Sunday, April 22, 2012


When Owen was here the other day he found my camera and put the strap over his head and said he wanted to take a picture. Since I am his grandmother, I let him.
I showed him how to turn it on, to look through the viewer, to push the button.
Here's one of the pictures he took:


I think he did a good job.

I hadn't remembered that Owen pictures were on the camera until I took a few myself this morning.

There was a redwinged blackbird on the feeder. If I go outside, the birds fly away but if I am very quiet and move slowly, they will let me take their picture from the porch.


Not the best, but it shows some of the amazing color on that wing.  A red and yellow swoop to make Nike swoon.

Here's a squirrel who was fussing. Squirrels are inveterate fussers.

I often wonder what in HELL they are talking about with that tail-flick, the squirrel version of the head-roll.

The blackbird left, a male cardinal flew in to take its place.


These are not good pictures. I apologize.

It is Sunday. Gray. Coolish. Breezy coming on to windy. Brenda is packing up her car, getting ready to head out for the next phase of her driving-journey. In a while I am going to the Opera House to take some pictures for the production that Judy is directing.  I haven't been to the Opera House since we closed Nobody's Perfect.
I really haven't been much of anywhere.
Lily's house mostly. The library. Publix. Where shopping is a pleasure.
Speaking of, remind me to go back to Publix before Thursday to buy more Eight O'Clock coffee. It is BOGO this week. I need about, uh, forty bags or so.

Mr. Moon and I keep saying to each other, "Remind me to..."
We never do remember to remind the other. It's gotten to the point where when he says, "What did I ask you to remind me to do?" I say, "You didn't ask me to remind you to do anything."
I am lying. I know he did. I just can't remember what and I don't want to admit that.
I'll tell you what he's learning to do though- he asks Siri to remind him of stuff.
Siri does not fail.

If Siri could cook and make love, there would be no need for me around here.

Well. Sort of. I know I do other things. Remind me of what they are?

Oh yeah. I take care of chickens.

Flopsy is still on that damn nest. She is now sitting on FIFTEEN EGGS! I was telling May about this yesterday and she laughed so hard she might have wet her pants. We were on the phone so I don't know. I doubt she wet her pants. That's just a saying. But seriously, that hen is spread out like a damn tortilla over those eggs. Sometimes when I pick her up to take her to the food and water, an egg gets stuck to the bottom of her and drops off. They never crack and I just sigh and pick them up and put them back on the nest.
This has got to end. That hen is going to die. When I sit her in front of the water she remains in the tortilla position until she snaps to. Sometimes she runs outside and starts frantically scratching. Elvis invariably comes flying over and makes like he wants to fuck her. "Get away from that hen!" I shout at him. Jesus. Like she hasn't been through enough recently.

Here. I just took this picture. I think this is how more eggs keep being added to the nest. Flopsy doesn't look too happy about the prospect, does she?

The wind seems to be blowing some of the clouds away. The light is coming through. It's sixty-seven degrees in my hallway. That's ridiculous.

It is Sunday. I am going to go to the Opera House. I charged my camera batteries. I'll get to see people I know and love. They'll be all wrapped up in this production, there will be inside jokes that I have no knowledge of. That's how it goes when you're doing a play. You become a community. I am not part of this one and that's fine with me. They'll let me in enough to welcome me. That is the way of the Opera House.

It was mighty good to have Mr. Moon back in the bed with me last night. It was a comfort and a joy. I woke up around one-something and got up and went and read most of a New Yorker magazine. A small amount of Chex Mix may have been involved. It was peaceful, sitting in a rocking chair in the library, reading the New Yorker magazine. Insomnia isn't so bad if you just get up and have good reading material.
And Chex Mix.
When I went back to bed, it felt so good. I was sleepy again and dropped right off.
I was glad to have that man in the bed next to me. I sometimes reach over and touch him as lightly as I can in order to reassure myself that he is there. Sometimes he snores a little but sometimes he is so quiet.
I snore. He always knows I'm in bed.

That's all. It's Sunday. I'm going to leave the house in awhile. Then I'll come back. Maybe we'll play some cards. We'll eat some more crab and shrimp and broccoli. There are plenty of leftovers. We'll be alone again. Which is fine. It's been good having Brenda here. I love listening to them tell stories of their childhood, their family. She told me this morning that she and her brother had talked about some of the places they had lived when they were little. Some of them not much more than sharecropper shacks and yet, how each place had had something about it that they remembered with fondness.

I said, "You all had loving parents who loved each other and you children. That's all kids really need."

I believe that's true. I don't need to be reminded of that.

But that coffee- please remember to remind me.

Love...Ms. Moon


  1. Chex Mix!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!hahahahahhahahahhaahahhaahaha.

    Flopsy is a goddamned SAINT.


  2. Madame King- Yes. Saint Flopsy The Hen. I agree.
    (I knew you'd like the Chex Mix.)

  3. Maybe it is time to quarantine poor Flopsy?

  4. Love the through the screen pix. That redwinged blackbird is amazing. I've never seen one in TLH. Cool.

    Did you go to the Goodwood Plant Sale last weekend? I drive by there EVERY stinking day going to work and this year I didn't see the sale sign until AFTER the sale. Dang.

    Love your posts. Always. I'm just lazy about commenting.

  5. Mary, please help an ignorant non-chicken person.

    Why is Flopsie on the nest? Is she trying to hatch the eggs? Why are there so many? Is it Elvis' fault?
    What kind of help does she need? There must be something you can do.....or has she simply got Chicken

  6. Would you be able, next time you take Flopsy off the nest, to mark all the eggs that are there? That way, any time she lays a new one, you will know and can remove it.

    Not being a hen person, i don't know if that would work.

  7. That paragraph about the hen and Elvis and you screaming at him to leave her alone made ME laugh aloud and nearly wet my pants.

    You are so funny.

  8. So happy to see a chicken update, whether it is the young 'uns, the sister wives or Elvis, there is always something interesting going on at the Moon farm.

    Did you ever read "The Egg and I" by Betty MacDonald? It is a book from the 1940's that I found hilarious when I read it as a teenager. It was amazingly popular for its time and sold a million copies or more. Maybe the chickens should be the focus of your novel??

    Just a thought. x0 N2

  9. Lisa- It WAS a good day. I swear it was.

    DTG- Yes. But I don't know how. Jesus.

    Juicie- NO. I didn't go to the plant sale. I convinced myself that I have enough plants. For some stupid reason.

    Lo- I really don't know much about broody hens except that when they start setting eggs, they just don't stop. NO, it's not Elvis' fault. He's just the innocent fertilizer of eggs. I think hens will sometimes actually sit on non-fertilized eggs, just because they have this overwhelming need to do so.

    messymimi- That is exactly what I should have done about ten eggs ago.

    Elizabeth- Poor Flopsy. It's not funny to her. But I'm glad I made you laugh.

    N2- I did read that book. I love it too. Several authors HAVE in fact, written about their chickens recently. I believe that Toni Morrison has. I think. Could be wrong.

  10. The reminder of the reminder--I like that.

    I do the same thing--reach over and touch her or cuddle her to make sure she is right there beside me.

  11. Ditto...if I wake up in the night and find myself facing opposite of my Love, I roll over for a spooning...or I rest my hand on his hip, shoulder and realize how much I love him.


Tell me, sweeties. Tell me what you think.