We Had It All

I met Jessie and the boys at Chow Time today and I swear- I do not know how they manage to provide the quality and quantity of food they do at the prices they charge. It's rather unbelievable. I see people getting plate after plate of shrimp and they are good shrimp. I'm sure they're farmed but still- they are firm and delicious whether you're eating the small cocktail ones or the large ones they lightly fry, head-on. And I say this as a Florida girl. As you can see, Jessie and I ate a few ourselves but we ate other things too. In that picture, August is eating the plate of food he wanted after he ate his other food and then his desserts. I love that he got fried okra. He ate a lot of different things but Levon generally wants only pizza and melon and then dessert. Or, desserts. 

I love the hot and sour soup so much and their crisp, garlicky green beans. I tried their sauteed zucchini today on Jessie's recommendation. I generally am not a fan of zucchini but this was delicious, slightly smokey and still firm. Their sushi is acceptable and so is their salad bar. It's just a fun place to eat and after you eat there, you don't need to eat again for another 48 hours!
Oh course this does not mean that you won't eat again for 48 hours. Haha! 
As if. 

So that was fun and today Levon was the one snuggling into my side. He asked me if I had flappy skin and I assured him I did. He agreed. The thing about young grandchildren remarking on all of the signs of aging is that they are not being judgmental about it. They are simply observing and being plain-spoken about the truth of the situation. They showed me how tight their skin is over their skinny but strong little arms. 
"Yep!" I told Levon. "Your skin is as tight as a tick full of blood!" 
And it is. 

Their skin is not an artifact of a long-lived life, showing all of the markings and results of that life, but a thing of beauty, securely holding in all of their new, fresh veins and arteries, bones and ligaments, their pure and untainted organs. No wonder we old people are curiosities to them. It is the way of it. 

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So. Mr. Moon and Chip are, as we speak, crossing the bay to Dog Island. And here's the deal- we have put our house there up for sale. This has been a hard decision but it is time. We have to face the realities of what it takes to maintain that house and also what it takes to go stay there. We used to think nothing of throwing a bunch of food into coolers and bags, stashing them and water and booze into the truck, calling the dogs to join us, hooking up the boat to trailer down to the coast, and crossing the bay at nine o'clock at night with the moon and stars above us, the phosphorescent waves of the bay around us. We'd pull up behind the house, hoping the tide was right, and wade in, hauling everything in our so-much-younger, stronger, surer arms, up the stairs, and the dogs would go crazy, happy to be there, and we would unload everything and put it away and make a late supper and then go to bed where we'd sleep like the dead, the wind sometimes blowing so hard that it whistled and roared around the house and through the pines. 

We would walk for miles around the island and we would play cards forever on the back porch. At sunset time we would make our drinks and set our chairs on the strip of beach to watch the sky change with the glory of that every-day miracle, listening to the water as it lapped at our feet. 

For many, many years, there was no place that was better to be. 

But it's time to hold on tight to our memories and to let it go. We've barely used it in the last few years as it has become more and more difficult for us to make that trip. 
I could go on for hours here about Dog Island, that house, those memories I talked about, the good ones and the ones that are somewhat haunting. But I won't. 
I'll just say that this is part of growing older, having to let go of what was and dealing squarely with what is. If anyone is interested in more words and many, many pictures of Dog Island, you can do a search at the top left-hand corner of the blog. 

I will also say that there was always music at Dog Island and there was always love. 

We were so damn lucky. We still are.

Love...Ms. Moon