Pictures From A Good Day

Another lunch in town, another opportunity to pass around the babies! Oh golly, it was fun. Hank's dear friend, and ours too, joined us today. Her name is Joanna and she is, and I'm not going to lie here- about the sweetest, dearest woman I've ever met.
One of the best things about being the mother of awesome people is that those awesome people bring other awesome people into your life. Here's a picture of the awesomeness which is Joanna hugging the awesomeness which is Hank.

And here's a picture of her holding August who was the very merriest boy today. 

Oh gosh. I have so many pictures. 

Maggie is three months old today and is laughing now! Oh, how I love her!

August and his mama. 

Here's some I stole off of Joanna's Facebook.

Jessie calls this August's "turtle face." It's one of his favorite expressions.

Gibson just really wants to squish August with his love. 

Speaking of Gibson, isn't that a beautiful picture? Thank you, Joanna! He is such a man cub, that boy. He kept hugging me today, over and over. One time, when he was hugging me and I was hugging him back he said, "That's enough," and it was but he gave me another one soon. 

And so that was our lunch and the food was delicious and to top it all off, it was a beautiful day and this was blooming behind our table where we ate.

Wisteria and some yellow flower- a yellow wild rose? I don't know. We couldn't get close enough to tell but it was glorious. 

After we all went our separate ways, Lily and I and Gibson and Maggie went to pick up my Owen at school and then I took them to their house and came on home where stuff like this is happening.

Roses and a rooster. Those roses are blooming themselves right to heaven! And they smell exactly like roses are supposed to smell. 

I did a little palm trimming and that was about the most productive thing I did all day. 

Since this appears to be picture day, here's two more. 

Tiny little Dearie who is looking good and

Diamond who is getting her/his tail-feathers. Can you see the fluff back there? Oh, probably not. But it's there. They are all getting true bird-like wings and it's so funny when they stretch them out because they are longer than their bodies. And amazingly, look exactly like wings! 

So it's been a good day here although the world is full of crazy and of cruel. All I can say is to gather your loved ones and have sweet times together whenever you can. Smell the roses, of course, and the tea olive as well. Kiss the babies until they laugh, hug long and hug hard and say "I love you" as much as is appropriate and then just a little bit more. But don't squish anyone with your love. That would be wrong. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Let's Give This Girl A Rousing Round Of Applause!

Well, the world has tipped back to a more normal and livable position for me this morning and all is pretty darn well and maybe this video helped balance things out.
A woman identified as Cara Jennings let our Governor, Prick Scott (also known as Skeletor) know exactly how she feels about him and the way he's running the state.
She is my new hero. She is succinct and unafraid to speak truth to power.
Watch it until the end. The remark that someone (Stephen Bender? The man who shot the video) makes is priceless.




And I could just sit here all day long and watch Scott and his minions slink out of Starbucks without their mocha lattes or a single crumb of a blueberry scone.

Sweet indeed!

Don't Tell Me What To Do

So when I went to the nurse practitioner last week, I asked if perhaps she could prescribe a few Valium, as she did before once, for when my anxiety gets really bad and I was fairly surprised that she did. Fifteen of them, in fact.
So I have fifteen Valium (which cost $1.46 and I am not kidding you) and so I thought about taking one today. I really considered it.
Here's the thing though- if I took one, I'd only have fourteen Valium. Which makes me feel a bit less safe than having fifteen.
How ridiculous is that?
Do you remember on Seinfeld when Elaine got a box of The Sponge birth control sponges when they went off the market? And how she then had to base her decisions about whether or not to have sex with a guy on how sponge-worthy he was?
Let me refresh your memory.




Anyway, every time I consider taking one of those Valiums I think about Elaine and I have to decide if this bout of anxiety is Valium worthy.

Today I decided not. Sure, the anxiety was pretty bad but it wasn't like I had to go onstage or do a presentation at work or anything like that. You can clean out a damn hen house and be anxious at the same time and the end result is going to be the same. You might feel like shit while you're doing it but you're dealing with shit anyway and as long as you can get up and do it...well. Get up and do it and feel like shit.

I had a few things I sort of had to do in town and so I drove there slowly down the backroads because honestly, driving while under the influence of anxiety is probably as dangerous and stupid as driving under the influence of alcohol and I found myself doing the last thing I would have imagined doing which was going to Walmart which I don't deal with very well under the best of circumstances and also, there's that moral and ethical thing that prevents me from going there too.
But I didn't go into the store part, just the garden part. I wanted some cherry tomatoes to plant and so I thought...well, why not? It's on my side of town and seemed like a better alternative than actually getting into Tallahassee traffic. There was hardly anyone in the garden center- a few other old ladies, mostly, and I found myself surrounded by plants and the place is open to the outdoors and the giant ceiling fan was keeping the cool, dirt and plant-scented air circulating all around me and I suddenly felt as if I WAS on Valium. A bit stoned, very calm, very slow, but okay.
I bought my cherry tomatoes and two Cherokee purples and two Tabasco peppers and two types of basil and some impatiens and handled it all pretty well.
I went on to Publix where yet another man pissed me off.
This was a very, very old man and while I was looking at the cheese with my cart about three feet away in the aisle from me, he came up to me and said, "Do you have money in your purse?"
Nah, dude. All my money is stuffed down my bra-like garment.
I didn't say that. Of course I said, "Yes," knowing was about to come out of his mouth and it did. He warned me that it would be so easy for someone to steal my money and run out of the store before I knew it and I told him that I'd been doing this for thirty years (although it's more like forty, truthfully) and that no one had ever snatched my purse but he kept interrupting me to tell me that I was making a big mistake and I finally just said, "Thank you!" and walked off. Without any cheese.

And once again- why did this bother me so? Just an old man, thinking he's doing his duty to warn poor, innocent, helpless women that some nefarious character is just lurking in the aisles of the grocery store waiting to steal their purses, as if I don't have the sense to keep a watch on my own stuff and so what? So what? Who was he hurting? He wasn't hurting me.
I don't know. I don't think I want strange men in my personal space these days. Whether they think they have the right to tell me that someone could steal my money or whether they think they have the right to interrupt a conversation, I can't tolerate it. It's almost like some wound has ripped open inside of me and these men are just poking at it.

Maybe I'm just becoming a bitter and bossy and intolerant and mean old woman. I don't know but it sure is happening.

I bought my stuff and came home and took the trash and got outside and did a few chores like cleaning out the hen house and scrubbing out the chicken waterer and then I planted my little impatiens in pots and planted the tomatoes and peppers and basils in the garden and watered the porch plants and I'm okay. No strange men around here and no men at all, to tell you the truth, unless you count Jack and he just got chased away from the food bowl by a hen so I'm not too worried about him.

I did get a chicken pot pie at the store and I might eat that or I might eat a frozen pizza that I got with lots of added tomatoes and mushrooms. I have dirty feet again, I am an old southern woman with cats and chickens, some outside and some in an ice chest in a bath tub and I am mean as a snake and batshit crazy and tonight that is who I am and when I wake up tomorrow (should I be so lucky) we'll see who I am then.

Love...Ms. Moon Who Still Has Fifteen Valium

There's Just No Figuring

That's the picture I sent to Mr. Moon last night just before I fell asleep and I slept for another ten hours and when I woke up, Jack was nowhere to be found and Maurice had taken his place. I like to imagine them meeting at a little time-clock for their shift-change, one of them clocking in and the other clocking out, tiny lunch pails in hand.
"So, how's she sleeping tonight?"
"Like she's dead."
"Good. I'm exhausted. I think there might be a tasty mouse in the library. You might want to check that out."
"Thanks! I will! I'll save you the liver!"
(High fives as they pass each other, of course.)

Also, when I woke up, I was awash in anxiety and where in the world does this shit come from? The past few days I've been so blithe and cheerful, working in my garden, happy to do so and today I can't even imagine taking a walk, getting that far from my minuscule estate of well-being and safety.

Well, whatever and however and whenever, it will pass and I am fine and I am thinking about expectations which I have for myself and which I think others may have for me and I am still that fat little nine-year old, so sad and rocked in her world by fear and by the perceived need to keep an entire world on an even keel which meant hiding horrors and achieving and pretending and protecting and obeying, always obeying, and praying and having absolutely no one to go to for help or relief or succor or understanding.
Just...going on. Always going on and doing my best, even in all of the confusion and fear.
Who was the good little girl?
Oh. Me. I was.

And here I am, all those years later, still wanting to be the good little girl, still wanting so badly to keep everything at peace and good and loved and protected and sometimes I can let all of that go for a bit and just be and drown in the ease and the love and then I wake up and I'm doing a different sort of drowning.

Okay. I feel better just from the writing of it.
Another perfectly gorgeous day of birdsong and chicken clucking and I need to go clean out the baby chicks' home and give them fresh water and food, and the big chicken's nests need to be cleaned and I'm sure there's bamboo to be kicked before it takes over my world.

There's a very good interview with Keith Richards going around and one of the things he said in it was in response to the question, "You've never believed in growing up, have you?"
"No. That's a concept younger people have about older people."

It's so true. As I've always said, we are all of the ages that we've ever been. I AM still that fat little nine-year old girl, so confused and hurt and lost, just as I am an ecstatic new mother and at the same time, a girl having her first crush, a young woman going through a baffling and dark depression, a child on a mountain cooking potatoes and carrots over an open fire and feeling a satisfaction that never leaves, a newly-wed woman wishing so much that she did not feel so broken, wanting to give her beautiful new husband a heart that was so much more whole and less fractured, wanting desperately to believe in love and afraid that it was nothing but a fairy tale.

I am all of those people, and tomorrow I will be a Mary who has this woman in her as well, a woman who woke up on a beautiful day, anxious and caved in, but who made it another day.

Enough of that, enough of this. I see that Maurice is waiting out by the hen house as if she knows I am coming out there soon to clean it.

The older I get, the less inclined I am to want to waste one day, especially a beautiful one like this and so it goes.

