Friday, August 31, 2012

Sometimes You Just Have To Shut Your Eyes And Think Of Tarzan

Isn't funny how the melancholic will take the best days and turn them into sadness? I hate that about myself but I do it, nonetheless.

Which means, I suppose, I get something out of it, even if it is nothing more than the reassurance of familiarity, which is growing old, I have to say, which is losing its luster, I must admit, due to the fact that for the last few years at least, life has been mostly sweet for me if I am to admit the truth and I will.

Admit it.

Somewhere between this morning's walk and the early afternoon doldrums, I felt myself slip down into that place where the black dog faces me squarely and opens his red, toothy mouth and says something to the effect of, "Did you think I was gone entirely? No. I am still here, always, to tell you that your life, which, by the way, is creeping always ever closer to being over, has not amounted to much. There. Think about that." And he blinks his yellow eyes and lays down again and curls himself around my feet and leaves me heaving in disbelief.

Oh. Fuck you, you black dog.

Tomorrow I'm going to Wakulla Springs with my kids and grand kids and maybe I'll rinse myself off in that clear, pure water and maybe I'll hold my grandson's hand as we cruise down the river through the jungle to see turtles, to see birds, to see gators, to see fish, to see cypress trees that were here on earth a thousand years ago and the Spanish moss will drip from their branches and the man driving the boat will describe the turtles as "SOUP size" and call up Henry the Jumping Catfish over the huge bowl of the spring where 200 to 300 millions of gallons of water gush forth from the Florida aquifer every day and Owen will shiver at the sight of alligators and we may get lunch at the soda fountain or in the dining room of the beautiful old hotel where Old Joe, an alligator murdered and now encased in glass for perpetuity rests in the lobby and when we dip Gibson into the springs (a true Baptism in my belief) he will gasp at the coldness and be holy and wholly blessed.

And the black dog can go fuck himself, and the ghost of Johnny Weismuller will be our guide.

That's what I'm thinking tonight as bread rises. As the sun sets. As I am struggling but will wake up tomorrow and feel different and I know that's true.

This. This Is Important

Our Elizabeth, over at A Moon, Worn As If It Had Been A Shell, posted this today.



And know that there are angels among us. And mermaids, too.

It's a real fine morning in Lloyd, Florida where Vergil got in late last night and Jessie got a call this morning informing her that she'd gotten the job at the hospital in Asheville that she applied for a week ago and we're all thrilled because the hospital where she's now working, is almost an hour's drive away which means that her already long night hours are even longer so this is good, good news.

Ah. Sigh. Things are so good when they're good. Aren't they?

And really, believe it or not, I don't have much else to say this morning. Our sense of fall has mostly disappeared like that critter into the brush I saw on my walk yesterday. Just melted away and it's back to hot and humid and the mosquitoes are so bad again that going outside is torture. They dive in flocks to perch and pierce on arms, shoulders, necks, ankles, faces, wherever they find to land. Sure, we can spray ourselves with poison and we do if we're going to be outside for awhile, necessarily, but we hate it.

Ah well. Things will change. They always do.

For good and for bad.

Happy Friday, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon

Thursday, August 30, 2012

You Know I'm Happy

Jessie made it in safe and sound and we've barely stopped laughing since she got here. We went into town and joined Lily and Jason and the boys for dinner or actually supper, as it should be more rightly called when plastic-ware is involved, which it was.

It was fun and Owen shared his chocolate milk with me and refused to eat his ice cream because it was too cold and at one point we told him that he couldn't have any candy out of the machine if he didn't eat his ice cream which we all realized was hysterical and also very wrong and he ended up not eating his ice cream so he didn't get any candy either which was probably good because he was already wired due to his excitement over Jessie being there.

When we got back to their place he grabbed her hand and said, "Come on, Jessie. Come to my room."
"Lots of boys have said that to me Owen," she said, "And it never works."
But then he added, "My dinosaurs are missing you," and she got up and followed him into his room so just's a good line.

We left their house just as Owen was really getting cranked up, demanding that his father attack him which means that they run screaming through the house, Owen eventually falling over in hysterical laughter.
When we left I told Jessie that truly, the best thing about being a grandmother is that I get to leave when things get crazy and it's true. Lily and Jason are going to have to deal with those boys and they will but I get to come home and put on my nightgown and watch stupid TV or read or just hang out with the girl. I swear, sometimes I feel guilty about it but then again, how many bedtimes did I proceed over? Billions. I can rest now and it's okay.

Jessie wil be leaving for the airport in awhile to go pick her Vergil and I'm sure we're going to have a great weekend. I am going to try like hell to forget about politics and just be. Just. Be.
Knowing me, I'll fail completely but I'm going to give it a shot.

I'm starting with NOT WATCHING MITT ROMNEY make his speech tonight. I think I'd have to be on a morphine drip to be able to handle that with any sort of equanimity. And darn it! I'm all out of morphine drips. So.

I got my babies and my husband keeps sending me beautiful pictures of rivers and sunsets and telling me he loves me (I think he loves me most when he's out in the woods or on the water- go figure) and all is well.

I hope you're well too. I truly do.

And here's the tiniest frog I think I ever saw. It was on the sink today, up near the faucet and I took it outside and then I took it's picture and I'm sorry the lens was foggy but that's what happens when you bring a camera out of the AC into the 500% humidity. If you click on the picture, you'll be able to see his tiny toes which look like they're made out of cellophane noodles. You can't really get a scale on how small he really is but let me just say that a dime would dwarf him. As would a cellophane noodle. Really. He was small as a hope, he was as real as a dream.

I hope the chickens didn't eat him.

Complete Waste Of Time

Well, the humidity here in North Florida today is approximately 500%. I'd say a thousand percent but I know that's not possible. Also, if it's true that we sweat out toxins, I am, for this moment, at least, toxin-free.

I don't buy that shit. Toxins. Whatever.

They must be tasty to dogs, though, because Buster sure does like to lick my legs when I get home from my walk. Toxic salt. Or is it salty toxins? Yum!

Okay. So on my walk I saw a brown rabbit. That's nice. It had a white little bunny-tail, just the way a rabbit is supposed to have. Then I saw another animal and I swear to you- I'm not sure if it was a very small fox or a cat. Not a domestic cat. It wasn't a bobcat. The tail was long. But not bushy. My mind said fox but then my brain wasn't so sure. It seemed rather sleek, whatever it was. Obviously, it moved quickly back into the brush the way wild animals do and by the time I got to that place in the road, it had melted away.
What good is the mind, I ask you?
I don't know.

Have any of you read The Elegance Of The Hedgehog? Did you like it? I am listening to it and I have to tell you that the ruminations on philosophy are wearing me down a bit. Maybe I'm just not in the mood. Maybe it's a GREAT book. The production of the audio version is good. I admit that.
I am still reading the Stephen King novel, 11/22/63. It's not bad. Surprisingly, I am finding it to be more about the teaching profession than about time travel or horror or any of those things. I am not quite halfway through it though, so there is plenty of time for the horror aspect to be developed. It almost feels as if King has mellowed a bit and there is nothing wrong with that in my opinion.

Why am I discussing books? I don't know.

Okay. Now I will discuss the Tempur-Pedic mattress. I slept on it last night for the first time. It was swell. It didn't change my life but it was a fine sleeping-experience.

On to Jessie. She is on the road to home. Vergil will be flying in from Boulder tonight and she will pick him up at the airport at midnight when his plane is supposed to be coming in. I can't wait to see them both. What more can I say about that? Not much. I hope they bring their instruments and play me some music.

Let's talk about Paul Ryan. Did you watch his speech? I didn't. I watched The Real Housewives of Something or Somewhere and let me say this- you just damn well KNOW that that shit ain't supposed to be real which is very reassuring. To me. What's up with Paul Ryan's hair? Is he a vampire? I know. Cheap shot. I don't give a shit. He has weird hair. He has the opposite of receding hairline. If his hairline did recede a little bit, it would look better. Do we realize that neither Sarah Palin OR GW Bush has been asked to speak at this pep rally? Of course we do. I guess their day is done, their time is over. I wonder if their feelings are hurt. I betcha that Sarah Palin is PISSED OFF! Again, I don't care. Take your bulldog-with-lipstick jokes and stick 'em where the sun don't shine, Sarah! And George- go clear some brush. I bet Carl Rove won't even take his calls these days. Probably especially Carl Rove. He's got new fish to fry. Mormon fish. Again- YUM!
They did let John McCain speak. Poor guy. You know, I actually have a little respect for him. Small amount. Could be measured in teaspoons or maybe grains or drops. I heard a little bit of his speech on the radio. Even HE didn't sound convinced about what he was saying and the audience didn't even appear to be listening.

Yes, I'm trying to be offensive today. I don't care. Who reads this? Plus- one day I'll die and then- SO WHAT?

I think I'll mop the kitchen today. It's been months. My desire to have a clean house has somehow disappeared. Oh, well, maybe not my desire. Just my ability to give a shit enough to clean it.

One more thing- I dreamed of both Keith Richards AND Mick Jagger last night. They had brain damage. It was fucking depressing as hell.

Love...Ms. Moon

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

I'm Tired. I'm Scared

It's been pouring rain here off and on all day long but nothing more than that. Mr. Moon says it is windy down in Tate's Hell but they're still hunting, those men.

I feel so cozy here in Lloyd tonight. I love my house so much and it adds another layer of contentment, thinking of how I thought I was going to be spending today which was huddled in fear in the hallway as the wind roared around the house and rain fell and lightening and thunder slashed.
This rain is nothing but lovely, offering curtains which first obscure and then reveal the world outside my porch.

I am exhausted. I'll admit that. I can't get up at four forty-five a.m. and not be exhausted by the end of the day. I am so worried about being on time when I go babysit for the boys on these early days that I set my alarm clock AND set two different alarms on my phone. Well. You understand. I am quite proud of that fact that in three years, almost, of doing grandchild-care I have not been late once that I know of, and haven't missed but maybe one day due to illness. I take this job seriously, as one should, I think. No, I don't get paid but I am royally rewarded. Not only by the smiles and hugs and kisses but also by the thanks I receive from Lily and Jason and the knowledge that I am helping them to support their family by allowing them to work for money to support their family. It feels like the honorable and correct thing to do. It feels right. It feels like an extension of what I have always done, which is to take care of my children the best way I know how. I am not saying I am a totally unselfish person, believe me. I am just saying that when one has children, certain things are set in place and one's life is changed forever and always and if there is anything in this world which will make you straighten up and fly right (or at least right-er) it is children and anyone who thinks that a child is only an eighteen-year responsibility is sorely deluded.

I think about this in regards to the Republican party's platform which includes the no-abortion-for-any-reason plank and it makes me sick. Look- it's not just the woman who was raped and would be forced to carry her rapist's child, although anyone who believes in that is stark, raving, cruelly mad in my opinion. Or the woman whose father or stepfather or uncle or brother got her pregnant. Again- really? A woman should be forced to carry a relative's child? Even her father's? Really? Really? REALLY??
It's any woman who finds herself pregnant and who knows that she is not in a position to raise a child the way a child should be raised.
This is the party who wants to slash social services so that a woman who finds herself pregnant and not in a position to raise a child has no resources to turn to. Who constantly wants to defund education. Who wants to gut the EPA so that big business can do whatever they want to do to our planet, thus ensuring that our children will grow up in a world that is not really capable of sustaining life the way it should. Our planet! Our incredible, beautiful planet! The womb of our existence!
It's all just so...fucked up.

I'm having a real hard time with all of this. See, I read the long articles. Not the ones on the internet that are full of lies and half-truths and bluster and bullshit. The ones that talk about the facts. I don't give a SHIT that Ann Romney gave a good speech last night praising mothers and women. Talk is so fucking cheap, especially when you married a man who was rich, rich, rich, and then became even richer by nefarious schemes. Ann Romney has no idea in this whole world what it's like to be a single mother with a shitty job and no health insurance and a cruel gauntlet of forms to fill out to receive any sort of help at all for her child. To be looked down upon by society because of poverty and lack of education. Hell, Ann Romney doesn't even GO to the places where single mothers with no education work. She never, ever, has to look one of those mothers in the eye. She doesn't go to the grocery store or the local diner or the MacDonalds. I doubt she even does her own clothes shopping. She does not live in my world and neither does her husband and he never, ever has. Not for one minute of his life.

I'm just so angry.

I know what it's like to raise kids and I know it's a lifetime of responsibility. And yes, joy. But. I admit that I have had the support of a partner who has worked in the marketplace to allow me to be the mother and now grandmother that I feel I need to be. That I want to be.

This is what scares me- people don't care to really think any more. They don't want the facts. They don't need the truth. Even when the truth rears its ugly-beautiful head (tax-returns, Mitt?) they ignore it if it serves their purpose.

Ah, shit. What I think and what I write doesn't matter. If the fucking truth doesn't matter, then what does it matter what I think?

Right now I think I'm going to go cook some spinach and squash and chicken. Right now I'm going to think about how grateful I am that I have such a beautiful house and that it still stands, unthreatened. Right now, I am going to feel blessed to have healthy children and grandchildren and my health and the knowledge that I am doing what a human being is supposed to do which is to take care of herself and the ones she loves to the best of her abilities. Right now I am going to be aware of the fact that I was born with so many advantages and have stumbled upon even more in this life of mine.

I'm sorry. I'm tired. I'm afraid. I'm scared that the giant corporations who don't give a damn, a fuck, a shit about anything but personal profit are going to win.

Mitt's their boy.

Ann's his wife.

I got no more to say.

Love...Ms. Moon

What I'm doing today.

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

She Floats Above Eternally

As the Republicans tug on their suspenders and blow out their bellies and claim that "I did this," and announce their soul-sucking, humanity-hating platform, I can only take comfort in the fact that the moon has seen it all.

Night, y'all.

America's Next Top Bodyguard And How To Flirt When You're Old

Owen was pretty darn proud of the fact that he pooped in the potty. In fact, when we were eating lunch at Moe's and I was chatting with a friend who was also there, Owen asked his mother to tell this friend that he had pooped in the potty. Lily did, although she apologized. My friend was completely unfazed, even though he doesn't have kids. "High five, man!" he said, and Owen was pleased.

We went to Target and frankly, I had a fabulous time there. Owen was a very good boy although at one point he thought we weren't going to go look at the toys and he was devastated and horrified and kept pointing out exactly where the toys were but when we assured him that we were indeed going to go look at the toys and that he could have one, he calmed right down.
He ended up with a Toy Story toy and as much as I adore those movies, I find it completely commercial that they are movies made about toys and then toys are made and sold from the toys in the movie and well, it's all just so...fucking perfect.
But whatever.
Here he is, holding his baby brother's hand in the cart.

And another where they are both grinning, although Gibson's pacifier is sort of blocking the view.

Can you believe how big they're getting? 

Owen had momentarily forgotten to try to escape having his picture made but then he remembered. 

And then he did his best to block my photo-access to his brother.

I swear, that child makes me feel like the paparazzi. Maybe he could get a gig as Suri Cruise's bodyguard or something. The kid's almost three, he pooped in the potty and I think it's about time he started earning his keep. Don't you?

So yeah, after that we went to lunch and I do this thing which is actually shameless old-lady flirting. I look at handsome young guys (and they have to be pretty young and I should be ashamed to admit this but I'm not) and I say to them, "I bet your mama loves you."
Because of course their mamas all love them and they usually blush a little and shrug their shoulders and say something like, "Yeah. She does." But when I did it today, said that to a toweringly tall guy in the burrito-making line at Moe's, he looked right at me, said, "Yeah, she sure does. ALL the women love me."
And I was the one who was blushing. 

And I'm sure Lily was dying of embarrassment. 
Oh well. I'm an old woman. I can get away with a lot of stuff. Which is good because getting older doesn't have a whole lot of benefits and perks to speak of. 

So it was a great day with the fellas and here's another picture of Gibson in the car. I love it because he's smiling with his whole entire face. Check out those eyebrows of his.

I'd let that kid teeth on my heart if I could just get it out of my chest. I swear I would. 

When I got home, the Gator Hunters had packed up and left for Franklin County and I did something completely out of character for me. I watched an entire episode of America's Next Top Model on the computer and I'll tell you why- I know one of the girls on it this year.
Do any of y'all remember when I was in Steel Magnolas at the Opera House a year or so ago? This girl, her name is Victoria Henley, played Annelle. She was also in a few of Freddy's movies, one of which I was in with her. And I'm her "friend" on Facebook which is how I knew she was on the show. She was a good Annelle and what I mostly got from her was that she and her mother both are incredibly ambitious for her to have a career and damn! I don't know how well she placed in the show because she has been sworn to secrecy of course, but it was interesting to see her on the TV. 
I do wish her well. Here's one of her stills from the show:

My goodness! Our little Annelle is all grown up! And what an amazing opportunity for her to work with the stylists and photographers that she got to work with. Just goes to show what determination and hard work can bring you. She's from some tiny town in Georgia that even I can't remember the name of right now. 

So. That's been my life today. Grandchildren and Target and lunch at Moe's and I feel sort of lazy and useless but I have to be at Lily and Jason's tomorrow at 5:45 a.m. so I'm going to go to bed early tonight. Jessie and Vergil will be here on Thursday and life will continue to be busy and good and I ain't complaining. 

I'll never be America's Next Top Model but I think there are still surprises in store for me, still moments of pure grace and joy, still plenty of things to make me laugh. 

I'm good with that. For the moment, I am completely good with that.

Are Grandmothers Supposed To Be Like This?

Man, I am never going to trust those damn computer models in hurricane forecasting again. I swear to you that a few days ago every damn one of them (and there must be fifty) showed Isaac coming right through the panhandle. And now look- the storm is heading towards New Orleans and although they (you know- THEY) say that we're going to get some big ol' storm surges of salt and fresh water down at the coast, it sure looks pretty clear here today.

I am also never going to trust my gut again which is obviously as apt to err as computer models.

But we cannot say I am disappointed. Oh no. We certainly cannot.

Last night's rum did not kill me and I had a lovely dream about Keith Richards and I took an excellent walk this morning although it is back to being hot and humid as hell's own swamp. I have showered and changed and am starting to cool down and the gator hunters are packed up and have gone to the grocery store and by god, they're going down to the creek, the good lord willin' and even if the creek DOES rise. God bless 'em.

Here's a picture of my banty rooster, Fancy.

He and his wife, Baby, crack me up. They are miniature chickens for sure and are hanging with the flock these days. Elvis doesn't seem to care a bit although I'm not sure he views them as part of his responsibility. He tolerates them, I suppose. And when it comes time to go to bed, Fancy and Baby fly up into the trees and sleep there while the other chickens go into the hen house to roost, as domestic birds should, in my opinion. If Baby is laying eggs, I don't know where. Seems like she should be by now. Sometimes Fancy flies up and perches on the fence and crows in his little-rooster voice and and I could die of the cuteness. He thinks he's a full-sized rooster and so far, no one has dissuaded him from this opinion and I doubt they ever will.

Okay. I would talk about politics some more but my bile is already risen to a point dangerously close to boiling over. Let me just say that I am flabbergasted at the ignorance of a lot of people. Let me just say that we live in a nation of FUCKING MORONS!
Can you say moron these days? I hope so. If not, they let me say we live in a nation of FUCKING IDIOTS!

Here's another thing I'll say: Every time my dog Buster scratches at the door to be let out or in (this is the door to the porch and NO, I cannot cut a dog door into it) which happens about every three minutes, I think of Al Swearengen (Ian McShane) from Deadwood cutting someone's throat with his knife of death and I, well, okay, I admit it, I feel a little Al-ish.

And having said all of that, I am now about to become Mer-Mer, the sweet, sweet grandmother who is going to town to go to Target with her daughter and beloved grandsons because Owen pooped in the potty and that means he gets a toy!!!!

Let me reassure you that I do not have a knife of death.

Yours truly...Ms. Moon

Monday, August 27, 2012

He Would Take Care Of Me

It's been a day of cooking for me mostly. I've made chili for the gator hunters to heat up, I've made angel biscuit dough for them to take and I made a supper of pecan-encrusted grouper, cheese grits, stewed tomatoes, cole slaw and corn bread for Gary-From-Canada's first Florida meal.

He'd never had grits before. I think he liked them okay. Also, the grouper and also the corn bread with Tupelo honey on it. You'd like it too. I'm betting.

I'm exhausted. I'm done. I did not eat all healthy and shit and I had some rum. Not your typical Monday night for this old gal. I miss my grandsons so much I can hardly bear it. This morning Lily called to tell me that they were going to the library and Owen wanted me to come. At that point, the weather forecasters were calling for big storms and it just didn't make sense for me to drive all the way into town to go to the library with them. I talked to Owen on the phone and tried to explain it to him. I told him that a storm was coming and that Mer-Mer needed to stay home where she was safe.

"You come my house and I take care of you," he said.
I wasn't sure of what he'd said.
"You want me to come to your house and take care of you?" I asked.
"No! You come my house and I take care of YOU!" he said.

I cried. My baby grandson wanted to take care of me.

I should have gone to town. We haven't had any storms and just a little rain and a few wind-rushings.
Tomorrow? I'm there. I'm going to see my grandbabies. The gator hunters can do what they need to do and I will do the same.

Good Lord willing and the creek don't rise.

That's it from Lloyd.

Night, y'all. Sleep well.

I'm A Mess

That is one big-ass storm, y'all. And it sure doesn't look like it's heading this way but as you can see, the bands of the wind and rain are affecting all of Florida and we're about to get some weather here. Not Category 2 Hurricane weather, but weather nonetheless.
I am so worried about New Orleans. They are really just starting to recover from Katrina which hit almost exactly seven years ago. Jesus. I guess we'll see if the Army Corps of Engineers has done its job.
Oh Jesus. If I prayed, I'd pray for New Orleans.

In other storm-related news (sort of) Gary-From-Canada is on a plane and headed to Tallahassee. The gator hunters will...What? What will they do? This may be premature but they're calling for a mandatory evacuation of Franklin County's beaches and low-lying areas, and Franklin County is where the gator hunt was supposed to take place. On rivers, you know. Which might, oh, you know, FLOOD. I can't imagine that gators are going to be floating down flooding rivers, ripe for the bang-stickin'.

I'm having a moment. I'm sorry. Let me gather myself.

Have you noticed that I don't do well with changes in my routine? Is that apparent yet? Man, if I was only one of those people who can let go and let god. But I am not. I have to go over every unpleasant contingency in my head and obsess about each one of them and get incredibly upset and always expect the worse although, quite frankly, life has been pretty darn kind to me ever since I grew up and got out of the house.
I wonder if early childhood experience forms the brain's outlook on life and that is just that. Makes sense to me. Of course, people can change. Meditation, yoga, medication, etc., etc.

Yeah. Whatever. Fuck me, I'm just a pessimist with anxiety and depression issues.

BUT, here's something that made me laugh until I literally cried yesterday. The August update of the Funniest Auto Corrects.

I have no idea why I find these so hilarious. But I do. I can't help it! And at this point, they may all be fake but I don't even care. In my mind, people are reading what they just innocently sent and going crazy and shaking their iPhones and turning red and trying to remedy the situation and mostly making it worse and just the very idea of it makes me laugh so hard. Click on the image to go to the site if your sense of humor is as juvenile as mine. And if it's not, just ignore it. Okay? And forgive me?


I'm sorry. I'm crazy today. Let's be kind and blame it on the barometer or something. Why the hell not? That and early childhood fuckedupedness which I think should be a professional mental-illness diagnosis and in my world, it is. Feel free to borrow it for yourself.

Sunday, August 26, 2012

As Always, Bruce Preaches It Best

Ah lah. The predictions keep putting Isaac more and more to the west of us and yet, there is still a part of my gut which whispers that we don't need to let our guard down yet.
Well, someone's guard needs to be up. And the birds- they are still too quiet.

Our humidity has gone from 99% to something like 60%. And guess what? My hip and leg pain has decreased dramatically which says to me that my pain is the result of wear and tear that I've put on my body over the years. Tiny breaks and tears that might not even show up on an x-ray but which are there, as real as real can be.

Should I move to Phoenix?
Oh no. No. Can't do that.

Last night Mr. Moon and I watched the very last episode in the Deadwood series. We have been watching for months and as the final credits rolled Springsteen's Mary Don't You Weep No More from the Seegar Sessions album played.
I felt plugged into something deep and heavy and maybe holy.

Here it is, if you want to watch it.

Recorded in Dublin. Hey Jo!

It's Sunday. Pray through dancing.

That's all I have to offer. Ain't no collection plate here.

Love you truly...Ms. Mary Moon

Deep Space And Near

The quietest, prettiest morning here, cool and feeling like fall and the forecasts have Isaac heading west and I think of Mobile and what a lovely town it is and how much Mr. Moon and I enjoyed our stay there a few months ago and I think about how these storms are just so very, very real and I think about how odd it is that we don't really give much of a thought to the storms and blizzards and earthquakes and floods that strike others except in passing, Oh my. That looks horrible! Those poor people!

Well, the human brain didn't evolve to be exactly empathetic about all of the information we can receive now about things that happen not just down the road from us, but all over the globe, quick as thought. Although of course, if a child is snatched from a park in a state across the nation, we feel that our own children, too, are more at risk somehow.

We are NOT logical creatures, we humans.

