Oh, Sundays. How I Do Not Love You

We woke up this morning to discover that a train was stopped directly behind the chicken coop and the engine was chugging and breathing and making a huge dragon noise and the chickens were intimidated to the point where they had not even left their perches.
Perhaps a tree had gone down on the tracks, I do not know. But eventually, the all-clear must have sounded because the horn began to sound and the bell to ring and inch by slow inch the train started to roll again and soon picked up speed and was clacking with its familiar sound down the tracks and then, was gone.
Peace restored to Lloyd.
It rained all night long and another thing we woke up to discover was that it was about seventy degrees outside and the humidity must be around 140,000%. Or something close to that. It feels as if we are weighed down by it all, and add that to the pancakes and sausage we just ate and I feel as if my day were already wasted. I am too sluggish and heavy to do a damn thing while meanwhile, those plants in the back of the car are calling to me and this was the weekend I was going to put the potted plants back outside from where they've been wintering in the hallway and mudroom.
Also, I am having some weird visual disturbances and thus, of course, I am certain I am having a stroke and I just love Sundays, they rock my world.

Anyway, good morning and the finches are the feeder are frantic, the males turning yellow right before our eyes. Mr. Moon sat quietly and got a few lovely pictures. He is far more patient than I am.

All right. I think I am having the beginnings of an ocular migraine or something like that so I am not going to write about the great Sidewalk Saga which is an ongoing thing here in Lloyd. The biggest news in years and I have barely mentioned it which is no one's loss, believe me. 

I believe I'll go lie down and see if I'm about to die. I'm fairly sure that I am not but I'll check in later to confirm that. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Oh My Dear!

As you can see, Owen got a haircut today. I have no idea how he was persuaded (did ice cream and candy have anything to do with it?) but I do know that Boppy and he went to lunch and then for a haircut. Lily sent me that picture and I texted her back, "Oh my dear!" which is something Owen frequently says these days and I don't know where he got that but it just charms me to my toes when he says it. He reminds me of a dowager aunt when he says it and I do an aural double-take every time to make sure that yes, my three-year-old grandson really did just say Oh my dear. 

So. Oh my dear! My grandson is no longer a rockstar but a regular young man who went with his grandfather for a haircut and I am proud of them both. It is good to experiment with hair and it is good to be allowed to be able to decide for oneself how long one's own personal hair should be. My own hair, for instance, is ridiculously long these days for a woman of fifty-eight. I believe I am just so grateful to still be able to grow hair that I am feeling as if I should not cut it, no matter what "they" say about old women with long hair. It is my own hair and I can do with it what I want. I loved Owen's long hair but I will love being able to see his pretty brown eyes.

I did go to town today. I timed it well, completely by accident, to go out into the plant nursery and collect a wagon full of various plants. Some flowers, a few herbs, and some vegetables for the garden. Also a few seeds and I am just now wondering where I put those seeds. The plants are still in the back of the car because it is pouring. I mean POURING. I hope the chickens do not drown as this is what we might possibly call a toad strangler. I also went to the grocery store AND to Costco, which was so packed that the only sampler not swamped with lines was the one for the Greek yogurt and I eat that practically every day of my life and so I did not need nor even want to sample it but I still regret not waiting for a bite of the carrot cake with cream cheese frosting.
All for the best, I imagine. All for the best.

But now I am back in Lloyd and cozy. The bread has indeed risen and I will bake it soon. When I went by the post office on my way out, I noticed a sign put up for a lost dog. This, in itself, is not unusual. But the sign itself was, as it was a piece of plywood possibly five feet tall, leaning on the oak tree at the main intersection of the village. Well, to be quite honest, it is the ONLY intersection in the village.

"Lost Hound," the sign says. And it gives a number to call and then it says, "Orange Collar."
These people must really want their dog back. I suppose if one of my dogs went missing, I would put up a poster or something. A very small poster. I certainly would not sacrifice a perfectly good piece of building material for the purpose. Buster actually got out of his fenced area yesterday but I think that his sense of adventure and desire to explore has disappeared in that he was frantic to get back in and yipped at the kitchen door with almost hysterical intensity until Owen and I let him back in and I think that if he had thought about it, he would have kissed the kitchen floor, but he did not.
Buster is old and so is his sister and they spend their days sleeping and stinking and begging for scraps when they smell anything they like to eat which is meat and apples. Yes. They love meat, of course; they are dogs. They love apples, too, though. Last night Mr. Moon gave them pork chop bones which they swallowed almost whole and I fussed at him because I knew the bones would make them throw up but so far, there has been no vomit. I can't imagine that their morning poops were comfortable, however.

Well, that is the way it is in Lloyd this evening. The rain is still coming down, the thunder is still rumbling. Boppy reported that when he was carrying Owen to the car after the hair cut, a huge bolt of lightening hit uncomfortably close to them with a deafening sound and that when it was over, they both laughed and high-fived each other for surviving, I suppose, and then went on to the car.
Oh my dear.
I expect Mr. Moon any moment. Perhaps we shall play some cards.

