There Ain't No Fun Without The Funk

I took that picture of Maurice yesterday as she was lazily attempting a bit of a grooming. I only wish she'd use that emory board on her claws. I thought she looked so pretty. She's laying in the exact same place right this very second but she's not even pretending to try and pretty herself up. She is asleep. 

She's probably exhausted due to the fact that her daddy's home and she's had to completely reorder her thoughts on that whole situation. She has to adapt when he leaves and then readapt when he comes home. 
I understand! It's not easy! 
We'll both survive. 

So I was reading the online edition of the Tallahassee Democrat today, which is the local paper, and on one of the inside pages I found this article:

When I saw the words "Lake Seminole" I knew I definitely needed to read what they said about the lake the log cabin is on. 

Yet one more reason to love the place! 
In reality though, snakes are much like alligators in that some of them can kill you but mostly they don't. Alligators are generally easier to see, for the most part. Snakes aren't fond of showing up unannounced where people are hanging out. 
I tell you the snake I'm most afraid of and that's a water moccasin, aka, cottonmouth. I was going to post a picture of one but even just looking at photographs gives me the willies. They are not a pretty snake. And I don't care what anyone says, those fuckers are aggressive. Most snakes just aren't. They will bite generally only in an extremely threatening situation. They would rather just slither away. But I've seen water moccasins stand their ground and strike out. 

Let's face it. Florida is out to kill us.

So I sent that article to Glen and he was very defensive about it, pointing out that every body of water in Florida probably has the same number of snakes as the lake his dock is built on. He's probably right, but Jesus. Seeing it in black and white was not reassuring. 

I decided to go to town today today. And I didn't even need to do any shopping! But I'd read an article, also in the Democrat, about a new antique market that also sells handmade items and home decor things and I figured I'd go look and see what they had. 
The place looks deceptively small from the outside. Just sort of a regular storefront situation.
But my god! There were hallways and rooms and more rooms and more rooms and more rooms and it all went on for miles and to be honest, everything in there was so grossly overpriced that I couldn't believe it. And not everything there are antiques, either. A lot of the stuff was just cheap shit you could buy at Home Goods or TJ Maxx although I'm sure they'd deny that. Much of what they have is reproductions. I saw a little table that I liked the look of, took a drawer out and realized it was probably made in a factory in China. I saw a rattan chair that was, I do believe, authentic, and I liked it although it wasn't upholstered in bark cloth like it should have been, but just a yellowish canvas, and they were asking $495 for it. 
There wasn't one thing in all those rooms that I felt as if I must have. Or even vaguely wanted. 
But the store was clean, the goods were clean and not funky, although come to think of it, being "not funky" isn't exactly a plus when it comes to vintage things. Not always. 
They also have a little coffee shop area and an area where you can get- wait for it! A high tea!
Just the ticket, right? 
Someone has sunk a ton of money into that place on the space alone. They have different vendors but I can't imagine what the build-out must have been like or what the utilities cost or how they think they're ever going to even break even. 

Here's a lamp I sort of liked.

It reminds me of something Morticia Addams would have had in her parlor. I couldn't even find the price tag on that one and no, I did not bother to ask. I really and truly did not see one thing that was priced at what I would have considered a reasonable amount. I saw a purse that I was attracted to- it was my style- and I picked it up and by golly, it was made by the same company that makes a few of the purses I've gotten new at Marshall's only this one cost almost twice as much as what I'd paid for new. 
Neither antique or vintage. Just...used. 

I am so bitchy, aren't I? 

Well, yes, but in this case I'm only telling the truth. I went in there with a good attitude, hoping that it would be a place I'd want to go back to. 
But nope.

Also, it had that scented candle, potpourri-ish smell. 
Just no funk at all. 

No fun at all either. 

So Mr. Moon is home and back in his chair. I know he's exhausted. He said he's been up and down the stairs at the lake house a hundred times. And probably most of those times he was carrying wood and/or tools. Or god knows what. He picked up the stove, dishwasher, and microwave today and hauled them to the house and got them inside. I'm interested to see what the fancy new-fangled stove is like to cook on. The old Tallahassee, family-owned business where we always get our appliances can't get the basic model stove we wanted for at least four or five months and so Meghan, from whom we've bought many appliances, did right by us with a much updated stove for their cost and Glen, having been in the selling biz most of his life, checked it out and yes, she was telling the truth. 

I have no idea how to cook on a thing like that but I suppose I shall learn. Otherwise, I'll be building fires in the backyard and cooking in iron skillets and dutch ovens. 

We know that's not going to happen.

Anyway, that's all I did today. 
Nothing constructive at all. 
I guess I'll go cook something on my gas stove that I do know how to operate and it will not be leftovers of anything either Glen nor I have eaten. This will be a change. 

I'll be reporting in again tomorrow. 
Probably. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Butterfly lily. 
The blossom looks and smells like the wings of angels. 
I swear. 

Who Knew?

Is that not one of the saddest things you have ever seen? 
I think I may have done what I had considered impossible to do. I may have actually killed a sago palm. I mean, the cone is supposed to look like that after it has done its job in the fertilization of female sagos but not one new frond has appeared since I cut all the old ones off. I did the same to the others and they all put out new growth which is growing vigorously so perhaps it's a male thing. Or perhaps it's not dead at all, it's just taking it's own sweet time to show some new green. 
Honestly? If it is dead? 
Great! 
And the other palms throw out new pups all the time that I could dig up and replace that one with. I do not know if "pups" is an actual botanical word but again, I do not care. 

Woke up from another emotional dream this morning which mostly would not require the services of Dr. Freud to analyze. It was set in the house that my brain created a long time ago which is filled with rooms, all frozen in time from days gone by, with all the things in them, furniture, light fixtures, cosmetics, clothing, jewelry, hats...all of it...still there, undisturbed. A veritable museum of a house. I hadn't dreamed of the house in a very long time and I had missed it so that part was fine. In this dream, however, there were many, many people there. We were throwing a party of some sort, or Mr. Moon was. I was running around trying to get everyone into a room, making sure that sheets and towels were clean, despite their age. The house is so wandering and oddly built that it's easy to get lost in it, which I frequently do in these dreams, and did it again in this latest dream. There are staircases leading to work places and even a department store which is still in operation. 
Oh my. It was really too much. There is more but if I related it, you would know far more about my current fears, worries, and insecurities than even I am willing to share. But even though I am not unaware of my fears and foibles, sometimes a dream will just hammer it all right home. 
At least mine do. 