Sometimes that makes me despair, sometimes it thrills me.

I read an article in the most recent New Yorker magazine (oh, thank-you, May! thank-you, thank-you, thank-you!) written by Oliver Sacks, the very esteemed neurologist. It is entitled Altered States, Self-experimenting in chemistry and it's about his early drug use. The man did some drugs, y'all, starting with LSD in 1953 when it was still legal. While in school to pursue his medical degree, he would set aside weekends to ingest different sorts of drugs and he writes about all of this with great honesty and a complete lack of self-judgment and I have to wonder if he would have become the author and neurologist he has become if not for those self-induced experiments with his own brain. I imagine that it is far easier for someone who has blown the doors in on his own perceptions to empathize with people whose brains do not, for whatever reason, process the world and information the way "normal" brains do.

One of my scientific heroes is a neurologist named David Eagleman who has written many books, both fiction and non-fiction about the brain and how it works and I always feel as if I have been given a gift when I hear him interviewed on NPR. He is the man who came up with the idea of a spiritual belief which conforms most closely with my own and I have written about it before. He calls himself a Possibilian or perhaps it is merely a possibilian, small "p", and what he means is, we are far too advanced to accept the old tales of creation and god and yet, we don't know enough to discount any theory about how things got started in this universe. He believes fervently in the scientific process. Come up with a theory and then try to find proof of either its validity or falseness. Go from there.

It seems to me that we humans are living at a time when everything is indeed quite possible. That with what we know and what we are learning and with all of our technology we could make this world a better place for every one of its citizens. Or at least, we could try. And yet, because of the old ways of thought, the militaristic, the fundamentally religious (I include most religions in this), the superstitions, the greed, we are holding ourselves back in ways that are going to spell disaster. While we are obsessing about whether or not it threatens someone's religious belief when insurance companies pay for birth control, we are overrunning our resources on the planet and changing the very global environment in ways hostile to all of life. It's so ridiculous and it seems such a waste of intelligence and of resources that we are doing these things. That instead of listening to the scientists and the learned, instead of facing squarely the problems we are causing ourselves, we are throwing out terms like "elitest" in disparaging ways. We are ignoring facts in favor of fairy tales.
Although of course, I imagine that even the most anti-scientific among the population, if handed a diagnosis of some horrible illness for themselves or their loved ones, will go immediately to the best educated, the most technically advanced doctors they can find, trusting in an elitist education in that case, at least. And then, if a positive outcome is achieved, will invariably give all credit to their god to whom they have prayed to throughout the ordeal, even as the doctors used every bit of knowledge and research and technology and skill for that positive outcome to have occurred. And if the doctors cannot cure or put off the disease, even then the god is cited as having his own plan, one which we humans are not privy to, and given credit in that way- there is always, if we do not understand, that word "faith" which means to believe in something for which there is no logical reason to believe. Meanwhile, that which has been proven is called "theory" and thus, easily discarded, ignored, ridiculed, even legislated against as being taught in schools.

Well. I don't know.
As I said, the human brain is not logical. I take that into consideration knowing how my own brain works and doesn't work.

It is the most beautiful of mornings, as I said, and butterflies are flitting from phlox to phlox, the chickens are waiting for me to come out and weed again so that they can come behind me to scratch up the newly revealed dirt to hunt for tasty bugs, thus aiding me in my gardening endeavors. We have eaten pancakes and strangely, I am missing all of my babies, my grandbabies. I know they are all right down the road with the exception of Jessie although relatively, she is not that far away and that is comforting. And perhaps, if the storm does not take a turn to the East, I will see her too by the end of the week. Hurricanes are no more logical than the human mind and even with all of our technology, all of our knowledge, we cannot collect enough data to truly predict the path or strength of one on the move.

The birds are strangely quiet, I realize right now. That is a bit disturbing. I remember reading The Yearling, one of my favorite books, and realizing how, just a hundred years ago or less, hurricane prediction was based on the observation of the critters and birds who seem to have an innate sense of weather changes which our Big Brains cannot even begin to comprehend. I think about how a Mayan guide at the ruins in Coba was telling a group of people that when the priests of their people died, the knowledge was erased and the downfall of a culture came about. He likened this to us losing all of our scientists and our astronauts, which I found to be a strange choice of comparison.

And Neil Armstrong has died and with him has gone the personal knowledge of what it was like to be the first Earthling to set foot on the moon. But in interviews and in print, he has given us as much of that information as he could and thus, we have stood on his shoulders. Why in the world would we want to do anything BUT that? To observe from his perspective? Why would we want to knock him down and refute that incredible first step? To ignore his famous words?

I don't know.

I don't know shit.

It is Sunday here at the Church of the Batshit Crazy. The world whirls around us, our brains' neurons whirl within us and through them we perceive the whirling, each in our own unique way.

Mysteries and glories and ignorance and awareness and blindness and vision and all of it. All of it too much to comprehend but we can try. Each of us in our own way whether poet or scientist or mother or gardener or truck driver or coal miner or doctor or lawyer or Mayan Priest. Or astronaut.

If we keep our eyes open and our minds even more so, we can, if we want, pull together all of the pieces given to us by all of the others.

We can. If we want.

That's what I'm thinking about today.

Happy Sunday.

Love...Ms. Moon

Saturday, August 25, 2012

Doing What I CAN Do, Letting The Rest Go

Bread is in the oven. It is whole wheat and molasses and the leftover oatmeal from this morning. Purple potatoes are simmering in a pot with garlic and I am going to mash them into lavender loveliness. Broccoli is cut up and ready to be steamed and chicken breasts have been marinated in buttermilk and Crystal hot sauce and are coated with Shake and Bake Spicy Chicken stuff and I am not kidding you.

I have spent the day weeding and listening to a book on CD and Mr. Moon took various large objects to the trash depot and it has been cooler although not cool and I took a small nap, the sheets against my legs like heaven. Why do my sheets always feel like marshmallows to me? I don't know but they do.

I have talked to Jessie tonight and to Lily earlier. We are all making storm plans and contingencies. Mr. Moon traded money and a muzzle-loader for a brand-new looking propane-fueled Honda generator which, if need be, will power the freezer, the refrigerator, the lights, a fan. Mr. Moon sold his first herd of cows at the age of six or something crazy like that and I love him so much. He gets the good deal but makes the other person feel as if they got a good deal too. He has never once, since I've known him, complained about the amount of taxes we pay, he is as good a man as you will ever meet and he cares about people, truly. He thanks me for every meal I cook him.

