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Well, I have been a hunting widow, a fishing widow, a working-on-the-log-cabin widow, an auto auction widow, and Lord knows what all else. 
And tonight I am alone because Glen is spending the night in the intensive care unit with his friend so that his friend's wife can go home and sleep in her own bed and just...have a moment. Since last Monday I don't think she's hardly left the hospital and as we all know, if you don't take care of yourself, you certainly can't take care of anyone else. 
It was one week ago today that Glen and his friend were out on the Gulf. 
One week. 
I don't think things have changed much as to his friend's condition. Glen sent me a picture yesterday of the IV bags they have with meds and fluids and nutrition running into his veins and I could count at least twelve. 
I believe he's on six different antibiotics because they're still not sure what the infectious agent is and it's possible it's not even bacterial, but viral, and that would require an entirely different treatment. Maybe they got results back from lab tests today. As I've said, I'm only getting this information third or fourth hand. 
I remember when Glen's sister was in the ICU many years ago, and how he would spend the night with her, too. Of course there's nothing any of us non-medical people can do in reality but there is great comfort in knowing that if the person in the bed can somehow sense a loving presence beside them, that's enough. 
That is enough. 

I wish I was half the person, the kind of friend that Mr. Moon is. 

But I am not and I spent my day doing a little of this, a little of that. I got my sweeping done, I took the trash. It would appear that the Stillwater Farm Shop is now open. I did not stop and go in. For one thing, I wasn't wearing even a bra-like garment and for another, I had no money on me. After having looked at their newest posts online, I don't think I would have really wanted to buy anything anyway. The shelves where the My Gypsy Soul Boutique kept things like "natural" seashells and homemade soaps and local "art" and...I can't remember...now seem to hold a few small pumpkins, honey, and some other unidentified objects. I see a few tee shirts, a few little mugs, a few mums in pots, and a cooler with what is probably raw milk in it. 
I saw a cross on the wall but I saw no eggs. Or produce. Or homemade soap for that matter. Let's face it- the shelves and the shop are mostly empty. 
Well, good-luck. 

We've gotten more rain and that has caused some rotten branches to drop. I saw this in the front yard.

The photo is deceptive as to size. I filled up the garden cart with its various parts. 

Such beautiful lichens, fungi, and mosses.

And then there's this mushroom, growing from one of the stumps where I feed the crows.

And I finally set everything else aside and got out Dottie-Frances and my paints and brushes and that was the best. 

I work slowly and yet, my lines and my colors are still untidy. 
But. 
As I said the other day, that's me. 

I guess I'll go make myself some supper. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Remembering This And Remembering That

I took this screen shot yesterday morning of my Merlin bird identifier app which is offered free from the Cornell Lab of Ornithology. I was mostly wondering if the crows who come to dine here are really crows or if they are, in fact, ravens. They're so big! Like twice the size of regular crows. But the app said they are American crows and I suppose I'll trust it. What surprised me was the number of different birds the app was picking up. Some of them I was not surprised about- our regular visitors like the Carolina wrens and the cardinals and blue jays but frankly, I don't think I knew that woodpeckers, either downy or pileated, make calls. Of course they do! There were more coming in every second but that's the screen shot I got at that moment in time. 
I just looked up a video on what the pileated woodpecker sounds like and of course I recognize that sound! I hear it all the time! 

I swear. The older I get, the more I realize I do not know. The more I realize I do not even know enough to even wonder about what I do not know. If there's one thing about dying that makes me feel a little sad, it's that I'll die without the slightest idea of all that I've missed, right here in front of me. Forget the things I don't know about history or botany or architecture or art or music or biology or how electricity works- I'm talking about the very birds that live in my yard, the spiders, the wasps, the favorite foods of my loved ones, the tides, the constellations right above my head, and how Keith Richards has managed to live this long. How I'VE managed to live this long. 
It's all crazy miraculous to me and perhaps that's the best way to look at it all. 
Still. I should freaking know what a pileated woodpecker's call sounds like. And now I do. 

