Don't Read This If You're A Man. Or a Squeamish Woman. Oh Hell, Just Skip This One

I've taken zero pictures today so here's one Jessie sent the group of some of her biddies. Their heat lamp is red because it's supposed to be less stressful on the babies and allows them to follow a more natural routine than a white light. Also, some say that it prevents the chicks from pecking at each other. I have no idea if that is true.

She sent me a little video last night wherein August says that he named one of them "Buffalo" and then he says, "Wait. I mean, I named him Chicken Wing." 
Oh my. 
I hear that Sophie is probably the most excited member of the family about the chicks.

Jessie says that when she's in the room with them, she shakes all over with her excitement and when they take her out of the room, she cries by the door. Now whether she wants to mother them or kill them is up for debate. Vergil says she wants to play with them and I'm sure she does. That will be another element to figure in to the equation of chick-raising at their house. 

I have not felt like the same person I was yesterday, so filled with determination and energy. I just could not force myself to do anything, either inside or out but instead, spent most of the day looking at stupid videos and wasting my time and hating myself for it. I finally got out my sewing machine to hem two pairs of overalls that are just way too long and ended up doing one pair, badly, and instead of feeling that I've accomplished something, I feel as if I've fucked something up. 

Glen and Vergil went out to put up trail cams where they hunt so they can see what's going on. The cameras have to be programed and batteries have to be put in. Ladders are involved and all kinds of discomforts like hiking through the hot mosquito- and tick-filled woods. I found a tick on myself the other day and my husband had to pull it off for me. Little bastards. 

Anyway, they didn't get back until almost five and Glen, at least, is exhausted. Vergil took home a Pack'n'Play I've had in my closet since Levon was a baby, some field peas, and some brownies. I got a wild hair last night and made some. The Pack'n'Play is for the chicks who will need a bigger space soon. For those of you who do not know, a Pack'n'Play is a portable crib for babies and toddlers and a must for grandmothers who keep young grandchildren sometimes. They work well, being deep and having netting to keep the babies inside, both human and avian. 

I've recently cut down on my dose of hormone replacement therapy and I'm thinking that may have something to do with my wildly swinging moods, my tendency to cry, my feelings of despair and thoughts of mortality. I could be wrong. I frequently am. But I do know that hormones have a great deal to do with emotions and not just in women, either. I'd like to get off of them completely as I've been on them for a very long time and also, I have a love-hate relationship with the gynecologist whom I need to prescribe them. I don't really hate him, he's a very pleasant person and is absolutely the most skilled person I've ever had do a lady exam, completely eliminating embarrassment and pain for me, but I resent the fact that I'm still having to get these dang things after a lifetime of lying on my back with my legs in stirrups and my most private of privates examined and scraped. My womanly parts have always been so very good to me with hardly ever any problems beyond the most mundane and I'd love to reward them by never having to expose them to light or little cell-collectors or speculums ever again. 
You men have no idea although yes, I know you have to go through your own version of the same, but it's not quite the same, I think. 

I went on hormone replacement therapy originally for various reasons including debilitating hot flashes that went on for years, depression, and anxiety. It is a quality-of-life situation but I'd like to think by now that I can live without the HRT. 
I will tell you though- if the hot flashes return along with any of the other symptoms, I'll just be on this shit until I die. Unless you've ever experienced hot flashes, you cannot know the thermonuclear force with which they hit, multiple times during the day and night, turning your face beet red, scrambling your thoughts, causing profuse sweating, and basically interfering with life and with sleep. And for me, sleep IS life. Most women pass through these demon possessions eventually but mine, as I said, lasted for years and my then-doctor told me that 20% of women never stop having them. Since I've been tapering off the HRT, I've been experiencing some very mild ones that I can live with and that's okay. 
So this is an experiment and I guess I need to be kind to myself as I go through this transition. 

Mr. Moon just got invited to go mullet-gigging on the Wacissa tonight. 
Sigh.
Despite the fact that I know he's exhausted, already having leg cramps, and that standing in a boat in order to gig mullet is not going to be easy, he desperately wants to go and so he will. He's thought it out and come up with a way he can sit when they're not gigging and lean on a railing when they are. 
Funny. I used to be married to a man for whom the word "gig" had a very different meaning than it does to Mr. Moon. And again, for those of you who may not know, gigging for fish is not unlike spearfishing although that is done while diving. A fishing gig is more like a pole with multiple sharp prongs on it that you can use from the shore or a boat. You can gig for fish, gators, and frogs. 
Yes. Frogs. Frog legs are a delicacy. Not one that I'd ever try. 

How in the world did this man and I ever decide to get married, much less stay married for forty years? I won't even go out for dinner anymore because leaving the house at night is way too stressful for me while he'll get on a small boat, go out on a river in the dark, and try to stab fish with a tool not unlike Neptune's trident. 

At least I know he'll come home when that gigging is over and perhaps with some delicious mullet instead of showing up at dawn-thirty with a hangover and a story that no one in their right mind would believe. 

Boy. I'm not mincing words tonight, am I? Let's blame it on a lack of estrogen and progesterone, i.e., me being my real true self at the age of seventy.

