Dog Island, March 2016

I swear to god I just lost a huge and fucking profound post I was writing. Jesus. It was going to go down in the annals of history. 

Oh well. We are here and I'm doing pretty darn well. I had a bit of an epiphany and something good turned in my heart. 

At least it feels that way. 

Mr. Moon just caught a sizable redfish in the surf. 

He is happy. He released the beautiful thing back into the waters of the bay. We have plenty to eat. 

It's almost sunset time and we are sitting on what is left of our little tiny beach. Turns out there was a bottle of my favorite Bacardi anejo rum here and we're having a delicious Cuba Libre. The wild Rosemary is blooming everywhere and the bees are happily buzzing it. I picked a little bouquet for the coffee table. 

The pines are full of pollen and the temperature is perfect. We have new sheets on our bed. 

The sentinel pines have not yet been killed by the oh-so-definitely rising sea levels. 

It is beautiful. 

Beach sculpture. 

Our little shack. 

Holy fuck! What a miracle if I can truly learn to put away the ghosts and love this place again. 

It is so worthy of being loved. 

As are we all. 

Love... Ms. Moon

Getting There

Okay, okay, okay, we are going and I am trying to remember to breathe, breathe, breathe.

All will be well. I have already packed the non-cold food and now I need to pack my clothes (overalls, tank tops, no bras) and my pillows and my meds and my books and also the ice chest stuff and my toothbrush and so forth and we'll load everything up into the truck and onto the boat and we'll drive down to Lanark Village where we put the boat in and take everything in the truck and put it in the boat and take that across the bay to the island and dock the boat and haul everything out of the boat and onto the old vehicle we have parked there in the parking lot of rusting-out old vehicles and drive to the house and go up the creaky dangerous stairs and open up the house which has shag carpet and which smells like a wooden house that has been baking in the sun for eons and also sulfur water and haul everything up those creaky dangerous stairs and hopefully, there hasn't been a huge power outage rendering everything in the refrigerator gross and stinky and gone, gone, gone and put things away.

That's what the island looks like from the air, places so thin you can throw a seashell from Gulf to bay.

I am thinking I am too anxious to go and then I think of how bad it was yesterday and yet I took a walk, voted, took care of my chickens, went to town, did the shopping, went by the library, stopped and saw my daughter and Maggie and Gibson and came home and unloaded everything and picked greens for the trip and did so much laundry and made a supper and posted two blog posts and did the basic household chores and I survived all of that and I am so much stronger than I know. I am not crying today, not yet, and if I do, that will be okay too.

I need to get busy.

I'll post from the island if my cellular data thing works on my iPad. Or phone.

Love...Ms. Moon

Talk About It

What is anxiety like? What does it feel like? We all know what it feels like to be anxious. Even VERY anxious. Anyone who's gotten up in front of people to talk or play an instrument or read a poem or a passage knows what anxiety can feel like. Anyone who's had a child with a high fever or had to take an important test or sat in an important job interview or gone on a first date knows what anxiety feels like.
It's a human emotion.
And- what does depression feel like?
We all know how that feels too. The man of your dreams tells you that it's not you, it's him. You didn't get the job. You made a C- on the test. Your child has to be on antibiotics for a week. Your poem got no response except for a lot of eyes looking at you like, "What the fuck was that?"

But. When those of us who suffer from anxiety and depression talk about those two things, we mean something entirely different. It's like comparing the flame of a birthday candle to the heat of a forest fire. Both fire, and yet...

I have only gotten the sort of anxiety which feels like a heart attack once or twice. Or, okay, maybe three or four times. I'm very lucky that way. The only time I truly felt my life was in danger was once when I had a panic attack driving on an interstate at night surrounded by semi's whooshing by and I just knew that I was going to pass out and crash any moment. And it was raining.
I have, however, had quite a few stretches of clinical depression, as we call it, which sometimes took months to years to actually recover from.

And when, some time ago, I had my first episode with the combined demon twins of anxiety and depression together, I had no idea what was happening. But I will tell you this- by the time I went to a doctor and asked for help, I was at the point where I could no longer live in the state I was in.

Because I grew up with a mother who threatened suicide innumerable times, I've never put that one out there. But I've been through things that have informed me as to how she must have felt. And we all deal with these things differently. She was more vocal about her depression whereas I tend to withdraw. And at the same time, I do talk about it, I write about it. I am trying to feel no shame about it, but that's hard because although we are told over and over that issues of mental health are as real as a broken leg or diabetes or a heart condition, there is still the feeling that if we just TRIED hard enough, we could get over it.