Saturday night and let us all be safe and remember- you are the master of your hair length. No one else.

Love...Ms. Moon

Here I Am

It's as dark as just-after-sunset here in Lloyd this morning, rain starting to come down, thunder rumbling in the distance, occasional flashes of lightening. Last night as I sat on the porch with my husband I said that today I would be going to town to buy flowering plants and groceries and it seemed like such a sweet, easy thing to do but I had not counted on this weather.

There are goldfinches at the feeder. They do not seem to mind the rain at all, nor do the cardinals who dine easily with the smaller birds. Elvis crows in the side yard and I imagine that soon he and the hens will be on the kitchen porch, protected from the rain and hoping for the door to open and food to magically appear. Those birds are bold. Yesterday Ozzie, who is the boldest of all, snatched a piece of cracker right from Gibson's hand and he looked amazed that such a thing could happen but he did not cry. Owen feeds Elvis by hand and Elvis politely and gently pecks the proffered food but never nips the  hand. The chickens are like humans in that some are shy and some are not. Elvis takes food and invariably drops it for the hens to come and eat, making his call to them. He is the best rooster in the world.

I just went into the kitchen for more coffee and to start oatmeal and here is what I found.

I know my chickens. 

Feed the husband, feed the chickens and feed the sourdough starter. I have let it go for two weeks and I hope it is not dead. I do not think it is. 

The rain is pouring now. The oatmeal is cooking, the chickens have moved on, probably under the porch where they will take shelter. I think of the grocery store, the plant nursery, they seem a million miles away. Everything seems a million miles away right now. The rain curtains my house and here, inside, it is light and safe. Out there- ah well, who knows? I wonder what in the world has happened to me to make me so loathe to leave home. I think about it and I honestly am not sure. I am not afraid and yet, I am not not-afraid either. 

The Bradford pears are starting to put out bloom which looks, from the distance, like cotton balls attached to bare limbs. My ashe magnolia seems to be about to bloom as well and I suddenly realize that the camellia nearest the bird feeder has shot up at least two feet in the last month. Do I make so much of each small thing which happens here from the turning of the finches from gray to golden to the blooming of each plant and tree into something big enough to keep me interested, curious, content enough to rationalize staying right here? 

I do not know. But the oatmeal is ready, the rain is slacking. I AM going to town. I want flowers to plant, we are out of apples and bananas. But first I will do the homey things of making the bread dough and setting it to rise, the making of the bed, the starting of the laundry. I WILL go away and it is not a million miles, only twenty or so, and I will come home and even in the short time I will have been gone, the blooms will be increased, the chickens will have laid their individual pastel eggs, the bread will have risen some, I hope. 

It is just a rainy Saturday morning on a tiny spot of land in North Florida and we are living a life here and somehow, I try to make myself believe it is enough, more than enough, and either it truly is or else I am delusional. 

Either one of those possibilities is the truth. 

Good morning. 

Mer-Mer Day Care

I don't know. Something has flipped with those grandsons of mine and or maybe it's just me but the past two days with them have been unbelievably precious. And more than that- it's been fun. I had in mind to write a sort of tongue-in-cheek thing about what Mer-Mer Daycare offers with pictures to make humorous backdrops but it's Friday night, I've had a martini, Mr. Moon is making a fire to cook our meat and veg on, the church next door is sending the sound of bass drum across the neighborhood and so I'll just mostly give you pictures.
Let me just say this- being a grandmother is probably one of the most soul-satisfying things I've ever done in my life. I get to use all of the skills I learned as a mother without needing the guilt or constant worry.
To say that I am in love with my grandchildren is to say that I breathe.

Here you go. One day in Lloyd with grandsons.

 Puzzles done by a Power Ranger.

 A boy who, when he gets to my house, points to the CD player and says, "More." And then proceeds to play piano. Granddaddy Miller- here's your genetic glory.

 We learn that every chicken lays a different and beautiful egg.

Really? I sit on the couch and give Gibson a bottle and Owen builds an entire town with blocks? It may look like chaos but it's not. It's a design. It's a place where everyone has a home and he will show you where it is.

We play cards and we learn about numbers. I shuffle the cards and tap them on the table and Owen says, "I love that sound." And he has to wear that hat when we play. We don't do winners and losers. We do numbers. For some bizarre reason, I find it as exciting as a child would.

 I hand Gibson a doll and he holds it to him and he hugs it.
Need I say anything more about what he's been taught about loving?

We sat on the kitchen porch and fed chickens and fed ourselves snacks and the caterpillars descended from wherever they descend and Owen made friends with all of them.

Gibson learns that you can eat violets. And is delighted. And yes, the purple violets are in bloom.

Owen has, for some time, loved to put my silver bangles on the sticky-out parts of Boppy's bedside lamp and call it a Monster Party Decoration. These monsters are nice, he tells me. We have no need to fear them.

And that was my day. And there was more. Books and stories and conversations and me saying things and Owen saying, "That's a joke, right?"

The child gets a joke and he is not yet four years old.

Yes. Being a grandmother is all right with me.