Next thing you know, I'll be cursing like a sailor. 
Oh wait. I already do. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Work It Off

Boring ass picture, right? 
Yes. Yes it is. 
But it represents how I made myself feel better today. And stronger. And not quite as old. 

When I woke up everything hurt. My knee, my butt, my leg. 

And that was just one side of my body.

I cried. I cried because I cry almost every morning and the reason I cry almost every morning is because everything hurts and I'm old and I guess I probably cry because I'm still alive which means that I have to deal with all the things once again. I suppose this sounds so ridiculously babyish AND a little scary but I think of it as my daily morning existential angst and I generally get over it pretty quickly. 
I knew I wasn't going to take a walk today. That surely did not work yesterday but I was not going to sit inside all day and weep and grieve my youth and my looks and my abilities so after lunch, when it was good and hot, I went out to the garden. First thing I did was to see if there were any more peas to pick. 

Turns out there were plenty. So I picked peas and pulled a few weeds as I went and then I got to work clearing another part of the garden of weeds and dead pepper plants (that's the one cleaned out-row in that picture up there) and by then I was so hot that I knew I had to go inside and cool off, which I did. 
And then, after awhile, I went back outside and cleared the other side of that row and started in on weeding another part of the garden and got a lot of that done, as well as pulling most of the old, dried-up tomato vines from the growing bags they were in. 
Y'all, it was hell-hot out there. And yet, I wanted to do that work and I did it and all of the kneeling and standing and bending helped stretch out all that stuff that needed stretching out and hell- people do hot yoga, right? I figured I didn't need no stinkin' hot yoga studio. 
And now I feel fine. Except that it's a little hard to walk but it was before I did all that too.

There was nothing in this world I wanted to do more than work in my garden and I did it. I also ordered all the seeds I need for the fall garden from a company called David's Garden Seeds which is having a sale this weekend. I still ended up spending a stupid amount of money because I bought a packet of everything from Chinese cabbage to red Russian kale to delicata squash. Also all the old favorites- collards, mustards, carrots, lettuces, and so forth. I swear to you though, I am NOT going to plant multiple rows of things. We can't use all that green goodness. 

And of course I washed sheets today and okay, okay, I bought a new set of sheets at Costco this week and I am certain I will be disappointed in them before long but they were so cheap (which is why I'll be disappointed in them before long) and a lovely color of sea foam green and Jessie bought a set and, well. I am just a spendthrift, obviously. So those are on the bed and the ones I took off are clean, folded up and put away. 

And now all is well and Mr. Moon just got home from going by a friend's house to get some advice about a truck and it's time for a martini.
The zinnias are still giving me love.

I picked what I think are probably the last four little finger eggplants. I will happily shell those peas, but not tonight. And by the time my seeds arrive and the weather has cooled down enough, I'll have that garden cleared out and clean as it can be, ready for Mr. Moon to make his straight rows so that we can plant all that goodness. 

And on top of all of this, Jessie got six baby chicks today so there will be chickens in the family again. You have no idea how happy this makes me. 

See? I always recover from my morning weeping. Not always as well as I have today but maybe tomorrow I'll get back out in that garden and work some more. It is a tonic. 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

 

Doors And Porches And So Forth

Well, well, well. What have we here? That's the view from my kitchen door out to the little kitchen porch and beyond that, the bed where I grow a few herbs, roses, zinnias, bananas, pinecone lilies...

This time of day the sun really blasts it which the sea grape, the plant in the pot there, loves. And because it's so hot out there, I've put my bowl of bread dough out to rise. The dough is made up of bread flour and oat bran for that oh, so healthy! fiber and the magical oat properties. But it's harder to get a good rise out such fibery bread so I had it on the table on the back porch but when I checked it a little while ago I realized that tiny black ants had discovered it, although not that many yet, so I moved it to a stool out on the kitchen porch. 

It's been another day. And here I am again. I tried this morning, I really, really tried, to get out for my walk earlier but I did not. For one thing, I didn't get up any earlier which didn't help. So it was another sweaty walk but it felt okay except for the fact that my left buttock area, which had begun aggravating me last night, picked right up in intensity as I walked and when the pain reached from my butt to my knee, right down my leg, I realized I was dealing with sciatica which pissed me off more than anything. 
I swear- every damn time I try to get back into the routine of walking, something happens to interrupt it. 
So I've been hobbling along all day. I did, however, look up stretches to do on the good old internet AND, actually did some. I'm going to do them daily. 
So she says. 
But really, pain is a great motivator. 

And then I did a few things around the house that needed doing and even swept the porches off. Finally. 
Here's the main front porch.

Y'all have seen it a million times. I rearranged a few plants too, while I was at it. And then I swept off what I call the swing porch because it has a porch swing on it. 

Pretty stark compared to my other porches, isn't it? 

When I was taking care of baby Owen and then baby Gibson, we spent hours on that porch. I'd read books to those boys and rock them and rock them, trying to get them to go down for their naps. When they got older, they'd play pirates there, the swing being the pirate ship. Owen would stand on the arm of the swing, holding on to the chain, put his little hand over his eyes to shade them from the powerful sunlight coming off the ocean in which we were sailing, and make pronouncements about the other pirate ships in sight that we needed to destroy with our cannons. 
He was the captain, of course, and Gibson was the first mate. 
I have no idea what I was. 

