Let There Be Light...Maybe Tomorrow?

I slept and I slept and I slept so hard that I didn't get out of bed until Mr. Moon called at 9:30 and the bed is barely disturbed. I don't even think I turned over once but stayed in the exact same position I was in when I turned out the light.
All of my plans to get out into the yard to work seem a bit overwhelming today, although perhaps I will, eventually, find the energy. For now I just feel a big foggy, a bit sore, as if instead of laying paralyzed all night I had been fighting with demons.

It's gray here today and that's all right. Spring is still upon us.

That's how much a bamboo can shoot up in one night. I'd say about eight inches tall. 

All of the chickens. Maurice and Jack both followed me out to watch the daily chicken-release ritual but it was Jack today who followed me around the yard. 

He is a most affectionate and curious fellow, that Jack. He ran about and then climbed a tree as if to show off his skills to his old human mama. 

He is still a young thing and I am very glad he's come to live with us. He's charmed Mr. Moon completely. 

The wisteria is blooming in the bamboo.

It's a weed. It's invasive. It is glorious.

The honeysuckle continues to bloom.

"Honeysuckle." 

Could there be a prettier word? A sweeter word?

Oh dear Lord. I have so much to do and feel as if I've been shelled, I've been skinned, I've been de-scaled and am naught but a wiggling pink worm of a thing, trying to shelter myself from everything. 

Which is fine. 

This is a good gray day in a just-right place for doing exactly that.

Love...Ms. Moon

I'm Okay

Well, it's been an interesting day, to say the least.
The "exam" was not really an exam but more of a weight check (bad but could have been worse), a BP reading (bad, but could have been worse) and then some talking with the NP. And then getting blood drawn for hormone levels, thyroid, etc. And I peed in a cup.
Not a big deal. Not a big deal at all. I bought some supplements there which are supposed to "even out my adrenals" and so forth. And then I got the fuck out of the office and was on my way to go buy some tomato plants when I started having a panic attack.
My adrenals were obviously not, at that point, evened out and in fact, dumped enough of their adrenalin juice to make my mind go so fuzzy that I knew I had to park it somewhere so I pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant where May used to work which is on the grounds of an old estate here, now a museum, and I called my husband.
I sat there and breathed and knew exactly what was happening and knew also that I had to let it pass and was wise enough to know that I needed someone to be there with me. If I hadn't been able to get my man, I would have called one of my kids and they would have come. But Mr. Moon, my knight in shining armor, my strong and precious love, came right away and he hugged me tight and said, "Let's walk," and so we did. We admired the wild azaleas and noted the blooming wisteria and found a very large Ashe magnolia and it all helped. He held my hand tightly and I kept breathing and my mind came back to me and I settled down and made him leave and sat there for awhile and then drove on out and did a few errands and came home without incident.

It wasn't so bad and I think that the Ativan I took before I left this morning helped make it a milder thing than it would have been without it. But I tell you what- I am exhausted now. I felt like I could have slept for a week and still do but I wanted to keep moving, which I did, albeit slowly.

The first time I ever experienced an attack like this, or whatever you want to call it, it scared me to death. Was I losing my mind? Was I having a stroke? Had I suddenly simply fallen into madness? Was I going to die? Did I really care?
And thank god, these incidents don't come often (the last one I had before this one was when my brother was here) but when they do, I know what's going on and that, in itself, is a huge relief. But it's still scary because I can't control it. I can ride it out and I know it will pass but what if it happens when I'm out somewhere and can't get to a safe place?

Yet another good reason to be an agoraphobic, right?

One of the things I did this afternoon was to go around and fill up the yard cart with fallen sticks and branches and I saw that the bamboo was starting to sprout. I kicked the ones I saw, preventing their growth in that spot at least and I noticed wisteria blooming up in the tops of trees. Violets are everywhere, the purple ones now, their pretty blossoms in and among the blooming oxalis which the children call "sour flowers" and love to eat.

Mr. Moon got a very late start to Orlando tonight and I worry about that but he reassures me that if he gets tired, he will stop and pull over to sleep a bit. I know he will. But still. I made him his popcorn which he eats one kernel at a time and two tuna fish sandwiches and a pear and some other stuff. He has a book to listen to. His Mondays are just such long days though. He gets up at six a.m. and goes to the gym before he even starts his regular day of work.
I've never met a harder worker than he is. Ever.

