Don't Read This If You're Already Depressed

Well, there's the first azalea blossom to open in my yard. It's way too early for them here. At least that variety. I saw it on my way out to the compost pile. I know a lot of people don't especially like that color of azaleas. It's an old variety and one that was planted in multitudes in this area for years and years. But I like it. I mean- that's one hell of a rich color. It's almost screamy. 

I took another walk today. Blah, blah, blah. I really need to broaden my walking routes. There aren't that many directly around here and I have walked all of them hundreds of times. There's a new park that's probably not more than six or seven miles from here that I could easily drive to that's part of a greenway project that stretches many miles over the Tallahassee area. 
I've been watching them build the entranceway with the playground and various shelters for a long time but it's open now and I should just drive over there and see what it's like. There's another part of the trail that's not too far from me but it has so little shade that in summer it's a sort of living hell and, unusually for me, I don't feel safe on that trail for some reason. 
The thing about walking I've always loved is that you don't have to drive anywhere to do it. You put on your shoes, you walk out the door. You have begun. But perhaps it's time for me to expand my horizons a bit. It just seems wasteful to drive to a place to walk but I know that's silly. If the state of Florida wants to give me some nice trails out in nature, I should at least explore the possibilities. 

Maybe tomorrow. Maybe not. 

So it's New Year's Eve. I can't remember the last time I celebrated that particular human-invented moment when one year becomes another. 
Maybe it was the Y2K NYE. I was pretty sure that planes would not be dropping from the sky nor would the electrical grid suddenly splutter out, but hey! Who knew?
So I made Mr. Moon take me out to a fancy bar and as I recall, I dressed in my best velvet finery and heels and nice jewelry and sparkling eye-shadow so we could have a martini. I think I'd seen a movie with that scenario in it for New Year's Eve and it looked so Bette Davis, so Cary Grant, so sophisticated and festive and hell, if the world was coming to an end, why not? 
But after our martini I asked him to take me home so that if the world did indeed end, we'd be with the children when it did. 

Speaking of husband, I spoke with mine last night. He was actually going to go sit in a deer stand today. Or at least that was his plan. And he's having New Year's with the family of his old friend with whom he's staying. I suppose he may be coming home tomorrow but who knows? Perhaps he has decided to move back to Tennessee without telling me. 
I hope not. He claims to still love me and I believe him except for that small part of me which will never feel good enough or adequate or deserving or...oh, whatever. You'd think I'd be over that unhealthy thinking by now but if so, you'd be wrong. 

I did a little more weeding in the garden today and cut back the basils, both Mexican and Thai, that gave me and the bees so much pleasure this summer. I seriously doubt they'll sprout this coming spring but I left the roots and a bit of the limbs. The rest just all went brown and dry in the freeze we had. 

Here it all is, ready to go on the burn pile. I thought about breaking it up into smaller pieces and giving it to Mr. Moon to use on a fire to cook chicken on or something. That might be a nice use of it. Might be pretty tasty chicken. Or maybe not. 

I discovered that my turnips are bulbing. Nice. I'll be cooking black-eyed peas and rice tomorrow for the traditional New Year's Day meal and I'll make greens to go with it. I do love to slice up turnips to go in the pot with them. 

I do not set a great deal of store, or any, really, on the magic of New Years. Like I said, it's just a human construction that we've chosen to celebrate in order to give ourselves a sort of reset button. And to drink and make loud noises and kiss strangers. At least that's what the movies tell us. 

But you know- tomorrow it will be 2025. It just occurred to me a few days ago that this means that we've already used up twenty-five percent of the 21st century. That blew my mind. When I was a child the idea of living in a time when the date started out with a two and a zero was not even conceivable. And here we are- a quarter of a century past that. It is certainly not beyond imagination that my grandchildren will be living in the 22nd century. 

And WHERE ARE THE FLYING CARS? WE WERE PROMISED FLYING CARS! AND JET-PACKS! 

I suppose I'll go make my supper now. I'm almost ashamed to show you what I made last night but the green peas factor is so funny that I will. 

I made myself a little pot roast with potatoes and green beans and carrots and onions and...baby peas. 

It was so good. I ain't gonna lie.

Happy New Year, y'all. For what that's worth. Let's just say I do not have great expectations for what 2025 is going to be like for us here in the USA. 

I truly hope I am wrong.

Love...Ms. Moon

A Different And Very Fine Day

I got off my ass today and took a little walk through Lloyd. The part where people live. The part where the fally down house is. It's been a beautiful day, gorgeous skies and nice temperatures that are neither too hot or too cold. Low humidity. And none of my body parts felt as if they were on the brink of complete wreckage. 
So there were no excuses available not to walk. 
And of course I was glad I did. 