One of these days I have to do a video of my house and its rambling ways. I don't know what's stopping me. It's very hard to explain how different parts of the house connect. Or at least some of them. For instance- see that yellow door? That opens into my bathroom. I am certain that at one point, the porch stretched all the way to the end of the house but when the last owners put in the bathroom, they used the porch structure to build it on. And then my bathroom leads into our bedroom which leads into Glen's bathroom which leads into the laundry room which leads onto the back porch as well as the guest room. 
Got that? 
I know you don't. 

Here's what the door to the guest room from the swing porch looks like. 

And from the guest room, that door looks like this.

It gets confusing. Children have become lost trying to get from my bathroom to the kitchen. I've given up trying to remember the number of doors in this house. It's sort of ridiculous. But of course, this is all because the original house was four rooms and a hallway and then, I suppose, as families grew and more money was available, more rooms were built. 

As we get older, I realize that this house may become far more than we can handle and it's not exactly old-people friendly although I am sure that many elderly folks have lived here and managed somehow. I so often wonder how many babies were born here, how many people died and were laid out here. 
Quite a few, I would imagine. 

I scrubbed both sides of the double hallway doors that lead onto the pack porch today. Like the railings, they've been griping me for weeks if not months. I won't even bother showing a picture of that because although it looks vastly improved to me, there are places that are not ever going to come clean. Oils from hands have now stained the wood where paint has worn away. Even when we had the exterior of the house pressure cleaned, those places remained dark. 
Yes. We need to paint the house. Interior and exterior. There are many repairs that need doing. Windows need replacing. Floors need shoring up with new wood underneath. 

Sigh. 

We could spend tens of thousands of dollars doing all that needs doing and of course that's not going to happen. But I love this house so much that I mostly only see the beauty in it, the strength and grace of the bones of it. 

I think it wearies Mr. Moon though, to constantly be thinking of what he "should" be doing. I made him buy me this house and that's all there is to it. He never really wanted it, knowing as a carpenter and a painter the sort of work and expense it would take to maintain it. It was a true gift of love for him to agree to our buying it. And oh my goodness! He has done so much to it over the years. Completely rebuilt his bathroom, put in the pantry, had the roof replaced, had the HVAC replaced. Twice. And so much more. 
I can never thank him enough for letting me live in my dream house, even if it a nightmare for him to take on. And I know he loves the house too, or at least parts of it. The very high ceilings, for one thing. The way our grandchildren love it so much. 

Well. I did not mean for this post to become another love letter. 

And to wrap it all up, I'd like to share something that Billy sent to me this morning. He'd written me one of his sweet check-in texts and we'd gotten to talking about how easy it is to make both of us cry these days, for sadness and for happiness. For love. This is what he sent me about that. 

"I love that," I texted back to him. 

"I thought you would," he said. 

What a gift his friendship is. 

And finally, this.

My bed when I went to get in it last night. Not sure why but that picture makes me happy. Jack was READY. 

Love...Ms. Moon

 

In Which I Tell A Story With Many Run-On Sentences

Well, here's my annual picture of the cypress vine, aka cardinal vine, aka star glory. Of course every year I have to look it up again to see what its name is. 
Every. Year.

Maybe I did have early onset dementia and just ignored it. 

Here's another wildflower blooming now. 

Leavenworth's tickseed, aka Common tickseed. And yes, I had to look this one up too.
I admire both of these plants but I have to say the cardinal vine is simply one of my favorites. The color is so truly red and the shape is so genuinely seductive to nectar sippers. 

I waited until it was good and hot this morning to go take a walk and it was a special sort of hell. WHY DO I DO THIS? 
Because I'm stupid and I have my morning routine which I feel I must complete before I can do anything else. Seeing as this routine consists of actions which must be taken like drinking lots of coffee, and visiting certain sites that must be read on the internet, as well as eating my breakfast, doing the crossword, and completing Wordle and Connections, it wouldn't bring the universe to a halt to wait until I get back from my walk to do at least some of this. And of course there's always the option of getting up an hour earlier which would definitely help. 
I tell myself this every time I go out for a walk and it's already ninety degrees and ninety-five percent humidity. I sweat and I walk and I chastise myself and then I walk faster so I'll be done sooner which makes me feel worse and I have to remind myself to slow down and I'm just a damn mess. 

A damn, sweat-soaked mess. 

When I got home today I texted Mr. Moon who was at the gym (he does get up early because he is a sensible human being) to ask if he wanted to go to the river this afternoon and cool off and eat sandwiches and he said he did. He even stopped at Publix and got us Pub Subs which is what we here in the south call the sub sandwiches we get at the Publix deli because, well...that makes sense, right?

We are so clever here in the south. 