I'm going to go put the sheets I washed this afternoon on the bed and I intend to be in that bed before ten. I am going to sleep the sleep of the truly tired and tomorrow I am going to stay right here in Lloyd and hopefully work in my yard, tidying up and trimming palms and kicking bamboo and pulling some of the bolting greens in the garden. I want to take Miss Liola some eggs which I have a goodly plenty of. I am probably going to think about what happened to me today but I am not going to overthink it. I am also never going to be thankful that I suffer from anxiety but I am thankful that I have such support and love to help me get through the really tough times.
I want to remember that walk I took today with my husband, our hands clasped together, walking through the beauty of spring in a place where nature has been more encouraged than tamed, where my husband did not try to talk me down or use logic to make me better but just held on to me as we wandered slowly beneath giant old oaks which was exactly what I needed.

I want to remember that when I need help, I can ask for it.

I guess that's all I want to say now.

Let's all sleep well.

Love...Ms. Moon, the sometimes very, very vulnerable.

How To Have Easter

Pass the babies around the table, kiss them good and snorgle them up. Eat the ham and dolmades and deviled eggs and greens and carrots from Mermer's garden along with the asparagus and gouda tart, the pineapple and cheese casserole, the hummus, the mac and cheese, the bread, the rolls, the key lime pie. Declare this to be the perfect Easter menu. Because it is.

Challenge Gibson and the tiny fairy-girl Lenore to a hugging competition. Judge on tightness of squeeze and tolerance of kisses. Declare them both to be winners. Let August kiss my face and make blubbering noises. Watch him as Jessie lets Uncle Hank offer him a lemon slice for the first time.

Laugh as he grimaces and then brings the lemon back to his mouth again and again for the same outcome. Admire his brown wide-wale corduroy Oshkosh overalls that go with his brown wide-open eyes, his curly black lashes, his sweet slobber on my face, the smacky sound as we pop open-mouth kisses.

Take the granddaughter as often as possible and feed her bottles. Lie on the bed with her where she was born and admire her very presence and beauty. Watch the daddies hold and play with their babies and see the pride and love in their eyes and know that this is perfection.

Rejoice in the renewed health of our friends. 

Explain to Owen about the difference between blood relatives and heart relatives when he asks you. 

Admire the Lego chick that Uncle Mark helped Owen make. Hug Mark as much as possible. Tell him over and over again how glad you are that he is there. 

Kiss the newly-weds, be glad for it all. 

Come home and continue the count-down until the Nurse Practitioner appointment tomorrow. Try to explain to your husband why you are so anxious. Say something about how you can't stand the idea of anyone looking inside of your body to find your hidden secrets which are your own to keep. Play cards, get your ass whipped. Pet the cats and feed them treats. Clean up the kitchen and find six sea scallops in the freezer to thaw and cook. 

Drink a martini. 

Discover that Jim Harrison has died. Remember the night you saw him read at a local dive where he was burly and boisterous and drunk and didn't give one goddammed shit. Think about the night you were reading his poems on the beach at St. George Island. 

Accept that the rain still falls. 

Drink another martini. 

Continue to remember that by this time tomorrow, the appointment will be long done. 

Try to give yourself some wise and calm mother-love. Remember that you are a grown-ass woman. 

Look up to realize that the sky has grown a strange color of peach and purple. 

Remember that you have a stashed and cherished Ativan to get you through tomorrow's appointment. 

Be fucking grateful for every damn bit of it. 

Go cook the scallops. 

Love...Ms. Moon 

Addendum

Stolen from Facebook.
Let the party begin!

It's Another Holiday. Let's EAT!

Well, there's your Lloyd Easter right there. Got your eggs, got your carrots. Although no bunny rabbits were involved as far as I know.

The greens are back on the stove, the ham is in the oven and I have a loaf of bread hopefully rising. Our dear friend Mark who traditionally spends Easter with us was not able to last year due to health problems but he's coming today and he expects the ham, the greens, and the bread and dammit, he calls me "Mom" and I want to make him bread. He's been through hell and he's slowly making his way back out of pain and misery and stepping out a bit into the world. He's never even met August or Magnolia and he loves babies and they love him. So that's what I'm mostly looking forward to today- celebrating Mark with so many people who love him.

The rain is still coming down and in a few hours we'll be driving over to Lily's which has become the family meeting place. We were just there last week for Gibson's birthday and the week before that we were all together for May's wedding and this is the most gather-up family you ever met outside of Mormons. Which we definitely are not. We drink WAY too much coffee and adult beverages to ever think of being Mormons and none of us are overly fond of regular underwear, much less the magical kind.