This is part of Main Street as is the picture above it. The fally down house is to the right of the road and Abraham's house is coming up on the left. 

Ellen- these reminded me of painting you are working on now. 

I stopped by the post office, of course. It is doing fine. Since it was after the noon hour, there was no post master or mistress there but the door is always open to pick up mail. In Lloyd news, I hear that Keisha, whom I like so much, is moving to a Tallahassee post office. This makes me sad. She is young and she is so friendly and I always love seeing what her amazing, pointy, incredibly long and decorated nails are looking like. But she lives in Tallahassee so I understand the move. 

This is the railroad track that goes behind the post office and also, my house which is probably less than a quarter of a mile away from where I took this picture. Runs right behind the old chicken coop.

I got an e-mail today from one of my oldest friends. A fella I knew in high school and we have been communicating fairly regularly in one way or another for about fifty-two years. We do short catch-ups about family and so forth and in today's e-mail, besides telling me that he and his wife are about to go to Paris (which is not unusual for them) he told me that he'd gone to see the Dylan movie, "A Complete Unknown," and had really enjoyed it and recommended that I make the effort to go see it. 
One would have to live under a rock, or perhaps just outside of social media's grasp, not to have heard of this movie. I have seen snippets of interviews with the actor who played Dylan in the movie, Timothée Chalamet, and much has been made over the fact that all of the music in the movie was played and sung by the actors themselves. Chalamet is getting some excellent reviews. 
But I was not inclined to go see it because no one but Bob Dylan is Bob Dylan and I thought I would probably hate the fact that it wasn't Bob Dylan singing and playing in the movie, but an actor and what actor could capture Dylan's voice and style?
Well, it turns out that Chalamet does a damn good job of it. And the woman who plays Joan Baez, Monica Barbaro is also very fine, both as an actress and a performer. Good casting all around. 
I decided, obviously, to go see the movie this afternoon. I hardly ever go to movies. Maybe once a year. Or not. But you know- here I am with no schedule but for my own and popcorn for lunch is wonderful every now and then. And I'm so glad I listened to my friend. I trusted him on this because he has been a huge Dylan fan since we were seniors (in high school, not seniors like we are now) and we sometimes joke that he gave me Bob Dylan and I gave him the Rolling Stones. 

Fair trade, indeed.

I'd embed the trailer here but I don't want to. Somehow it seems to me that you have to see the whole cloth of the movie to appreciate what the actors and directors were doing. Also, to be smoothly transitioned from, "Hmmm. He doesn't really look like Bob Dylan," to "I know that's not Bob Dylan but it doesn't really matter."

And there are no real questions answered in the movie, no real explanation of how and why Bob Dylan became Bob Dylan. The myths and stories of his origin remain myth and story and I liked that. The man has always been and will always be "A Complete Unknown."

Edward Norton's performance as Pete Seegar was heartrending. We meet him in Woody Guthrie's hospital room when Woody was dying of Huntington's Disease and he is just so kind, so good. His character becomes more complex as the movie progresses, though which Norton, one of the finest actors working today in my opinion, handles seamlessly. 

A surprise to me was the character of Seeger's wife, Toshi Seeger, played by Eriko Hatsune. I would like to learn more about the real-life Toshi. Being the wife of a musician is not an easy thing to be and all the successful male musicians I've personally known have had a wife or companion who was incredibly self-sacrificing, hard-working, and ultimately, forgiving and whom without, the musicians never would have accomplished what they did. 

I, like my friend, think that the movie is well worth making an effort to see. To give it my final review I will say that it is two hours and twenty minutes long and I did not get up to pee once. 

One more thing- a sort of synchronicity. 
Woody Guthrie played a large part in the life of Bob Dylan. He played a part in the movie, too, but was mostly mute, being at the end stages of Huntington's. 
As we all know, Woody's son is Arlo Guthrie who has made his own name in the music world. I have said before that Arlo has a place in Sebastian and he did, but he's sold it. I know this because I follow him on Facebook because of the Roseland/Sebastian connection. He and his wife have bought another place for their winter stays somewhere in Roseland and I do not know where. But today he posted this picture.

Sunset over the Sebastian River. 
How many pictures have I posted that are so very much like this one, taken in Roseland? I think it may well have been taken from the Roseland Community dock which is on a piece of property that adjoined my grandparents' property in Roseland. 

Here's a sunset picture I took a little way to the west of Arlo's picture. 

I could be wrong. But it is a sunset over my river. 

Of that there is no doubt. 

Here's another. 

We have got to get back there soon. 

Love...Ms. Moon

 

Once Upon A Time...