And we did go to the river and it was pretty okay but I didn't come home reborn. There was a group of teenagers, probably around the age of 15-17 and all boys except for one girl, who were loud as hell and being all manly and shit, jumping off the rope swing and yelling profanities and making great huge whopping splashes when they entered the water the wrong way followed by huge groans from the rest of them. 
Many of you have heard my theory about why young boys are so crazy and wild and it goes like this- back when people were just figuring out how to survive and shit, when young boys hit the age of puberty and thought they could do anything, anything at all, and had that great desire to demonstrate their ability to do anything at all, it was a good thing because they could go out and kill saber-toothed tigers and cave bears and mammoths without fear or worry, having no idea that they, too, were mortal, and I'm sure that was a difficult lesson to learn but meanwhile- YAY for killing the saber-tooth tigers and cave bears and bringing home mammoth meat! And the ones that survived probably got lots of female attention and thus, the other main symptom of testosterone overload was taken care of and even if they died, many of the children they no doubt procreated lived and most likely the males who had been a little more cautious and thus, were still alive, helped raised the children and in doing so, impressed and pleased the ladies so much that their bloodlines got continued too. 
Phew. That sounds like a lot but it's really simple and nowadays young boys don't have saber toothed tigers to kill or mammoths to slay and so they form gangs and join gangs and do crazy things and jump off of rope swings while screaming at the top of their developing voices to impress the one girl in the group. 

And all of this is fine and natural and I understand it, but god almighty, it sure can upset the peace and tranquility of the river. 

Glen and I wondered why in the world these boys weren't at school and I conjectured that perhaps they were homeschool kids. 
"And the river is their teacher?" asked my husband. 
"I guess," I sighed. 

And of course they had every right to be there. They weren't drinking or obviously doing drugs. It's a county park. All are welcome. 

Looks perfectly peaceful from that angle, doesn't it? 

But we ate our sandwiches and we dipped in the cold water and we cooled off and I finished reading "The Late Child" by Larry McMurtry and I have so many mixed feelings about that book but I finished it. I'm sure I'd read it before but remember very little of it. As with all of McMurtry's books, it's the characters that carry the weight of it all on their shoulders and not just the main characters. As I said a few weeks ago, it is not McMurtry's best but his worst is still better than most to me. This book is mostly a study on depression and grief but also very much about families, both blood and chosen.

Well. 

When we left the river, the wild boys had begun a new activity. One of them yelled to the rest- "Do you want to see me reincarnate Jesus?"
Those were his exact words which leads me to think that his study of the Bible has been a bit unorthodox. 
And then he ran about thirty feet as fast as he could down the grassy area towards the swimming area of the river and proceeded to throw himself into the river in an attempt to walk on the water which he did for a second, maybe, or so it seemed, before he pitched headfirst into the water.
And then all the boys had to try it but none of them were reincarnated Jesus either but all of us there were entertained. The couple with the toddler, the pregnant mother with her probably four-year old daughter, the mother and daughter who spoke with accents that were quite possibly the strongest Brooklyn accents I've ever heard or maybe not Brooklyn but from somewhere up there. Mitchell, you would have known. All of us stopped whatever we were doing and watched these boys flinging themselves with abandon into the Wacissa and I, at least, was wishing we had not gotten rid of all of the saber toothed tigers. 
Sigh. 

And that was today at the river. 

Love...Ms. Moon

 

Cryin'

Amidst the growing number of Christmas shit being put out at Costco, this giant werewolf stands, howling and moving his head and his arms and probably scaring the little pants off of kids with his claws and canines, and his horrible yowls of terror. 

So of course I made Lily and Jessie pose with him. And we all agreed we'd love to have him come live at our houses but since he cost over $400, that's not going to happen. I suppose some people will be buying Mr. Werewolf to decorate their front porches. He's a far better holiday decoration than a blow-up Christmas gingerbread house for sure. My front porch would be fancy enough for me if I'd get out there and sweep it. I just feel so flattened by ennui these days. If I get one biggish thing accomplished, I feel done. Today's big thing was going to town. I went and picked up a prescription and went to Publix. I ran into a friend who works there whom I know from the plays I was in at the Monticello Opera House. She and her partner were friends with Kathleen and both of them worked backstage and Judy, the other partner, actually directed at least one play. Judy was also Kathleen's other main support person and she and I spent many, many hours together going with our girl to chemo and doctor appointments and biopsy appointments and all the other appointments and places that cancer treatment calls for. There were also lunches, and parties when Kathleen felt up to them, along with trips to the beach for restoration of soul and of body. 

So much time we spent together. Our little Monticello theater family. We were tight through the good times and bad times. When I saw Denise today, I asked her if she'd gone to Jack's memorial service which was on Saturday. I've written about Jack so much. He and Jan, his true love, were a couple I called "The Lovers". She died some years ago and Jack just never really got over it and now he's gone too, along with Kathleen and Colin, our darling Colin who was joy and badness incarnate. 
And today when Denise said something about going to the Opera House and how we should have a reunion, I just burst into tears. I can't even walk in that cool old building anymore. It's too hard. It's like I've taken all of those memories, most of which were joyful, and shut them away in a locked drawer in my heart and when something comes along to unlock it, I am flooded. 

But I've always cried easily and in the past few decades, it has become a more pronounced characteristic of mine. People who know me know I do this, from August and Levon to my friend Lis. I've never really thought much about why I'm this way. I just am. But I know you've all seen this beautiful picture. 

Gus Walz during his father's speech while accepting the nomination for candidacy as Vice President at the DNC. And of course the picture has gotten so much attention from everyone in the damn world and everyone has their own opinion about how appropriate or inappropriate it is for a seventeen year-old boy to show his true feelings in such a completely unashamed way. 

