy machinery which I have driven or walked past hundreds of times and never really registered. 

He walked around it as far as he could in order to get many different views. 
He reported that it was "big." 

I had an appointment to get my teeth cleaned at four so after Jess and her cubs left I got ready for that and then drove to town. I was a bit apprehensive about it but mostly because my dental hygienist and I have such different opinions about things and I never even knew this until we became Facebook friends. 
But all went well. We seem to both be treating each other with extra-soft kid gloves and talk about our grandchildren, traveling, stuff like that. In a way, it says something valid that despite vast disagreements concerning the most divisive issues (politics and religion, mostly) we can still retain a sort of friendliness which does not seem too forced or false to me. We hugged when we parted. And of course I only see her once every six months, but in a way, it's a fairly intimate relationship when you think about it. I have issues with all things concerning my mouth and teeth and so I have to feel trust and I have to feel reasonably comfortable with a person who gets up close and personal in that space. 
And I do. 
I saw Doc and thanked him again for gluing that crown back on. I can't help but like this man. He's been my dentist for many years and we slap palms when we see each other now. 
Which is sort of funny but it is a form of connection, at least. 
"Good-bye, Mary," he said when I left the office. 
"Good-bye, Doc," I said before slipping out the door. 
And that was that. 

I stopped by Costco to buy a Costco-sized bag of POWER greens because when Mr. Moon is gone I throw a couple of handfuls of those in everything I cook. Power greens. Haha! I get the visual image of a Florida pioneer woman cooking up a big pot of collards and mustards and telling her family to be sure and eat up their power greens! And the sweet potatoes too because those are SUPER FOODS! 
Who knew? 

By the time I got home, dusk was settling in and the moon was rising, silver white and reassuring with its eternal face. I pulled into my driveway and was happy to be home. Levon informed me today that my house is "very tall." I suppose to an almost two-year old who hasn't spent much times in cities that a two-story house is indeed very tall. I told him he was correct. 
It's funny that when Mr. Moon is gone I seem to appreciate my house more than when he's here. I suppose part of that is simply that I'm not thinking about making his supper or packing his lunch or wondering if he has enough ironed shirts for the week as I make my way from kitchen to bedroom to bathroom and back again in this old tall house with its added on bedrooms and bathrooms and porches, built to accommodate bigger families over the years. When I'm the only one here, it is quieter, of course, and it seems to me that the house and I both are able to let our hair down a bit. It's almost as if we become companions, crone-cronies. We are both rather old but we are still strong and capable of doing what it is we have always done. We have our crooked places, our scars and our quirks, our secrets and our mysteries, our strengths and our weaknesses, and our definite signs of aging, some of which make us even more comfortable. 

Chickens are roosting. The lettuces are up in the garden. Gonna be cold tomorrow night. 
For us, anyway. 
I am content. 

Love...Ms. Moon