In Which I Invent Chicken, Tofu, Vegetable Soup

Maurice and I have settled back into our routine. She's been sleeping with me, probably because it's cooler but also, I think, because she's more anxious when Father Human is not here. Although who really knows? Certainly not me. 
But that's where she was last night when I got out of my shower and was ready to get under the covers. I think she looks anxious. Do you think she looks anxious? 

I've had a darn good day. Remember all those things I said I wanted to do today in yesterday's post? Well, I did them all except for hemming the nightgown plus, I took a walk. And hung laundry on the line. 

It is so much easier to walk when the temperatures are below ninety, the humidity below 50%, although if it would rain, I would happily accept a percentage higher than that. 

I stopped to talk to four people today. The first two were Harvey and another guy whom I recognize but I don't know his name. They were sitting in that guy's front yard, watching Lloyd go by and I am part of Lloyd. 
"Haven't seen you out walking too regular," said the guy whose name I do not know. 
"I know, I know," I said. "But now that it's cooler, perhaps I'll do better." 
And then Harvey began to talk about something involving penning dogs up and although I asked him to repeat himself, I still had no idea what he was talking about. Has he gotten dogs? Not that I've seen. As I have often noted, Harvey speaks in his own way and I am not familiar with that way. But we smiled, and I walked on and then when I turned around and passed them on my way back, I pointed my finger at them and said, "Now you two stay out of trouble!" and we all laughed and I said, "I will too." 

I wonder if they really thought that was funny or just laughed to be polite. Oh well. 

The third person I spoke to was Abraham who was raking his property across the street from his house, right down from the fally-down house. 
"Mr. Abraham!" I called out. And he stopped his raking and then he TOO commented on my lack of regularity in walking. "You gotta keep it up," he said. 
"I know, I know!" I told him. And then I gave him the story about it being cooler so that it will be easier and this time I added that now that I'm older it's harder when after I walk I have so many aches and pains and he nodded but said, "You have to keep trying. You just have to keep on."
He's right. 

And he's older than I am. I know this only because he told me. I have no idea how old Harvey is. He could be sixty or he could be seventy-five. Same with the guy he was talking to. 

The fourth person I talked to was Ms. Tee, the post mistress. We discussed her recent injury from a fall which has caused her great pain and frustration. I've been trying to keep up with her on how diagnoses and treatments are going. It turns out she has a tear in the upper part of her hip and although surgery has been mentioned, right now they're trying to let it heal on its own but...damn. 
She's had two steroid shots and neither one has done much good. I feel bad for her. Working at the post office means she has to lift heavy boxes and I don't even know what all. It doesn't seem to me that the USPS employee insurance program is too great. Also, it seems to me that she should be able to get workman's comp. She fell at work. She's trying but so far, no luck on that one. I can tell she's in pain. It's so obvious. 

I did the tiniest bit of weeding in the garden and turned on the sprinklers and after lunch I got to work on the crocosmia and other weeds in front of the fence. The dirt is seriously dry and in some ways, that does make it easier to sift through. It is slow going, though. 

I'm not pulling ferns if I can help it. I like ferns. As far as I'm concerned they could take over the entire area. 

Here's what I haven't gotten to yet:

Sigh. 

It's okay. As I said to Glen when he called me while I was in the midst of it all, it's just my hobby. Let's face it. 
Do you have any hobbies, Ms. Moon?
Oh yes. My hobbies include gardening, writing, and pulling up invasive plants to no avail. 

I made an appointment for tomorrow to get my flu shot at Publix. I need to get a few things anyway. When I was there on Monday I'd forgotten my list and you know how that goes. And I've added things to it. I hope I haven't made a mistake in scheduling the flu shot for tomorrow but I don't think I have. There's nothing I plan on doing on Saturday. I SHOULD be at the nearest No Kings protest but I won't be. The very idea of being surrounded by that many people makes me shudder and also, where would I park? 

I am not proud of this but it is who I am. I should at least go to the Dollar General and buy a poster board and some Magic Markers and make a sign to tape to my fence. Maybe I WILL do that. 
We shall see. 

So this is what my supper last night looked like before I added the tofu.

Does that not look freaking healthy? Of course after I added my sauce, it wasn't quite as healthy but at least it had a lot of vegetables. 
Tonight I am making a soup with the remains of the chicken I roasted on Sunday along with vegetables I cooked with it. I am trying to clean out the refrigerator and am honestly thinking about adding the leftover stir fry to the soup. 
I mean- why not? It's all chicken and vegetables anyway and some tofu won't hurt it. 

Here we have some kale, collards, and arugula. 
Y'all- I have planted way too much arugula. And not quite on purpose. 
Well, I do like arugula. I hope I still do after this winter. 

And Mr. Moon is well and happy, up there in the wilds of Canada. May he stay that way. There is an ER doc who goes on these trips. Not as a doctor, but as a hunter. This makes me feel a little more comfortable. 

I'm going to go add the stir fry to the soup. If all I do is eat one bowl and freeze the rest, it'll be just fine. At least I'm not throwing the chicken enchiladas in there too. There is a limit. 
Theoretically. 