But Lord knows we love to eat and we love to hold babies and we love to hug and we love to laugh and we love to giggle and we love each other, the ones we are blood-related to and the ones we are heart-related to and I guess I'll go fix up the boys' Easter baskets I'm bringing them and there will be no Easter bonnets involved in our celebration, no crosses and all of the Good News will be of baby teeth and better health and the fact that Lily is making the Famous Pineapple Cheese casserole and I would wish such goodness and love for all of us.

Yours truly...Ms. Moon

Sex, Rain, Love, Music, And So Forth

It's Saturday night and the rain still falls and it's been a good day with plenty of rest and a few things accomplished and there was a nap and the falling rain outside sounded like Buddhist bells, tiny and real and in my bed I felt comforted and stilled and healed and well.

I've just spent well over an hour trying to write something about why I love the Rolling Stones so much and it involved the sexual abuse I suffered and how music freed me to know that my body was my own and for my own pleasure and use and how the Beatles teaching me about love, the Stones teaching me about sex, probably saved my life.

But I can't seem to get it down right, can't seem to say it the way I mean it, can't find the right Youtube videos to illustrate it and god DAMN it, why does every video I watch start out with an advert for Bounty paper towels? Every. Single. One.

All I can say is that human beings are spirit and flesh and I was lucky as hell to come into awareness when there were suddenly teachers, inadvertent as they may have been, to make me know that I deserved to live fully in both, no matter what had happened to me, been done to me, sermoned to me.

I am as grateful for that as I am for anything I know. Because that music, not just of the Beatles and the Rolling Stones but of so many others from Simon and Garfunkel to the Beach Boys and Mozart and Bach and Beethoven and Bette Midler and B.B. King and Bo Diddley and Joni Mitchell and The Neville Brothers and St. Bruce Springsteen and on and on and on and on kept me alive and dancing and sometimes joyful when I don't think anything else could have.

They were all there when I needed them and I'm still here and I still believe with all of my heart the messages I have been given by them and I know that I am still living on this earth partly due to them and any sanity I may have have has to be credited to their messages.

Spirit and flesh. I refuse to be part of any religion which denies or denigrates the flesh and which sanctifies and glorifies the denial and suffering of it in the name of spirit.

It's still raining, gently and sweetly. As gently and sweetly as a thoughtful and respectful lover.
As real and as necessary to the continuation of life as is human touch is to the continuation of our species.

I guess that's all I need to say.

Love...Ms. Moon

Spring Reveal

Still gray and drizzly here and I still don't mind it one bit.
I am still a bit gray and drizzly myself or perhaps "grizzly" would more accurately describe things. But it was lovely to go outside and take a few pictures.

The roses which I never did get around to pruning don't really seem to care much.

When I went to check eggs I saw something I'd never seen before and I had to blink my eyes several times to make sure I was seeing what I thought I was seeing and I was and it was Miss Chi-Chi with her head under Miss Mabel who was sitting on the nest. 

Excuse me? 

Well. 

Chi-Chi pulled her head of out Mabel's ass, as it were, and they began a little tussle for the prime egg-laying spot. 

Although I do not understand what it is that causes one spot to suddenly be the spot to lay, I am convinced that there are reasons. People who say that chickens are stupid are...stupid. I'm listening to Oliver Sacks' autobiography and when he did one of his first experiments on living creatures- chickens- he came to love them and suffered greatly when they died. And thus, I love him even more, that precious man, may he rest in peace.

The garden is in transition. After I cook tomorrow's greens, the mustards and arugula will be coming out, the collards soon to follow. They are bolting. 

But the potatoes and peas and beans are all looking swell. 

Potatoes.

Rattlesnake beans. 

The wisteria is starting to purple.

The figs are putting out little figlets. 

The mulberries are going to be ripe soon but I couldn't get a good picture of them. 

And so it goes. 

Mr. Moon and I just took all of the potted plants back outside which is quite a chore and we will miss our hallway jungle but it's time and what a perfect day to set them out again with this gentle rain. 

Now, of course, I have to clean all of the floors where we tracked dirt with our shoes and the dolly but so it goes. 

And here's a picture I just stole off Facebook. 

He's got two teeth now and is working on a piece of celery. I'll take him carrots for his Easter present. 