So that was sticking to me and I knew I needed to make some phone calls of the medical kind. Not like I'm sick and need an appointment or anything. More like insurance and why in hell do I need to go see my Ob-Gyn so often to get my hormone replacement drugs. Arrggh! And part of that involved getting information FROM my insurance company and then relaying that to my doctor's office and holy shit. By the time I'd finished up, as I told Jessie in a text, I needed an Ativan and a nap. 
Neither of which I took. 
I am absolutely not qualified for adulting. 

Then back out to the garden because I am a sick, sick masochist where I doubt I lasted forty-five minutes but I did get a few more spent plants pulled and a few more spaces weeded. After I cooled off from that I decided to transplant the plants I bought myself into bigger pots so I moved my trowel and half a bag of potting soil to the front porch. Now as most of you know, when you repot plants it is not unlike the hermit crabs at one of their shell swap meets where one hermit crab after another trades his or her shell for the one just shrugged off by another crab a size bigger. They actually line up at what seem to be special events to do this. So if I'm going to put this plant into that pot and there's already a plant in that pot but it's getting root bound,  have to find another pot that will accommodate that one and this could go on endlessly until you get tired of it and just stick some plant that you don't care about that much any old where. 
I mean, it is a process. 
And I got so hot. Even on the porches it is well over 90 degrees here and I sweat like...well, a post menopausal woman on drugs that make a person sweat. 
Eventually, I got things sorted out. I had to rearrange the location of many plants to make all of this work and I also had to sweep the porch because not only did it have potting soil on it, it also had the usual leaf detritus. 

There's the pink princess philodendron. 

And here's the snake plant in a giant clam shell pot that I believe Jason found somewhere and gave me. 

Hmmm....

Anyway, I then watered everything extra well because of the heat which cooks the plants along with the people. Even the banana spiders look parched. I am not sure what that looks like, exactly, but I can feel their thirst. 
Trust me. 

Mr. Moon has been working his ass off at the lake house. He sent me this a little while ago.

He called me. He's exhausted and said he was sitting in the recliner, cooling off under the ceiling fan and having a beer. Tomorrow he plans on getting the appliances he's bought and taking them to the cabin, dropping them off and coming on home. 

That sounds good to me. I told him I'd cook him something other than chili or frozen pizza. And I will. 

One more thing. Over the past week I've watched a documentary on Netflix called "Sunday Best." It's about Ed Sullivan and how he changed the rules about having Black performers on a national television show with status equal to that of white performers. Since 1948. Six years before I was born! 

I had no idea how incredibly influential he was when it came to changing attitudes about race when segregation was still the law in many states. He integrated television as surely as schools and public places were integrated by the bravery of people like Rosa Parks, Martin Luther King, and Jessie Jackson.  Perhaps not in as dramatic a way, but in a way that promoted acceptance no one else could have.

I grew up on Ed Sullivan. Sunday night? Ed Sullivan. And when I look back, I think of things like the mouse puppet Topo Gigio, the guy who could keep a large family's worth of dinner plates spinning in the air on sticks, the Beatles first big American performance, Elvis being shot above the waist because the movement of his hips and pelvis were considered highly inappropriate and apt to inflame the loins of tender young women, the Rolling Stones being forced to change the lyrics of "Let's Spend the Night Together" to "Let's Spend Some Time Together". 

I also remember the Supremes and Harry Belafonte. I remember Nat King Cole and Ray Charles. But you know what? I had no idea that those performers and their performances were ground-breaking. Old Ed just introduced them like he did anyone else, and when the act was done, he shook their hands or maybe even gave the pretty ladies a circumspect peck on the cheek or gave the performers a little hug. As if to say, "Nothing unusual going on here." And the mostly white studio audience cheered and clapped just as they did for any other act, and 40 to 70 million TV viewers were introduced on Sunday nights to what had been called "race music" which they never would have voluntarily just picked up and listened to on their own and grew to appreciate it, like it, love it. 

Good interviews in the film with musicians whom Sullivan had hosted on his show, giving them their biggest breaks, along with others including Barry Gordy who was the founder of the Motown Record Corporation in 1959. 

I had no idea. I have always thought that musicians have done more for changing minds and hearts when it comes to racial issues than even law-makers could ever hope to do, not realizing that this is exactly what Ed Sullivan did. 

Well, that's what I wanted to say about that. If you have Netflix and care to learn a little American civil rights history, watch it. It's well worth it. 

And here's Pearl Bailey who sang on the Ed Sullivan stage 23 times.

I must have seen her at least a few times and although I do not remember that specifically, it does not matter. Her performances became a part of my consciousness in a way that informed my beliefs, heart, and mind. 

Thanks, Ed. You done real good. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Water, Mermaids, And Other Sacred and Non-Sacred Subjects

Many of you asked how Maggie could actually move safely in the water with that tail on. There's also a plastic mono-fin that fits into the tail which gives more power to the movements. But I was wondering if there was an instructional video on how to swim like a mermaid after you're suited up and look like a mermaid. 
Here it is, in case you're interested and might desire to be a mermaid (or merman) yourself some day. 

Of course you most likely are not going to want to watch the entire video but watching a minute or so of it is pretty enlightening. And I am extremely impressed at the way the little girls in it have mastered this skill. I seriously doubt I could do it but they seem to have taken to it like a fish to...water.

Groan. 
I am so sorry. That was uncalled for. 

