Laginappe

Well, as so often happens, a reader educated me tonight. The Oak Island of treasure hunting fame is off the coast of Nova Scotia, not North Carolina. 
Sheesh. 
I'm going to bed. 

Take A Breath

I should have tried to get a more cheerful photo today of Maggie and Levon and also one that August's entire self is in. I suppose I thought I'd get more before the visit was over but forgot. Magnolia had a sleep-over with the boys last night and according to Jessie all went quite well until this morning when the kids were jumping on the trampoline and tossing about a frozen water balloon which Levon accidentally hit Maggie in the head with which made her cry. The drama of the episode was still being maintained when they got here for a little visit and a frozen pizza lunch, and she was not happy about anything, really. Jessie told the kids that no, they could not look at Maggie's phone but instead needed to play with real things and none of them were especially happy about this. I was remembering the last time the three of them were here and the very cool things they made with the Lincoln Logs and how the four of us sat on the little love seat in the library and I read them a book and then we all read another book, taking turns with each page. I was thinking this visit would be just like that but of course, no, things happen, things change, and mostly I believe they were all tired, probably from staying up too late talking. 
Ah well. Kiddos. 
The boys loved the frozen pizza but Ms. Magnolia informed us that she hated pepperoni and even when I offered to take it off of part of the pizza before I baked it, she said she didn't want it. I offered to make her some cheesy macaroni which she usually jumps on but no, that didn't sound good either. 
Eggs? Ever since she was a little one she has asked me to scramble her eggs. But again, no. 
I had a piece of leftover snapper from last night and told her I'd heat that up for her. She always asks for fish when she spends the night here but today she turned it down.
Oh well. I'm sure she ate when she got home.

Jessie brought me the boys' school pictures which I immediately stuck on the refrigerator. 

Mitchell, I swear- if you ever came to visit me, I would take each and every single thing off the refrigerator before you got here. You would go insane if you saw it the way it is now. 
And after you left, I'd probably put most of it back. 

It was great to catch up with Jessie. They're leaving on Wednesday to go to Oak Island, off the coast of North Carolina, to meet with Vergil's family. I did mention this before but I wasn't sure where they were going. I just sent Jessie a link to the Wikipedia page about the curse of Oak Island and the TV show they made out of two treasure hunters looking for legendary buried riches. 
Spoiler Alert- they didn't find them. 
Which of course means the treasure is still out there to be found! Perhaps the Weatherfords will find it. Wouldn't that be awesome? Nothing like the possibility of finding buried treasure in my book. 

When they were all leaving, I gave the kids a bye-bye treat which was five M&M's apiece. Bizarrely, not one of them complained about the paltry offering but just kissed me and said thank you. Well, I sort of had to make Levon kiss me but not in an icky way. More like in a "Give me a kiss, kid!" way whereupon we barely touched lips which was fine. Maggie even gave me an unasked for hug. Perhaps she was relieved to be going home. Adventures are great, but home is best. 

And right after they left, Mr. Moon left too. He's gone up to the cabin to do...stuff. They're going to deliver the metal for the new roof tomorrow and he needs to do something to the sheet rock before it gets painted and hell, I don't know. He tells me. I try to listen. I'm not very successful. I packed him some frozen chicken stew and a sort of Mexican pork stew along with a pork chop supper meal on a plate, leftover from Saturday night when Gibson slept over. So he won't starve. 
The man got back from Canada a week ago yesterday and is already off again. He'll be back on Wednesday though, in time for Thanksgiving. While he was home he got all the bills paid and dealt with all the things I don't deal with when it comes to finances and...whatever he does and I really should know more about that. He and I both washed a lot of his clothes, he got some good meals, he received and gave many, many hugs and kisses, he spent some time in his chair with his cat on his lap, he took two grandsons to a basketball game, he checked on Tom, he did something with his trail cameras where he hunts, he took a different grandson hunting and to breakfast, and cleaned up the kitchen after I cooked at least three times. 
Where the hell does he get his energy, his passion for life? I wish I had a little more of those things myself. 

I was going to make a plain pecan pie this afternoon and even got out the recipe and took the butter out of the refrigerator and did the math on making one pie's worth of pastry dough but I just couldn't make myself do it. I have no idea why. 

But I did some mending/patching of my old, old Levis. 

I hadn't hit my stride there yet but the patch will hold. 

And this tiny one, which I love. 

That's a piece of the flannel I used for a blanket for Maggie, I think. Who can remember? 

I discovered today that Maggie may be taller at the age of nine than either of her brothers were. Also, that her hands are the same size as mine. I have proof that when her mother was eleven, her hands were as big as mine and we thought that was pretty remarkable. 

That's a ceramic handprint plaque that she made me when she was in whatever grade you are when you're eleven. 

My hands look sort of beat up, don't they? 
Well, that's because they are. 

I guess I'll go cook an eggplant. I do have leftovers in the refrigerator but I don't want any of them. Not sure I want eggplant either but its days as a viable food source are dwindling. 

