Light And Love And The Pleasure Of Foolishness

Window in my bathroom with the morning sun behind it. 

 I do love to buy scarves in thrift stores. Silk ones, mainly. I do not wear scarves as I do not have the accessory gene, sadly, and any time I've tried to put one on in order to look like one of those romantic, dashing types, I just feel stupid and as if I was in drag. But I do love scarves, especially the ones that are more works of textile art than fashion accessories. I use them on walls and in windows and they bring me pleasure. This morning when I saw the sun coming in through that one (and it overlays a piece of yellow silk), I just had to take its picture. There is something so magical about the way sunlight illuminates itself through filters, whether stained glass, napkins hanging on the line, prisms, the new leaves on trees, a hen's comb, or a piece of silk with flowers on it.

Here's a pretty hen whose comb and wattle are not illuminated but still lovely. This is either Alice or Annie. I have given up trying to determine which is which. I just say, "Hello, Annie-Alice!" or sometimes, "Hey there, Alice-Annie." They do not seem to mind and still sing their own sweet little songs as they go about their days. 

One of the hens is missing and has been for several days. I can't even tell you which one it is. Fourteen hens is too many for me to keep track of. I know it's not Darla or Dottie, Alice or Annie, Little Violet or Plucky. We've seen no signs of violent death or hen-napping. No scattered burst of feathers anywhere. Just an absence in the roost. It could very well be a hen who has taken herself off to brood on a hidden nest somewhere. That has certainly happened before. If so, time will tell that story. I figure that Darla has one more week on the nest before we should start seeing peeps. There is nothing more darling than the sight of a fuzzy little chick head sticking out from underneath the feathers of a mama hen. 

These two boys graced us with their presence today. I offered to have them here so that Jessie could do her shopping and things around the house that just don't get done when little people are there. I hadn't planned on doing a darn thing today so it was easy. And Boppy was here too. Suddenly it seems to me that Levon's legs are getting so long. He's losing that little baby boy form. I feel like this summer is going to be a growing season for all of the grandchildren. Owen may well be taller than me by the time school starts in August. 

The boys were good, as always. They are so easy-going. They got to watch some TV while they ate their lunches of peanut butter and banana and honey sandwiches and apples slices. And we read books. So many books. Luckily I was not forced to voice every bit of flora and fauna in them. They were happy just to listen to the stories. They hung out in the garage with Boppy for awhile and August and I started another puzzle which we barely got started. It's 3-D and has five hundred pieces. I think that is going to go back in the box. But while we frittered around with it, we talked and that was fun. He and I have an easy back-and-forth relationship. And get this- he pointed out to me that you can tell if one of the puzzle pieces is facing up or down or sideways by the little ridges in the them which are created by the 3-D effect. I never, ever would have noticed that. 

I've got another huge pot of soup on the stove, having used my super power to take leftovers and make more of them. I cooked a pot roast a few nights ago with cabbage, potatoes, and carrots from the garden and they are all now nicely diced and simmering with a few more vegetables and a little rice and roasted broccoli from last night's supper. I'm making another loaf of sourdough and something is wrong with my starter. It just isn't creating the rise that it used to so I'm going to try feeding it daily for awhile to see if I can get it back to its former powerful lifting abilities. Of course, it may not be the starter at all- the bowl of it I have on the counter that I fed is bubbling away nicely. I'll tell you one thing I learned today- chickens will eat sourdough starter faster than a cat can wink its eye. 

I hope they don't explode. 

I did ask August today why he had his head in the hole in the sand at the beach when his mama took his picture. 
"I was digging," he said. 

Which makes so much sense. 

I do want to discuss the CDC's directives on masking after vaccinations but not tonight. I need to get my ass in the kitchen. 

Oh! Wait!

Teeny tiny greenbeans.

Can you see them? 

The miniature orchids from which they spring. 

I hope all is well with you. 

Love...Ms. Moon

The Mysteries Of Life, Or, Well, A Few Of Them

That picture was from yesterday when Jessie and Vergil took the boys to the beach. I think it's deliciously delightful. That look on Levon's face is priceless. I have no idea what August was doing but if it was an imitation of an ostrich, it's a pretty good one. 

Today has been the epitome of Sundays. Not in the dark curtain of thick, inky blackness sense which can envelop us on Sundays sometimes- it's been way too pretty of a day for that to happen. But in the sense of being completely nonproductive- well, I knocked that baby out of the park.
I remembered the Sabbath Day and I kept it holy as hell. 