We got rain today. For once the forecast did not lie. It has rained on and off most of the day. Not a great amount at any one time and not exactly steadily but in the coming and going of it, we are definitely a bit less thirsty here. 
I was going to get so much done!
Story of my life. And in one way, I did. My oldest constant friend from childhood called me and we talked for two hours and twenty minutes and had not even begun to run out of things to say. When she called I had just started making a little headway with my goal today which was to sweep the entire house thoroughly. I'd gotten my bathroom done and had almost finished up with our bedroom but when that girl called, I knew what was about to happen and I just sat my butt down and let everything else go. 
Both of us know what's important and we are important to each other. The best of friends since sixth grade and we share the kinds of memories that you probably would not tell your children about. 
Like the day we were part of a small group of people in a Karmann Ghia who blew up a gas station? Okay, I'd tell my kids about that. I didn't crash into the gas pump. I wasn't holding the beer. 
Still. 
You know what I mean. And that incident is hardly the most scandalous thing we may or may not have been involved in. As we always end up saying to each other- it's a damn miracle we survived. And yet we did, and here we are, and our lives continue to present us with situations that we need to talk about, discuss, empathize with,  relate to, and laugh about. 
Laugh about. That's probably the most important thing. After all these years, we can and do still laugh. 

So that's mostly what I did today. Oh, of course I washed the sheets and remade the bed with them. I have a loaf of the high-fiber, high-protein bread in the oven and I am going to cook some more scallops. Last night's supper was truly a southern delight although I put too much garlic in the pork roast if that's even possible. 
Trust me. It is. 

And the cobbler? It didn't need no stinkin' whipped cream or ice cream either one. It was pretty perfect as it was. 

I believe Dolly would approve. Granny Mathews too. 

Should I talk about 9/11? 

What more could I add to the somber discussion of that day? What I've been thinking about is how I have such a very, very strong memory of it, even the part of the morning before I knew it had happened. Was happening. I was just thinking about this the other day, how it almost seems like my brain took a clear and crisp photograph of that day and presented it to me in such a way I would never forget it, both the before and after. I remember specific details of Lon and I driving to pick up Lis at the hospital where she had had gall bladder surgery. I think. That part I am a little fuzzy about. It may have been an appendectomy. When we walked into her room, she had the TV on and said, "Have y'all seen this?" and we watched as the Twin Towers fell in a cloud of smoke and we had no idea what we were really watching and yet somehow, Lis got checked out of the hospital and we drove to a pharmacy to get her prescriptions filled but before all of that, I can completely recall Lon's and my discussion in the car about a dream he'd had the night before and I remember how I interpreted it and of course, as everyone remembers, no matter where they were, how beautiful the sky was that day. How blue and clear and cloudless. Empty of clouds.
How perfect. 

I know I've posted one version or another of this song by Bruce Springsteen on many anniversaries of that unfathomably unbelievable day. Here's another. 

I still don't understand. I doubt anyone does. 
But it happened. 

And nothing will ever be quite the same again. 

So. Here's Bruce. And his wife Patti Scialfa.

Music often says what most of us cannot. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Cooking And Comfort And Cats And Caladiums And Fish

Aaaannndddd- We're back! 
So yeah, that's the caladium plate/platter/tray. 
Not wildly exciting, is it? Dadgummit! Nor is it shaped properly to be very useful as any of those things except possibly a tray and even then, not really. But here's what it looks like with persimmons on it. 

As you can see, it is rather large. Also, I think, a little too tidy for my style. I followed the lines way too closely. This is not who I am.
By the way, the persimmons came from Jessie and Vergil's persimmon tree. They have a dang orchard now. 

My fish plate/platter/tray is well begun now. 

I believe we could safely say she's a Lady Fish. See why I'm calling her Dottie? I have no idea what inspired me to go with a polka dot theme but who needs a reason with a fish like this? It took me the entire two and a half hours to get that much done on her. I really, really want to work on her at home this week. I can hear her calling me from the canvas bag she's in, wrapped in newspapers. 
"Make me beautiful!" she is saying. "I long for my transformation!"

Oh! And as for the little fish...sigh.

Due to the fact that I got glaze on the bottom of it and didn't wax over it, the firer put what they call a cookie underneath it and now she's stuck to the cookie. Which broke. Gail told me to try freezing it and then running hot water over it to see if they'll come apart. 
Ummm...not so far. 

Here's another thing I learned today- if you freeze whipping cream and then thaw it and try to whip it, well, it won't. Not really. You'd think at the age of 72 I'd already know this, wouldn't you? 
The reason I wanted to whip some cream is because I made a peach cobbler. And the reason I made the peach cobbler is because I had some peaches and nectarines I'd bought which weren't fit to eat fresh as they were hard and mealy but I didn't want to waste them so I peeled them and cut them up and made Granny Mathew's recipe which is exactly the same recipe Dolly Parton quotes in Steel Magnolias, only she uses fruit cocktail instead of canned peaches. 
You know- the cuppa, cuppa, cuppa recipe?

