Miracles And A Hymn Here At The Church Of The Batshit Crazy On A Friday Night

My left eye felt like something was in it all day yesterday. And it was sort of red and felt irritated but I couldn't see anything in it. Isn't it odd that we use the very organ to look at what we are trying to inspect on ourselves? That doesn't make a whole lot of sense but if you think about it, it does.

The point of this being, last night I kept waking up and my eye felt way more irritated and I worried about it in an irrational manner as one does when one wakes up in those deep, somehow liquid hours of the night when neither time nor thoughts flow as they should. When I got up (late) I looked in the mirror which I generally avoid doing as much as possible and I looked positively demonic. Not only were both of my eyes red, but my eyebrows, which would be more appropriate on the face of an ancient old man of the forest, were sticking all up. I'm not kidding. I scared myself. So I pruned those bad boys above my eyes and decided to just see what happened with my eyes and by golly, one of them isn't red at all anymore and the other one looks much better. The irritated feeling has mostly gone away although the one that's still red feels a little itchy. So I don't know what's going on. Gibson did have conjunctivitis a few weeks ago but I wasn't around him and besides that, I don't get all up in the grandchildren's eyes. So maybe it's allergies or maybe I did have a little something in my eye or maybe I do have an eyeball melanoma which was the main thing I was worried about at three in the morning. 

Friday. It's Friday. I've had a very hard time just enjoying that fact and I'm blaming it on my husband who was at Lowe's at six o'clock this morning and who has worked all day long at Lily's house and who also managed to renew all our license tags for boats, cars, trucks, and trailers, AND finish the process to get his dealer's license WHICH HE NOW HAS! 
So knowing all of that, it was hard for me to just be lazy and enjoy myself although I mostly fought through that guilt. Sort of. There is no such thing as "guilt-free" in my world. 
And no, he is not home yet and I doubt he will be for many long hours. Good thing I can make my own martini.

I had a sort of, if not epiphany, then stark realization this morning when I was reading Ellen's blog post HERE. 
Ellen is the only person I know in our blog community who has a sort of similar life to mine when it comes to yard maintenance. She does a much better job of it and spends more time doing it than I do, but when she talks about hauling branches to the burn pile I know exactly what she's talking about.
So my realization is that I don't know if I really WANT to spend the rest of whatever life I have digging up crocosmia and border grass. This does not mean that I don't want this yard and this house. I very much do. But I somehow need to get help. My old pal who owns the landscaping company did not come by and I think I should call him and actually pay him to give me advice and suggestions for people to help me. Right now I feel completely overwhelmed, not only by the regular stuff taking over every square inch of this little place that it can, but also by the fact that since we got the Bradford pears cut down, every stinking damn one of their roots and stumps are sprouting new trees. When I tell you that my backyard looks like a fucking Bradford pear tree farm, I am not exaggerating. And Mr. Moon has not had the time to mow them down.  
This is almost terrifying. 

And when I went out this afternoon to get the laundry off the line and take a picture of the confederate jasmine, I saw this:

Obviously, the bamboo is not done with me yet. So I kicked all that I saw. 
The jasmine I went to take a picture of is also an over-grower, as we might kindly say, meaning it takes over everything it can get its little tendrils on. Why did I plant this shit? 

Yes. Yes I do always have dirt under my fingernails. 
Doesn't the jasmine look so sweet and innocent? Well, if you had one single strand of it, that would be fine, but when you have a wall of it, or several walls of it, which is what happens when you plant it on a fence, the scent becomes so overpowering that it's like living in one of those shops I talked about the other day. That's probably what my eyeball is allergic to.

Ugh.

I went out to the garden just to check things out. The acorn squash is really coming along. 

Is that an acorn squash? 
The potatoes are looking droopy and are turning yellow and I keep telling Mr. Moon to reach into one of those bags to see if he has any potatoes because in my experience, when the plants start dying back, it's time to dig. He says it's not time and that he doesn't want to feel around in the dirt because it would "upset their life-style" which cracked me up so much. Don't tell him but I stuck my fingers in one of the bags today (thus the dirt under my fingernails) and felt a potato that may be as big as a baseball. They're supposed to bloom before you dig the potatoes but again, I've had years when that just didn't happen and I have no idea why. 

After being outside for about twenty minutes, I had almost died from the heat so I came back in. I simply cannot tolerate the heat and humidity any more. I sweat like a blacksmith in August. In hell. 

Lord, Lord. I sure am making myself sound attractive, aren't I? First with the eyebrows and red eyes, then the dirty fingernails, and now the sweat. Well guess what? I am NOT attractive. Not even remotely. 

Here is today's winning photo. 

No, it is not a lizard with multiple sets of rabbit ears, it is an anole eating a winged insect. 