From the reviews I've read about the Stones concert in Cuba last night, I take it that all went well. Perhaps half a million Cubans showed up to witness that historical event. As Mick said, forty years ago, their music was forbidden on the island. Of course that didn't stop anyone from listening any way they could and the forbidden is always more delicious but what an incredibly cool thing that Cubans finally got to see what they've been missing. 

I hope they taped it and that I'll get to see it one day too.

All right. That's it. Those floors aren't going to clean themselves and the greens aren't going into the pots themselves and the carrots aren't going to pick themselves and that nap I'm planning on isn't going to take itself without my help. 

Gold Rings On Ya...Ms. Moon

How To Tell When You've Added All The Ingredients To The Soup

Pot Filled

Venison, sweet potato, carrots, greens, green beans, snow peas, white potato, onion, garlic, celery, tomatoes, peas, corn, broccoli.
I'm probably forgetting something.

That was my main accomplishment today and I had to take a nap with the cats before I started slicing and chopping. It's been raining on and off all day so it's been a perfect day to just let it all go, let the world, as I say, turn on its axis without me.

Whatever's going on, if that soup doesn't cure me I don't know what will.

Good Enough Friday

It's gray and drizzling here today and I've already cleaned up chicken poop from the back porch where the white chickens (always the white chickens) have come in to finish up what's left in Luna's bowl of food. Jack sits on the kitchen porch, watching the rain come down while Maurice is choosing to stay inside, perching in the hallway, content to observe and drowse there.

There are hundreds of tiny birds at the feeder- finches and wrens, I think- and Mick stands beneath it, calling his hens to him but they are ignoring him, having decided to scratch in more protected areas. The cardinals joust for space among the little birds, scarlet against this gray day. 

I'm not sure I feel that well today and quite frankly, may spend some of my time cozied up in my bed, finishing Alexandra Fuller's Leaving Before The Rains Come.

What a powerful writer she is. If you've never read her, I can't recommend her enough. Start with her amazing first memoir Don't Let's Go To The Dogs Tonight and go from there. 

So. It's good Friday. I don't have it in me to do an Easter rant. I'd rather just eat chocolate eggs. Not that I have any. But still. Poor old Jesus. I hope he knows that I don't expect him to die for my sins. I truly don't think I've done anything bad enough to deserve crucifixion. Nor do I desire to live forever, especially not in the arms of certain family members. 

I'd rather talk about the Rolling Stones. 

There they are, arriving last night on the island of Cuba. 

I just read a great article from the Wall Street Journal which says what I've been trying to say so clumsily about the historical meaning of the Stones playing in Havana. 

Well, thunder is rolling from the south, the redwing blackbirds have joined the birds at the feeder and if I get back in bed, perhaps Maurice or Jack will come in for a cuddle and a scratch.

Happy Friday, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon

I Am The Luckiest Woman In The World, Part 10,000

All right. Call the cuteness control squad.

This child. Looking at her mother with such love.

And pure delight. 

When she smiles, she smiles with her whole being. She'd just had a nursey in the car after Target shopping. As did August. 

Here's the second suspect in the cuteness-breaking-the-world crime. 

It was his first time to sit in the cart seat and he was absolutely stunned and amazed. And happy. 

For a few minutes, at least. 

Here are the co-conspirators after a lunch nap. 

Guilty, your honor. Guilty of exceeding the cuteness limit, of being adorable beyond redemption. 

This is why whenever my kids text or call me and say, "Do you want to go..."

I don't even bother to see where or when. I just pretty much say, "Of course!"

And then I trudge my old Mermer self out and follow my daughters around and sniff fuzzy heads and hold babies and tickle and nibble toes and push carts or do whatever needs and deserves to be done because these children are not going to be this age ever again and...

What the hell am I saying? Their age isn't going to matter because pretty soon they're going to be the most adorable toddlers, toddling around together and their mamas are going to need even more help (they don't really need my help, I just use that as an excuse) and it's going to be impossible to not go anywhere with them whenever I am asked. 

And frankly, it makes me feel like the luckiest woman in the world that my kids want to hang out with me even though they do sometimes make fun of me and remind me of things I did when they were children that make me apologize profusely and promise to pay their therapy bills although sometimes, they also remind me of things that I did that make me quietly proud. 

Hell. We do our best. And when I observe them, as mothers, I know I did okay. 

Plus. We laugh ourselves silly, talking about sex and stuff that you can talk about with your grown daughters. 