Although as you can see, if you use fresh fruit, it's a cuppa, cuppa, cuppa, cuppa peach cobbler. I did use fresh fruit but I did not use another cup of sugar. Instead, I mixed in some of this stuff.

Since it is sweetened ONLY with fruit juice, it is so much healthier for us, right?  Let us not kid ourselves. Sugar is sugar and fruit juice has tons of it. But, the cherries will be a little surprise for Mr. Moon when he goes to eat it. 
And just as Dolly says in the movie that she serves this dessert with ice cream to cut the sweet, I wanted some whipped cream for the same purpose but, oh well. If Mr. Moon wants some ice cream he can run up to the GDDG to get some. 

Oh! Here's what the cobbler looked like, right out of the oven.

I tried to talk myself out of buying that pretty little green casserole dish at some thrift store (and it came with a nice lid) because I did not need yet another pretty little casserole dish but I am so glad I did not. I have used it so many times in the past few months. It's such a good size for two people. 

I also made some chili crisp today as I am almost out of it but it ain't right. I don't know what I did wrong but it's just not right. I don't really use a recipe which has now come back to bite me in the ass. 
It may taste good enough to eat anyway. We'll see. 

AND, I am cooking a Boston butt pork roast in the slow cooker to make pulled pork sandwiches with. I have obviously spent a great deal of time in the kitchen today. I now have a small pot of field peas cooking to go with the sandwiches and will make some cole slaw.
Phew! 

I am trying, I think, to offer comfort food to my husband. The news is not good for his friend. I'm not sure they have a specific diagnosis yet which could be hindering the proper treatment but are waiting on lab results from a lumbar puncture. Many, many tests and scans have been done. He is still very much in the ICU. 
Again, I don't want to go into detail but it's devastating to those who love him and Glen is one of those. This man has big feelings. I realized that soon after I met him and it's one of the things that made me take him seriously as a suitor. And it's still something I very much respect and love about him. 
And get this- Maurice, who for the last few months has been treating him like he's scarier than Frankenstein's monster, just spent a very long time, completely relaxed, sleeping on his lap. 

She knows. She knows he needs that comfort and indeed, that did comfort him. Crazy as she is, she is a very fine nurse kitty. 

We got some really good rain today. Not for a long time but far better than nothing. There was some of the loudest thunder going on I've ever heard. It was glorious. 

And oh- look at this.

Gail was right. I froze the little fish and then actually soaked her and the cookie in hot water and she slid right off. 
A tiny thing, but hell, I'll take whatever I can get right now in this world of ours as it appears to be falling into complete and utter frightening chaos.
A fish, that became free of its cookie. Yes. Thank you.

And hey, y'all- tell the ones you love that you love them. Life is far more tenuous than we can possibly imagine. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Mostly Third World Problems, Part Two Thousand, Nine Hundred And Forty-Seven

Well, Blogger doesn't seem to want to post any photos of mine, either from the ones I drag from photos to the desktop or directly from the photos library. 
Really, Blogger? Not being able to make comments or receive comments wasn't really a national emergency but the inability to share my life via photographs is simply a disaster. 
Haha! 
And I have pictures of my fired caladium plate and the tiny fish as well as the work I did this morning doing glaze painting on Frances although her name may now be Dotty but who cares? 
Who really cares? 
Turns out, not even me. 