Tomorrow I absolutely have to go to Costco and to Publix. Wish me luck. I'll check in tomorrow if I survive. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Deep And Shallow Thoughts As Well As Uncombable Hair Syndrome

I tried to take a picture of a little green anole on my porch table lamp this morning but the little guy would not stay still while Maurice had no problem with that. You know I've had a pretty unexciting day when the only picture I take is of the cat. 
See those two different sweaters on the chair? This sort of sums up how the weather's been here lately. When I get up, a nice cashmere cardigan is the way to go and by ten o'clock, I have to take that off and perhaps put on a lightweight cotton sweater-like garment and by eleven, I've shed that too. I was literally sweating this afternoon while I was sitting and doing some mending on the back porch where it was 82 degrees. It's only supposed to get up to 78 degrees tomorrow so- whoo-hoo! Glen suggested we go swimming today. I wasn't that interested but I am certain there were people who were down at the Wacissa, enjoying the water on this unseasonably warm Sunday. 
The draught continues. We got a spit of rain yesterday, not even enough to dampen a leaf, and the sky looked bruised and filled with the potential for a storm but it was a false and teasing promise. Supposedly, it may rain on Wednesday and then possibly the temperatures will drop to a more comfortable range. 

Fascinating, Ms. Moon! Tell us more, please!
No. I will not. I refuse. That's all the weather discussion you're getting from me today.

That picture was taken eight years ago, according to Facebook. Those were the days when we thought perhaps August had Uncombable Hair Syndrome which is really a true thing. 

Either that or he was running on a stronger electric current than most of the rest of us mere mortals. That was Thanksgiving Day and he had just woken up from a nap. We could not help laughing (in the most loving way possible, of course) and I'm sure he was confused about why he was suddenly the subject of our unwanted attentions. We still talk about August's hair on that day. It is now one of the most cherished of family legends. Every family has these and hopefully, they are the kind that make us laugh. Fond memories. And I'm pretty sure that every family has certain words and phrases that came from a young'un's mispronunciation or misuse of a word or two or else were just so honest and heartfelt that we've all adopted them and use them, decades after they were first said. These are some of the tender stitches that hold a family together. Our own private jokes and memories, still remembered, still cherished, still in use.

Marriages can have these private memories too that make us laugh together, take us back to times and days when our love was new and fresh or even well-seasoned and mature. Things we experienced together that still have a lot of meaning for us, indicating that those experiences were important somehow, even if we didn't quite know it at the time. 

The other side of all of this, of course, is that we all have memories of times and things that bring us pain to remember. That we shy away from taking out of their dark drawers in the hidden places of our hearts. That we mostly do not talk about. And whether this is healthy or unhealthy, I do not know. Some would say it is best to let the dead bury their dead but sometimes, it is freeing to admit the pain, to name it, to bring it into the light to take away its power. 

Well, as usual, none of this is what I sat down to write. It's been a fine Sunday here in Lloyd. No ducks were killed in the making of that adventure but the he-man breakfast was enjoyed. I just wandered about doing the little things here and there which was fine with me. And now I'm going to go cook some red snapper and probably grits and a salad with avocados and tomatoes and onions. 
Gibson enjoyed last night's supper, I think, even the delicata squash, baked with apples and raisins. If you've never tried a delicata squash, please do. They are so creamy and so sweet and so...delicate...you can eat the skin and definitely should. 

A question- I am thinking about doing a dry brine on my turkey this year. Have any of y'all done that, and if so, is it worth the effort? I've always just sort of thrown that bird in the oven after I've stuffed it and baste it now and then. I'd like any informed thoughts on the matter you may have. 

Thanks. 

Love...Ms. Moon

A Day Of Seeing Dear Ones

It really has been a very nice day. I got a text from Liz Sparks (how many Liz's can one lucky girl have?) this morning asking if it would be a good time to come out for a porch visit? We hadn't seen each other since last spring, I guess, when she was getting ready for a summer of journeys, first to England for a family wedding and then across the US to visit family and friends and friend-families and see some sites and take some hikes and do all the things that Liz does which is A LOT! 
Also, because she is smart, she scoots out of Tallahassee before the stupefying heat of summer falls upon us, rendering us all  sweat-soaked, miserable, and no good for anything that doesn't involve a cold river. 
It WAS a good time for a porch visit. I had absolutely nothing planned. And it was so good to see Liz at my door. It was a little after noon and I was hungry. I asked her if she wanted to go to the Hilltop for some lunch and she said she did and so off we went. It is not very far at all from my house to the Hilltop. 
We got our lunches and brought them back here because the tables out back were filled with other folks eating their lunches. We did indeed sit on the back porch and caught up with each other. She told me about her travels and how, at the end of month three she was really ready to come home but her house was rented out for that next month and it was still way too hot here and she traveled on. She told me that after driving days and days and days across states that were flat and treeless and barren of people, she yearned for green trees with Spanish moss in them and most of all- Wakulla Springs. 
She also missed her Tallahassee people. And she has a lot of them. 
I will tell you this- we are richer here when she is home than when she is not. 
I feel so comfortable with her. She's just one of those people. They are few and far between. They are rare and they are precious. And that is a good description of Liz. 

It was decided this morning that Gibson would be spending the night with us. Duck hunting season begins tomorrow and so Mr. Moon will be getting up in the very, very dark to go out to wherever it is he duck hunts and Gibson wanted to go with him. So it just made sense for him to come stay here tonight. 
And guess what? 
Owen drove him out. 
Oh my sweet Jesus. Owen's first trip to Lloyd, driving himself. 
Maggie came too but she wasn't in the mood to get out of the car. She was going to the park to play after she and Owen left here and she claimed she needed to "save her energy."
By this she meant, "play a game on her phone."
Oh sigh. 

All right. Look at this.

My tall guys! Owen isn't the only one getting taller at a ridiculous rate. Gibson is well on his way to joining the Moon Gene Club. 
And I made Glen take this.

I look like a little old hunchbacked lady but whatever. Those boys make me feel tiny. And come on- I am not THAT short. About 5'4" which is fairly average for a woman, or at least was back when I was born when the dinosaurs were busy inventing dirt. 

