Caring And Loving And Not Caring, Too

Well, we're still going to have a Post Office in Lloyd but for only four hours a day and we are going to have a sidewalk to nowhere but maybe eventually the county will have enough money for it to go somewhere and the meeting was about as funny as I thought it would be and the poor P.O. representative was smashed against the wall, both literally and figuratively in the packed, tiny lobby of where we collect our mail as theories were advanced and complaints made and worries were aired and misconceptions were liberally tossed about.
Poor dude.

The sidewalk is not going through my front yard and I guess I'm grateful. I don't really care. Frankly, I don't really care about much right now although that's not entirely true. I do actually care about a lot of things but they are, in my estimation at least, the Big Things such as guess who is walking now?

Yeah, that's right. Gibson Monroe Hartmann. He just figured out that he could and then he did and now he's all proud of himself and clapping his hands and walking just like a man, okay, maybe a drunk man but still. He's a primate who can walk upright!

I also care about his brother because, well, he's my beloved grandson and he charms and delights me.

They are beautiful, those boys. I care about them a LOT.

And I care about a friend of mine whose ex-husband is dying who went down to the hospital where he was and helped arrange everything for him to go into hospice and scrubbed his house and even his vegetable drawer because she's that kind of person. Sure, they've been divorced forever but he's the daddy of her sons and that's the kind of person I love and care about- the kind that cares and loves.

I do not, however, give one damn shit about the election/selection/detection of the new pope. Can you even imagine caring? Maybe if I was the official pope shoemaker I would care. Which I am not. Stupid old men in dresses acting like they know what god wants. What a load of crap.

Whoa! Where did THAT come from?

I do care about getting ready to go to the island. Yes. I am selfish but sometimes a gal's just gotta let go and go to the island. I'm in go-mode. I spent a crazy amount of money at the grocery store buying a whole lot of stuff we won't eat and I don't care about that, either. I'm doing one last load of laundry and I've got food in bins and food ready to go in a cooler and I'm going to pack my overalls and my Goodwill cashmeres and books galore. I'm excited.
Hopefully, by this time tomorrow we'll be there and unpacked and it'll be a cozy nest for me and my husband and we'll watch the Great Blue Heron right out the back door fishing for his supper. Maybe we'll see the osprey dive and catch fishes and maybe we'll see him carry them home to his mate. We might see the bald eagles and we might see the tiny shore birds that scurry before us as we walk. Maybe we'll see a shark and if we do, Owen showed me what to do which is to swim like hell. Not that I plan on being in the water but just in case...
Maybe we'll see dolphins and we'll surely see sunsets and maybe we'll hear the wind whistling through the dunes as we lay in our bed and I'll have my books stacked up beside me on the bedside table and since Mr. Moon will be there, the poltergeist which inhabits the house will not show up and scatter them about as she has been known to do when I am there alone.
And once we're there, I am not going to care about the dogs or the garden (which Mr. Moon is working in right this second) and I am not going to worry about cholesterol or the sidewalk in Lloyd or the hours of the Post Office. I am not even going to worry about my grandchildren. Their parents can do that just fine.

I'm going to try and not worry about a thing although I believe I may well passionately care about many things such as my score in gin rummy, whether or not to eat chips with salsa or Wheat Thins with humus, and mostly my husband. Well, it's a plan.

I love being on an island because the proof of the world flowing on with or without me is so very tangible and there is nothing for it but for me to appreciate all that flowing of wind and of water and to know that yes, I am here now but someday I will not and the sun will set with just as much fire and glory when I'm gone and that holds true for presidents and popes and saints and all us regular sinners alike.

Amen, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon

It rained last night, first a shower and then a deluge, pouring down and soaking in and today it's gray and I slept until eight-thirty and woke up and popped up, feeling guilty as hell because...eight-thirty! but last week that would have been seven-thirty. Jesus. This is crazy.

Last night Mr. Moon screamed in the hallway and I yelled "What? What?" and he said (I thought he said) "A RAT! Close the door!" so I closed the door and I figured he'd get out a bat and kill the rat but then he came into the room with a small towel and said, "I got it," and I said, "There's a rat in that towel?" and he looked at me funny and said, "A BAT, it's a bat."
Oh. And then he took the bat outside and let it go.

Life in Lloyd.

I was going to go to town about elevenish to get groceries and go to the library in preparation for this trip to the island but then I recalled that there's a meeting at the post office about whether or not to continue with it in Lloyd- our tiny post office in an old train station- and I have to go to that. It's at noon. And after that there's a meeting about putting in a SIDEWALK here in Lloyd and I'm sort of interested in that because it'll probably cut through my yard if they do and it's so ridiculous, from what I've heard, like a quarter of a mile of sidewalk that goes from nowhere to nowhere and for WHAT? So my schedule is all screwed up and so what? I mean, it's not like I have a job I have to go to but it's messed with my head, this Change In Plans although I have known about the meeting for at least two months but in my defense, the sidewalk meeting was thrown at me last night via a neighbor who for some reason keeps calling me about this issue. There have already been two meetings in Monticello (Jefferson County's only town and, you guessed it, the County Seat) about it which she had called to inform me of when they happened and I didn't go to those. I guess I figure they're going to do whatever they want with their concrete and right-of-way.
A sidewalk in Lloyd?
My neighbor who called me thinks that a sidewalk in Lloyd from nowhere to nowhere is a good thing because she is of the opinion that anything they do in Lloyd which might possibly indicate that the county knows we're here is a good thing but I'm not sure. All Lloyd has is a post office (which is threatened, I guess) and a trash and recycle depot and a volunteer fire department and a truck stop which doesn't even have a restaurant any more. And a Subway. Yes. We have a Subway.
Hell, when I lived down the road thirty-five years ago Lloyd had two little stores and the truck stop had a restaurant where you could get a hamburger or some fried chicken so we're sliding back here, folks but I'm pretty sure that a Sidewalk To Nowhere isn't what we need.

So of course I feel crazy. I would have felt crazy anyway simply because we are going to the island and doing ANYTHING out of the ordinary schedule makes me feel crazy so now I'm zinging all over the place and I could have gone to town this morning but I slept until eight-thirty, like I said, and I don't want the pressure of a deadline.

See? Crazy.

And it's getting cold. The rain brought cold.

Good morning. I'm sure I'll calm down eventually.

And please- no more bats in the house although the years that we've had a bat in the house meant that there were plenty more where they came from (the chimney in the library) so I am imagining coming back from the island to find a house full of bats and a cement mixer in my front yard and the post office closed. Look- it could happen. One time Mr. Moon and I went to Mexico and when we got back a week later a strip club had opened up in Tallahassee and already been SHUT DOWN by the police and it was a huge deal and we missed the whole thing.

You never know.

You can quote me on that.

Happy Tuesday.

Love...Ms. Moon

Getting Ready To Get Ready To Leave

Is it possible that I haven't been to Dog Island since last May? I swear to you, that's the last time I remember being there. I've gone back through the blog some but hell, I'm way too prolific to actually go through an entire year. Please.