And I love that my kids know I am a completely imperfect being and that I've never lied about that and they still love me anyway. 

And we ate lunch with Hank who also seems to love his mama and yeah, it was a sweet day although we ate so much at the Indian buffet that we couldn't sample a damn thing at Costco and WE HATE THAT! And they were sampling everything, goddam it. Everything except coffee, which is what we needed. 

After I dropped off the sisters and babies at Lily's house and hugged and loved on my boys who are doing much better, I came home and set up the ironing board and ironed. It was awesome. 

Sometimes I wonder what people think when they first stumble on my blog. What is this blog about? Grandchildren? Chickens? Gardens? Cooking? Anxiety and depression? Aging? Florida? Keith Richards? 

And I would have to say YES! All of that. 

But mostly what it's about is love. 

All right. I'm going to go cook our supper. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Here We Are

A little shaky this morning but I'm okay and going to go into town again to go to Target with my baby-mama daughters to get Easter basket things for the boys.
All will be well and all will be well and I wish with all of my heart that I had the calmness of that heart that I had yesterday and the day before but I don't and it's okay.

Here's something I'm thinking about- I bet you anything that the Stones are not going to be playing this in Havana.




Well. One step at a time.

Here's another thing I've been thinking about- it was just about the same time that the world seemed to be going completely insane with the cold war and the threat of nuclear bombs and the assassination of President Kennedy when suddenly, there was Bob Dylan and the Beatles and the Rolling Stones and a completely different sort of revolution took place.

And look who's still alive and about to make people dance in Cuba.

All right. That's my tiny sermonette for the day.

All love...Ms. Moon

Eternal Mysteries

I tried to post this morning from my phone but it didn't work and that's okay. The best part of it was this picture

and here you have it. 

I got to spend about three hours with Magnolia June this morning so that her mama and daddy could take Owen and Gibson to the doctor. The theory that all they had was a bug was becoming less and less believable as the sick-days went on. And guess what? They both have Strep.

Sigh...

I do think that Gibson may have started out with a virus because his cousin had it too. But then when Owen came down with a fever yesterday and then Gibson started vomiting...well. Time to go see the doctor and so they did and now they're getting their antibiotics because you don't mess around with Strep. 

So I got to hang out with Ms. Magpie and she smiled for me and chortled for me and fussed at me and we had bottles and changed diapers and outfits as was required and went outside for a little while. She loves the shadows dancing around her and the sweet breezes. She fell asleep in my arms and it was a wonderful three hours. 

Before everyone else left the house, I asked Owen if he thought I would do okay, taking care of his sister.

"Yes," he said, quite seriously. "But if you have any problems, just call us."

I assured him that I would. 

How I love that boy. 

When I was on Dog Island and Jessie was staying here she told me something that I already knew which was that my refrigerator really needed cleaning out. 

"You have three open jars of peanut butter in there," she told me.

Oh my.

So when I got home today, I did clean out the refrigerator and guess what? I had FOUR open jars of peanut butter in there. I have to keep it in the refrigerator or the tiny sugar ants get to it. And sometimes I just can't find the open jar and then I open another one and well...so it goes. 

I threw out a bunch of stuff and cleaned everything and combined half-empty jars and bottles of things and cleaned out all of the bins and the shelves. Then I took the trash and recycle, including all of the emptied out containers and did a little laundry and so forth. 

I never did get to any ironing. 

The world will not come to an end, I feel certain. 

The fact is, I have come to enjoy ironing and I will get to it and it makes my husband so happy and he is a handsome, tall man who deserves ironed shirts and if I don't mind doing it and it gives me an excuse to watch trash TV, why not?

So. I have had several days in a row of almost no anxiety or depression. I am scared to say that out loud. Here's the crazy thing- I feel so good. 

Not just in the head but in the body as well. And I'm not nearly as exhausted all of the time and, truthfully, my mind feels much clearer, less muddied and muddled. 

I have often found myself apologizing for "anxiety brain" just as one would admit to "pregnancy brain" or "chemo brain."

I'm here to tell you that of those three, I know from personal experience that at least two are as real as my feet. I feel quite certain that the third one is too. 

It's such a beautiful thing to feel this way. Oh, sure, I still wake up with my morning angst. That's just me. And I'm still having the crazy dreams but they amuse me more than disturb me. I wake up from them more entertained than filled with horror. 