Before Owen left, we all went out to the car and made Maggie get out and visit with us for a little while and give us some Maggie hugs. She was pretty amenable about that and reminded her Boppy that SHE wants to go fishing with him soon and it would make sense to her to spend the night like Gibson is tonight, and then get up the next morning to go out on the water. 
I agree. It's funny that her mother and her Aunt Jessie also love to fish with Mr. Moon as does Mr. Moon's sister, Brenda. His sister Dee Ann loved it just as much before she left us way, way too early. So that will have to happen. 

Before Owen and Maggie left, Owen opened the trunk for Maggie to get her doll out to get ready to go to the park with her. 

I love so much that Maggie still plays with dolls which, to my mind, sort of offsets the games on her phone. 
"I treat her like she's a real person," said Maggie. I told her I completely understood that and that in fact, when her Boppy is out of town, I sometimes bring one of my dolls into bed with me. 
She looked at me with disbelief. "What?!"
"I do," I said. "She brings me comfort."
I am sure the child thinks I am insane but that's nothing new. One minute I'm telling her I don't believe god is real and the next I'm telling her I sleep with a doll sometimes. 
And you know what? These are the types of things I hope she remembers about me. I really do. Well, those and my ability to make the best pancakes. 

Speaking of which, poor Gibson will get no pancake breakfast from me tomorrow. He and Glen will eat some sort of sausage biscuit when they get to the duck place and afterwards, all the hunters will go out and have a real he-man breakfast after which they may sleep the rest of the day. Well, at least the older guys. 

Several of you have said that Mr. Moon is beginning to look like Santa Claus. To this I say that to me, he looks like the Greek god of the sea, Poseidon. 

Yep. There's a true resemblance there. 

And here we are together.

Amphitrite and Poseidon. 

Although I suppose that if we had to be Mr. and Mrs. Claus, it would not be so bad.

But you know, I do hate Christmas and I do love the sea so... 

Also, Mr. Moon hasn't got a tenth of those wrinkles. 
So...

Love...Ms. Moon

Friday Night

The blooming Christmas/Thanksgiving cactus I bought is bringing so much color and life to my laundry room. I'm glad I bought it. I wonder what it will look like by this time next year after I've had time to put my succulent curse on it. For now though, I am just enjoying it. 

My appointment with Zorn went fine. I just spent about an hour writing about it and the discussions we had but I've deleted all that. We know I'm a fan girl of the young and brilliant and funny doctor. No need to do a blow-by-blow of the entire thing. 
I will say that he gave me two referrals, one for a different dermatologist and one to get a second opinion about my kidney stones. Turns out there are options for retrieving or removing them and I'd like to hear about that. 
He showed me pictures of his kids and when he got to the baby girl, I lost it. She was the prettiest little thing you ever did see.
"Oh!" I said. "Will you give her to me?"
Rather unbelievably, he won't. 

I have another appointment in six months because this is how he does it. 

Oh. I forgot to say that when he had done his magic trick of getting me up on the exam table before I knew I was even headed in that direction, he took my blood pressure himself with the sphygmomanometer that lives on the wall instead of the portable device the tech uses at the beginning of the appointment that they strap around your arm and hit a button, and which always indicates I should probably be in an ambulance on my way to the hospital, and when he was done he said, "Your blood pressure is fine."
I've never had a physician whom I've felt so comfortable with. 

There is a good chance that this man will be the one to take care of me unto death. I hope so.

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

Meanwhile, here's a picture of not only Mr. Moon and Levon at the basketball game, but Vergil and August too. 

The boys have been on the Jumbotron twice already and I bet they are thrilled. What could be better? Plus, popcorn for supper. 

One more picture of the blooming cactus.
We're ready for your close-up, Ms. Succulent. Look this way. Hold it. Hold it. 

Click! 

Perfect! 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

I'm Too Tired To Come Up With A Title

This is a picture I took at the bookstore in Apalachicola when I was there with my girls almost two weeks ago. I have talked about this bookstore so many times and how much I love going there. It was actually a book and needlework store, selling books, of course ranging from literary best sellers to kid books to books about local history, along with very fine yarns and needles and other cool things which I could never pass up buying at least a tiny bit of. The owner was a lady about my age I guess, and over the years we developed a sort of affection for each other. The last time I was there, she too had discovered visible mending and we nattered on about that for quite a while as we'd both been enjoying doing it. And of course she had books on the subject. Beautiful books. We always discussed books, too. 
So when I went in the store with Terry, expecting to see my friend behind the counter and instead there was a youngish guy showing great exuberance and the store looked completely different and the wools and needles were gone, I felt devastated. I was almost afraid to ask what had happened. But I did. Turns out Young Guy had bought the bookstore and so he was the new owner and when I asked about the yarns, he said they were being sold next door at the art gallery. 
Well, shit. 
We went over there and again- no sign of the longtime owner of Downtown Books and Purl. 

I guess she just got tired and I hope she got a great offer. I wish I could have said good-bye to her, though. I bet she has no idea how much I loved visiting her and buying books and fondling all the soft wool and buying some of that too. It was always a highlight of any trip to Apalach. 

Today has been about doing a little Thanksgiving preparation. I made the cranberry relish which is so easy and is all done in the food processor. 