Eh. It's been that sort of day. When I got up this morning I truly wanted to text Jessie to tell her that I just could not make it. As usual, no real reason. It wasn't that hard to get up. When the alarm went off, I was dreaming that pottery class was taking place at my house and somehow Gail, our teacher, wasn't there so I was sort of in charge since it was my house and I was walking around asking people things like, "And what are you working on here?" because even in my dreams I am aware that I don't know shit about pottery so I was just trying to show interest. 
And then, of course, people started needing to take showers and before I knew it, my bathrooms (so many of them!) were filled and getting so very messy, and wet and damp towels were piling up in corners which didn't upset me that much as I don't mind doing laundry but it was getting way ahead of me. 
So I combined both my obvious awareness of my ignorance when it comes to the process of making what I call "real" pottery and the usual dream situation in which there is so much mess and so much laundry that I can never catch up. 
Sigh. 
And of course I felt as if I'd already had a long day when in reality it hadn't even begun but I managed to get up and get dressed and eat breakfast and all that stuff and then I drove to town to pick up Jessie and it was all fine by that time. 
Class was rather quiet today and Gail's music playlist was excellent for me. Lots of Motown and some Bob Dylan and the Band and Leon Redbone. When Lizzy and I weren't talking I was singing to myself and even sang out-loud very softly to Leon's "Ain't Misbehavin'" because how could you not? 
So yes, my caladium got fired as well as the little fishy I did as a sort of I-have-forty-five-minutes-left-in-class project. You know- the one I thought I might make a few of to hang on a wall together? 
I do like the fishy very much. It is far from perfect in any sense of the word but it is quite colorful. The caladium platter is...okay. It's not atrocious and it's all in one piece but it's not what I would call exciting. 
I'd show you a picture but...

And then I got out my glazes and paintbrushes and went to work on the big fish platter and I so enjoyed that. You know what I love the most about these fish? It's that I really have no idea what colors I want to use, what color-scheme I think would be good. 
I just don't. 
But then my hand reaches out to one of my stroke-and-coat bottles and I squeeze a little bit onto the small palette and dip a brush in it, and there we go. It's just so damn...fulfilling. 
I can't explain it. 

So class was good. There were some excellent things being made, both on the wheel and by hand-building and a lot of people were pleased with what they were doing which makes for a very, very good day. 
Along with a Motown-heavy play list. 

Gentleman Caller couldn't make it today as he had responsibilities to attend to but as I told Lizzy, we would have to be satisfied with whatever time he could give us and then I told her to please be sure and tell him I'd said that. 
I hope she does. 

Jessie and I went to lunch which was not exciting (salad bar) but we got some good talking done. And then, even though I'd gone to Publix yesterday, I'd forgotten my list and had a few things I had forgotten so I stopped by there and also Native Nurseries where I bought seeds and a Christmas present for someone I love. 
I bought a Christmas present in September! 
Yeah, yeah. 

I came home. Glen was still at the hospital. His friend is not doing well. I don't think I should give a whole lot of information out about this because...privacy. But I'll just say he's in intensive care now. They may have a diagnosis but it's not one you would wish on yourself or a loved one. 

It's raining about one drop per minute here which isn't really rain. I am feeling rather old and ugly and tired and like my skin suit does not fit. Not the kind of skin suit that those crazy young people mean when they are talking about how synthetic or robotic entities slangily refer to organic humans in Sci Fi or gaming. 
I had to look that up on the Google. Of course. 
No. Not that sort of skin suit. The kind that is my own skin which covers all the stuff that skin covers. Not only does it not fit anymore, it has the protective ability of a piece of tissue paper which is simply not adequate to living life. I am becoming a BandAid aficionado. 

Still can't download photos. 
You're not missing much. Trust me. 

Love...Ms. Moon

P.S. When Mr. Moon and I had been together for about a month, we traveled to New Orleans together. It was freezing cold. There was no running water in the city because all the pipes had burst. But- New Orleans. They soldiered on. We went from bar to bar, drinking Irish Coffee, warming our bodies and souls. We found ourselves in a small bar one evening and there were only a few people there but there was a piano and a man playing it. He began to play "Ain't Misbehavin" and I, high on new love and quite possibly an Irish Coffee or two, stood by him at the keyboard and began to sing this song. 
I had never and have never since, done anything like this. 
It was short and sweet and I will never forget the smile that man gave me, the bit of applause that small crowd offered me. 
 

I did not embarrass myself. I will never forget it. 

A Musing On Cats And Marriage

I took two photos today and both of them were of Maurice. I spent most of the day in town and I don't think y'all need a picture of Costco. Or Publix. Or even Oak Tree Treasures, as lovely as it is. 

I have no idea what Maurice was examining there but it must have been some sort of little critter. 

I was thinking the other day about Maurice bringing me mice and other delectable meat treats and it occurred to me that I get so excited when I think the crows have brought me a gift of any sort but when Maurice brings me something my reaction is invariably, "Dammit, Maurice! What the fucking fuck?" 
And that's so wrong. 
That cat went out and hunted with forethought. She wanted to catch something to give to me which she did. She then brought it into the house or on the porch, leaving it where she knows I'll come across it because she is more familiar with my paths and patterns than I am myself, and on top of all of that, whatever she's brought me is almost always so unmarked by struggle or blood that she must have made a quick, lethal kill which is also not nothing. It's almost like someone giving you an entire ice cream cone, unlicked, whole, and all for you, rather than handing you a soggy mess of cone with most of the ice cream gone saying, "Here. You want this? I've had all I want." 