I feel no need to add my voice to the clamor. I'm sure you know what I think. I think that Tim Walz and his family are very, very loving and lucky people. 

But on one bit of social media I saw, someone talked about having Emotional Intensity Disorder which perhaps Gus has too, which got me to thinking- do I have yet another disorder I was not aware of? Are my easy tears and deep feelings a form of mental unwellness? 
FUCK! 
I did a quick google of the situation and it would appear that Emotional Intensity Disorder can be a part of Borderline Personality Disorder and as with everything on any medical site on the internet, if you read the symptoms used to diagnose any disorder of either mind or body, you can be sure that you have at least half of them. 
Ooh boy. 
Oh, how we humans love to fit the correct toy into the correct slot. But here's the thing- we're just who we are. There are a million reasons why one person couldn't express an emotion if they were threatened with arrest while another person can't NOT express an emotion, no matter how inappropriate it may seem. 

And of course there's all that cultural bullshit about how real men don't cry and crying demonstrates weakness and we tell children all the time to "stop crying." God, I used to hate it when someone would say, "Stop crying or I'll give you something to cry about." 
As if anyone has the right to tell someone, even a child, that what they're crying about isn't worthy of tears. 

And some days we are simply more apt to cry than others. And some of us are tenderhearted, wear our hearts on our sleeves, are emotional while others of us keep things inside because that is how we were raised or what makes us feel safe or how we are emotionally wired. And it doesn't necessarily mean that one group feels things more strongly than the other. It doesn't mean that at all. 

I guess that's all I have to say tonight. I had a good time with Lily and Jessie at lunch and at Costco. We were a little quieter than usual, I think. Both Lily and Jessie are constantly tired these days, as mothers of young children often are. There is so much involved in raising children and both of them have jobs outside the house, too. 
"How do they do it?" I think. And then I remember that yes, I did it too and I have no idea how. 
Naps played a huge role in all of it. Naps and coffee. 

Here's a picture I just took of two very late-blooming wisteria blossoms. Plants, like humans, have their very own inner schedules and ways. 

I'm going to go bake a little chicken in my air-fryer on the "roast" setting. That way I won't heat up the entire kitchen. It's definitely the size of chicken that would fit nicely in my Duluth overall pocket although I feel no need to test that theory. 
Not tonight, anyway. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Life As It Ever Was

Here's a picture of beauty berries which are at peak maturity right now. If that isn't the prettiest color in the world, I do not know what is. I made a silk dress that color once to wear to the wedding of my mother and Glen's father back in 1991. 
Boy. I'll never forget that day. 
Our friend Sue officiated as she had her notary's license which is all you need in Florida to perform a wedding. At one point I had one too and did a few weddings myself and I loved that. But back to the point of the conversation here, if indeed there is a point, is that what I remember about the dress is that I had gotten the spacing of the buttons slightly off and I was desperately unhappy with it but silk is not cheap and I had nothing else to wear to the wedding so that's what I wore. 
But that was the color. The color of beauty berries. 

I'd always heard that a jelly or jam can be made of beauty berries and a few years ago I gave that a whirl. 
Sigh.
The color of it was remarkable. The taste? Eh. It wasn't bad. But it wasn't that good, either. At least now when the berries make their annual appearance I don't have to wonder if I should try using them for jam. I already know the answer and it is "no." I can simply enjoy them for their color and shine and get on with it. 

I took that picture this morning on a walk. I finally decided that the Covid excuse was pretty worn out when it came to getting off my ass to walk. I mean, really. And so I stepped out of the house and made my way down to Harvey's and a little further on and then turned around and came back past our house and on to the P.O. where I knew that a package from Duluth Trading Company was waiting for me. I had ordered a third pair of their short overalls. I already have a pair of the glorious blue ones and a pair of fairly boring gray ones and these and tank tops have become my summer uniform. But they went on sale and so I got a pair of the green ones. I've spoken of these before but they honestly are the best damn overalls I've ever owned with the greatest pockets and hardware. Jessie and Rachel have both gotten a pair but in a cute mushroom-print and the other day we started texting about what all you could fit into the pockets of these things which ranged from a newborn baby to a rotisserie chicken to medical marijuana, lighters, tiger balm, spare ibuprofen and a snack.  

So I was excited to get my green ones and I'd also ordered one of what they call their No-Yank Tanks because it too was on sale and I just like the sound of No-Yank Tank. 

My god all I'm doing this evening is making one segue after another. 

Anyway, my walk felt fine. I didn't feel overheated although yes, I did a lot of sweating, and I didn't feel like I was dying and I thought it had all gone quite well for the first walk in weeks (a month?) and everything was fine and then this afternoon I sat down to shell some peas and had to fight to stay awake. This is unusual for me. I may get tired during the day but I don't usually feel like I need to sleep. So there may still be a little bit of the Covid circulating in my blood. I was talking to Glen about this and he says he's been experiencing the same thing around three o'clock every afternoon. 