 I have not spoken to one person today. By text, yes, but not by voice. 

Wait! Wait, wait, wait! I did talk to someone! How did I forget that? Such a surprise phone call. Didn't recognize the number, not in my contacts but it was a local call so I took it and someone said, "Is this Mary?" and I said "Yes" and I just had a feeling that this was not a stranger although I did not recognize the voice right away.
"This is Fred," he said. And I thought, do I know any Freds?
"Fred Rabbath," he said and I said, "Oh, Freddie!" 

A million years ago (or, fifteen years ago, to be more exact) there was a guy in Tallahassee who was quite young and he was making movies. Real movies or at least not porn or anything like that. He wrote the scripts, he directed, he was the cinematographer, he was the editor, and he did the scoring. He had one boom mic, and no one was paid. This was not a big deal because actors really just want to act and will gladly work for free. I mean, not Bill Murray or Meryl Streep but I guarantee you that when they were starting out they sure did. 
So he'd put out some notice for people to audition for him and I was in the thick of being in productions at the Monticello Opera House and Kathleen set up an introduction for me to audition because I never would have done that in a million years and it turned out that Freddy and I clicked and I was in quite a few of his films. Some quite short, some longer. And he also filmed some of his things here in our house, because it's hard to find a more visually interesting house than this one.  
I really had the best time working with Freddy. He was so young and so innocent and so CATHOLIC and you know me- I have no bones about telling someone that I think their religion is a bunch of shit which shocked him and I think, probably delighted him at the same time. I invited him to one of my huge night-before-Thanksgiving parties and there were probably fifty people here, some of them out back by a fire, eating oysters that were being shucked and grilled, and people playing music around the fire, and people drifting here and there, drinking the spirits and smoking the weed, and at one point Freddy looked at me and said, "A lot of these people are... Democrats, aren't they?" 
I roared. 
He and his family emigrated here when he was a teenager from Iran, I think. It's been awhile, folks. 

So he and I had a good run for awhile. We became friends. 

Here we are at a teeny, tiny, little premiere of a short film I did with him that won some sort of award in Jacksonville, Florida. 

That was in 2011 and it was the opposite of glamorous. For one thing, it happened in the afternoon and for another thing, Glen took that picture, not TMZ. And I honestly cannot remember a damn thing about the film. But I was cute. I was already a grandma then but I have to say, I was not yet a granny.

Old Fred, as I used to call him, and I have not been in touch in quite awhile. I came across that picture a few days ago though, while searching back in the blog for something else and it brought back a whole bundle of memories. Oh, how I loved being able to work with people who honestly were actors who taught me so much, just by their example. And Freddie was always my cheerleader. As I was his.

So this all goes to say that when I got that call today I was both shocked and pleased. He sort of apologized for not being in touch and told me that he thought of me often, appreciating my welcoming him into my life and home and being so supportive. 

I remember a neighbor I had a very long time ago, an older woman who ran a jook joint and one time a friend of ours stopped in to see her and apologized for it being so long since he'd visited. She hushed him and said, "It don't matter how long it's been since I've seen you. It's just always good when I do."
And that's how I felt, hearing from Old Fred. 
He's in town for awhile and said he'd like to get together for coffee or lunch and I said that of course I would. I tried to subtly tell him that I have changed a bit since he last saw me. I shouldn't care but of course I do. 

I just found the first film I did with Freddy where I had much of a part. You know what? I'm sort of gobsmacked at how much I did not suck. I can't figure out how to embed it, but here's the link. 

I remember that day. It was my 55th birthday and Freddie had brought me a little cake with candles. I was so very touched and I really would love to see him, to see where life has taken him. Where his talent and work have taken him. To find out if he's still a believing Catholic. I did ask him today if he was married and he said no, that he was sort of a workaholic. I don't doubt that. 

So that was a pretty interesting thing that happened today. Beyond that, not much except for altering a nightgown I'd ordered which was too big (weirdly enough). I can't say I did a great job on it but at least I won't get all twisted up in it and strangle to death in my sleep. 

We got rain last night and this morning. Maurice slept with me again. My husband texts that he loves me. 

And all is well in Lloyd.

Love...Ms. Moon

My Goodness! I Went Shopping

 I got a text from Hank last night saying that he and his wife were going to Monticello today for lunch at the Mexican and then some thrift shopping and would I like to join them?
Well, of course I would!
And so I did. 

I am just living the life of leisure here, folks. 