We can say what we will, or at least I can say what I will, about Maurice's very odd and not always pacifistic behavior but in giving me these gifts she is showing her love and concern for me in the way she knows best. She has to think about doing it, create a strategy, do it, and deliver it. 
And instead of praising her or marveling at her hunting abilities, her obvious affection for me, I yell at her, mostly in profane ways. 
Why IS this? Well, because I don't like finding dead animals in my house or on my porch. I am obviously not going to eat them, and obviously they must be disposed of which is not a pleasant task. 
But. Their meaning to the cat is completely and purely altruistic and in the end, that is what matters, isn't it? 
And it is such a feline thing to do. What would the canine equivalent be? The only thing they bring humans are balls and sticks that the human can throw for them which brings the dogs much pleasure and I guess, shows that the dog enjoys interacting with the human and that's nice. But it's not the same. 
I realize that dogs show their affection in different ways. Defending their humans sometimes. We all know stories of dogs who have protected their owners or the children of their owners or somehow got the attention of another human when their human is in a dangerous situation. 
"Timmy's in the well!" 
I've heard of cats doing things like this too, but they are not known for it, like dogs are. 

And this is not a cats versus dogs thing. Or even a cats versus crows thing. Crows are wild animals, and as such, are not generally expected to interact with humans in the ways that a domesticated animal would although it would seem that cats are not domesticated in the least, but are essentially the same animals they were when they first began living with humans. A deal was struck. The cats would come into the living spaces of people and help rid them of vermin and the people would let them sleep by the fire or stroke them or even let them have a bite of mammoth entrail from time to time. 

So I've been thinking about all of this and realizing I don't give Maurice enough credit for doing the things for me she perceives as true gifts from the heart. 
I should at least maybe thank her before I start in with the cussing. 

Mr. Moon has gone to the hospital to see one of his very best friends and his best fishing buddy. There was an incident this morning which caused his wife to take him directly to the ER and they're trying to figure out what happened. 
Glen has had so many friends who have had medical problems or even terminal diagnoses lately, or who, in fact, have died. He takes each one with great sorrow. I don't think I'm being hyperbolic here. The man cares very, very much about his friends. 
And as he worries about his friend, I worry about him. He spent all day on a bush hog, clearing land at the property where he sometimes hunts, to get it ready for the season. He does not own this property and he never will. He may not even hunt it. He does love to put up the trail cams and watch what comes in to feed. Bears and raccoons and sometimes even deer. 
And after working all day long in this heat, I know he's exhausted and spent. Hell, I'm feeling complainy about having had to shop all afternoon. 
Poor baby. 
But his exhaustion is the serious kind, the kind where you sweat all day long, and I hate that he's not in his chair, resting now. I know he pushes himself too hard but I also know there's nothing I can do about it. There is simply no way he would not go to the hospital to see his friend and his friend's wife. I know that after all he did today, his legs are even less steady than usual. I asked him to please take his cane, thinking of those long, polished hospital hallways. 
For once, he listened to me. That alone tells you how tired he is. 

These are the things you never consider when you're young and crazy in love, standing in front of a justice of the peace or a notary or a preacher along with your family and your friends, and vow to love each other in sickness and in health. 
You have no idea what that even begins to mean. 
I often wonder if this is why older women at weddings are so apt to cry. 
They know. They do know.

Pottery tomorrow. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Mashes Sands

Before we go any farther, that's what last night's supper looked like. 
It was fine. 

Our sleep last night was odd. At one point the fan at my bedside suddenly shut off which woke both Glen and me. Also, my phone chirped. I peeped outside the window and everything looked dark as hell. No lights from anywhere. I determined that our electricity had gone off, which happens around here frequently although I didn't detect any storm-like activity. This, too, is not unusual. And then, because the fan did not come back on, I figured the generator hadn't kicked on and I spent at least half an hour in bed, fretting about that because our generator is life. 
Not really, but sort of. I feared that the house would become hot without the air conditioning and wondered if Glen would be able to fix what was wrong in the morning or not and so I fretted some more until I finally went back to sleep. 
Turns out that the electricity had gone out but the generator must have come on and I just didn't know it due to the fan but that fan has one of those new modern magic on/off buttons and I guess once it cuts off, it's off until it's touched again. 
Or something. 
Turns out Glen did the same thing, the worrying, the fretting. 
Eh, we lived. 