Mary Engelbreit has made a fortune on this belief although I'm sure that it was not her intention to make light of mental illness.
Do YOU have the coffee cup?

"Keep your chin up!" "Keep a gratitude journal!" "People have it so much worse than you do!" "What do you have to complain about?" "Do yoga." "Drink green tea!" "Don't eat sugar/drink caffeine/but do take magnesium/folic acid/St. John's Wort/calcium...blah, blah, blah!" "Exercise for two hours every day!" "Just decide to be happy!"

Fuck that.

The first time those twin demons came to me with such force I was eating as clean as I've ever eaten, going to yoga three times a week, taking my walks, living in my dream house with my long-time love and my daughter was about to marry someone she really loved.

And yet, I slipped so far down into panic and despair and fear and sadness that death seemed like it might be a sweet release.
And if you don't think that I felt guilty about being so fucked up while having such a perfect life, then you don't know me.
This also coincided with menopause and with the last of my babies moving out of the house.
Looking back, I realize that these two things had a huge effect on me.

It's chemical, it's emotional, it's situational, it's...unexplainable.

Science really hasn't figured it out. Sometimes pills help. Sometimes, they don't. Sure, exercise is important and diet probably is too. Getting enough rest is always helpful. Can YOU sleep with adrenalin coursing through your bloodstream? Mindfulness probably helps and I'm sure that meditation does too. But when you're in the middle of it, you just want fucking relief.

I agree with Matt Haig in that love is probably the most important part of healing. And in that, I have been beyond lucky.

I did calm down today. It took me awhile to quit crying and when I did, I absolutely had to go lay down. I had no energy at all. We all find solace where we can and I found it in my bed and looking at pictures like this.

Go ahead and laugh if you want. Your spirit totem may be a wolf or an eagle or a hawk. Mine is that old man. That's Mick Jagger's grandson he's communing with. Or great-grandson. Who can keep up with these guys?

Whatever gets you through the night. Or the day.

I got up and I went to Publix and I bought food for Dog Island. I went by Lily's and made Maggie smile and sniffed her head so hard I'm surprised I didn't suck it up through my nostrils. I watched her nursing her mama. I touched her softness. I nibbled on her toes and fingers. I inhaled her and inhaled her. I told her mother how very, very proud I am of her.

I'm probably okay. I'm a lot better.

And I just want to tell you that if you know what I'm talking about here and you're surviving and hanging in there, and finding whatever it takes for you to personally make it through the nights and days, then I admire and love the shit out of you. And if you'd like to tell me what it's like for you and what helps you, I'd be so grateful and humbled to hear what you have to say.
Thank you.

Yours truly...Ms. Moon

I went to church today because that's where we vote in Lloyd. Big new brick Baptist church. The white people church. I walked there, it's only a few blocks from my house. Or what would be blocks if we had blocks. Up until the last moment I wasn't sure who I was going to vote for but when it came time to fill in the oval, my hand moved unerringly to one and not the others as if it had been controlled in a game with a Ouija board.
Whichever candidate gets the Democratic nod, I will be fine with but truthfully, I just wish that President Obama could continue on for another eight years. Or so.

I left the church and continued my walk. I am really struggling today and had a little breakdown last night wherein I finally had to let down my wall and tell my husband what was going on. Anyway, I knew that today the best thing I could do was to walk the miles and so I did, my mind somewhere far away but my body, at least, emptying itself of some of the adrenalin.

I texted Mr. Moon this morning that I couldn't even bear the thought of going to the store to get what we need to take to the island, much less go there tomorrow. But I am going to try. This is probably a fool's errand but I'm a mess as it is so why not go be a mess there?
I guess. He really wants to go. He's offered to do all of the shopping and carry me there himself if that's what I need.
I don't know what I need. I don't know what I want.

I can't even think.

I know this will pass. At least I do know that.

Meanwhile, this is how the oldest living cat in the world has been spending her day.
I want to tell her to move over and make room for me.

Time Travel

Look at those fuzzy baby mulberries! If the birds don't get to the fruit before I do, we may get a pie this year. I only planted that tree a few years ago and it is growing as fast as the grandchildren.

I've stayed home all day and done little things in my little world and one of the things has been to go around and check the greening, the budding, the growth. The branches of the fig tree are becoming green-tipped, the Buck-Eye is blooming and the Ashe Magnolia is wearing its soft fuzzy gloves.

I cleaned the hen house and did the laundry and made the beds and filled in the row of sugar snap peas where some didn't come up and weeded and then made a row for green beans and planted them. I have the water on the garden now and it looks so pretty in the gold of the setting sun.

If you look closely you can see the peas coming up and the dusty row of potatoes breaking ground. 

I picked kale and collards and mustards and brought them in and soaked them in a sink of water and chopped them up and have them cooking with red onion and all sorts of tasty ingredients. Mr. Moon just cleaned the bream and speckled perch he caught yesterday and I will give those a light pan-fry. Nothing sweeter than tiny lake-fish. I will cook grits and stewed tomatoes because that is what my mother always cooked with fish when one of the fishermen of Roseland brought her a mess to cook. I am not sure where she came up with that particular combination but it is a good one and I like it. Maybe our next door neighbor, Clara Lewis taught it to her. Clara was married to a fisherman and was a lighthearted and lovely soul and befriended my mother although in many ways, they could not have been more different. Clara's husband was her opposite in many ways and my memories of him are of a man who was grouchy as hell if awakened during the day by any of us kids including his own two sons, sturdy little boys whom Clara carried on her skinny hips, naked but for dragging diapers. I loved those boys. The fishermen of Roseland fished at night and so their day-sleep was essential for them and when they did get up in the afternoons, they squatted on their haunches and mended their nets and smoked and talked about fishing. Sometimes they built their own boats and always painted them with a red bottom because it was well known that fish cannot see the color red. 

How odd that even as a child I knew to pay attention to these conversations of squatting men, to listen to their stories as I pretended not to pay attention. They were lean and brown and passed their boat-building and fishing knowledge down through the generations, father-to-son-to-son. 

Clara's parents lived across the street from us and her daddy astounded and shocked the community when he abandoned his family and moved up north with a woman not his wife, leaving behind two families, one with grown children, one with a passel of younger ones whom I went to school with. They were so dirt poor. They wore the same clothes, day after day and their necks always bore the marks of dirt necklaces and their teeth were black. Their oldest sister tried to raise them after their mama died but it was too much for her. There were so many. 

I grew up in an incredibly poor community, looking back. I remember kids being treated for hook worm (which we called "ground-itch") with Clorox applied to the insanely itchy tunnels the worms made in children's feet which burned the worm as well as the skin and I remember going to a birthday party where Kool-Aid was served, mixed with sulfur water and no sugar. We children drank it politely because we knew they couldn't afford the sugar and that was all there was to it. No one taught us not to say anything about it. We just knew. 

We knew. 

I don't know where I'm going with this. It's been that sort of day. I think of greens and I think of Chester, the Jesus-like figure in Roseland who sold turnips and turnip greens door to door. I think of chickens and I think of my best friend, Lucille Ferger whose family owned a small flock of Rhode-Island Reds. I think of fresh-water fish and I think of those stringy, strong fishermen, squatting and mending nets under the rubber berry trees. I think of mulberries and I think of the fruits of the giant tree in Carl Postal's yard which we children gorged on every year and ended up with pinworms. 

Yeah. I had worms as a kid. Pin and Hook. 

Fair trade-off for a childhood that allowed me to roam free down dirt roads and in woods and on docks. 

Here are my own chickens and the garden too. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Weather Report

It is full-on spring and the wisteria buds are swelling, even as the azaleas burst and the camellias continue to bud and bloom. I have never seen the tea olive so full of blossom and my yard is filled with its perfume, a bit like an apricot, a little like a lemon, completely its own and perfect.

On my walk I noticed these things-

The little pond, seen through the yellow jessamine. 

The lavender violets where they always bloom so profusely on the side of one of the roads I take. 

This time change is kicking my ass and I've only got one load of clothes on the line. I am moving slowly today and filled with a completely illogical sadness. Post wedding let-down? Post Lon and Lis let-down? Who knows? I finished reading the little Matt Haig book last night, "Reasons To Stay Alive" and it has helped me to simply accept these feelings. The weight of the sense of never being good enough, of not deserving in any way these many, many blessing-beauties of my daily life. It is not that I am not aware of them, not mindful of them. It is almost as if I am hyper aware of them and deeply afraid that I no more deserve them than I deserve the perfectly healthy and beautiful grandchildren I have and love so much. Or the love of the good man I have. Or of the amazing family I have, all of us so different, all of us so respectful and loving of each other. 