Love...Ms. Moon 

An Important Day For Sure

I spent most of the day with the lady in the picture above whose son is towering over her. Today was the day she signed on her house, purchasing it from her daddy and me. And now it is hers, and hers alone. I had told her that if she wanted, I would go with her to the signing and she did and I did. It was held in the same law office with the same attorney in the same room where Mr. Moon and I signed the papers to sell her the house on Monday. 
"Did you miss me?" I asked the receptionist. "Of course!" she said. 
Have any of you bought a house lately? There are forms upon forms upon forms that must be signed including forms guaranteeing that you, the person signing these forms, is indeed the one signing them. 
It took awhile. 
There was another woman there who represented the loan agent and while we were waiting for the lawyer to make copies of all the forms, we really got to talking. We all soon figured out that our politics, fears, and horrors at what is happening in this country were all very much the same and by the time the copies were in Lily's possession and we were leaving, I felt like she was a sort-of sister. 
And then I called her by the wrong name. 
HAHAHAHAHAHA! 
Oh well. I've already apologized. She had said she'd email me some information about something completely unrelated to anything I've written here and she did and I emailed her back, thanked her, and told her, quite truthfully that when we first met I had no idea that I'd enjoy her company so much and thus, didn't feel overly motivated to remember her name. Hey- let us be honest. 
Also I told her I was old. This, too, is honest.

But that was a very good thing that happened today. Not as good as Lily signing on her house, of course, but an unexpected laniappe, for sure. After we left, we did what one does after buying a house, and went to Goodwill. Lily was looking for Halloween costume stuff. Maggie wants to be a fairy and she has the wings but not the dress so that was the number one priority. Lily got her a few more dresses while we were there. 
I got a dress too, and I haven't even tried it on. But it looks rather one-size-fits-most and it has pockets as well as long sleeves so if I wear it with tights or leggings, I will have another item of winter clothing which I need as I now have one pair of black pants which sort of fit me and several tunic-y tops to go with them. 

Ta-Da! My winter wardrobe! 

You know what else I got? Something I really needed and that was...a new vase! 

I'm just a fool for vases, aren't I? But it was so lovely and so green and it will be so perfect for some kind of flowers and greenery although I am not sure what kind and I do not regret buying it. If you can buy something for $2.99 that makes your heart happy it would be foolish not to. There were actually three identical ones for sale although I only bought the one. They are vintage but definitely not rare or valuable. Everyone's mother or grandmother had one of these vases and now I have one. And when the kids have to go through all my stuff, they can donate the vase back to the thrift economy or just throw it in the trash, and it will be okay, either way. 

Here we have Maurice and an olive tree which Jessie got me at Trader Joe's yesterday. An olive tree! I am going to do some research to see if it can tolerate below freezing temperatures and if so, I will plant it in my back yard, where I can see it from the porch, and if not, I will plant it in a giant pot and put that in the back yard where I can see it from the porch. 

So it's been a good day. I got to go with Lily for an important event and we got to spend time together. As I have so often said, that girl is crazy-funny and we do make each other laugh. I also got a Maggie hug and an Owen hug. Well, actually, I got several hugs from both. Gibson was not yet home from school when this hug fest was happening.

You want to see a picture of Owen and his Boppy when Owen was just a babe in arms?

Well, of course you do. 

Glen hasn't changed a damn bit. Now how does that happen? And actually, he still has that shirt and wears it frequently. But look at my first grand baby. And at that time, still the only one. You can absolutely see why I am constantly astonished at how big he's gotten and how quickly. Instead of being the little guy I carried on my hip he is now a man who makes me feel like a tiny little old lady. 
I'm pretty sure that Owen no longer has those pajamas. 

Tomorrow I'll be taking the trash to the trash place, going to the post office, perhaps doing a little garden weeding and definitely some garden watering, maybe some weed-pulling in the front yard, and oh Lord help me- finish hemming a night gown that I began work on about two months ago. 
And I think I might want to play the piano. 

It is a really lovely evening here in Lloyd tonight. I hope it is where you are too. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Part Two, Mission Complete. God, How I Love My House

That's Gibson, playing a broom trombone. Trombone is his instrument. And I was wrong. It was not a jazz concert but a general band concert. Last year Gibson was in the jazz band but this year he's moved over to the concert band. 
Whatever. It was a great time. I really do mean that. 
I remembered from last year how much I enjoyed the band concert. The band teacher is young, full of energy, and I bet she's a whole lot of fun. I noticed this evening before she put her jacket on to conduct, that she had a large-ish tattoo on her bicep which made me love her a little bit. But besides being energetic and obviously cool, she kept the concert short. 
I doubt the whole thing lasted forty-five minutes and that included a lot of kids moving on and off the stage for the different band configurations. There were seven songs, none of them interminable, each one as fun to listen to as I'm sure they were to learn and play. 

This was when they were first assembling. There was a definite Halloween theme going on in both the decorations and the music. And you know me. I studied all those young faces, or at least the ones I could see from my seat, and I am so glad that kids can dare to express themselves in such diverse ways. So different than when I was their age and we all seemed to be afraid to be anything but exactly alike. Our hair, our clothes, our shoes, our very bodies- we wanted them to be like everyone else's and we all based this on what the cool kids were doing. By the time we got into our final years of high school, in the very early 70's, there was more acceptance of a little bit of the expression of individuality when it came to appearance, actions, and thoughts. Of course the education system's powers-that-be fought this whole rebellion thing tooth and nail and banned long hair on boys, short skirts or pants on girls, and (oh god forbid!) going braless. 
Seriously, they checked.
NO HIPPIES!
Which of course only made us want to fight the status quo even more and, yes, definitely become hippies. 