It also turns out that it had rained. A lot. And I missed it! According to the garden cart rain gauge, we got at least an inch. I think. Maybe more. Anyway, by the time we got up, the electricity was back on, the house was still very cool, and the world looked greener and felt fresher than it had the day before. 

Jessie texted us early to say that they were thinking about going to a beach or some springs. Did we want to go? Glen, as soon as he got the text, called her back at which point she said, "Daddy, just because I text you at this hour of the morning, it doesn't mean I'm up. You don't have to call me." 
That child has always been and always will be the boss of us both. 

In the text I sent back to her after I'd had a few cups of coffee I asked if she didn't think the beaches and springs would be full of people due to it being Labor Day. She said that yes, probably, but she was wanting to go to the beach. 
So what ended up happening is that they decided to go to a rather nearby beach which is not really a beach like usual beaches because it's a peninsula surrounded by marshes and all kinds of natural Florida and there isn't much white sand and the water isn't greeny blue and there are no waves on a normal day but...it's water. It's sand. It's got fish and crabs and seagulls and osprey and pelicans. 
We decided we'd meet them and it turned out to be a good day although I really have to say that Mashes Sands is never going to be my favorite beach destination. However, we were relatively separated from other beach goers with plenty of room all to ourselves and August and Levon had a fabulous time digging in the silty sand and herding fiddler crabs and floating in the funky-colored water and doing a little fishing with their grandfather who brought fishing poles and the assorted accoutrements for said fishing as well as some live bait shrimp that we'd stopped at a huge convenience store place on the way that sells not only regular convenience store stuff but also everything from all the fishing equipment you can imagine to racks and racks of beach and sportswear clothing and all sorts of things you might need at the beach from sunscreen to, oh hell, I don't even know, a deli, nice restrooms, and of course, fresh bait. 
Here's the wall of art right beside the restroom entrance.

Well, that's just part of the wall of art. There was a lot more. 
A little something for everyone, right? I was worried I'd leave there with a tropical print moo-moo but managed not to. 

Because I'm tired and even possibly sunburned (and I cannot remember the last time that happened), I'm going to try and make this a lot shorter than I usually would. 
There are pictures. 

The biggest catch of the day was a huge stingray that August caught. 

There's some video that really shows the size of this sea creature but I am not in the mood to go through all the hoops required to edit and post it. Perhaps I will tomorrow. It was a truly impressive stingray. And of course, he is back with his family in the water now. Glen didn't even have to use a pair of pliers to get the hook out of its mouth. It just sort of fell out when the pressure of the line was removed when it was beached. Jessie helped bring it in and when we congratulated August on his catch, he said, "We all did it." 
He is the sweetest boy. 
A little while later I was standing beside him and I could not help but reach out and hug him sideways and he leaned his head over onto me and said softly, "Oh, grandma's are the best." 
Well. That was everything, right there. 
Levon was wild, doing wind sprints on the little islands left by the lowering tide, running and running, excited and pretty happy from what I could tell. There were tidal pools behind us or little estuaries? I don't know. 

But as the tide went out, those pools drained into the bay with a current so strong that it was almost like being caught in a bathtub drain. 

We risked the funky-looking water because it was so hot and floated about, making sure to keep an arm or a leg or a butt on the bottom to prevent floating out to sea. It was crazy! I've been in hot tubs with less water pressure force. 
We saw osprey carrying fish and seagulls fighting over what looked like a chicken wing that some other beach goers had thrown to them. They were fierce! 
And although it was way too hot and although the water was funky, we had a good time. 

The dead and downed tree sculptures told the story of a time when there had perhaps been more land, less water. 

Still, beautiful in a wind-worn sort of way. 
And the sky? Well. You can see it. 

On the path back to the parking lot there were wild flowers with butterflies flitting about and plants that I should have taken the time to identify. 
But I am old and I was tired and it was so hot. 
Now we're home and I'm going to heat up the soup from the other night and because I am probably insane, I have made more naan dough. 

It's been a good day. We got out of Lloyd. We moved about. We got in the water and we got to spend time with our sweeties. 