Love...Ms. Moon

Deep Greens And Blues For The Colors I Choose

No filter. Just...that. That's what the new leaves on an oak tree look like against an April sky in north Florida. 

Oh baby. I'm swooning. 

It's been a swoony day. Some days what I need is to get out and do things with my kids and my grandchildren and some days what I need is to stay in Lloyd and be alone and dig in the dirt. Today was one of those days. 

That's what my feet looked like when I finished up in the garden. It's been a gardening day. I finished up the mulching and got my sweet potatoes planted and my cucumbers, my squashes and my zipper cream peas. Oh y'all, I can't wait to eat some more of those luscious beans. Remember last year when I was shelling peas and cooking them as fast as we could pick them? 

I'll be planting another row of a different bean when I pull the rest of the greens out because there's just nothing better. Field peas, black-eyed peas, purple-hull peas, crowder peas...

That is what I like about the south. 

Here's something I didn't like today and maybe I was just too sensitive or...something. 

I was on my walk and passed Ms. Shelly's house. I've spoken about her before. She grew up as one of thirteen children and spent her childhood taking care of babies and working in the fields picking peanuts and doing every sort of hard job there is and now she's retired and lives in her own house and never had children (her choice) and her joy is in keeping that house and her yard as tidy as a clean white handkerchief. Since she was out raking, I said hello and stopped to chat a moment and we were talking about raking (she can't abide leaves in her yard, cannot abide it) and gardening and pollen and sinus infections and kale and all sorts of things when a truck pulled up next door and two white guys got out of it. I'm not sure what they were doing there. One was younger than the other, more boy still than man, but they had some business with the owner of that house whose yard is also spotless and while they were waiting on that man to get them something from the house (perhaps a donation for a clothing drive- I think I saw him pass over some boots and maybe some clothes) the older man looked over at us, having our little chat, and he said, "I sure wish I had y'all's job!"

And out of my mouth flew the words, "You have no idea what our jobs are. Why would you say that?"

And Miss Shelly said, "I'll be glad to trade you any time."

I mean, here we were, two older ladies, one with a rake in her hand, the other with a walking stick, having our own little talk and he felt like he just needed to say something. I have no idea why that pissed me off so much but it just did. 

He was taken aback and said, "Well, I just mean, you're both outside on such a beautiful day!" and I wanted to say, "Well, so are you, motherfucker," but I didn't. We went on with our talking, ignoring him and then he said to me, "I'll bet you're a teacher, aren't you?"

"No, "I said coldly. "I am not."

And we went back to ignoring him and he finally shut up. 

Maybe he was just filled with the joy of this beautiful day and maybe he was just trying to be friendly and maybe his remark got to me in the place where I feel inferior because I don't work at a real job in the real world. And if I were a more Zen-like person I would have kept my mouth shut and honestly, it didn't really bother me that much, just a little bit like when I'm walking in the woods and a horsefly starts chasing me and no matter how much I flap and flutter my arms, it just wants to land and bite me but if I keep walking, it won't. 

So we finished talking and she told me that I could come and rake at her house any time, she had an extra rake and I told her that she could come and rake in my yard any time and we wished each other a good day and I came on home and surely had one, getting that garden in order.

It's the perfect garden right now, hardly a weed to be seen, the beans and peas coming up, the tomatoes planted, the kale and collards still fit to eat, the beets and carrots ripe for the pulling, the potatoes, both red and blue, looking damn good. 

Where I've planted the peas and the squash with the red potatoes growing to the left and the sugar snaps growing to the right.

The carrots, the blue potatoes, the beets and cilantro, the new mustards and arugula. 

I have clean, line-dried sheets on the bed, a book I'm reading with my eyes, about five New Yorkers I'm in the middle of, a brand new Vanity Fair that I pulled out of my mailbox today and a book I'm listening to which seems pretty tremendous although it's going to be hard to hear the truths it speaks of. Someone Knows My Name by Lawrence Hill. Also I have leftover tuna casserole from last night which has all of the vegetables in it. Plus noodles. 

Have I mentioned that I have hot and cold running water? In my house?

Namaste, y'all. Goodnight you moonlight ladies. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Dedicated to Lynn and Brian.

And Isn't This Fine?

I slept ten hours last night and feel no guilt whatsoever. My animal doctors, Jack and Maurice, prescribed rest for me and enforced it with their bodies. Maurice slept on the left side of me all night down by my feet and Jack slept on the right side of me by my shoulder.
Every time I woke up they were there and such a comfort and I would snuggle into their coziness and fall back asleep and I am remembering today that being-on-vacation-myself feeling when Mr. Moon is out of town doing something he loves. No schedules, no time-lines, no expectations. I am going to take a little walk, stretch out these old bones, hang sheets on the line and get back to the garden.

The littles are thriving and getting their wings, my entire world is blue, green, and purple.

There is peace on the porch.

There is peace in my heart. 

Good morning. 