Kids are freer now to explore their identities in ways we never could have even imagined back in the olden days. And I love it. 

BUT- there are still band concerts. There are still teachers that are changing lives with their involvement, dedication, talent, and caring way beyond what their job description says, and way, WAY beyond what they are being paid to do. 
And there are still many, many parents, siblings, and grandparents who are proud of their kids and show up to support them, to get a tiny sliver of a picture of what they are learning and who they are learning from and with. 

I am so glad I went. I knew I would be. There was no doubt. It was so worth going out for. And yes, it was dark by the time I got home but all is well. I am not afraid that I'll crash into something and die, it's that I am so incredibly fearful that I will hit someone walking in the road because I cannot see them which is my worst nightmare. But I didn't hit so much as a frog, as far as I know, and when I walked into my house my soul let out a big sigh.
Home. It is always here for me. As funky as it is. It is here. 
My bed, board, bath, and peace of mind. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Deep Breath

This may turn out just to be a place-holder post. I'm about to go to Gibson's jazz band concert in just a few minutes. 
Now because I am becoming worse and worse and worse about doing things that are not a part of my routine, this is causing me some anxiety. Okay. A lot of anxiety. My evening routines are far more set in stone than my daytime routines. And driving at night is something I do not do. I have severe night blindness. So hopefully, the concert will be rather short and the sun will not set before I get back on the road. And honestly, his school, where the concert will be held, is not even all the way to town for me. 
It is NOT a big deal. 
Except of course it is. 

Mr. Moon took off in the deep early hours and the last I heard from him he was in Minnesota, about to board the plane for Canada. He told me that on his flight from Atlanta to Minnesota the man who sat next to him talked without ceasing for the entire flight. He said the guy had done a lot of things and been a lot of places and it was all pretty interesting until his ears began to bleed. 

I guess I better go change into concert clothes. 
I can do this, right? 

Sure. And I will. 

Love...Ms. Moon

 

Another This And That

Well, Ms. Moon, how's the Zepbound-assisted weight loss going? 

Funny you should ask. I was just thinking about that very thing. 
It's going well. Slowly, slowly, but consistently. I continue to suffer few, if any side-effects except that I'm losing my hair but hey! Who needs hair? 
Sigh.
Can't complain. Won't complain. 
I'm learning something about myself as I go about this business which is that I have body dysmorphia and of course, I've always had it. Being 71 rather than 17 hasn't changed a thing. One moment I can feel almost sylph-like, while an hour later I can feel like a heifer. 
"Heifer" is a thing a friend of mine in nursing school used to call almost everyone. It was a term of endearment and not a description of appearance but in this case, I am using it as a pejorative. I logically KNOW that I am neither sylph-like or heifer-sized and actually, just about at a highish normal weight for a woman of my age and stature. So am I done trying to lose more? No. And why? BECAUSE I WANT TO WEAR MY SKIRTS! 
I have several skirts that I love so much I was not able to throw them out and I was not a skinny woman when I wore them so I think this is doable and not an unhealthy idea. And I am still eating plenty and getting what I think is good nutrition so all is well. And trust me- the weight loss is going in very, very slow increments. I am in no danger of suddenly keeling over from malnutrition. 

So that's that. Glen and I sold a house today. Don't get excited. It was a technicality involving Lily's house and she's the one who now owns it so that's very good. She had to wait until certain parts of the divorce settlement were, well, settled and fulfilled and that time has come. While we were at the attorney's office, we asked a few questions about how we need to proceed with estate planning because we have got to get that done. 

Yesterfuckingday, as Lis would say. 

Oh my goodness but it is complex. Anyway, the process has begun and we shall make our way through it. And any time I start getting anxious about it, I just think, Well, we shall do the best we can and when we die, we'll be dead and it won't matter to us anymore."
But I've just seen how inheritance shit can rip apart a family and the very last thing on earth I want to do is cause rifts in my children's relationships with each other because the way they love and respect each other is the thing that probably makes me happier than anything else on earth. 
Hopefully, if we cross all our T's and dot all our I's, it will all work out. 
I did love how the attorney kept saying, "Now. Should you die..."
I really do not believe we are immortal so yes, let's plan on that contingency, shall we? 

I've made Glen's cookies. I could do this in my sleep. 

They are so perfectly imperfect in their sizes and shapes. When I watch The Great British Bake Off and the contestants are asked to create four or ten or a dozen whatevers that are equal in size and shape, I realize that's one more reason I'll never be on that show. 
There are a lot of reasons but that's a main one. Well, that and I'm not British. 

I believe that each and every baked good should have the opportunity to be exactly who and what they are. Right? Thank you very much, Paul Hollywood. A home kitchen is NOT a factory. 

Mr. Moon is doing his final packing and I think he's going to have to get up about 3:30 a.m. to make it to the airport two hours before his flight, as they say you should. 
Phew. Better him than me. 