I did something today that I've been "meaning" to do for weeks, which was to clean off the railing on the back porch which had been covered in the black dirt of Lloyd which settles on everything, especially when thrown up by the lawn mower when it hasn't rained in awhile. They have been purely filthy and I've just been pretending they weren't to no avail, of course, and it's been bugging me so today I got out the vinegar/Fabuloso/water spray and a few of my many, many rags, and cleaned them up and I can't believe what a difference it makes. 

Why did I wait so long to do this? I doubt it took me ten minutes. It's sort of changed my whole outlook on life. 
Well. You know. In some ways. 
I think we all do this- put off doing things for illogical reasons and then, when we finally can't stand things the way they are anymore, actually do the work and it never takes nearly as much time as all the fretting we've been doing about it did. 

And then on the other hand, we think we can do something in an hour when we know for a fact it's really going to take three hours. I spoke about this last night in regard to making the shrimp salad. 

Humans are delusional about so many things, aren't we? 

I would say that cats are delusional too in believing that if they stare at us long enough we will get up from where we are sitting to do what they are silently commanding us to do with their alien-mental powers but in fact, we so very often do follow what they command that it doesn't qualify as being delusional.

Here's a picture which came up in my memories a few days ago which has absolutely nothing to do with any of this except that it does sort of represent the meaning of everything for me. 

Cousins. 

Those little feet, those precious little fingers, those golden curls and those sweet faces. 

We need to get another hugging picture of those bebes again soon. 

We're having leftover shrimp salad and leftover soup tonight but I've made a new batch of naan that I'll be cooking to go with it all. I am almost inappropriately excited about this. 

Love...Ms. Moon

P.S. Let me make it quite clear that I am receiving nothing from Duluth Trading Company in the way of merchandise or any other type of compensation. 
I fucking wish. 

Good Lord. From A Recipe For Naan To The Georgia Satellites

I do believe the naan I made last night was the best I ever made. Mr. Moon agreed with me. I used a recipe I'd never used before and here's the link if anyone wants to try it. Not only was it delicious, it was very easy. I did substitute about half a cup of whole wheat flour for a half a cup of the bread flour the recipe called for. Sorry that picture is a little steamed-up but that's what happens when you throw dough onto a hot skillet. 
The soup I made was fine too. Our butternut and acorn squash came through! We really enjoyed the supper. Glen even did the sweetest thing which was to thank me for showing him how delicious foods that he never would have even thought to try can be. I think he's finally come to grips with the fact that he may actually like Indian food. 
Or not. But he sure likes naan. 

Today has been lazy. Pure lazy. Once I made our Sunday brunch I felt like I was done for the day. 
Mostly. 
I watered my nursery plants, and by "nursery" I mean the plants that are getting special care and attention as they are babies- mainly the fish tail palms and sea grapes I brought home from Roseland. They are all still alive and looking pretty good so I am pleased. 
I also got my beautiful little Maggie Mermaid hung in what I now realize is my newest art gallery space which is the laundry room. Linda Sue had pointed out that hanging the mermaid lounging on her beautiful nacred shell in front of light makes her even more lovely and she is right. 

This winter, when the pecan trees outside that window have lost their leaves, the light will be even prettier and she will shine even brighter. 

Yes, the plants do take up space that I could be using for that lovely table's purpose, which is to fold clothes on, but for me, that is a perfect little spot for some green things, some beautiful things that friends have made me, and those ridiculous Dollar Store fish which I refuse to ever get rid of because they please me so. I walk by that corner at least fifteen times a day and spend a lot of time there, doing laundry, folding clothes. So much better to have the things I like to look at where I can see them easily than to have them hidden away somewhere that might actually be more "appropriate." 
And it is all meaningful to me, including the beautiful, sturdy table that my husband built out of wood that came from our property here. 

I also figured out where I wanted to hang the sea nativity that Monica Rios painted and which May gave me. I think it is perfect. 

May painted the madonna mermaid and gave her to me as a gift years ago. As you can see, she is a talented artist herself. That is my hallway, or a small part of it. The hallway goes from front door to back door, built that way to encourage a breeze through this house back when air conditioning was just a gleam in the eye of John Gorrie. 

Here's the cutest darn thing I've seen all day, maybe all week. 

That baby anole wasn't an inch and a half long from tip of tail to pretty little nose. It looked like it was covered in velvet. That plant it's on is a type of hibiscus whose seeds I got from Ellen in Texas. 
For some reason, I've had a hard time germinating those seeds but I finally got a few to sprout. They have not bloomed yet but I am so excited at the prospect. I have them in a pot on the back steps and had gone to water it when I saw that tiny lizard. 

I picked some peas and three scrawny, sad bell peppers. The summer garden is in its final days. However, I did discover that the squash I pulled up yesterday was not the only vine and there is at least one surviving plant and it's the one with the butternut on it that I posted a picture of a few days ago. 

And then...

And then. 

We decided that going to the river last Sunday had been so nice that we did it again this Sunday. Just for two good cooling dips and a nice bit of standing in the cold water, watching the kiddos play and the boys jump from the rope swing.

We stood there holding hands in that cold water, taking it all in, feeling our bodies and our minds cool down. It was like a dream. 

And then home we came and there may have been some kissing and I'm going to make us a shrimp salad for our supper which, once again, I always underestimate the time it will take to prepare by at least an hour. I have no idea why I still do this but at least I am aware that I do. Doesn't change my behavior but I'm not lying to myself either. 