All right. Many of us fight going gently into that good night with various and disparate means. We can rail against the ravages of time, we can deny, deny, deny. We can do all the right dietary/supplement/physical activity things. We can get surgery to try and undo what time has written across our faces, our bodies. We can stay engaged and active, do crosswords and learn new languages. We can yoga and we can tai chi. Some of these things may extend our years a bit, some may make us feel, if only for a moment or so, the way we did when we were young and juicy and full of it all. 

For me, I sometimes get those moments in a dream and they are potent and powerful. And sometimes, all I have to do is go to YouTube. 

That was the Rolling Stones in 1995 at the Tokyo Dome. Keith and Mick were "only" about fifty-two then and people had been asking how long they thought they could keep this act going since they were  twenty-five. 

I came across this video via a FB post today and I don't think I've ever seen it. I seriously doubt that many of you will watch it and that is A-OK. I know I'm a little crazy about those old boys. Especially Keith. And he does shine in this video. (Go to 7:13 if you don't want to watch the whole thing.) But what I love the most about it, is the pure joy that you can see on the performer's faces. The absolute dedication to what they do and why they do it. The genuine affection they have for each other. And of course, I love the audience's reaction when Charlie Watts is introduced. 

In two days, those old boys will be opening their summer 2024 tour in Houston. 

Just knowing this is a tonic to me. They aren't a nostalgia band. They are a working rock and roll band. And I truly believe what I've heard Keith say in many interviews which is that with each performance, they are trying to make it better, play it better, be better. 

Well. Mr. Moon just called and he said that not only should I not wait supper on him, but that I shouldn't wait going to bed on him either. 
Oh dear god. And he's still lighthearted sounding. His joy in doing what he's doing for his family is not unlike Keith Richards' joy in doing what he's doing with his band. 
Another reason I love that man.

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

In Which I Hang Out With Bob And Kevin And Discuss Many Things, Including Male Pop Stars With High Voices

There's one of the tiny bean blossoms that I finally got a picture of this morning. And here's one of the vines' tendrils, gracefully snaking its way to the top of the fence post. 

While I was out there, I took pictures of two of the types of basil I'm growing.

This is African basil. I've had a plant of that get as big as a kitchen table before. 

Thai basil, which is more delicate. I love the taste of both of them. 

Y'all- it's been a day. I did a few things around the house this morning and then drove in to town and did my Costco shopping and then I met Mr. Moon and our realtor at the attorney's office where we signed the papers for Lily's house. Before too long, the house will be in her name but there are finances associated with the divorce that have to come through for that to happen. Meanwhile, she is free to move in whenever she wants.
Saturday has been set aside for the family to help her and Lauren. For whatever reason, our family does not hire movers. I guess because we're stubborn and stupid. Also cheap. Maybe? Or perhaps it's not just me that feels the need to suffer unnecessarily. Frankly, I don't see how they'll be able to get the kitchen stuff alone all moved over in one day. It's going to take some time but if Lily's out of her old house by May 1, she's going to save a lot of money. This, too, is part of the whole divorce situation. 
And poor Lily. Today was "bring your kid to work day" and she ended up being the caretaker for fifteen employee's children at her Publix. Which was no doubt far more exhausting than tending the liquor store. Tomorrow she and Lauren are going to chaperone a field trip from 5:00 a.m. to 11:00 p.m. 
Yeah, she and Lauren both will be all ready to move house on Saturday. Craziness. 
Of course it will get done. Just as I am sure the painting will get done. Mr. Moon and I got to see each other at the signing today and then we sat in the car in the shade in the parking lot and ate sandwiches I'd bought at Costco. 
Very romantic. 
"I love you!" I yelled at him as he walked across the parking lot to his truck. 
I have no idea when he'll be home tonight. 

After our lunch, I went to Jessie's house to get the tags that I need to pick up August and Levon from school. It was a Levon piano lesson day and Jessie had to work. They both wanted mulberry pie with ice cream on it for a treat which is exactly what their mother had said they could have so that worked out well. I had a micro bite of the pie and it was damn good. 

After they finished and wiped their faces

it was time to load up to go to piano. That went well. Levon seems to have a pretty good grasp of it for a kindergartner. August read his book and I read my New Yorker magazine. 

Back in the car and on to Publix. "Why don't you do your shopping later?" asked August. 
"Because I don't want to," I said. He did not challenge me on that. 

They were good boys and didn't bug me to buy them anything. Oh wait. That's not true. They wanted some BabyBel cheese and I got them some. Why not? They started calling themselves Bob and Kevin so I did too. 
"Bob and Kevin! Y'all stop that!" 
I finally asked why they they chose Bob and Kevin and was informed that Bob and Kevin are minions. 

There you go. That explains everything. 

We drove back to their house and before too long, I was on my way home. 

And now I've unloaded the car and put everything away and I am so very, very tired. 
On top of everything, one of the things I did this morning was to actually call the dermatologist and make an appointment for a screening. I cannot even remember the last time I saw him and I have little...things... all over my face and body that definitely need looking at. It was horrendously hard for me to make that call but I did it and I'll be going to see him in May. I'm relieved that I made the appointment but I swear- that sucked up about 75% of my emotional energy. God, I'm a wimp. 

