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?
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.
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.
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-
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.
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.
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!
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.
This morning Lily sent out a group text with this picture in it. Also- this one.
And she'd written, "Good morning! Mom I found you a new buddy. I think you need him."
Oh my Lord. Is that the cutest pup you've ever seen in your life? And although I do not now nor will I ever again want another dog, how could I not want to snuggle that darling little blue bully (for surely it is a bulldog, or at least ONE of his parents was), to rub his darling face with my own, to scritch that place between his velvet ears, to hold him like a...well, a baby! I said it. He is a baby. He is a beautiful little baby bulldog. He was whimpering outside of Owen's room last night, and he'd already given the little guy a bath and tried to rid him of fleas which he was infested with, and he was staying at Lily's house this morning because she was the only one who could come home on break and feed him and take him outside. I had to laugh at Hank's response text which was, "The dog distribution system was very efficient this time around," meaning that Lauren's dog Chloe JUST died and here is another pup to love. Lily says no. They are not ready for another dog yet and that Lauren wouldn't even hold him because she's wise to that trick.
Jason says the people at the beginning of the road they live on have let their dogs become a sort of wild pack and thinks that pup might be one of theirs but he's not taking it back to them because it's obviously not been taken care of. So. Discussions are ensuing. Jason said originally that no, he is not keeping him but Lily thinks the children will convince him otherwise and Owen has said he'll be responsible for him and since he'll be driving soon can even take him to obedience classes. And Lauren says he can come over for visits.
We shall see how this all plays out. WHY ARE BABIES SO DANG CUTE?
So we will love them, I guess.
It's been a much better day for me despite the fact that when I got up Mr. Moon had already left for the cabin. I knew he was going but didn't know he'd be gone that early. He told me he woke up and was just too anxious to sleep. He's got at least five very important projects going on at once right now and has a million things on his mental list of to-do's and if I know him he's got at least six actual lists going at the moment too. He'd left me a note saying he loved me and that if I need him to call him and he will come home. I know that to be true but there's a little problem with that plan in that on his way up there, hauling a ton of sheet rock and other things, the truck broke down and he had to get towed so he'll be up there with no vehicle and no way to come home if I DO need him although I'm sure he'd figure it out one way or another. Plus, I have four kids and their partners who would come and calm me if I needed that. And I doubt I will. I'll probably be driving up there on Friday to get him. He's pretty sure it's the fuel pump on the truck but I have no idea if that's an easy fix or a hard one. One more thing for him to do.
Jessie and I met at Costco where I got to see the Beautiful Brenda. I just love hugging her so much. She is a light in this world. Jessie and I both needed vegetables and a few other things which we got and then we went our separate ways because she had a doctor's appointment to get to.
I needed to go to Publix, of course, both to shop for a few more groceries and to pick up some prescriptions. That went fairly smoothly and when I got home, before I even put anything away, I went through the refrigerator and pulled out leftovers that I knew needed to become compost.
Jessie texted me to see if there was any way I could take a new rescue hen of hers. They're going out of town this weekend and she doesn't want to keep the new hen in the coop she'll keep her other hens in while they're gone. At first I was like, "No, no, no. I just can't." But then I started thinking about it and I said, "Well, let me go out and see just how secure the coop is." It's been quite awhile since we kept chickens in there. By the time I'd walked around in the run and ducked into the roosting/nesting house I was feeling such a pull to take the pretty little thing.
I knew full well what that would mean. One cannot have one chicken. Two hens are not enough either. Three is getting there and when you have FOUR, which will happen, and you live out in the country where no one cares, you need a rooster too. And the desire to have a tiny flock again flooded through me despite all my protestations. Chicken love is deep and it is real. BUT. There are two places in the roosting structure that I feel are extremely vulnerable to either raccoons or possums, both of which will kill a chicken in a heartbeat or a hen-step. So until Glen can attend to those and perhaps do a little sprucing up of wire and wood, I don't feel right about bringing any here. And that is not going to happen any time real soon.