I had another lovely day. I finally got a package this morning wrapped for mailing that I swear to you, I have been working on for three days. Now you may ask yourself, how in the world can it take three days to wrap a package? 
Oh god. 
First of all, I am the world's worst wrapper. This is just a fact. And add to that the fact that I am still of the belief that a package to mailed needs to have brown paper firmly attached to the entire outside of the box. Oh, and of course one has to have the right box. 
I got the box. I got the packing materials. I packed the gift in the box amidst the packing materials. I had no brown paper. Of course not. I take my cloth bags to the grocery store and people so rarely use the paper bags anymore anyway. Glen found me a piece of some sort of paper that was very thin and very crinkled but it was brown. I had some vision that perhaps I could make that do with enough packing tape. I tried. It was still thin and crackly. 
SO, I then experimented with adding another layer of white drawing paper. I decided that was ridiculous so I set the project aside and when I went to the grocery store yesterday, I asked for two brown paper bags which I was gracefully given, brought those home and began the process of rewrapping the whole thing, crinkly paper and all, in the sturdy brown bag paper we all know and love. 
Well, we old people do anyway. 
I probably used half a roll of wrapping tape. I'm not kidding. Everywhere I fucked up the papering, I just slapped more tape on it. 

As one does. 
I texted the recipient of the box that she may want to use a chain saw to get into the box. Also, that it was probably wrapped upside down. BUT, the important thing is that I got it into the post office and on its way (hopefully) today. 

I was hoping to see Ms. Tee behind the counter as I always enjoy seeing her, plus she has a beautiful smile. However, the grumpy old lady (probably twenty years younger than I am) who gave me such shit when I pointed out that displaying religious materials on US post office counters is prohibited. Remember this? 
"I never heard of that," she spat out. 
I then pointed the exact words out on the big poster which is hanging in every post office in America including the one in Lloyd, as humble as it is. 
I doubt she likes me. She certainly does not waste any smiles on me. 

But I got it done. 
Phew! 

And then I decided to do a health status test on myself by doing some garden work for a little while despite the oven-like temperature and high humidity. 
Why not? 
As I have said before, I really do love to weed and every time I've been in the garden lately to pick, the sight of all the weeds coming up and taking over has made me yearn to get on my knees and dig and pull. And I have done a little one-handed weeding as a friend of mine used to say, just the bending over and pulling sort of weeding. But that's just a tease, isn't it? 
So I suited up in my long overalls to protect my knees and proceeded into the hellscape which is Florida right now, and before I started weeding, I decided to go ahead and pull up the dead tomato plants and stack the tomato cages up in a corner of the garden. I did about ten or so of those and then I began some weeding and Lord, it was hot. But oh, my heart was so willing! I did as much of that as I could and then I moved to a strip of garden where it was shady and pulled there for a row but even working in the shade was a battle of wills between my want-to and my could-do. When I started feeling a little pukey, I knew I had to stop and so I did and came in and cooled off, then had lunch and then went to the Wacissa to cool my body down. 

When I got there, it was fairly crowded. There are only about two weeks left of summer vacation around here for the school kids and there were lots of mamas and children but as soon as I got my old fogie lawn chair and my water and my magazines and my towel out of the car and down by the water, it started thundering. And yes, it did look rather ominous but that's normal. 
Well, so is a thunderstorm at the Wacissa. 

I decided to hell with it. One crack of thunder is hardly a big problem so while all the mamas packed up their babies and blankets and coolers and shade tents and picnic foods, I set my chair down and proceeded to pour myself headfirst into the river which, as always, was heaven. The contrast between the heat of my body and the coldness of the river is always a shock and a joy. 
And it was good. 

I moved back to my chair and a friend of Jessie's came over and said, "Hey Mrs. Moon!" which I found ridiculous and charming at the same time. I always feel so honored when one of the "young people" recognize and talk to me. She and her family had just been to Weeki Wachee and she told me how much she'd enjoyed it and how the mermaids had been her favorites. The last time I saw this lady was at the river right before Jessie left and I met her and her friends and their children there and we talked about Weeki Wachee which I strongly recommended they all visit. So that made me very happy. 
I guess it's a mermaid summer. 

And then she and her family left and I took another plunge but by then things were looking like this.

The thunder appeared not to be playing and so I took my stuff back to my car and decided to sit in it for awhile to see if the rain would pass but instead it just started coming down harder and harder, the thunderstorm becoming a real rainstorm. 
Oh, Florida. How I love your capricious ways. So I headed back home and drove through some rain so dense it was hard to see the road in front of me and of course, by the time I got to my house, it had not rained so much as a drop. 

Oh well. 

I was still much, much cooler and also happy that I'd gone. Even a very short trip to the river is better than none. 
And although I have not done so very much today, I feel gratified and content at what I have done. 

I've made a veritable brick of a loaf of bread, dense with oatmeal, oat bran, some white flour and a little molasses. I've got a smallish eggplant that I'm going to do something with for my supper. Also many cherry tomatoes. Their vines are dying back quickly, far more brown than green, but I am going to pick every damn sweet-as-candy tomato off of them I can. 

I just took my "bread" out of the oven and I'm not even going to post a picture. Truly, it resembles a pudgy cracker more than it does a loaf of bread. Forget the brick thing. It would take three more of these loaves to make anything as thick as a brick. Well, in size anyway. Not in texture. You know what? I'm going to enjoy it anyway with my...eggplant stuff, whatever it turns out to be. And it is definitely bound to be high in fiber. 

Am I becoming a Pollyanna in my seventy-first year? Actually, it's my seventy-second year, isn't it? Math is funny that way. But no, I do not think I'm becoming a Pollyanna. That is not in my nature. But I am more apt to let things go these days that would have really bothered me in my younger years. 
Not everything. I assure you of that. 

Here's a pretty little picture I took on my way into the garden today.

Those little morning glories or whatever they are, are pretty despite the fact that they've thrown their hat in the ring to be the winner of the most invasive plant in my yard contest. 

They're not even close but I really should keep a better eye on them. The roses, of course, stay right where they are although they do grow so fast and become so leggy that I can't really keep up with them either. 

La-di-dah, la-di-dah. 

Love...Ms. Moon

A Sweet And Peaceful Birthday With Time And Space To Think And Be Grateful

Okay. Before we go one more minute, I have to do something that I told Maggie I had already done which was a lie but I somehow thought I HAD done it and now I am correcting the situation.

