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