Anyway, I am sure we were there in May. Jessie and Vergil came and also Jessie's Mama and her husband and we had a really nice time. Lily and Jason and the boys came over for a short visit and Gibson was only two months old. Not quite, actually. Here's what he looked like in Vergil's mother's arms.

That boy's going to be a year old next week. Do you realize that? A year old. Oh my. 

Anyway, it's been quite a while since I was on the island and that always means that I have no idea what's over there and what isn't. For those of you who are new here, Dog Island is a small barrier island off the coast near here where we own, with a friend, a very small house on the bay and it's sort of a shack but it's sweet and since there's no bridge to the island, it's extremely quiet. There is no commerce on the island whatsoever although we have electricity and a phone. No TV. No wifi, either, so if I blog, I do it with the iPhone and that is a tedious thing to do but I am so addicted to blogging that I do it anyway and I can certainly put pictures up and honestly, that's all I need to send from the island because it truly is beautiful. It's the real Florida in all ways, wild as can be for the most part. There are a few dirt roads that'll trap your car if you're not careful but mostly it's beach and bay and woods and swamp. Nothing to buy there, nothing to do but fish and lay about, take good walks and read and dream and play games and cook crazy meals and sleep. And swim, of course, if it's warm enough which it definitely will not be this week. 

But if you get over there and you didn't bring coffee, say, then you really have no coffee. A trip to the store involves a car trip down that dirt road to the dock a few miles from the house and then a three mile boat ride across the bay and then another ten miles to a store that's worth anything. So you try to take everything you're going to need and of course I always take too much which is why there are probably five bags of self-rising flour there and yes, I'll be taking coffee because god knows I can't live without coffee. And water. We don't drink the water that comes from the tap although we bathe in it and wash the dishes in it. So it's always a crap-shoot when I go shopping for a trip to the island but we've never run out of food and that's the truth. We usually come home with a cooler full of leftovers. That is the way of the island. Mr. Moon says he has a list of "need" and "don't need" on his phone and good for him. I'll peruse it before I go shopping tomorrow. 

I'm looking forward to going a lot. Mr. Moon and I are good travelers together and when we are alone together, we usually get along pretty darn well. That is a blessing. These past few months have been way too full of difficulties and stress and busy-ness. We need a break. And on the island, we'll get one. We'll build our days around which birds we see, what the weather brings, and the sunsets which are always magnificent. 

It is suddenly so quiet in Lloyd. The sky is very gray and the wind which has blown all day has stopped and it is as still as it can be. Even the birds are quiet. That reminds me of something that happened yesterday at the party which was that while we were all sitting around the tables outside, there was a sudden commotion overhead. A hawk had taken a cardinal and as we all watched, the hawk carried the poor red bird over the railroad tracks and into the woods. 

"Nature red in tooth and claw," murmured Kati beside me and Lily cheerfully announced, "That's a good omen!" 

We all laughed. 

Nature is not all baby chicks and blooming daffodils. Certainly not here in Florida. 

Owen was off with this grandfather when this happened so I told him about it later. He looked at me when I was finished with the story and said, "That was so RUDE!" 

Haha!

My boy. 

I am going to miss him and his brother while I am on the island but I'm sure we'll all survive. 

Ah. The wind is back. I think we might get a storm tonight.

Tomorrow I will shop and the next day we will go to the island, the good Lord willing, the creek don't rise, and the boat runs the way it should.

Good evening, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Sigh.

I can't believe it's almost noon. This time change thing has whacked me out just as I'm sure it's whacked everyone else out. As long as I live I will never understand why we do such a weird and random thing as to try and change time although yes, I realize we're not actually trying to change time but yes, sort of we are. Do you suppose it's a Human Control Issue? Man displaying dominion over the laws of the universe?
I have no idea but honestly, it can't be a good idea.

I'm in recovery mode today. I don't have one thing planned beyond doing the laundry. I haven't done laundry since last Thursday so of course there's an unbelievable amount of it to do. Last night Mr. Moon went to pack for his morning workout and he could not grasp the concept that his gym towels were not clean. It was like, THEY HAD TO BE HERE SOMEWHERE. He even said, "Maybe they're in the laundry room."
And I was like, "Yeah, they are. BUT THEY'RE NOT CLEAN!"
It was a mindblower. And yet, the world seems to continue to spin.

Whoa. Since I started writing this I've done three loads of laundry and Jessie and I had a lovely porch visit with her old friend Molly who brought over her baby boy Julian.

Jessie was going through old pictures all morning and Molly was in about half of them. And some of you may recall that Jessie was serendipitously in town when Julian was born and got to be with Molly and her husband for the birth which was just a cosmic and gorgeous event. And Julian is a cosmic and gorgeous boy and Molly is such a good mama. Time does fly. Jessie would hold up a picture of me and say, "Look how cute you were," and I'd say, "Yeah. I was three years older there than you are now."

Both of us were somewhat shocked, I think, to realize how fast it all goes. There I was and here I am and there she and Molly were and here they are. 

We had some leftover party sandwiches and they were delicious. Especially the cucumber ones. 

You just can't beat a good cucumber sandwich.

God, it was some weekend. And now Jessie's gone and Molly's gone and I'm here alone for the first time in days and days and although I cried when Jessie left (I do tend to cry when my beloveds leave, don't I?) I am glad to be alone. I read Leonard Pitt's column this morning about introverts and it really hit me that I, too, am one of those. And the older I get, the stronger the need for a lot of alone time becomes. And I need to quit feeling like there's something wrong with me and just accept that being an introvert who craves and needs and loves time to herself is not only fine, it's as normal as being one of those people who loves and needs and craves constant interaction with others. I'm always SO exhausted after big parties and I'm coming to realize it's not just the work involved, it's the necessity of socializing. I'm not good at it anymore and it wears me out. As beautiful and fun as Kathleen's wedding and Jessie's shower were, they have left me completely undone and exhausted and I am as content and happy to be here on my back porch on this gray day than anything else I can imagine. 

There's a yard full of chickens, mine and the neighbor's, scratching about and the feeder is busy today and just watching and listening to all of this avian life is plenty for me. I have laundry running, a pot of soybeans cooking. I've talked to Lis on the phone and wrapped up her mother's beautiful crystal punch bowl and twenty-five cups and the ladle in pink tissue paper and put them in their box and everything I do today is going to be done slowly and with intent and gratefulness. 

I am at peace. 

Tomorrow I will go to town and see my boys again and get supplies for us to take to Dog Island but for today, I am simply here. I am being here now. 

And then we'll go to the island (knock wood) on Wednesday, hopefully, and there will be days of sitting and walking and watching the water, the birds. There will be reading and napping and playing cards and cooking and eating and an abundance of being here now. Or there. You know what I mean.