A good friend of Hank and Rachel joined us too and we were a chit-chattery bunch at Rancho Grande where the tables were constantly filling with hungry people and then refilling when fully satiated and satisfied people left. That restaurant, as I have said many times before, is the absolute example of the American dream. Work your ass off, don't be afraid to take chances, dare to dream, and see what can happen. And you know what? I bet that Jefferson County overwhelmingly voted for Trump, never even thinking about how it is quite possible that when he takes office, the people who have built Monticello's favorite restaurant may well be rounded up and sent to camps or back to where they came from. And/or the people who roof their houses, build their houses, repair their houses, pick their fruits and vegetables and tend their pecan groves and soy bean fields as well. 
The image of jack-booted officers knocking down doors to take custody of immigrants is one of the things I am most frightened of happening after the inauguration. 

But, here we are in the dead days of the last week of December and the iodine-stained one is not yet in power although he thinks he is and acts like he is.

This is not what I came here to say tonight but obviously, it was all lurking in my head, just waiting for the right moment to pop out and present itself on the page. 
Or screen, as it were. 

So we had a great lunch and I brought home enough leftovers for another meal and then we went to one of my favorite antique and vintage stores and roamed and rambled around there for quite awhile. They really do have a nice selection of antique furniture and mid-century furniture, all kinds of glassware from vases to china and everything in between, old tools, old toys, linens, Tupperware- oh, just everything. You know. This is the same place from which I rescued Dorothy Anne, the doll everyone thought was creepy but who just needed some love. And of course, I had to take another picture of these arches upstairs.

Just so pretty. 

And there were many things that if I were younger and not so obsessed with getting rid of things instead of acquiring things I might have bought. Vases especially. They didn't have any bowls that I fell in love with which is good because you know damn well that when I fall in love with a bowl, it is going to come home with me. But I did buy one thing. It was very small and it has already found its place on the wall by my bed.

I rationalize it by the fact that when I die, it'll at least be easy to get rid of. And meanwhile, my monkey lamp keeps watch over it. 

Here's something I saw that I thought perhaps I should buy and put in the Glen Den while the man is off hunting. 

I wouldn't say a thing, just hang it in there and see how long it took him to notice it. 
Nah. I would not do that to Mr. Moon. He would never kill Bambi's mother. 
On purpose, anyway. 

After we'd spent about an hour in there we decided to make our way to Wag the Dog. Of course. Can't go to Monticello without going to Wag. Here's a picture I took there today.

Wait a minute...how did I miss that little Black-Headed Oriole? If indeed that's what it is. Oh my goodness. I'm going to have to go back. 

And darn if I didn't buy something at Wag, too. 
Sigh.
A year or so ago, Mr. Moon went to one of those places where they sell stuff from unclaimed airline baggage. He was on one of his trips with the boys. And he bought me a sweet, thin, very simple hammered silver bangle bracelet which I liked very much and for Christmas this year, he bought me another silver bangle with a flower design. Now I have been collecting silver bangles since I was in college. The first time. Over the years I've gotten more in Mexico and at antique stores and I do have a beautiful collection. The sound of those bracelets jangling on my arm is the sound of "Mama's going out dancing" to my children. And although I always thought I'd be the sort of old woman who wore red lipstick and her silver bracelets, no matter what, it turns out that I'm not. Not really. It's hard to do yard work in silver bracelets. Especially the beautiful big fancy ones. And red lipstick just gets on my teeth and caught in my mustache hairs. 
But a few little skinny bangles can still make a lovely tinkling sound and don't get in the way so I've been wearing the two that Glen got me the last few days and when I was in Wag today I saw another silver bracelet, a tiny bit wider than the two I was wearing but not heavy or showy and they wanted twelve dollars for it and so I bought it. I brought it home and polished it and this is what it looks like on my gnarly, sun-raveged wrist with the other two.

When I walked back to my car when we had had our fill of shopping,  I took a picture, mostly for the sky. The lighting was terrible but in black and white, it is all quite dramatic.

I'm sort of getting Last Picture Show vibes. What do you think?

I'm going to go heat up my salmon and spinach with edamame beans and toasted sesame seeds. Good Lord but it was good. I would not be embarrassed to serve that to the Gee Dee Pope. I feel almost certain that will never happen but if it did, I would be pleased to offer it to his Holiness. Meanwhile, I am quite happy to serve it to myself. 

Love...Ms. Moon 

Owen Before He Became A Towering Giant

I had taken no pictures today at all and so I just took this one. It's of the dining/jigsaw-doing room as you can tell from the table and the high chair. I need to pass that high chair on but I will tell you that I am having as hard a time getting rid of baby and child-related items as any mother whose children are growing up. I got the high chair before I had any grandchildren at all. I saw it in a thrift store and decided that my house needed it and that hopefully, soon enough, a grandchild would too.