I don't know quite what came over me. Perhaps it was seeing that precious puppy and realizing that I am missing having an animal or animals that I can love on and take care of who probably won't scratch my eyes out. Although I do truly have a deep affection for this cat no matter how insane she is.
She has stayed by my side when I was sick or in pain. She sleeps with me when she feels like it and is always a comfort, curled up in such a way that I can feel her warmth, her softness. She follows me around outside and let's be real- who among us does not appreciate that level of attention and interest? She came out today when I was watering the porch plants. I didn't get a picture of her but I did get a picture of this.
A bird's nest fern which I discovered last week and then remembered this week, has what appears to be an entire colony of ground bees or ground wasps or whatever you want to call them, buried in amongst the roots and how can there even be room? I don't know but when I water the plant, they pour out of the pot like grease from a hot skillet when you're cooking bacon. So far they haven't seemed to connect me with the unwanted showers but I'm not counting on that forever.
Does it seem like there's always something trying to kill both man and beast in Florida? Well that's because there is.
Pottery tomorrow and I feel fine enough to go. Thank the powers that be. That was a short one.
We finally got rain this afternoon. It didn't last long but it was a good strong pour-down and I swear I could hear the dirt taking it in with thirsty gulps. And right this second it looks like we could get some more. So grateful. So very grateful.
It's been a not-great day although I am feeling better now than I have been. I knew I had to take a walk when the damn morning weeping commenced. That's always a good indication that moving my body would be in order. Of course, when all you want to do is curl up with a blanket over your head, taking a walk is about the last thing you want to do but at this point in my life, I know that it will help. I wasn't out for enjoyment but I did make myself notice and register the wild flowers. The only picture of them I took was this one.
The same spotted bee balm I have in my garden right now and those two daisy-looking flowers on the right are commonly called "Spanish needles" or "Butterfly needles." They get the needle part because if you walk through a mess of those pretty little posies you will come away with little black stickers that are almost impossible to remove from clothing or shoes. And right in the middle of that arrangement is a spunky little smilax vine which will cut your skin like razor blades if you aren't aware of them when you're hiking or weeding. They grow everywhere here. And they are rooted so deeply and firmly that my theory is that they are all coming from the same root so the smilax plant in Lily's yard is the same smilax plant in my yard.
So. The walk mostly made me hot and caused my hips to ache but I guess I felt better, mentally. After I ate my lunch I curled up on the little sofa in the library to read a story in the New Yorker by Annie Proulx and then part of an article on James Baldwin but my eyes got so heavy and I gave in and put the magazine down and pulled the lap quilt that lives on the back of the sofa over me and closed my eyes. I did not sleep but it was restorative I think, to get almost to the brink and then float about in that land, even if I didn't settle down into it. Maurice came in at one point meowing at me, probably because she never sees me lying down in the daytime. Glen also came in to have me initial a contract and so there was no real sleep but just being in that room with all the books around me made me wonder why I don't do that more often. Probably because deep down I do not feel that I deserve such a beautiful room with shelves of books. But even if I don't deserve it, it's a damn sin not to enjoy it.
I finally forced myself up. I bought okra a few days ago to make gumbo with and I was determined to do that although I truly did not want to and I will admit this is not the gumbo I will be remembered for. But the slicing and the chopping of the vegetables and the stirring of the roux and making broth from the shrimp shells made me feel a little more human. My kitchen is a scene from a disaster movie right now but that won't take too long to restore to order.
Here are two photos of things you have seen on this blog seven thousand times. At least.
The firespike has definitely fulfilled its purpose if its purpose is to make scarlet flowers for hummingbirds and bees to enjoy.
And the golden orb weavers are still fulfilling their purpose too.
It is raining again, but not with as much conviction as it did earlier. That's okay. Every drop counts.
I will clean up the kitchen now. I will feel better tomorrow.
And Mr. Moon just came home from town with flowers that he put in the same vase with the pinecone lilies and I think they are beautiful.