We Don't Need No Stinkin' Segues

Couldn't have asked for a prettier day and now it's the Golden Hour (or as Owen insists on calling it, the Orange Hour) and I am once again exhausted, my body aching from feet to shoulders. I spent all day raking up leaves and transporting them to the garden for mulch and I am still not done. I absolutely hate it when I have a goal in mind and can't finish it by the time I want to but there was just no way I could work faster or longer.
Raking, lifting, toting, dumping, spreading. Pulling the cart and refilling it and emptying it again and again. And I got nothing planted. Nothing at all. Why do I do this? I guess I enjoy punishing myself or perhaps it's just one more example of how I try to control my life by controlling certain aspects like having (for entire moments at a time!) a weed-free and lovely garden. Too bad I don't use this useless technique for cleaning out closets. I mean, I do love my garden and we know I love to grow food and cook it and eat it but is transporting leaves from one part of my yard to another a truly worthwhile way to spend my senior years? I guess it's better than going to a gym.
Maybe. And oh yeah- that thing about doing weight-bearing exercise helping to keep bones strong? That's not true? What? Fuck me.
No. I didn't actually read the article so maybe it does. But probably not. I swear to you- at the age of sixty-one I have seen almost every "proven" fact I know to be proven wrong.

I wonder how many times a day Mick has sex. I swear to you again and I would not lie- every time I look up that rooster is on top of a hen and it only takes him about two seconds to jump on, do it, and jump off. It takes longer for the hen to ruffle her feathers back in order than it does for him to fuck her.

Here's another thing I'm wondering about- I found a package of some mysterious-looking meat-like stuff in the freezer and thinking it might possibly be a few chicken breasts, I have partially thawed it, only to discover that it's like the innards of three different turkeys, still all wrapped in the giblet packages. I have absolutely no memory of saving these. Did I plan on boiling them up for the cats? Well, forget that. They're going in the trash.

Mr. Moon pulled out of the driveway early this afternoon. I cried a little bit when I kissed him good-bye. I don't really mind being alone but that doesn't mean I won't miss him. The older I get, the more tender my feelings towards him become. Sometimes I think that it's a damn miracle that any marriage lasts through the child-rearing/really hard-working years. The exhaustion, the resentments, the frustrations, the misunderstandings, the...immaturity.
But if you somehow manage through whatever means to hang in there, it's pretty remarkable how beautiful it can be. And it's not all such hard work. There can be incredible times of fun and of joy and of sexy-times and of satisfaction.
And I'll tell you what- seeing your spouse of many years playing with one of your grandsons or cuddling your baby granddaughter to his chest is enough to make your heart explode.
"We did this," you think, as you look at the beautiful faces of these children. "Our love did this."
And then you just want to keep on loving.

So here's the last thing I'm going to discuss- what the hell am I going to make for my supper? 
I read or hear about women who, when given nights' off in the kitchen, just eat cereal for supper.
Who are these people? 
I don't fucking want cereal for my supper. Cereal isn't supper. Hell, cereal isn't even breakfast. It's a snack to be eaten late at night while reading a book.
When Lily and I were at the grocery store the other day I said to her, "When Daddy's out of town next week I'm going to eat a chicken pot pie for my dinner every night."
"No you won't," she said.
"I know," I sighed.

Wish I had a pot pie.

Or a chicken breast. I could make my own pot pie. I have peas and carrots and flour and mushrooms and celery and onions and all that stuff.
But no chicken.
Maybe I should make a tuna casserole. I just want comfort food. I'm too tired for anything remotely resembling crunchy.

Oh wait! I forgot to tell you the most important thing!

The Tung trees are blooming! What color are these? Red and peach and yellow? I don't know but god, they are gorgeous.

I'm going to go pick a carrot if I can walk that far and then bend over to pull it from the ground. You can't believe how many carrots you get from one row of them in the garden. It's ridiculous.
And sublime.

Love...Ms. Moon

Time To Get Outside

Ask And Ye Shall Be Given

Sometimes I am smarter than I know and today was a good example of that. I realized that what I needed was a visit from grandchildren and I texted Lily and asked her if she'd like to come over and she said that yes, she would, she was having a hard day too.
And soon they were all here and the first thing we did was to clean out the baby chick home and that meant that the boys could hold the peeps and gently put them in the box they came in so that I could refill their water and food and clean out the shavings and poop and give them all fresh. We all loved it- Lily and the boys and I, and the boys came up with a few new names and the one I like best is the one Gibson gave to the little runt that I was so afraid wasn't going to make it but who now runs around and peeps and eats and drinks with as much energy as her flock mates. He named her Dearie.

Oh my. So perfect.

We went out and kicked bamboo which is coming up with almost preternatural swiftness. Owen peeled and took a piece to the kitchen to prepare as a snack for us. 

It is not as delicious as it looks, let me just say. But it was sweet of him to make it. Did I tell you that this boy recently got all A's and E's on his report card? 

He did. 

We are so proud of him. 

Boppy got home from the river and Magnolia woke up and her grandfather held her. 

She is just at that perfect baby doll age where she is holding her head up well and looking about and smiling and starting to laugh and when she smiles, her whole face smiles, her eyes, her cheeks, her mouth. I love her so much that I can barely stand it but I've been through this before and I know this is the way I'm supposed to feel about her and that if I sometimes cry just from the sight or smell of her, then she and I are both doing our jobs and proceeding as nature intends. 

The boys wanted to do all of the Mermer House things. Owen and I played a rousing game of Battle and he handily beat me. It was so much fun and I thought about how we used to play cards when he was little and I made up games to teach him numbers and here he is now and it makes me feel good to see him so quick and sure of them now. 

Gibson wanted to play the matching game and so we did that too while Mr. Moon gave Maggie a bottle. 

After that, Boppy and Owen put a puzzle together and Gibson and I had a tea party which was mostly about spilling water everywhere but who cared? 

He cracked me up so much. When he finally got all of it arranged to his satisfaction, he threw his arms back and said, "Let's have tea!" and then, using his Gibson voice which is as loud and rusty as a redheaded rooster said, "I AM THE TEA MAN!"

I tried to have a polite conversation with him, calling him Mr. Gibson and that was fine for a moment but then he went back to pouring water everywhere and swigging it down. 

It was awesome!

All during these adventures we had to go check on the baby chicks again and again and I showed Owen how to gently hold tiny Violet (which is his chick, according to him) against his tummy under his shirt and how quiet and still she gets because she feels as if she is under her mama's wings. He liked that. But then the boys and their grandfather decided to go out and find bugs to feed the chicks and so they did and brought them in and if there's anything more fun than watching tiny chickens kill and eat bugs, I have no idea what it would be. 

Boys. 

Gotta love 'em. 

And it turns out that tiny chicks are far better at killing and eating bugs than you could ever imagine. 

And of course there was Maggie holding and Maggie changing and Maggie adoring and making-Maggie-giggle and kissing Maggie and telling her how much we all love her. 

It was absolutely the best. All of it. 

I even got my porches swept which I've needed to do for weeks and there were snacks and chats and when they were all loaded into the van and we were saying good-bye, I said to Owen, "Did you know that when you were Maggie's age and I used to take care of you, I would drive you all the way to Publix so that your mama could nurse you on her break?"
He was a bit embarrassed to hear this and a bit proud and a bit delighted and we talked a little bit about how I've been taking care of him since he was a tiny baby and this is why we are such good friends and know each other so well. 

And it's true. 

I tell you what- when I think about the fact that I'm not going to be here on earth forever, the thing that makes me saddest is that I won't be here for that boy and for his brother and his sister and his cousins forever the way I would want to be. I know that what I have given them and hope to continue giving them for a while, at least, is important and irreplaceable, in a way. No one can love anyone the way a grandparent loves a child. It can be a bond which is as mysterious as it is pure. The love I feel for these babies is absolutely unconditional. Oh hell- I know when they're being disrespectful or naughty but it's so easy to laugh and forgive them, chide and then cherish them. 

I hope they remember this sort of love and that it gives them a sense of self-worth as they grow older which sustains them. 

That's what I hope. 

And so that is what I did today and then Mr. Moon and I got out in the garden and he planted tomatoes and I weeded and he tilled the part where we want to plant sweet potatoes. He is about to go down to the coast tomorrow to fish with friends and his sister for a few days and I hope to get a lot done in that garden. To plant the sweet potatoes and creamer and field peas and to mulch. It's so obvious that the dirt is much happier under mulch. That is where the earthworms live and as the mulch breaks down it enriches the soil as well as keeping moisture in and deterring (somewhat, not entirely) the growth of weeds. 

It will be good to have a few days to concentrate on things that need to be done around here although I will miss that man. Hopefully, I'll go join him and my sister-in-law for a day or two to shop and eat in Apalachicola, perhaps to cook some fresh grouper. 

We shall see. 

All I know for sure is that I've had a beautiful day and have received even more love than I could give and that the sky has cleared and the mulberries are turning pink and the chicks are all alive and it is a little bit cooler and I am grateful, as summer begins its inevitable, debilitating approach. 

That for this moment, I could not ask for more. 

That on a day when I woke up ready to cash in my chips, I have experienced such prosaic and miraculous goodness.

Love...Ms. Moon

I Don't Know Nor Do I Care Very Much

While I was still sleeping I got this picture from my husband who was already on the river. I think that would be the Wacissa River.

Meanwhile here there is a sound coming from the south which could possibly be Lloyd Creek rushing its banks or every frog in the world waking up to talk about something or even a tiny windstorm, contained within a few square feet. It rained hard last night, as if the sky were slapping the earth with water. I should put on my walking shoes and go see what the sound actually is but I don't have the heart for it today. I feel paralyzed and even the idea of cleaning out the chick chest and giving them fresh food and water seems overwhelming.

Maybe I'll eat an egg before I do anything.

Maybe.

How We Go On

OH MY GOD! MAN EATS HIS SON'S FINGERS!

April Fools. Haha!

A friend and I were talking today about April Fool's and how much we despise the sort of humor which April 1 seems to inspire. It's so mean. I don't like that sort of humor. Never have. I always hated the Three Stooges and the sight of someone falling on a banana peel offered me nothing to laugh about. Nothing whatsoever. 

Humor is an odd thing, isn't it? Sometimes I think that a shared sense of humor is more important to any relationship than a shared belief of religion or politics or circumstances or anything else at all. Do the same things make you laugh? Okay. You can be friends. Or lovers. Or whatever. 

I hate it when I crack jokes in a medical office and the practitioner doesn't laugh. I NEED to feel that shared sense of humor to make myself feel a little safer, a little more understood. I crack the joke to dispel my own anxiety and am looking for a tiny bit of human interaction and acceptance as a real, true, living human being, not just a case on a table or in a chair. 

They should teach this shit in medical school.

"Laugh heartily at patients' attempts to joke, no matter how lame the attempt."

Etc.

When I first started experiencing anxiety I noticed that sometimes when I was feeling these, at that time, mysterious and horribly uncomfortable fears and feelings, I could lay down for a little while, fall asleep, and wake up without them. I thought of it as rebooting the mind. I still sometimes use this method to try and break out of them because honestly, once in awhile it helps. 

I did that this afternoon. 

I had gone to town and had lunch with Lily and Gibson and Magnolia and Jessie and Vergil and August at the Indian buffet and then Lily and I went to Publix and then to Costco and the whole time I felt disassociation which meant that everything which came out of my mouth was judged by a distant me as to whether or not it sounded like something a crazy woman might say or not. I watched as if from above as I drove- was I driving properly? Making the correct choices as to lane and speed and so forth? Was I being and acting and speaking appropriately? 

I think I did okay. 

While at Costco, Lily stayed in the car and nursed Maggie while Gibson accompanied me in the store and he was so good. So sweet. I put him in the cart seat and looked around the store, everywhere but at him, and whistled a REM song while I tickled him which made him laugh hysterically. And I don't tickle for real. Just tickling-lite because as I child I remember being tickled in ways that felt wrong and extremely uncomfortable. When I tickle, I want the child to beg for more when I stop. And so it was and he sampled cake and sausage and I asked him which he liked the best and he said he liked them both the best and so we had a little discussion about how things can be so very different and yet, we like them equally. Same with people.

Anyway, what the hell was I talking about? Oh yes. Sleep. Rebooting. 

After I dropped Lily and darling Maggie and sweet Gibson off at their house I was exhausted and after I made all the trips from car to kitchen and changed my clothes and put everything away, I absolutely had to go lay down. 

And so I did and when I woke up, rain had begun to fall and yes, I felt rebooted if not reborn, the anxiety lessened considerably although the mind fog still lingered but it doesn't matter. I am not driving anywhere and I can cook supper under almost any condition and so I am not worried or expending energy wondering if I am acting crazy or not. 

Mr. Moon is smoking some pork chops and I'm going to bake some sweet potatoes and we just went and sat on the side of the tub to look at our new babies. 

Here's Violet in Mr. Moon's huge hands. 

She is as light and as soft as baby's dream. 

And so no, Vergil did not eat August's fingers and April Fool's can be enjoyed by all that enjoy that sort of humor and I am thinking of Tom Robbins who said that your mantra can be either "Yuck" or "Yum" and I choose yum, whether we are talking about baby fingers or the softness of baby chickens or the sweetness of falling asleep and waking up in a slightly better place, hearing the rain gently fall. 

I remember my friend Lynn and how, when she'd do a shot of rum she would always say, "Yum-rum."

And close her eyes and cherish the taste on her tongue and maybe say, "Whoop Ai Ay!" and I know I have had such amazing teachers in my life and they all, every damn one of them, made me smile. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Tiny Birds, Their Cheeps Like A Sort Of Song

All of the chicks are alive and well this morning.  We have them safely protected from the cats in a huge ice chest in Mr. Moon's bathtub which no one uses, many doors between them and feline access.

It is gray and ominous feeling, weather-wise and my dreams were the same.

But I'm going to pull my head out of my ass and go to town and do grocery shopping with Lily and here we are.

Continue on.

Love...Ms. Moon

Babies, Etc.

Well, Ms. Magnolia had a perfectly fine day with her Mermer and her brother who still runs up to her and kisses her on the head and says, "You're so cute! I love you!" and then runs off. We did the usual things including egg-gathering and bottle-feeding and carrot-pulling and bamboo-kicking and diaper-changing and porch-swing-swinging and sky-and-trees-bending-and-waving-in-the-breeze-observing. This girl is just full of smiles and I even got to take a tiny, sweet nap with her on my bed while Jessie watched Gibson for me. I drew her towards me and put my arm around her and it was heaven.

Gibson was glad to be back at Mer's and for lunch he wanted two scrambled eggs which he helped me to make and then part of a giant carrot and also a few sour flowers.

And lest you think we are too healthy around here, he also had three prunes, some Chex Mix and an enormous dill pickle. 

Jessie and August had come out so that when Lily got here after picking up Owen, we could all go to the Monticello Tractor Supply and look at baby chicks. 