And now I've just spent about forty-five minutes going back through fourteen and fifteen-year old blog posts to find a picture of Owen in that high chair which I did not, but I did open the door to a lot of closets in my brain where memories are stored.

Owen on his second day of life. 

And back when I was Owen's childcare Mermer. Do you think I loved him? 

I could do an entire book about Owen and Elvis, the Very Best Rooster Who Ever Lived. 

They were buddies. 

Mr. Moon arrived safely at his destination. A funny thing happened this morning. I was literally writing him a text when the phone informed me that I had a call from him. 

I am going to go make a martini and cook some salmon with spinach.

And yes of course the sheets are clean. 

Sorry about the lack of content tonight. I have tried but nothing I write satisfies me in the least. All is well, though. No worries. 
I think my mind has just checked out for a little rest. 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

We Shall Call This Me-Time!

I have been domestic-goddessing and good-wife-doing all day long, getting things ready for Glen to go to Tennessee. 

He is so excited. I know he is although he really does try to hide the fact that he's trembling with joy at the thought of getting in that truck, car, whatever it is he's driving, and heading up the road to Tennessee where he was born and bred, to hang out with his oldest friends. I'm sure he thinks that I'd be upset if I realized just how much he loves to do something that does not involve me in the least but hey! I get it. I love the fact that he has good friends. And a lot of them. He is a good friend. He calls his guys regularly, they chat and laugh and catch up and they even talk about real things like illnesses and grandchildren although I think a lot of the talk has to do with cars and hunting and boats and all that man-stuff. 
Not to be cliche, but let us be honest. 
And he helps his friends in so many ways, he visits them if they're in the hospital, he makes sure to be there for them when they go through life's heaviest moments. 
So yeah, I know he loves his buddies and I would be some kind of a psycho-jealous narcissist if I didn't understand that. 
Okay. So sometimes I do display a little mild jealous psycho narcissism but mostly it comes in the form of the dreams I have wherein I can't find him and I need him but I think that's more about anxiety and fear for his safety than anything. 
At least that's what I tell myself.

And today was a day when I wanted to be gracious and loving, sending him off. Of course I made the Life Sustaining Cookies for him. And I had told him I'd make him a loaf of sausage and cheese bread for Christmas, never got around to it, so I did that today too. 

I got all his laundry done and folded and I also took our trash to the trash place and took all the paper and cardboard out to the burn pile. Little things that needed to be done. He offered to take the trash but he had a full day of activities he needed to do before he leaves so I told him to go on, go buy those oysters and bourbon and check the rat traps and all that other stuff. 
And hey- NO RATS! 
Hallelujah and Hosanna. 

And let's face it. It is no secret at all that I love time to myself and I cherish it so his taking off to hunt and hang out with friends is a gift to me too. I believe I will go to the store tomorrow and get some salmon and some more Le Sueur Peas. Ooh boy. I'm excited. There will be piano playing and jig-saw doing and stitching and reading being done.

Now Maurice? 
Poor baby. As soon as Mr. Moon gets his duffel bag out to pack, that cat loses her mind. I have decided that she has an extreme case of feline anxiety and that's all there is to it. I can just read it in her eyes. She's been bringing in tiny mice regularly, leaving them in plain sight so we stupid and mostly blind humans will be sure to see them and thus be able to make use of them. They are really small and they look just like the mice in a Beatrix Potter book, which is to say, precious and adorable, except that these mice are...dead. But taking those little corpses out is nothing compared to having to deal with the remains of some of the things Maurice brings in, especially when Glen's gone and she figures that I need sustenance and obviously have no knowledge of how to provide it for myself. 

Okay. We've discussed this before. I don't need to beat a dead...squirrel. 

I really have nothing else to discuss this evening. I'm cooking greens from the garden tonight instead of making salad from them for a change and I'm going to make some rice and heat up chicken that Mr. Moon cooked on the grill a few nights ago. Easy supper. 

And we will go to bed and he'll leave tomorrow and I'm going to be fine. Better than fine! 

And at the same time, I will feel his absence acutely. After forty years of marriage I still don't quite understand how it works. I just know that sometimes it really does. 

Love...Ms. Moon

And This Is How It Went For Us

All was calm and all was bright when we first got to Lily's this morning. In some sort of Christmas miracle, we were at there in one hour and twenty-four minutes after I'd woken up. This included dealing with the ham (that Mr. Moon, who always gets up before me had put in the oven), packing the car with all the presents and food, having a cup of coffee, getting dressed, and well, I guess that's about it. Oh. Also? I drove my car and Glen drove another car that he had to take through a car wash and more on that later. 