Raw cranberries, an orange, an apple, pecans, sugar, and a little salt. Mix it all together and keep it in the refrigerator for a week or so, stirring it daily. 
I also made two chocolate pecan pies, one for Thanksgiving, one for Lauren's birthday which is coming up soon. I'll freeze both of them and take the Thanksgiving one out next Wednesday. Lauren told Lily that she wanted that pie for her birthday dessert and I was happy to make her one. It truly is one of the richest pies ever to be made. 

I don't even want to tell you what all's in it but I will say that not having had more than a bite or two since May of anything even resembling that, I'd probably die if I ate an entire piece. Even a small one. Of course whipped cream must be involved. But I'm happy with how the pies turned out. The pastry seemed a little weird but it stayed together for the most part and I think it's fine. 

One would think that just doing those two things wouldn't be much of a difficulty but I am pretty tired now. I'm not as spry as I used to be. I look back at all of the many, many Thanksgiving meals I made mostly by myself for god knows how many people and I have no idea how I did it. I do know that there were times when by the time the food had been served to the masses, all I wanted to do was sit on the back steps with a bottle of rum, sipping and crying until I could bring myself to go eat something too. 
This is not an exaggeration. 
But this year won't be like that. I've done two of the things I'm going to bring and the angel biscuits (or rolls, I haven't really made up my mind about this), as well as the turkey and stuffing will all be made on the day although I'll probably get the giblets out of the turkey the night before to make stock with and oh yes, of course there will be the gravy to make and the cream to whip and I'll need to make the cornbread the night before Thanksgiving to make the stuffing with. 
But that is it! I swear!
Sigh. 

We had a visitor a little while ago. The dog from next door showed up as she had done once before. This is the world's friendliest dog but I take it she likes to roam. She came right in the cat door and I welcomed her in and she did a little exploring, tried to eat all the cat food, and had some big slurps of the cat water. 

I called her owner but she hasn't called back yet and Glen actually put the dog back outside. "But, but, Caroline hasn't called me back!" I said. 
"She will. She's been out calling for her. I heard her. Don't worry!"
What? On top of that cluster fuck, Maurice took one look at this poor sweet pooch, spit, hissed, and instead of running away, followed her into the kitchen. A minute later, Maurice jumped with all four paws ON the dog and tried to kill her I guess, and so that's why the dog is outside and also why there was some blood in my hallway. I was indeed impressed with Maurice's bravery, even if I did not condone her attack. That cat did not stand on her hind legs and mess around with her front paws, she gave it the full five means of attack all in one go. Twenty claw-talons and all her teeth. 
Oh god. 

Tomorrow I see Dr. Z. at 10:30 so I am a bit of an emotional wreck although I have experienced worse pre-appointment anxiety. I hope he and I can have a nice little chat about his five children or politics or whatever. The man loves to talk which calms and soothes me, I have to admit. 
I really love seeing him, I just wish the visit didn't involve blood pressure cuffs and scales and exam tables and stuff like that. Couldn't we just go get coffee? I could draw clock faces and identify rhinos and tigers just as well at a coffee shop as I can in that office of his. I'm not actually sure if this is one of those cognition test appointments or not which is probably a slightly disturbing sign that I need one. 

Well, by this time tomorrow the appointment will be long past me and we'll be enjoying our martinis and there will be clean sheets on the bed. 
God I love routine and ritual, especially the Friday ones. I hold on to them like a drowning woman holding on to the side of the lifeboat until her fingernails bleed. 
Really.

Love...Ms. Moon

P.S. I was just informed there's a basketball game tomorrow evening and Mr. Moon will be taking Levon. Levon told me about this during our phone call the other day but he wasn't sure when the game was. 
So. Forget my routine with my husband. But as we all know, I am becoming quite adept at making my own martinis which is really not that hard. I will struggle on alone. 

 

Painting Ouside The Lines And The Secret Life Of My Backyard

I know you were all just dying to see a picture of the shrimp salad and there it is. And it was good. We will be having leftovers tonight. I want to tell you that the avocado you see there has been in my refrigerator for probably a month. Not a speck of brown in it. Discovering that avocados can be kept in the refrigerator for at least a month without any spoilage is not exactly what I'd call a life-changer but it's close. You just can't let them get very ripe before settling them to sleep in the vegetable bin until you are ready to wake them up, slice them up, eat them up.

Pottery today was very enjoyable for me, despite the fact that I accidentally broke the tip off of one of the petals in my latest flower bowl before it was even fired. And a tiny part of the tip of another flower had come off on its own. 
Well tarnation! 

Lizzie suggested that I could sand the tips down so that they didn't look broken and our teacher said that was a good idea but also, there's something called bisque fix which is a sort of glue made from clay slurry which is a mixture of clay and water, shredded toilet paper, and vinegar. Both of these remedies require the piece to be fired first so I put the bowl and the tip-pieces on the shelf with all of the things waiting to go into the kiln. So all may not be lost. 

I then proceeded to work on glazing my newest fish spoon rest. I worked on that the entire two and a half hour class and still didn't finish it. I'm trying to paint the underglaze I'm using on it with a small brush but either the brush sucks or I have zero eye-hand coordination because the scales I painted today are all over the place. Just...really. Oh well. I have decided that I will call myself an "outsider potter," just as there are outsider artists. Or perhaps, simply a folk potter. Whatever and however I define myself, being outside of the lines is pretty much who I am. Or who I think I am. 
I also realized today that although I went into pottery thinking that I wanted to throw bowls on the wheel, I'm not sure I would be so happy with that. Also, I simply cannot get as excited about glazes and which ones were used on this piece or that piece as almost everyone else seems to be. I mean, I really like glaze, but debating the pros and cons of speckled glazes does nothing at all for me on a personal level. 
This is obviously a case of not knowing enough to know what I don't know. 
While I was painting outside the lines and whispering, "Shit, shit, shit," Jessie was creating a work of damn art, decorating a very fine bowl she made with carvings and the painting of different types of citrus on it. She is the sort of artist who makes things come alive right before your eyes. I am astonished at what she brings forth. 