Let me just say right now that going to look at baby chicks with two daughters who are completely centered on small, baby-like creatures and two grandsons who keep running up with dinosaurs they want you to buy (yes, they have dinosaurs at the Tractor Supply as well as a bunch of other cool toys and also overalls and kerchiefs and equine supplies and...well...everything) is not the best idea in the world. You may end up with three unsexed Barred Plymouth Rock chickens and three banties of indeterminate breed, one of which is probably going to die before morning. 

Oh well. They are cute. 

I had sworn not to get any bantam chickens because they are one of the predators' main taste treat, being so tiny and tender but when we saw the tiny gray one, we swooned and that's what we have and there you go. The little gray one is Violet for sure and if she turns out to be a rooster, I suppose we can call her Vince. 

Here we go again, folks! 

I ended up paying over sixty dollars for fifteen dollars worth of chickens plus chick feed, plus pine bedding, plus a feeder, plus dinosaurs. And one tractor for August. 

Jessie had me take this picture and she put it on her midwife's FB page, advising her that Monticello has some real deals on home delivery.

Haha!

I just went and checked on the babies and they're all still alive and seem to be well. I am not giving them my heart yet because you know damn well what happens when I do that. Chicks are immensely strong as well as fragile and I hope that they all grow up to be thriving members of the Moon Flock but we can never know what will happen. They could all turn out to be roosters, for one thing. I am with chicken raising much as I am with gardening- every year that I do it is another year for me to realize that I don't know shit. 

Oh well. We are having carrot salad tonight and I do know that for the past two years I have grown some magnificent carrots. 

And to add to that- I have been one of the progenitors of some magnificent children and grandchildren. 

Oh. Here's one more picture. 

Gus isn't really interested in eating but he certainly does love to chew on a spoon. And that's his first hair-do.

Baby steps. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Nowhere To Run, Nowhere To Hide

Let me just say that those thirty-one dollar supplements are doing not one damn thing to even out my adrenals. 

The Knees Are The First To Go

I think I may have overdone it today. I ended up doing a lot of weeding and I had wanted to rake and spread leaves on the parts I'd cleared but after I raked up about enough leaves to cover maybe one tenth of that area I said DONE, ENOUGH, NO MORE!
Besides, Mr. Moon had taken my yard cart for a job he needed to do in town and I was raking leaves onto a sheet, bundling it up and toting it to the garden and that is ridiculous and now I just want to cry because I'm so tired and I'm walking like a ninety-year old woman instead of a sixty-one year old woman and I'd love to take a shower and get in bed but it's only six-thirty in the evening and so forth.
And it got hot. It was over 80 in the shade of the porch and it was a lot hotter than that out in the garden in full sun and I know that if I don't get this stuff done now and the summer garden put in, it's not going to happen because I just can't do it anymore- work in the summer heat.
Oh well. Wah, wah, wah. 
One of the hardest things about aging as far as I've observed, is the sad fact that you just can't do what you used to do. Okay, maybe I should be more specific. I can't do what I used to do. I know full well that there are octogenarians out there running marathons and teaching yoga and competing in weight-lifting competitions but I ain't one of 'em and seriously doubt I will be.

Tomorrow Lily is going to go back to work for just a few hours and will be bringing Gibson and Magnolia over for me to tend and then she's going to pick up Owen and bring him here and we're going to Monticello to see if there are any chicks I might want. The baby chick fever has sort of cooled down but I'd still like to get a few new ones. At least enough to give them the names that Owen has chosen already which are Mona Lisa, Violet, and Nicey, Jr. We shall see. And it will be nice to have Gibson and Maggie here. I hope I can keep up with Gibson while keeping his little sister happy. I probably can. I did it when Gibson was the baby and Owen was the big kid. I have to say though that it would all be a lot easier if I could just lactate at will. It's sort of crazy how my instinctive response to a fussy baby is still to put him or her on the tit which I do not do, I assure you. I read a thing online today about a woman who nursed her sister's baby and it was written in the spirit of, "Wow! Can you believe this?"
Good Lord. Anyway, I know how to make a bottle and Magnolia June shall be fed if she's hungry.

Anyway, that's the news tonight from Lloyd where we're having leftovers for supper. I truly need to clean out the refrigerator and some leftovers will just not lend themselves to making soup, believe it or not. Plus- part of what we'll be eating is soup made out of leftovers.

God, I'm tired.

See you tomorrow.

Love...Ms. Moon

Self-Talk

Cherokee Rose

Walk around Lloyd and give salute waves to neighbors passing in cars, greet those in person with good morning. Some times the best walks come from days of high anxiety, the brain floating somewhere else, disassociated from the body which doesn't need much help in its sweaty effort anyway, one foot in front of another, look, the bushy green dog fennel is coming on, last year's sticks neatly lying where they dropped, a small fortress of brittle stems, dewberry blooming low to the ground on its vines, blackberries already blooming on scratchy bushes. Stop to pee and look down, see a brown spider moving across the pine needles and be glad I am not arachnophobic, its pattern pretty and clever, I do not in the least wish it harm as it scuttles away. I am in its world, after all.