Things did start to get a a little crazy though when the Weatherfords got there and May and Michael (they're so wild, you know) and Hank and Rachel were already there and of course there were the two dogs, Pepper and Chloe, and Nico the Sleek Black Beauty Cat and things began to pick right up and there was basketball playing and bike riding and THEN we decided to open presents and please, god, remind me to take an Ativan before this happens next year because I was overwhelmed. I got so many presents from my kids and grandkids including FOUR jigsaw puzzles, every one of them absolutely beautiful, and I do not know how to graciously receive presents and that's all there is to it and the kids were all excited, opening their presents and paper was flying and kisses and hugs were flying and I felt like a corn kernel at the bottom of a popcorn popper, everything just swirling and popping around me in a very noisy way and finally, we'd opened everything and THEN we ate. 

It was such good food. Again. Lauren's sweet potato casserole (although Lily made it this year), and macaroni and cheese, and a quiche that May made, and the ham, and chicken salad, and cinnamon rolls that Jessie made and green beans that Rachel made and...you get the picture. 

Another feast. 

Oh. Here. Let me show you something before I forget. 

Remember my Cheez-Its cracker tray? The one I made in pottery? The one I said looked like a caterpillar? Well, it finally came out of the kiln and Jessie picked it up and brought that along with a box of Cheez-Its and here it is. 

It's...it's...well, it does hold Cheez-Its nicely. 
This is not what I was going for and those blue balls (ahem!) were supposedly Art Deco Green so in this case, the glaze did not really make the whole thing sing and sway like Sammy Kay but it is goofy enough to laugh at and perhaps we should bring it out for every holiday meal. 

But here's the big thing that happened. As you all know, Owen has his learner's permit and of course his grandfather, The Car Guy, has been waiting for this to happen since the child was first laid on his mother's bosom. Glen's had this whole plan for Owen's first car and it involved Owen paying for part of it, making payments on it and buying insurance and since he has a job, he can do that now. 
And so. 
He found the car he thinks Owen would be safest in and which is a very dependable car and that's the one he drove to Lily's house today after taking it through a car wash. I wish I could tell you the make and model of this car but I am not sure. I am married to the Car Guy but I am not Mrs. Car Guy. I think it might be a Nissan. Whatever. If Glen says it's a good car, it is. 
And Owen had no idea. Glen parked it right down the street a little way and after lunch we all took a walk and Levon and Gibson and Maggie and August all rode bikes and we strolled around the neighborhood until Jason came because Glen wanted him to be there too and then we all walked up to the car and Owen was just chattering on about something, not even paying the least bit of attention to the white car parked there. Boppy had the key and made it beep which startled Owen and finally, he got what was going on and his face turned beet red and he was pretty much speechless. 

We all cheered and clapped and I think the boy was happy. He hugged his Boppy about eight times and hugged me about four times although I really had nothing to do with it. But it felt like a real, true family moment. This is a big deal and we all love Owen so much and although it is incredibly hard to watch him turn into a young man so fast, it is also something to celebrate and we do. 

So that was our Christmas. 

I'm not going to post a ton of pictures but here are a few of the kids. 

I got that damn thing for Gibson. I had (for my own peace of mind) to get Lily's okay. It is some sort of sword that I know nothing about. He took advantage of my inability to say "no" after I'd had a martini. 

Levon wore those ultra-cool shades all day long. 

I guess he got a metal detector. I had no idea. 

And this? This is quite possibly the best gift of the year. At least for me. 

When Hank and Rachel were on their honeymoon in New Orleans, they went into a gay thrift shop and that book is the first thing Rachel saw. I love it so much. 

Here's the back cover with a few examples of the unique wit and wisdom that could only come from Keith Richards. 

Glen and I have been home for quite awhile now and he's spent the entire afternoon fixing brake rotors. Is that a thing? He's going to leave for Tennessee on Friday to meet with his buddies and do a little hunting. He's pretty excited. And he needs brakes he can count on.
We haven't opened our presents to each other yet but we're about to and I'll go through the same difficult and ungraceful performance as my earlier one. 

And then we're eating leftovers for supper. 

And then I'll go to bed and it will all be over for another year. 

Thank you, sweet baby Jesus and all the angels- I have survived. I hope you have too. 

Love...Ms. Moon

P.S. Our gifts to each other were so sweet and so thoughtful and so funny that instead of ending the day feeling weird and traumatized I feel content and loved.

Plus- I think we now have enough good chocolate to last us through April. At least. 

Post Traumatic Christmas Syndrome

There's the chicken salad and the reason there are tiny specks of chicken on the pecans is that before I just gave up and decorated it the regular way, I'd spent at least half an hour trying to concoct some Martha Stewart-like artwork with the grapes and the pecans but it looked completely demented and I just threw those grapes out and reused the pecans so there you go. And look- it was only about six grapes.