As always in pottery, I enjoyed talking with the other women and also, listening to a conversation between two table mates, one of whom is always very, very quiet and who seems to withdraw into total concentration of what she's doing and she is a very fine artist. She and another woman got to talking today, though, and they realized they were in related fields of work, although the quiet lady has retired. I was amazed to hear that she'd been in the military before she started working for the state. 
It was such an eye-opener to hear this woman discuss subjects with the other woman which I would never in this lifetime have associated with her. And yet- that was her life's work! 
Last week, I told Jessie as we were chatting that I needed to go to Michael's as I wanted more embroidery floss. The woman spoke right up and said she had so much at home that she would never use and could she bring me some? 
Of course! 
And today she brought in a box with I don't know how many seemingly brand-new skeins of the thread in gorgeous colors. 
"Take as many as you want," she said. I was overwhelmed. How very kind of her it was to not only offer to give me that thread, but also to remember to bring it. I doubt I picked out a tenth of what she had but that will be plenty to add to my pleasure in my visible mending and whatever else may strike my fancy to do. 

So class was a good thing and I got to talk to Ms. Lizzie whom I now realize gives absolutely terrific hugs. It's always good to see her. 

After Jessie and I ate lunch, I dropped her off at her house and got a picture of her with Miss Sophie who really is, as Jessie says, a pretty, good dog. 
She is both pretty and good. 

You could not ask for a dog with a sweeter or better temperament. And she is amazingly soft and lets me pet her for as long as I want to and I know doing that lowers my blood pressure. I have no doubt. I wish I could bring her with me to doctor's appointments. 

I stopped at Publix and got my turkey which I have put in the refrigerator in the garage in hopes that it will thaw before Thanksgiving so I can stuff it and roast it. Tomorrow I plan to knock out a few of the things I'm going to make for the dinner. 

I've been meaning to show y'all two pictures that Glen got from a trail cam he set up in our back yard.

Now that, my friends, is a fairly healthy mature buck. And there he is, right here, not a hundred yards from our house. Why he and his friends and family have not eaten everything in my garden I do not know. Perhaps arugula is a natural deer repellent. 

And then we have this.

It's the second photo he's gotten of a well-fed looking fox. What do you think, Steve Reed? How does a Lloyd backyard fox compare to a London backyard garden fox? 
Knowing that we absolutely do have at least one fox, if not more, on the property dashes my desire to get more chickens. 
DAMMIT!

This is what I had feared. 

And as usual in this point in the evening, I will say, that is enough of that except to add that Mr. Moon's return has been smoother than it sometimes has been. 
"I want to go back to Roseland," I just told him when he came to give me a kiss. 
"Let's go then," he said. 
I think we still like each other. 

Love...Ms. Moon

If This Is TMI, Forgive Me But It's All Real And What Women Do

Guess what I did today? No, I didn't get a mammogram. I had one of those fairly recently. I went for my yearly pap which I guess I still need because I'm on the hormones. I was completely stressed out all day before my appointment which was at 3:30 because that is what I do and how I do it. Once the weighing and blood pressure were taken care of though, I was pretty much fine. I like my Ob-Gyn and he never makes me feel uncomfortable, plus we have some nice chats. Both of us have appointments with Dr. Zorn on Friday, he at 8:00, me at 10:30, and so we discussed him and how both of our entire families go to him as our GP's. My gyn said he's known him since he was a kid which makes sense because Dr. Zorn's dad and uncle were both surgeons in this town. He also said that Baby Zorn, as the nurses sometimes call him, is one of the smartest people he's ever met and if that doesn't spark confidence, I don't know what would. 
So that all went well. 
I took the picture because this was the first exam room I'd ever been in that had a tiny dressing area with a curtain that closed as well as a mirror. For those of you who have never had a pelvic exam, you have to get out of your clothes and into a gown, paper these days, and wait for the doctor to come in. You also are required to fold your clothes and stack them so that your underwear is on the bottom because god forbid that the doctor who is about to put a speculum in your most feminine of places should see what sort of panties you wear and what condition they are in. There really isn't a requirement but I think that probably 100% of women do this. 
Last year I tore my paper gown before the exam which I will probably never get over because it was impossible to preserve my modesty although as with the speculum, there is no modesty left to preserve after all is said and done as the doctor does a breast exam as well. Today, however, I handled my paper gown with respect and care and so it was all in one piece which made me feel better about things. 

That stained glass window was a nice touch. It gives the patient something to look at as they are being invaded and having cells scraped. 
The whole appointment took probably less than fifteen minutes and that included another chat involving the doctor's plan to possibly retire soon so that he and his wife can go travel. I told him he should. 

Now I am waiting for Mr. Moon to get home. His plane should be landing in Tallahassee very soon and then he'll have about a forty-five minute drive home. Or less. The fact that he's getting home has also caused some anxiety. What would I cook him for supper? Oh Lord. That's pretty lame, isn't it? But it's more than that, it's a roiling of the  waters of calm and solitude, another opportunity for me to wonder if he will still love me, if he will still like me, if I will still like him!
I go through this every time without fail. Forty-one years on and still I do. I'd say I was a drama queen and perhaps I am but I am also the queen of expecting the worst possible outcomes in all situations. 
La-di-dah. As with my fear of medical appointments, this is me. 