So to speak.

I was hanging the clothes on the line, which I consider to be a borderline religious activity, especially on a day like today, when I realized that a yellow fly had stealth-attacked me to the point where I was bleeding. It had gotten my left foot and my right leg. As many of you know, the bite of this particular insect is something I react strongly to and before I knew it, the afflicted areas were itching so intensely that I thought I might go mad. I was ready to take a knife to the bites to cut them out. 
This is not hyperbole. I was truly thinking, "So this is how people go insane."
I slathered two different types of anti-itch ointment on them and finally caved in and took a Benadryl. Within an hour, the worst of the itching had passed but my left foot is still swollen like a little fat pink ballon, ready to burst its skin. And it still itches. 
Over the last few years I thought I'd gotten a little less reactive to these bites but it would appear that if so, something has happened to reverse that progress. I can hardly bend my toes. 

So that sort of slowed me down. Benadryl will do that and a foot that is nothing more than a bursting sausage will too. 

Oh well. 

I finally finished reading an article in a New Yorker entitled "The UFO Papers: Why did we start taking unidentified aerial phenomena seriously?" It's a very long article and there are no absolute conclusions but it would appear that by golly, something's going on and has been for quite some time. The good news is that if there is intelligent life spying on us or doing whatever it is they may be doing, they obviously aren't interested in destroying us because if they were, that would have happened a long, long time ago. 
But the part that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up came in this bit:

I have been sort-of joking forever that I think that human beings are the result of a genetic experiment between apes and aliens and here we are. It's always seemed eminently possible to me and it still does. 
Of course, it could all be horseshit but it makes more sense to me than the virgin birth and millions upon millions believe that crap.

Somehow I've never felt the possibility of aliens on earth more than when I am in the Yucatan Peninsula. I have heard personal stories of sightings of crafts over the sea between the island of Cozumel and the mainland. But what really freaked me out was that once when Mr. Moon and I were visiting the local ruins on the island, we encountered a park employee who...well, I'm just going to say it- she looked like an alien or at least what aliens are often portrayed as looking like. Something like this. 

Except more human. Like a person resulting from the crossing of an alien and a human. Mr. Moon and I both noticed her at the same time and our jaws dropped. But there she was, in her green uniform with a badge on, proclaiming her an employee of Zona Arqueologica San Gervasio. 
We're still talking about that. 
And wouldn't it be perfect for a human/alien cross to hang out at some Mayan ruins? 

Well, here's a little alien that I took a picture of on my back porch. 

 I hope you don't think I've lost my mind and am now venturing into the LaLa Land of conspiracies and UFOligists. I haven't. I promise. And as the article states in another paragraph, "Virtually all astrobiologists suspect that we are not alone."

It's actually less believable that we are the only so-called intelligent life in the universe than it is to think that we aren't. 

And this is not something that I feel the need to obsess about. It's just one more interesting thing to ponder as we gaze into the heavens or, alternately, out across the ocean or deep within its depths. 

I hope you've had a good Sunday. Get good sleep and let's rock and roll tomorrow when the so-called week begins again. 
Okay? 
Okay. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Trying To Do Right By My Grandbabies

I think that our Gibson had a very good time with us. At least he sure did smile a lot. And I know we had a good time with him, too. I cracked up when he arrived holding a plastic Publix bag, not even half full and declared that he had everything he needed in it. Everything he needed was a few extra clothes and some toys that I can't remember the name of but they were colorful and rather evil-looking. He and I chatted in the kitchen for awhile and I got the fishbowl full of the cocktail mermaids and animals I'd bought for him online because he used to love to play with them so. 
"Do you remember these?" I asked him. I used to spread a towel on the kitchen floor and put a bowl of water on it for a swimming pool and he would play with those little critters happily.

He remembered and for fun, he sorted them all into colors. 

While he was doing that, we talked about different things and I am rather amazed at how smart he is. His vocabulary is vast, his thoughts are deep, he has a very fine ability to grasp concepts. 
He's just a fine boy, that one. 

I made a good dinner of spaghetti and meatballs, a salad with tiny mandarin oranges and sunflower seeds, and sourdough bread right out of the oven. We ate while watching "Shaun the Sheep" and even the salad disappeared entirely from his bowl. 
"You put oranges in the salad!" he said. "Why?"

"Because they are delicious," I told him. He agreed. 

He took his shower and then I made him and his grandfather purple cows. Sherbet, ginger ale, and grape juice. They proclaimed them delicious. 
"This is my first time having a purple cow without my siblings!" he said. 

I think he sort of liked that. 
Then he got cuddled up in the bed in the guest room with lots of covers and pillows and I read him the three books he'd picked out. "Corduroy, Lost and Found," "Professor Wormbog in Search for the Zipperum-a-zoo," and...."The Little Red Hen Makes a Pizza." 

And guess what? I enjoyed reading them ALL! 

As soon as I was finished with the last book he said, "Now I'm going to sleep," and he rolled over and that was that. I swear- he was asleep in less than a minute.

Last night we had discussed what he wanted for breakfast. This was what he wanted:

Pancakes.

Eggs.

Grits.

Toast.

Bacon.

I do not mind spoiling the grandchildren but that menu was a bit much, I think. So I "only" made eggs and pancakes and bacon. He didn't complain. 

We ate on the porch and watched the birds. It was nice. 

He and Boppy played some Wii and then he and I played Battle. 

He does not cheat. 

I cannot say that about all of my grandchildren but Gibson is an honest boy. 

Another thing he and I did was to sit on the porch swing and talk. It's been another perfect day, cool and cloudless, the sky as blue as a blue jay's tail feathers. 

"What should we talk about?" he asked me. I thought a minute. 
"Would you like to hear a story about me when I was a child?"

He said he would and I told him about living in Roseland and Chester, and you can read about Chester HERE if you want. I told him about the day my friends and I rode our bicycles to the end of the road and found the rusty iron gates in the stucco wall that we opened up and walked through to find what seemed to us to be something as amazing as the ancient ruins of Egypt. And you can read about that, too, if you go HERE. 

A lot of you already know these stories well. Perhaps all too well, but I told them to Gibson today for the first time and I showed him pictures of the lion swimming pool we children found that day and he kept saying, "I want to go there!" 

I'm not sure why but there is a great compulsion within me to tell my grandchildren these stories. I suppose it has something to do with wanting them to have the most precious pieces of me even when I am gone. Perhaps it is the sure knowing that although I would love to live many more good years, I know at this age that nothing is guaranteed and some of my memories are so very beautiful to me, as clear and real as cut diamonds, I grieve at the thought of them being lost forever. 
I am sure we all do this. Or will. 
Whatever compels me to tell these stories, it is a genuine need. And dear Gibson just happened to be on the receiving end of that need today. 
Bless him. 

It wasn't so long after that that he started missing his mama and his brother and sister and so he packed his bag and I got the leftover spaghetti and meatballs out of the refrigerator for him to take home. 

"I made them for you," I said. 

I think he liked that too. 

I drove him home and Owen hugged him and Maggie said she was glad to see him and his mother was too. 
"It's your turn next, Owen!" I said. 
"I know," he said. "I'm excited."

I wasn't convinced but then again, he is practicing his teenaged coolness. 

The relationships that grandparents have with their grandchildren is so completely different from the ones we have with our children that it's hard to believe, much less explain. But I know it's important. My memories of Roseland are so entwined with memories of my grandparents who lived there, who took us in when we needed help, who did their duty by us when my mother needed them so desperately. Who provided a place and a situation in which I could experience magic and wonder in the jungly Florida woods, on docks over the river, in the Atlantic ocean, at the end of the white sand road through the rusty iron gates. 

My grandparents were not physically affectionate. That was not how they were raised. But I knew they would do whatever it took to keep me and my brother safe whether from hurricanes or rattlesnakes, hunger or homelessness. 
And I would wish that I could offer at least a small amount of all of this for my own grandchildren, each of them so different and each of them so loved. 

And I suppose that in the end, that's the thing that matters most. 

Well, that or pancakes. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Friday

Mr. Moon is experimenting with all sorts of different types of propagation. Here he is trimming tomato cuttings to try and root. We do not need any more tomato plants- trust me. If the ones he has planted bear even reasonably well, the pantry will be full of canned tomatoes, tomato sauces, ketchups, and chili sauces. But he is having fun and Levon and August were having fun with him. Levon helped me and Jessie pull up my celery and the rest of the rainbow chard. 
The celery- sigh. 
It was a valiant effort. But I just didn't do it right from the way I planted it to the way I did not thin it enough and it was just getting tough and I didn't especially like the flavor so- farewell, dear celery! And the chard? Well, full of bugs and past its prime so it is now gone too. Perhaps zinnias will be planted in their places. 