Or DID I post this picture already? Well, whatever.
That is a picture of Ms. Magnolia June in her mermaid tail in Mr. Gary's and Miss Melissa's pool. Mr. Gary and Miss Melissa are Lauren's parents. 

It turned out that Lily and her family got back late last night and so were able to meet us for lunch today and Maggie wanted to make sure I had seen this picture. I assured her that I had and that I loved it. She then asked if I'd posted it on my blog and, thinking I had, I told her yes. "What did people think about it?" She asked. 
"They loved it too!" 
As Andy Griffith used to say, "Oh, what a wicked web we weave when first we practice to deceive."

He did not lie. 
Unlike me. 
So, please, if you happen to love that picture, let me know and I can feel less untruthful than I really am. 

I have had a great birthday! It's been extremely laid back and also, at the same time, celebratory. It was so nice to get to see and hug all of my children and grandchildren except for the Jessie/Vergil family. We all met at a Cuban restaurant I like very much. May and Michael were there. Hank was all by himself as Rachel is in Boston visiting her best friend from childhood who had a baby five months ago. She is in heaven. Rachel, that is. In all the pictures she's sent of her holding that sweet little boy she is absolutely radiating with happiness. She's been looking forward to this for a long time. 

Lily and Lauren were there and of course, Owen, Gibson, and the aforementioned Magnolia June. So many great hugs! 

It took a while for all of us to order and get our food. In fact, by the time the food hit the table, Hank had to have it packed up to take home because his lunch break was over. But we got to see him for a fairly good visit. We got to hear all about the trip Lily's family had been on and the fun they'd had. It always sounds like a good time at Mr. Gary's and Miss Melissa's. 
Goats are always involved and we all know that goats are just about the most fun barnyard animals ever.

I got to catch up with May and Michael and Hank, too, of course. Owen and I had a good conversation about things we've been watching and also books. He's not much of a reader these days but he knows I am, and that sweet man-boy gifts me with allowing me to discuss my reading. He is just so big now. I mean...BIG! Gibson is sprouting up at an unreasonable rate too, and Maggie? I feel certain she'll be taller than me by the time she graduates elementary school. 

Here's what we all looked like (except for Hank) after we finished lunch and were about to leave.

A sweet lady in the restaurant saw us taking pictures and came out and offered to take a picture with all of us in it. I think she did a good job! 

I took this one. 

That is actually the picture I got AFTER the one where they all posed. I always think the after picture is the best one. My friend Kathleen would always command whoever she was taking a picture of to, "Say Tiny Penis!" and now I always say, "Say Tiny...Peanuts," which cracks the adults up because they know from whence that saying came and the kids laugh because it's just so random and funny although I think that Owen gets it now. 

After lunch I went to Publix and while there, I bought myself some presents. I got two plants which I do not need in the least (and they were not even on sale!), two new teal-colored dishcloths, and two packages of cheesecloth to make more of the fantastic multi-purpose, absorbent, soft, uh, hemmed rags? which I am obsessed with. 
I have no idea why. These things just happen.

Here are the plants!

I actually have a container that I think I'll put the snake plant in and as for the Pink Princess Philodendron, I'll find something when it needs more leg room. 

Mr. Moon left before dawn this morning with his container of chili and foil-wrapped corn bread, pineapple, blueberries, cherries, and I do not know what all. His pillow and blanket for sure. He's sent me pictures of the new faucet he put in the kitchen sink and the new toilet that replaced the one upstairs. Luckily, one of the 12-year olds, as he called them, who came to put in the internet, helped him get it up those stairs. 

Thank god because if he hadn't, the man would have somehow wrangled it up there by himself because it was on his list and the list must be followed in all of its sacred, perceived to-do's. He is also planning on installing the new appliances this week which include a stove and a dishwasher. Have I picked out one of these things? 
No I have not. I could have. He probably would have loved it if I had but I am being all "I don't care" about it. I hope that by the time I start using the kitchen I don't find that I wish I had cared. 

Sigh.
One of the kids asked me today when he'd be back. "Probably when the chili runs out," I said. 

And this is true. 
He is living his dream and I love him. 

Anyway, so yes. This has been my seventy-first birthday and it has suited me just fine. My darling friend from the sixth grade called me and we talked for about an hour and a half this afternoon. I always love these long chats we have and how gratifying it is to have such a long-time friend with whom I can pick up right where we left off the last time we talked and make each other laugh and ask the tough questions like, "How did we get this old?" and "Can you believe we made it to this age?" 
When we were younger, this woman and I, we were a bit wild and had friends who were happy to encourage us in wildnesses that we had not even thought of. Both of us agree that there are things we will NEVER tell our children, just as there are things, we are sure, that we NEVER want our children to tell us, but here we are, still alive, having survived not only our teenaged years but also life in general with all the things life on this planet will throw at you. She is about to have be married for fifty years, me for forty-one. We have grandchildren older than we were when we met. 

So much has changed. 
Nothing has changed. 

I think that sums up pretty well what aging is like. 

I feel very, very, very lucky. I feel very, very, very grateful for all the years behind me and being able to remember at least some of them! And curious to know what comes next. I hope it involves as much love as I have felt today. 

I heard Hawk a little while ago. Or at least a hawk. I did not see him. Or her. But I'm going to take it as a birthday acknowledgement which of course it is not, but I'm going to tuck that in my heart anyway. 

Love...Ms. Moon

P.S. Satan's pie turned out to be about as delicious a pie as either Mr. Moon or I ever tasted. Let's hear it for whipped cream which even Satan's coals cannot defeat. 

 

FIRE! But Not In The Cool Way

All righty then! Can you guess what this is? I think it looks a little bit like I have summoned Satan who has possessed my coconut cream pie. 
Might as well be that. 

What the fucking fuck?

I knew I shouldn't put the pie under the broiler that close to brown it. I mean, it wasn't even as close as it could get. AND it was in there less than a minute. 
But, but, but...
I didn't want to put the pie in the oven at a baking temperature because the pastry at the bottom of it was already plenty brown enough and the internet assured me that using the broiler to brown the meringue was a time honored way to do it and even suggested using the highest rack available and I believed them. Which, if I were in my right mind and younger, I never would have. I also hardly ever use the broiler and I guess I just didn't realize the supernatural power of it. I think you could brown ice cream under that thing. 