Due to the appointment and having laundry to fold and so on and so forth, I've skipped answering comments and I am sorry about that but I am done with panic for one day and trying to fit it all in would definitely agitate the fuck out of me. I've picked salad greens and now I must boil eggs and shrimp, chop vegetables and cook the pasta that goes in the salad, as well as peeling and cutting up the shrimp after I've boiled them and making the goop that is the salad dressing. I always forget how long all of this takes. One would think that making a salad would be quick and easy but one would be wrong. 

Okay. So here's another picture of me. 

Two in one day! Am I becoming a complete narcissist?
Those are the Levi's I ordered last week which came today. These are real jeans without stretch in them and they are 501's so they button instead of zip and although they are still a tiny bit too tight for complete and utter comfort in the waist, I have faith they won't be for much longer. They are also very baggy in the hips and thighs because this is how I am made and age has not changed that except to make it worse. I sent the picture to Jessie and she tells me that the baggy thing is in style now and that she likes them so I am glad to get her approval. 
Sorry about the expression on my face. I look like, well, I don't even know what I look like, but so what? As the gyn said today after the exam, there is no magic potion to stop the process of aging. 
Just what you want to hear from your gynecologist. Am I right? Well, he is aging too and I'm sure he realizes that, thus the desire to retire, and it didn't make me feel too bad. Not really. Maybe a little bit. 

Glen just texted that his plane has landed. I better get busy with the salad. I have told Maurice that the dad human is coming home. Once again she pretended that she neither understood what I had said nor did she care about what I'd said which of course she understood.  

Pottery tomorrow. Yes, I am abandoning my husband who is just returning after two weeks away but I feel he will probably forgive me. That man has a lot to catch up on and I'm not just talking about kisses. 

Love...Ms. Moon

P.S. I just realized there is a toilet in the background of the third picture. 
Sigh.
Well, we all have toilets if we are lucky. And we here at Casa Luna definitely are. 

An Important Realization. Thank You, Jessie

Everything is so very dry here right now. The bananas may have died back anyway in the freeze but everything else should still be green. I am watering my coconut palm as well as the Turk's cap that Ellen sent me but even the chenille plant which I thought was indestructible is withered and crackly-looking. The leaves on the azaleas are drooping like the head of a man who has fallen asleep sitting up. The hydrangea's leaves are curled and their branches look entirely dead although they're not. They'd be losing their leaves anyway at this time of year but somehow this year they seem to be sad in a way I've never seen them. Anything I don't water looks to be suffering but I keep telling myself the plants are merely doing what they must do to conserve their energy during this time of draught. 
I hope that's true. 

I decided today that if I didn't get out of the house I probably never would be able to again. I've been wanting to go to Goodwill and Jessie said she wanted to go too and we met for lunch before we hit the racks. It really was good to get out and interact with other human beings. We talked for a long time over our salads before we started our thrifting treasure hunt. I honestly thought that maybe I'd shop for some jeans but as Jessie had warned me, there are no good jeans at Goodwill. They're all stretched out (almost all jeans have a great deal of spandex in them now) and are cheap brands and she was right. In a way I was glad of that because I didn't have to go into the dressing room and try any on. 
Jessie is known in this family as "Mean Aunt Jessie" which, on the one hand, is hysterical, and on the other hand, is true. That girl will set you straight although she tries to be gentle with me. Mostly. Today I think she was trying to convince me that there are other types of pants that are probably more suited to me than jeans but I was not to be moved. She'd hold up nice linen britches to show me, the kind with rather free-flowing legs and so forth and I'd just shake my head. She looks great in this type of pants because her legs are as long as the Mississippi River and although for my height, my legs are long enough, I am very short-waisted and feel like I'd look like a complete dork in them. And why that matters is beyond me. I guess I'm just not ready for complete dorkahood yet. 
At one point she showed me a track suit which did, I admit, have a very interesting pattern to it and asked me if I was ready for the track suit portion of my life. 
I had never considered this but after I did, I decided that no, I was not. 
In other words, I didn't get any pants. Nor did I find a new hoody which I need because I've lost my good one. Which I got at Goodwill some years ago. 
We shopped the housewares and I found a plate to add to my collection of mismatched china and I love it. 

I would take an entire set of that pattern. 

But they only had one plate. So I bought it. 
I got two new placemats which I do not need in the least. They are yellow. And Jessie found me a new-in-the-box set of pottery tools which I really do need as I have pretty much destroyed the original beginner's set she got me when I started taking pottery. These new tools are also cheaply made but they are new which makes them better. 

And that was the sum total of my shopping today. 
Sigh.
My new Crocs have arrived though, so that's something. 

***********

While Jessie and I were having lunch, she said something that caused me to have an epiphany. Something so obvious and which I sort of already knew, but not in the precise way I can clearly see now. We were talking about the fact that her daddy is coming home tomorrow and how him being gone for two weeks seems so weird but that he seems so happy hanging out the guys in the woods, doing guy things like hunting and eating steak and Lord knows what.

And what she said was, "Yep. He has an entire separate life, doesn't he?"
"Yes," I said, "he does."
And I had never really thought of it that way. My husband has an entirely separate life from the one he lives here with me. I am not saying this is a bad thing. Perhaps we all have separate lives in one way or another. 
But Glen's separate life is so very removed from the one he lives in Lloyd. He is responsible for no one when he's up in Canada while here, he is responsible for me and for our children and for our grandchildren. Not entirely but he feels he needs to keep watch over all and make sure everyone's okay as best he can. He's not responsible for anything that goes on at Moon Plaza and if a tenant calls him with a problem, he calls a plumber or electrician or whoever needs to deal with the problem from right there in Canada instead of heading out immediately to go see if he can fix whatever needs fixing. He is not constantly reminded of the repairs that need doing here. The bills can wait. And so forth. 