We found this little guy in the celery after we had pulled it. 

Jessie was holding it in her cupped hands and Levon was holding his hands out to receive it but it jumped away and we let it go unmolested. 
"He's scared to death," I said. 

I am sure he (or she) was. 

Just a baby.

It was a Boppy day all the way around. Those boys wanted their grandfather and they got him. They did all sorts of Boppy things and even found an old model car in the garage that they started working on together. They guys had no use for me except to help Jessie make lunch but that's the way it is some days. 

I understand. 

And now I am waiting on Boppy to bring Gibson home from Lily's. He had asked for spaghetti and meatballs when I asked him what he wanted to have for supper tonight so I have made a nice tray of roasted meatballs from a mix of ground venison and sausage made from both venison and one of the little pigs we got this year. I hope the meatballs are good. Honestly, I've only made meatballs a few times in my life but these seem fit, as we say around here. 

I offered to make Gibson any dessert that he wanted but what he wanted was a purple cow. 

Nostalgia wins over all, I suppose. 
I have found over the years that children are more fond of ritual than most adults which is interesting to me. I am wondering if I will be reading The Little Red Hen Makes a Pizza tonight. I would not be surprised. 

And that's about all the news from here. It's been another cool day but clear with completely blue skies. Absolutely crazy-unusual for May in this part of the country. At least I am not worried about Darla's eggs baking underneath her. 

Oh- here's a little bit of news- I have a wren who has made a nest in the flowering begonia on my little kitchen porch. 

Yes, that begonia is getting too much sun there but I cannot move it until the wren activities have moved on.

I saw her about a week ago with something twiggy in her beak and then saw the leaves of the begonia bouncing about. She is still flying in and out. I can't see into the nest and it is fairly well hidden but it is too close to the cats for my comfort. 

Wrens are determined to nest around humans for some reason. I have had them make nests in the mouth of a taxidermied tarpon on my porch before and have even had them begin nests in a bowl in a cabinet when I have left doors open. As much as I hated to, I had to nip that little plan in the bud. 

So we shall see what happens there. 

I'll report in tomorrow on how the visit with Gibson goes. 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Soul Rest

So, that's a little better, right? It's still got too much beige in it but at least it also has blues and reds and the fact is, I was not going to come home yesterday without a new rug so there you go and there you have it and it's nice and thick and feels good on the feet. Supposedly it's handwoven although I can't imagine that what I paid for it would even cover the cost of shipping it from India which is also supposedly its country of origin, much less the wages of some poor six-year old child who theoretically wove it. 
I am not making light of child labor, I promise. Just add this to the long list of things I feel guilty about. A long, long time ago I realized that guilt and shame are my default emotions and this little verse came to me which sort of sums it all up:

Guilt and shame,

Guilt and shame.

These two words are my middle name. 

Come on, come on and dance with me.

I'll share my guilt and shame for free.

I know I often sound like someone who doesn't give a damn what anyone thinks of me but I'm not in the least. Now I will admit that I'm not as bad about it as I used to be but there's always a strong streak of what may be imposter's syndrome in me- if you really knew me, you wouldn't like me. 
I guess that's why I adore my closest people so much. They DO know me and they still seem to like me okay. I don't take that sort of thing for granted. EVER.

It's been a strange day, weather-wise here in Lloyd. I woke up this morning and got dressed in my summer outfit which is the ever-charming short-alls combined with a ten-year old tank top. 
Don't hate me because I'm beautiful, okay?
Anyway, I realized I felt chilly and went to turn down (up?) the AC which had been set in the low seventies to see that it was 69 degrees in the house. What?!
I went outside and it was so cool that I went back and changed into my winter outfit which is a pair of long overalls and a long-sleeved shirt. And that's what I'm still wearing. Hell! I even put socks on! 
It's been gray all day and damp as SpongeBob SquarePants' underwear. Not a day conducive to great activity. I finished the mask I was working on and I did a little more sewing on my dress. I also finally cleaned the hen house. I went through Miss Darla's nest and took four more eggs out of it that were unmarked. I hope I'm not messing up her process. I know the eggs cool every time I take her off the nest and she has them arranged exactly as she wants them and I do disturb that. 

Another thing to feel guilty about. But not very. 

Do any of y'all remember when I found tiny Miss Violet sitting in a hidden nest on a veritable mountain of eggs? She could barely balance on top of it. I remember showing her to Owen who was a little guy then and he said, "She's having birth!"