Well. These are simply feelings and in my true soul I do know that I did not merely wake up one morning and found all of these things on my doorstep but that in truth, my dream and work has shaped them. Somewhat. 

Maybe. 

When we went to Wakulla Springs a few weeks ago with Tearful and Yolie and Kaleb, I was reminded once again of how beautiful the native places of Florida are and I thought of Dog Island and how incredibly lucky I am to be one of the very few people to have access to it and how I have allowed ghosts both of my own making and the ones living there on their own to color my joy in being there. And a small yearning grew in me to go back and I think that Mr. Moon and I will go out there this week for a few days. 

I think of how on days like this the sun there warms the trees and everything smells like pine and bay and Gulf. Of how the Ospreys who are no doubt nesting, cry their shrill cry as they wing over the water to find food for their young and themselves. Of how the water sounds as it laps the shore and how the wind sounds as it sings through dunes. Of the complete lack of highway sound, of people sound. Of how sweet it is to play cards on the porch, to take long, lazy naps. To spend hours and hours reading. 

And then I think of leaving my safe place here and my chickens and my cats and my garden and it feels as if I have no right to abandon them all. As if I alone am responsible for everything for every minute. And I think of how much work it is to get there, carrying food and water and drink and it's been so long since we've been there that surely everything has gone bad and the idea of shopping for all of that makes me so tired.

But I'm tired anyway so...so what? 

And in all reality, my husband and I need to get away together and there is no place more certain to provide nothing but solitude in the world. 

A hawk just screamed through my back yard. They too, are nesting, and must feed their young. The sheets are blowing on the line, giant blue prayer flags to the gods of sleep. Fat bumble bees drift through the azaleas and Mr. Moon reports having seen the bluebirds back again. The blackbird shrills, the cardinals chipchirp, the breeze blows through the magnolia trees. 

Matt Haig points out that those who feel deeply are the ones who suffer from depression and anxiety. This is a blessing and it is a curse but I think the most important thing to remember is that we are who we are and we must take one with the other and although there is no choice in that, we can use the feelings, both the high and the low to write, to paint, to be compassionate, to be tender of the feelings of others. 

Well, that's enough. More clothes are ready to hang on the line. The hen house needs some serious attention. And today, at least, I am the one here responsible for doing those things as well as watching the way the clouds blow across the blue sky, the way the house feels with the breezes washing through it, the way it is perfect in all ways in which things here on earth can be.

Love...Ms. Moon

So Many Pictures Of So Much Love

Well, I couldn't get to sleep last night. I was just too wired. And when I finally did, I slept until Mr. Moon came and woke me up because it was time for us all to go to breakfast and then for Lon and Lis to leave and for Mr. Moon and me to go back and help clean up from the wedding.
I was like a dead person.
"I can't open my eyes," I said.
"Having the same problem," said my husband. "All this pollen."
"Add in waterproof mascara," I told him. "This shit takes days to chip away."
"Mineral spirits might work," he said.
I told him that it probably would but that I didn't think I wanted to try it.

Oh god. It was just the best wedding.

I'll try to be brief. Getting ready for the wedding:

Maggie in the throes of joy due to being semi-naked.

Jessie topping off Maggie before we leave.

The incredibly beautiful (inside and out) Portia. 

May's hair that her dear friend Jorden did for her. Is that gorgeous or what? 

Now while I was lolly-gagging around eating snacks and watching beautiful girls get ready, Lis and Lon had taken on the task of decorating tables. At the last moment, May decided she needed table decorations and so Lis went out into my yard and picked flowers and leaves and gathered up the mason jars and by the time we got to the co-op where the wedding was being held, the room was abloom in glory. I do not know how they did it. I can only assume magic. My sister-in-law Brenda helped. And although I meant to get a picture and thought about doing so at least fifty times, I never did! 

I simply cannot ever tell you how much Lon and Lis helped with this wedding. It would not been half as beautiful as it was if they hadn't performed their Lon and Lis miracles. 

I am not even kidding you.

Here are the flowers we brought home last night. I think I will take them and make one huge arrangement of them for the house. 

That's the Lloyd Spring sampler platter right there, babies!

So Lucia, May and Hank's other-mother, and I sat next to each other on the front row and when the wedding party began to walk down the aisle, we started crying. And holding hands. 

And then when this happened

we needed to hold on to each other for real. 