And the damn time won't mean a thing unless it's in the context of time to eat, time to sleep, time to watch the sunset, etc. It's quite possible I won't talk to half a dozen people over the entire course of our stay there and those conversations, if I have them, will be limited. 

"Hello."

"Catching anything?"

"Nice weather."

Of course I'll talk to my husband but after almost thirty years with him, that will be easy. And if we don't talk, that'll be fine too. I love it when he wades out to fish in the bay and I stay on shore and watch him. He becomes part of the world of the water and the sky and that makes us both happy. 

Well, it's afternoon now. I'd say good morning but that time has come and gone. 

Doesn't matter. 

I don't have dominion over anything except for the laundry and what we'll be eating tonight. Which sounds pretty perfect to me. It has been days of constant doing and I am so very, very happy to have before me a few days of constant nothing-much-at-all.

Much love...Ms. Moon

Aw. It Was Awesome

It was the best bridal shower ever. There were: pretty little sandwiches and stuffed grape leaves and deviled eggs and chicken salad and two kinds of punch (one a blackberry mojito and one a Methodist Lady with sherbet), hummingbird cake and tulips and roses and it was sunny and there were babies and kids catching frogs and old friends and hugs GALORE!

After we ate, Lily and May and I were somewhat stricken because we hadn't planned any games so what were we going to do? Here's what we did- we all sat around in a big circle around the tables outside in the beautiful gold-sun afternoon and every one of us gave Jessie our best advice about marriage and I wrote it all down for her. There was Pat who has been married for fifty years ("Be aware that you're going to be in at least six to eight different marriages in your lifetime with the same man") to girls who had never been married but who had something wise and succinct to say anyway, to women who have been married more than once and you know damn well those ladies (uh, I'm one of them) gave good advice. It was awesome. It was far better than any game. And it was sweet and it was funny and we all laughed and we all nodded our heads and we all learned something and we all had something to think about.

Damn.

And then there were presents. Bowls and bowls. There seemed to be a bowl theme. And an herb garden in a pot and a book about sex and a handmade-with-love-from-Lis ribbon flower to go in Jessie's hair. Such thoughtful and loving gifts. Lily gave Jessie a wedding-emergency box with everything from a tiny bottle of tequila to safety pins in it. Molly gave Jessie a beautiful box of handmade soy wax candles to burn at different times in her marriage with a beautiful poem to go with them. And beer. For anytime. Because beer is great.

Jessie ended up wearing a dress of mine that's older than she is. She looked beautiful, of course. May's worn that dress many times too. That dress is a keeper. It's made of corduroy so I imagine it will outlast me, at least.

Here's a funny thing- the electricity went off right before everyone got here. But it was such a bright sunny afternoon that no one even noticed until we pointed it out. Okay, we didn't get to cook the frozen baby quiches and spanakopita but they were honestly not needed and that might be what Mr. Moon and I are eating for supper tonight. The power came back on right when I was ready to make coffee before everyone left.
It was, in some way, as perfect as the rest of the day.

I honestly can't imagine a better party. And when Lizzie left I cried and apologized over and over for being such a negative old whiny bitch and I thanked her from the bottom of my heart for everything that she did.

It does indeed take a village to raise a child and when that child is raised, it's a beautiful thing to have the village to attend to her and send her off into marriage with good advice and loving gifts.

Jessie's going to be all right. I have no doubt about that. My baby is going to be a wife and it is a testament to her family and to the friends who were here today that she wants to make a family of her own.

I'm content. The girl has been raised up good and she's picked the right man to marry. Which was my advice- to pick the right person to marry. That's 99% of it right there. And Vergil? He's the right man.

Amen and hallelujah.

Love...Ms. Moon

What Jessie Is Not Wearing To Her Shower

Dammit.

Thank god Lis is here. She's all like, "So, what's the plan? What are we doing now?"
And I'm all like, "More coffee. I don't know."

Some people are organizers and some people are run-and-screamers.

Guess which one I am?

So far I have:
1. Put ice and juice and blackberries in the freezer to make an ice ring for the punch.
2. Made a pot of oatmeal.
3. Drunk coffee.
4. That's all.

I suppose I better come up with a plan.

Shower's at two. Oh Lord.

Happy Sunday.

Love...Ms. Moon

Pecans. I used pecans. Whatever, who cares?

Lizzie is here. She is showing Jessie JEWELS in the kitchen right now. Jessie has spent the day recovering from her bachelorette party. She is wondering if she'll ever drink again.
Haha!
Bless her sweet heart.

We went to Kathleen's wedding. There must have been a hundred people there. Owen and Gibson were in heaven. Adoring people AND cake? Oh my. Owen played with a little nine-year old girl who was dressed like a fairy. She was the boss of him and he loved it.

Kathleen was beautiful. Also? She and her husband gave me and Mr. Moon matching Duck Dynasty T-shirts. They look like this:

I'm pretty excited.

Okay. I better go look at jewels. But I have something new to worry about. 

Check THIS out.

Gallinippers? 

Really?

Fuck. 

Things just keep getting weirder. 

Love...Ms. Moon

I Wish I Smoked Dope

For absolutely no apparent reason on the most beautiful of Saturday mornings I am in complete panic mode.

But I saw a bluebird. It flew up as I opened the kitchen door, so improbably blue that I thought I was surely seeing things that were not there but no, it perched on a bare pecan limb and I am keeping that glory in my mind, I am doing one thing at a time, I am trying not to fall into whatever abyss this is which is yawning before me.

Toilets, rugs, bluebirds, sky, and all of that and all of this and the very question of which do I use in the chicken salad- pecans or sliced almonds- is enough to blow the blood vessels out in my head.

I do not think this is normal.

More Pictures

I look at my children and I see their fathers in them so strongly. I have always thought that lust was nothing more than one's womb crying out to join her DNA with the object of the lust.

That has worked out well for me in all regards.

That last picture is just what Mr. Moon and I were looking at as we had our Friday night martini on the porch.

Yours truly...Ms. Moon

This Beautiful Morning

It is beautiful this morning and a little misty so that the light in the backyard, at least, has been directed into beams.

Jessie is here and up getting a shower and soon the boys will be here, too, quivering with electric excitement as they are when they get here. 

I was thinking the other day about my reluctance to leave my house and yard and it occurred to me that this may be a result of several things. One is that I do live in my dream house and thus, am simply loathe to leave it. This is certainly true. Why leave these old wood floors and these generous porches to go anywhere else and why leave these trees, some of them hundreds of years old to drive down a highway to a town? There is a real sense in that, if you think about it.

But then the crazy piece comes in- is there some part of me which thinks that if I leave Lloyd I will not return? That in leaving I am giving up ownership and control? That I don't truly believe in my fortune, my dreams-come-true enough to test out the theory of their reality in my life by leaving and coming back?

Do we have any idea what I'm talking about?

I think that in all insanity and mental unwellness there is a germ, a kernel of truth. It may be blown way out of all proportion, but still, somewhere in the chaos of crazy there is a still center of possibility.

