We All Deserve To Pee In Peace And So Much More

In some ways, I am astonished at how far we've come in this country in the past few decades when it comes to gay rights. From the 1960's when I was a little child and no one, NO ONE admitted to being homosexual, including the gayest man on the planet, Liberace, to now where the United States has decreed that gays and lesbians have the right to marry and adopt children and create families in a myriad of ways-well, as I said, I am astonished.

This did not happen by pure grace or accident. It took years of protests and demands for equal rights. It took Stonewall where gays and lesbians refused to let the police do what police had always done which was to shame and arrest them and they fought back. It took literature, it took the AIDS crisis, it took lawmakers brave enough to step forward and support gay rights. It took kids who were brave enough to come out of the closet and say, "There is nothing wrong with me. I am who I am and I deserve the same rights as any other kids." Who refused to be bullied. Who refused to be shamed back into the closet. It took Rock Hudson's death. It took Ellen Degeneres, it took Rosie O'Donnell, it took families who supported their kids in every way. It took PFLAG, it took Will and Grace, it took that couple down the street who refused to pretend that they were roommates and who came to community potlucks with casseroles and kids in strollers and matching gold bands on their left hands. It took couples who had no desire to become public figures but who had been together so long that it became unbearable for them to not only pretend they weren't together but to demand military benefits, spousal benefits when it came to health insurance and social security benefits and the rights to be with their loved ones in hospitals as spouses who had more right than a family of birth which had abandoned their gay sons and lesbian daughters until they ended up in hospitals and maintained that they were the ones who legally had the rights to determine medical care for children they had perhaps not seen in many, many years. It has taken dignity and honor and anger and patience and impatience and the absolute refusal to remain under the cover of darkness. It has taken gay pride parades. It took flaming queens and bull dykes, it took what we used to refer to as "lipstick lesbians" who presented themselves as part of a community which refused to be judged on how they had been born. It took victims of the sorts of therapy which promised to change one's sexual orientation to finally step forward and say, "This is bullshit! I have no need to change and I couldn't if I wanted to!" It took your aunt, your brother, your daughter, your grandmother who began to refuse to pretend that their partners were simply good friends and quite frankly told family members that these were their partners in all ways. It took children who, in telling their parents, were at grave risk of being kicked out of the family, being told they were sinners and were no longer welcome in their own homes. It took Harvey Milk, it took Matthew Shepherd. It took ministers speaking compassion and truth from the pulpits, it took teachers who accepted kids the way they were and supported them when perhaps families at home did not.

I could go on for days. And now there are laws which ensure so many of the civil rights that cis-gendered people have enjoyed just by accident of birth. The Supreme Court has ruled that love is love and cannot be denied on basis of gender.

And yet. Here we are, fighting again, this time over the rights of transgendered people and it makes my heart sick.
These "bathroom bills" as they are known are so destructive and so ridiculous. To be told that you can only use a public restroom designated to the gender given to you on your birth certificate. I mean- there's really no way to determine, in many cases, whose birth certificate needs verifying. In the name of equality should we all have to show our birth certificates to government-employed bathroom attendants?

Perfect illustration of the absurdity.
Hell, I had a distant relative whom I would have sworn was a transgendered female had I not known that she did indeed give birth several times. But if I had been the bathroom police, I would have asked to see her birth certificate if that were the sort of thing I was concerned about.
And as always with these issues of civil rights, the religious right is behind so much of it. Whether it's slavery or homosexuality, you can find a place in the Bible that proves your point. Unless you're looking to Jesus for the final word in which case you won't find it.
When I am feeling compassionate about it all, I try to remember that these people operate out of fear and out of ignorance but as Jessie and I agreed the other day, there are an infinite number of ways to educate yourself on these issues and those who refuse to do so do so out of blind hatred and closed-mindedness and there goes my compassion.

Yes. Changes have happened far faster than I thought they would but as with most things, it's one step forward and two steps back. The struggle continues and all anyone is asking for is equal rights, equal protection under the law. And don't even talk to me about the founding fathers and what they would have wanted. Fuck that. They wanted slaves and they had them. They wanted men to be the rulers and they got that. It's taken many years for our country to realize that at least in some ways, the Constitution was a flawed document, however ground-breaking and amazing it was for its era.