I'll let you go now. Really. I'm serious. Get on with your bad self. 
We'll talk tomorrow. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Sunday, Part 467

I took zero pictures today. I really did not do a whole lot and nothing picture-worthy seemed to be part of the little I did do. I could take a picture of the washed, dried, and folded laundry I did but for the fact that it's all still in the dryer and I suppose I'll get around to folding it at some point. I thought about taking a picture of our breakfast wherein I made a sort of frittata or Spanish tortilla or whatever you want to call an egg pie made in a skillet with vegetables and ham and cheese. It was good, whatever it is called, and since it had vegetables in it, so very, very healthy! 
But I did not take a picture. 
Oh well. 

For the first time in five days, Maurice has not brought me a squirrel tail. I guess she cleaned out the entire nest. She is outside right now though, prowling along her patrol borders so things could change at any moment. Glen and I had a long talk this morning about how impossible it is for humans to fathom what or how a cat (or dog) thinks. We know that our animals have emotions. That's all there is to it. And those can be, or at least appear to be, very much like ours in some cases. We know when they are content, we know when they want attention, we know when they're not happy, we know when they are jealous or, at least in the case of Maurice, pissed off because one or both of us has deserted her for a period of time. 
But beyond that- we are merely anthropomorphizing their actions (and probably emotions, too) with only our own experience and how we take in and view our environment and react to it. We have no idea what things even look like to our pets, not to mention the difference in various other sensory abilities. Think of the constant bombardment of smells that dogs have! That must surely form and inform their behavior. Do cats have a hyper sense of smell? I have no idea. Frankly, I think our pets may well have a sort of sixth sense that I believe humans have too, although ours has paled considerably over the eons, or at least we do not recognize it for what it is. But I believe science will one day figure this out and prove it to be true. It's not woo-woo. It's evolution. 
Well, anyway, I have no idea what I'm talking about but I suppose the gist of it is simply that although Mr. Moon and I think we should be able to understand Maurice and the things she does, we really cannot. 

Hell, humans are often baffled by the things we ourselves do! 

Moving on. 

One of the things Glen and I did today was to finish shelling the very last field peas of the season. While we did that, we watched a little bit of a new series we've dipped into called "The Lowdown." It stars Ethan Hawke who I can almost confidently say has had no work done on his face and I admire that so much. 
SO MUCH!
And he's really excellent in the role of a journalist who calls himself a "truthstorian" who is not, shall we say, riding a cresting wave of good luck, fortune, wealth, and fame. The rest of the cast is great so far and today I figured out why it has captured me so entirely when I saw that Sterlin Harjo is the creator and writer of the series. Sterlin Harjo was also the creator of "Reservation Dogs" which I loved beyond measure and in "The Lowdown" I get the same vibe with the exceptional and interesting characters, the writing, the dark humor, the settings, and also, the music. 
I am looking forward to a run with this one. 

Speaking of actors, I was so sorry to hear that Diane Keaton had died. When I first heard her age at death, which was 79, I immediately thought, "Oh, too young!" but then I realized that actually, 79 is a pretty good age. And if anyone had a good run, it was her. Never married, a long string of what must have been fabulously interesting lovers, including the author Larry McMurtry, and a body of work that few could match. Although she always seemed to bring herself to her characters, each one was unique and although we often think of her in the rom-coms she so royally brought to life, I think of her role as the mother/matriarch in "The Family Stone" and I am reminded of how truly great her range was. 
My friend Sue and I both loved "Baby Boom" so much. A film she did in 1987 in which she co-starred with Sam Shephard. It was, I suppose, a rom com but it was also a study in the roles of women at that time, how women perceived themselves and wanted others to perceive them, how impossible it was to achieve all the things that we assured ourselves we were capable of, and how to come to terms with all of that. I still love that movie. 

But mostly, I am grateful for the many hours of pleasure that Diane Keaton brought to us through her acting. And I feel sorrow for her dearly beloveds, including the two children she adopted in her fifties. May they find peace. 

Well, as usual, I've tried, and probably failed, to express what I'm thinking, I'm feeling. It's been a good Sunday with my husband, right here at home. We've made each other laugh and we've been very sweet and I've held on to him tightly and my heart has been filled with how I still feel about him, all these years later. Tomorrow he'll get all packed up and I'll make life-sustaining cookies to take with him to the wilds of Canada when he leaves early Tuesday morning. 

Life keeps on lasting until it doesn't. Same with love, I guess. I am one of the lucky ones who, at this moment at least, has both. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Vacuuming Can Suck It