But it is a pretty cool picture, don't you think? How telling it is that after my initial horror at the smell and sight of flames shooting out of a coconut cream pie, I reached for my phone to get a shot. I knew the flames weren't going to spread and they quickly died down and went out. 

I scraped all the burnt meringue off and what lies underneath seems pretty okay. And then I whipped some cream to use as a topping and so all is not lost. 

It's been a slightly unusual day in other ways, too. The heat is even worse than it has been and it feels as if you tried to go outside and do anything more strenuous than standing in the shade for a minute, you would almost instantly look like my pie did. We, too, are under the dreaded Heat Dome and it is not even vaguely tolerable outside. 
Also, I have just not been hungry today. At all. I have not spoken much lately about the Zepbound Journey but I am still on it, still marveling at how the importance of food and eating has lost it's place in my personal hierarchy of needs. I've been on the third increase in dosage for three weeks now and I'm staying right here with it for at least another month. I'm still not having side-effects beyond a little bit of a dry mouth at times which is hardly a big deal. And I still do get hungry at which point I eat. Generally three very sensible (mostly) meals a day and my delicious snack of cottage cheese and fruit. I managed on our trip to make decent choices, I think, and was very happy about that. 
But today? Not so much. I had to give my egg to Mr. Moon at breakfast and lunch was a small bowl of salad on top of some quinoa and my snack was a few cherries. I have no idea what caused this sudden disinterest in food today but I am sure things will be back to normal by tomorrow. I'm cooking some fish tonight and new potatoes that we grew, maybe green beans, and a tomato and cucumber salad. So I'm not exactly starving here. 

Speaking of fish...

I mean...

Good Lord! They caught grouper, lane snapper, and vermilion snapper. Glen's already got the cleaned fish vacuum-packed and in the freezer except for what I'm going to cook tonight. 

The season ends on Thursday and will not resume until September so fishing will not be on the agenda for awhile. 

Tomorrow is my seventy-first birthday. I am neither excited nor depressed. I'm just mostly curious about how this has happened. I do, of course, know how this has happened but knowing it intellectually and knowing it in my soul is another thing. 

I am certain that this year's birthday will not be as memorable as last year's when Lon and Lis were here and Mr. Moon gave me my beautiful ring and then we went to Roseland where we came down with Covid Lite in the best place in the world to have Covid, which was a tiny little cottage on the Sebastian river with a tiny little pool in the backyard and a wonderful Thai restaurant less than a mile away where Mr. Moon got me Tom Kha Gai soup and I ate that and mangos and read and napped in a single bed with windows that looked out onto the plants and river I love and remember as a child and as I have said many times, it was not even close to the worst vacation of my life. 

So no, this year won't be like that. Glen's got to meet the internet guy up at the lake house and he'll be gone for a few days. I'm meeting up with May and Hank for lunch tomorrow, though, and that will be fabulous as I have not seen them for too long a time. 

Maybe I'll have a small piece of Satan Possessed Coconut Cream Pie in celebration tonight. As Prince once said, "Let's go crazy!"

Love...Ms. Moon

Cats, Dreams, Zinnias, And Mick

Do you see that cat there, trying to find shade beneath an eggplant? 
I really do not know what to do with her. I am at my wit's end. She has been so desperate for Glen's and my attention since we got back and that is not a good thing. She doesn't display her affection the way a normal cat would, cuddling up and purring, asking for head scratches and back stroking. No. She bumps faces and walks back and forth either on Glen's lap when he's sitting down or on my body when I'm in bed. She meows and meows, especially in the middle of the night. And that would all be mostly okay but if she wants us to scratch or stroke her, and we don't do it properly or enough, she grabs us with her claws and bites. Alternatively, if she suddenly for no apparent reason gets tired of our attentions, she grabs us with her claws and bites. 
I am so tired of having a bloody arm. 
But what can we do? No. The spray thing isn't going to work. She is indoors and outdoors all day. Perhaps drugs would help her. Anti-depressants or anti-anxiety medication or perhaps CBD gummies. I don't know. I do know that we have been putting up with this abuse for well over a decade and have never once mistreated her or given her cause to be afraid. She has never lacked for food or for shelter or for comfortable places to lounge and sleep. She has things to climb and mice to catch. She has our affection when she hasn't pissed us off so much that we refuse her advances. I know she is an anxious cat. I know she has anger issues and no idea how to deal with them. I know she probably had a terrible kittenhood but there comes a point in any abusive relationship when you can know exactly WHY the abuser abuses but if they still do it, those reasons are no longer an excuse to stick around for it. 
I mean, if she was someone's partner and acted the way she does, I'd advise them to get the hell out of the relationship as quickly as they could. 
"But I know he loves me!" the abused partner might say. 
"That ain't love," I'd answer. 
And with this cat? Same-same. I do think Maurice loves us as much as she is capable of loving but the way she loves is painful. 
Well, as we all know, this is an ongoing situation and apt to go on for as long as she lives. I think she may be around fourteen and has never had a health problem her entire life so I can see her being one of those cats who live to be twenty easily. If only the good die young, she'll live forever.

I did almost nothing today. I'd say that I needed a day like that but really, I didn't. I slept to an ungodly hour. My grandfather is probably judging me from heaven as we speak, glowering at my sloth. In my defense I will say that Maurice was sleeping cuddled right up next to my head and I was sort of afraid to move. In fact, I finally just lifted up the covers to hold her in them like a sling and made my fast get-away. I'd had a dream which was quite interesting before I woke up and I have been thinking about it all day. I won't go into it because that can be rather boring but the emotions I felt in it were deep and genuine. A woman that I loved very much was the main character and although in real life she died several years ago, in my dream she was not dead, but that she and her husband had just split up for awhile and they were working things out. I have almost felt her presence, or at least the memory of her presence as I've gone about my day.

One thing I did do today was to go over to Lily's house to check on her cats and feed them as that family is on vacation at Lauren's parents' house and as some of you may remember, Lauren's parents' house is a sort of kid heaven with many farm animals and a pool and a hot tub and a giant refrigerator with snacks galore. 
I assume the cats were happy to see me as they rushed to me and rubbed up against my legs but they didn't bite or scratch so who knows? I gave them some love and fresh food and water. They desperately wanted out and for a minute I thought I was going to be trapped in the house with them until Lily returned because they rushed the door every time I approached it to try and leave. Finally I found some Temptations (aka cat crack) which I put into their bowls and managed to escape. 

Phew! 

I finally made the custard part of Glen's Father's Day coconut cream pie and filled the pie crust I'd made and frozen back a month ago. Tomorrow I'll make the meringue for it. It's cooling in the refrigerator now. It is too sweet but that won't matter to the man. He texted me a while back to tell me he's safe and on land, which he always does and which I always appreciate. He said they had a better day of fishing than last time. I am glad for that. 

I did a little garden picking, "little" being the operative word. Everything is really coming to an end. Even those beans which seem at some point every summer to be immortal. But I did get enough of them today for a good meal. I swear though, that is the last picking of them I will do. I got a few more cherry tomatoes and one more regular tomato. 

And zinnias.

They, too are flagging and I will be so sorry to see the last of them. 

It is so hot and will only get hotter for a few days. Why do I even bother to tell you this? It's July. It's Florida. We are as wilted as our cucumber plants, as beat down as the tomatoes. 

The river calls my name. 

And I would be grossly remiss if I did not mention Mick Jagger's 82nd birthday, which is today. Every year that goes by and one of the old boys has a birthday, I celebrate. 

When the Stones  did this song on the Ed Sullivan Show back in 1964, they really had no idea how prophetic the message of the song would be.

Bless you, Mick, and the amazing life you've led. And the amazing life you are living. Keep on living it, you rock star, you, you lead singer of the choir of the Church of the Batshit Crazy. We will always dance with you in our dreams.  

Love...Ms. Moon

Can't Title This

Since you've seen everything in my yard and most of the things in my house and a lot of the things in head, I thought I'd post a few more pictures from our trip. The one you see above is a picture of kudzu. 

Go to the link if you want more in-depth information and pictures. Basically, though, kudzu is the mother of all invasive plants. It was imported to the US from Japan and China and planted all over the southeast of the US in the thirties to fifties as a means of erosion prevention but it wasn't long before its obvious propensity for spreading soon lead to it being called "the vine that ate the south." 
That is no shit. 

It is, in fact, a nightmare. It chokes everything it grows on, eventually killing everything in its path. It can grow up to a foot a day. There are uncountable acres of land covered in the stuff and the only way to get rid of it in such large areas is to cut it and herbicide it. 
Goats are good at helping get rid of small patches of it but there ain't enough goats in the southern United States to tackle it all. 

And I think I have problems with invasive plants in my yard. 

I should have posted this one yesterday when I was talking about how August shows and receives love in his very own way. 

That was taken at the restaurant with flowers and herb gardens. I love how August is standing so straight and tall. He is so precious. 

And here's one of his brother who is pretty precious too.

Levon is a very funny guy. One minute he's relating a basketball game he was playing in and saying things like, "I was dominating, honestly," like he's an NBA veteran of at least three years, and the next minute, he's hugging all the stuffies that came with the house and who live in the kid bedroom before he left the house on Wednesday to go to camp. And freaking out because he could not find Ray-Ray, a crocheted sting ray that his mama bought him from a lady at a farmer's market. 
(Ray-Ray was found eventually.) 

I guess that's enough pictures for today. 
Oh wait. One more. 

This is the meal I got at the restaurant in Athens where we always go. South Kitchen and Bar. That rectangle of fried heaven there? 
Tofu. 
This is so funny because it is the perfect demonstration of how southerners will absolutely deep fry almost anything, and also, that deep frying almost anything will make it delicious. And I already like tofu! 
I cannot tell you how much I enjoyed that meal. I will remember it forever. And actually, it made two meals. I wish I had that same dinner tonight.

So today was a re-entry day for sure. I read about the starving children in Gaza soon after I got up and realized that although I had been keeping up with the news in a lazy way, I had lost my ability to tuck things away where they could not hurt as much during that week of vacation. My soul hurt. And then, although I was glad to be home, all around me I could see the peeling plaster, the wood that needs replacing, the dust on the furniture, the plants that needed to be watered, the sinks and showers that needed to be cleaned. And so forth. 
That filter had disappeared too. The one that is always in place so that I can go about my days without falling into complete despair over my Miss Havisham-like situation. 

Oh, it's not that bad yet. But still.

I got to it, though, washing the sheets, doing other laundry, taking out compost, making a grocery list, watering the porch plants, re-making the bed, folding and hanging the dry things, doing some pretend dusting, sweeping, and, again... so forth. 

Mr. Moon already had a fishing trip planned, as he does. He left out this afternoon, heading to the coast with buddies to fish out in the Gulf. Of Mexico. I hope the weather doesn't interfere with their plans. We need to stock up on more delicious grouper and snapper. I went to Costco and Publix. I bought cottage cheese and fruit and salad greens and tofu and canned beans and other things and by the time I got home, it was 4:30 and the man had already left with his pillow, his fishing gear, and his snacks for tomorrow. 

It is strange to be alone after a week of living in a house with five other people. I mean, I like it. I need the peace and the quiet and the solitude. Costco and Publix almost did me in with the lights and the people and the colors and the choices. Too much, too much. 
So that's all good. But like I said, it is an adjustment, albeit a small one. I am used to this. 

We got more rain today which brought the temperature down a little but the forecast for the next three days looks brutal in terms of heat. The air conditioner runs constantly. 

But as with being alone, I am used to this. 

And oh- I see that Ghislaine Maxwell, who is currently incarcerated in the federal women's prison in Tallahassee, has spent the past two days being interviewed by the Department of Justice, specifically Todd Blanche. In case you don't know, Todd Blanche, the second in command at DOJ, was Trump's defense lawyer in the 2024 criminal trial. Wonder how he got the gig. 

I'm thinking that Ghislaine, whose own lawyer was with her during the questioning, will happily proclaim the orange pedophile/serial woman abuser/serial adulterer/pussy-grabbing piece of the lowest form of human life, innocent of any nasty business during his years of being the best bro of the man Ghislaine procured young girls for. And then, I am thinking, she will get a pardon from the mushroom-shaped penis man, leaving the yoga and etiquette classes she has been teaching at the prison without a teacher. 
Where, oh where, will they find another proper English noblewoman to take over? 

Is that too much? 

Yeah. I think so too. 

Happy Friday,  y'all! 

Love...Ms. Moon

 

The Catch-Up Report

The Pedicure: You Have No Idea

The one thing Jessie and I had planned to definitely do was to get a pedicure together. We finally did it yesterday morning when the boys were in a YMCA camp session for a few hours. We went to Black Mountain, the nearest town over, because Old Fort doesn't have a nail place. Old Fort has very few any places. Some. A Piggly Wiggly, a brewery that serves food, a little railroad museum, and some other businesses but not a nail place. 

So. Black Mountain was where we went to a small but very nice establishment where they set us up with our feet in warm, bubbling water. All was going very well and the man doing my feet and the woman doing Jessie's went about their work quietly but when my guy (I never did learn his name) heard us talking about Trump he joined in. I think he has had education in economics and in history and he's also lived in New York City. I also believe he was either born in the US or moved here as a very young child. Anyway, he talked and talked, albeit in a low voice, as he trimmed my toenails and shaved off my calluses and rubbed my feet (heaven). 
He had a lot to say about Trump, none of it good. He had a lot to say about many things and he was quite certain of his facts and figures. Who were we to question him? He kept saying, "You have no idea," as he added to the facts and figures he was presenting. I had at least a passing knowledge of a lot of what he was talking about and he was, according to what I've read, right about it all. The history of Trump's father and his racism and Trump's racism and how Trump's casinos went bankrupt. Now, as to the depth and importance of the NY Mafia in bankrolling Trump, I do not know if all of it was true. Could be. 

Truly, I had no idea.

He did get to a point where I thought a conspiracy theory might be coming next. He said that the world banks control EVERYTHING which made me fear that he was just this close to mentioning how the Jews were ruling it all. 
He did not go there, and thank goodness. 
He had so much to say that I believe I got the longest and most carefully attentive pedicure of my life. 

Going to the Creek

When Vergil finished with work, we decided to go to a nearby creek to fish in and dip in. Curtis Creek, to be exact. It's part of a state park and was very close to where we were and so off we went after Jessie and Vergil packed up what seemed to me to be enough supplies for the apocalypse, should it unexpectedly occur. Extra clothes, water, snacks, many towels, poop shovel...

Which did, in fact, get used. 

We were the only ones there. The park had just recently reopened and people hadn't gotten the message. The damage Helene did to this area is absolutely unbelievable but what's even more unbelievable is how much repair and restoration has been done already. We went down a little steep path to the creek from the road and had our own little world of rocky beach and running creek. 
Being from Florida, I know nothing about rocks and stones. Well, let's just say that everything I know I learned from Emerald Village three days ago. So all these rocks everywhere is mystifying to me. Big, giant rocks, rocks that are plenty big enough to sit on, rocks that are small enough to pick up and wonder at the glittery mica in them, rocks that are small enough to qualify as gravel. And I love all of them except for the fact that my feet are not accustomed to them and I am afraid of slipping and falling and of course that's not all because of the rocks themselves, but of my balance. I realize when I'm in a situation like trying to cross a creek, that I am not nearly as nimble and as able as I used to be. 

I do love watching the boys and Vergil and Jessie making their way across and through the creek beds. The boys are like little mountain goats, I swear, jumping from one rock to another, traveling across the smooth rocks, the pointy rocks, the huge rocks, the rocks covered with algae, the gravely bottoms. 

There is a tradition among Vergil's family to take usually shunned snack foods to the creek to enjoy. Vergil happily carries on the tradition. August and Levon love sitting on a big rock and eating their Cheetos. 

Glen threw a line into the deeper water under the rocks to try and catch a trout and Levon did a few casts, too. 

I mostly just sat on a rock with my butt in the cold water and watched everything and talked to Jessie and and had a hot flash and dunked myself deeper in the water. 

We did not see one other person on that little outing and we all changed clothes, preserving our modesty, when we got back to the truck. The boys had been promised ice cream so on our way back, we stopped at Black Beary's Cafe which is the local ice cream place where everyone got what they wanted. And then back to the house to get ready to go meet the mountain relatives. It was good to see them and Julia, Vergil's mother and I, had our heads together discussing everything from the boys to Helene's destruction to the atrocities going on in the country right now as we ate our kale salads and falafel. Luckily, we are of one mind in those regards. Religion, too. 
And despite all the ice cream, August and Levon managed to tear through a platter of wings. Where do those skinny little children put all the food they eat? 
I have no idea.

I believe we all slept well that night. 

A Visit To The Mountain And A Beautiful Restaurant

Tuesday was really our last day as we had to pack and leave on Wednesday. Jessie took the boys to their YMCA camp and then she and Glen and I drove up to Black Mountain where Vergil's family has owned land and lived for many, many years. That's where Vergil was born and raised. Really and truly born there as his mother had home births too. Julia and I really do have a lot in common. 
We didn't have a lot of time because we had to pick up the boys at noon. The road up the mountain has been mostly restored and Vergil's stepfather with a few other people, even put in a culvert that was a work of art and engineering. Amazingly, although the mountain was one of the hardest hit places during Helene, things are slowly coming back. The landscape will never be the same and the little creek that runs by Julia's house now has tiny waterfalls and the bed it runs down has moved. So many rocks were brought down the creek which became a roaring river during the storm. 
Jessie and Vergil's little place, just a walk down a path away, escaped almost all harm. The RV remained standing, as did the tarp cover over it. It is a cozy and functional place to live. 

Every summer they work on things on the property to move towards their goal of building a house. They have a septic tank and a well. They have electricity, and there's a cement pad the RV is on. This year, they have picked out and ordered a shed where they can store things, where Vergil may be able to make a little office, and where the boys might eventually get some loft beds to sleep in when they want to. They also got a beautiful new washer and dryer which thrills Ms. Jessie to pieces. 

Vergil put up a cool new clothes line and that is going to change their lives. They've been doing their laundry for years at Vergil's sister's house which is fine, but as anyone who does a family's laundry knows, there is nothing like having the ability to do it in their own space. 

We drove back down the mountain after we did our quick little visit and picked up the boys and went back to our cottage, fed the boys (a constant and never-ending activity) and then Jessie went to Asheville for a PT appointment and Boppy and I babysat although you can hardly call what we did babysitting. I read them a few books and then the four of us played two rousing games of Apples to Apples which is a pretty darn fun game. I realized halfway through it that we were playing the junior version. "What's the difference between the junior and the regular versions?" I asked.

"Probably the junior version doesn't have inappropriate stuff in it," said August. 
"Oh yeah," I said. 
"I want the inappropriate stuff!" said Levon. 

We continued with the junior version. 

That evening, when Jessie got home and Vergil got off work, we decided to go out for supper. Why bother buying more groceries when we were about to leave and why do the cooking and clean-up when we could just pay someone else to do it? 
And so off we went to a restaurant in Black Mountain where we ate outside and had delicious cocktails and the kids were able to play badminton or hang out in a hammock and listen to the woman playing music, as August chose to do.

Levon made some friends.

There were pretty gardens with flowers and herbs that Jessie and I walked through.

The food was fine but truly, the experience was the thing. 

I have to tell you- North Carolina is pretty damn woke and hip. At least in some places. If it weren't for the mountains which you can drive off of and die in a horrible and not instantaneous way, I might consider living there. 

It truly is beautiful. There is no doubt about that. 
And seeing how far they've come since all the destruction of Helene makes me realize how incredibly resourceful and strong the people of the state are. I was honestly shocked to find so much already rebuilt and restored, even though you can still see the power of what happened there. 

Great piles of rock and of trees, downed and carried by the floodwaters. Railroad tracks moved off their beds. Houses that have been rebuilt. Roads and bridges that are still being worked on. And great swaths of mountains where you can see the raw scars of the power of the waters. 

That night Jessie and I did laundry, getting ready for the next day's packing up. I read Levon some stories. August was too busy reading his own books and that is the way it is. When I kissed Levon good night I told him, "You are a very special boy and I love you so very much." He nodded. He knows. Oh, the funny things that child says. I have been known to laugh when I really should not have at some of the things coming out of his mouth. I can't help it. I am a grandmother and my job is to just love my grandchildren and let them know that even when they're being a little naughty, I adore them. 
August accepts love in a different way. On our way to supper that last night he told me that his hand hurt between his thumb and forefinger and so I rubbed it for him and he said it helped. And then we talked about chicken and dumplings and he told me that he's had other chicken and dumplings but mine are the best and then we talked about how everyone remembers their grandmother's food as the best because it was made with so much love, just for them. 
He totally got it. 

Saying Goodbye, Heading Home, Getting Home, Being Home

Wednesday morning was all about packing and cleaning up and loading up. Glen and I kissed the boys goodbye as they left for their camp and then I got busy with all the things one does when one is leaving from a week's stay in a house not your own. The beautiful, sweet, precious landlady of the cottage where we stay does not ask her renters to do one thing before leaving. None of this strip the beds and start a load of towels and take out all the trash and make sure the kitchen is neat and the dishes washed and blah, blah, blah. 
So of course Jessie and I feel the need to do all of those things plus whatever else we feel might need doing like making sure that all of the dishes are done and put away except for those in the dishwasher and the refrigerator cleaned out and wiped down and the beds stripped, the blankets folded, towels collected and ready to be washed, hot-tub towels clean and dried and folded and put away, and everything else as if we were competing for Best Renters You Ever Had.

We just have to. 

And oh, the amount of food and clothing and toiletries and books and toys that needed to be packed and loaded up was ridiculous. We shall not even discuss chargers and fans and laptops and so forth. Hats and walking sticks and the knives I always take although the ones in the kitchen there were (dare I say it?) better than the ones from my own kitchen. 

Finally though, we were done and Jessie raced off to get the boys from camp and Glen and I hit the road. We had decided to stop in Athens to spend the night and we stayed at the same place we always stay on our way up. Easy, familiar, great shower. We even ate at the same place we always eat and I feel like that's a no-brainer. It is ALWAYS good. Fresh food, deliciously cooked, and excellent people watching. This is the place where I gauge the newest looks for the "young people" every year. Athens is a college town and the trends are in full display there. This year seems to be about hippie-style. Long skirts, vintage clothes, Birkenstocks. 
I approve.

We walk to that restaurant. It's a very short walk, uphill to get to it, downhill to get back to the hotel. As we said last night, "Well, we did it one more year." 

We drove home today and here we are. The drive was not nearly as agonizing as it usually is and I have no idea why. I read 268 pages of "Harlem Shuffle" there and back and I enjoyed it so much. I think Glen did too. Perhaps that was part of why the drive seemed easier. That book has so much going on. 

And here we are, home again. I am so glad to be here. I want to eat my own food. I want to know where all my things are. I want to sleep in my own bed. I have not begun to unpack. I wanted to do this first. 
And of course, as soon as we unloaded the car, out to the garden we went. We both thought that it would all be done but it would seem we got a little rain and although yes, some of the plants are dead or dying, it's not all done yet.  

Maurice is fine, although more nervous than ever. Of course. Mark spoiled her to pieces and I think she would have been happier to see him drive up than us. But you get what you get. And yes, she did draw a little blood on my wrist but that's just her love language. 

As beautiful as North Carolina is and as wonderful a time as we had there with our sweet family, there is just something so good about being home. I missed my own little backyard with my own familiar trees. I missed my plants, my garden, my kitchen, even though the kitchen at the cottage is incredible with anything and everything you might need and the yard there has a creek running through it, chuckling and singing, and the trees and the plants are absolutely green and gorgeous, enclosing everything and everyone in a verdant, breathing, living ecosphere. 

I'm going to go make some pasta. I can unpack tomorrow. 

Love...Ms. Moon