We will sleep well tonight. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Remembering

 

Last night while I was making supper, Billy and I were having a texting session, which is something we do. Billy is an excellent texting partner. It started out with him sending me a video of Joni Mitchell performing one of my favorite songs of hers, which is "Case of You" off her Blue Album. It's funny because I was just thinking about that song a few days ago, wondering if I still knew all the lyrics, and had been singing it in my head. Of course, as I discussed a few days ago, Blue is the album that I listened to constantly (in the darkness?) when I was attending college in Denver and it either saved my life as I went through a major depression or (and this is possible), pushed me even farther into it but either way, it gave me something beautiful to hang on to, something of color and sweetness and a sense of sadness that reflected my own perfectly. I knew I wasn't the only woman ever to have felt this way. She gave me that. 
So Billy and I discussed how much we love her and why and how beautiful the lyrics are on this song (all of her songs, really), and then we moved on to other things until it reached a point where I was telling him how inadequate I feel these days and he gave me wise words to contemplate. 
And while all of this philosophizing and sweet counseling was going on, I was making my soup and then the naan and finally I said, "To lighten things up, I can make some GeeDee naan," and sent him that picture. I love making making naan bread. It's truly easy and almost too delicious. 

I was worried because the dough hardly rose at all but it didn't seem to matter in the least. As soon as my flattened rounds of it hit the hot skillet, it puffed majestically. 
And I didn't burn one!

Anyway, that happened last night and today has been Sunday, Mr. Moon's and my date day, as we describe it sometimes. We spend the time together just doing what we usually do but with more loving intention somehow. I believe it's good for us. 

I took no pictures today except for the one below. Absolutely no one needs to see another shot of my Seminole pumpkins ripening on the vine or of Maurice following me around as I feed the crows. That went well, the crow feeding. This morning they yelled at me to alert me to the fact they were hungry so I fed them their mealworms and peanuts. They seem to like these peanuts. As soon as I got their food on the six stumps, the one I call the Scout came down to check it all out. I think that the same one does this every time but I really don't know, as I have said before. They all look just alike to me. But this one did a little walk around to check out the offerings and then cawed to the others in the branches, waiting for his all-okay signal, and then they flew down and began to eat. 
You are old, Father William. Or, rather, Mother Mary. 
Old enough to be entertained daily by five crows.
It's not so bad. 

I finished sewing the green heart on Glen's overalls. 

It's not done. I have not stitched together the small tear which was the reason for patching yet. I'll probably make another heart inside the green heart to do that, sewing together the edges that need to be joined as I do. 

Maggie's incredible growth spurt in the last year has made me a little nostalgic for the days when she was just the most darling cherub in the world. Here's one of my favorite pictures of her, back when she was still a horse-riding girl. 

She was already starting to really grow but she still had plenty of baby-child in her. 
I don't know if nostalgic is the word I would choose to describe my feelings about missing the little ones my grandchildren used to be. I feel exactly the same way about their parents. About all of my own children. 
It's more like a sort of homesickness, I think. Not just a fond remembering feeling but more of a very mixed emotional yearning for those days as I look back on them. They say you can't go home again but you can surely do that far more easily than you can go back in time to when your littles could sit on your lap, wanted to sit on your lap, were still so open and, if not uncomplicated, than at least more open to the uncomplicated love I could give them. 
Does that make sense?

Oh, dear Maggie. Her emotions have always been big, from so sad to so joyful. Her mother was very much the same. 

I'm thinking about all of that tonight and how it's not the young ME I miss nearly as much as the young sweeties I raised and that some of them are raising. Don't get me wrong. I love who they are now and that we can talk about stuff, both the grands, and the kids. Stuff that's quite real and quite serious and quite humorous and quite wise. 
I adore the fact that when I hug Lily or Jessie, my head pretty much comes right up to their bosoms, and I can feel like the kid for a moment, and they let me. I love the fact that May is like my twin in so many ways, only smarter and funnier, and that Hank is Hank, as wise and true to himself and to the world as he has always been. 

Still. We can adore where we are now, where we live our lives and make our days and sleep our dreams, and still look back on places we remember with such longing.

It's okay. Humans are complicated little critters, but then again, so are gag groupers. 

I'm going to go cook some shrimp and grits and trust me when I say there will not be any damn mushrooms or truffles or other hoity-toity, cheffy-ness influence in them. The grits are stone ground and as such, take about an hour to cook. 
I better get on it. 

Love...Ms. Moon