Hearing the news about Harvey Weinstein just about wiped out the other 25% I had left and I haven't had nearly enough time to process that. I guess that Trump's brain did not explode in the courtroom today (dammit) and also, WTF with the Supreme Court?

I don't know. I don't drive this train. I'm just holding on for all I'm worth.

Love...Ms. Moon

Blossom of the Little Gem magnolia. It's only as big as a salad plate. 

I Got Out Of The House

 It was easier to get up this morning. I knew that I was going to go to Monticello with Jessie and that's always a good time. She's been looking for a dresser to go in her bathroom and has had no luck in Tallahassee. So I got up and got busy and did my little chores and went through my routine of reading blogs and reading the news and doing a crossword, blah, blah, blah. 
She came and picked me up in her silent car and off we drove to Monticello, our little county seat and the only real town in all of Jefferson County. I've posted pictures of the courthouse many times before and that one was taken from an upstairs window in the antique and vintage store where we were shopping. 

Before we started shopping though, we went to eat our lunch at the Mexican restaurant, Rancho Grande. I love this place and I especially love how the owners have survived and thrived in this tiny southern town with their incredibly hard work and good product. They started out in a little funky place, bought the land next to it, and built a beautiful restaurant and cantina. It's always full of customers and I've never had a bad meal there. Our server today was a young woman who barely spoke any English and who looked, as I told Jessie, as if she'd been drawn by a Disney animator. She was so pretty, like a Disney princess, with an almost unbelievably beautiful facial bone structure. 
Our food was good and we ate too much and then began our shopping which was probably not the best order of doing things but we'd been hungry. 

Here's just a random picture of a house in Monticello. 

The whole town is filled with graceful old homes, some of them small and simple, some more grand. I like the one in that picture. It is a large house but not so big that you'd feel completely lost in it. Nice design and straight lines, no fancy trim or doo-dahs, but simple and elegant in my opinion. 

Monticello has been growing, bit by bit over the last decade or so. New restaurants have opened and taken hold, new shops appear to be thriving. There is still Wag the Dog though, the thrift store run by the local animal shelter, the farmer's market where you can buy raw peanuts in fifty pound bags along with fresh vegetables and frozen shelled peas, and the Winn Dixie too. It really is a nice place and everyone seems to be courteous and kind. There's a fine library where our friend Terez works. That guy is in the local newspaper about every three weeks. He's a local celebrity as well he should be. We noticed today that the new restaurant where Glen and I ate a few weeks ago is going to start serving sushi in a separate little part of the place. And there are two coffee shops, one with a bakery that serves breakfast and lunch, and the other with all the fancy drinks. We are getting so sophisticated here! 

Jessie wanted a coffee today so we tried the the coffee shop with the fancy drinks only to find this on the door.

Really, Jason? You had to have your appointment today? Well, we forgive him as we know all about hernia surgeries around here. 

I loved this.

So on we went. We visited a few of the smaller places and saw a lot of cool stuff but no dressers that would have worked. I do have one major complaint about the shops and that is the nasty artificial scents they all seem to have. They are headache-inducing. What is the deal with this shit? It used to just be potpourri but it seems now to have far exceeded what even the most chemically enhanced potpourri could achieve on its own. How do people stand to work in a place that smells like that for eight hours a day? Ten minutes is my limit and they are not a pleasant ten minutes either. 
And the funny thing is, Jessie and I had just been talking about how people don't wear perfume or cologne as much any more. How women used to have their "signature" scent and didn't feel dressed without dabbing a bit on their pulse points. It's become less prevalent as people have become more aware of some people's intolerance for perfumes and perfumed body products. And yet- these places of business have so much smell in them that a scent-o-meter would explode. If there were such a thing. And I think there should be. 

This place doesn't have any weird smells though.

That's the big antique store where I got Dorothy Ann and a few other cherished things. They always have decent stuff there. It's also where I got my bright red tea trolly. They did have a dresser that was not bad and it was a reasonable price but it wasn't quite the one. 

It would have done, you know? 
But there's always the sense that the perfect, right one will appear. 

So it was not purchased. 

Funnily enough, the dresser in my bathroom (Jess and I both have very large bathrooms) is one I bought because it would do until I found the one I really wanted and that was about thirty-six years ago or so. At least. It has "done" for quite awhile and by now, I probably wouldn't trade it for anything. 

All right. I'm about to have a little birthday eve telephone chat with Ms. Lis! Glen's still not home. My god, I've barely seen him in days. I've got our supper mostly ready. I made up a little pan of kitchen sink chicken enchiladas that are going to be a shame and a sin after my lunch at Rancho Grande. Oh well. I'll make some nice guacamole to go with them and it'll be fine. The man is so tired when he gets home that I could serve him gruel and he would not even register what it was. 

