Sunday Pissy Blues

Can you see how tired those guys are? They went thirty-eight miles offshore yesterday and they did indeed catch fish. By the time Mr. Moon got home after dropping Owen off at his dad's, he was completely wiped out and I'm sure that Owen was too. Glen reports that Owen was so polite, so helpful, and such good company. They were able to get in the water a few times and I'm sure that helped as I know it was literally blistering hot out there on the Gulf. 

The first thing Mr. Moon did this morning after he had his coffee was to take the dishwasher out and get rid of the dead rat. He scrubbed the area down with Fabuloso, put the dishwasher back in its place, and my kitchen now holds no odor whatsoever of rodent death. Such a good man! 

Then I got in the kitchen and made him a swell Sunday brunch with everything from bacon and eggs and biscuits to air-fried potatoes with onions and peppers to homemade fig preserves. And sliced garden tomatoes. In fact, the potatoes and peppers came from our garden too. Not the cat piss potatoes, I hasten to assure you. 

I have been plain pissy today. I remembered how much I like that word when I was watching a TicTok by this woman whose name I do not remember who is of a certain age and very southern and she was talking about having hot flashes and how horribly uncomfortable they are. 
"And they piss me off!" she said. "And I'm already a pissy person." 
I'm having a similar problem in that my GD doctor who prescribes my hormones (NOT my beloved Dr. Z) has not responded to my compounding pharmacy's request for a refill for me and I have been taking half my usual dosage in order not to run out completely and guess what? 
Not only am I pissy but I am also having hot flashes and am generally emotional and cry at the drop of a hat. 
"You don't love me!" I feel like wailing at my poor husband. 
Jesus god but come on. After conceiving and carrying four babies to term and then delivering them and keeping them alive with my tender loving care and milk made from my very own body and going through PMS for decades and decades and having periods, and then peri-menopause and then menopause itself and- well, y'all know what I'm talking about (except for those of you who only know about it all theoretically and LUCKY YOU!) I am not up for going through all of this hormonally related bullshit again. 
I am just not. 
But you do what you have to do and today I had to cry a lot. I did not accuse my husband of not loving me anymore but I definitely traced an outline of that message to deliver to him and bless him, he just took it all in and apologized for whatever he's done that has made me feel this way (not much) and told me he loves me. 
Which is about the best way to handle these things. 

I was not about to go work outside and I didn't. I went back to fuss with my dress and when I finally got it to the point I could try it on, it somehow still felt snug and yet- gapped in certain places. 

I'm thinking I'm just going to cut out what I've done and sew a piece of wide black elastic in there. Either that or throw the damn thing in the garbage. It wouldn't even make good rags. 
I'll probably fool with it some more tomorrow. What else do I have to do? Can green beans? Oh yeah. I sure do need to do that. 

In more cheerful news- 

My sea grape! The very, very last of all of the seeds to pop up was the only one not to die and in fact, to thrive. 
So far. 

Knock wood. 
You have no idea how much I love that little tropical plant that came from a beach on the Atlantic near where I used to swim in my childhood. 

We are going to eat some mahi-mahi tonight for our supper and a little while ago we were reminiscing about a supper we'd had long ago that I'd cooked in a little kitchenette in a Key West motel room where we were staying. Glen had caught a beautiful mahi and I cooked it and we had that with limes and bread from a bakery and key lime pie that Mr. Moon fetched from the restaurant next door. We always hold that meal as one of the very best we have ever eaten. And it was, too. When we were talking about it today, I said, "I think I fried that fish but I'm not sure." 

"You don't remember?" he asked me.

"Honey, it's been almost forty years," I said. 
It's been thirty-eight, to be exact. Lily wasn't even one yet. In fact, she started really walking on that trip in a restaurant where we ate a different dinner. 
We laughed. The memory of that meal is so clear and so real and yet, I cannot remember how I cooked the fish. I do think I fried it. 

My mother was with us on that adventure and we really did have a good time with her. Every evening we would walk down to a certain bar, Lily in her stroller, and have pina coladas, even my mother! And she was adamantly and vehemently opposed to alcohol. But she loved those pina coladas and she would get so cheerful and funny and loving after she had one. And every evening she would ask, "Are we going to go get pina coladas?"

Maybe if she'd just had a few more later on in her life we could have gotten along better. Who knows?

Not me. 

Love...Ms. Moon