And although I do always take note of the beauty around me whether it is that of my grandchildren or my children or my home or these trees or the way the light moves around the yard as the day passes, it's like the filter that I have to go through to truly appreciate them is removed and the beauty goes straight to my heart. 

This does not feel like mania. It just feels like contentment and a sort of peace. 

I may wake up tomorrow and find it gone and if I do, well, there you go. 

But for now, this moment, I am certainly appreciating it. 

And if you asked me why this has happened, I could not tell you except to say that it somehow started on our ride from the dock to the house on Dog Island. I felt that familiar terror and my heart was beating too fast and my breath was starting to come ragged and I realized with such tenderness that my body was simply trying to warn me that I was about to go to a place where I had suffered greatly before. 

Suddenly, I truly understood this and felt calm and I gave myself a sweet little mothering talk about how smart my body was but that this time was different and history was not likely to repeat itself. And that was it. 

I sincerely doubt that I am "cured." Hams are cured. Kids are cured from Strep if they take their antibiotics. 

I am most likely just a little bit healed. 

And that is good enough for now. 

Okay. Change the subject. You want to see something crazy? 

That egg! What the fuck is that? I found it in the hen house when I went out to collect the eggs today. Not only do I not understand the shape of it, but I do not recognize the color of it. It is not the pale green of Miss Camellia's egg or the darker green of Miss Mabel's small pointy egg and it is not brown and it is not white. Who laid that funny, huge, ivory-colored, misshapen egg?

It looks as if it must have been terribly painful to lay it. 

And do you suppose those markings are a secret message? 

I do not know. 

I do not know shit about that egg or why I've had these sweet good days or how Owen and Gibson got Strep or why Maggie smells so good or why I go to sleep every night with Jack cuddled up next to me and wake up with Maurice in his place. 

It all just is and if it is not mine to know, then it is certainly mine to wonder. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Musings

I would have given anything today to stay at home because I have so much I need to do here from cleaning out the refrigerator to ironing to gardening to just being home. 
But. Due to some mix-up at my nurse-practitioner's office, my prescriptions were finally ready and I had to go get them. I just don't trust that office. I need to find someone new but of course I haven't, as all things medical make me want to die. They called me last week when I called in my 'scripts to tell me that I really had to come in and get a check-up because it had been too long and yes, they would renew my two medications for one more month but to continue having their office to prescribe them I had to go in and see them.
Which of course threw me into full-blown panic and my appointment is next Monday and y'all better start praying for me now.

Anyway, yes, so I had to go to town and I went to the library and I went to Costco and I went to Publix which is where my antidepressant is refilled and I bought a few things because GOD KNOWS I didn't get everything I needed yesterday and I am sort of thinking about trying to eat all healthy and shit again and so...vegetables.
I swear. I should try the all-meat, all cheese, all potatoes diet. With bread. Is that a thing? No?
Fuck.

Also, Gibson is still sick and is now throwing up and has the diarrhea and some other things going on AND Owen woke up this morning with a fever and so I needed to take a few things to Lily and by the time I got home after cuddling my boys and kissing them (I never get sick which is another reason I never go to the doctor) and peeping in on the sleeping Magnolia and okay, sniffing her head a little bit, it was after five.

I struggled in with all my bags, put things away, sucked down my late-afternoon espresso, brought in the sheets off the line, swept the dirt off the kitchen porch which I feel fairly certain my husband was about to finally say something about, cleaned the chicken poop off the back porch where Camellia and Chi-Chi and Cha-Cha come to eat from the cat food bowls, picked greens from the garden as well as a few carrots, collected the pitiful number of eggs (where are these hens laying?), washed the greens, made up the bed and started cooking hard boiled eggs and green beans and potatoes for the all-healthy-and-shit Salade Nicoise I'm making tonight.

Mr. Moon just got home and thankfully, he's not that hungry.

But really, what I want to talk about is the Rolling Stones' concert in Havana coming up on Friday.