I am feeling incredibly lucky and when I was in the garden the chickens were out there with me. When Elvis found a grub or worm, he would call his hens to come and eat it. He is the best rooster. We lost another hen yesterday and I heard him screaming but when I went out to see what was happening, it had already happened.

I am not worrying over-much about the hurricane. I am adopting the philosophy of accepting that which you cannot change. No need to ask for wisdom to know the difference between that which you can change and that which you cannot change in a hurricane. There is comfort in that.

Tomorrow could be completely different.

We shall see.

Love...Ms. Moon

Hurricane Preparedness

Can you believe I posted an entire post without a word in it?
Me either.

Aw. We had a good time last night. Our first front-porch martini of the fall, I guess. And we still needed mosquito spray. I discovered that we have at least five spiders with webs on that porch. I think they are lovely and they do trap mosquitoes so we leave them up. Sassy mama spiders.

I wonder if they'll still be there this time next week.

As you can see from the pictures I posted last night, we have a lot of trees. Trees fall on houses. This is a fact, Jack. I was talking about this last night and Mr. Moon said, "This house is built like a fortress!"
"Really?" I asked. I was begging for reassurance.
"Yes!" he said.
Of course, we were drinking.

And of course, yes, this house is built of good, solid heart pine, the likes of which you cannot even buy any more. And yes, it has withstood many, many hurricanes and storms. But...
Those are some awful big trees we have.

Here's what I've done to get ready:
Buy batteries. For no particular device. I just bought batteries. Lots of them.
Buy three jugs of water. (Token attempt at preparedness, believe me) And...
Buy three new headlight flashlight thingees. Yes, the geek factor is over the top with those things but they rock.

Mr. Moon is researching generators as we speak. Generators. Jesus. Well, let me tell you this- if the power is out and it's August, you're gonna sleep hot. A fan blowing on you can make all the difference in the world. So can a few lights. This house is dark. We have a whole lot of windows BUT we have a whole lot of trees which, if they remain standing, provide a lot of shade. If they don't remain standing, we probably won't be around to worry about lights. Also, we would hate to lose all the food in the freezer and the refrigerator. Again, if we're still alive. If we're dead, we won't give a shit.

After a hurricane passes, you will hear two things- generators and chain saws. Very peaceful. You will also hear a vast silence where the trains going by should be. They can't run the trains until they make sure the tracks are all clear. This takes awhile.

So. To sum up: It looks like we're going to get a hurricane.
We have plenty of batteries. And headlight flashlights.
And three jugs of water.
Mr. Moon's friend from Canada is coming down to go alligator hunting on Monday. Jessie and Vergil are coming to visit on Thursday. Haha!

I have a gas stove. We're good there.

We have a house built like a fortress. We have trees that weigh in the tons surrounding the house. We are shopping for a generator. I will not have internet, BELIEVE ME, if things proceed as predicted. I have a Stephen King novel to read with approximately 42,000 pages.

Well, there you go.

It's Saturday and calm and the sky is blue and the oatmeal is ready.

I hate oatmeal, even the whole-grain type with raisins and apples and cinnamon, which is the kind this is.

Every breeze that riffles the leaves gives me a sense of foreboding.

Oh. I forgot to mention- we have vodka, rum, tequila and beer.

That's all, folks. For now.

Love...Ms. Moon

Friday, August 24, 2012

Friday Night In Lloyd

Tell Me Again Why I Live Here?

So as I obsessively go to the Weather Underground's tropical weather website page, over and over and over again and then, oh, you know, check a few other weather websites to see what THEY have to say about Hurricane Isaac, I know I am not being logical in the least. 

I mean, the predictions at this point are useless. Sort of. It just doesn't help when almost all of the dozens of computer models show the storm heading towards the Florida panhandle BUT, I have seen this before and then the storm goes off in another direction entirely and it's the problem of someone else and I feel bad for them but am vastly relieved for us and I don't know if that's logical or not but it is human.

I think I have Hurricane PTSD. I'm not kidding you. If you've ever sat in the dark, trembling as the winds rip trees out of the ground all around your house and the rain threatens to fist its way through your roof and the walls moan and the doors and windows rattle and there ain't one damn thing you can do except to huddle in a hallway for hours and hours and hours- well, you know what I'm talking about. No, we don't get earthquakes here and we don't have volcanic eruptions and we don't get blizzards but beyond that, it's pretty much guaranteed that at some point we'll be experiencing some sort of horrible, crazy, scary weather. Tornadoes, tropical storms, hurricanes, drought, floods, whatever. We'll get it. 

I'm not sure why I even live here. The biggest, blackest mosquito I have ever seen tried to bite me about an hour ago. It landed on me and I was so stunned by its size that I couldn't even slap it. I waited to see if it really WAS a mosquito and sure as hell, it stuck its stinger/sucker in me and started to pump my blood out and then yes, I slapped the living shit out of it. That thing could have bled me dry. Mosquitos, yellow flies, wasps, hornets, fire ants, horse flies, no-see-ums, gnats- we get all of them. Let's not forget the two types of moccasins, three types of rattlers and the coral snake which all live here. I will say that of the fifty types of snakes found in Florida, only six of them are venomous and a threat to humans. Which, I suppose, are great odds.
We also have the alligators which I am not terribly afraid of and the black bears which I am also not afraid of but I will say that one time I did see an alligator on my walk and it freaked me the fuck out and if I ever see a bear (I have only seen tracks, so far) on my walk, I will pee my pants and that's no lie and then I'll run like hell. Screaming will probably be involved. 

Oh well. I'm just anxiety-tripping today. Mr. Moon is supposed to be heading down to Franklin County next week with his friend from Canada to hunt alligators and the idea of him being down there without a reliable source of weather information (they're staying in a house in TATE'S HELL which really is a place, uh-huh, not kidding) makes me feel extremely uneasy. And again- logic has nothing to do with this. Nothing. Nothing at all. 
Logic doesn't have anything to do with any sort of mental illness. Which, I suppose, would explain Rush Limbaugh who is claiming that this whole hurricane thing is nothing more than Obama trying to distract the country from the incredible story about Joe Biden's racism which he displayed by saying that banking de-regulation is "going to put y'all back in chains!" 
So I guess that I have more in common than Rush Limbaugh than I'd like to think- we're both insane. 
At least I know it.