Well. I don't know. 

I just know that Jessie is home and the boys are coming and it is Friday and there are lists to make and a cake to bake and things to buy and plants to stick in the dirt and floors to clean and toilets to scrub and porches to sweep and there will be all of this and puzzles too. 

Good morning. Happy Friday.

Love...Ms. Moon

That is Owen, sitting on the back of the couch in the library, looking outside. I found him sitting there today and I said, "What are you doing, baby?"
"I waiting for Boppy," he said. "When he comes, that where he park his car."

It's true. That is where Boppy parks his car but Boppy was at work and I told Owen that he wasn't coming for a long, long time and finally, he came down off the back of the couch and joined his brother and me again. And when he pooped on the potty, the first thing he said was, "I need to call Boppy and tell him."
And we did.

Owen loves his grandfather so much. He loves me too. I know he does. And his Aunt May and his Aunt Jessie and his Uncle Hank. He loves us all. I told him that Jessie was coming today and that she would be here with us tomorrow, all day long. He was pretty darn excited about that prospect.
"Jessie getting married," he said.
"I know. Who's she marrying?"
"Vergil. Jessie and Vergil are sweet."
He not only loves his aunts and his uncle, he loves Vergil too. And Sweet Uncle Matt as he calls May's fellow. Honestly, that's just what he started calling him one day. Sweet Uncle Matt.

The love. It knocks me out. It digs a place into my heart that has needed healing my entire life. I swear it does. And Gibson is beginning to understand it too. He holds his arms out to us, his extended family. And you should see how excited he is when his father or his mother come to pick him up. I put him on the phone today when his mama called and when he heard her voice, it was like the sun coming up, watching his baby boy face. I told Lily how big he'd smiled.
"I can raise some Mama's boys," she said.
And oh yes, she certainly can.
But more than that, she is raising babies who are so very much loved and who are able to love with complete abandon.
I think about this so often. How neither Owen or Gibson has ever spent so much as five minutes being taken care of by someone who wasn't kin to them, who didn't love them down to the bone. Who didn't think they weren't the best, the very best boys in the world. Not five minutes. If I don't have them or May or Boppy or Hank or Jessie, their other grandmother has them and of course she loves them to the heavens and back as well. I wonder what this is going to mean for them in the future, having had this beginning. Having felt for every second of their life that there was someone in charge who was there out of love. Are they going to take that for granted? I hope so. I hope they always take it for granted that there is someone standing behind them, no matter how old they are, who is there for the simple reason that they love them. That sort of complete love which doesn't hold grudges or resentments or have bars and hoops to jump. Just the simple fact of their being makes them worthy of being loved.

I think it is going to matter. I think it is going to make a difference.
I look back at my life and wonder how much time and energy I have spent trying to make myself lovable, worthy of love and affection. How probably a lot of that time and energy was a waste of time. Either people love you unconditionally for who you are or they don't and how I've yet to learn that.

Yet to accept it.

That's the thing.

I talked to my Lizzie on the phone this evening. She's coming on Saturday night to help with the shower on Sunday after playing at the Will McLean Festival way south of here at noon on Friday because for the second time, she's won first prize there for the best original Florida song. Do you know how many people vie for that prize? I don't either, but a lot. And this is the SECOND time she's won it. And she's going to do her set and then drive all the way up here to help me with this shower because she loves Jessie and is her fairy godmother and because...she loves me.

I write that and the tears spring to my eyes and I don't really believe it, even though I do.

That picture of Owen reminds me of a moment in my childhood which is etched deeply in my soul. My mother had taken me to the nursery of her church so that she could go and attend the Sunday service and perhaps she was singing in the choir. I'm not sure. But. I cried and cried for her and I remember distinctly how kind the ladies in the nursery were and how they tried to coax me out of my sadness with Play Dough and toys and nothing would work and that hour was endless and then all of the parents came to collect their children and I was the last one there and I looked out of the window set in the door and finally, at last, here came my mother. She was limping because she'd broken one of the heels of her shoes and that was as sad as anything to me. That limp, limp, limp down the hallway and I'm sure that my sadness sprang not just from that one hour but from all of the sadness in my childhood home, the uncertainty, the fear. But I was so glad to see her. My mother. She was coming back to get me.
Finally. And at last. Limping but coming all the same.

When I told Owen that his Boppy wasn't going to be coming any time soon, like I said, he was fine with that. He knows that eventually, he'll be able to play with his Boppy again. He knows that he's fine here and that his parents will come to get him and that he'll be more than fine at home. He knows, quite simply, that he is loved everywhere and that he is taken care of and that his brother is taken care of wherever they may be.

If I have accomplished nothing else in this lifetime, I have made some choices which led to that.
And if Owen waits for someone to come, it is with joyful anticipation in his heart and there is absolutely no reason for him to fear that they will never, ever come. He knows that eventually, they will.

Here's a video that I love because it shows Lis so beautifully. Listen to the last notes because they are angel notes. And she is singing about...love.

Which I swear, is what it's all about.

Love....Ms. Moon

Well

Aw, Duck Dynasty, you have lost your charm. Season Three is too twee, or maybe it's just me...

Anyway, good morning from North Florida where it's cold and clear and the boys are coming to play with their grandmother today and tomorrow too but Jessie will be here sometime today and she will help me tomorrow and somehow in the next few days I'll get this house ready and the food ready and meanwhile, oh, I don't know, today I feel achy and so old and Elvis is crowing, crowing, come on, he says, let us out. 

I want to lose twenty pounds, I want to sit and write, I want to get new baby chicks, I want to get to the water, I want to be AGILE again, not this rusty old broad falling apart, muscle by muscle, joint by joint, ligament and tendon and probably bone too. I want life to get easier as I age, not harder, I want to look like those people in the ads for services and drugs for Those Of Us In The Golden Years with their hot white hair, their radiant we-got-ours-so-fuck-you-smug smiles. No, fuck you, what's so golden about this shit?

Let's go. Let's be. Let's plod and run and fly and crawl across the floor and hobble and hop and skip and lie down again. There is nothing else for it. This is life. No one said it was supposed to be easy and if they did, they lied and there was a list of possible side-effects a mile long and you just signed the contract, never once thinking that could be me.

Not for the bad stuff or the good either so I guess it works out.

Good morning. Good morning. Good day.

This Is How I Get Ready For A Party

I made soup today and it was as if I had no choice in the matter. The refrigerator was full of little bits of this and little bits of that, some corn that had gone into a black-bean salad, some broccoli, a few pieces of potato, one yellow squash...like that.
I thawed out a piece of deer meat and sauteed onions and the cut-up meat and started adding all the stuff. Also celery and carrots and two cans of tomatoes. Next thing you know I've got a pot of soup big enough to feed Lloyd and I don't even know why except that possibly, just like my DNA dictates me to take delight in keeping chickens, it forces me to put pot to flame when I have a lot of leftovers.