Oh well. And la-di-dah.

It's been gray all day and I've been on the verge of tears all day. I am eternally trying to figure out why Christmas is so hard for me and by that I mean why is it so heavy-hard for me, not just some general light dread and hatred? It's like my weird horrible fear of medical stuff. I can't figure that one out for the life of me. 

But honestly, Christmas isn't that big of a mystery. There are all sorts of factors but the one that goes back the furthest is well-worthy of being defined as a traumatic experience. It was the Christmas of 1959, I think, and I was five years old. My mother had been secretly plotting an escape from my father whose drinking had escalated to levels making him a danger to her and my little brother and me. He'd fallen asleep in a chair with a cigarette and almost burned the house down for one thing. Another thing is that I do believe, although have no real proof, that he was abusive to my mother in the physical sense and definitely in the emotional sense. I don't remember him ever raising a hand to me or my brother but there's little doubt that could have happened down the road. 
Mother knew that if he found out she was leaving, he would definitely do something to stop her and it would not be pretty. So. She went to her pastor at the Presbyterian church in Chattanooga, where we lived, and he helped her with airline tickets and plans and transportation to the airport so we could escape to Florida where her parents lived. 
And all of this happened right after Christmas. Like- the day after, perhaps. 

The whole thing was so scary. Even at the age of five I was very, very good at sensing emotions in adults and I knew that my mother was panicking and she had every reason to. But we made it to Florida, to Roseland, where we stayed in Granny and Granddaddy's little cabin on the Indian River and that is how I got there to begin with. But initially, of course, I was confused and worried. No one ever thought of trying to communicate with kids about the reasons such a thing might be happening in those days. I had heard the word "divorce" being whispered here and there but I thought divorce meant you got rid of one daddy and got another which sounded pretty okay to me. 
Before I figured any of this out though, my mother came down with a serious case of pneumonia and had to go stay in the hospital in Vero Beach, leaving my brother and me with my grandparents who were virtual strangers to us, mainly my grandmother, as Granddaddy spent a lot of time with Mother at the hospital. Granny was profoundly deaf and it was almost impossible for us to communicate with her. She was frustrated. My brother and I were frustrated. 
It was a cluster fuck of epic proportions. But here's a thing I remember- my grandparents had friends in Roseland and one of them was a woman named Helen Kretschmer. That is probably not how her name was spelled but I have no real idea. She and her husband Ed, lived in a tiny little apartment over a garage right near Granny and Granddaddy's house. That little apartment is still there and every time I drive into Roseland, I remember the night that Mrs. Kretschmer had us over for a supper along with a few other of their friends- all older people but I am sure younger than I am now. And Helen gave me and my brother some simple little gifts. Perhaps picture books? I don't know. But she was one of those people who was able to make others feel seen and appreciated, even children, and that was quite rare then. 
She was a very special woman. And also, I loved the way she wore her hair, twisted up and held in a sort of bun, rather than cut and permed like all the other ladies did. 
And eventually Mother got home from the hospital but I swear to you- I can remember so many Christmases afterwards that she ended up in an ER on Christmas Eve or Christmas Eve day, always with some sort of respiratory illness. 

So that's surely a part of why Christmas is difficult for me. It takes me back to a very difficult and frightening time. A time in which I had no control and even less understanding. 

Well, thanks for letting me write that out. I know I've told this story before, Helen Kretschmer and all, but I think it is good to remind myself that there are reasons why Christmas is not my favorite time of year and that I am not necessarily just a horrible person with a stone cold heart. 
There are other reasons, of course, that Christmas is difficult for me but as I said, that memory is the most primal of them. 

Meanwhile, here it is, Christmas Eve, and I have wrapped all my presents and have made a list of what we need to take to Lily's tomorrow. This is going to be a very early lunch because once again, Lily's kids are going to their father's house at noon. 

I hope the grandkids like the presents we got them. That would make me so happy. 

Here are some camellias I picked today. 

And I will wish all of you the best of whatever it is you do tonight and tomorrow, however you celebrate or don't celebrate. It helps, I think, to ponder on the solstice and the way this planet interacts with our sun, our moon, and the very way we circle about, even as we hurtle through infinite space. As tiny as our little lives and lights are, they are a part of it all. 

Mine too. Yours too. 

Love...Ms. Moon

I Just...I Just Can't

I have been almost startlingly unproductive today. I took that picture to make it look like I've actually gotten something done but that's misleading. 