And at least it's Friday and I have a martini to look forward to tonight. And not a moment too soon. And quite frankly, it's freaking beautiful here today, even if the mosquitoes could be employed by the blood bank, and cooler and less humid too. So I need to shut up and get errands run and maybe collect a few extra batteries and jugs of water and just face the fact that I live in Florida, have lived in Florida most of my entire life and that yes, it can be hell on earth but it can be paradise, too, and that I am not logical and I never will be and there you go.

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon, Church Of The Batshit Crazy

Thursday, August 23, 2012

Erin Gloria Ryan, I Love You

I was kitchen-laundry-room-oriented today and got all sorts of household chores done and baked that cake and took it across the road and delivered it in my overalls thinking, Jesus, I should be wearing a dress and a hat and gloves but no, just my overalls and a tank top, not even a bra, thank god the only person I saw was the ten-year old girl and I took a nap and I fell asleep so hard that when I woke up from a crappy, crappy dream I thought it was morning and now I just feel crazy and also, there was a snake in the hen house when I went out to clean it but it just slithered behind the hay and I didn't even care.

So. Hank sent me a link (on Facebook!) to this:

Just click on it and go the article. JUST DO IT! and if you feel crazy too, realize it's okay because it's not us, people. No. It is not. 

It's the rest of the fucking world and if we don't feel crazy there is something very wrong with us.


First off, yes, I put the captchas back on. Sorry. You cannot believe the amount of email I was getting informing me of comments which of course were all spam. Now, I could just delete, delete all the anonymous comments but I do have commenters who comment anonymously and then sign their names so I don't want to block them and I don't want to ignore them and oh, shit.
I'm sorry. I'm making you go through a hassle so I don't have to.
It sucks but much of life does.

It's practically as black as night here and the rain is starting to patter down. Thunder is rumbling. I prayed that it would rain me out of my walk this morning but it did not. I know I'm complaining way too much about these walks but believe me- I could complain a lot more. I don't know what's going on with my hips, butt and legs. I guess I have sciatica for one thing. But that only explains part of it. Do I have lupus? Arthritis? Old age?
It's funny. I did a Gallop survey last night and it was about wellbeing. One of the questions was to rate my health and I rated it very highly and then a few questions later it asked about my daily pain level which I also rated quite highly.
Makes no sense but there you go.
I am healthy as a horse. I hurt all the time.
These statements seem to me to be equally true. Is that possible? I am telling myself it is.

Russell left about an hour ago and so I have the house all to myself. No boys today and Mr. Moon is at work and I have plenty to do to keep me busy but I am sorely tempted to take the Stephen King novel I just started reading last night into the library where that leather couch has ended up and just get cozy and read all day long. The rain is encouraging me in this.
The Stephen King novel, 11/22/63:A Novel, is approximately forty-two thousand pages long. As Hank says, "That man can sure write a great beginning but he never met an ending he liked."
Haha! I love Hank.
When I went to check it out at the library, the woman looked at it, hefted it, and said, "I don't even try to read books this long any more."
Well, hell. I started it. It grabbed me. Of course. He's Stephen King. He can tell a story. And so far there's none of the ooky stuff. No doubt it will creep in there at some point. Probably around page 8,967. I need some sort of hydraulic device to hold it up.
But that couch. Well, it has two recliners on it. I could lounge in complete comfort and read that book. I  didn't think I wanted that couch in the library. Too big, wrong...uh, style? But I said I'd try it and after Mr. Moon and Jason hauled it in Mr. Moon informed me that no matter what I thought, it was going to stay right there for at least a little while. This was AFTER we'd hauled in the Dead Elephant wonderful new mattress and box springs.

Okay. Here's what the couch looks like.

I've tried to make it a little more homey by throwing a quilt over the back. Mmmm...
Whatever. At least now there's a place in the library where one can read comfortably, even if it's not a chintz Victorian sofa which wouldn't be comfortable anyway.

Up until the couch went in, Owen's horse was the main piece of furniture in there which is a swell thing to ride on but not at all practical to sit and read a book on.

The rain is really coming down now. I have made a donation to The Tallahassee Youth Orchestra in honor of one of my neighbors who died recently. She was eighty-eight years old and the mother of eight, the grandmother of seventeen, the great-grandmother of eleven. She was our village's historian and figurehead. She lived in this house as a child and as a mother. I should go to at least the Rosary and visitation of family and friends tonight but I will not, most likely. I should make a jello cake and a ham. I should...

Well. I am a crappy neighbor.

I am a crappy blogger right now too. Sorry.

Shit. Maybe I'll go make a cake. Not a jello cake, though. I am a southern woman. Death requires at least a cake which I believe is far more valuable than my presence in a church which, if there IS a god, would mean that lightening would STRIKE the church and everyone in it would die. So yes, I think a cake would be safer.

Yours truly...Ms. Moon

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Karma Can Be A Painful Bitch

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In Which I Once Again Admit That I Am An Old Hippie And That Yes, I Believe In Peace And Love

I am feeling the exact opposite of the way I felt when I got back back from Mexico last January.
That feeling I had from staring at the Caribbean and letting my neurons be re-aligned from that water, that sky, that air- that Just Be-ing.

It just feels all gone and my neurons feel like they have fire ants in them, crawling up and down my spine, into my heart, my chest, my legs, my arms, especially my mind.

It's my fault.
I read the damn news. That's one thing I've done wrong.
Another thing is to fucking read fucking Face Book.
I stuck my shovel into a pile of ants yesterday when someone I know from long ago posted what I consider to be a crapload of untruths about how illegal immigrants are sucking up all of the tax money and services in this country while we "real" Americans are working our butts off to support them. "Like if you agree!"
I won't even get into it but I think it's a sign of something very deep and very angry and very bitter going on in a lot of people and honestly, I don't think it has anything to do with illegal aliens, but people do listen to those vomiting mouths of Rush and Glenn and those guys just push this shit about how our system is broken and I have to wonder what in hell that means. Sure, it's not even near perfect here in the Good Ol' US of A but when was it? and last I looked, the libraries are still open and so are the schools, even though they are severely underfunded and the interstate is still there and the Highway Patrol is lined up, pulling speeders, and the internet's working and honestly? I think a lot of people are still just completely mouth-opened freaked that we have a black president.

Which probably makes me as simple-minded as people who honestly believe that the problems in this country are due to illegal immigrants or gay people getting married or...whatever bullshit people can wrap their minds around to blame troubles on.