Remember when I get home to break down all the things I believe I "need" to do into one-step-at-a-time. This is not rocket science nor is it of any real importance and know that in trying to control my environment I am trying to control my mind and there is only so much I can do in either case. Put on overalls to go kneel in the dirt, pray to the sun, to the recent rains, to the rising plants, to those now ready to pull which have spent their brief life sustaining mine.

Eat. Pray. Love.

Sure. You do it your way. I'll do it mine.

Also breathe. Just keep going and be glad of that.

Move/stay-still/float/drift/squat/stand/bend/reach/look up/notice and remember that we all have our places, spider and human, chicken and bluebird, flower and oak tree. Forgive yourself for perceived sins and shortcomings.

Well. Try. And keep on.

Trying.

I Got Everything I Need, Right Here

Ms. Jessie brought August over today for a visit which was good because I was having a hard time getting a damn thing done. I thought maybe we'd take a walk, Jessie and August and me, and stop by Ms. Liola's house to drop off some eggs and show her the baby and I decided to go pick her some greens before Jessie got here. While I was out there, I decided to just go ahead and pull the mustards, which I did, but I saved some of the pretty bolt blossoms. I gave a good many of the pulled mustards to the goats next door and they happily chomped their way through them. My garden buddy cat came to join me in my work.

She persists in insisting that she has no interest in me or what I'm doing in that garden, but every time I go out there to work, she joins me so her story is getting a little thin.

August reminded me today of a little Buddhist monk. He is wearing those amber beads now which purport to have magical qualities for the baby and of course they do not. However...baby jewelry. The best. After they got here and he woke up and had a little nursey snack, we put him in the stroller and walked down Main Street to Ms. Liola's trailer and sure enough, she was there, and delighted to meet August and Jessie. Mostly August. I just love that woman. She has such a sweet, sweet soul. She flirted with my grandson and played peek-a-boo and he gave her smiles and she tickled his foot and he gave her more. We chatted for a bit and then I handed over the eggs and the greens and she must have said half a dozen times, "Now don't be a stranger," and then she said, "And bring back the baby!"We promised we would and then we walked on to the Fally Down House which is becoming more and more a part of the earth every day.

The right side, as you see from here, is truly on its way to complete collapse. Several trees have grown into the walls of the house, upsetting any integrity which is left by now. I couldn't get over there to take pictures because the house is surrounded by poison ivy which is growing this year like I've never seen before.
Still, I am taken by the dignity which the old place retains as it completes its life cycle, the wallpaper that some long-ago woman put up on her humble walls still clinging in places. I cannot help but wonder about all of the stories this cabin could tell, were it given a voice.

Today was a day for August to taste things. We picked a sour flower for him and he gummed it up good. He likes sour.

When we got home, we walked around the yard for a bit and I made Jessie pose in the spot where Vergil proposed marriage to her. 

The tree that he asked her under is half the size it was then, due to its splitting apart a few years ago which is sad but the bees have made a home and a hive in it and fly in and out of an entrance into what must be a hollow part of the trunk and thus- more life and nature does abhor a vacuum whether in a tree or a couple's heart. 

We kicked a few bamboo and Jessie peeled one for her son to gnaw on. He was not impressed although he happily reached for it and tried it out. 

And then on to the garden where we pulled him a carrot which he worked at manfully while he stared at Mick, the rooster. 

I kissed and hugged and tickled and played with that boy so much today. He is just such a fine baby. He is six months old today! Can you believe it? I love how when he takes a little nap and wakes up and sees me or his mama he just breaks into huge grins. Like, "Here I am! Back again! And there you are too!" He is strong and curious and as handsome as handsome can be. 

After they left, Jessie stopped by Lily's to pick up a few things from Easter. Lily sent me this picture.

I can barely stand it. Super Girl and Buddha Boy. 

And so it's been a good day. I've been easily brought to tears and I haven't gotten much done but that's all right. I did what I wanted to and ultimately, exactly what I needed to do. I even got the hen house cleaned out and that was a chore long overdue. 

I've been trying and trying to get a good picture of the Bridal Wreath Spirea and have not made myself happy with the results but here's a fairly nice picture of Mick posing under it. 

I swear. He loves to pose. Is this something innate in all beautiful creatures? I do not know. I don't know shit. But I do know that it's been a good day and I got to talk to my next door neighbors, who, although completely different from me in almost every way imaginable, are good people and wonderful neighbors and we are completely comfortable discussing chickens and goats and dogs and cats but I will never, ever discuss religion or politics with them. Which is all for the best. Trust me. 

I plucked one of the last Seafoam camellias today as well as a few of the roses and here is what they look like in the hallway with my most formal vase which I actually bought in a store holding the mustard blossoms. 

I saw one of the bluebirds fly out of the nesting box this evening. 

I am cooking spinach and rice. 

I am kissed-up and loved-up and laughed-up and filled up.

My man will be home soon.

Love...Ms. Moon