I did something today I hate doing with the passion of the heat of the surfaces of a thousand suns. 
I vacuumed. 
I doubt I've vacuumed in twenty years. I sweep. I dust mop. I do not vacuum. In fact, I don't even have a vacuum except for the Roomba which is out of commission due to needing replacement parts that I can't find online because they probably just want you to buy a whole new fucking Roomba and, also, that purple...object...which is a Dyson vacuum that I think used to be Jessie's and somehow it came to live in the little closet under the stairs but I never used it. Glen has used it to vacuum when we had fleas but I wouldn't touch it. 
Until today.
He'd pulled it out of the closet to get out a duffel bag or something and left it in the little nook beside the closet and the joke was that I was going to use it and I honestly did think I was going to. How bad can vacuuming be? Really? Many people do it regularly. And brooms are great but I will admit they don't get up everything. 
So today I actually plugged the ugly fucker in and after about five minutes of searching I finally found the power button (I am not kidding) and immediately remembered just how much I hate vacuuming. 
It did not help that the only attachment for this particular vacuum cleaner is for rugs. Or carpets. I don't know what happened to the other attachments but they did not come with the machine. I do not have carpets. I do have a few rugs. But mostly it's just the hardwood floors and I felt like I was scratching them all to pieces although I couldn't actually see any scratches. It annoyed the hell out of me though. I persevered for a few minutes before Mr. Moon got home at which time I told him that I still hated vacuuming and I was not going to do it and this attachment was not for wood floors. 
And a few more choice words. 
Now please understand. The man has never once asked me to vacuum or even wondered aloud why I don't. Mostly because I've told him at least a hundred times that I hate it. And because he's smart enough to know that bringing up my housekeeping habits is not something which would be wise or prudent to do. 
Look- I keep the toilets clean. And things are generally mostly tidy. 
And I sweep. And dust mop. Do I dust? 
Why do you ask? 

But I did vacuum (sort of) the guest room and also my bathroom which has many rugs, and our bedroom and then I unplugged the damn thing and figured out which button to use to make the cord suck back into its extremely unlovely body and I put it back in the closet and that is that. 

For the first part of my adult life, I had and used my grandmother's ancient (and I am talking either '30's or '40's) Electrolux which she replaced with a newer one before she got the dementia and forgot how to do housework or cook. It looked just like this. 

You will note that the wheel had not yet been invented and so it had runners. This thing was so heavy that my children called it "the dead pig." The hose would get clogged up after every five square feet of vacuuming at which point you'd have to get out the knitting needles and other assorted tools and see if you could somehow dislodge whatever was choking it. 
It was so loud that it would make babies and toddlers cry and send dogs run whining under the porch. 
Oh, it was a joy to use! 
This is probably why I hate vacuuming but I'm pretty sure that no matter what machine I had I would hate it. 

And that's my story of vacuuming for the first time in at least twenty years. Since I am now 71 years old, I believe we can safely say that there will be no more vacuuming in my future. 

I did spend a pleasant half hour sweeping the front porch and the side porch where the swing is. 

My plants look sorely neglected for one very good reason- they are- but they are living for the most part and I love their jungly presence. They are old and faithful friends by now. Some I would even call family members. 

I weeded the rows of carrots and greens on the north end of the garden which was not a whole lot of fun because the weeds are still in the tiny stage and I almost feel as if I should get out the tweezers instead of the trowel for many of them. I turned all four sprinklers on when I was done because despite that one rain we had this week, the dirt was dry as dust. There appears to be no rain in the forecast for over a week but it is going to be cooler so there is that. 

Here's a picture of some succulents I keep in the window of the laundry room so that I can admire them many times a day. The one on the left is from the bit I stole from an outdoor potted plant in Monticello which, last time I was there, I noted is still doing quite well despite my theft of one of its body parts.

And here's what the Spanish thyme I pinched (with permission!) from the garden at the restaurant where we ate for Lily's birthday. 

Gosh, I just love that plant. And the picture beside it is one Lily did and gave to me. Some of my very most favorite things are in that laundry room. The little dinosaur is one I found in the yard and you can see just the merest hint of a butterfly that Boud made. 

Mr. Moon and Gibson had a great time together today AND the truck is fixed! It wasn't the fuel pump, it was a fuse and miracle of miracles, Glen had some replacements in his tool box. There are other details about a water something, something, and batteries but the point is- it's running. And Gibson helped him. The sheet rock hangers did indeed show up and that was also a big relief. 

I have no idea how to end this mess so I'll just say-

Love...Ms. Moon

Could It Almost Be Time For The Duck?

My volunteer zinnias are finally blooming and I'm glad I didn't pull them because they are so pretty. It's somehow special to have brand new zinnias in October. I would love it if they would continue to bloom before the first frost. 
Speaking of which- go ahead and laugh at me but I am wearing a sweater over a long-sleeved shirt with long overalls (albeit light linen ones) and I'm still chilly because it's a brisk 67 degrees here in Lloyd right now which explains my chilblains. Okay, I don't really have chilblains but they could appear at any moment. 

Let me assure you that it's not just me who has such thin blood. I guarantee you there were people at Costco wearing fur-lined boots and down jackets today while alongside them there were shoppers wearing shorts, T-shorts, and flip-flops. This is the way of it here in North Florida where it gets as hot as it does in South Florida but is often cooler in the winter. And fall, of course. We just get so confused.

It's been gray all day long which has made it feel cooler than it really is because there's been no sun beating down on us. This made working in the garden far more pleasant. I didn't touch my sweat rag once! I knew I wanted to cut the field pea plants down to the root and gather the vines to compost. Legumes actually increase the nitrogen in soil by way of the nodules on their roots so it's good to leave those roots where they are as they decompose. And of course composting the vines and their leaves will eventually add back to the garden as well. I took a few pictures but since they're pictures of things not there, it's hard to get very excited about them. 

The absence of beans. 

More absence of beans. 