When they got up to the marrying place, May gave me her bouquet to hold and kissed both Lucia and me and we were all weeping. Her dads helped her up and came and sat by us and I was holding Glen's hand on one side of me, Lucia's on the other, and Lucia was holding on to Jerry's. It just felt like the most wonderful thing in the world. Yes, Jerry's and my divorce broke up a family. For awhile. And then we remarried other incredibly beautiful people and a whole new huge family was created and it has been one of the joys of my life.
The ceremony itself was wonderful. Kati was magnificent and Michael and May both spoke their vows with clarity and volume enough to be heard to the back rows. And they cried as they spoke them.
We all applauded and applauded as they kissed and kissed to pledge their troth and and as they descended down the step to walk back down the aisle as a married couple, May's hook at the top of her zipper gave way and the dress unzipped halfway down (it really wasn't that tight- I know- I zipped her up) and she gasped and Michael quickly held his hand over the back of the dress and it stayed up and we all applauded again! I turned to Lucia and through my tears said, "And that's the story they will tell their grandchildren."
Michael's first act as a husband of gallantry and protection!
Before the picture taking began, we found a safety pin and fixed it all up and there were no more wardrobe malfunctions whatsoever. 

Married and still kissing. 

Kati in the middle. She said just the right words to get those two hitched.  And she said them beautifully.

Random after-pictures.

My daughters.

Billy and Shayla and Magnolia.

This was possibly taken after Gibson ate about forty sweet things. And maybe licked the cake. Maybe. 

And then being sweet with his beloved mama.

All they do is kiss.

My beloved Owen, growing so fast, becoming so handsome.

Owen with his somehow-cousin. That is Austin and he is Jerry's grandson from his first marriage. I know. I don't tell you EVERYTHING. But I dig Austin. He's a cool kid. As you can tell. When the band started last night I was sitting next to him and said, "Wait until all the old people start dancing."

"I'm leaving then," he said. 

He was the one who escorted the mama's to our seats.

Magnolia June enjoying herself. At least it looks like she was.

Lily and her darling, wonderful husband. Oh, Jason. How we love you!

Okay. There's a story here. And no, of course August didn't get any beer. But two days ago, for the first time ever, August tried drinking from a bottle. To be clear- a baby bottle of his mama's milk. And he liked that fine and when Vergil went to give him another, he refused to let Vergil hold it for him and grabbed it and drank it by himself. So now he thinks that he's allowed to drink out of any bottle I guess, and grabbed this one out of his daddy's hand. This only proves the fact that breastmilk IS the original gateway drug to all others.
Beware.
Do you see Mr. Moon's and Vergil's hands ready to catch the beer if it drops? We shall waste no beer around here, people!

MY BROTHER, MR. CHUCK! He came to the wedding and it was so swell. I loved seeing him and being with him and it was yet one more true and beautiful blessing of this wedding. 

Lis giving May and Michael her toast which no one could hear except for the two of them which is exactly how she meant to do it. 

And then this.

May and her Daddy Glen and Billy and Shayla and Jessie and Vergil. Right there. Right there.

I feel so bad that not only did I not get pictures of the tables but did not get a picture of Brenda, my sister-in-law or of Liz Sparks who helped in all ways as she always does. Lord, there were so many beautiful pictures I didn't get. But you can get the spirit of it in all in these. 

It's taken me all day to do this. When we got to the co-op after a Waffle House breakfast that was about as peaceful as trying to eat on the raceway of the Daytona 500 and then telling Lon and Lis good-bye, the clean-up crew had just finished. You know much I hated that, not being able to help. But we got to hug May and Michael again as well as Jessie and August and then Lily and I and all of the kids took Mr. Moon's truck and drove to town and picked up a table and chairs that Lily found on Craig's List. It is a table big enough for her growing family and also, a much better fit for the many people who will be gathering there to eat for holidays. 

Like Gibson's birthday. Which is a week from now. 

Anyway, Lily and I felt pretty darn sassy about being able to do that chore on our own and I'm glad we did it. 

It's still bright daylight out, of course, seeing as how we're now in Daylight Savings Time which...really? Really? Why do we do this? 

The redwing blackbirds are flocking the back yard and singing their scratchy and melodious tunes and Lon and Lis have gotten home safely to Gator Bone. 

I have not been brief one bit but here it is- a small record of May and Michael's wedding and may they prosper and kiss and love together forever and always, being there side-by-side, for all that comes. May they share all the joy and may they face any adversity with their combined strength and love. 

May they be as lucky as Mr. Moon and I have been. 

And that's the best wish I could send to them. Ever. 

I have a new son. I told him we'd be sending the family handbook to him next week. He is so handsome and he is so sweet and he loves May so much and she loves him so much. They started out as friends, they became sweethearts, and now they are husband and wife. 

Did I ever tell you the story of the first time I met Michael? If you recall, Jessie dated Michael's brother Aaron a long time ago and one afternoon, Aaron brought Michael over to the house. Michael walked into my kitchen and the first thing he said to me was, "Do you have a recipe for coffee cake?" 

"I do," I told him. And then I got out the recipe for sour cream coffee cake that my Lynn had given me and I copied it down for him and that was how we began our own relationship.

Yesterday when I saw Aaron at the wedding, he hugged me and said, "Do you remember that coffee cake recipe thing?" 

"I do," I said. 

And we laughed. 

Who knew? 

Who ever knows what's going to happen? A marriage leads to children and joy and then sometimes divorce and sorrow and then sometimes re-marriage and more children and eventually there are so many grandparents to love and be loved by and so many siblings and cousins and adventures and bonds and bindings and jokes and stories and love and more love and more love. 

It's possible. 

I swear to you and I would not lie. 

Yesterday was a perfect day to remember and celebrate all of that as we gathered, family and friends together, to celebrate May and Michael. 

Thanks for coming along on the ride, y'all. You've brought us all even more love. Which seems impossible but obviously, is not. 

Love...Ms. Moon 

P.S. Thank you to Lucia and Joanna for the pictures I stole from you off of Facebook. I love you both so much. 

Highlights Of A Most Enchanted Day

They are wed. 

It was beautiful. I have so many pictures. I'll give you more soon but there's the one taken after Ms. Katie pronounced them man and wife and they had FINALLY quit kissing. 

We were all in tears, including the bride and groom. 

Wedding party. 

Proud parents of the bride. 

How beautiful is May? How handsome is Michael? 

Gibson and Lenore, exhausted from dancing. 

More tomorrow. 

All love...Ms. Moon

Someone Saved My Life Tonight

That beautiful woman. She's the one. Who saved my life.
I tried on the dress I bought the other day and it simply would not do. No way, no how. You have to understand- it was nine-thirty on the night before the wedding. I melted down. I didn't scream or cry, I just went completely blank.
What the fuck was I going to do?
And so Lis stepped in and made me try on a dress that she'd brought with her- cut velvet, navy and then she brought a garment out of my closet that I love but forget I have that is a tunic thing, also cut velvet, in yellow, and it worked. It worked so beautifully and it felt good.
She took care of me like a mother, like a sister.
And now she's playing guitar right here beside me.
I can't even tell you how much I love her.

All right, pictures from today.

Ladies buying flowers. 

Rehearsal. All my kids, right there. 

Michael already displaying excellent husband skills. Listening. 

The two dads. 

Our dear, beloved Katie who is officiating tomorrow. And oh yes, her first time to meet Miss Maggie. Maggie adored Katie and gave her so many beaming, goofy baby smiles. 

I love the way they still look at each other. 

Hank- holding a baby. Of course. As he does. 

It was some day, y'all. Massive Costco shopping, loading, hauling, unloading, putting away, rehearsal, pizza, music, bouquet-making. People meeting people, families meeting family. 

And. 

Owen got cornered and kissed by the flower girls who are at least three years older than he is. 

Well. He'll never forget this night. 

Time for bed. Big day tomorrow. There will be a lot of kissing. 

Love...Ms. Moon

How To Southern (This Post Has Been Edited- Thank-You Ellen Abbott!)

Lis and I just made about forty pounds of potato salad in record time. That's what it looked like before I mixed in all of the mayonnaises, etc. It is a traditional southern potato salad. Here's what's in it: potatoes, eggs, onions, celery, bread and butter pickle relish, salt, pepper, and some chopped up garden carrot. Mayonnaise AND Miracle Whip. Paprika on top. And mustard. Of course mustard!

That is all for now.

Love...Ms. Moon

P.S. It is definitely not traditionally southern to put carrots in potato salad. Please don't judge me harshly.

P.P.S. Potato salad must be served at all events in the south. These may include weddings, funerals, fish fries, birthday parties, Easter dinner, any Sunday dinner, and whenever you feel the need to eat tastefully of the soothing and healing combination of potatoes and mayonnaise.