It is cold and we will eat big bowls of it tonight.

I took care of the boys for a few hours. We made popcorn and we played with some stuffed animals. The chick, the kangaroo, the pink elephant. We took them to eat and then they all had to lay down for naps. Woody joined in with the gang and more hilarity ensued. Owen is getting a big imagination on him and Gibson is happy to play around us, gnawing on a dinosaur or two.

Last night May and Matt were babysitting the boys so that Lily and Jason could go out for a little date night. May called me (or rather, Owen called me but that's a whole other story and we're not sure how he did that but he did) and asked if there was any way to know when to stop letting Gibson eat. "I don't think he's in the danger zone yet," she said, "But he sure has eaten a lot."
That child. Don't tell me we're not predetermined as to appetite. Sure, it can be influenced by the parents but some kids just don't ever want to quit and some, like Owen, are happy with a few slices of apple and a bite or two of macaroni. It starts at the breast. Every one of my kids had a different appetite for that, some wanting to nurse endlessly and some happy to get in and get what they needed and move on to another activity. That's just the way it is.

Anyway, Gibson did not blow up and so far Owen hasn't starved to death.

The sun's going down now and the soup is simmering. I've done some laundry and I actually went to a Goodwill and found some new pillows for sitting on. Some of the ones I have here are so nasty that I know Jessie is embarrassed by them and I should be too so I threw 'em out and I've got the newer ones to replace them. Sure, you can wash pillows but they often get lumpy and besides that, some of the old ones had been washed to the point of seams-raveling-out. So. Gone. I took 'em to the trash place.
Goodwill was fine. I eavesdropped on some excellent conversations. Goodwill's a great place for that. I looked at other stuff besides pillows but pillows are all I came home with. You can find some really nice pillows at Goodwill. I think that people change their decor and just get rid of their old pillows which are fine and have probably never even been touched. I don't have a decor so if a pillow feels pretty good and it's a nice color, I'll buy it.

Buster fell in the scum pond this afternoon. I don't know how he managed but he only got his hindquarters in and if I hadn't been there, I think he would have drowned. His forelegs were scrabbling like crazy and he couldn't gain a purchase to get out but I was right here to save his skinny old ass.
Sigh. Timing is everything, I guess.

So it's been a good day. Soup and laundry and shopping-without-anxiety and playing with the boys and saving a dog's life. And I redecorated. Not just with my pillows but I also took that rather horrible if not impressive plaster statue thing

which causes people to think that I'm some sort of crazy religious nut, down off the mantel in the dining room and put it on the hearth in front of the fireplace and hung my mother's picture of sunflowers that Frank Baisden did in its place.

There. That's better.
Right?

And now the sun's down and the man's home and I guess I'll go satisfy my DNA and serve up that soup.

Too bad it's not in my DNA to clean house which I really have to do before Sunday. That's plenty of time, right?

Sure.

Night, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon

Oh Come On. Just Watch It.

I don't have it this morning. I don't have a thing to say except that it's cold as hell outside and the wind is whipping and I'm boring as fuck. 

I've got a million things to do and town will be involved. 

Jessie's getting home tomorrow and I sure am glad about that. 

Here's another thing I'm glad about- tonight Duck Dynasty IS on. 

And since I'm so boring today and since I finally found a clip where Phil calls Miss Kay agile, I'll just go ahead and give you the video. 

Yes. We all know I get obsessed with things. And right now I'm obsessed with the Robertson family. 

Whatever. 

Love...Ms. Moon

The Trials And Tribulations Of Being Human

Dr. V. says that I have improved in the hip situation. I suppose he may be right. I had him take pictures of me doing the exercises so that I can remember them. I'm not sure they're really going to help, those pictures. We shall see. I have a memory like an iron sieve these days.
He looked at my wrist again and again told me it was really bad and that there was nothing he could do and he explained that when it was set, the cast wasn't tight enough and I began to move it and use it before it was ready and the bones have spread apart and that at this time, the surgical technology is not there to fix it. Maybe some day.
It's funny because I can remember when I had that cast on. I can remember riding my bike and eating an apple at the same time, my casted-hand on the handlebars, my other hand holding the apple. I doubt that was the only thing I used it for.
Who knew then what such stuff would lead to?

Well.

He also told me that I cannot sit the way I always sit anymore with my right leg bent so that I am sitting on that foot. So- I don't even sit right. Which I guess I knew. He told me that all of those yogis who sit in lotus position all the time eventually develop fucked-up knees and legs and feet. Well, he did not say fucked-up. But that's what he meant. "That's why they have all those students and disciples!" he said. "They don't have to do a thing. People bring them everything they need because they can't walk very well after all those years of sitting in that position."
Ah.
I wonder if this is so.
I said that I don't have any disciples or students so I better quit sitting on my foot, huh? He said yes, I better.
And oh yes- I solved the shorts problem by cutting off a pair of leggings. They worked well.

So that was my visit with Dr. V.

The rest of town was fine. There was nothing at all wrong with town. There is, however, something wrong with me. I can't seem to shop any more. No matter what sort of store or place I'm in, except for Publix, I tend to disassociate and I just want to get out of wherever I am as quickly as possible. Am I really turning into one of those crazy people who can't leave the house? Oh god. I hope not.

Anyway, now I'm home and I did successfully buy a wedding present for Kathleen and her fiance who are getting married on Saturday. I hope they like what I got and it was one of those quick, look-in-a-window-and-see-something-perfect situations. I am so grateful for that.

I am grateful for a lot of things and I am not grateful for a good many others. I suppose that would make me a human being.

I wish Duck Dynasty was on tonight. I really do.

Love...Ms. Moon

Stream Of Almost Consciousness

I tidied up two kitchen areas last night. Two out of many.
I have too many vases. Come and take some vases, honey. Come and take them away. 
I did not eat spanakopita. I cooked and ate an egg with vegetables in it and then some peanut butter. Nursery food and I was so tired I sat on the couch thinking, "Get up, go finish the laundry, do the dishes, get up, go let the dogs out, make tomorrow's coffee. Get up, go brush your teeth."
Finally, finally, I did all of those things and then I got in that bed and she and I partnered together to create luscious sleep, dreamy-good-dreams sleep. I had some sweet dreams with kisses and robes made of antique velvet and hen eggs, blue and green and brown.

When I got up it was so much warmer and the sky was clear blue and then I blinked and it was gray again, old mattress-stuffing gray. The color of a formerly-white pillowcase that a four-year old child has loved since birth. It is so much harder to fight through that sort of gray than it is to drift through the blue. I'm telling you. Trust me.

I'm going back to see Dr. V. today. "Have you done your exercises?" he will ask.
"Ummmm," I will say.
I don't feel like I was doing them right. They hurt. Then I started the bruising. Oh boy. I suck. He is so formal, this Dr. V. He told me last time to please wear shorts the next time. I guess to preserve my modesty. He is a PhD of body mechanics. Why is my skin something to cover up? I don't understand. I am fifty-eight years old. I have no modesty about such things. I wear substantial underpants. All of my shorts are of the men's cargo variety. They come to my knees and have pockets everywhere for CD players and batteries and gum and a phone, etc. How can he work around all that cloth, all those pockets? Perhaps he asks this because he is from another country, another culture, he is the color of bright coffee, I am the color of an old white person. And a woman. I don't know. I'm stressing out about this. My knees hurt. My hip feels better. I don't understand, though, how to walk from my shoulders, letting my feet fly over the ground. There is nothing flying about the way I walk now. There is no flight involved at all.

My dog is puking. Right now. As we speak.
$75. It would cost $75 to give my dog a sweet, gentle death.
I shouldn't think such things.
The poop I cleaned up this morning from the other dog was spread all over the hallway. It was the sort of poop that is almost cemented to the floor.
$75. I can't help but think these evil thoughts. These things.

Here's something I've been noticing lately and it bothers me: People are using the word "couple" with other words without "of" between them. Like, "I waited for a couple hours." Not "I waited for a couple of hours." Is it correct now to do this? I read it last night in a magazine I respect highly. This seems wrong to me but I'm seeing it everywhere. I don't like it and I don't usually give a shit about such things. Whatever. But still. I was thrilled to see on our dear Angella's blog today that she said..."in a couple of days." Thank you, Angella, for that tiny "of."

The wind is whirling the gray around. The day is whirling itself forward. I wish I had enough flowers to fill every vase in this house. I would set them around on every surface.
The wind is walking as if its feet were flying over the ground.
I take note.

Hello.

Neither The Shower Nor This Post Has A Theme

I met up with May and Matt at Lily's house today and Gibson came with us to go shopping and Owen went out to run errands with his dad. He said they were going on a date.
"What's a date?" May asked him. "What do you do on a date?"
"Eat and have fun," he said.
And he's right.

So Gibson got to come out with four adults who adore him and he had a decent time of it. He ate. And he had fun. So I guess it was a date.

Here he is, eating and having fun. On our date.

We went to the Costco. We really had only the vaguest ideas of what we needed and of course we ended up impulse buying things like The Mediterranean Platter, stuffed grape leaves, and frozen spanakopita. Mmmmm....
Perhaps the shower is going to have a Mediterranean theme.
Who knows? Not us.

We also bought sparkling wine and tiny quiches. I mean, why not? We kept saying, "Oh, Jessie loves this. We must think of Jessie." And we'd toss another fifty pounds of something delicious in the Vanagon-Sized cart and toddle on down another aisle.
"Are you going to buy cheese here?" May asked me. I recalled what happened when I bought cheese for Thanksgiving at Costco which is that I had cheese until the end of January.
"I'd have to buy it by the fifty-pound bucket," I said.
"I'd like a fifty-pound bucket of cheese," said Matt.
I did not buy the cheese there.

They had camellias at the Costco for sale. I looked at the tag. Here's what it said:

Of course I had to take a picture immediately and send it to Billy with a text message that said, "All right. We're going too far here."

He wrote back, "Whoa."

I said, "I guess Costco is all about equal rights. For babies. Gay babies."

I didn't buy a camellia but I did buy ten New Guinea impatiens to plant in the pots in my back yard where there are now only dead brown sticks. I should have bought a hundred. 

We paid for all the stuff and left the store and went back to Lily's house and then I came home and unloaded all the stuff and crammed it into my dirty refrigerator which needs cleaning desperately. Another thing I should do before the shower. I probably won't. 

Mr. Moon has gone to auction and so I think that tonight I am going to try and do something about the kitchen. Don't ask me what. I mean, I have tidying and rearranging and organizing and cleaning in mind but what it actually needs is a dumpster and a pressure washer and a professional painter. I have some garbage bags and a few Magic Erasers and I guess I'll start with that. 

I don't know. I'm overwhelmed. 

I made up The Bed with clean sheets and it's in there calling to me like a whore who wants to get it over with. Is that rude? Maybe I shouldn't say things like that. 

Oh well. 

Honestly, I can hear it saying, "Come on, honey. I'm so warm and I'm so ready for you. Whatcha waiting for?" 

I have decided that mattress technology has reached the pinnacle of success. That they can just stop researching how to make mattresses any better because the Tempur-Pedic people have done it. There is no possible way a bed can be more comfortable than the one in that guest room. And it wants me. It wants me bad.

Sigh.

I found a dead mouse in the yard today. It was so cute. Even in death it was cute. 

That has nothing to do with anything. But it's true. 

All right. Time to start the second shift. 

Unless the bed wins. I am fighting my baser and lazier impulses. We shall see what happens. I could just go heat up the spanakopita and then eat it in that whore of a bed. 

I hope that doesn't happen.

Love...Ms. Moon

Honey, It's ALL A Damn Miracle And Amazement

Cold and clear and Monday morning, get up, get up, get moving, get busy!
I should at least wash the sheets on the bed where I've lived for the past week, or at least mostly, that sweet, cradling bed where I've read and watched TV and eaten and slept and oh, it's so sad to admit but it's been a joy to release myself to it, allowing myself to rest there for almost entire days, icing my leg, watching ridiculous TV and let me say this- Estee Lauder can kiss my ass. Nothing makes me as angry as the ad they're running for some wrinkle cream guaranteed to turn back the hands of time and the model they use is perhaps twelve years old. The child hasn't had time to develop acne yet, much less wrinkles.

Well. La-di-dah.

There is trash to be taken, there is cleaning to be done. I'm having a shower here for Jessie next Sunday, just some ladies and little sandwiches and some cake which sounds healthy but is not (this, according to Jessie's request) and maybe a punch and I had so hoped the wisteria would be blooming by then to take some of the attention off the dirt and dust in this house, the out-of-date spider webs, the toys and the junk, the vast displays of unattended and unintended piles of...stuff. But these freezes keep pushing back the arrival of the blossoms, dammit, and there is nothing at all I can do to change that.

All right. The sheets are in the washing machine. I would estimate that that bed is roughly two acres in diameter. I am waiting for May to call because she and Lily and I are scheduled to get together to make our lists, to buy some things, to start to get ready for this little party. Do you realize that Jessie is getting married in a little more than a month? Well, she is. My baby daughter is going to be a married lady. She is all grown up which must mean that...
I am all grown up.
Right?
Do we ever really grow up?
I am beginning to doubt that although I certainly know people who appear to be adults. I am not one of them. Old, yes. Grown-up? No.

Well, one must fake it, I suppose, at the very least.

Perhaps I should go buy some of that wrinkle cream and turn back the hands of time. Perhaps if I use it, Jessie will be a baby again, my hip-pocket baby who went everywhere with me, who listened every night as I read her stories while she brushed my hair. Owen brushed my hair the other day. He asked me if I would like him to and of course I said, "Yes." He did a pretty good job for a three-year old boy. And having said all of that, I must realize, surely, that I cannot turn back the hands of time but certain things come again and again, the smallest joys and baby boys and Jessie is going to be a bride and this life has certainly been one hell of  a ride and it is Monday and there are things to do and places to be and trash to take and chickens to let out and it is cold but it is beautiful and it is time to get on with it.

