Not Dead

My baby girl Jessie (that one on the right in the picture up top with the mandolin) is in a band. They're called the Cicada Ladies and three of them have been playing together since high school. Their high school was so cool that the school band was a bluegrass band.
Well, there might have been a rock band, too. I guarantee you that there was no marching band. Just dancing bands.
Anyway, I wanted to put this up there and you can either click on the picture to go to a link to hear them or listen to the song which I have hopefully embedded. I am getting used to the new blogger format but I still am not completely sure about it as pertains to embedding and HTML and stuff like that.

Isn't that a great picture? It was taken in our yard by the bamboo back a few months ago. I came home the day it was taken to find champagne bottles and vintage underwear strewn around my bathroom which made me very happy. The photographer's name is Andrew Greenwood. I think he captured the spirit of The Cicada Ladies with amazing accuracy.
I love those girls. They're going to be playing at this year's Stephen Foster Folk Festival. 
Lizzie is too. I guess I'm going to have to go this year.
Damn. The world just keeps conspiring to get me out of Lloyd. STOP IT, WORLD! STOP IT RIGHT NOW!

I guess you can tell I feel some better today. I woke up last night around three and felt awful, horrible, aching, terrible but I took some Ibuprofen and went back to sleep and I have at least fifty times the energy I had yesterday which still isn't enough to bust a bronc in a ant rodeo but I think I could sweep the hallway if someone held a gun to my head. I might even walk up to the post office. After watching approximately ten episodes of Interior Therapy With Jeff Lewis yesterday I sort of want to throw everything in my house away and take out a few walls and paint the place but I'm pretty sure that's beyond my abilities even on my best day and certainly today but I keep walking around thinking, "God, Jeff Lewis would lay down on the floor and DIE if he saw my house," and it's true.
He really doesn't like mouse poop. I wonder what he'd say about rat shit? If he saw chickens on the porch? If he saw chicken shit on the porch?
It's odd to put on different lenses to view one's world, isn't it?
It's not always as charming as you thought.
Shabby Chic is one thing. Shabby Shit is another.
He would ask me, "Did you get everything in your house from the dump?"
And I would say, "Well, not ALL of it."
When he is helping his clients clear things out he tells them to make three piles. One for donate, one for throw away, and one for keep. He would only allow me to make one pile and you can guess which one it would be.

Oh, la-di-dah.

I better go wash the dishes while I still have the energy. Take the walk up to the post office.
Then I think I might go watch some more TV. Maybe there's a Real Housewives marathon.
Oh shit. I forgot. I have to wash the dogs. I bet Jeff Lewis would tell me to get rid of them, too.
I sure wouldn't fight that suggestion.

Yeah. I better get busy.

Enjoy your Cicada Ladies tune.

Love...Ms. Moon