Sunday, December 7, 2014

That Which Persists And That Which Does Not

Ah, the day turned. Not emotionally. But weather-wise. It did get cooler and also gray. That sort of almost white-gray that if we were up north would portend snow. Of course here it does not, but one still feels the dullness of it all. There is a lid on things, as it were, even if it's just a perceived one.

I went out to the garden, lifted one bag of leaves and found an entire universe of ants and dropped the bag and said, "No!" I have no idea how this is going to be dealt with. The man says he will figure it out. We shall see.
Here's a funny thing- black plastic lawn bags do in fact disintegrate. Faster than you would think. You know what doesn't? Those fucking little labels they put on fruits and vegetables.

You can make compost and spread it on the garden and although the original fruit and vegetable peels have become crumbly bits of goodness and fertilizer, those little stickers will be as pristine as the day they were slapped on the fruit. It's sad. I love finding things in this yard that are relics from days of old- bits of glass and pottery and even entire bottles and a DENTAL TOOL! and old marbles and pieces of farm equipment but the people who live here a hundred years from now are not going to find a damn thing we left behind except those labels. Which will still proudly proclaim whatever information they relate today and still in vivid shiny color. 
What the hell do they make those things out of? 

Ah well. Such a small thing to bitch about. 

Mr. Moon is still off in the woods and I have venison and potatoes and carrots and apples and mushrooms and onions and garlic simmering ever-so-gently on the stove. I have asparagus to cook. I've done laundry galore and worked in the yard some, pulling and trimming and I don't even know what else. Not much. And I am completely happy with that. 
I guess I've sort of kept my Sabbath day holy although my definition for "holy" may be different from the Bible's. For me it means watching the cardinals flock at the feeder and admiring my little plot of garden with its greens and onions and carrots and pulling brier weeds and calling an old friend and cooking onions and folding clothes and feeding chickens and hugging and kissing and laughing with my husband.
One of the things we laughed about was the story I told him about something Gibson did the other day. He and I were in the garden and I was picking greens and he was digging in the dirt with my weeding trowel when suddenly old Luna started making her bitchy cry outside the garden fence. 
She sounds so plaintive when she vocalizes. She always has. But Gibson immediately popped up from his crouch in the dirt and said, "That cat need me!" and went out the gate to go pick old Luna up and I tried to get a picture but she kept escaping from his arms where she dangled full-length down to the ground. I am not sure what Gibson thought he could do for the cat but "need" for him means holding. "I need you!" he says when he wants to be picked up and I love the fact that the cat's cries meant to him meant that she needed holding. And he tried. He did. He did his best.

It's getting cold. I have the heat on. I am wearing socks and my new slippers and my old faux-shearling-lined Gap hoodie. The other day when Lily and Jessie and I were in the Big Lots with the boys, we were oohing and ah-ing about some giant sectional furniture pieces and the guy working there said they were made of "fox" leather. I chuckled to myself, not AT him but with him. How many words have I mispronounced because I have only read them and not heard them? I just in the past few days realized that Moleskine journals are not pronounced "Mole-skin" but "Mol-is-skine." Although, I just googled, "Moleskin journals- how to pronounce" and here you go:

Good Lord! What DID we do before the internet?
Walked around mispronooncing everything, writing our deepest thoughts in our Moleskines.

The man is home. No deers were killed in the enjoyment of his evening.

Look, y'all. Enjoy every moment that you can. That's all I have to say tonight.
Well, that and kiss and hug and laugh and cry as much as you want to. As much as you possibly can.
And just throw those fucking labels in the trash or else burn them. If they do, indeed, burn. I'm not sure if they do.

Going to go cook some asparagus now. And remember- I NEED you.

Love...Ms. Moon


  1. I have to tell you this story. A friend of a friend is a gastroenterologist. He claims he was doing a colonoscopy one day and on the wall of the colon was one of those Golden Delicious stickers. I cracked up. That was the first thing I thought of when I read your post.

  2. But those stickers would be great things to leave behind, if we have to leave trash. Kids will collect them. And what do they say about us? We ate fruits and veggies and decorated them with little bits of art. Not so shabby.

  3. Trash makes me sad. Maybe those stickers should look like works of art.

  4. Don't you worry, Doll. I'm right here! :)


  5. I don't think I ever said it aloud,
    but I'm sure I thought: mole skin.
    Like that stuff we'd put inside our
    sneakers at camp, if we had a long hike ahead.

  6. That Hank. He could teach me a thing or two about looking on the bright side. Love his comment. And love the story about Gibson.

  7. We all need each other. Gibson is a boddhisatva, hearing the cries of the world...

  8. Dear Ms Moon, please can we trade? I offer you a snug and warm house, a teeny tiny bit of sunshine, only the slightest touch of icy wind, nice looking frosty windscreens (which may or may not defrost by themselves in a few hours), hot tea and my sister's Xmas cookies - for just an hour of Florida weather plus all the asparagus.

  9. OK, I love Pat E's story above, and I love Hank's comment. I used to collect the stickers off bananas, and even now I always appreciate a new and different sticker design. But they ARE disturbingly durable!

    That's a great story about Gibson, too. I'm sure the farthest thing from Luna's mind was being picked up by Gibson, but I like that he interpreted her sounds that way.

  10. Pat E- That's hysterical. I believe it, too.

    Birdie- Here I am!

    That Hank- You know, you are exactly correct! I love that perspective! Thank you, my love.

    Denise- I have Hank's perspective now and as such, will see them as tiny works of art.

    Bethany- We all pick each other up, don't we?

    Nancy- Thank you!

    A- I always have too.

    Angella- Hank is amazing. Gibson is too.

    Beth Coyote- Hard to ignore Luna's cryings. She is loud. But Gibson is sort of a merry little Buddha.
    When he's not being a cranky pants.

    Sabine- Okay. One hour! But not today. It's gray and drizzly and cold here right now. You would not like it.

    Steve Reed- No, Luna did not seem to be that happy about Gibson's help. You are right!

  11. I like Denise's idea. if those little stickers are going to last forever (and I do find them from my compost pile too) they should be printed with works of art.

  12. I thought I had read somewhere (on the Internet) that those stickers were edible. After reading Pat E's comment I think not so much. Though I guess passing them does not necessarily mean they are not edible.

  13. I served a client an apple today and as I tore off the sticker I thought of you.


Tell me, sweeties. Tell me what you think.