All The Emotions

I sent this man off an hour ago to head to the coast to hopefully go fishing on the gulf tomorrow. That's how he wants to spend his birthday which is no big surprise to me. He found that picture in his memories the other day and sent it to me and Jessie and it perfectly represents the true way he holds and enfolds all of us. And the way he loves with all of himself. And of course, the way he is loved back.

I am feeling raw this evening. I got an e-mail from a reader who lost her husband just a few days ago and my heart broke for her. Mr. Moon and I have been especially tender and loving these past few days. You know how relationships are. I always say that sometimes the tide is in and sometimes the tide is out. Sometimes the moon is full and sometimes it's just a tiny crescent. But the moon and the water are assuredly still all there, even when it appears that they are not, but oh, it is glorious when we see them in fullness. And as we grow older and the fact of our mortality becomes more and more real as I said yesterday, I think we become more careful and cherishing in our love for each other. At least, that is how it seems to be for us. Certainly for me. 

Look at this.

That is Tom's tiny house and if you will notice- the lights are on. So is the air-conditioning, according to Glen. The water is hooked up, the hot water heater too. The refrigerator is running. He even found an old antenna set to go on Tom's TV so that he can get local channels as he has no internet or cable. It is all ready for Tom to move into. Glen was up and out, working on it all before I even woke up this morning. He wanted so badly to finish it before he left to go fishing. 

And he did it. 

It is not just the fact that we are getting older that makes me respect and cherish this man more, it is the way he continues to show me what he is made of and he can still surprise me with that. 

So. I am feeling raw too because of last night's debate. You all know what I am talking about. I so hate to say this but Biden appeared so frail, so unsure of himself at times, and so, well- let's face it- old. 
Yes. He had a cold. Yes. He has a stutter. Yes. He is 81 years old but shit, Mick Jagger will be 81 next month and let us just say that Biden is not making us say, "Wow! I can't believe he's 81!" 
The debate was poorly moderated. No fact checking and of course everything out of Trump's mouth was a lie. He is the greatest, his four years of being president were the greatest four years in the history of the US. He is the best golf player. He did not fuck a porn star. Illegals from prisons and mental institutions are swarming across the border, taking all the "Black jobs" and sucking our country dry. In some states, abortion after the delivery of a full term baby is legal. It was never-ending. 

All of what I just said is true. 
But this is also true- his followers do not care. They already know that he is a con man, a liar, a convicted felon, a man who has no morals or scruples or empathy or concern about anyone but himself. They know it but they love that about him. They have convinced themselves that he is worthy of their undying support as surely as they have convinced themselves that he is their god's one, true choice to lead our country. 
They are in a cult and he is their leader. 

And what about those who are still unsure which way they want to vote? 
Well, to my mind if you are still undecided as to who the better candidate is, then you're obviously as delusional as the people wearing Maga Hats, American flag shirts, and adult diapers outside your clothing holding signs that say, "Real men wear diapers."

I, as so many other people, would vote for a steaming pile of a yellow dog's shit before I'd vote for Trump. But are there enough of us? 

I don't know. What I do know is that Glen and I both sat in front of the TV last night, absolutely devastated. I wanted to knit as I watched but ended up merely trying to untangle a ball of yarn. Finally, I got up and said, "That's enough. I'm going to bed."

And then I did. 

I got out into the garden this morning and I weeded in the sun and the heat until I was running with sweat, trying to purify myself, I suppose. I came in to eat my lunch and it began to rain which is only a blessing in this time and season. I sat on the back porch and listened to the wind as it gusted. Somewhere in the yard there's a tree that has a branch that cracked and then cracked again, but I never heard a fall. 

Tomorrow I am hopefully going to spend time with Lily and Lauren and the kids and maybe Hank and Rachel too. We shall see. And I will be making a German chocolate cake for that good man. I hope that he has a wonderful time tonight with his buddies, drinking whiskey, going out to eat, laughing and telling stories and will come home to me, seventy years old, as handsome as ever, more precious than I ever could have imagined when I was the twenty-nine year old woman who met and fell in love with him. 

I suppose I should tell you that yes, my bed has clean sheets on it and that I am sipping a martini. Life goes on. 

Happy Friday, y'all. Or at least as happy as it can be. Here's what one of my oldest friends wrote to me this morning after I'd written him the terse message, "We are fucked."

He said, "I take some hope in that there are several months and numerous possibilities."

I am trying to do the same. 

Love...Ms. Moon