I also pulled some weeds, many of them betony or rattlesnake root, as it is sometimes called. I have a love/hate relationship with this weed. It is incredibly prolific but if the soil is loose enough and you are careful when digging and pulling it, you can get the white rhizome which connects the plants which is sort of thrilling to me and yes, I need to get a life. Supposedly the entire plant is edible, especially the tuber which it often grows which is supposedly a delicious, radish-like treat which can even be pickled. 
Hmmmm...
I just pull them and put them on the burn pile, wasting all that goodness. 
There is a lot more weeding that needs to be done and I will get to it but today was a very nice day outside and I felt as if I had accomplished something, getting the field peas out. They were spent, anyway. Or almost at least. 

In Maurice news, she left me the third squirrel tail in three days on the back porch this afternoon. WTF? This was ONLY the tail and some blood. The greedy little bugger ate the rest of the meat herself. It was a very small tail and I'm sure it was a juvenile squirrel. I suppose I should feel bad about this but we have so many squirrels. I don't mind squirrels at all. I do not call them tree rats as others often do. They amuse me, especially when it is their season of love, as they chase each other up and down trees and across branches. I am sure that mother squirrels love their babies as much as any mammal mother and that makes me feel a little sorrow but at least Maurice isn't murdering birds. As far as I know, anyway.
And I will say that I haven't had to add any cat food to her feeder in quite awhile. Perhaps she's trying to avoid processed foods. You know this cat is going to live forever. 

For those of you wondering about the fate of the bully pup, please be assured that he is part of an extended family now. He is Owen's mostly, and he has been given the name of El. The name of the road where he showed up is Ellis and also, there's something about Kal-El, which is Superman's real name or so I'm told. I believe I shall call him El Perro. The Dog. Although who knows? I could end up calling Boo-Boo. Frankly, I think his name should be "L" for Lucky. 

Mr. Moon has been quite cheerful today and so have I, actually. He's in such a good mood because he's leaving for Canada again on Tuesday, this time to go hunt ducks. A cabin will be involved! He broadly hinted that I should make cookies for him to take when he asked if I needed to add chocolate chips to my grocery list. 

Subtle, right? 

I told him I already had chocolate chips, and I do. And yes, I will make him cookies. He's going back up to his own cabin tomorrow to try and fix the fuel pump. He's taking Gibson with him because Gibson wants to do some target practice at the shooting range which they will do on their way home. For those of you who do not approve of kids handling rifles I can only say- I hear you. But it's also a chance for Gibson to spend some special alone time with his grandfather and I know he cherishes that. He really must want to do it because he has to be up and ready to go at 7 a.m. tomorrow. 
His grandfather takes him to target practice and I tell him that the god his other grandmother believes in and takes him to church to learn about and pray to is not real. 
What can I say? We are who we are. Not unlike Popeye who says "I yam what I yam and that's all that I yam." 

Martinis are being enjoyed. Clean sheets are on the bed. The doors and windows are open. All is well for now and I am so very grateful. 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love... Ms. Moon

Addendum

Last night Hank did a little research on the three people in this photo and left the results of that in the comments. I'd like to post them here because it is absolutely the right thing to do and Hank is completely correct when he says, "Let their stories be told and let their names be honored."

Hank has humbled and taught me once again. 

 

Dr. LaSalle Doheny Leffall Jr. was born on May 22, 1930, in Tallahassee, Florida, and raised in nearby Quincy, Florida, during the era of segregation. His parents, LaSalle D. Leffall Sr. and Lula Jourdan Leffall, were both educators and emphasized the value of academic excellence and perseverance despite racial barriers. His father was a professor of agriculture at Florida Agricultural and Mechanical College (FAMU), and his mother was also a teacher. He chaired the Department of Surgery at Howard University College of Medicine from 1970 to 1995 and served as the Charles R. Drew Professor of Surgery. In 1978, Dr. Leffall became the first African American president of the American Cancer Society, and in 1995, he became the first African American president of the American College of Surgeons.

Dr. Jessie Furlow was also from Quincy. I can't find much about her, but there is a medical center there that carries her name and she was well respected in her community. She passed away in 2006 at the age of 57.

Dr. William S. Stevens was born in Tallahassee in 1882 and attended Florida State Normal and Industrial College before graduating from Meharry Medical College in Nashville, Tennessee. After medical school, Dr. Stevens moved to Quincy where he made history as the first African-American doctor to open his own medical practice in the area. Dr. Stevens also operated a community hospital and a drug store, both for black people in the segregated area. However, Dr. Stevens’ success did not make him immune to the rampant racism pulsing through Quincy. At one point, local whites tied Stevens to a tree after he attempted to register black voters. He was not scared off. In 1914, the doctor’s good standing in the community earned him the title of Supervisor of the Quincy City Schools. In this role, he sought to enlarge the reach of the African-American Dunbar High School and oversaw a four-year improvement project in the late 1920s. Locals were so pleased with Dr. Stevens’ work to install new classrooms and an auditorium in the building, that they voted to change the school’s name in his honor.

Let their stories be told and their names be honored.

Carpentry, Geography, History, And Eternal Mysteries

Well, I made it to Georgia with no problems whatsoever. I GPS'ed it and off I went. I took the route that uses the interstate for quite a few miles because that took 59 minutes whereas the backroads-all-the-way-route took 1 hour and 26 minutes and I really do not want to spend any more time in the car than I have to. And besides, there are still some pretty scenic miles after you get off the interstate and into Quincy, Florida, which is just below the Georgia border and in fact, you don't even get a Welcome To Georgia sign on the back roads to the cabin. 
More about Quincy in a minute. 

When I got to the lake house, Glen was outside, working on the truck. As so often happens when people work on vehicles, he was frustrated. He tries to explain the things that are frustrating him and I nod and try to arrange my face in an expression of listening, as an expression of interest would really be asking too much, even of someone with my well-known and highly lauded acting skills. But of course I don't understand a word of what he's saying. I could not tell you where a fuel pump was on a truck anymore than I could tell you where Uzbekistan is on a map. I should be ashamed to admit that but along with a slight case of face blindness I believe I have a rather severe case of map blindness and if this isn't a real and accepted medical diagnosis, it should be. I have absolutely no sense of direction which I discovered about myself when I was still a fairly young child and realized that I could make whatever road we were on seem to be going one way and then, the other, just by thinking about it in different terms. Because of this, I STILL have a huge problem with feeling in my very guts that Vero Beach is north of Roseland whereas no, it is definitely not. It is south. And there is an ocean and a river, both, lying to the east of Roseland that can absolutely prove that point due to where they are located and I KNOW where they are located and could find them blindfolded but still...
The weird thing is, though, I can find my way around that area unbelievably well, sixty years after leaving there, despite the fact that I wasn't even close to driving when we left. 
Conundrum on conundrum on top of conundrum. 

Good Lord, Mary. Rein it in. 

Okay. So Glen gave me the tour of what he's been doing in the house and it is a whole lot. The picture above is of the bedroom downstairs which he has put insulation in. Soon the sheet rock will go over that and we'll chose a color to paint it. 
It already feels like less of a casket and more of a room which is a very good thing, I believe. The bedrooms upstairs are sheet-rocked and the beyond hideous wallpaper in the kitchen and hallway have been painted over. The cabinets are still ugly but I can tolerate that. 
As I told Jessie yesterday, "hideous" seems to be my new word and I swear to you- I doubt I used it once a year before we bought the log cabin. 
No need to elaborate. 

The porch is still beautiful. The lake still has water. And the downstairs bathroom is still gutted. But we discussed the position of where the shower door needs to go today and a few other things and it will eventually be a real bathroom. 

By the time Glen had packed up what he needed to pack up and we got on the road to home, we were both very hungry. It was about 3 o'clock. Quincy, the nearest town and on our way back home, is a very interesting town. It was once the richest town per capita in the United States with sixty-seven millionaires. 

I can't vouch for the complete veracity of this statement but from what I've read in other places and heard forever, it's the truth. Before the Coca Cola years though, Quincy still had quite a bit of wealth due to the growing of tobacco with labor from enslaved people. And that's just the truth and a very common truth in the south, as we all know. As always, white people got the money and the glory for what the Black people actually did and often died doing. 

These days Quincy is not thriving At all. There are still a few gigantic Gone With The Wind mansions in town but over the years, the once thriving and bustling little town has become far from wealthy. 

The economy of Quincy, FL employs 2.36k people. In 2023, the largest industries in Quincy, FL were Administrative & Support & Waste Management Services (375 people), Public Administration (339 people), and Agriculture, Forestry, Fishing & Hunting (275 people), and the highest paying industries were Utilities ($94,219), Finance & Insurance, & Real Estate & Rental & Leasing ($87,900), and Wholesale Trade ($58,750).

From Data USA

The population is heavily weighted towards Black and Hispanic people and that is fairly evident if you shop, eat, or just open your eyes in Quincy. Recently, since the use of medical marijuana in Florida was legalized, Quincy has acquired several large cultivation and processing facilities which I am certain have helped the economy. But you know- I am no expert on any of this and to me, Quincy is sort of a conundrum of its own. It is the perfect example of the fate of so many southern towns after the Civil War and yet, to me, it seems that there is something about Quincy that sets it apart and I can't even begin to tell you why. 

Back to Glen and me needing to find a place to eat our late lunch. There are ALL the fast food restaurants there (as well as a Walmart, of course) and there are also food trucks, many of them selling tacos. Google gave me the name of some actual restaurants which we have never tried but today we did. I picked out a place called CJ's Kitchen, Bar & Hookah because they were one of the few restaurants whose menu contained some foods that weren't fried. Not a lot, but a few, and a pretty good selection of salads. 

I have no idea about the hookah situation but the place was pretty darn cool. 

There was a full bar and tables, too. Most people, it seemed, were getting to-go orders. But we sat down at a table and it was a really good experience. There were two little girls there who were waiting with their mamas for their food and I so wanted to get a picture of them when they were playing right in front of this wall. 

But I did not. Trust me in that they were darling. 

I ordered a grilled chicken salad and Glen got a pork chop sandwich. The salad was good and his sandwich came exactly as a pork chop sandwich should be made and served. Two pieces of toasted white bread with a fried pork chop between them. This one was fancy with lettuce and tomatoes. My salad had fancy greens, quartered hard boiled eggs, onions, pickled banana peppers, pickled jalapeños,  tomatoes, a whole lot of very fine grilled chicken and probably a few other things I've forgotten. The lady who served us was attentive and friendly and the bar tender who was a a little distance away also kept checking on us. "Y'all all right? Everything okay?"

Oh yes. 

