A Matter Of Trust. Also- How Fun It Is To Get Yourself Your Own Birthday Presents. This Eliminates The You Can't Always Get What You Want Situation

I'm sitting here fretting because Mr. Moon is not home yet from a day in town and he's not answering texts or his phone. He went to lunch with me and Lily and Lauren and all was well but I forgot to ask him what he had planned after that. 
This is not entirely unusual behavior for him although IT IS MARTINI NIGHT and he's generally not tardy for that. 
Oh, how quickly the mind can jump from all-is-well to worst-case-scenarios. And when this does happen and I tell him how worried I get he always says something along the lines of the fact that he is always fine. 
Indeed. 
And I just spoke to him. He is fine. He was on another call when I called him. He's been doing stuff for Tom's estate and is now at a carwash, cleaning out Tom's car and getting the crap out of it (not literal crap in this case, thank goodness) and will be home directly. 
I don't think he realizes, after all this time, that I am so apt to freak out about things like this. Why should I? As he says, he is always fine. 
Now, my first husband? 
I still have the PTSD from worrying about him getting home. Because he was in a band he was always late getting in when he'd had a gig and frequently if they'd just had a rehearsal. And when I say late, I mean hours and hours after the bars closed. As you can only imagine, he was up to no good but somehow it was very hard for me to let my mind go THERE. I am sure it's because I couldn't deal with that reality. It took me years to accept what was staring me in the face and I'll never forget the moment that happened. It was a horrible, horrible moment and I can still feel it in my very bones, that second of lightning strike-like realization. 
But before that happened, there were so many nights when I'd worry that he'd been in a car wreck or had been arrested. We lived in Lloyd for most of that time, even farther from town and more in the woods than where Glen and I live now and it was truly not beyond possibility that he had either been in a wreck or had been arrested and traffic was so sparse on the roads at that time of night that if he had been in an accident, it could have taken hours for someone to discover him. 
You have no idea how many times I stayed up until four or five in the morning, wondering what it would be like to be a widow. And of course we had little children so add that to the equation. 

Lord but I was so gullible, so trusting, so self-deceiving. And I still wonder why none of our friends told me. Everyone knew. Everyone but me. And I suppose I knew too but like I said, I couldn't face it. One sweet, dear man did tell me once that my husband really shouldn't treat me like he did which should have probably been enough but denial is a powerful and mysterious thing. 

So that's probably why I get overly concerned when Glen's late getting home or I can't reach him by phone. I know he's not out being up to no good. That's just not him. But as to wrecks? Sure. That could happen to anyone at anytime, anywhere, and that old fear just kicks right into gear and common sense flies out the window.

Well. That is certainly not what I meant to write about this evening but that so often happens with me, doesn't it? 

I was out in the garden this morning, not doing a real picking or anything, just a survey although of course I did do some picking, when I found this tiny embryo of a Seminole pumpkin.

I was so thrilled. I have honestly never had anything in any of my many, many gardens that grew with the vitality of these pumpkins. Ever. Not even close. And it seemed so long before they started blooming and then another good, long wait before I saw any pumpkins but here was proof it was going to happen. 
And then I found this one! 

Marigold for scale. And also because it was just there. 

And I have no idea how many of those there are on the vines because it's not easy to make my way through them without a machete or some other sharp bladed instrument. So I will just have to be surprised. I wonder how many will actually grow into maturity and I have no idea exactly what they look like when they do. 

Here's an internet photo of what they can look like. 

All I really know is that the pumpkins, when ripe, can be stored for a year. I think of the family in "The Yearling" and how growing some of these could have added so much variety, flavor, and vitamin A to their diet. 
Now, the Baxters would not have had the ingredients to make the dessert found at this website, but I certainly do, and surely would like to try it. Curries, soups, breads, pies...I think all of those could be made with these pumpkins. 
Stay tuned for Seminole Pumpkin Kitchen Adventures! 

What else was I going to write about? I went to town and had lunch with Lily and Lauren and Mr. Moon, as I mentioned above. That was fun. I went to a jewelry store/repair place where I'd had two necklaces restrung. One of them is great but the pearls are not. I swear to you, they are at least an inch shorter than before. I know it's normal for the stringing material to relax and stretch a bit over time but this seems a little over the top. I have absolute trust in this place. It's been in business in Tallahassee forever and ever and the same family runs it that opened it. They surely would not risk their reputation by stealing a few cultured pearls. 
Any suggestions? 

Oh! Oh! I ordered myself two birthday presents! One was the final book in Colson Whitehead's trilogy set in Harlem over a span of years whose main character is a man named Raymond Carney. I've read the first two more than once and have even read them out loud to Glen on trips. Those books, in order, are, "Harlem Shuffle," "Crook Manifesto," and now "Cool Machine." I am so damn excited to step back into that world. 

The other present I am giving myself is of course, the vinyl edition of Foreign Tongues. I want those liner notes! 

I heard an interview with the artist who did the cover image and trust me- it all makes sense. His name is Nathaniel Mary Quinn and I am sure there is a story there. And if you can't tell, that picture is a conglomerate creation of Keith, Ronnie, and Mick. 
Yes. I know. I am a fool for those old boys and part of the reason for that is how they are wearing the faces they have earned in their over eighty years of life. 
Well, Ronnie's only something like seventy-nine or something. 

The man just got home. He said, "I forgot it was Friday."
"I figured that," I said. 

Oh well. Lucky for me I can make a pretty darn excellent martini myself, which I did. He can make the second one. As MFK Fisher so wisely said, a bird cannot fly on just one wing. 
Or something like that. 

I had an entire complex menu planned for tonight but I have switched it up to make it simple. We'll be having clam spaghetti and a salad. I just went out and picked a little arugula and basil for that salad. Here's what my basils are looking like. 

Cinnamon (or Mexican) basil, Thai basil, lavender basil, African basil. I do believe I'm going to have to make some pesto soon. As you can see, some of the basil in the first photo is growing from last year's reseeded plants. 
Basil, like Seminole pumpkins, truly wants to live here, I think. 

Ooh...clean sheets on the bed tonight! 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon