Sublime To Insane

After our day yesterday of getting some of that sweet, sweet rain, the sky cleared and I noticed that the sunset was one of the fiery ones. It had already started to fade to a softer pastel by the time I was really aware of it but I wanted to catch what I could. I was drawn to the bit of the western sky framed by the church next door and the trees from our yard. The light that comes on in front of the church was already lit and that adds some different lighting which seemed pretty interesting. 
Anyway, I took the picture and there it is. 

And here's what I learned last night: Roasted cabbage is not for us. 
Thank you very much but no. Never again. 
It was a New York Times Cooking recipe and had such things in it as capers, lemon juice, olive oil, garlic. 
All the good stuff. 
But it simply didn't work together in my opinion and I may have done something wrong but the promise of the caramelized cabbage becoming sweet and tender was not fulfilled. It was recommended to roast at 450 degrees for twenty-five to thirty five minutes and after forty-five minutes, my cabbage was becoming charred on the outside leaves and still quite cabbagey in the inside leaves. And I like the taste of cabbage fine but somehow this didn't work at all for us. I ended up throwing the whole mess of leftovers into the compost which is something I almost never do. I should have saved it all and made some cabbage soup of some sort with the remaining wedges but at that point I didn't really want to think about cabbage. 

Mr. Moon worked his butt off today in the back yard planting fruit trees. I went about my business letting him take care of that business. I did check every so often to make sure his body was still in the upright position and it always was. I didn't even realize he'd taken out the last remaining bit of the play set he'd built for the kids years and years ago which was a tower sort of thing. A tree during a storm took out the swings and some other stuff. But he started telling me about how he'd planted some of the trees where the tower had been and I'm like, "Where'd it go?"
"I took it down," he said. 
"How?" I asked. As you know by now, Mr. Moon builds things to be sturdy and to last. 
"With the truck," he said. 
"Oh. Well, that's good," I said. All these years later I'm still thinking, who IS this guy?

I did my walk-about of the garden of course. 

I picked some snow peas. Those vines finally started producing. Not one of the sugar snap seeds germinated which is weird. Snow peas are fine but they can't compare to sugar snaps whose pods are sweet as candy and you can let the peas inside swell and grow to a decent size. They, too, are sweet. So obviously, a superior green pea. 
BUT, one must pick what one has grown and I often reach in one of my pockets to find it full of snow peas I'd forgotten were there. 
Bless cargo shorts. 

That's a few of them in one of my flower bowls. 

Everything else in the garden is looking good and then I gave a quick once-over to the bed beside the kitchen porch to check that out and holy Jesus. I found an amaryllis absolutely covered in the growing-ever-bigger-but-still-children Georgia Thumpers. 

That wasn't a tenth of all the ones on that plant. My god but they are eating machines. They're bigger than anything I want to grab and smush with my hands now so I knocked them all to the ground, thinking I could stomp on them but they ARE grasshoppers and they ARE young and spry and I couldn't stomp a one. They were hopping around like popcorn in a skillet. 
I wonder how their mother tells them apart. 

Mr. Moon is gone for the night. He's near the coast at his friend Alan's house and no, they're not going fishing tomorrow. In this instance, they're doing something sweet and important which is to take the ashes of Glen's sweet sister Dee Ann who died quite awhile ago to gently give to the Gulf, a place Dee Ann loved so much. Alan is kindly lending his boat and his piloting of it and Dee Ann's children are going to be there too. They've been planning on doing this for years and now it is coming to fruition. They're staying at Mexico Beach, which is farther along the coast than St. George and which is where Dee and her husband stayed whenever they got the chance. I believe that Dee Ann's husband's ashes were sprinkled in the Gulf too so it's a romantic notion to think that somehow they'll find each other in the ocean currents. 
Whatever comforts us. 

And now to move on, what do YOU think about last night's assassination attempt at the White House Correspondent's Dinner? When I first heard about it I was struck by how bizarrely it all happened from the fact that the Orange Poop Baby attended the dinner at all which he has never done before and that despite every bit of security it would be assumed possible was at the event and yet some guy with a gun got past security and managed to get off a few shots? And I have not read anything definitive about where the gun was allegedly discharged, whether in the same room where the dinner was going on or in another room or...what? Where?
And then throw in the fact that Secret Service and all those guys (and women) were issuing assurances within a short amount of time that the shooter had been found, subdued, and apprehended and the only injury was to one Secret Service member whose bullet-proof vest, according to Trump, saved his life. The man was treated at a local hospital and then released. Allegedly. 
I have so much to say but I really don't know shit. The things I DO know, like the fact that within two hours, the Orange Poop Baby was holding a press conference at the White House whose main message was that see? The ballroom needs to be built because...security, sounded then and sounds now to be as fake as the man's tan. 

Let me give you this. And thank you, Jeff Tiedrich. 

Security? Give me a fucking break. I just want to say that if this was not a staged event, then the security under Donald Trump is a big fat fucking joke and the fact that we all so calmly received the news that there was another assassination attempt against the president is proof that we have truly jumped the shark, accepted unreality as reality, and all because we, the frogs, have been in this pot of boiling water for so long we can't tell the difference and accept the killing heat as life as usual. 

I remember when Trump decided to bomb Iran and we all knew it was to distract the world from the Epstein files that my biggest fear was that the war-not-a-war would not go well, that it would be hugely unpopular and that another distraction would be called for and that, of course, would not go well either, and then...
One distraction after another, each of them intended to not only distract from the Epstein files but from the latest distraction used to distract. 

Know what I mean? 

I'm going to go cook some tofu and snow peas. 

Love...Ms. Moon