And now we do have equal rights (at least under the law, if not in reality) for people of color and for women and yes, even for same-sex couples. And we have leaders from the president on down who do speak of the rights of the transgendered. But the battle is still ongoing and as with all of these issues, it's going to take a lot of people who refuse to be defined by their sex organs and it's going to take a lot of people who do not suffer fools gladly and refuse to do business with the states who pass these laws, who refuse to remain silent because this issue "does not affect them."

Just as no one should let someone get by with telling a joke that is obviously racist or someone using words which are not acceptable to describe someone who is differently abled, we should not remain silent when people spew their fear and ignorance about the LGBTQ community. I don't care if people like Donald Trump ARE making certain people feel as if it's acceptable to do these things, it is not. And we, who try to act always out of love and compassion and who are able to at least try to imagine ourselves in the shoes of others, have to stand up, be brave, tell the truth and shame the devil.

Well, at least that's how I see it.

I want my grandbabies to grow up in a world where we accept each other on the basis of who they are, not what they are. Where the vast diversity of humans on this earth is celebrated, not vilified.

And things like this give me hope:




I couldn't pick Chris Hemsworth out of a line-up of two but I love him for what he told his daughter.

All right. I'll put my soapbox back under the counter but goddamn it! Sometimes I just have to step up and make my say.

All love...Ms. Moon

P.S. I am most grateful for all of the differently-gendered people I have come to know and love in my life. They have expanded my definition of normalcy, educated me, loved me, and filled my heart with their strength, their quiet bravery, and their refusal to stay silent.
Also, they are absolutely, without doubt, some of the best people, parents, and friends anyone could ever know. I am blessed with their presences in my life. And I am pretty sure they know that.
Amen.

Can You See It?

Maurice and Jack were in the backyard and I could tell they had their eyes on something. Maurice patted the ground and I saw a scuttle and went outside and this is what I saw. I would never have seen it, had I not seen it move.
The cats don't really appear to be hunting it or tormenting it but they do seem to be amused by it. For now, at least. Chickens eat lizards too.

Let's face it- it'll be a fucking miracle if that poor critter lives to see another sunset.

Nature is cruel.

Someone Needs A Rubber Duckie

Okay, okay, okay, okay, I'm fine, I really am.
It's been one of those days where I just did the tiny things like scrub toilets and sweep floors and hang laundry and repot a plant and eat crappy food.

I did get to see Owen and Gibson and Magnolia for a few minutes. When I got there, Owen and Gibson were trying to fix their road. Owen had a shovel for said purpose. Their road is horrible. The Waste Management company throws tantrums and refuses to pick up their trash. It's a feud by now. Owen, however, decided that no, he could not fix the road but his mother thanked him for trying. It is a rather large job for one boy and a shovel, even with Gibson's help.
Magnolia joyfully smiled for me and rested her head against mine for a blissful moment or two and slobbered all over me and spit up on me and let me kiss her over and over again.

In order to try and negate some of the crappy food I ate today, I am going to make one of my favorite recipes tonight, Creamy Cashew Butternut Squash soup, although I use acorn squash and sweet potatoes. Let's bring it on down south, y'all. Mr. Moon does not especially like it but he'll eat it because he's sweet like that. I bought new turmeric today and the lady checking me out, whose name was Geeta, asked me what I was going to cook and we got into quite a discussion about turmeric and how she uses it and its health-giving properties and also cumin, etc.

So I suppose I better get in the kitchen and start cooking onions and cashews and ginger and squash and sweet potatoes. I hate peeling hard squashes. Do you? Cutting them up is no picnic either.

Here's a picture Jessie just sent me.

All of a sudden he's sitting up like a boss and he got a new bathtub. She sent me an even cuter picture before that one but it showed his precious little pee-pee and you know I can't disrespect my grands by showing more than an occasional little pink butt so I requested one that covers the preciousness up. 

Is there anything in this world cuter than a naked baby in the bathtub? 

If there is, I surely would like to know about it but I'm not sure I could handle it. 

Love...Ms. Moon

It Comes And It Goes And It Comes Again

Not one damn thing wrong in my whole tiny world and I woke up so anxious you could skin me alive and I wouldn't even know it.
In fact, I feel like someone did skin me alive while I slept on my clean sheets, my cat laying beside me.
I will take a walk.