And I bet you that on a Friday or a Saturday night, that place is rocking. There was a whole other section that I didn't even look into plus tables outdoors. If I could be talked into going out on a weekend night it would only be if the destination was a place like CJ's. If I were only younger...

Across the street from the restaurant, bar, and hookah, is a very large mural painted on a brick building. 

If you look to the left that building, you can see the courthouse of the county seat peeking behind the trees. 

Quincy has it's own vibe. Good ones, only, are asked for. And it seems to me Quincy is a place unto itself that is All American, although probably not the way most people would think of an All American city being. 

I surely did not start out to write about Quincy, Florida tonight but once again- here we are. 

I'm glad to have my husband home. Hopefully, Maurice will stop bringing me squirrel parts. I found another almost-half a squirrel this morning on the porch placed directly on a pair of my shoes. 

Jessie and Vergil have made it to the mountain where it is chilly and beautiful and they are so glad to be there. 

And I'm sure Sophie is too, the nightmare of yesterday completely erased by the beautiful smells of the mountain, her best dog friend Maizy, and...the bears! Oh joy! 

Thanks for hanging in there with me for this one. 

Love...Ms. Moon 

Pottery Class And So Much More

Here's a picture Lily sent of the little guy from this morning. She was puppy-sitting. She said he was so sleepy but fighting it. However, in less than a minute, this happened. 

Still no word on whether or not his adoption is official, nor does he have a name. Unless both of those things have happened and I don't know about it. 

Pottery was fun today. I really do like painting glaze on pieces but I really do NOT know what I'm doing and by the time I got around to glazing my fish spoon rest, it was almost the end of class and I got sloppy. I admit it. I didn't take any pictures. Since today was the last class of this session, I'll either have to wait a few weeks to see what happens in the kiln or go by the studio and check earlier than that. I'll probably wait. There's no big rush here. 

 

Today's class was quiet, mostly, as people were focused on finishing up their projects. As always, I really enjoyed talking to the woman who has the suitor and getting to know her better. Since last week she's flown way far away to see her son and then flown all the way back. The woman has adventures! You know how I admire that. I've also discovered that she is very good at drawing almost cave painting-like pictures on her bowls which circle them perfectly. She does this with an underglaze pen and who knew there were underglaze pens? Not me. The pictures are so consistent that they could almost be taken directly from Greek ancient pottery designs. I'm rather amazed. I had no idea she possessed this talent. Next session I will see if she'll let me photograph some of her bowls and post them here. 

Jessie and I ended up spending a lot of time doing stuff this afternoon because Sophie had gone to the vet and groomer this morning and we were waiting for her to finish getting beautified. 
It took a long, long time. But we did a little clothes shopping (I bought nothing) and then went to TJ Maxx where Jessie got a birthday present for Levon who will be turning eight very soon and I know he will love it. LOVE IT! I shall not describe it here. I think I will wait until I can take a picture of it in all its glory. 
We both bought Epson salts and Dr. Bronner's almond soap in cartons in order to save the planet. You know. So yes, we went crazy. 

By then I was rather exhausted. As I've said, I never sleep well on the night before pottery and of course being out in public can use up my batteries pretty fast but finally, it was time to pick up Sophie and oh my god, that poor dog was so happy to see her mama. I held her on my lap while Jessie drove us back to her house and Sophie would have stitched herself to her human if she could have. I gave her all the grandmother love I could but she really only wanted Mama. When we pulled up to their house, she was ecstatic, jumped out of the car and raced up to the door as if being inside her safe and cozy and familiar place was the only thing in the world she wanted. 
I do understand. 

So that was my exciting day and I only took one more picture and I would post it but I think a few of you might find it too intense. I'll just tell you what it was. 
When I got home, I discovered that Maurice had killed a squirrel and generously and lovingly left me the tasty hindquarters (defined as everything below the waist including the tail) along with what I think may have been the heart lying on its own beside it in the dining room. 

Appropriate, right? 

Poor squirrel. I had to take a picture to send to Mr. Moon, which I did, saying, "And here I was, just wondering what to eat for supper."
"Oh holy hell," he wrote back. 
So those of you who are sensitive about things like dead squirrel hindquarters can thank me for not posting it. I guess I've lived out in the boonies with a cat so long that although I am never happy about finding dead wild game in my house, it doesn't make me shriek. I do come forth with a good, "Shit, god dammit!" but that's appropriate, right? 
I had wondered why Maurice wasn't excited about her late afternoon Temptations treat. Obviously, she was already full. 
Again, she's just worried, I think, that when the man is not here I will fall victim to starvation and she is trying to prevent that because I am the one who feeds HER. Or something. She does bring me dead things when Mr. Moon is gone far more often than when he's here. 

Speaking of the man, the sheet rock guys couldn't make it today (why does anyone trust the time frame of people in construction?) and he's ready to come home so I'll be driving up there tomorrow to fetch him. This will be the very first time I've driven up the cabin myself and I honestly have no idea how to get there. Well, that's not entirely true. I have a vague idea. But I'm sure that google maps or MapQuest knows and hopefully I will not get lost in the bowels and backwoods of Decatur County, Georgia in my little white Prius, looking for a dock with a log cabin and a truck in the driveway that needs a new fuel pump. 

Talk about your adventures...

I best take supplies in case I lose my way. 

Love...Ms. Moon