I have been completely fascinated by what's going on there now during Obama's visit. When I was a child down in Roseland, the threat of the Soviet Union bombing the US from there was not a vague threat. We were well in range of whatever bombs might fall and Cape Canaveral was close as hell. And at the same time, I adored "I Love Lucy" and the episodes where they went down to Havana, Ricky's home place, made me long for something I had no idea about. Florida's relationship to Cuba is deep and wide with all of the refugees who have made this state their home. The cuisine, the culture- I've always been fascinated by it and I have had friends who were either born in Cuba or are first generation Americans and they talk about Cuba as if it were heaven. Only ninety miles from Key West, we fly over it every time we go to Cozumel and I love the fact that those two island share much history and a lot more.
You can buy Cuban rum and Cuban cigars in Cozumel. The main bean eaten there, a staple, is the frijoles negro, as it is in Cuba. I feel a draw to Cuba with its beaches and its jungles and its plantations and its music (thank you, Ry Cooder) and its architecture and its bars where Hemingway drank, its waters where he fished. I have read as much as I can from its literature which is rich and gorgeous. As much as the US has tried to deny the very existence of Cuba, there has been no way to do so.

And so, to experience this moment in history where my beloved president and his beautiful family are visiting there, opening up relations with the government is amazing to me.
Sure. There is so much still going on there which demands attention but we have to start somewhere and we here in the United States have our own problems in the area of human rights to solve. So jump off your high horse and get down to business.

And so this week, Obama is there and meeting with Raul Castro and today a baseball game was played between the Tampa Rays and the Cuban team and on Friday, GOOD Friday, Mick and Keith and Charlie and Ronnie will be bringing rock and roll to the island for a free concert. Free to the people. It is costing them a fortune but they have fortunes to burn and although I think that Obama's visit is going to change things between our two countries for the better, I can't help but think that baseball and rock-and-roll are going to take it a step further.

Yes. Let the military bands play, let the leaders meet and speak. Let the men in suits do their thing and then...

Bring on the baseball. 

Bring on the Rolling Stones and dance. 

I have great hopes for the results of this week's events in Cuba. 

And I have to tell you that I hope with all of my heart that Keith gets to spend some time in some back-alley cantinas, sharing rum drinks and smiles and perhaps even a song or two with Cubanos who happen to be in the right place at the right time not only for them but for him, too. 

I sincerely believe that art and music do more to create bonds between people than all of the officials can ever hope to achieve. And that with the opening of our borders (such man-made things) there can be full-sharing of art and of music and of technology and of culture between us. 

All right. That's all I have to say. Except that I hear the Cubans love to dance more than anyone in the world and that since dancing is my favorite form of prayer, I think that this is going to be a very good thing and Lord, I wish I was going to be there. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Spring Prayer

The most beautiful day and there's a native azalea blooming in the woods. The one I have planted in my yard is still tight-budded, but that one is open and standing with its pretty faces to the sky.

Each cluster looks like that. Baby pink, Magnolia June pink, spring bride blushing pink. 

Sheets on the line, chickens scratching in the dirt, the very air alive with birdsong and breeze and all of it- the renewal, the rebirth, the reinvigoration of the life forces and this is all I want. Don't bring me the good news about Jesus, poor thing, destined to hang on the cross and rise from the grave for our sins over and over again. Don't bring me news about a different religion killing living people for their own beliefs or whatever twisted reason they have for murder, for bringing terror to a world that should be celebrating life, not reacting in horror to death. 

Bring me these perfect moments that I may note them and write them down. Bring me the sweet water I am so rich to have flowing through my taps, the smell of spring as it heats the very loins of the earth so that new life springs forth from it again and again, the still gentle blessing of the sun as it warms, rather than burns. 

Bring us all these things and peace and let us hold them in our hearts, our minds, our very souls, knowing that despite the unspeakable sorrows there are the almost unbearable joys and it is our own unending task to notice and give thanks for them whenever they appear.

Love...Ms. Moon

A Day In This Life

So I got this picture from Jessie when we were on Dog Island. That's August, gumming on one of the carrots from my garden. And guess what happened the next day?
Yep.
A sharp tiny tooth poked through.
I had forgotten to write about this! How can this be? It's a milestone! So- here you are and it's official.
On Friday, March 18th, August Glinden cut his first tooth. In Lloyd at Mermer's house. 
We are so proud of him.
The boy still hasn't had any real food yet and is thriving quite well on mama milk but Jessie is talking about starting him out with a taste of avocado soon. I trust her judgment and intuition in this matter as I trust Lily in matters involving her babies. As I always used to tell mothers during the postpartum instructions when I worked at a birth center, no one on this earth has ever given birth to this particular baby and just as your body knew what to do to create and nurture this child, so will you know best how to take care of her or him. To listen to what others had to say and then to trust your gut.

Although it is quite obvious that Gus is ready to order from the menu at Japanica!