So anyway, I stuck my shovel into the ant pile and it did not go well. And these things never do. Facts have nothing to do with how people think and feel these days. I wonder if they ever did?
It's so much easier to simply select a target and direct hatred that way. To sum up the bitterness and anger in one tidy place, to think that if THAT changed, all would be well and we could be living once again in a Normal Norman Rockwell version of a dream that never really existed to begin with. To demonize a segment of the population which can't even begin to defend itself being too damn busy trying to make enough money to buy a loaf of bread, a bag of beans, a tank of gas to get from one tomato field to another.

It all makes me sick, this hatred and these lies and it makes me sick that we have lost our compassion and that we wrap our anger up in a flag.

Listen- one time when I was tripping on acid (yes, I admit it- I did LSD), I began to ponder the boundaries, the borders, the imaginary lines and circles which define not only where my property begins and yours ends or where one country begins and another ends, but also the very depths of the earth under the land upon which our feet are planted and I was struck by the absolute hilarity of how we humans spend so much time and energy defending these imaginary borders and lines and circles and how, in the vast reaches of time, these lines have no meaning, really, and how silly we are, trying to hold on to what, once we die, will be completely and utterly meaningless to us.

Oh. Don't get me wrong. I love my little plots of land but I am quite aware of the fact that despite the fact that Mr. Moon and I own pieces of paper which state that for legal purposes, we are the owners of them, that in truth, we are only care-taking them for the amount of time we are here. Can I own these oak trees which were here centuries before I was born and which will be here for at least another hundred years after I die? Will our property in Apalachicola even be here a hundred years from now, bordering the rising waters as it does?

I feel the same way about our country. We have made agreements among ourselves that on this side of this line we are REAL Americans and on that side of that line, they are NOT Americans and it is our duty as the REAL Americans to prevent those NOT-Americans from crossing and using our stuff.
I can't go there.
We are all of the human family and yes, we have a government and they have a government and blah, blah, blah but I can't help but feel great compassion for those who are brave enough and desperate enough to leave their homes, their families, to risk their lives to cross the border to look for work to feed their children. Would I be as brave?
I don't think so.

And see, this kind of thinking will get you in trouble. This kind of thinking will get you branded as all sorts of crazy stuff. And maybe I am crazy. And to tell you the truth- sometimes I just think I am.

I was told on Facebook that life is not all about love and peace and rock and roll. I was reminded that I do not work and have not worked for a very long time.

Honestly, I wish life WERE more all about peace and love and rock and roll. Or music of some sort. Because all that other stuff? The anger and the war and the military and the giant corporations which are really the ones, if we face the truth, who are running every damn thing are NOT working that well.

And no, I don't work. For money. Every thing I do is for love which makes me lazy and probably crazy, too, at least in the eyes of others.

Well. Another day where I can only really and truly take care of what is before me which is this house, this family, myself. If I am honest, I don't have time to worry about all of the other stuff. Not really. I don't have the energy, any way.

I am missing Mexico. I am sore need of re-aligning these old neurons once again. I am in sore need of being in another country where other families, not one bit different than my own, work hard to support and take care of what they have to support and take care of and where no one is throwing the damn flag in my face, no one is claiming that if I don't think this is the greatest country ever in the history of the universe I am some sort of traitor.

I need to shake the ants out of my soul, those itchy burning, stinging ants.

I need to stop going to Facebook.

I need to stop worrying about what other people think and believe. It is not my job to try and change them anymore than it is their job to try and change me. The only thing that will change me is time and trying to keep my own mind open to the undefined realities of the universe which are not already confined and circled with lines on a map.


Love...Ms. Moon

Tuesday, August 21, 2012


It's Russell's birthday today and I remember when he was born forty-five years ago and I was thirteen, as I said before, and was babysitting his baby brother Chuck and my brother White, who is only two-and-a-half years younger than I and it was in the afternoon and voila! we had another red-headed baby boy in the family and that was joy.

The babies were always the joy. Even if nothing much else was even barely tolerable in that house where I was raised, the babies- ah- they were joy.


And I'm off today to town to babysit for Owen whose mother told me that on Sunday night when he threw a fit and wanted to come to Lloyd to spend the night and who said he WOULD NOT SLEEP IN HIS HOUSE, WOULD NOT SLEEP IN HIS BED, that when they would not bring him he stated that he would get a map and WALK to Lloyd.

Oh, that very idea makes me want to laugh and cry, that tiny big boy in his diaper, walking to Lloyd with a map in his hand and perhaps his doggie flashlight, open and barking, lighting his way.

Last night I went to put on my moisturizing cream and found two little-finger swipes through it. He had used some to put on a bug bite and instead of being annoyed that he had been in my stuff, I thought to myself that I would probably just avoid that part of the thick, white cream in order to preserve those tracks made by his fingers.


So it goes and I am a mother, a big sister, a grandmother. I have tended many babies. I have loved them all and I will never got my fill of them, their weight on my shoulders, the way their firm cheeks feel under my lips, their little-man chuckles, their baby conversations, their smiles, their growing and learning and sleeping and them. Just them. All of them.

They have saved my life, each and every one of them, over and over and over again.


Monday, August 20, 2012

Family, In A Good Way

It was a lovely day. My boys were good boys and even though Owen has a cold and was producing prodigious quantities of snot, he could not have been sweeter or move loving to both me and his brother. 

I think Gibson had a good time at his Mer-Mer's.

And Owen was so happy to be back where he feels so comfortable and knows every nook and hiding place and where his friend, Buster, lives.

And then Russell got here and met his newest great-nephew and I think they approved of each other.

Owen liked him too. He kept calling him my "friend." 
"Your friend still here?"
"That's my BROTHER, Owen. Like Gibson is your brother. He's your Uncle Russell."
"Oh. Nice!"

Then later:
"Where your friend stay?"

Ah well, he is my friend, that baby brother of mine. I was thirteen when he was born and he was truly one of my first babies, his brother Chuck, older by thirteen months, my first. I carried them on my hips and fed them their bottles and not only changed their diapers but washed the diapers, too. 
Oh, how I loved those babies.
I still do. 
It's so good to have him here. 

It has just been a very good day filled with lots and lots of kisses and hugs and puzzles and books and snacks and Owen saying, "What the heck!!" when something astounded him, which was often. 
That cracked Russell up. It cracks me up too.

It rained all day, it's cool tonight and right here, right now is a lovely place to be with my husband, my brother, and the prospect of a good night's sleep before me.

And please forgive me if I don't get around to blogs right now the way I usually do. Or even my own comments. Life, as I say, has gotten busy which is good but I'll be back and you can bet the farm on that one.

Love...Ms. Moon