And all of this is good. I think the fact that he takes this time for the other life is probably going to extend the years of his life. Lives?

BUT, what my epiphany was, is that the dreams I have so frequently of my husband having another woman who loves to hunt and fish and drive pick-up trucks, as well as another child they share, is how I have framed the real other life in a way that perhaps is more understandable to me. In the dreams he doesn't tell me that he's leaving me for the black-haired bitch but rather it is implicit that I need to share him with her, just as I know I have to share my husband with this whole other world he can shape-shift into as easily as I can sit down here and enter this world of writing which is my other life, I suppose. 

And somehow this realization is comforting. My husband is not leaving me for this imaginary hot huntress any more than he is leaving me for the woods and the world of men. 
He is not abandoning me. He is simply enjoying doing something he loves that really has nothing to do with his love for me or our family or our life together. 

That was a lot. I feel like I just spent a month in therapy. 
Will I now not ever feel jealous of the fact that he can go off and live in a completely different world? 
I doubt it. 
But I can recognize where the feelings of jealousy come from. 

And by this time tomorrow if all goes well, he'll be home, shape-shifting with ease back into the world I share with him. 

One more thing- a musician I have admired for many years died a few days ago. His name was Todd Snider and he was only 59 when he transitioned, as they so often say in the obituaries around here. The cause of his death seem to be a little hazy and I know he had some problems which prevented him from taking care of himself the way he should have but that doesn't mean he can't be mourned, doesn't mean his life and work and talent can't be celebrated. He was touring behind his latest album which was entitled High, Lonesome, and Then Some, when he died. I've written about him before and if you want, you can read that that HERE. The post was more about the Rolling Stones than it was about Todd Snider but they are indeed tied together. 

There are many news articles about his death but here's NPR's obit. 

Bless you, Todd. You surely blessed us. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Pretty Darn Good For A Sunday

When people ask me what I write about on my blog I never know quite what to say so I usually say, "My life."
That's a pretty broad description though, isn't it? I write about the things in my life, the things that make up my life, the people who are in my life. I write about food and politics and religion and music and books and the little community I live in here in North Florida. I talk about the hard things that happened to me as a child and the things that have saved my life over and over again. I write about my yard and what I do in it, what I see in it. I write about my garden and what pleasure it brings me to grow food for us to eat. I write about saints and assholes and demons, mental illness, worries, fears, and things I hope make people laugh and I write about my cat and my kidney stones and what I make for supper. I write about marriage and my husband and I spend way too much time talking about some of these things. 
Oh well. 
I almost never know what I'm going to write about when I sit down at my laptop. I'll usually have a photo that often triggers a thought, a memory, an experience, an idea, an opinion. When my life is very quiet and I am spending a lot of time at home, the photos can become uninspiring, to say the least. I use pictures of Maurice way too often because she is always here and when I am alone, she is my companion, the being I talk to and cuddle with, the pain in my ass, a comfort to sleep with. 
And I took the picture up top there today when she was nested on the sheets I'd used to wrap my plants when we got the freeze last week. I'd brought them in and set them in the green chair with the crazy scarf I got at the hospice resale store because there was no way I wasn't bringing that home. She napped there for hours. I believe she knew she looked good. Green is a beautiful color for redheads and gingers, don't you think? Not to mention the jungle theme going on which I am sure she believes she's a part of. 

Today has been a much better day than yesterday. I have felt reasonably content and happy and open to life in ways that I definitely was not yesterday. I am so glad. I would like to say here that when I discuss sexual abuse or being triggered or any of that stuff, I am definitely not looking for sympathy. I've been living with this shit since I was nine years old and sometimes things happen that bring the emotions back in full but I am always and forever aware that I have learned to cope and soon enough the mechanisms by which I do that kick back in and I feel better. I am also aware that there are a horrifying number of women, and also men, who were abused as children who live with these issues, some so damaged and who are not able for whatever reason to get the help they need or perhaps do not respond to any sort of treatment, whose lives are an absolute nightmare. I am one of the luckiest survivors, I think. 
I just happen to talk about it. 
But don't cry for me, Argentina! I have lived through it, learned to live with it, and have a pretty amazing life. 

So that's that for now. 

Now this is a pleasing photo, isn't it? 
Hahahahahahaha! 
Yesterday and this afternoon I got out the garden cart, my trowel, gloves, and clippers and got back to work on the bed in front of the fence to try and clear it of crocosmia which we all know is my main hobby and also, impossible to achieve, thus ensuring the fact that I'll always have something to do here. We are so dry that the dirt is powdery and easy to dig through, probably because of all the many, many years of leaf mulch. So I trowel and then go through the loosened dirt like a miner looking for gold in a stream except that I am looking for those stupid bulbs in the dirt. I am now wondering if I might plant border grass in these areas which also takes over spaces and can choke out almost anything. It can also be cut like grass so it can look fairly tidy. Replacing one invasive plant with another doesn't sound like the wisest thing to do but needs must, as you Brits say. Well, I think you say that. 