Thanks for coming along with me to Monticello. I know I've written about it a lot already but it's part of my world and I feel quite lucky to have such a charming little place to visit right down the road from me. 

Y'all have a nice evening. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Just One Of Those Days

 It's like Jurassic Park around here right now, except in miniature. The anoles are out and about, skittering and sunning and flirting. I've seen several males puff out their pretty rosy throats for the admiration of lady lizards. I watched a couple today on the porch screen. He was all, "Hey baby! Look at this!" and she did take a few hesitant steps toward him and then turned and danced away. I do not know if she was playing hard to get or simply not interested. 

Today was one of those days. I woke up and laid in bed, unable to find my way out of it. I usually don't feel that way. I may not want to do whatever it is I need to do when I get up but I manage to get out of bed and get started with my day at least. But today I just couldn't seem to muster any enthusiasm for any of it. What's the point? I kept wondering. I thought Mr. Moon had probably already left to go paint but I heard him getting something out of his bathroom and I called to him. He came and laid down beside me and kissed me and I said, "I can't seem to get out of bed today," and he said, "And I can't seem to stay in it," and then he was off and of course I had to cry a little tear because...well. 
Turns out he'd spent most of the night on the guest room bed due to terrible leg cramps. And yes, he does everything that people can do for leg cramps. He's drinking tons of water and has begun putting Liquid IV in it. He takes leg cramp tablets. He drinks pickle juice. He's been taking a hot bath with Epson salts before bed. He has always been prone to leg cramps and it's a matter of circulation and that's all there is to it. All the magnesium in the world is not going to change that.
So, no, he probably did not have a great deal of sympathy for me, moaning about having to get out of bed as he'd gone through a torturous night and still gotten up and had his breakfast and was about to go put in another ten or so hours. 
You cannot stop this man. 

I moped around some this morning and eventually got myself out to take a walk. I did not enjoy that walk. It felt so forced and uncomfortable. I walked down a road that I don't usually take and a bulldog came out of a gate which I will admit scared me some. I have known bulldogs that were gentle as lambs. I've had bulldogs that were gentle as lambs. And I have seen those same bulldogs go into fighting frenzies when some evil spirit overtook them. This was a pretty one, gray with white ears, and I was leery as I walked by it. I don't know if it was a male of a female. Not that it matters, really. There was a Fed Ex truck right behind me that had just delivered a package to what I believe is the house that the My Gypsy Soul Boutique lady lives in. The driver in the truck followed close behind me (and there was plenty of room to pass) and I am thinking that the guy was making sure the dog didn't attack. I spoke gently to the dog and he (or she) did go back onto its property and the Fed Ex man sped off. I was grateful for his presence. I have been bit before while walking but not for a very long time. 

One of the nice things about the walk today was that the magnolias are all opening and I can actually smell them, even though they must be at least twenty or thirty feet up in the air. 

This one has a few open blossoms, a few spent ones, turning brown, and two (that I can see) buds. 

There's a house a few doors down from us that I've taken pictures of before. No one has lived in it since I've been here and no one has done anything with it or to it either, except for a tiny bit of work that someone did on the front door. It's state of disrepair has suddenly accelerated and I think that it's because the roof is leaking badly now and windows are open in it as well. 

And that will be it for that house. Once the roof goes, it's all over. It's hard to tell but the siding on the top story is buckling and I've never observed that before. I guess we have another fally-down house on our hands. I have no idea who owns this house. 

It makes me sad but at this point, it would take so much time and money to even try to restore it that I don't know that anyone would take it on. 

Here's another picture that I took but this one does not make me sad.

That's a branch of the new leaves and baby berries on a Yaupon Holly. I've written about it before. It is definitely a native plant and is the only plant in North America that is a source of caffeine. Supposedly it was used by Indigenous people here. I've heard it said that they used it ceremonially but I have to wonder if that was its only use. Perhaps they made a weaker brew of it just to help them get through long days. 

Here is a picture of the border grass I'm always bitching about having to pull up. I worked on that for a bit.

Border grass, mondo grass, monkey grass. Call it what you will, it's a bitch.

And here's what the root system looks like. 

I always refer to it as being almost like a net of nylon and truly, that's not a lie. That shit is strong. 

Here's a very good thing.

That, my friends, is a rattlesnake bean blossom which means we'll be getting beans soon. I noticed today that bees were buzzing about the bean plants and so I investigated more closely. Most of the tiny flowers are purple and I'm not sure why that one's white but it is. I was having a hard time getting a decent picture of them and that's the only one that was even slightly in focus. 

And that's all I need to talk about right now. Tomorrow will be better. I know it will be. I also know that some days, getting out of bed and taking a walk is a pretty big achievement. 
I know this but I don't think I believe it. 

We go on.