In random news (as if any of this wasn't), Mr. Moon and I rewatched "Frida" over the last few nights. If any of y'all haven't seen that, I do recommend it. It's a fine movie in my opinion. In a related note, if any of you haven't read Barbara Kingsolver's The Lacuna, please do. It's related because Frida Kahlo is a main character in the novel although the book is not about her primarily. 

I guess those are my hot tips for the day. Recommending an old movie and an old book.
We just can't seem to find anything we want to watch together. We tried some other movie a few nights ago that we hadn't seen. Crazy, Stupid Love. 

Well, it was crazy and it was stupid and we didn't love it and we didn't finish it. 

And why do people think that Ryan Gosling is cute? 

I do not get that. At all. I don't even believe I'd think he was cute if I was forty years younger. Definitely not MY type. 

As you have probably gathered by now, I don't really have anything of importance to say today. It wasn't a bad day at all but I've had no adventures or epiphanies. I've just dawdled around and stayed cozy, being sweet to my husband who has been sweet to me. I've watched the birds at the feeder and observed a male cardinal taking a little splash bath in a tiny puddle. I've been thinking about Gibson spending the night tomorrow and hoping that he has a really good time with me and his Boppy. 

And there is absolutely nothing at all wrong with any of that. In fact, it's been rather delightful. 
Perhaps the best part of it is that I do not feel a bit guilty for having such a slow, sweet day. I just feel relaxed. 

Carry on. 

Love...Ms. Moon

 

 

I Was Blind But Now I See

Okay. This is the old rug. Can you believe that I have allowed that to exist in my house? 
Here's the thing. 
You get used to shit. 
It's like that old story about the frog in the pot of water on the stove. He's fine, the water starts to heat up, nice, it's warm, great, and then it gets hotter and hotter and before he realizes he's past the point of no return and he's a boiled frog. 
That rug is as ugly as a boiled frog. In fact, I think a dead animal on the floor might look better than that rug. Depending on what the animal was and how recently dead it happened to be. 

ANYWAY, I started out this morning stressed as hell because we've been trying to find a place to stay in North Carolina this summer when we go up to visit the Weatherfords and although there are literally hundreds of Airbnb's and VRBO's available, you have to have your dates, you need to figure out what you can and cannot live with or without, and so forth. You might find exactly what you think you're looking for but then you see that the bed has a footboard and when your sleeping partner is over six and a half feet tall, that simply will not work. Or you find the perfect place and are ready to reserve and then you realize it's actually an apartment stuck on to another house and that won't do either because some of us don't want to be that close to other people and besides, two little boys may be coming to stay and they can make noise and so...
Or there's no stove. 
Or no cell service.
Or you need 4-wheel drive to get down the driveway.

Or, or, or...

So I finally just left the house to go to town to do my shopping and went back to the same place where I found my bathroom rug which I do love, and found another rug that would do. It's not the perfect rug but it's an another universe of better than the one laying there now. 
So I bought it. 
We haven't it laid it out yet but that's next on the agenda. 
Picture to follow.

Then I went to Costco and THEN I went to Publix. 
You know all that mess about people lining up for gas? It's true. And get this- Florida isn't even dependent on the pipeline that was compromised. But I swear to you that people were lined up in their cars waaaaayyyyy down the road, waiting to get gas at Costco. 
Fucking idiots! It's not this bad before hurricanes. 
Then, to top it off (see what I did there?) there were people in Publix with no masks on. They still ask you to wear masks but our horseshit governor who thinks Trump's ass tastes like roses, has declared that there is no longer a need for a mask mandate. 

One guy was walking around the store with at least four kids hanging off the cart and none of them were wearing masks and I swear, he wasn't even shopping. He was just...walking up and down the aisles with his well-dressed kidlings like it was a damn ride at Disney World. 

What is wrong with people? 
Well. I should talk. Look at that rug again. I will say though that as ugly and no doubt filthy as that rug is, it does not have covid, can not catch covid, and will not spontaneously combust if it is in the wrong container. 
I think. 
I could be wrong. As always. 

We have now reserved and paid for a place to stay in NC in July so that's good news. I'm sure there will be something about it that we don't like but we'll have a bed and a bathroom and a stove and a place for the little boys to come and hang out. It's always an adventure. Remember that time Mr. Moon and I stayed in a basement apartment in Asheville that had the couple's college "artwork" all over the walls and also, a printed directive on the bed telling us that they certainly did not mind if people made love in the apartment and in fact, expected that they would, but to please, please, take the lovely comforter off of the bed before proceeding? 
Holy shit!