Another Day In The Life, Part 406

Maggie's smiles. They are as big and full and brilliant and gorgeous and joyful as any smile on this earth which has ever been smiled. She is beatific, imparting, as the dictionary says, "holy bliss."
You cannot look at that face and not smile back. And she laughs, too. Those funny deep baby laughs that make you just want to keep on doing whatever it is you are doing to make her laugh for as long as she'll keep responding.

We met up for lunch and our friend Liz Sparks came too and she held both babies, loving on each of them, sniffing heads and making goo-goo eyes. August stood on Uncle Hank's belly and stretched up tall, with Hank holding him, waving and flapping his arms like a baby eagle, ready to take flight. It was hysterical and beautiful and you'd think by now that just thinking about my grandchildren wouldn't make me tear up but it does.
It does.

Well. Yes. Lucille died sometime between noon and two-thirty which was when I got home. I came in and changed my clothes and got a shovel and dug a little grave under the giant oak where the honeybees hive and carefully laid her in and covered her up.
Still no idea why she died. She was young, a young hen.
So it goes. So it goes. I am glad she was not suffering for long and honestly, I do not think she was conscious when I found her this morning but far into the process, moving along that path.

The baby chicks loved being outside. Or at least it seemed as if they did. I gave them garden greens and they tore at them with their dinosaur beaks and they scratched in the dirt with their dinosaur feet. I thought the other chickens would pay them more attention than they did but I only saw Lisa Marie peering at them through the screen and I saw neither cat giving them even a glance but you know cats- they are clever and sneaky and if the did have interest in them, they would pretend otherwise. And the babies can run into the boxed in part of the coop if they feel afraid where the cats can't see them at all and it would take a far bigger cat than either Maurice of Jack to breech that coop. Like a lynx. They're back in their bathtub home now for the night and tomorrow I shall take them out again.

Speaking of cats, I just saw Maurice staring intently at the bluebird box where I am almost sure there are babies. I whistled at her and yelled, "Maurice, NO!" and she broke her stalking stance and now she's back in the house and I gave both her and Jack some Temptations for being such good cats and not killing birds and because I'm a fool.

I really do not consider myself to be an extreme animal lover on any level and yet, the animals which I do love, I simply love. Not like I love my friends or my husband or my children or my grandchildren and perhaps it isn't even love at all but simply a respect and appreciation for the other creatures who share my life and make it so much more interesting. And that would include the bluebirds.

I'm going to shut up now because I'm only rambling.

I'm tired. Let us all sleep well tonight and perhaps, if we are as lucky as lucky can be, we will dream of smiling babies.

Love...Ms. Moon

It's Too Beautiful A Day To Feel This Sad

I woke up to another perfect day, but haunted by dreams and it would seem that I've taken to chewing my tongue at night, or at least biting down on it. But up I got and knew that today was the day to take the little chickens out to the new outside shelter and that was cheering.
But when I went to let the big chickens out, I found Miss Lucille on the ground, flat and breathing hard. I thought perhaps Mick had just mated with her because sometimes after sex, the hen does just lay there, still, for a moment before she stands up again and shakes it all off.
But no. This was different.
And she didn't move and I noticed that her comb was turning black and I picked her up and could not find a wound on her but it was so obvious that she was in the process of dying and I had no idea why and didn't know what to do. And so I did nothing but stroked her soft feathers and Nicey stayed in the hen house with us and watched her

and then looked at me as if I was supposed to do something and sang a little song and now she's on the nest by her dying friend. I keep going out to check on Lucille, to stroke her feathers, tell her what a fine hen she's been and I am so sad.
I have no idea what is wrong with her. Did she eat something she shouldn't have? Did a snake bite her? I don't know. I don't know. But she doesn't react to my touch at all.

Damn. These chickens have made such a nest in my heart.

So I'm going about my day. What else to do? Supposed to meet kids and friends in town for lunch and I'm washing sheets and I did put the baby chicks out.

Here's the new daytime coop for them that Mr. Moon built. You can move those wheels at the end down and lock them into place and use those leg-looking things on the other end to wheel-barrow the entire thing to another spot. It's tight and safe, no gaps for things to get in or chicks to get out. There is a shaded area should the sun get too bright or they want to feel protected, and plenty of room for them to run around and scratch in the dirt. I can hear them peeping now. 

And so life ends and so life goes on and it's only a chicken. Only a chicken and there are probably billions of chickens on this earth but there are only sixteen in this yard, each one named and known and yesterday Lucille was out and about and running with the flock. 

I just went and checked on her again and she is still breathing but that is all. Nicey is off the nest but keeping watch and that is the saddest of all. Don't tell me that chickens are brainless creatures. Even Mick has gone in to see her. In his rooster talk he told her to get up but she did not. He walked around her for awhile, and then went back to his flock. I have no idea what these birds think but I know that they do think and they do know when something is wrong. 

Sometimes we can't think about it too much. We just have to keep watch. 

And so we are, each in the way that we can. 

Thank You, Hank!

It could not possibly have been a better day. We gathered by the river, as all good people do, and it was cool and yet warm enough for the brave to get into the water and we ate sandwiches and chips and I am so grateful that Hank pulled us all out of our little Sunday lives to go and do that.

The water was beautiful and the boys had no problem getting in and swimming about. That's our friend Conner on the left. He's the son of a good friend of Hank's. 

Cousins! Oh, them babies! Before we got there, Jessie and Vergil and August had already taken a kayak paddle down the river and seen mullet and gators. 

So Lily and her babies and Jessie and Vergil and August and Hank and good friend Taylor and her Connor and Juancho and Melissa and Billy and Shayla and Waylon and I were all there. A lovely mix of friends on a perfectly lovely day. At one point, we were sitting around talking about blogging and you know that Hank was the one who forced me to start a blog and he had met Juancho through his blog and then I met Juancho and now we're good friends and his wife Melissa is one of my favorite people in the entire world and Taylor got her job through Juancho via Hank and they work together sometimes and there you go- it's all connected. Sometimes I think that blogging is just a magical way to discover the parts of your family you didn't know you had. 

When Lily and Gibson and Owen and Magnolia and I drove back here, Juancho and Melissa stopped by because I had invited them and Owen and Gibson gave Melissa the entire tour of the house and Owen helped me pick vegetables to send home with them and even washed off the carrots in the spigot out by the garden. 

"You sure look like you know what you're doing there, Owen," Melissa said.
"First time I ever did this in my life," he told her. Which was true. But he'd watched me do it plenty of times and scrubbed those carrots up good. 

Owen also told her that when Magnolia is ready for her first haircut that we'd be bringing her to Melissa who cuts all of our hair. We ALL love Melissa. When they left, Gibson stood on the kitchen porch and yelled, "Thanks for coming! Come see us again soon!" 

My boys. Owen is getting so serious and mature and Gibson is getting funnier and sweeter all the time. 

Not only did Melissa and Juancho stop by on their way home, but so did Hank and Taylor and Connor and Billy and Shayla and Waylon. I had invited them all! Everyone got to meet the baby chickens, and Connor and Waylon played outside and a huge, huge thing happened today. For the very first time ever, Waylon gave me a hug and a kiss. 

I cried. 

I just cried. 

You can't push that boy. You just have to wait and let him choose what he wants to do and today he chose to hug and kiss me and it was one of the sweetest moments of my life. 

Just the best. All of it. And it made me realize once again how much I love my family and how much I love my house and yard which is pretty much paradise for kids who can play outside and feed bread to chickens and cuddle new baby chicks and pat the cats and see the goats next door and find toys and books everywhere. And I got to hang out with people I hardly ever see these days because of work and responsibilities. 

And where was Mr. Moon in all of this? Building that amazing outdoor baby chicken training and recreational facility and it's done and tomorrow I'll take those peeps out there to play in the dirt and there will be pictures. It's a thing of beauty and cleverness and I am constantly in awe of his ability to conceive things in his head and then actually build and create them. 

Oh my goodness. It's late and I haven't even started supper. Oh well. Who cares? We gathered by the river, the babies were baptized in the sweet pure water of the Wacissa, we took communion together with peanut butter sandwiches and Costco turkey roll-ups and watermelon and barbecue potato chips. I got a hug and a kiss from one of the most special children I know and once again, I am just so grateful that I could fall off the earth and float to heaven. 

As I told Taylor this afternoon, this weather has been so beautiful lately that I just want to say, "Kiss me, you fool!" 

Warm enough to get in the river today, cool enough tonight to snuggle under the covers. 

All is well in Lloyd tonight and I would hope that all is well with you.