I washed the duck today as well as the quilt. It's not going to be as cool at night for the next week or so and I may have to take one of those things off the bed. I do like a plethora of covers but I don't like waking up and feeling like I've been miniaturized and am roasting in an Easy Bake Oven. 
I have a story about an Easy Bake Oven but I'm not in the mood to tell it tonight. It is not a happy story and so I shall leave it for another time. 

Here are two pictures that I took while working outside. They are both of trees across the street from me and what I was looking at when I raised my head from the dirt and roots and bulbs I was so focused on. 

I am so very, very grateful to live in a place where I am surrounded by such holy beings. 
And also, to have neighbors like the man whose name I think is John Henry who drove by on his green bicycle today, holding a Slushie, who called out, "How are you today?" and I said, "I'm GOOD! How are you?" And he said, "I'm fine!" and he smiled as bright as could be, waved his Slushie-holding hand and pedaled on down the street to his place. 

It's a decent life. Not always too exciting but often quite pleasant. 
And oh! Levon called me today. We had a good conversation. He got to see a white tiger yesterday and they are very rare! I know this because he told me. 
Also, basketball is going well. I was glad to hear these things as reported by my youngest grandson who was born a full grown man in a baby costume. His mother reports that he is pushing every one of her buttons. I assure her that one of these days he is going to be a mama's boy and worship the ground she walks on. 
She is not convinced. Time will tell. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Trigger Warning: Sexual Abuse Of Children

Here's what the pizza looked like last night before it was baked. 

And here's what it looked like on my plate. 
It was gourmet! 

And all of that was good and fine from the making of it to the eating of it but today has been not great. 

I had a very hard time making myself get out of bed. This is not my normal. I mean, I love to laze about for a few minutes but then I get up and get going. This morning I could not think of a good reason to leave the warm, womb-like comfort under the covers. Maurice was laying on my legs, as if to say, "Hey, be a cat with me. Sleep all day if you want."
I did eventually get up, of course, and I thought about those memes telling us that sometimes getting out of bed in the morning is a feat of almost super-human strength. 
They do not lie.

I'd had a dream and it is still pretty sharp and clear. It was about the house my mother, brother, and I lived in in Roseland which my grandfather had built for us. Eventually, the stepfather moved in too, when he and my mother were married which is when the abuse began. Immediately. It's like in marrying the mother, he now had a right to the daughter as well, or least in his own twisted mind.  
In the dream I went back and explored it again after having done a brief walk-around it last month when we were in Roseland. I wrote about that HERE.
Unlike on that day when I could see nothing of the interior of the house, in the dream, the inside was accessible, and although everything was a bit dark as if viewed through sunglasses, I could see the terrazzo floors, the pine paneling with its knots and grain and it looked exactly like I had remembered/not remembered from when we first moved in. The bathroom had the same horrid beige tile bordering tile speckled with beige, and the pass-through window between the kitchen and living room had been boarded up. There was someone with me in the dream and I do not know who that was. They seemed to be a neutral presence and I told them about how the terrazzo floor had been created and how Ralph Holzclaw, who'd done the electric wiring, had been there the day they plastered over the walls and he expressed that this was a stressful day because if he'd made mistakes, it would be hard and expensive to fix them. 
How and why do I remember things like that? I believe I was about six years old. 
So I told this neutral person, this unrelated witness, all of these things as we went from room to room but we could not get into the bedrooms and I was disappointed and I was vastly relieved.
We went outside and where Granddaddy's house had been (and still is) they were leveling the lot, the jungle having been removed, and were going to build some horrible thing there. I was so upset but I knew this was how it is and I felt deep grief. 

I have a completely different dream version of Roseland than what it actually looks like and it always involves so much new construction, the changing of the river, and a huge population of people who have moved there and live in those newly constructed apartments and houses and eat in those newly opened restaurants and who have the boats that clog up the river. 
I hope with all of my heart that the house I lived in does not become a part of that dreamscape. The brown house. The place that was ruined forever by a man who abused a little girl. 

Which brings me to what's triggering me right now and I suppose you can guess what that might be. Do I even need to say it? 
Those files. Those e-mails. 
Those men. 
I would like to say that if this is the thing that brings Donald Trump down, if it crashes the entire travesty that his evil empire has engendered, it's all worth it but you know what? 
It's not. 
I think about the men who raped and abused and bought and sold children and who have gotten away with it for all these years and I am enraged. 
I think about all of the little girls who got caught in this net of horror and were completely unable to escape and what they suffered and how they suffered and how they still suffer and what they still suffer and what they will always suffer and I want to see every one of those men tried and found guilty and imprisoned for life. 
And they won't be. Trust me. Some may get some country club jail time but most will slip under the velvet rope of fortune and privilege and fame and influence and the very fact that they are men and you know that's true. 
But here's another part of the atrocities- every girl who was bought and sold, every child who was abused and raped had a mother and a father who allowed this to happen. I do not care what stories those parents were told or what dreamy, beautiful lies they were given or promises made. Any parent who allowed their child to fly to that island, to party with grown men no matter their names or positions or status, any parent who turned a blind eye to any of that played a part in allowing it to happen and was a participant too. 
This is probably an unpopular opinion but it is mine. 

Here's another thing- we all KNEW Trump was involved in the pedophilia but the thing that is going to probably take him down was the fact that he may have had consensual sex with a former Democratic president. That, doing gay things, is more horrifying and disgusting to so many people (mostly men) than what was done to children. 

And this is what I've been thinking about today which probably explains why it hasn't been one of the best days of my life. 

But I'm still here and will be tomorrow, most likely. 

Let's all take care of ourselves, okay? 

Love...Ms. Moon