I'll never forget that. 

No matter how much I'd like to.

Love...Ms. Moon

Warning: Profanity Ahead, Plus Bitching Galore

Well, there's the rest of the carrots. I pulled them all except for one that had what I think was a monarch caterpillar on it. They're in a bread bag in the refrigerator right now. I cleaned out that refrigerator today. I didn't do the kind of clean-out where you take everything out including the shelves to wash them all down and then put them all back in and reorganize everything. But I did take everything out, shelf by shelf, and wiped the shelves down and I threw out a lot of stuff. 
I was in the mood to throw out stuff. I've been in that mood all day. It's an angry, bitchy mood. Everything is frustrating me. Why do these moods suddenly come upon us? I sent the kids a picture of the rug in the Glen Den and wrote, "I can't take this thing for one more week."
And I meant it. It's the most hideous rug you've ever seen. It wasn't so bad when we bought it. It was stain-free at that time, of course, being brand new and I cannot imagine that I would buy a rug made of such horrid colors so obviously it's faded or something. It's now a sort of beige with highlights of brown and orangey brown. If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times- LIFE IS TOO SHORT FOR BEIGE! And brown? Well, there are some rich browns that don't offend me but these are not those. I won't even comment on the orangish shades. 
Ugh. 
So- rug buying is back on the agenda because I AM going to throw that motherfucker away. I would not even insult anyone by asking if they wanted it. 

I was going to clean out the hen house which desperately needs it but the cart I use was filled with potato vines and I didn't have the energy to call Mr. Moon, who was in town, to ask what he wanted me to do with them. I would rather just be slightly pissed off at the inconvenience than actually do anything about it so it's still filled with potato vines and the hen house is still poop-filled. Rather unbelievably, I did not throw any of Darla's precious eggs away. Lucky for her, or maybe unlucky for her, depending on how you look at it. I did take her off the nest and set her down beside it and went through all of the eggs and removed the ones that I hadn't marked. Three since yesterday. Dang hens. As Mr. Moon said, those other hens are saying, "Since you're already on the nest, let's make it worth your while." 
That's exactly what they're thinking although probably not really because I'm not sure chickens think that way but that's what their instincts are telling them to do. 

I really don't know shit except when it comes to chickenshit and that I DO know when I see. 

It's rained on and off all day and that too has been frustrating because we need real rain. The kind that comes and stays, not the kind that flirts and leaves. A steadfast rain. A faithful rain. A loving rain of adequate proportions. 

I did do some sewing today but not on my dress. My husband showed a mask that I'd made to a friend of ours and she admired it and so of course he said that I'd make her one. So I did make her one but it's too big for a woman and that was frustrating too. I started over with a smaller template but I haven't finished it. The pattern is so easy that after I start one I think, "Oh man. This'll be done in fifteen minutes!" and then for whatever reason, an hour later I'm thinking, "Shit. I forgot to put the nose wire in." 

Now see? This day has not been any different than any other day. These are the sorts of frustrations that we all encounter daily. They are just life. But today I have taken every one of them personally and cursed myself, the universe, the colors brown and beige, and a few other things and beings that I am not going to name here. 

Here's something pretty. 

I have a few gladiolas blooming and this one had lost its will to stand up and had fallen over so it was all bent up and I figured I might as well pick it and bring it in to admire and enjoy. So I did. 
Of course I'm a little bit pissed that the darn thing laid down on the job. What the hell, gladioli? You had one job and you blew it! 
Okay. Not really. Its main job was to bloom and it did. 

I can't really think of anything else to bitch about. 
Oh wait! Another Adventure in Aging! 

I'm wearing a giant bandaid on my right arm because yesterday, while the boys were here, I was scurrying around, heating up spaghetti and I left the door to the microwave open and then ran into it with my arm and because my skin is ancient and I've spent my life in the Florida sun, it just peeled back and bled. 

And this is the part where I feel compelled to list all of the things that despite my frustration and general pissed-offeddness, I am so very, very grateful for. 
Yeah. You've heard that list before. 
And I still am incredibly grateful for all of them but fuck it. 

It's just one of those days. We all have them. I guess I'm just leaning into it and sitting with it. And by the way, those two phrases make me want to punch someone. 

Love...Ms. Moon