Happy Monday, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon

I Guess I'm About Ready To Rejoin The Human Race

I believe I've done the right thing by my leg this weekend by resting and icing because I am having a lot less pain.

Mr. Moon has been a champ and held my hand when it needed holding and rubbed my hips when they needed rubbing and today he went to the store and bought vegetables and fresh pineapple to go with the shrimp he bought yesterday down in Panacea.
They're all marinating now in orange juice and soy sauce and lemon and lime juice and teriyaki sauce in a big bowl in the kitchen.

Brown rice is simmering on the stove and there's a fire in the backyard, burning down to coals to cook the shrimp and vegetables.

The chickens are put up and the sun has set and all is well in Lloyd, Florida.

May it be so with you, as well.

Your Weekly Bible Story As Interpreted By Me

No kale smoothie this morning but sweet potato and flax and apple pancakes, being as it's Sunday and all. Last night I said to Mr. Moon, "Let's go somewhere tomorrow," and he agreed that we should but now tomorrow is here and where in hell would we go?
Walking is not comfortable. It just isn't. Every footfall is a bit of a pain and also a reminder that I AM NOT DOING IT RIGHT. Oh Lord. I have always felt as if I could walk across the world, if need be. Just set me going and I could do it. Now a journey from the stove to the sink is a rebuttal to that particular belief.
This is just damn depressing.
Bruises are blooming all around the top of my leg from buttock (one of my favorite words) to the front part and part of me thinks I need to work this shit out and part of me thinks I need to lay down and ice it some more. I have things to do tomorrow that must be done which involve walking. And what doesn't involve walking beyond sleep and couch-vegetation and sex?

I don't know. I honestly do not know.
I sure am saying that a lot, aren't I?

I do know that it's chilly and gray and the chickens want out and the cardinals and the finches are flocking by the dozens at the feeder and there's a whole lot of warbling going on. I know it is Sunday. I haven't done an anti-religion rant in a long time. I don't know why that is either. I did dream the other night that a dear friend had a book she wanted to give me about GOD and I told her that I'd read it but that I doubted it would make me change my mind about stuff. In real life, I don't think this friend is very religious although maybe she has a deeper connection to the power source than I realize consciously. Again- who knows? Not me.
I guess the Catholic Church is Popeless right now. I wonder if the true believers, the Catholic devout (are there any of those left?) might feel a little verklempt about this. I wonder if they're feeling all at loose ends with no one to tell them what God is thinking. Sometimes I read a blog by a Catholic woman I know and it's so strange. She resents it horribly when people don't respond to her good deeds with grace and it makes her feel bad because she is trying so very hard to see the Jesus in everyone like  Mother Theresa did. I don't know. Jesus seems like sort of a bad-ass to me sometimes. That Mary and Martha story always amused the hell out of me. There was Martha in the kitchen, working her ass off to prepare food for The Lord and Mary was just sitting there at the feet of The Lord and being worshipful and all and Martha, being the good little passive-aggressive martyr she was finally got fed up with that and not getting any help in the kitchen and started yelling and Jesus said, "Chill out woman! Who cares if we eat? I would rather be worshipped!" and that doesn't sound like a Mother Theresa thing to me but of course, that was a Ms. Moon summary of a Bible story and you know how things do tend to get lost in translation. But I've always been able to picture that story so well, Martha's hair all frizzing up in the kitchen as she boiled the lamb and rolled out the flat bread or whatever it was they were going to be eating, her ears and cheeks growing red with effort, heat, and resentment, and Mary sitting there at the feet of The Lord with her mascara not smudged one bit, her garments unwrinkled and fitting her in a flattering manner, cool as a cucumber and looking up at The Lord beneath those eyelashes, maybe batting them in a flirtatious or at least worshipful way AND, according to the Bible, anointing The Lord with fragrant oils and wiping his feet with her hair and boy, times were different then, I guess.

But I know a few things about men and as much as I know they like a good meal, I am certain that most of them would choose being anointed with fragrant oils and having their feet massaged with a woman's hair over eating some hummus and pita bread.
I've always been a Martha, my first name notwithstanding, and I would have been the one in the kitchen slaving away and then finally blowing up and saying, "God dammit, Jesus, could you tell my sister to give me a little help here?!" totally missing the whole point of the visit which was to sit at the feet of The Lord and receive his words of wisdom, believing that my place was to just do, do, do, and give, give, give and really- who gives a rat's ass? Heat up a frozen pizza and pour a glass of that water. The Lord will change it into wine and everyone will be happy.
Mary and Martha were the sisters of that guy Lazarus whom Jesus raised from the dead and that is another story from the Bible which has always freaked me the fuck out. I don't even care to talk about that. I mean, the dude had been dead for FOUR DAYS!
Talk about your zombies.

Anyway, yeah, religion. Grace. Do unto others. Funny how Jesus said for people to do that- do unto others as we would have them do unto us but as far as I know, he didn't leave instructions to those who had been done to as to how to accept this doing. Maybe he did. I don't care to go research this question. But I do know that a gift given, not out of grace but out of a sense of duty or out of a desire to make some points on the Big Scoreboard Of Life, is not a joy to receive at all and there you go.

I may not have a great deal of belief or respect in religion but I surely do believe in and respect grace. Of course, my definition of grace may not be yours. But I surely do recognize it when I see it and there are some mighty grace-full people on this planet and there are some (me included) who are seriously lacking in it.

Grace and humor. Those might be my two favorite human attributes.

I wonder if Mother Theresa liked a good joke? Well, maybe. Maybe "Stop me if you've heard this one," was one of her most oft-repeated phrases.
I sort of doubt it.

All right. I believe I'll go ice my buttocks.

That painting which I think is quite beautiful, was painted by the 19th Century Polish artist, Henryk Siemiradzki. According to Wikipedia, at least.

Thanks for coming by for Sunday services, y'all. As usual, there will be no passing of the collection plate but I'd love to shake your hand as you leave the building.

Love...Ms. Moon

Best Commercial I've Seen In A Long Damn Time

And no, of course I'm not getting paid for this.
But still.
Freaking awesome. And it's about time.

Wah-Wah-Wah

So did you see where a man in Brandon, Florida was in his bedroom and then a sinkhole opened up beneath him and he's gone? Gone. Just...gone.
Florida. You can't beat this state for weird ways to die.

I can't help it. I love Florida. Today is a gorgeous day. But it's going to freeze tonight. What? What? Oh, March. You will break a girl's heart.

