You Gotta Move

This morning I opened the online newspaper we read here, the Tallahassee Democrat. 
I read the first sentence and thought to myself, Steve Miller? 
There was a guy in my high school named Steve Miller and we always ended up sitting one behind the other because at that time my name was Mary Miller. We joked about being brother and sister. 
Anyway, I looked at the picture and damn, if that wasn't the Steve I'd known. He looks about the same now as he did in high school except he didn't have a mustache then. Still handsome. Maybe more so.
The article was pretty good and the reporter talked to others who are in minority communities who feel very threatened and frightened by what Trump and his lapdog, the governor of Florida, Ron DeSantis, are doing. 

Steve and I lived in Winter Haven then. It was a fairly small town known mainly for citrus, Cypress Gardens, and being the City of One Hundred Lakes. Most of the Black residents lived in a community called "Florence Villa"and that was the way it was. Steve and I were in possibly the eleventh grade when our schools were first integrated and I was thrilled by the prospect of our country finally moving forward when it came to civil rights and equal rights although I knew that not everyone felt that way. 
It was a tenuous time and that first year was a year of unease. It seemed, however, at least from my own privileged white girl perspective, that overall the change was positive. That the new students were being accepted and that what had once seemed impossible, was now appearing to be cautiously positive.
Of course I don't know what those students went through daily as they walked through the halls to get to class. I do know that many of them went out for sports and were soon dominating both basketball, football, and field and track. This did not hurt with their popularity and by the time my class graduated, a Black guy named Larry Hardaway was our class president. 
So there really was progress made although I know there were incidents which occurred that were disturbing and I am sure I didn't know the half of it. 
But Steve Miller and I became friends. He was so outgoing and friendly and I was so open to a friendship with him. He would ask me how to tell a girlfriend that he wanted to break up with her without hurting her and I finally ended up writing letters that he would copy and give to these ladies and I seriously doubt that any of those letters made anyone's heart less apt to break. I honestly think, though, that he and I had a pretty deep affection for each other. We were friends, or at least the best friends a white female and a Black male could be in those days. And reading how he has become someone who has been a strong voice in his community and who is now a strong voice in the protest of Trump and his policies, I am proud of him and I sorrow for him. He has always been strong and the baby steps society was taking in the early 70's was part of a lot of growth and understanding and here we are, 2025, and there is a grave possibility that this administration will erase, or at least attempt to erase, the results of the constant, never-ending, brave and dedicated work that so many people like Steve have spent their lives doing. 

And what have I done today? What has Mary Moon, nee Miller, accomplished? 
Nothing. Oh, you know me. I did a few things. Beans must be picked. But mostly I spent watching stupid Reels on Facebook, time spent that I will never get back. The most non-challenging way a human could spend their time. And I do not feel the better for it.

I remember when I first moved to Tallahassee. I had quit college in Denver because I was in a very deep state of depression (which I did not understand then) and because of about fifty other reasons and I had chosen Tallahassee because it was in the South which I missed desperately, near the water, far enough away from my family of origin to feel relatively safe, and mostly because I'd met a guy back in Winter Haven over Christmas break whom I figured I was in love with and he'd said, "If you hate Denver, move to Tallahassee! You can live with me!" 
And so I did. 
Unfortunately, it turned out that although I felt that I loved him desperately, he did not have the same feelings about me. And there I was, in a town in which I did not know one soul aside from him with nothing but my pressure cooker, a rocking chair, and two parakeets, in a profound depression with no plan, no place to live, no job and no skills, and no desire whatsoever to go back to school. 
There is a lot to this story and obviously, it turned out just fine but there was a period of time there where I found myself living in an apartment with someone I did not really know but who just needed a roommate, with no job, no place to go either day or night, and nothing at all to do beyond the most basic self care of feeding myself and keeping my laundry done. 
It was one of the lowest points in my life. 
And ever since then, I have felt so strongly that in order to have even a shot at happiness, I need to be busy and productive. 
Let me add that although the boyfriend broke my heart so bad, he did introduce me to some of the most amazing human beings I've ever known or will ever know, who took me in, enfolded me into their lives and families, and that's probably why I'm still alive. 
Also, the not-boyfriend and I are still friends and always will be. Same with his wife. 

But when I have days where I cannot motivate myself to get things done, I get the same feeling I had when I lived in that apartment with the stranger, feeling estranged from everything and anything and everyone and anyone in the entire world. Feeling as if I have no purpose or meaning in this life, in this world. Even though I know that's just a shitty lie my brain tells me and that mopping the kitchen is not required for me to be worthy of the air I breathe.

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

Hawk is back, perched, as always, on the old playset tower that Mr. Moon built. I have become accustomed to this bird and its routine. Another being with whom I share my yard, my tiny world. Another set of eyes, far sharper than mine, on everything that goes on in that part of the yard. It is somehow a comfort.

Jessie reports that there is a mama bear and two cubs who have been in a tree beside their camper all day, probably not coming down because of the barking dogs. 
Oh, Sophie. You are a labradoodle. Well, one of those doodles.

Can you see them? 

Mountain life sure is different than North Florida life. 

Love...Ms. Moon