But before I get started boiling eggs and cooking shrimp and cutting up vegetables, I'm going to give you a video. Again, and as always, I know that a three-minute video can seem interminable and if you don't want to watch it, I do not blame you but for whatever reason, I've got this song in my head. 

It's from 1986 and the artists are The Georgia Satellites which I consider to be a great name for a band. It's dated, it's ridiculous, it's sexist, it's fun as hell and the video reminds me of more than one outdoor wedding I've attended in my life here in the deep south. 

Plus, I just like the way they sound and I have to admit that a gap-toothed boy playing a guitar charms me to pieces. 

Go ahead and judge me. As they say, what other people think of me is not my business. 

Love...Ms. Moon

A Visit

 Two puppies and their parents came over today for a visit and it was so nice to see them. Vergil's truck needed brake work and Glen has all the equipment and stuff so out Vergil came while Jessie was with the boys at a birthday party and then she came out and brought them. She went into the Glen Den to check on those guys after they'd been here for awhile and found them like this. They were watching the FSU-Georgia Tech game on the TV because they'll watch anything on the TV. The big guys had planned to watch it after the brake work and so it was on. For some damn reason, the game was held in Dublin, Ireland which was the most interesting thing about it to me. I watched zero minutes of it. 

Jessie and I went to the Hilltop to get lunches for all of us and that was fun. The Hilltop is always a trip with all of the different types of people there to buy food and the people who work there. It's pretty much a microcosm of this country and I love the people-watching aspect of it. The food's pretty good too. I mean- for a tiny little place in the middle of just about nowhere that only has food to-go. As I have so often pointed out, the variety and choice are fairly amazing for such a small kitchen. Today we got three shrimp po'boys, ten hot wings, ten mild wings, an order of chicken strips and fries, sides of potato salad, onion rings, and fried okra. And they serve it up pretty fast. 

While everyone was here, Glen got out some pictures that had been in the possession of a relative who died fairly recently. There were pictures of Glen's people from way, way back. And school pictures of him as a little guy. We could see both August and Levon in those as well as in some of the other relatives, his nephews mostly. There were also pictures of our children playing with their Tennessee step-cousins and sitting on the laps of Glen's parents. After we'd looked at all of those, Glen got out his collection of the newspapers that had pictures of him from when he was playing ball. It's so funny to me that basketball was such a huge part of his life for years and I never got to see him play once. 
I had to take a picture of this.

He's number 33. Look at that glorious man! 
The caption says, BATTLE UNDER THE BOARD- The fight for a rebound in a basketball game can be rough, as this scene from Saturday's Auburn-Tennessee game at Memorial Coliseum shows. AU's Glen Moon (33) nudges the face of Tennessee's Wayn Tomlinson (51) as the ball bounces off the backboard. Tennessee's Doug Ashworth (43) also leaves the floor while Eddie Johnson of Auburn (left) watches. 
Photo by Kennard Halacker.

I love the phrase, "...nudges the face of Tennessee's Wayn Tomlinson."

Anyone who thinks that basketball is a non-contact sport is simply wrong. Basketball can beat up a body. Both of his knees were wrapped because he'd had surgery on both of them earlier in his college career. I cannot help but wonder if some of the neurological problems he has now stem from those years of pushing his body to its limits and beyond. 

Which he still does. 

His first wife was with him in the glory days. They married very young and she was the one who got to move to Europe with him when he played pro ball there. In some ways, I wish I'd been the one with him then but in other ways, I know it never could have happened. Marrying an athlete was simply outside of my reality. Hell, dating an athlete was outside of my reality. And I have much to thank her for. They moved to Tallahassee so that she could attend the dance program at FSU and one thing led to another and when she wanted to move to New York City to try and start a career, that country boy said, "Ummm. Don't think so," and they got quite amicably divorced and he was there, ripe for the picking when I met him, wanting children and before I knew it, he had moved in with me, bringing his first-marriage casual china and a dog named Honeybun. 
And the rest is history. 

He overcame my aversion to jocks with the same ferocity he fought for the ball on the court. 

And thank god he did. 

It seems to me that these days August and Levon do not have a lot of use for me. I am sort of like a very well-known and comfortable piece of furniture. There if you need me, not worth a great deal of thought if you don't. Unless of course, treats are involved. And I did bake a lovely cinnamon-sugar crusted banana bread before they got here which interested them a great deal. Also, Levon wanted to make a bracelet. He's been wearing the necklace he made at my house a long time ago and wanted a bracelet to go with it. That, I could help him with. We got out the beads and the elastic cording and all I did was cut and tie the elastic for him. He chose and strung the beads. Here's a picture I got as they were leaving. 

Stylin', for sure. 

I wanted to read them a book and they picked out a weird and horrible children's book called "Love You Forever" 

which, despite the weirdness and horribleness of it, always makes me cry. I told them that no, I was not going to read it to them for that very reason but they insisted and I'd probably read them the Bible if that's what they wanted and so of course I did. 

They watched me closely to see the exact moment I began to cry. 
"I can see tears!" August said, as the inevitable began to happen. They were fascinated by the fact that I had said I was going to cry and then I did. 

Cruel, cruel children. 
But I think it touched them too. 

I'm making my favorite Creamy Cashew Butternut Squash Soup tonight in hopes that it will help reverse some of the unhealthiness of our Hilltop lunch and also because dammit, I am not going to let my one butternut squash that ripened and one of the two acorn squashes that ripened go to waste. I always use more than one type of squash and a sweet potato in it. And it is so good. I've got dough rising to make naan too. This will only take me about two hours to make. My poor husband. 

And so now I really must run and get this supper started. I have made the dough, as I said, and partially cooked the squashes so that I can easily peel them. Still, it will take forever. 

See you tomorrow.

Love...Ms. Moon

Nothing Is Simple, Is It?

Here are today's zinnias. I still have a few going strong although I pulled some others today. They've lost their ability to stand up as they've gotten leggy and are trying to survive in this heat. I think I need to learn how to cut back zinnias to encourage more flowers, less stems. 

Today has felt like a little miracle. The combination of a lower temperature along with lower humidity has given us one of those days in late August that are like a tiny kiss of a promise of fall. Tomorrow the temperatures will start climbing back into the nineties though and after a few days of that, we'll have forgotten all about that promise and be convinced again that we will be living in perpetual hell forever and ever, amen. But today? Divine. I actually got some work done in the garden, getting it ready for the fall planting of lettuces, greens, and carrots. I cleared out some spent tomatoes and pea vines and weeded as much as I could before I felt like I should probably call it a day. Even in the sun an occasional cool breeze would drift through and I was as happy as I could be, listening to my book and getting dirt under my fingernails, feeling the satisfying letting-go of the earth as I freed weeds and spent pea and tomato plants from the dirt and tossed them in my weed bucket which is actually an old rusted-out canning kettle. I did make one terrible mistake which was to accidentally pull up the roots of my volunteer butternut squash plant which has grown so beautifully and has a few squashes on it, one of which I posted a picture of yesterday. 
Dammit. 
Well, what are you going to do? It was too close to a tomato vine and before I knew it, I had pulled the tomato and the squash. These things happen. 

****************

I've recently been thinking a lot about someone I knew a long time ago. In fact, I could almost say that I've been haunted by thoughts of him in the last week or so. It's intense. I've had dreams. I even sat down last night after supper and started writing out the story of how I came to know him, some details about him, and how horribly and shockingly the relationship came to an end. I think that putting those words down did indeed help a little. I am not sure why I have been thinking so intensely about him. This is very unusual. I can go eons without giving him a thought. He's been in prison for many, many years, and rightfully so, and I have a feeling he may have been released. 

******************

And of course, yes. I just looked him up and I believe I found a record of him in the prison system and he has been released. Just as my gut told me. I had heard from his brother well over a year ago that his release was coming up and that he didn't really want to leave prison. He'd been incarcerated over thirty years, more like almost forty. In the last forty years the world and our society have changed so much that it would be terrifying to try and re-enter it. When he was first incarcerated, the internet was just the dream of some crazy geniuses, phones were just phones and, well, I can't even begin to think how different things were culturally and socially. 
I can only imagine he was terrified at the thought of living in the outside world. He was always incredibly intelligent and I'm sure he's read everything he could get his hands on and may be far more up to speed than I think but still- this is a different world. 

I am not ready now nor may ever be able to talk about this person and how he came into my life and what sort of relationship I had with him. We were not romantically involved. Let's get that straight. And the reason he was in prison is another thing I can't bear to discuss. When I found out what he had truly been charged with and convicted for, I almost lost my mind for various reasons. I have not been in touch with him at all for at least thirty-five or more years. 

But.

The memories I have of him are so strong and so clear, even after all of these years, and many of them good, although certainly not all. I doubt I will ever come to terms with who I thought he was and who he really was although I am sure that I always suspected that there were many things about him that I could not begin to know. 
From him, I learned a lot about how different people can be on the outside than they are on the inside. I learned that people from well-known families from the "upper class" who probably have IQ's that would get them into MENSA without question who yes, may appear troubled but are also charismatic and physically attractive as hell, can have evil in them that many of us could never imagine. I have been combing through everything I know about this man for many years, wondering why and how he became the person he became or if he was born the person he always was.

So that's what I have to say on this Friday evening. I will not say that I have been obsessively thinking about this man but I know he's been taking up a lot of space in my brain. Perhaps I'm afraid he'll try to get in touch with me. I know that most of his family is dead. I doubt he will. But even the possibility of that is somehow terrifying. Not because I think he would hurt me or any of mine, but because, as my dreams about him have shown me, I am not at peace with my memories or my feelings. 

And of course there is so much more I have not said here. 

Please forgive me for being cryptic. I am hoping that just saying what I have said will help me normalize some of these feelings. 

Skyflower.

Meanwhile, clean sheets on the bed, more of the garden cleared, and Glen and our across-the-street neighbor have repaired the fence in the front yard where Hurricane Debby brought down a limb on it. 

And lastly, here's a bee picture I took. 

It's on the Mexican basil. I don't think I've ever grown anything that has attracted more bees than that plant. The Thai basil doesn't seem to interest them at all but they can't get enough of whatever it is that the Mexican variety is selling. And aren't those pretty little blossoms? 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon