Sunday, August 28, 2011

Home. Boring, Beautiful Home.

Oh, sweet Jesus I am home.
I will tell you the truth which is that I have never been so glad to leave the beach in my life.
Not that I didn't have some excellent times there. Oh, I did. Saving the seagulls, the kids coming down, watching those baby turtles, that morning I had the perfect swim in the Gulf, us sitting around and telling Colin stories, the day I found the perfect dress for Kathleen and she tried it on and it was so beautiful that she wore it out of the store and it was on sale for $17.00, the night we all went around and told what we'd like to do if we won the lottery or maybe, just something we'd want to do before we died. Not quite like a bucket list, but sort of. The penis discussion. Laying in the hammock with Judy and Kathleen right there, watching the martins fly and dart, getting their dinner of mosquitoes. The top-down rides in Kathleen's toy with the joy of flying air and sky above.
Yes. There were some perfect and exquisite moments.
And there were also moments of high drama that I could have happily lived my life without ever experiencing and I don't know if it was Mercury or the solstice or WHAT, but let's just go with Mercury Poisoning and let it all go.
Let. It. Go.
Honestly, say what you will about a group of women and what they may tend to do, I have never personally experienced anything at all even vaguely like this. Nothing. Never. Ever.

It was all sort of like the evening I was taking a sunset dip in the Gulf, stretched back, arms out, eyes to the sky above when all of a sudden I felt something like thin string on both of my wrists and then the burning began. I'd been stung by tentacles of some sort. Probably Portuguese Man Of War. That's how the whole week went- just when everything felt like heaven, something lashed out and shocked the shit out of me.

But now I'm home. It's cooler today in Lloyd and glorious. The chickens greeted me first and then Mr. Moon and oh, the hugs and the kisses, his face bent down to mine. It was so good to get my arms around that big ol' man. I told him, "Thank-you for my life here. Thank-you." And I meant it.
I do mean it.
My life here with all the chicken shit and even the dog shit and the weeds in the garden and the mice or squirrels or whatever they are in the walls- yes, all of that too. Not just the birds and their songs and the huge trees and the quiet porches and the loving man and the children and the grandson. But all of it. Because the drama that occurs is usually mine and in my head and I am old enough to know that and old enough to know either how to deal with it or to wait it out. And that is enough drama for me.
More than enough.
God, I just want peace these days. Boring old peace. Boring, beautiful, lovely, excellent peace with boring old fixable problems.

The squirrels are up in the trees, picking one pecan at a time, trying them and throwing them down. Over and over again. The red bird is perched on the back of an outside chair, bright against all the green. The breeze picks up and rattles the leaves, I can hear my chickens.

I am home. And tonight I will sleep in my own bed and when I wake up there will be no beach to walk on, but that's okay. I imagine the Beauty Berry in the woods is about to come on with its fuchsia berries, the clitoria may be blooming, the passion flowers too. I can live with that. And I'll miss that beach but I know it's there and sometimes, just the knowing is enough.

Okay. I need to finish unpacking. I just stepped in dog shit. I need to start laundry. I need to catch up on the news and all y'all's blogs. I need to do exactly what it is I do every day of my life, almost, so grateful for the homely little mundane stuff and grateful for the opportunity I had to go away and experience things both profoundly wonderful and strangely bizarre. It's all fodder. Not just for writing, but for my life. Another thing to look back on in wonder, without judgment, just objective wonder.

Thank-you, Kathleen, for making it all happen. Even though it wasn't what we expected, there were some honestly incredible moments and you, my dear, have never looked better or stronger in your life and I love you and one day we'll look back and we'll laugh and laugh, and laugh...

I'm already smiling. I hope you are too. And that your heuos (sic) rancheros did not upset your tummy and that you are holding your kids and happy, like me, to be home.


  1. Glad you are home safely after some excellent times!

    [95% of the drama in my life comes from men, and not just because of the romantic entanglements. That whole stereotype about women being into and creating drama - so NOT my reality!]

  2. A Man O War is a stingray, correct? Those things scare the crap out of me, even if they are beautiful to look at in the water. Bummer about drama. Total drag. Glad you are home and that peace surrounds you. Sounds like a good trip, minus the shocking moments. Isn't that the way it is though? You're going along fine and then something "shocks the shit" outta you from out of nowhere. That is my reality a lot lately too, it seems. I like my heart rate to stay within normal limits usually. Enjoy your day at home. :)

  3. Yikes! Scary nature :(

    Welcome back x

    wv: backlery!

  4. I love the beach and the ocean too, but I wouldn't want to live there. Too many biting, stinging, stormy things to worry about. Sorry about your arm, ouch. Sorry about the strange interlude too, isn't that the risk inherent in personal relationships? It's never, ever easy once you get beyond one or two people, is it?
    I'm trying to learn to let the past go, it's really holding me back sometimes. Easy to say, harder to do, though.

    Glad you had more good to outweigh the bad, and glad you're safely, happily home. I really love the $17 dress story - did you take a picture? Welcome back.

  5. Glad you are home safely, m'dear.
    Sorry about the kerflufting......see if you can find a lesson in it all or else just forget it.. Yeh, easy to say, I know. Glad it didn't knock you off your perch.

    And as my favorite poet, the beloved Ogden Nash once wrote,

    .....At the moment, oh Lord,
    I want to be bored...
    I want to be bored to death."

    After tumult, boredom is lovely.

  6. Welcome home, Ms. Moon.

    There is nothing like sleeping in one's own bed. At home.

    There ain't a thing boring about peace. It's what you've earned and built for yourself, that home of yours.

    Those pictures of Owen at the beach, though--made me want another one, (although the whole-being-a-single-lady-mother thing seems to suggest that my little J is all I'm going to have.) Owen's lovely. So are you.

  7. What a week you had Ms. Moon. I'm all caught up here now. Whatever Mercury was doing, you made some spectacular memories, especially that day with Owen, and the seagulls, and hold onto that. And fold yourself into the arms of that handsome man of yours and enjoy being home. Nothing like it. Love.

  8. Nola- Mine either. Until this week.

    Nichol- Exactly. If I want my heart to race, I want to have caused it.

    Jo- Thanks, honey.

    Mel- I didn't take a picture. Kathleen was so beautiful I was afraid to raise my camera.

    Lo- I am paying attention. I am learning. I promise.

    Sara- Just when you're done grieving that you'll never have another, along comes a grandchild. It's perfect.

    Angella- Right now. Going to go do that. Right now.

  9. Your sting might have been a stinging nettle which can also be kind of nasty.
    I don't like drama. Or people who lash out. I like to be amongst those of my tribe. If I am not, then mostly I am unsettled. Sounds like your tribe might have been infiltrated.

  10. Happy people they are, those people who like to travel but are happy to come home... It's a good thing when a home is one's nest. To recover in from the outside world. Love the shot of the rolling water.

  11. Ms Moon, I too am a craver of a peaceful, boring life. When drama happens, I am pretty much incapable of handling it. I think the world of you, and I'm glad you're back in your safe nest and that you can get some good sleep.

  12. I'm glad you are back where you belong.

  13. I feel so bad when I don't read you every day, but life, three kids, you know what it's like, and then I'm glad when I come and catch up and I don't want to miss a beat.


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