Real Housewife Of Jefferson County

Where is my cook? Where is my maid? Where is my gardener? Where is my laundress? Where is my psychologist? Where is my drug dealer? Where is my chauffer? Where is my personal trainer? Where is my cabana boy and my swimming pool guy?

Where in hell are my cabana and my swimming pool? 


Jesus, people. I just want my fair share of the wealth. I just want my fair share of the good life as illustrated on the TeeVee. I am a real housewife! I am not a Real Housewife. I guess there's a fucking difference because I sure don't have a room-sized closet full of prom dresses that show my giantshinybubbleboobed cleavage that I sit around and drink cocktails in.

What? Giantshinybubbleboobed isn't a word?
Well, it is at blessourhearts.

How in hell do those skinny, bony women hold those big old boobies up? I guess that's what Pilates is all about.

Okay. It's Friday. Before Memorial Day which for those of you who hold actual jobs and are actual members of society, means that you have a three-day weekend. For me, an actual housewife/hermit, it means very little. The chickens do not care one bit and will not be rearranging their schedules to include a memorial of any kind.

Speaking of chickens, those banties are wild. They are taking to roosting ON TOP OF THE HEN HOUSE! I mean, the big hen house. Like, ten feet up in the air. We go out to put everyone to bed and the banties are up there, peering down at us with sleepy eyes. Last night I just left them. Obviously, they are bred to roost in trees or something. Okay. Whatever.

Flopsy is taking her babies further and further afield. Yesterday she brought them up to the back steps for me and Owen to give treats to. We did. We fed them bread. They liked it. They clucked and rattled and chuckled and snatched. Flopsy tid-bitted the bread to them. She took it out of Owen's hands and then dropped it for the chicks. We also saw Elvis mount Flopsy yesterday. Well, roosters don't so much mount as they do just jump on them, which he did. To Flopsy. Right in front of her babies. They didn't seem to care.
"Oh for Christ sake, Elvis," I said.
He didn't seem to care either. The act took all of twelve seconds, if that, but he seemed pretty proud about it and then resumed eating corn scratch.

I wasn't wearing a prom dress and neither was Flopsy.

So Mr. Moon and I are heading over to the Florida Folk Festival today. Jessie is already over there, camping with her fellow Cicada Ladies. They are selling beer coozies that say Cicada Ladies on them and taking pre-orders for their CD's and performing. We plan to catch their 3:00 pm set. We'll also be able to see demonstrations of how to throw cast nets and take care of Florida Cracker Cows or something. I don't know. Frankly, I don't really care. It's going to be hot and there will be Porta Potties and fried food delight and I already have chiggers, thank you very much. Also, tick bites. I have GOT to quit peeing in the woods. I'd rather pee in the woods and risk Lyme Disease though, than use a Porta Potty.
Ick.
Plus, I fucking LIVE in a 24-hour-a-day, 7-days-a-week demonstration of Florida Folk shit.
Basically.
And I should probably wear a bra.

I'm just a grouch today. I think a real good afternoon for me would be to go to a country club and have a cobb salad and lay around a pool and have a cute guy bring me endless vodka tonics. There would be no Florida Cracker Cows in sight. Or cast nets. Or old-timey fiddlers. Or cloggers. Just the gentle lapping of chlorinated water and a beautifully appointed rest room for when I needed to pee.

But then again, there would be no Cicada Ladies either.
So there you go.
Plus, I don't belong to a country club. Plus, I might need to buy some Cicada Lady beer coozies.

I can't believe I have a daughter who's a musician. But I do. And she is. The other night before I went to bed Jessie was playing guitar sitting on the stairs in the hallway. One of the main reasons I wanted this house was because of that hallway. I knew that the acoustics in there would be perfect.

And they pretty much are.
Where did that girl get those fingers? Not from me. Not from her daddy.
Some old-timey musician, I guess. I probably carry him or her around with me in my genes and I don't even know it. So I'll just carry that old-timey musician genes with me to the Folk Festival and show him or her that I have done my part in keeping those genes alive.
I'll probably cry.

Then I'll come home and turn on the AC and pee on my potty which is inside of the house and hopefully, no ticks or chiggers will be involved and no damn cakes of that weird pink smelly shit they have in Porta Potties. And go put my chickens to bed. And then lay down and rest my cleavage.

Those are my big plans for the Memorial Day Weekend here in North Florida where we have our own sort of Good Life and it doesn't involve cabana boys or prom dresses. Which is just fine but frankly and in all honesty, I would not mind a maid.

Last Night And It Was Good

It was really an amazing evening. It was a Wednesday, for goodness sake! and the Mockingbird Cafe was packed.
When Mr. Moon and I got there, Lily and Jason and Owen and Hank and Taylor were already there, as were Jessie and Vergil, of course. Owen was sleep-walking. That boy was in a coma and didn't so much as blink his eyes, knowing that if he did, they would stay shut. So he just didn't and looked out at the world wide-eyed, dazed, if not confused.


We passed him around and cuddled him up and offered him food which he would point and ask for but when you handed it over, he'd look at like he had no idea what to do with.
I asked Vergil what he thought of my grandson and he said, "I think he's the prettiest baby I've ever seen in my life," and I said, "Correct answer!"

It seemed like half, at least, of the whole faculty of SAIL was there, on a school night! to support the girls they'd seen grow up. In fact, I saw people last night I haven't seen in years and it was just completely surprising and lovely, too.
So many musicians that I've been going to see play for years and here they were, out to see "the kids" play and everyone was smiling and everyone was cheering and clapping and well, it was just a damn fine evening.

So, the sound on this video sucks and so does the shooting of it. I'm sorry. I have no idea what I'm doing, which is quite apparent and obviously, it is easier for me to keep apologizing than it is for me to learn how to do it properly. I am sort of boggled that I learned how to do the transfer of video to here at all, if you want to know the truth.



But here it is, Mama-shot, straight from the heart, a glimpse of my girls (because in a way, they are all three my girls), of an evening that was such a good one and such an unexpected joy and a very real proof that my goodness! we do live in a beautiful community here.

Okay. I have things to do! Tomorrow is Kathleen's birthday party and the day after that, Mr. Moon and I are loading up the car to go to Roseland, Florida where a little cottage on a sleepy river awaits us. I must make a cake and pack my rags and figure out how I'm going to live without Owen for a week.
Mr. Moon is out in the garage right now, building what looks like a small house but is actually (or so he claims) some sort of hunting blind.

Life in Lloyd.
I can't help but feel so very blessed this fine, cool morning, my shoes from last night still in the kitchen, my chickens pecking about the yard, my husband out in the garage, my babies so amazing, my life so full.

Thanks for coming by.
Love...Ms. Moon