And on top of everything else, Jessie and Vergil got their marriage license today.

Shit. I'm drowning in the goodness.

Talk to you tomorrow.

Love...Ms. Moon

There Is So Much To Talk About. And We Do

I got an email this morning from a blogger whom I admire tremendously and whose blog I lurk at regularly but can't comment on due to the fact that at one point a few years ago I started an anonymous blog at another blogging platform (okay, maybe it was more than one- both blogs and platforms) and now I can't comment on blogs written on those platforms because they INSIST that I be identified as the person who wrote those anonymous blogs even though I have done everything within my personal power to eliminate, decimate those blogs and even written to their help section to ask them to DO SOMETHING ABOUT REMOVING ME but no, they can't, they won't, they don't.
As long as I am using my email address, they won't let me post with my real true self and dammit, I refuse to open up another damn email address and can you tell I just woke up?

Anyway, this blogger, who is Andrea Carlisle who blogs at Go Ask Alice...When She's 94 was passing along an award, one of those things that used to happen all the time in blogging but don't so much anymore, a Very Inspiring Blogger Award, and I wrote her back and told her that no, these things sort of make me feel weird and also, part of the deal is that you're supposed to write seven things that people may not know about you and I told her that after all this time that if there are things people don't know about me that's because I really don't want them to and so there you go.
BUT, golly, I am honored, and especially since her other choice of a blog to nominate was Elizabeth, our dear, dear Elizabeth at A Moon, Worn As If It Had Been A Shell, so you know I'm doubly honored.

Anyway, if you have never read Andrea, please go there and do. She writes about her mother, Alice, and as I told Andrea in my return email, her story gives me a space and a place to fantasize about what it would have been like to have had a relationship with my mother which had been more loving and openhearted. She even managed to get k.d. Lang (Alice's favorite singer) to come and visit her mama at the assisted living where she lives and I fell in love with Andrea and Alice even more because k.d. has been a hero and personal favorite of mine for about forever.

Okay, yes, I am rambling like a drunk on Friday night.

The point is, well, what IS my point?
I am honored.

I saw an article yesterday about how maybe blogging is dying and I thought to myself, "Not for me." I didn't even read the article, truthfully. I think maybe the fresh new bloom is off the rose for all of the people who thought they were going to get in there and make a ton of money, or even any money from their blogs, inspired by Dooce and Pioneer Woman, but for those of us who come to this place to write because we HAVE to write and because we have found within it a community that lights our souls and which makes us feel as if our hands are being held in the  darkness and with which we have become so entangled and connected that we feel pride when someone's child does something amazing and we hurt when another of us hurts and we feel as comfortable in each other's living rooms and kitchens and on porches as we do in our own, well...for us, blogging is not dead at all but a living, breathing, very real thing.

Hey! It's saved my life and often times my sanity and that's all there is to it.

So, good morning and thank you, Andrea, and thank you to all of you- my friends here and I am not just saying that. I mean it with every red blood cell in my body. Probably more than you can ever know. Or maybe you do because blogging means that much to you too. Thank you all for all the windows and doors you fling open and allow me into and welcome me with words and pictures from your worlds, your families, your hearts, your souls, your places here on this planet. How could THAT die?

Good morning, happy  Friday. The boys are coming and I need to get ready. The sky is gray and the wisteria is blooming. The chickens are asking to be let out and I am so glad to be here. In Lloyd and in cyberspace and in your lives.

Love...Ms. Moon

What A Tender Mercy

I had a kidney stone once. It was just as bad as they say they are. It's the sort of pain that you don't even begin to think twice about- you just get to the hospital because
1. Maybe they know what to do about it, and
2. They have real drugs there.

And when I had my kidney stone and it passed, the relief was so intense that I will never in this lifetime forget it. It was like a switch being flicked. One second I was dying, or thought I was and maybe hoping I was and then...no pain. Nothing. Normal. Light flooded my being and the world as I knew it was restored.

This is how I feel when I've been going through the crazies and they suddenly, almost as quickly as that kidney stone passed, disappear.
Or, mostly.

I had a wonderful day and it was as normal and prosaic as a toasted cheese sandwich, and by the way, we had those. Toasted cheese sandwiches. But the thing is- I woke up this morning to find that the crippling anxiety I've been experiencing had disappeared. This is not to say that I have NO anxiety. This is merely to say that the kind I've been having which is the kind that no one on this earth deserves, had gone. And the relief made every little thing more beautiful. Every bit of the day was, if not glory, glory hallelujah! at least, fine.

Don't even ask me why that happened. Maybe this, maybe that. I ain't looking the gift horse in the mouth, though. Not me, baby. Not me.

I enjoyed my boys so much. Talking with Owen is definitely interesting these days. This morning he told me, "Mer-Mer, I sorry you getting old. I really going to miss you."
This cracked me up. I told him, "Don't worry, honey. We're all getting old and I'm not that old. I can still take care of you very, very well."
He agreed that this was true and we went on to the next subject.

When we went outside, he was chilly so I fetched an old Goodwill cashmere sweater for him to wear. I think it made him look like even more of a rock star, don't you? That boy is a sweet one. And so is his brother who took Frankenstein steps all over the house today. He lurches and staggers and balances and falls and then does it again. The way the floors slope in this old house make it even harder but he kept on going. He fell asleep but every time I tried to put him down he woke up and cried so I ended up holding him on the couch for at least forty-five minutes while he napped and Owen patiently waited for him to wake up so that I could make his lunch.

That simple. That sweet. Books and cards and puzzles and cartoons and conversations and chickens and toasted cheese and apples and it was perfect, simply because there is some sort of peace in my soul.

And honey, if I could control this shit, I surely would. Maybe someday I'll be able to do that- figure out how to not do what causes the anxiety and figure out how to get rid of it if it comes.
But until then, I need to remember that it does, like a kidney stone, pass. And that my world will once again be light-filled and I will be able to be grateful I'm alive once again.

This Just Made Me Smile So Big

Okay, the kid ain't the best vocalist in the world but just watch it through to the end. It's short.


Fuck the rest of the world and all the fucking woes and worries.

We still have The Boss and his huge, giant heart and his goofy New Jersey boy grin. And for that, I give thanks.

Did It!

 Good Lord. 
This boy made it through his birthday.

Despite that fact that there was complete chaos and kids running around everywhere and vegetarians, vegans, and omnivores all there to be served and hot dogs to be cut up for little ones and babies dumping food in their laps and big boys demanding ketchup, NO ketchup, and Gibson's immediate reaction to being photographed like Lindsey Lohan and everyone singing terribly off-key to him and a cake being thrust into his face, he cheered right up when he tasted the cake and when he got to the ice cream part, he was happy as could  be.

It was crazy, y'all. But it was good. 

Gibson made it through and so did everyone else. 

Here's my very favorite picture of the event.

I'm sure you understand why.

Anyway, a one-year-old and a three-and-a-half year old are about to descend upon me and we shall see if Mer-Mer survives that. 

Good morning, y'all. It looks to be a decent day here in Lloyd and forgive me for blogging lite and not answering comments and not getting around to everyone else's blogs. I'm dancing as fast as I can with a bum hip and a crazy mind.

Love...Ms. Moon

Beautiful Boy Turns One

It is March 20 which means that it is the spring equinox and it also means that our Gibson Monroe is one year old today. Exactly right now, one year ago, Lily was pushing that boy out into the world.
If you'd like to read the post I wrote about that beautiful, beautiful birth, please go HERE. 

I just reread it and it made me remember what an amazing day that was. Gibson being born with his father, his grandmother, his aunties in attendance. And of course, a very fine midwife. I have been to quite a few births and Gibson's may have been the sweetest I've ever witnessed and I'm not just saying that because he is my grandson. It was absolutely astounding and quick and perfect.

I am going to go help Lily to get ready for Gibson's party in a little while. It's so hard to believe that he's already a year old, that boy. Walking and cracking jokes in his own Gibson language, curious and smiling and cuddling and flirting, and as with all children, it is nearly impossible to believe that there was a time when he wasn't here with us, part of our family. With each child it seems as if another piece of the puzzle of the whole has been found.
Or at least, that's how it always seems to me.

Well. It is a cool day day in North Florida and the wisteria is starting to go a little crazy and it is spring and one year ago today the planet got another passenger, something which happens every minute of every day and a miracle every time, not unlike the coming of spring.

Happy Birthday, Gibson Monroe Hartmann. We are so glad you came to us. We are so glad you are here. It's been a year. And what a year it's been.

All my love...Your Mer-Mer

From A To Z

What a strange day. Not a bad one, but a strange one. I spent a good part of the morning on the phone and some of that time was weepy and sad and some of it was fine but it was a lot of time and then I got a lot of stuff done around here and then, finally, in the afternoon I got around to taking a walk and I only walked two miles but it's so hard to walk now that I can hardly stand to do it. It was better on the beach when we walked slowly and there were things to look at but here I'm trying to do my regular walk and I just can't.
I ran into the guy we used to call the Sheik back in the seventies because he always wore a turban thing but now he just dresses like a sharp dressed man and we stopped on Main Street and chatted a little bit. He wanted to know where I've been and I had to tell him all about my hip and he thought that was hysterical, that I popped it out of joint dancing and yeah, it's just fucking funny as hell but it was a good chat.
When I got home I could barely move. I was that tired and in that much pain. When I walk now, I am constantly thinking about how I'm doing it and how to try and do it right and the pain reminds me that for all of these years I haven't been doing it right and it's just hard. And no, my feet are nowhere near flying above the ground.
Still, it was so good to be out on the road a little, and in the woods, and I picked a branch of azaleas which have made a comeback in the yard of a house where no one lives.

And then I kept pushing myself, just a little, to get this done and that, to keep moving because I knew if I stopped, I'd never get up, or at least that's how it felt. So I got sheets changed and laundry put away and dishes washed and just all the steps that it takes to go from one place to another, hands busy, and I took Ibuprofen and Mr. Moon came home and he was so much better than when he left this morning. He'd made a decision and followed through on it and he felt a million times lighter, I could tell. 

And that made me happy because this morning I was seriously worried about him. And he was going to take a quick nap because he hardly slept at all last night but he took the trash and cleaned an engine and I don't even know what and now he's off to a basketball game in town and it's not even seven o'clock yet and I just want to sleep. But I can't. It's too early. 

I just drank a shot of espresso. Will that help? Am I dying? Is this in my mind or in my body or both? 

I am not sleeping well at night and that's a fact. I go to sleep and I wake up, over and over again. Hot flashes and outside disturbances and my own snoring- whatever- I wake up and I do this thing where I make lists of similar things with names starting with A and then to B and then to C and so forth. 

Albert, Bob, Carl, David...

Agatha, Betty, Cindy, Diana...

Asparagus, Bok Choy, Carrots, Daikon Radishes...

Have I already discussed this before? 

I fall back asleep and then I wake up a half hour later and go through another list. 

Abuela, bonita, chica, de nada...

Should I quit gluten or carbs? Should I take Cod Liver oil or Geritol? 

I don't know. 

Tomorrow Gibson is turning one. Lily says that he is walking more and more as if he knows he's about to turn one and needs to get this thing together. There's a little party at her house tomorrow night and we'll have hotdogs and cake and we'll celebrate the joyfulness that is Gibson. I'll get to see all of my kids except for Jessie and it'll be good and we'll see her again soon, very soon, and it will be her wedding. Oh my. 

The sun has come out and there are more shades of green right now than there are words to describe them. I made supper in the crockpot and I need to go make Mr. Moon a plate for when he gets in, pack his lunch for tomorrow and put the leftovers in the refrigerator. The thought of SO MUCH WORK makes me want to cry, which is ridiculous.

I just read a quote on Facebook and this is it: 

"Gods in charge." I SO wanted to comment and ask, "Which ones?"

I got a flyer in the mail today from a local church advertising their upcoming events: a pig roast, the Easter Drama, and for their five year anniversary a Christian Comedian named Justin Fennell who looks, well, insane. 

Also, these words.

Yes, yes. We are coming up onto Easter and the thought of that makes me tired, too. My least favorite Christian holiday where we celebrate the death and resurrection of our Lord and that is just too creepy for words but I won't get into that now. I will say that I just saw Elvis jump on Ozzie and have his way with her and then he jumped off and she shook her feathers and then they all went back to scratching for their last bugs of the day. I will also say that yesterday Mr. Moon told me that he found two more bats IN THE KITCHEN SINK and they were scratching, trying to get out and I said, "Okay, that's the creepiest thing you could find in the kitchen sink except for maybe a severed human hand, scrabbling away trying to escape," and no, none of these things go together, not one bit. Unless they do.

I don't know.

I also don't know what Confess Jesus As Your Lord means unless it's a shameful thing to do. Whatever, I doubt I'll be doing it but I know for a fact that the Transforming Life Church will be sending me (Postal Customer) more flyers as Easter approaches and they will probably be showing gory pictures of our poor Lord bleeding on the cross in lurid color and detail and that will piss me off too. 

All right. One more picture. I stole this one from Facebook where Lily posted it. It's Owen with a lollypop he got at the Jr. Museum which has real and actual ants in it. Food grade ants, I am assuming.

Lily said they had cheese-and-bacon flavored crickets too but she didn't buy any.

Well, that's me. I think my espresso has kicked in enough that I can get up and go deal with that kitchen stuff. Maybe I'll get a second wind and it won't be that long before I can go to bed to sleep and dream and wake up and make lists in my mind. 

It's been a strange day, but not a bad one.

So much love...Ms. Moon

The House Is Dark And My Pots Are Cold

I think my blog is a little bit like soup. In the kitchen, I can take almost anything and make a soup out of it. A handful of leftover beans, a scrap of meat, a few carrots and stalks of celery and a can of tomatoes. And here, on the blog, I can usually take a few thoughts about chickens or the weather or heartache or grandchildren or relationships and I can make a post out of them.
Both the making of soup and the making of a post are therapeutic for me. They are deeply satisfying activities.

But today I just don't have it. I have just as many ingredients at my disposal as ever and yet, my hand does not reach for the cutting board and knife, my mind does not reach for the words and the phrases.

Well, in this case, no one will go hungry.

No Title Because I'm Too Tired To Come Up With One

The sun came out today and we did eat noodles and I bought Gibson his first pair of shoes. Brown leather sandals for his fat little feet and he is amused by them.
It was an up-and-down day. First the gray and rain and then Owen's happiness when he saw me and Gibson's kisses and his conversational skills which are growing by leaps and bounds. He does not actually use the words we do but his pitch and his tone and his timing are perfect.

And other things happened which I probably shouldn't even talk about here but they involve things like being Mother's executor and also attorneys and blah, blah, blah. All of it meaning nothing really except that lines of communication have broken down and it breaks my heart.
You always HEAR about shit like this happening and then, when it does...well. It's hard. It strikes the heart with a ringing, hollow thud.

But, we go on. We cook our black-eyed peas and our squash, we cut up tomatoes and tear our lettuces. We water porch plants and clean out the henhouse and sweep the floor and we go on.

My hips ache, my heart aches but what is there for it but to keep on moving, to deliberately walk beside and with the pain, to keep on loving, to deliberately and compassionately be aware of the pain of others and to act as much as is humanly possible from that place?

And having said that, let me remind you that I am no saint nor even close to being and am as vastly imperfect as anyone on this earth.

But still, I can love and I do and there is no doubt in my mind at all about that.

Rainy Days AND Mondays

It's gray and such a denseness that the sun isn't even trying to make an appearance. The chickens looked at me with disbelief as I opened their door and they are generally unfazed by weather, directed by some internal clock to step outside and begin their day but not today, somehow.

Still, there are blooms. Spring may in fact truly be here. One wisteria blossom opened while I was gone and the white violets are scattered everywhere like torn tissue from an angel's pocket.

The train trundles by, car after car, carrying and ferrying whatever it is that trains carry these days. A lot of stuff. After it passes, I can hear the rain which has come that quickly and I am sure the garden is happy. It is falling in curtains now, more gray.

I feel gray. I feel as if I have been living my life in such small dense parameters for a long time. I don't want to do that. I want to stretch and be happy, I want to have goals and to reach for them. I want to lose some of my negativity, my inability to believe in even the smallest of happy endings.

And I have no idea where to begin.

Well. I guess it is noodle day and I am looking forward to that. I haven't seen those grandsons of mine in fortythousandmillion years or maybe six days. Somewhere within that timeframe.

The rain has slackened. It is time to truly begin this day. Vacation is over, the laundry done and put away, everything back in its place. I have grandsons to see and decisions to make and a one-year-old birthday present to buy. I have a life to live and it is Monday and although it is gray, the wisteria is doing its magical alchemy, the bamboo waits beneath the earth to begin its annual piercing of the ground, the purple violets will be next to bloom here in this yard, the sun will shine again and despair is merely a feeling that will pass.

Good morning.

Love...Ms. Moon

We are home and all is well except for the fact that the dogs are still alive and YOU KNEW I WAS GOING TO SAY THAT, DIDN'T YOU?

So okay, I did.
Happy?
Yeah. Me too.

Even the flowers from Jessie's shower a week ago are still lovely.

I love my house. My peeling-paint, funky house. There's very little about it that doesn't make me happy. Okay, I'd really like an actual laundry room. But you know- I can live without one. I make do with the space that's there and it's fine. This is my home and when you fall in love with a house and you make it your home, it's like falling in love with a person and making a life with them. No one is perfect, no house is perfect. So what? You learn to fit your own imperfections around what you have and somehow, it's all not only okay but part of the charm. Mostly.

We stopped on our way home at the Coastal Restaurant in Panacea which we often do. Talk about funky. And it is always packed. It takes so long to get your food that you feel that you might have entered a parallel universe where restaurants take your order but never bring you a meal. But you sit and you wait and then finally after several eons and geologic eras they bring you your fried shrimp and crab claws and whatever you ordered (and you might as well go ahead and order the fried okra because it's GOOD) and you think you're so hungry you can eat all of everything on your plate and then after about three minutes you realize that no, you cannot, and then after about ten minutes you realize you have seriously hurt yourself trying.
You leave with your leftovers in a container and the certain notion that you will never eat again. Ever.
And then the next time you go through Panacea, you stop and do it again.

When we pulled into our driveway, Elvis was waiting and I didn't even step out of the truck before I was scattering hushpuppies and fried okra for him and his ladies.
My chickens missed me. I know they did. Right now a few of the hens are sitting on the kitchen porch, out of the rain and close to the food. I swear to you that if I was one shade crazier than I am now I would let those chickens in the house. Nothing would make me happier. But they'd poop. It would get messy.

Anyway, I'm rambling. We're home and we never have to eat again and I've got laundry running in my tiny laundry area and Mr. Moon is through cleaning the boat and I've talked to May on the phone and tomorrow I'll be going to eat noodles with the grands and their mama.
Oh wait. I'm never going to eat again. Right?
Hell. It never works that way, does it?

Here's a few more pictures of the island I took. Can't let them go to waste.
If I can still publish pictures. We shall see.

It was a good time on the island and now we are back in Lloyd where we keep our home and where it is raining and where the damn dogs are still alive and the fine, fat hens as well and if this is real life, well, that's okay. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Getting Ready To Leave

The last load of laundry is running and we're just about packed. The bay is flat but it's gray and cloudy and the radar shows weather coming in.
I'm doing the final updates on the do- and do-not need lists.
Lily says that Owen has been throwing fits about us being gone for so long. This equally breaks my heart and makes me laugh.
Well, we shall see him soon. Maybe even this afternoon.
It's a little hard to believe that there's a real world beyond this small watery and pine one but there is and we must return to it and that is fine when I consider my babies and the chickens. And, oh, you know- Duck Dynasty.
It has been a good five days.
I am so very grateful we have had them.

Last Night

My Blogger app on the phone keeps telling me that I have reached the limit of my photo publishing.
Say WHAT?
Boy oh boy. I need to figure that shit out but it's not going to happen tonight which is sad because I have a few nice ones including some stingrays that Mr. Moon and I saw in the water when we were walking today.
I can't believe it's our last night and yet it is. We've been observing our Saturday-night-on-the-island ritual which is to play cards on the back porch and listen to Prairie Home Companion on the radio. We both got a little sunburned today which shocked us but it's true. I'd show you a picture but...I've reached my photo publishing limit.

All right. It's Mr. Moon's turn to deal and he's beating the pants off me and even if I HADN'T reached my photo publishing limit I would not be showing you pictures of that.

Kisses.

Love...Ms. Moon

A Sort Of Grace

My mind feels empty this morning like the shore washed clean by waves. It's taken me three days to reach this place and tomorrow we'll be leaving and so it goes.
I was thinking about how immediate the effect of the water and sky are on me in Mexico. How I can honestly and truly feel my neurons untangling, relaxing, scrubbed pure and within an hour I am smiling like a fool and I wonder why that is and why it takes me so much longer here and why the effects, although similar, are not really the same at all.
Well. I am not complaining. Believe me.

Lily called this morning so that Owen could talk to me. He wanted to remind me that I had promised, before I left town, that we would go to the noodle place when I got back. I assured him that I had not forgotten and that yes, we will go to the noodle place. Lily told me that the night I made that promise she asked him what he wanted for his supper and he told her that he would just wait to eat until I got home and took him to eat noodles and sushi.
The child never forgets a promise and children don't and it is a true fact of life that you should never make a promise to a child you cannot keep. Ever.
I miss that child. And his merry brother.
I will keep my promise.

I think we're going to take a walk in a little while. It is warm again today and there is only a sweet breeze, no cutting wind. The osprey just flew by close enough that I could hear the stiff-silk sound of his wings. I see pine trees and scrub oak, white clouds, blue sky, gray boards, water lapping so gently it barely makes a sound as it dances in, in, in.

We ate eggs this morning with all the vegetables and biscuits too. My hands turn to the cooking here with as much unconscious purpose as they do in my kitchen in Lloyd. I guess there is no mystery there as I have been cooking in this kitchen for fourteen years, using the skillets and pots and bowls and knives that were here when we got here, the vintage electric range which cooks just fine even though it is brown and ugly as homemade sin.

The Great Blue Heron just flapped in and landed and I was thrilled to see him. I haven't seen him this entire visit but when I quietly stood to see him better, he shied and took off.

I think that many things of beauty are like that. They come unexpectedly and if too closely observed, disappear.

But. One has seen them. One has been reminded once again of that particular grace which, although fleeting, is always possible.

Good morning from Dog Island.

Love...Ms. Moon

A Very Fine Day

Mr. Moon is having a practically perfect day. Don't get me wrong- I'm having a really good day too but he's out on the boat right this second catching fish.
Not just fishing but actually catching.
Add that to the waffles and the five mile walk we took today and his very sweet wife and I have to say that if I could just figure out how to make chocolate chip cookies (I have no chocolate chips and what was I thinking?) this might be one of the very best days of his entire life.
I have made a lovely little pound cake and cut up and sugared the strawberries to go on it but that is not chocolate chip cookies and there is no whipped cream but oh well.
He'll just have to rough it.

It has been a very nice day. Our walk down the bay was perfect. Cool air, blue skies and birds. It was the first real walk I've taken since I hurt my hip and it felt okay although I could feel my legs complaining. And to be totally honest, they have been complaining ever since but I took a little nap and they'll be fine.

Besides the cake I've got a sort of gumbo thing going with tomatoes and peppers and onions and garlic and squash and mushrooms and chicken and I have a few leftover shrimp to go in there too. We will not starve. I'll cook a pot of brown rice and that will make a nice bowl of goodness for our supper.

It smells real good here right now. You can take my word on that.

The sun is on it's way to setting and I just saw a lone pelican making his way home. I have some dishes to wash in this nasty-looking water we have here. We don't drink it although I hear that some do with no ill effects. It's definitely fine for washing purposes and I ran a little load of clothes today. I surely would not wash anything here which needed to remain white. Even copious amounts of bleach will not reverse the effects of the water but that's just part of the charm of the place.

It's Dog Island and there is mystery and magic and brown water and tonight I am content and at peace and am waiting on my man to come home from the sea with his fishes.

I will feed him cake and strawberries. I will sleep in his arms.

And the waves will murmur on the shore beside our little house all night long and will still be speaking in water tongue when we wake up tomorrow.

I don't know if you can tell from the picture but Mr. Moon is about to tuck into some waffles. Yes. There is a waffle iron here on the island. Like so many of the things in this house it was here when we bought the place and I only make waffles here, beating the egg whites by hand and folding them into the batter which today held sweet potatoes and bananas.
Can't beat that.
It is warmer today and the wind has blown itself out and the bay is flat again. I think there will be a walk in my future.
There are ducks out on a sandbar and I can hear a seagull fussing and the osprey is chirping as he flies by. There is a density to the quiet here, a real and palpable weight and the calls of the birds do little to disturb it.

It is another day on Dog Island.

Good morning and happy Friday, y'all.
Love...Ms. Moon

And There's This

Almost Sunset

The wind has died down and the water is lapping the shore with a sound like gulping. The no-Seeums are out and biting whatever exposed parts of my body they can find which are few but sensitive.
Fucking no-Seeums. I'm sure that's not how you spell it but it's what spell check wants and I do not have the energy to do battle with spell check.

I am feeling fairly enervated and at loose ends.
I know. You want to kill me. I am on an almost deserted island with my beloved with nothing to do but enjoy myself and rest and read and here I sit counting my aches and pains and mysterious uncomfortable sensations and sort of missing my grandchildren and complaining about insects and wondering where all the birds are.
I don't deserve to go on vacation. Really. I don't.

No, no. That's not true. Of course I deserve a vacation. I'm just crazy.

And if not crazy then maybe just feeling old. Or something.

We did go for a little walk today. We crossed the island where we saw the osprey nest I have a picture of here and also one of the pines which must be a hundred years old and I judge that by the scarring it bears from the turpentine harvesting days which were over and done with long, long ago.

We walked on the beach and there were hardly any birds but it was pretty, the water flat and rolling tiny wavelets, so unruffled that they wore no fringe of foam. We came home and napped and read and ate some leftovers and played cards and now Mr. Moon is starting the charcoal to cook chicken and I guess I'll make a salad.

And since I started writing this the wind has picked up again and chased me back inside and I sit here writing this with my tiny Barbie fingers and I am thinking about all the choices I have made in my life and how I used to be so much more of an interesting person than I am now. Thinking of how I wish I'd brought some rhubarb to make a pie with the strawberries I did bring and wondering where the birds are and the dolphin and mullet and realizing that technically it is still winter and there you go.

I'll report in tomorrow. You can count on that. And just as the tides and wind change, you can be sure that my attitude probably will as well.

Low Tide, High Winds

We just finished our breakfast of eggs from home and grits and bacon and we're talking about maybe taking a walk on the east side of the island because the wind is whipping cold still on the bay side. The tide is low and by whatever forces the wind rules, the sand bars have arisen out back.
I have tried and tried to understand how tides work and my brain just can't grasp it properly. I do know that it is a lovely thing to walk on those sandbars with a cup of coffee because all sorts of usually-hidden creatures are revealed but this morning it's way too chilly to even consider it. I mean, maybe if there were the possibility of a mermaid sighting but I'm pretty sure that all of the mermaids are down south, perhaps in the sweet turquoise warmer waters of Mexico.
It is too cold here for mermaids and the wind is so high that the birds are struggling not to fly backwards.

Dog Island.

Well. We may attempt an east side walk or we may just stay inside where it is cozy and warm. Yes. The heater works. We have tons of books and magazines and have already gotten deep into a card game. There are windows galore to see the outside from inside- the tidal flats, the sun making the pine needles gleam as the wind tosses them to and fro, the white sand road leading from here to there and always back to the water.

The house shivers and creaks a bit, I can hear the osprey whistle. It's a little boring, a little exciting, always the same and always changing.

We are on the island which is like a tiny world unto itself.

Good morning from that world.

Love...Ms. Moon

Sunset

Whip It Good

Everything went incredibly well getting over here. The boat ran and the water was flat. The old Toyota even started. The house was still standing. The pipes hadn't burst and the electricity worked.
These are all things which you can't take for granted when you come to Dog Island.
We got everything unloaded and unpacked and put away and now the temperature is dropping and the wind is blowing and whipping like a motherfucker. We crossed the bay just in time and I am hoping the heat still works because it's supposed to get down into the mid thirties tonight.
Oh well.
If not, I've got my love to keep me warm.
But seriously- I hope the heat still works.

Love from Dog Island...Ms. Moon

We Are Here

And I just saw the osprey.
It's good, y'all.
It is.

Roll, Baby, Roll

It's always most beautiful right before you leave and thus, it is today. The wisteria is about to purple up and the sun is full-on and the sky is as blue as a bluebird's wings and it's chilly but perfect. I don't mind leaving the dogs one bit but my chickens seem especially charming, the flowers we bought for the shower are opening and the thought of leaving them in their beauty alone in the house makes me sad and yet, I can't take them.

Well, I could but that would be ridiculous.
Getting out of bed was even hard. It felt cozy and warm and perfect.
Well.

I probably won't be commenting on blogs (mostly) or answering comments on my own blog (mostly) while I'm on the island but believe me- I'll be reading.

Okay. Time to overcome my inertia. Let us hope that the boat runs. Boats are cursed beasts whose noisy engines are as impossibly delicate as moth wings. That's my experience, anyway.

Y'all keep the world spinning while I'm gone. I'll be making sure that sunsets, sleep, books and vodka do not go unappreciated.

All love...Ms. Moon