Love...Ms. Moon

Another Day In Paradise, Part Twenty-Seven Hundred And Eight

 I laughed like a drunk chimpanzee when I saw this on Jeff Tiedrich's "Everyone's Entitled To My Own Opinion" substack post today. I learned about Tiedrich from Ellen at Stuff From Ellen's Head. I read Tiedrich everyday and there is no one in the world better at coming up with profane paragraph-long descriptions of Donald Trump. 

It's been a slow day here for me. I spent a great deal of time this morning re-wrapping Lis's birthday present to mail. The woman from whom I bought the gift on e-bay gift-wrapped it for me and I, thinking we would be taking it with us to give to Lis personally, unwisely unwrapped the mailing wrapping because I could have just slapped some new address information on it and sent it like that but no, I had to see the gift wrap and it was so sweet and pretty. 
I have said it before and I will say it again- I am the world's worst wrapper. Not just of gifts but of anything. It took me forever to wrap that box this morning. I'd gone to Publix on Saturday specifically to get two brown bags to use and I got those and scissors and tape and packing tape out this morning and proceeded to do a terrible job of covering the box and, hoping to somehow disguise my ineptitude, I started cutting up one of my old Virgin of Guadalupe calendars and taping those to the top and sides of the box and so now the whole thing is covered in a layer of packing tape, looks like it was mailed from the Vatican, and will probably need a scalpel of some sort to get it open. 
Oh well. 

And of course the post mistress said absolutely nothing about my box decorations, just asked me if it contained anything perishable or potentially dangerous or hazardous, told me how much I owed her, and gave me my receipt and the slip with the shipping number on it. 

And then, because it has been such a beautiful and cool day, I took a walk. 

That is the midpoint of my walk when I go to the county line and back. Those trees knock me out every time. I never get tired of seeing them, never lose my appreciation for their beauty. Unfortunately, the house and yard you can see on your left is the place where there is so much trash strewed around that it's always been a mystery to me how it manages to get so spread about. They also keep some hens and a rooster in a tiny net-tent sort of thing that is barely big enough for the chooks to stand up in, much less move about and that always hurts my heart. 
There may be good reasons that these people live like this but it is a curiosity to me. The contrast between those graceful, spreading trees and what lies below and beside them is so stark. 

I just lost about five paragraphs of what I was writing. Now how in hell does this happen? I have no idea and yet, somehow it does. I was talking about a book that I started listening to a few days ago whose main character was so completely unlikeable that I just could not get very far into it and sent it back through the cybersphere to Hoopla. 
Now I am listening to a book that I found via a New Yorker (or was it a NYT's?) article about the funniest American novels. It's another book by Percival Everett- I Am Not Sidney Poitier. I had written down the titles of some of the books in the article that sounded as if I would like them, and this was one of them. I am not sure if it's one of the funniest books I've ever read, but I am certainly enjoying it. I am so glad that I have finally discovered Mr. Everett's work. It is filled with absurdity and beautifully written. I highly recommend it. 

The rest of my day was mostly spent outside doing more yard work. It is so easy to be overwhelmed by the amount of it that needs to be done. But I was cheered by the presence of Maurice who came out to be with me, making her purpose quite clear instead of pretending otherwise. 

Oh, our crazy sweet girl. 

My husband has been at work over at Lily's new house since before I got up this morning. 

Sigh.

He is so determined to get everything done that he can to make that new house a sweet home for our baby and her babies. 

He is such a good man and a good daddy. We talked on the phone this morning and he made me laugh so much. As I told Jessie a little later, "Your father is a character." 
And he is. 
He is a character of good character. Hard to beat that. 

Love...Ms. Moon

A Good Day To Bake

It rained a little bit on and off today and Mr. Moon was back over at Lily's, working on the painting, so I decided to do some baking. I've been picking mulberries as they ripen because it's been a slack year for the fruit, and keeping them in the refrigerator. When my collection of berries got big enough to make a pie, I decided I'd better get it done because those berries were not getting any fresher. 

I made my pastry and I will admit that I screwed up and put in more butter and shortening than I should have which resulted in a very fragile crust. 
La-di-dah.
It's just pie. 
I made enough of the pastry to make one two-crust pie and one one-crust pie because I decided to make Mr. Moon a coconut cream pie which is one of his most favorites and why not? If I'm going to get flour all over the kitchen, I might as well get a lot of flour all over the kitchen and indeed I did. I don't know what was going on with me but flour was flying all over the place and when I made the custard for the coconut cream pie, I got cornstarch on the counter too. I do clean as I go but when you're making two separate pies which involve a lot of different steps, you're just going to make a mess and that's that. 
I mixed the berries with sugar and lemon juice and flour and put that into the bottom crust and then covered it all up with another rolled-out piece of pastry. That needed to be baked at 425° for fifteen minutes and then the oven needed to be turned down to 350° to continue baking. When I got that pie in the oven, I started in on the coconut pie and rolled out the dough for it and put it in the pie plate and because it needed to be blind-baked, I lined the pie crust with aluminum foil which I then filled with dried lentils so that the crust didn't cave in on itself. I keep a bag of lentils just for this purpose. 
That needed to be baked at 425° too so I slid it in next to the mulberry pie but it only baked a few minutes at that temp before I was supposed to turn the oven down which I did but then it seemed like the plain crust just was never going to bake so I turned the oven back up for awhile and honestly- this is not the way to bake. 
HOWEVER, needs must, as they say. 

While all of that silliness was going on, I made the custard part of the coconut cream pie. I sort of followed the recipe and sort of didn't. I was supposed to scald the milk and then add that to the egg yolks and corn starch and sugar in a double boiler over boiling water and whisk those together until thickened. Instead I nuked the milk and coconut milk I used together until it was about scalding temperature and then added it to the yolks and sugar and so forth in a regular pan and just cooked it a very low temperature, whisking the whole time and it thickened very nicely and quickly without a bit of burning. I added the coconut and vanilla and coconut flavoring and by the time I put it in the crust (which was finally done) it was a beautiful consistency. 
And then- on to the meringue! 
All the while this was going on, I was checking my berry pie and pulled it out right before the other pie needed to go in to brown the meringue. 
I managed to successfully get that done and this is what the pies look like and I am not bragging because they are so far from perfect and I know why and now you do too.

The top crust on the mulberry pie is not only vastly imperfect due to the pastry problem and the oven temperature situation, but also because I was supposed to brush the top with milk before I sprinkled the sugar on it and I had just used my pastry brush to do a little clean up on Ralph, the Roomba, and did not want to take the time to wash it properly so I just used my fingers which is obviously not the best way to apply milk to the top of a pie crust.

Thankfully, August won't care what the pie looks like nor will his brother or his parents. And Mr. Moon will eat that coconut cream pie without giving the slightest hint of a fuck about the unevenness of the crust. 

I also made a loaf of bread but that's a whole other story. 

And so, I spent most of the day in the kitchen which I have not done for a long time, and it is now all tidy and neat with everything cleaned up. So I feel as if I've had a fairly productive day overall. 

My husband came home early from Lily's house at which time a little frolic, a little fooling around may have occurred. And now it is getting cooler! Although we didn't get much rain at all (and do we really need more sky-water around here?) what we did get was the harbinger of a day or two of more tolerable weather. We've even turned the AC off and opened up the doors and windows again. The ducks have been bagged and put away but it's not going to get that chilly. 

On a completely different subject, tomorrow marks the beginning of the Donald Trump trial which they are calling the "hush money" trial but of course it's not exactly that. I am almost glad that it's not being televised or broadcast because I would be glued to the couch, watching it if it were. I have no doubt that he will not end up in prison for this but I sure would love to see him squirm when Stormy Daniels gets up on the stand. Or Michael Cohen. Or David Pecker. 
Pecker. How utterly perfect is the name of the man who was responsible for the catch and kills that protected Trump from some of the troubles that his little pecker got him into. 

God, but I would love it if a porn star named Stormy Daniels was the one to finally bring down that criminal. 

Anyway, I'll be checking in to the news sources frequently to see what the reporters are reporting. I know that many people probably don't give a rat's ass about the trial but I am not ashamed to admit that I am not one of them. 

Another Sunday in the books. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Perspective

Although that looks like a sort of almost-mature pepper, it's just a little baby one and that plant is about a foot tall. If that. I wasn't kidding about my bonsai pepper plants. 

Perspective is everything, I guess. 

I'm going to be honest with y'all here. I just don't have one writing spark in me tonight. I just deleted a long thing about my mother and my stepfather but you know what? 
I can't. 
Sometimes these things do lay heavy on me and I've been doing a lot of thinking about all of that today, especially as pertains to my feelings about my mother as I have gotten older and am aging myself. 
I guess I can sum it all up by saying that I do have more perspective on how she acted later on in her life and I can and do have empathy for the incredible heartbreaks and tragedies she had in her life but I am still angry in some ways. I listened to a book last week about a woman who had experienced physical abuse from her mother's live-in, long-term boyfriend and how angry she was at her mother, not only for putting up with the abuse she received from him, but for also allowing him to hurt her daughter. It was a decent novel. "The Day Shelley Woodhouse Woke Up," by Laura Pearson, and it covers familiar ground for many women. It does not end with everything all tied up in pretty ribbons, forgiveness, and a restored relationship, but there is empathy and understanding. 
There is perspective.

Mr. Moon just got home from spending all day at Lily's new house, doing prep work for some painting. And when I say, "All day," I mean it. He was already gone when I got up at 8:30. He'd set my coffee mug by the coffee pot and left me a sweet little love note. He is such a good man. 

I did very little today. I just could not get motivated. I went to Publix but mostly because I wanted some brown paper bags to wrap a present in to send to Lis. Her birthday is next week and I actually, for one of the first times in my life, may have bought something that someone truly wants and will cherish. I am the worst gift-giver. We were going to go meet her and Lon early next week at beach near St. Augustine but circumstances have arisen that make that not the best idea. All is well, don't worry, just little stuff. I do miss them so much and my soul needs some time with Lis, for us to share and laugh and cry together. Hopefully, we will get together soon. But I want to send Lis her present and thus- the need for brown paper bags. 
Strangely enough, as I walked into the store, I was greeted by an old friend- one of the guys whom Mr. Moon had called to see if he wanted to come paint with him. I do see this man at Publix occasionally but probably not even once a year. And there he was. What a coincidence! We chatted for a few minutes, commiserating on getting older and laughing at how things have changed. 

And so it has gone. I weeded a bit in the garden. 

Tomatoes in bags and rattlesnake beans behind them with tendrils all the way up to the top of the fence. 

More acorn squashes. 

The seed pods of the collard greens. 

We're having leftover soup tonight. And bread. Both were very good last night and I assume they will be again tonight. I added a parmesan rind to the soup I'm reheating to change things up a bit. 

My husband is exhausted from the physical labor he's done today. I am exhausted from the emotional baggage I carry around on my shoulders. That is the way of it around here quite often. I don't know why he puts up with my crap. I'm just so very, very glad he does. 

Anyway, one more day in the approximately 25,500 days I've lived on this earth. That's a lot of fucking days, isn't it? 

Well, not if you're an ancient cypress tree or a bowhead whale. But for humans, it is not insignificant. 

It's all a matter of perspective. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Hot, Humid, And Frequently Humorous

It's Friday and you know what that means! Maurice did help me hang out the laundry but I didn't get her in that photo. 

The day started out oddly. I didn't wake up until almost 9:30 which is an hour after I usually get up. I had slept so hard that I don't think I changed position very much in the night and when I went to get out of bed, it took me three attempts to make it because all of my parts hurt when I unkinked them from their sleeping position. How weird! And of course I was sleep-coma-ed, feeling as if I were still in the dreams I'd been having. I felt like Rip Van Winkle waking up after his long years of sleep- what had I missed? I wondered, as I brushed my teeth. 
Turns out not a lot. 
I knew I needed to take a walk. That would be the best thing for mind and body I could do and eventually, I did put my walking costume on and headed down the sidewalk, promising myself that it would only be a teensy-tiny walk, just enough to get the joints loosened up. Of course that's what I always tell myself and compared to how far I used to walk, all of my walks ARE teensy-tiny but I managed to get in a few miles before I collapsed. It is so humid here now and the heat is getting worse. I swear it's like trying to walk underwater or in a dog's mouth. That's the image that kept coming to me- a panting dog's mouth. And every time I walked beside still-undrained water, I could feel the vapor of it, smell the wetness of it, and there is still a lot of undrained water.

But, I made it and when I got home it was already past lunch time. Mr. Moon offered to take me to the Hilltop and I was pleased to go. The lunch crowd had thinned out by the time we got there and we got our food relatively quickly. The two in-residence toddlers were playing in the store area, unstocking bags of chips while one of their mothers, I suppose, stood close by to make sure that they were safe. There seems to be a surfeit of babies at the Hilltop recently. I get the feeling it's mostly a family affair and if a daughter-worker has a baby, the baby comes to work too.

For those of you who may not know, that thing on the left there is a device that you can clamp to the top of a door frame and put the baby into. The springs at the top of the strap make it so that the child can jump and jump and jump on their cute little legs, springing into the air and returning to earth safely. I mean, it's only a few inches that the baby can jump up but some kids adore those things. 
The menu that you can see if you enlarge the photo is one of the three menus posted. There is another one of subs, salads, and sandwiches, and yet another of hot foods like hamburgers, fried pork chops, and hot wings. 

Both Mr. Moon and I got chicken salad today. He got his on a sub, I got mine as a salad. A chicken salad salad, as it were. Here's what it looked like. 

I always ask for it with ALL the vegetables and as you can see, their salad vegetables are the same as their sandwich and sub vegetables. So we're not talking any sort of baby frisée  and seaweed salad with essence of pomegranate and shaved parmesan here. But you know what? I love that chicken salad salad. It comes with crackers, as all salads should, and they even ask you if you want white or wheat crackers which I think is very kind of them and rather gourmet.

By the way- that's the one scoop salad. You can also get a two or three-scoop salad. If I were a roofer or a construction worker, I'd go for the three scoops but I am not so one was more than plenty. 

I really enjoyed our little lunch date. We sat outside at one of the picnic tables and it wasn't deadly hot and there were no bugs. We laugh at the silliest things, Mr. Moon and I. I swear- I cherish the moments I make him laugh more than anything. 

When we got home it was time to start making the supper. The man has been asking me to please cook some of his venison and I told him I would. I made a nice soup, despite the heat, with chunks of the meat and many, many vegetables. 

I've also got bread rising and it's martini time. Mr. Moon just got home from some things he had to attend to at Moon Plaza involving electricity. I swear- that man is working harder and longer now than he did when he was in full-tilt business mode. He wants to paint the trim in Lily's house before they move in and he called a few of his old painting buddies. He was a painter when I met him and in fact, that is how I met him. That's another story that I may retell again at some point because it's a good one. Anyway, turns out that all of his old painting buddies really are old now, just as we are. While we were eating our lunch, he got a call-back from one of the guys he'd tried to get in touch with. He's about to go get a second knee operation and as he said, "I wouldn't be much help to you."
"Damn," said my husband. "I need to make some younger friends."

Martinis are being sipped. I need to go preheat the oven for the bread. The clean sheets are on the bed and the rest of the laundry is folded and put away. I finished reading "James" last night and I am going to start at the beginning again tonight. I am excited about that prospect. I feel like I may have missed some things and if so, that needs to be remedied. 

For at least this evening, all is well. 

Happy Friday, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon

Thinking of Kathleen

Today was a relax and refresh day. I did go to town but only to go eat lunch with Jessie, and Mr. Moon ended up joining us. Then Jessie wanted to go to Goodwill to look for shorts for the boys. I looked around briefly and the best things I saw there were some beautiful Indian clothes of purples and pinks and oranges and greens with all sorts of sparkles and embroidery. I thought about how happy a wardrobe lady for a theater company would be to add those to her collection of costumes. I remember with such pleasure shopping Goodwill to find my own costumes for the plays I used to be in. I never felt as if I could truly get into my character until I found her clothes. And shoes. Oh my golly, I used to find shoes that I would never wear in real life if my life depended on it but how I loved wearing the highest of sexy high heels as another woman. It's a miracle I never tripped and fell onstage. I was in one production where I played four or five distinctly different roles and each one had a different costume. I was an old lady and had to wear a short curly-haired white wig and I was a silly hippie woman who wore a flowing dress and I was a lesbian dressed for business. I could never have managed it without my friend Kathleen who set me up a changing area right behind the stage and had each costume ready for me to put on as soon as I took off the one I was wearing. She'd make sure my hair was right for that particular character and she gave me the proper shoes and whatever props I needed. Listen to this- there was one scene where I was sitting at a table, eating, and for every performance, that woman made me fresh chicken salad because she knew how much I loved chicken salad. 
Every performance.
I begged her not to. I could make do with something else just fine. But that was Kathleen's way. That woman never stopped moving, never stopped making and baking and creating and planting and chicken-tending and doing beautiful things for other people. And she had a full time job. Her outlook on life was so damn positive that sometimes I could not handle it. Even when she was diagnosed with the cancer that eventually took her away from us, she took it in stride and made a sort of celebration of everything that she could from knitting hats for other cancer patients, to bringing champagne to her beloved doctor when he was moving to Atlanta to work there. If she ever cried, I don't remember. She did get a little grumpy sometimes. Chemo and knowing that you have a terminal illness will do that to you. 
Despite the fact that she, unlike me, was no martyr, she used the cancer card every chance she got, delighting in the way she got free Godiva chocolates at the mall or free make-up samples from Sephora. The way Kathleen handled cancer was a testament to an enlightened human spirit.

I know that some of you remember Kathleen and those days. I just checked and her blog, Sittin On A Porch, is still here.  Her husband never took it down and I am glad. It shows her grace, her joy, and her love for life, all in her own words, except for the last post which I wrote after she died. She had asked me to do that and I did. She did so much for me and I have told those stories over the years. I'll never forget how, when I was in the deepest part of my anxiety and depression and could hardly get out of bed, she would come over and sit on MY porch and tell me stories of her life, some of them so fantastical that I never knew whether to believe them or not but I would just listen, knowing that she did not really expect me to be part of any conversation because I truly was not able and just her company, her light, was enough to comfort me, to keep me from sliding completely into the darkness. 

How I wish I had recordings of some of Kathleen's stories. Or had had the foresight to write them down. She lived in Key West for a long time and oh my god- the stories she told about that life. Some of them crazy good, some of them unbelievably tragic. She was the mayor for awhile of a little island off the west coast of Florida, south of here, called Bokeelia. She drove through hurricanes, she met B.B. King, John Belushi, and Dan Akroyd. She survived a gunfight in a street that she inadvertently got in the way of. She was a trained clown. She...
She never said no to life. 

I've lost touch with her husband and I feel fine about that. He was sweet and I think he loved Kathleen but he had his problems. He'd spent time in Iraq and came home none the better for it. He was an odd match for Kathleen but he gifted her with one of the last things on her bucket list which was to ride across the country on the back of a motorcycle one more time. For that, I will always think of him with a sort of gratitude. 

I've done very little today but it feels okay, especially having written this sort of tribute to one of the most glorious people I've ever known. I must have needed to for some reason. How lucky I was to know her. How sweet it is to remember her. 

See you tomorrow. 

Love...Ms. Moon