Oh, golly. It has been such a good day. I met up with Lily and her three and Jessie and Gus and we feasted on our Bento bowls, our sushi, our miso soup. And Gibson played with his Beomax.

I still don't really get that thing but Lord, does he love it.

Here's August with his mama.

And another one of me holding him. 

That boy will not sit still. He's a moving monkey and he wants everything. He's so strong and he likes to bounce and bounce and bounce. He was beyond himself with excitement today in the restaurant. He couldn't move his head fast enough to take everything in.

The lights, the pretty designs on the walls, his cousins, his mama, his auntie. You can just see that little mind figuring it all out. And sometimes he still rests his head up against mine, the sides of our faces pressed together and I die of sweetness. 

Magnolia slept all the way through lunch and I can't believe it but I didn't get one picture of her. Well, just take my word for it, she is getting fatter and lovelier and prettier and smilier every day. 

After lunch we all walked down to the Goodwill bookstore which has become our ritual after dining at either Japanica or the Indian restaurant. The lady who works there knows us so well now that she comments on how fast the babies are growing. We love that place. The boys each got a book and a movie and I bought a beautiful, if somewhat battered, old copy of "Little Women" for 99 cents. 

It's not that old, 1950, but I've never seen this edition and I joyfully welcome it to my collection. "Little Women" was the book that lit the fire of my unquenchable love for reading when I was about nine, I think. I already loved to read but when I opened the pages of the copy my grandmother gave to me and smelled that delicious inky smell and began to read about the four sisters who gave their humble Christmas dinner to a poor family, I was hooked forever. 

And if that wasn't good enough, on our way out, Lily spied a rather hideous stuffed dog and said, "Oh, look. I love the little collar that some kid put on it."

We both moved in to see it more carefully and realized that the "collar" was actually a small sterling silver bell tied with a velvet ribbon. 

Four dollars for the dog and the silver bell came with. 

When I shined it up, it looked like this and I realized that the little hanging link is made in the shape of a tiny belt. And as a bonus, Owen fell in love with the dog and I gave it to him. Of course. 

Lily and I were going to do some Publix shopping after all of that but Gibson, who has not been feeling well for a few days wanted to go home so Owen came with me and I had such a great time with my biggest boy. He was a very helpful shopper, pointing out to me the laundry detergent I should buy, assuring me that it got all of the stains out. He reminded me to buy sweet potatoes. He also said that since he is going back to school tomorrow, he might need a Lunchable and we picked one of those out for him and one for his brother. 

I know, I know! They're crap! But when you're a grandmother...

When I was taking him home, we stopped by the field where the donkey lives and he got out and posed with his new dog, named Rainbow, and here is what they looked like. 

My sweet boy. My precious first grandson. The one who named me. 

We discussed many things, that boy and I as we shopped and drove, including Obama's visit to Cuba and the Rolling Stones' upcoming gig there. Also how there was only one purple one in the package of Airheads I bought him. 

"It's like extra points to get a purple one!" he told me as I was trying to explain U.S. relations with Cuba. My car was infused with the scent of fake-fruit candy as he chewed and I loved it. 

We also talked about the meaning of Easter which I informed him had to do with rebirth and then gave him a small and age-appropriate Pagan version of what that means. The trees with their new leaves after looking dead all winter, the animals coming out again from their burrows and dens, the flowers, etc. No mention was made of any one's crucifixion or resurrection, I can assure you. 

You know what that boy told me today? 

That I am magical. 

"I am not," I told him. "I don't have magical powers."

"You have the magical power of love," he said. 

And so it's been an almost perfect day in my life. I have felt so light and happy that it's scary. When I dropped Owen off at home Magnolia was nursing and after she'd finished, I burped her and as I held her to my shoulder, I told Lily that there was nothing on earth that felt so natural and right as that sweet weight of a baby on me. 

And then I handed her back to her mama and kissed them all good-bye and came home to this place I love so much and now the sun is setting and I have my Goodwill cashmere back on and my husband is on his way to auction and he left me another love note this morning. 

Listen- there is one thing that I will stand by as Truth after sixty-one years on this planet:

The more love you make, the more love there is. 

Which is all the magic I can imagine or ever hope for.
I am pretty sure that Marmee would agree, although she would probably put it in different terms and bring in "A Pilgrim's Progress" somewhere. She was a woman of her time and I am a woman of mine.
Still. The message is the same. 

Love...Ms. Moon