I woke up this morning to find this photo in my messages. It came from the contact I call August/Levon now that they are sharing a phone. A phone with a pretty bad camera. This was also waiting for me.
o
I assume my doter had just gotten home from her night shift.
I had no idea whether it was Levon or August who'd sent me this treasure trove of pictures and text. I replied anyway, "Thank you! You have a beautiful mama! Is that a real lizard?"
The answer came back, "No, that is a 3D printed dragon."
Well okay then. I have no more idea about how one goes about making a 3D printed dragon than I do about how I would go about making a 3D printed space station. It turned out my morning correspondent was August. I think I will be sad when those two boys tire of the novelty of using their phone to send texts to their grandmother. Any clue I get from one of my grandchildren about what's going on in their brains is something I enjoy a lot. And of course, just the idea that they might want to interact with me on any level is precious.
I am not filled with words today. I think I am going through something and I am not at all sure what it is or what the root cause is but I had another small panic attack this afternoon and yes, I'm pretty darn sure that's what it is. All the symptoms I have fit right into the panic attack profile. Mr. Moon was here and he held me and that helped tremendously and he got me a half a tiny Ativan to take and I suppose that helped too but not as much as his presence. He understands these things, having gone through them himself at times and although I wish he hadn't, it makes me feel as if he knows what I'm going through and that it is quite real. I am certain that the stress of living with the news that gets worse and worse every day of the cruelty and horror of what the administration is doing is part of this whole situation for me. That stuff is a constant and it escalates so often seems it can't be taken in before the next unbelievable thing happens. All of that is like a dank gray blanket constantly blocking out the sun and whatever joy I may have so that any added worry or fear, however illogical, just kicks the whole panic process into high gear and here we go. Yes. I should quit obsessing about the news which, by the way, I only get online, but if I try to back off, I feel even more anxious because how can we be prepared if we don't see what's coming?
Here- I saw a pileated woodpecker right beside the back porch this morning, loudly tattooing a rotten pecan branch for whatever it is that lives in a rotten pecan branch. I dug more crocosmia out of the dirt in front of the fence. I planted some chives in growing bags. I texted with my grandson. The seeds in my garden are all coming up and it looks like rain and I can hear birds calling for it but I doubt we'll get much, if at all. Still. I know there will be rain again sometime.
I have snapper and field peas to cook.
I have a partner who is my safe harbor.
These things are all good and all real. I will try my best to hold on to them. I will try my best not to check every two hours to see if anything has changed for the better to give me even the tiniest sliver of hope for change.
I came across this cartoon in an issue of the New Yorker yesterday and it absolutely and perfectly captures everything I hate about a doctor's office. Everything that gives me anxiety so profound that it goes into panic. I feel fairly certain that no one enjoys that twenty (or more) minutes waiting on the end of that exam table with either your front or your back exposed, the tissue paper that you've already torn just getting settled up there, looking at those horrible pictures of guts and bones and organs and knowing that there are really scary metal tools and lists and lists of things that could be wrong with you but for some of us, it's not just unpleasant, it's a complete nightmare and hell yes, our blood pressure is going to be high which will be the first thing wrong with us and god knows what else they'll find.
I don't have a doctor's appointment coming up until the end of November but that is too soon for me and plenty soon enough for me to start freaking out and so when I saw the cartoon I had to take a picture of it. It sort of makes me anxious just to post the damn thing but it had really hit home and made me aware that I am not the only one who finds all of those things quite stressful.
It really has no relation to anything I experienced today except for the fact that I think I did have a small panic attack or it could have been a small neurological event, hard to tell sometimes, but I feel pretty okay now. I wish I wasn't crazy.
I was going to just work outside today as it's been cooler but Hank called and said that he and Rachel were going to go to Monticello for lunch and a look-around Wag The Dog and would I like to go? Well, surely I would like to go. And Glen was invited and he came too. And so did Jessie, August and Levon. They'd already been to Chess Club at the library and I was so glad they could fit us into their schedule. We decided to eat at the Mexican restaurant of course, and the place was packed but no problem! They set us up in the adjoining cantina which is a cool and colorful little room.
No one else was in the room so we had the place to ourselves. The boys immediately decided they needed to watch the football game playing on the TV behind the bar and so they did. They joined us at the table when the food got there though.
Oh, that Levon. August's hair was pretty wild today and we all told him we loved it. Which we did. The food was good, the company excellent. We love that place and are always happy to go back.
Jessie had to get on back home so she could get some sleep before her shift tonight but Glen and Hank and Rachel and I went to Wag and did a look around to see if there were any treasures we needed. No one scored big today. Rachel got a tiny teddy bear and a spice organizer and I got a little, not very special bowl, and two small spools of ribbon because I like to use real ribbon to wrap presents with. And tie back curtains with. And so forth.
Our across-the-street neighbor is coming over in about half an hour to watch the FSU- Somebody-I-Don't-Know game on the TV and he's bringing grilled chicken thighs. Glen wanted to have vegetables to snack on and so we drove to the Winn Dixie in Monticello which we discovered was not open due to the fact that Aldi's has bought that Winn Dixie and it's in the middle of being remodeled. This means the only option for buying groceries in Monticello at the moment is the DG Market which is, I kid you not, Dollar General's attempt at providing a place to buy food in food deserts. It's not a very great attempt. They have exactly ONE cold area which is not very big at all with a small amount of produce. The entire rest of the coolers, freezers, and shelves are filled with processed products. Well, they do sell milk and orange juice, butter and other dairy products but those too are mostly processed. It was horrifying and a very clear illustration of why Americans are so often overweight and unhealthy. Anyone who has no idea why people would eat so much junk has probably not been to a small town in the South although I imagine it is much the same in many very small rural counties throughout the country.
So many people just have no idea of the realities of poverty. Some of the people in Jefferson County can indeed afford to drive to Tallahassee to go to a Publix or Costco or Walmart for food and there are also so many people in the communities in our county who don't have a car to begin with or can't afford the gas to make the drive. And so they go to the GD DG Mart and buy frozen pizzas and hotdogs and sodas and white bread and chips and ice cream and perhaps a bag of baby carrots if they're feeling in need of a fresh vegetable.
Let me just say that we do NOT live in the greatest country on earth and anyone who says we do is either ignorant, out of their minds, or blind. Or all three. And as we all know, things are only getting worse and are only going to get worse unless something major happens and happens soon.
**********
The game has begun, our neighbor is here. The vegetables are all cut up, the baked beans are in the oven. Maurice is hanging out in the cradle with what I am sure she does not see as her friends although wouldn't it be enchanting if she did?
But what do I know?
Not sure what I'm going to be doing this evening but you can bet your bottom dollar it's not going to be watching a football game on TV. Maybe I'll work on my Florida jigsaw puzzle for awhile and then get in bed and read. I'm about a third of the way through an Elizabeth Strout book, "Tell Me Everything." I will admit that I am having a bit of trouble keeping up with the many characters and their own specific stories but I do enjoy Strout's very unadorned style of writing, the way she keeps everything close to the bone and doesn't do a lot of fancy stepping. I suppose this is appropriate for her characters who are mostly from Maine and tend to be direct in their words and their actions. Quite a contrast to the book I recently finished, Ian McEwan's "What We Can Know" which the NYT's described as ..."brash and busy, it comes at you like a bowling ball heading for a twisting strike." I do not disagree with that assessment.
As always I am just eternally grateful that my childhood dream of always having enough books to read has come true in my adult life. There were never enough for my greedy self when I was a child and so I ended up reading anything I could get my hands on from the backs of cereal boxes to my mother's "Good Housekeeping" magazine to "The Reader's Digest" to "National Geographic" to the encyclopedia. I have a very strong feeling that many, if not most of you know exactly what I'm talking about.
May all of us always have all the books we need to read and all the books we want to read.
That's as good a wish for everyone that I know of right this second.