I made some chili crisp today. That I did. Do any of y'all make and/or use that condiment? I saw some in a store one day and although the price was outrageous I bought it and I really liked it. It looked pretty straightforward and Lily said she made it so I found a super easy recipe, made a jar, used it up, made another. Here's the picture from the NYT's cooking app recipe for it that I casually base mine on. 

As you can see, if you don't like hot pepper flakes, this probably is not your condiment. I use it very sparingly on my food but I really enjoy it on things like soups or beans or stir fries or noodles. 
The way I make is what I call a cheat recipe. That's because it's got jarred red pepper flakes, dried minced onion, and a little garlic powder in it instead of ingredients I roast and chop myself. I also put sesame seeds and chopped peanuts in mine. I feel certain that David Chang's Momofuko Chili Crunch (same as chili crisp) is probably better than mine but it costs at least ten dollars an ounce which is fucking ridiculous. I made over half a quart today to give as a Christmas present and I doubt it cost me two dollars. I get my hot pepper flakes, dried minced onion, and garlic powder from Costco in Costco-sized containers so really, the cost is negligible. 

And it probably took me longer to write all that than it did to make the actual stuff. 

My other two goals for the day were to wrap Christmas presents and cook the chicken for the chicken salad. I put off both of those things as long as I possibly could and have not nearly finished wrapping presents although I did cook the chicken. I had bought wrapping paper a few weeks ago and up until a day or two ago, it was still in my car. I'd also bought three rolls of Scotch tape because using duct tape to hold the wrapping paper on just looks tacky. But today I decided I wanted to get gift bags too because...well, it's a long story but I wanted gift bags. In the hope that the GDDG would have them so that I didn't have to drive to town, I ran by there and golly gee, Aunt Bee! They had all the stuff! I'm really amazed at the many, many things you can buy at the Dollar General. It's almost like a tiny Walmart. This is not necessarily a good thing but if your kid needs a poster board because her science project is due tomorrow, they've got 'em. There were two guys there while I was shopping and I know damn well they were looking for Christmas presents. I felt so bad for them. You could just see their brains spinning, trying so hard to find gifts for someone they love, desperate to find something that the loved one wouldn't open, look at and say, "You got this at the Dollar General, didn't you?"
And let me tell you something- neither one of those guys looked like they had one molecule of the joy of Christmas in them. I can't imagine the agony of wanting to make a good Christmas for my family with no money to spend on it. And that is the reality for many, many people. I was absolutely not laughing at those guys I saw shopping today. My heart went out to them. 

I did get Glen's presents wrapped. He is going to like exactly one thing I got him. I hope he likes it, anyway. It is that unicorn gift for him in that I think it's something he will really enjoy having and would never have thought of buying himself. It is luxurious and simple and pragmatic, all rolled into one. 

Owen's present came in today and I wrapped that. It was a Rolling Stones hoody and he'll probably hate it but too bad. Maggie's necklace came with its own clever little box and bag with a personalized gift card so that was a breeze. Gibson's present is too big to wrap and so I'm not sure what to do about that. I just hope we can get it in the car. August and Levon are getting two presents that they both have to share. They're pretty good about that. I'm pretty sure they found them in the closet when they were here to spend the night but I don't really care. I just hope they like them. 

For my own kids, I always feel so incapable of getting them anything that would truly make them happy and as I said a week or so ago, I'm sure a lot of that is because nothing seems good enough. How do I give Hank something that says, "Your mother loves you more than you will ever know and you have been her sweet baby for your entire life AND you deserve all the best"? Or May? Or Lily? Or Jessie? Not to mention Rachel, Michael, Lauren, and Vergil. 
It's just ridiculous. I'd start giving them all my jewelry (and I have started passing some of it along on a small scale) but I'm not sure how to portion that out. It's just a deep, dark place that I fall into every year, trying to find each of them something that says all I want it to say. 
Because it's impossible. Things do not do that. Words and actions do. And I know that. 

Still...

I always feel like I could and should do better. 

Oh, hell. There is always fruitcake. 
And money. 

Leftover soup and bread tonight. The soup was very good and the bread was the fluffiest bread I ever made. It was like cloud bread. Those mashed potatoes really did the trick! 

And two days from now this whole shebang will be over. 
Thank you, sweet baby Jesus. 

In his honor, I will post this picture. 

If you would like to know the provenance of that particular baby Jesus, you can go HERE. 

Damn. I used to be such a swell writer. And good Lord, but I was cute. 
Sigh. 
Some things do not change though, and one of those would be the expression on the face of the poor baby Jesus who still lives in my house, although now in the guest room in front of the fireplace. 
He looks no more excited about Christmas than I feel. 

I will survive. And so will you. 

Love...Ms. Moon