I had a little breakdown last night. I cried and cried. I told Mr. Moon that it used to be that if something happened that was life-staggering that you could say, "Well, let's go to the beach for a month."
I don't even know why I think that's true but maybe it is.
Anyway, I was crying because since my mother broke her ribs and then died I haven't had a good fifteen minutes of a break. Not even the night she died because we had house guests. Whoa. That was weird. I haven't even discussed that. I probably won't either but trust me- weird. One of the weirdest nights of my life.
And then life just kept on going, as it will, and then we got sick and then I hurt myself and the only breaks I've had are when I've been flat on my back with the sick or with the injury and I've popped back up and done whatever needed doing and it all caught up with me once again last night and so I cried.
Before I broke down I took a bath and I have one of those bath tubs that has a shower-head attachment and if you don't get all the knobs going the right way and you turn on the water, you might get a rainstorm in your bathroom and that's what happened to me last night and I literally had to leave a towel on my dresser because of the great drops of water on the ceiling above it which were bound to fall in the night and it was just one more mess to deal with, the drying off of everything and the sopping up of the floor wherein I used every towel in my bathroom and maybe that was the straw that broke the camel's back. I don't know.
I wanted to shoot someone. I wanted to shoot the UNIVERSE. That's who I wanted to shoot. The universe but the universe wasn't at my house so I got angry at my husband who had done nothing but wash the dishes and help me with the boys and I'm old enough to know that really, he is NOT a stand-in for a cruel world and so after my bath I got in the bed and when he got in with me, I just cried and cried, no longer angry at him, just so very sad. Sad for my mother and for her death which was horrible and her worst nightmare because she died and they brought her back and sad because when she was finally allowed to die and I was with her, I didn't have the right words to say because we'd not had the right relationship for me to have those words in my heart and I did the best I could but the whole situation was just sad. Sad because she had to suffer her whole life and sad that she couldn't ever figure out how to love and be loved, not really. Sad because everyone suffers, there is no getting around it but some people seem fated to have to suffer more than others and often not because of any action they may have taken or not taken, it's just that they got the short straw (and I am NOT speaking of myself here) and sad because I don't even know how to take care of myself on any level and sad because I am not of sweet spirit in my heart and am resentful and mean sometimes and sad because I hurt in my leg and my wrist and my hip and sad because I'm not a good wife sometimes and sad because the older I get, the less able I am to do anything FUN which involves leaving my property and sad because I'll die and just be a memory for Owen and Gibson and that's life but it's sad.

You know. All of that and the wet bathroom and my looks which are gone, baby, gone.

But today is beautiful. It is. And no, we're not going to the coast. God dammit. It's just going to get so cold and the dogs (the fucking dogs!) can't be left with the doors wide open so they can go outside and that's too much to ask a neighbor to deal with, them and the chickens too, and the cat, the cat that is not a pet but just a feral gray thing that whines and complains outside and who may be a hundred years old by now and my plants which need covering up and besides- this bed we've been sleeping on. Oh, that damn bed. We put it in the guest room but now we're sleeping on it because it's so good, that bed, and it cushions and cradles me and it eases my soreness and I can't bear the thought of sleeping on a regular bed. Not now when my whole body is a rack (wrack?) of pain. And even the idea of sitting in a car for the two hours it would take to get there seems impossible. So.
But I tell you what. I am not going to do one thing today that requires any strain on my body.
And even with that vow, I know I probably will and I'm still a little weepy.

I just feel so useless. Honestly. If there's one thing I believe that the universe requires it is to glory in the goodness and I have not been glorying in the goodness. Not one bit. Okay. That's a lie. Even here in my house and my yard in Lloyd, Florida I have taken note of and gloried in the cardinals, the tiny dove sipping from the slimed-over little pond, my grandsons and everything they do, the miracle of my marriage and family and friends. I do glory in all of that.

I just want to go away for a little while but I don't want to leave. I want to suddenly and miraculously be on a balcony over the sea. I want to suddenly be on an island. I want to be at a table set with silverware and napkins and maybe a bowl of ceviche and some pico de gallo and chips and the sea right there, an entire universe of underwater not five feet from me, warm and something I could slip into and the pain of gravity on my body could be relieved.

Well. I just want a lot of things, don't I?
I guess I'll go make a fucking kale smoothie. Ooh boy.

And rest. I need to rest. And cry if that's what I need to do. Right here in Lloyd, Florida where I probably won't be suddenly swallowed by a sinkhole but who knows? The universe would not care if I was and that is at once horrifying and reassuring.

I just feel so useless.

And it's getting so very cold.

It was a good day with those boys. Owen was so glad to be here and I think that Gibson was too. I also think he is calling me "Mimi" and that is not happening. I knew a Mimi in high school. Some things are never forgotten, some associations cannot be broken. But still. Mimi. Sometimes it sounds more as if he is saying Mer-Mer. Either way, he is calling me something and I am in love with him and he is my boy. He opened the cabinet in the kitchen today and pulled out every place mat he could get his hands on. As you can see, he was pretty proud of that. He is looking more and more like his daddy. His favorite word is something which sounds like boodgy. I have no idea what that means but it makes him happy to say it. He can say brother and Mama and Daddy and car. I bury my face in his neck and kiss him and kiss him and he giggles. He pokes my eyes thoughtfully. He dances all the time.

Owen. Bless him. He lost four pounds during his second bout with the stomach flu. That's like a tenth of his body-weight and he's already in the midst of a sprouting-up, a thinning out. The child is not a fat boy. And he wasn't interested in eating today. I offered him smoothie (not with kale) and muffins and cheese toast and pizza and banana. He had a few bites of muffin. And some ginger-ale with orange juice. That was it. But he's almost back to full energy. He did at least four puzzles. He loves the puzzles. We also played airplane and we flew to a pizza joint, our seat belts securely fastened, our suitcases by our side. He learned that if he puts on my red cowgirl boots, he can pop the hell out of bubble wrap. So today's visit was not an entire waste, educationally speaking. He tells me he loves me. Out of the clear blue, he says it. "Mer-Mer, I love you." And my god, I love him.

And yet. Even with such beautiful boys around today, I am sunk somewhere pretty deep. It's okay. I'll pull out but right now, this second, I feel like the gray sky, the coming cold, the waning moon.
A hawk calls, evening prematurely falls.

We may get up and go to the coast tomorrow. We shall see. There is an entire evening to get through first, and then a sleep. And then we shall see.

I Don't Know

Boys coming and it's going to be a challenge, yes it is.
Last night Mr. Moon and I decided that it would be a good thing to get out of town tonight. Just head down to Apalach and lay up for two nights, take it real easy. But I don't know. Right now, on this chilly gray morning, that seems like more trouble than it's worth.

I guess I'm back on the low side of things. Where my leg feels mule-kicked there is bruising now. Either I'm not doing these exercises right or this is just the normal pathway of the injury's healing. I don't know. But I feel exceptionally old again.

This too shall pass.

And my boys are coming. I hope Owen's tummy feels better. I have muffins and yogurt for him and bananas for his brother. I have love for them both.

Here we go.

Happy Friday, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon