Home!

We made it back, safe and sound and I am in no pain at all. I finally took Mr. Moon's suggestion and made a nest in the back seat and stretched and lounged and I am good as good can be and happy and even unbelievably, can still talk after reading out loud all day long. This trip I read one complete Robert B. Parker novel and part of another book to Mr. Moon as he drove and thus, I did my part.

Lily had set me up the sweet Mother's Day gifts there in that picture above which I saw immediately when I walked into the kitchen. A Virgin of Guadalupe candle, a pineapple, some mangoes, an azalea, a fancy cupcake, a Mexican soda, and a card. She knows me well. May always used to make me an entire altar of Mexican lovelies when I came home from Cozumel to help make the transition easier and Lily has taken the custom and made a beautiful Mother's Day offering which in this case, only made the return sweeter.

We've unloaded the car and I went out to feed the cat and shut up the chickens. "I'm home," I crooned to my six hens and my handsome rooster. "Mommy is home," and I felt ridiculous but also, ridiculously happy. I collected four eggs from the nest and two from Miss Honey's nest out in the garage.
More gifts.

Home. And I have talked to all of my children and Mr. Moon just picked two squash and reports that the tomatoes have grown a foot taller and here I am, on my own, my very own back porch and I have also talked to Owen who said, "Happy Mother's Day!" and whom, I hear, when he was staying here this weekend said more than once, "I love this new house!" which cracks me up and makes me happy. They set up the old pool for the kids and I think Lily and Jason felt a little bit as if they were in a resort, a funky resort perhaps, but I do believe they enjoyed themselves and the house looks beautiful and well, quite frankly, I could not be happier.

I should go unpack but before I leave here, let me say Happy Mother's Day to all of you who are not only mothers with children but also all of you who mother me and we all mother each other, even you sweet, brave fellas who come here, thank you, and if there is anything I would like blessourhearts to be it would be a place where we can all feel nurtured, can all know that we share so much, that we think of each other as we all travel away, as we come home, as we share our homes, our hearts, our days and our doubts, our troubles and our dreams.
As we carry home within us, as we unfold in the sweet spaces of whatever, wherever, we call our homes.

Talk to you tomorrow.

Love...Ms. Moon

I have to come back to Nashville sometime to be a tourist. I grew up in a tourist town and I respect the tourist and I know how to be a good one and Nashville seems to have some real fine stuff going on which requires deep tourist concentration.
We made it downtown for lunch today because Mr. Moon went to college and was a fishing buddy of a guy who's done real well in the restaurant and movie catering business and we wanted to eat at his newest restaurant which is called The Southern Steak and Oyster and it was fine.
Here's their website.
I got a salad called the Bless Your Heart. I'm not kidding you. It was delicious.
Here's a picture I took of the open kitchen. The restaurant is just a really nice space to be in.

There are hints of the classical architecture you see all over Nashville along with strong nods to the local agricultural culture. It is classy, y'all. And beautiful. And there was a little jazzy trio of violinist, bass player and guitar player playing right there during lunch on a Saturday. 

Like I said- classy. 

But this trip wasn't the time to get to be a tourist. This trip was about family and a wedding and we went to the wedding this afternoon. 

It's been a wedding year for us, hasn't it?

This wedding was in a church and the last time I was in that church was for a funeral but it was a different situation and it was a lovely wedding. The bride was, as all brides should be, radiant and gorgeous and I watched the groom's face as his bride walked down the aisle to him and he was as stunned with love as any groom should be and that's what I look for in a wedding. 

And so it is done. Another couple has been united and I wish them all the love and all the joy in the world and my wish for them is that their love will endure through all that life has to offer. People wouldn't cry at weddings if the promises being made weren't so fucking profoundly impossible to keep. And to be able to keep them and to abide in love throughout a lifetime is a miracle. 

I would wish for them that miracle.

Well, it's getting on time for bed and tomorrow we're going to meet up with some of the kin for breakfast and then hit the road. I am not looking forward to that drive but it'll be okay. It'll be okay. No one ever died because their butt and hips hurt in a car. Which, I suppose, is the bottom line.

Hahahaha!

And I'm looking forward to going home. I miss my house and I miss getting up and seeing cardinals at the feeder and hearing the chickens out in the henhouse clucking to be let out. I miss my trees and my flowers and my porches and my garden. I miss my own coffee pot. I miss all of that so very much and I miss my grandsons so much that it doesn't even bear speaking of. Getting up and going down to the lobby to see CNN on TV screens is just not soothing to the soul. But it's been a good trip. Family is family and I am lucky to be a part of this one, the one I married in to. There are some good hearts here. Some real good hearts.

And I have been reminded that, as Yoko Ono said a long time ago, everyone has a story to tell. 

That's just the damn truth. 

So many stories. I love them. Yours too. I mean it.

Love...Ms. Moon

Green Hills Of Their Home

I seem to be having a bit of difficulty finding time with my laptop mostly because we're so busy eating.
I am on the rapid weight-gain diet and I must eventually stop the madness but obviously not today.

Mr. Moon's sister got in yesterday afternoon and we've been enjoying time with her and we're about to meet up with some other kinfolk and then this afternoon is the wedding.

I wonder what sort of food they'll have at the reception.

Mmmmm.

Mr. Moon and I did do some shopping yesterday in Nashville at a high-end type mall place although we did not buy anything.
Except for lunch.
We had a good time though, fondling devices at my very first Apple Store and walking around Restoration Hardware looking at eight-foot long tables and replicas of printing presses used as decorative home accessories and so forth. It didn't take long though before the massive overload of consumer goods overwhelmed me and we had to leave.
But it was fun.

Right now we're driving through some beautiful countryside with rolling hills and gentlemen's farms. I'm sitting in the backseat of the car and am enjoying listening to my husband and his sister talking about their memories, the changes, how much they miss the land where they grew up.

Thus it is.

I think we may be actually lost but soon we shall be found.
We just turned left on New Hope Road.

All is well.

Love...Ms.Moon

I Am Not Always Pretty

When we'd been on the road for twenty minutes yesterday my left leg was already asleep.
By the time we hit hour eight of the trip I was having a breakdown. Some very calm, rational part of me knew I had no alternative whatsoever but to stay in my seat and finish the drive but I sure as hell did go through the alternatives in my head including those of getting on a plane, walking home, or just staying wherever it was we were for the rest of my life.
None of these seemed like anything I'd want to do so I did what I had to but by god, by the time we got to Nashville I was in a foul, bad mood and I am not going to try and sugar coat it. I just was. You would not want to have been my traveling companion. Neither did Mr. Moon, but like me on our journey, he had no choice.

We were tired, cranky, emotional, and hungry. We made a martini. It did not help. We went to supper at the Cracker Barrel which is right down the road. Where we are staying is Fast Food Central. It is Off-The-Interstate-Motel-World. It is...America.

They seated us next to a table with a couple, a set of grandparents, two daughters and a son. Before they ate they bowed their heads and the father prayed for a long, long time and I heard something in there about baseball. The best part was the wife, though, who while everyone else had their heads bowed and their eyes closed, picked silently at the salad in front of her, eyes wide open.
Hell yes, I watched.

Everyone in the damn Cracker Barrel was telling everyone else, "God bless you." It was like there's a local cult which believes that the more people you say that to, the more points you get towards your heavenly reward. Like air miles or something. I don't know. And sure as shit, when the table of folks beside us got up to leave they had to stop and discuss Mr. Moon's height and included in the conversation were many mentions of their pastor and his wife and their son and I don't know how many God Bless You's.
I swear. By that point I was ready to smack the shit out of the next person who God-Blessed us OR to return the favor by saying, "And Satan bless you," but of course I did neither of those things.

I don't know why I get so offended by the casual, cheerful assurance of so many Christian folk who assume with such great good smiles that everyone wants to be blessed by their god. It just seems so sloppy and soppy to me. It makes my skin crawl. It makes my head explode. Mr. Moon is able to graciously smile and nod and let it roll off his back but not me. We all know he's a better human being than I am and this is only further proof.
I think part of the whole issue for me is that if I said what I wanted to say to them, they'd probably call the police or at the very least, try earnestly to save my so obviously god-damned soul.
The playing field is not level, my friends.

Well, anyway, here we are and here we'll be for the next few days. Mr. Moon's sister is stuck in Houston, grounded by a storm and it's raining a bit here, too. We had a cozy breakfast at the Waffle House where blessedly, no one God-Blessed us and I am not sure what we're going to be doing for the rest of the day. I am very grateful not to be in the Houston airport, though. I can tell you that.
Maybe we'll go to the Parthenon. Yes. There is a Parthenon in Nashville. It is a full-sized replica of the one in Greece. It's actually incredibly impressive and there is a fantastic statue of Diana which is 47-feet tall.
That is one hell of a goddess, y'all!

I think that the next person who God-Blesses me is going to get, "And may Athena and Mars bless you!" back. That's better than Satan, right? More polite? More locally correct?
Sure!

And so it goes.

Greetings and love from Nashville, Tennessee, y'all, where everyone is friendly, they pray a lot, and yes indeed, there is country music being played everywhere.

Ms. Moon

Strangely Serene

It's so foggy the leaves are dripping and I am packed up and just about ready to go. Yesterday the water pump on the car we're taking to Nashville started leaking and Mr. Moon spent hours last night trying to replace it and lost a bolt and so he's off somewhere right now, looking for one. We'll hit the road as soon as he gets back and finishes the job and we get the car loaded up.

For some reason I have had about as much anxiety concerning this trip as I would have about a trip to the library, which is to say, almost none. This is so odd and so unusual for me that I am wondering if I might have a brain tumor but I don't think so. For whatever reason, I'm taking it and I'm happy and I'm grateful and who knows?

All I have to do is tag along, show up, and be reasonably pleasant, meaning I will try very hard not to curse in the presence of those whom it would offend which is most everyone, actually, but I can do it. Perhaps there is some comfort in knowing that I am an older woman now from whom no one really expects much of anything, not beauty nor charm and in this instance, not comfort or cooking either. Mr. Moon's immediate family is almost all gone although his sister will be there and it is a very good and important thing for him to keep in contact with his cousins and be present for things like weddings. Blood is blood and these people grew up together and so it is.

I think when he and I first got together, everyone was startled. I was a hippie, single mother and definitely nothing like Mr. Moon's first wife. But his parents were gracious and loving to me from the very moment they met me and did not waste one moment judging me on anything but my heart which they judged to be just fine and they told me as much and told me straight out that they were glad their son had found me. And my children.
To love and be loved by.

I miss them so much.

Anyway, we are about to travel back up to his heart-land to attend the wedding of a cousin's daughter and it will be good to go to a wedding and not a funeral because there have been too many of those. I think the last time I was in Nashville was after the death of Glen's other sister and that was as sad a time as I can remember so it will be lovely to be there for a happy occasion.

Lily and Jason and the boys are going to stay out here while we're gone and Owen informed me yesterday that he was going to take good care of my "chickens, dogs, goats, birds, and squirrels." I have no doubt that he will.

I better go and finish up getting everything packed and zipped up and ready to load into the car so that when a new bolt is located and bolted into place, we can go. I was informed last night that this is a TEN hour trip and so I shall keep my ibuprofen at hand. I have books to read aloud as we travel and they sell coffee from here to there. We shall travel through the south and perhaps we shall see spring blooming once again as we did when we traveled to Asheville. At least a little of it.

Let us all be safe and let us all be grateful for good roads, for water pumps which work, for fine and loving traveling companions, for flatlands and fruit stands and mountains and for comfortable black dresses which are more like nightgowns than we might want to admit.

And gas station restrooms which are cleaner by far than they were when I was a child.

I will report in with stories from the road which I will collect in my mind and in my heart. There are always stories from the road and they are different than the stories from my backyard which, as always, I am a bit loathe to leave, but not so much as I know that it will be here when I return, having been taken care of by my three-year old grandson and his brother, his mama and his daddy.

Peace, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon

The Most Random Of Posts

It has been such a good day for absolutely no apparent reason. Isn't this the way it goes? Yesterday I was bogged in the mire of despair and today I've been a happy little butterfly, as confident of my own unique gift to this world as any special snowflake.
All right, that's pushing it.
But, still, I've been in a very good mood.

I took Miss Liola a dozen eggs from my chickens this morning on my way to town for no reason whatsoever except that I wanted to. Two guys were talking in her front yard, one of them the guy I call The Sheik because back in the seventies he always used to wear some sort of sheik-like headscarf thing but now he just dresses like a regular well-dressed dude. I talk to him a couple of times a month on my walks as he walks too, but mostly to get from one place to the other, I believe. He didn't recognize me at first when I pulled up in my car in Miss Liola's yard and then he said, "You the walking woman!" And indeed, I am, but he's probably never seen me wearing jeans and with my hair down, etc. and I was even wearing lipstick so there you go. Miss Liola was on the phone so I just handed her the eggs and said, "My chickens are laying a lot right now," and took off.
I hope she likes them.

But let me stop right here. Have you seen this interview with Charles Ramsey who was the man who saved the women in Ohio who had been held captive for a decade or so?




I think it's a terrific, fabulous interview and I would love to have Mr. Ramsey as a neighbor. I would definitely eat some ribs and listen to salsa with him. And you know, I watched the video and I had those thoughts and then I read a few things online (this is a theme today, isn't it?) about how actually, if most white people saw Mr. Ramsey in their neighborhood they would cross the street to avoid him due to his RACE and APPEARANCE and that people are laughing AT Mr. Ramsey and not WITH him and I just think, no. What sort of an asshole would you have to be to laugh at this man who is just being himself and honest and truthful and who happened to be in the right place at the right time to be a hero of sorts and put down his MacDonald's burger and rose to the occasion?
Anyway, that's what I have to say and in Lloyd, Florida, Mr. Ramsey would fit right in and I'm glad I live in a neighborhood like that although I have to say we have our share of assholes, too. I'm not debating that. But my point is, I live in a place where we're all characters of a sort and I do believe we laugh with each other and not at each other.
Well. Mostly.

So speaking of assholes- uh...South Carolina? You want to explain that? Syd, I know it wasn't you. But Jesus Christ. Mark Sanford? Sanford's re-election goes right up there with the assholiness of Florida politics and that's saying something.

Anyway, back to my good day.

Lily and the boys and I went to Best Buy because I thought I needed something but I didn't and we looked at the iPad mini's and boy, do I need one of those! (No. I don't.) And I bought myself a Mother's Day present so kids, that's taken care of. 
Here's what I got.

I have no idea why the Stones have chosen the gorilla to represent them in this, their fiftieth anniversary tour, but they have.

Then we went to lunch and it was so much fun. I really think I like being MerMer best when Lily is around so that I can just be all goofy and fun and silly and leave the discipline to her. Here's a picture of Gibson feeding his mother. He loves to share his food.

Owen will share, too, but he doesn't feed you.

We went to the grocery store after lunch and I got snacks for the trip but I'm not sure why. If there's any pleasure to be found on a nine-hour journey it's stopping and buying snacks. But I bought some and on my way home I put my new CD in and sang along to Jumping Jack Flash and Ruby Tuesday and now I need to pack and Mr. Moon is replacing the water pump in the car we're taking which sprung a leak today and I'm just fine with all of it.

One more thing. I heard Maya Angelou on the Diane Rehm show today and I think that Ms. Angelou is quite possibly the very most evolved human being on the planet and she represents to me all that is the very best about the human race.
I wish she were my neighbor too.
In the meanwhile, I'd like to read her new book which is about her relationship with her mother and which will probably make me feel like the least evolved person on the planet and all that is neurotic and shameful about the human race but so what?

I am a special little snowflake in my own little way and so are you.

Much love...Ms. Moon

Wanna Make $6500 A Month From Home?

Yeah, me too but I deleted that e-mail from my spam box. Now I'm sort of wishing I hadn't. I think it was the "wanna" part that triggered my delete response.

The internet is a fabulous thing. On Facebook this morning I was just informed that a woman I met twice and who is now my friend has a God who loves everyone. That's nice. I was also instructed to share a thing about having the best mother in the world but I declined. It simply says (in pink, curly letters) "Share This If You Had The Best Mother In The World."
Technically, couldn't only one group of siblings post this?
(My children, for instance.)

My favorite friend on Facebook is...wait for it!...hold on!...Keith Richards.
I always read his posts and watch his videos. Mostly. And am well aware that he's probably NOT sitting over a computer with a glass of vodka and a Marlboro after his concerts, updating his profile picture.
Someone is, though.
Thanks!

On Huffpost I have been informed about ten thousand times that Amanda Bynes has had plastic surgery.
Who the FUCK is Amanda Bynes? Look, I still get Jessica Simpson and Britney Spears confused. I imagine I always will. I believe one of them may be pregnant. I wouldn't know Justin Bieber if he bit me on the ass. I hope he never bites me on the ass.

Bikini bodies and post-baby bodies are frequently imaged online. Baby bumps are popular too. By the way, as I have said before, I HATE that term. "Baby bump." Ick. People used to have good sense and a modicum of respect and WORSHIP the female belly, swollen with child. Now we just call them baby bumps and post them online and expect the woman to regain her bikini body approximately two days and four hours after delivery. Here's another thing- artificial breasts (which is what breasts with implants in them are) look like nothing whatsoever in nature with the possible exception of the breasts of a three-day postpartum woman whose milk has just come in.
Coincidence?
I think not.

So why do I know all of this bullshit? Because I spend time looking at it online. I don't actually listen to any of the singers whose slammin' bikini bodies are being pictured nor do I watch any of the movies they star in either which makes it all a complete waste of time. The craposity on Facebook is the same. I can only imagine that there are web sites which offer a complete line of images with those sayings which are supposed to inspire me on them but which actually sort of make me want to puke.

Really?
I do not think so.
But now this?

That inspires me. And makes me happy. 

Just got another e-mail. This one's subject line says, "Celebrate Mother's Day With Authentic Mexican Cheese."
I wish. In Mexico. Now there's a dream.

I wonder what I will eat for Mother's Day dinner. We'll be on the road on our way back from Nashville so I don't imagine it will be anything too impressive. Maybe Cracker Barrel if we're lucky. I do love their beans and greens. I remember last year on Mother's Day we were coming home from Dog Island with Jessie and Vergil and we stopped at the Coastal Restaurant in Panacea. It looks like this:

It was awesome. Also, they were handing out samples of some sort of hand cream to the mothers. Can't beat that. All mothers need hand cream. 

Well, I better take this extremely post-baby body for a walk. I've got things to do and places to be. 

Mostly the grocery store.

Where I will not be buying authentic Mexican cheese but IT WILL BE GREAT because I'm going with Lily and the grands. Nothing could make me happier except for making $6500 a month from home. 

Good morning, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon

Do They Still Make Geritol?

The wireless came back on and I hear that people in twenty-one states lost internet today via Century Link and who knows what was going on? Not me.
I managed to live through it and I guess we all did. We're all so vulnerable, though.

I'm tired. I am really, really tired. I don't think we've had much of a break yet in 2013. I mean, some really beautiful things have happened but some very difficult ones have happened as well and none of it has been what you would call restful. And I didn't sleep last night because of issues with this fucked-up wrist and then the boys were here and I was not the sweetest MerMer today. There were moments of true sweetness and joy but I was just too tired to have much patience for any foolishness and that's not who Owen knows as his grandmother.

Well. Here is Mr. Sweetness And Joy himself.

And the two of them, displaying Owen's rock collection which also contains a few choice bricks. And he called me "Sweetheart" today. And "Baby." And "Girl."

Oh my baby boys. 

The dogs got out and came back around to the kitchen and barked to be let in and one of them has been puking all day long, ominous brown puddles of ick to clean up and one of them got into a peed-in disposable diaper and tore it up in my bathroom and there's a plague of gnats in the house and my phone won't keep a charge and well...it's just been a day.

I've got soup in the making and it's such an odd combination of ingredients (collard greens, snow peas, venison, white beans, sweet potato?) and I...oh, I don't know. 

It's just one of those days when exhaustion has turned into a sort of existential angst causing me to feel inadequate in every possible way in every one of my roles from wife to mother to grandmother to cook to laundress to housewife in general, and in my writing, as well, which is suffering badly.

It's one of those days when all good things seem like a dream, when life seems like the constant pushing of a impossibly heavy boulder uphill and every muscle in my body is sore and weary.

And my hair needs washing and my legs need shaving and I'm fat and I ate every wrong food today and none of the right ones. 

I just feel like a failure in every way although I sent the children home relatively clean (they took a recreational bath today while I sat on a small chair and read and tried to ignore the wildness going on a foot away from me) and I also sent them home alive and I suppose that's the main thing. 

And on Thursday we're getting in the car and driving nine hours up to Nashville for another wedding. It will, at least, be a break from home and hearth and someone else will be doing the cooking and the washing up and the cleaning. This, I suppose, is good. I will wash my hair and shave my legs and put on make-up and wear presentable clothing and I will not be responsible for anything at all. 

Which, if I can't escape to Mexico, will do. For now, it will do. And perhaps I shall remember who Mary is which will help a great deal in all areas of my life. 

Or not. 

At this point I feel as if perhaps I have crossed some indefinable border into chaos and aging and they have put up razor wire and set the Rotweilers out to guard that border against my return but we shall see. 

We will just have to see.

Powerless

My wireless is out and I've called whatever-the-name of our service provider is and an almost human cheerfully and casually guided me through his (its) little steps of identification and so forth and then oh-so-happily informed me that our service was out and that their technicians were working on it.

"Great!" he (it) crowed when I, in response to his prompt, pressed one to be informed by phone when service was restored as if we had made both a technological AND personal breakthrough in our relationship.

And now I shall search the yard to see if I can find enough signal to post this and meanwhile will check on the coming-on blooms of the Confederate jasmine. The boys are coming soon.

Good morning.

Like New, Only So Much Better

Mr. Moon did a massive amount of work this weekend. He pressure washed almost the entire house, including much of the roof which scares me to death, watching him up there on that steep tin roof.
Heights, for some reason, do not bother him.
(This is sort of a joke because he is so tall that just standing upright could be a dizzying experience for him.)

I tried yesterday evening to sit down and write a post about that man, about our life together. I wrote about how we met and how quickly we became a couple and how very, very busy we've been for most of the thirty years we've been together. How despite our incredible differences we share things in common that must truly matter. How we meet at the heart. How we respect each other's differences. How his idea of heaven is a deer blind in the woods and my idea of heaven would be a library filled with books to read and Macs to write on. How over the years we have come to cherish the differences. I love to cook what he brings home from the woods and he loves that I keep a record here of our family, our children, our grandchildren, both with words and with pictures.

How we've been through too many deaths together and also, blessedly, so many births. How we've traveled and how we've dreamed and how we've made dreams come true.

How lucky we are to still, after thirty years, love each other, respect each other, meet at the heart. How we still have dreams.

How he is my comfort and joy. How he put up with the craziness within me for so long and gave me a safe, protected, loving place from which to find the strength to get help for that craziness. How he has supported me in every way. How he was with me when we had our babies at home, how over the years I have fallen more and more in love with him, watching his great heart open first to me and the children I already had and then to Lily and Jessie and now to our grandsons. How I have been in awe of his strength, his compassion, his open mind, his kindness.

His kindness.

How he thanks me every night for the supper I've made him. How he so often washes the dishes. How he tends the garden and built the chicken coop and bought me my dream house. How he takes me to Mexico.

I tried, last night, to write all of these things but there was so much going on. By the time he'd finished up he could barely walk, he was so tired. And then he helped me put the plants back on the porch and then we made martinis and sat on that porch and then a neighbor came over and his sister called and, and, and...

Dinner time. Bed time.

It was a good weekend. We got so much done. It is lovely and cool today and here I am, enjoying these beautiful porches that my husband cleaned. The sun is shining and everywhere my eye looks, I see love. I need to put that last porch back together again.

I need to put the canning kettle back into the closet where it goes because I did use it to make five half-pints of preserves. I think I may clean out some closets today. Possibly. The idea of the inside of the house being a bit less cluttered like the outside is a good one. There are things, like the canning kettle, which I do need to keep stored because I use it. Not so often, but I do. There are other things which I will never use and I need to let some of them go.

All weekend as Mr. Moon worked his way around the house, a crow kept following him. He would perch in whatever tree was above where my husband was and he would caw at him. When he was finished and came in for his shower, the crow came to the Bradford Pears beside the back porch and called and cawed, as if he wanted his friend to come back outside. He even dive-bombed the porch as if DEMANDING that he come back out. I don't see him this morning. Perhaps he, like Mr. Moon, has gone to work, doing whatever sort of enterprise that crows do.

It is the most beautiful day. The chickens are out and feeding on the corn I've thrown them. The roses are blooming, the garden is coming along so nicely. I see the beautiful results of all the work we've done here together and I see that our very lives are a result of all the work we've done here together and somehow, this still isn't exactly what I have wanted to say. It rambles and it goes down paths that I didn't mean it to and isn't that just like life?

You meet a guy in a bar. Okay, you've already met him before but somehow, that night, in the bar, his eye goes to you and yours to him. A week later he's putting some of his things on a shelf in a closet in your room and you tell a friend, "This guy is going to ask him to marry me." You're not even sure how you feel about that but there is a sense of destiny, of fate, of purpose.
You have adventures, you work hard, you go through hell sometimes, you hold each other through it all. You don't give up. The family you create knits you together so tightly that you can't give up.
You keep doing the work.
You keep having adventures.
You take care of each other as tenderly and thoughtfully as possible.
You keep remembering to kiss and to say "thank-you," and you always, always tell each other, "I love you."
You always say, "We are so lucky."
You mean it.

Well. This is how it's worked for us.

I am grateful for him. I love him. I am so lucky.

I mean it. With every bit of me, I know it and I mean it.

Good morning. It is such a good morning. I hope it is for you, too.

Love...Ms. Moon

Why I Am Not A Professional Movie Reviewer

It is Sunday morning, we've eaten our pancakes on the clean and de-cluttered back porch, the sun, the sun, the beautiful sun is out again, it's a bit chilly and the growly, chugging, burping sound of the pressure washer is again heard in the land.
And instead of roses and tea olives, all I smell is bleach.
Sigh.
It must be done.

So we watched that movie last night. Get Low.

It was not bad. Robert Duvall reined in his usual Robert Duvallness (and don't get me wrong- I adore the man and his acting) and it was a more restrained performance than I think I've ever seen him give. He didn't get to use his usual bag of tricks to charm and delight and what was cut away and discarded left the tender bare bone.
Bill Murray played a funeral director and either that casting was genius or incredibly misguided and I go with genius. But you know me.
Okay- here's a problem I had with the casting. They cast Sissy Spacek as the widow with whom the Robert Duvall character had "had a go with" back in the olden days and yet, in all actuality, Ms. Spacek is almost twenty years younger than Duvall and only one year older than Murray.
Look, Sissy Spacek can play anyone at any age and I'll buy it. She can do anything, but really?
Oh well, petty, petty and at least they didn't cast Anne Hathaway or something like that. Do you remember when they cast Anne Heche opposite Harrison Ford in Six Days, Seven Nights? That was severely wrong whereas casting Sissy Spacek opposite Robert Duvall as his contemporary was merely a little annoying if you're a woman. I was gratified to see that Sissy's neck is doing the same thing mine is but she is five years older than I am so I suppose I am being prematurely gratified as well as prematurely aging.

But it was a beautiful movie, visually, and better than most movies I've seen recently. Which, admittedly, is not a lot.

Well, I suppose I should go put on my overalls and do something productive in the yard now that the sun is out again. The bamboo has finally ceased its freakish sprouting but there are downed limbs all over the place and palm fronds which need trimming. Mr. Moon brought me home a nice, big bowl of dewberries he picked yesterday and if I was worth my salt, I'd make a few pints of preserves. This could happen.

I'll let you know.

Although why you would care is beyond me.

Love and kisses...Ms. Moon

At Least The Porch Is Clean

Do you ever wonder if all of the quotes attributed to the Dali Lama on Facebook are really things he said? I do.

I think I had PMS today. Post Menstrual Syndrome. Post by approximately ten years but hey! Maybe? I was in a twitchy, bitchy mood. I was being mean as a snake to my husband for no reason. None. I finally told him, "Just don't talk to me! I'm insane!"
So I figured it best to remove myself. Which I did. I went to the branch library and found, finally, that movie "Get Low" which has not only Robert Duvall and Sissy Spacek in it but also Bill Fucking Murray. Why haven't I seen this movie? I do not know. I plan to rectify that situation tonight. Then, because the book-pickings were slim, I drove all the way across Tallahassee to the main branch and got some books. Where I saw a grown man wearing a Superman cape. That disturbed me a little. Just a little.
Then I went to Publix.
By the time I got home, I was in a much better mood.
And this is what my porch looked like:

Sparkling!

I've pretty much got it all back together with all my crap on it. Some of it's charming crap but it is crap for the most part.
Speaking of crap, the death-trap rusted glider is no longer on the porch and it will never be there again unless Mr. Moon does indeed sandblast it and fix the mechanical parts on it. Before it came into our possession, the damn thing had been sitting in the woods for seventeen years.
I am not making that up. Seventeen years. In the woods. You can only imagine.

Anyway, it's gone. And until I get a couch to put where it was (and I don't care if it mildews- you think I'm going to buy a NEW couch for the PORCH?) I did this:

VAST improvement. My soul is happier every time I look at that spot and I look at that spot about five hundred times a day.
Phew.

It is raining. It has been raining for days and I do not mind. Not one bit. And it's supposed to get down to 47 or something like that tonight. I still have my down comforter on the bed. And it's May. I am about to go cook pork chops. I know, I know. We just had pork chops. What's your point? I did laundry yesterday and I'm doing it again today. So what? Plus, women with both sorts of PMS need pork chops. It's a proven, medical fact. I think the Dali Lama may have even said something about that. I saw it on Facebook. And we're also having our first squashes of the year.

Things are looking up and Mr. Moon is allowed to talk to me again.

Stay cozy, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon

P.S. Here is a picture of Gibson that his mother took today. The rain is obviously not fazing him either.
You are welcome.

What Is WRONG With Me?

I slept nine hours last night and barely moved and my back hurts this morning and my head is somewhere, I don't know where, but not here. And I'm exhausted. Like sleeping took all my energy.

Mr. Moon is about to start pressure-washing porches and this means I need to take every damn thing off this back porch in preparation and when I tell you I live back here, trust me. The porches need it. The whole outside of the house needs it but oh god, the pressure washer is so noisy and taking everything off this porch and cleaning it will take me all day long and that is not what I wanted to do today but I don't even know what I do want to do so...so what?

That picture is what we picked in the garden last night. Those greens are some over-grown lettuces which I thought might taste good if sauteed with a little garlic and olive oil with lemon juice.
No. They were not.
Bitter greens, bitter, bitter, bitter. And not in an intriguing way, either. The goats are going to get those plants. I'd give them to the chickens but I doubt they'd eat them.

I keep wondering how the Rolling Stones are feeling today after last night's opening concert for their Fifty and Counting tour. This is the real deal. The tour grind has begun. These men are in their late sixties and seventies. Here's what their schedule looks like:

“50 AND COUNTING” TOUR DATES
May 5 Oakland Oracle Arena On sale now
May 8 San Jose HP Pavilion On sale now
May 11 Las Vegas MGM Grand On sale now
Garden Arena 
May 15 Anaheim Honda Center On sale now
May 18 Anaheim Honda Center On sale now
May 25 Toronto Air Canada Centre On sale now
May 20 Los Angeles STAPLES Center On sale now
May 28 Chicago United Center On sale now
May 31 Chicago United Center On sale now
June 3 Chicago United Center On sale now
June 6 Toronto Air Canada Centre On sale now
June 9 Montreal Bell Centre On sale now
June 12 Boston TD Garden On sale now
June 14 Boston TD Garden On sale now
June 18 Philadelphia Wells Fargo Center On sale now
June 21 Philadelphia Wells Fargo Center On sale now

Really? How can they do that? They're not phoning it in, either. I don't even have the energy to consider GOING to one of their concerts. We won't even discuss the money aspect. I could come up with the money before I could find the energy. 

Start me up. Time is on my side. Doom and gloom. Paint it black. Give me shelter.

I need some emotional rescue.



I'm sorry. I'll shut up now.

Love...Ms. Moon

More Bible Study But Mostly In My Own Backyard

The sky is fresh-made bruise and the wind is whipping up and it's barely seventy degrees and supposed to get down into the forties this weekend and I swear to you- I've never seen a May this cool but the rain has been wonderful and the beans and the cukes I planted last Sunday are already up, busting through the  earth and proclaiming their lives and I can't keep up with the snow peas already and the squash is about ready to start picking.
So much for giving up on the garden.

The boys and I had a very sweet day today and if Owen's brain had a worm in it, it was a quiet worm. I got to lay down on the bed with Gibson in my arms to give him a bottle and that is one of the joys in my life. I hold him up close in the same position as if he was my nursling and I pat his bottom and say, "Sssh, sssh, sssh." It usually works to get him to sleep but not today. He decided instead to wake full up and wrestle with his brother and they are like two puppies and yes, nips are given (by Gibson) but also kisses (by both). I have never seen such sweet brothers. I am sure that before they're grown things will change because that is the nature of brothers but I have a feeling that underneath it all, they will always, always be each others' best friend and I hope so. There could be no bond like that one, except of course, for maybe sisters.
I don't know.
I wish my baby brothers would talk to me again. I miss them. I love them. What else is there to say about that?
I'll tell you another thing about the Bible- it is full of stories about brothers, starting with Cain and Abel and it goes from there. I am not loathe to admit that the Bible has a whole hell of a lot of good stories in it about every kind of human nature and some beautiful poetry in it too. And that is the truth.

Owen found two tiny frogs on the back porch today and he carried them out to put into the bushes. One of them I think was dead but he said, "This one sleeping. Be quiet, Mer," and so I was and maybe it was only sleeping. I didn't give it a medical exam or anything. I am proud of him, though, for being brave about holding frogs and bugs and I am proud of him for loving his brother and I am proud of him for so many things. I have said it a million times and I'll say it a million more- I never even began to dream about what being a grandmother would be like. Holding them close and letting them move farther and farther into the yard with only my watchful eye to follow, being there and being part of it all, the learning, the growing, the tenderness, the incredible all-ness of it, every bit of it and it feels as right and correct as anything I've ever done. It feels human and it feels ape. Like becoming a mother felt, only with more years behind me and fewer before me to make it all the more precious.

That's all I have to say now and the wind gusts, gusts and the magnolia leaves rattle and yesterday I saw a male cardinal feeding his lady with his beak and sometimes all of it seems almost Biblical, only without the mean god, only without the bloody sacrifice, just the normal ones of life and Lord, my Lord, they are plenty enough for me and glory too.

Bible Studies And Good News

I was up half the night with legs that wouldn't stop twitching and hips that wouldn't stop hurting and I finally just stayed up for a good long while and read an endless article in a New Yorker about a filmmaker and his co-writer/actor girlfriend and ate two bowls (maybe three) of Honey Nut Cheerios and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
The worm in my brain made me do that. It is a hungry worm, I guess.
Anyway, this morning I can't remember the name of the filmmaker or his co-writer/actor girlfriend although his last name starts with a "B" and her's with a "G". I could go check but I have no interest whatsoever. Also, my stomach is really messed up from the Cheerios and the peanut butter sandwich and the boys are coming soon and it's raining.
The good news is, uh...okay. Hold on. I know I have some....
Hell. I've forgotten what the good news is.

Remember The Good News Bible? I do. Is that thing still around? I lurk at a blog of a woman I know who always writes about God. Her god is a very personal god and he takes a great interest in this woman and he expects A LOT from her and she always fails at living up to those expectations but it's okay because her god sent his son Jesus to save her. This is the general theme of her blog. On her last post she discussed reading the Bible and she is thinking about reading the entire thing. I did that in Jr. High which was pretty ridiculous but hell, it's just a book. That was about the end of any religion for me, reading the Bible, which may sound odd but it's true. You read that whole thing and you'll come away realizing that if a god or God, as some call him, was the divine spirit behind that book, he should go take a class in editing at the very least. Also, that he is mean. Really, really mean.

Well, that's about all I'm up to saying at the moment. I need to gird my loins (that's from the Bible) and go make the bed and get ready for the boys. Lily reported last night this conversation she had had with Owen:
"Oh, Owen. My arms just love to hold you. Do your arms love to hold me?"
"Yes. They do. And my feet just love to step on you."

God had his son and Lily has hers. Actually, she has two sons and why God could only manage to come up with one has always been a question which disturbs me. His "only begotten son," is how the Bible frequently refers to Jesus. I've discussed this before and unlike with the dryer issue, no one has been able to answer that question. And by the way, thanks, y'all for the explanation of the various dryer levels of dryness. Now I know. But quite frankly, if I put clothes in the dryer, I want them to come out dry. Do you think God has a whole bunch of "gotten sons" as opposed to "begotten ones?" Maybe something got lost in the translation.

It's going to be a fun day. I'm already goofy.

It's Friday. Carry on as you feel fit.

Love...Ms. Moon

Great Questions Of The Universe Which I Ponder Daily

Can someone explain to me why my dryer even HAS a "Dryness Level"?

Who wants their clothes' level of dryness to be less? Than what? Dry? Doesn't that sort of defeat the purpose of the dryer?

Maybe it would have something to do with ironing in which case it is understandable that I do not know.

When The Sympathetic Nervous System Is Not Really Sympathetic

A few times last week I had moments of almost complete happiness. The most notable one came when I walked into my hallway after having been in town and being completely and utterly struck with how much I love my house, my home, my life in it. I blew kisses to the floors, the ceiling, the walls.
And it wasn't because I was just so glad to be home from town. I'd had a fine time in town. It wasn't oh, safety at last, it wasn't the relief of being able to take off my bra, it was simply pure and unadulterated love for the floors, the ceiling, the walls, this life I lead within them.

And in that moment, I was purely happy.

And my next thoughts were about wondering why in the world this sort of happiness, which is not based on anything crazy or drug-fueled or...anything at all except for the sheer appreciation of what one does indeed have, can't be felt in its simple entirety more often.

I mean, it wasn't like a sudden burst of irrational mania. Nothing like that at all. So why can't it last?

I don't know.

I just know that now, today, I am riding a tall, white-foamed curling wave of anxiety with a strong undertow of depression underneath. Thank god that I know what this is. Thank god that I am experienced enough to realize that no, this ominous feeling isn't an actual omen or warning (although my flight-or-fight system wants to tell me it is, is doing everything within its power to assure me it is) and if I felt at all like laughing, which I do not, I might laugh at myself.

As it is, I simply despair and then accept and know that things will turn around again. Maybe if I live to be a hundred I'll figure out exactly what it is that triggers these moods, these states of mind. Frankly, I have no plan to live to be a hundred though, so I'll probably die not knowing exactly. But I do know that yesterday was a day of emotion and small worries and there is no way to prevent such things from happening in a life. That IS a life, except for when the worries are large and far more real.

So I'm going to take a walk and I'm going to live with myself because there is no other thing to do and I'm going to remember that moments of happiness, such complete innocent moments of happiness about such complete innocent realities will come around again. And because they are so rare and because they are so genuine, they are all the more precious.

The tea olive and the pink heirloom roses are perfuming the air. Really.

The amaryllis is blooming,

there is a squash almost ready to pick, the pea vines are abundantly filled with snow peas. I have gathered one warm ivory egg, the sourdough starter is working, my daughter and her husband are home and safe and snuggling with their starter-child, the cat Celo. I have spoken to my grandson on the phone and he told me that he is not in control of his brain today and that there may be a worm in there which is controlling it.
I understand.

I understand and I know that it may well be true that there is nothing to fear but fear itself but goddam, fear itself can be a motherfucker.

First Of May, First Of May

Now look at the skin on that old lady's neck and tell me that a few white spots on her face are going to bother her. Haha!
Yeah, I called the dermatologist's office today and made an appointment to get the freeze treatment. I mean- come on! Two seconds of being frozen and then a little blister and a little place that doesn't tan OR strange and strong chemicals that cost an arm and a leg OR strange and strong chemicals AND light treatment?
For me, the choice is pretty obvious.

And you thought I was showing you a picture of my grandson. Well, of course I am. He kept looking at himself in the camera and saying baby. Oh, my Gibson.
Owen was being three and a half today. He is figuring stuff out. And part of what he's figuring out is- just how far will this MerMer allow him to push her?
And, I, of course, well... I'm figuring it out too. It's a mutual endeavor and not always perfectly graceful. This is like most things in life. But unlike most things in life, our mutual endeavors always end as they did today with him rushing to tell me he loves me, to give me a hug, a kiss, and for me to tell him I love him too, SO MUCH, and then we make our plans for our next get-together.

So I have talked to the birthday girl and she and her husband are back in the USA. In Chicago, to be specific. They are exhausted, happy, and are looking forward to some sleep. It was so good to talk to her. I can't wait to hear all about it and see the pictures. Of...you know...the stuff you can show your mama when you get home from your honeymoon.

I got a text from her when they landed which said, "We're in Chicago! America! Fuck yah!"
Which she wrote because we love "Team America," which is a movie starring puppets and if you've never seen it, you should. It's hilarious. Here's a video of the theme song with lyrics.

(Don't watch this if you are easily offended, okay? I've warned you. I mean it.)




I wonder if I'm the only blogger in the world today to post a picture of her grandchild AND that video.
Maybe.

Anyway, it's been sort of like that today. My emotions, quite understandably, have been up and down and all over the map, not unlike Jessie and Vergil, come to think of it. I've been wondering how it would feel, it being Mother's first birthday after her death.
And that's been fine. I think of her, but the thoughts don't bring me pain. Seems to me like I'm far more concerned with the living these days.

I have eggrolls in the oven and it's drizzling and my very much living and very much loved husband is waiting for his supper.

Today is May 1 and I must remind you, as I always do on this day, what my friend Lynn always used to say which was, "First of May, first of May. Outdoor fucking begins today!"

Whoop-i-aye, Dear Lynn!
Whoop-i-aye to us all.

It Is My Baby's Birthday

It is Jessie Moon's 24th birthday today. I think that at right this moment, she is flying somewhere over the Atlantic, maybe, flying home from her honeymoon, her sweet husband by her side.

At her wedding, what I wrote and read for them

 started out, as is appropriate, with her birth which was a rainy day, a day where magnolias bloomed, a day when all of my brothers and all of Jessie's siblings and my dearest friends were with me and her father when she was born, a day where, after her birth, the sky cleared and a rainbow appeared.
Sounds unlikely, doesn't it?
Well. That is just the way it happened.
I also talked about dancing. I talked about how Jessie has always been a dancing girl and how she and Vergil dance so beautifully together and how they should always, always keep dancing. In the times of light and in the times of darkness and how in those darker times, they should hold each other especially closely to that they can help each other to find the rhythm again, should it go missing. Because no one knows what the years will deliver but that if they just keep dancing together, it will be all right.
And I believe that with all of my heart.

It's my baby's birthday. She is newly wed. The twenty four years of her life have gone by like a finger snap for me. Like the lighting of a candle and a flame growing up a wick, bringing light.

I've been going back through pictures and of course I'm in tears. If you were here with me, I would show you hundreds of pictures and I would tell you the stories and the stories would involve all of us, her brother, her sisters, her father, me, our shared beloved friends, and then this great love story of her meeting and courting and being courted by Vergil.

Well. Here are a few of those pictures. I have no idea why I've chosen them above all the others but as always, I am just going with my gut. Together they tell a little bit of the story of her life. So far.

Me and that girl, a long time ago. Dog Island.

Jessie and her best friend, Melissa, also on Dog Island. Melissa was one of her bridesmaids. They have been friends and sister-friends and bandmates for forever and ever.

In high school. A picture of the Cicada Ladies being born.

Jessie and her daddy, again, in high school.

With her fairy godparents, Lon and Lis, when she got the mandolin which Lon had made for her. 

Dancing with Vergil in our hallway, the first time he came to visit.

With our dearly beloved Colin who loved her so much and who had to come and check out this Vergil guy. He approved of the Vergil guy. All was good. 

With Owen, the day after he was born.

When she graduated from FSU Nursing School with Miss Nana, her favorite teacher, a woman who had been my favorite teacher when I was in nursing school before Jessie was born.

Jessie and Vergil sitting on the front steps of their house in Asheville right after they moved in.

The day after Gibson's birth when he was still a crumpled little monkey. 

With her sisters right before she got married.

With her husband, right after she got married. 

Jessie and her grandmother, who shared her birthday. I think this is from the year that Jessie turned seventeen and Mother turned 79. Something like that. This is the first birthday of her life that Jessie will not be sharing the day with her grandmother who adored her. I hope it is not too much of a sadness in her heart because in truth, her grandmother is finally and at last in peace and at rest and all of the suffering and unhappiness of her last years are over.

She would be so proud of Jessie. Of that there is no doubt.

It is my baby's birthday. She was born to me twenty-four years ago and she has been light and love and joy ever since. I imagine she always will be. She is a dancing girl. She has found a partner to dance with throughout life. She is dancing her way home across the ocean to us from countries far away where she, I feel certain, has danced joyfully with her fella. She will come home and she will continue to do her own unique and light-filled dance as she works with mother and babies, as she tends the home she and Vergil have made, as she perhaps eventually births her own babies. 

Then she will begin to know how much she is loved. Although, actually, I think she has an inkling already.

Happy birthday, my darling, dancing girl. Happy birthday to Mean Aunt Jessie. Happy birthday to my back-pocket baby.

You are loved.