De Light Shines On

Really and truly I should just post pictures because they tell the whole story and because I did NOT get a Jitterbug but a phone that takes pictures, I have a lot. And since I am a terrible photographer you can tell no essential difference between the ones I take with a "real" camera and the ones I took with the phone, I'm not too worried about their quality.
The one above was taken at night in a fairly dimly lit room and so it's not especially clear but I love that picture. That was Friday night in the living room of Lon and Lis's house and this was but one grouping of musicians who had come together to play for the joy of it.

That night and in that room, Will The Circle Be Unbroken was played and sung and I sang it too.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

The drive over was uneventful and we got to Gatorbone in the daylight and dropped off Miss HoneyLuna and the giant pot of greens and kissed and hugged and greeted people we love, some we hadn't seen in two years, and then Mr. Moon and I drove the few more miles down the road to the state park where we were in the Cedar cottage (they all have tree names) and it was as lovely as I'd remembered. The smell of woodsmoke from the old Florida rock fireplace, the pine paneled ceilings and walls. The tiny kitchen, the perfect little porch with two chairs. It was a serene nest on a quiet little lake.



We unpacked and made a drink and sat on the little porch and wondered why we needed to go back to the party, but we did.

The music was going full swing on porches and on the stage out back and in the living room and food was being served out in Lon's mandolin shop and let me just say that it was so good to be back. The dogwoods were in bloom and the house looked so beautiful and there were old friends and so many smiles and so many notes pouring forth from strings and throats to float through the warm piney night sky.

We stayed for a couple of hours then made our way home back to the cabin where we slept for a ridiculous number of hours. We got up in the morning and made our coffee and I made our breakfast while Mr. Moon tried to catch a fish in the lake where there are obviously no fish- he's never had so much as a strike there but he keeps trying. We ate out on the picnic table and the birds were fussing and flirting overhead and then another friend staying at the park ambled over and had a biscuit and we ended up talking for an hour about everything from the weather (of course) to God and Obama and the Mormons and business and the economy and every durn other thing you can think of, fueled by coffee and the perfect weather and the pure joy of sitting outside on a Saturday morning, nowhere you needed to be, nothing you had to do, visiting with someone you like but don't get to see very often.

We eventually made it back to Gatorbone and Mr. Moon set up the oysters and I visited and was as purely lazy as I think I've ever been, talking, grabbing hugs, meeting children, patting dogs, listening to music, thinking I should get off my ass and make the corned beef and cabbage for the next day's dinner.

Oh. It was hard. But I finally did and once I got in the kitchen and let my hands do what they needed to do and got the corned beef cooking and the Irish soda bread in the oven (and that dough, rich with lemon peel and caraway seeds was the most fragrant, beautiful dough you ever patted) I finally felt completely at home. A woman that I'd met there two years ago joined me in my cooking and we caught up on the past two years a little bit and occasionally Lis would come through and then a small group of us women would share what Lis calls Valentinis (don't ask but they are pink and cherries are involved) and once again, there was music, music, everywhere.

We slept like rocks that night, Mr. Moon and I, with the door open to the little porch and I could see the lake from where we slept, shining in the moonlight.

The next morning I had an actual task to attend to- the making of the angel biscuits and my new friend Anna and I rolled out and baked 120 of them, cutting them with one of Lis's crystal glasses and sausage was cooked on a grill and it all came together perfectly and by lunchtime (okay, it was Sunday brunch by the time it was ready) everyone was happy and full.



We usually leave in the early afternoon to come home, but Mr. Moon wanted to watch FSU play basketball so he left for awhile to go find a sports bar that got the game and HoneyLuna and I happily stayed behind, to sit and chat and graze the food that kept coming in. I heated up the corned beef and cabbage and potatoes and we sliced that soda bread which was as heavenly as the dough had promised it would be (and I am going to post that recipe because it is so good and so easy) and there was more music on more porches



and then Lon got out the preborn mandolin he's working on for HoneyLuna and we all touched the wood and oohed and awed and HoneyLuna almost fainted with the promise of all the notes that she'll be playing for the rest of her life on this labor of love instrument.



Does that face tell a story or what?

And there were piped deviled eggs
and more and more food and by the time Mr. Moon got back and we loaded up everything to go, there was still music being played and oh, it was hard to leave. It was so hard to leave.


But now we're home, promises of visits to come, and the wisteria has busted out purple and I've got so much to do here because it's spring and my heart- oh, my heart- it feels like some healing was put upon it by all the smiles and hugs and songs and by the sheer joy of all the comings-together of all the sweet people who carry their instruments in their hands and the knowledge and talent of how to play them in their bones and fingers, and the kisses of Mr. Baby, Lon and Lis's grandson, and the woman-sharings in the kitchen and the bird calls over the little lake and the stepping back and the taking it all in, or as least as much as I could hold.

We shall see if it was a healing which has taken real root. I hope so and there's part of me which feels that if it hasn't, there is truly no hope for me because there was so much just damn plain goodness and grace laid upon my soul that there is no way I can express it.



It's spring. There is an unfolding of beauty all around me.
I have brought it all home in my heart and I am surrounded and filled with it still.
Thank you, Lizzie. And thank you, Lon. Thank you for pure love, for beauty, for the boundless joy and gift of allowing me to be your friend and taking us all in to your home and your arms and into your world.

You have no idea what you've done for me.
And for all of us who where there. The beauty of your souls and the sweetness of your hearts and life together shines on all of us who are privileged to know you.

Thank-you.
I wish I had better words than just those two, but I don't.

But wait- how about this? I now pronounce you two as The Rulers of the magical kingdom of Bless-Our-Hearts because really, you do it better than anyone I know.

Thank-you for blessing our hearts.

Thank-you.