Love...Ms. Moon

Sunday Sermon: Get Away From Them Geese! They Gon Get Shit On Ye

Ready for church yet?

It's The Little Things. And The Big Ones

That's one of my tiny bouquets right there, made of wildflowers, the yellow ones probably labeled as a weed. I do not know their name but they are beautiful and if you don't look closely when you are walking about your yard which supposedly needs mowing you won't ever even see them.
Fairy flowers.

It has been a good day. I actually got out of bed early enough this morning to go to one of Owen's T-Ball games. I am NOT a good grandmother when it comes to these sorts of things but honestly, T-Ball is my favorite level of children's organized sports. There is no score-keeping, each child is praised for any effort and half of the coaches' job is to remind the children to pay attention and not play in the sand in the outfield. Or in-field. Or whatever those places are.
And here is what I mostly did and which made getting up at such an ungodly hour on a Saturday morning so worthwhile:

I got to hold my Magnolia who, despite her solemn face in that picture, smiled a lot. We covered her in her little blanket because it was chilly and we joked that she looked like a nun. A baby nun. Little Sister Magnolia. 

After the game I got all three of the children to pose. 

I continue to be stunned at what good and loving big brothers Gibson and Owen are. Gibson, at four, can give his sister a bottle in the car as we drive from one place to another. He actually asks to sit next to her. And Owen- well, he's a pro now. Oh! How I always wanted a big brother. 

In some ways, my grandchildren are fulfilling all of my own dreams in their own ways. 

I can't tell you how that feels. 

Boppy helped coach today and if you've never seen a six-foot, eight-inch tall man give a five-year old a high five on the baseball field, well...let me just say that's a beautiful thing. Jason is the coach of the team again this year and the assistant coach was a man with piercings and a beard and a car that bore an equality sticker and as well as one for Bernie. Made my heart happy, all the way around.

Hank has organized a family and community picnic at the Wacissa River tomorrow and although it's going to still be too cool for me to go swimming, I am going. Owen asked me if I would bring turkey roll-ups from the Costco because last summer when we all went to the Wacissa for swimming and lunch, that's what I brought. And so of course I went to Costco and bought two types of turkey wraps/roll-ups/whatever they are. It's going to be fun. 

Mr. Moon is out in the garage making what I am calling a Juvenile Poultry Protected Outdoor Training Facility. I jest. And yet. 

I thought he was just going to build a little box thing like the one he made before which we used for previous baby chicks. I went out and checked on his progress after I woke up from a nap and it's...well, let me just say that Mr. Moon does nothing by half-measures. 

"Darlin'!" I said to him. "What in hell is this?"

"A tractor coop," he said. We can use it again if we raise more chicks and the kids can use it if they get chickens."

Lord, Lord. That man. 

I sure am glad that I was wearing that angora sweater I borrowed from Sue-Sue that kept falling off one shoulder the night he set his sights on me. 

We aren't as young as we were then but in a lot of ways, it's sweeter now than ever.

A fairy tale if there ever was one, bouquets to prove it. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Still Life With Giant Ant

You would think that by now I would have discovered every interesting object to be found in the dirt of my garden. Not true! Today, for example, while doing a little weeding and pea re-planting I discovered that giant ant. Awesome! He's missing a few limbs which makes him a compatriot of the little horse I found in the yard which has only three legs. The tiny bull I found when we first moved in and he is completely legged.

Don't cry for him, Argentina!

So. Friday night. In honor of the occasion, I took a shower. And washed my hair. And shaved my legs. Girl's been letting things go in the grooming department.

My big excitement today came from this:

I gave Diamond, Mona Lisa, Sally, Violet, Blossom and Dearie some carrot top greens and little pieces of shredded kale. They ate them all up and so for dessert I gave them sour flowers and violets which they also devoured.

Oh! I've been meaning to tell you what Gibson's inspiration was for giving one of the chicks the name "Dearie."

Hey- it ain't all sweetness and light over here. 

In that spirit, I will admit to you that my new guilty pleasure is watching Darren Knight's videos. Southern Mom. Y'all can google that shit your own damn self, as Southern Mom might say. I just can't even bring myself to link or embed because there is so much wrong with these videos but speaking as a southern woman, let me say that I have heard every expression he uses in these and somehow, the fact that a man is so believable as a southern, single mother just makes me so happy. Why? I have no idea. But he totally transcends his beard. And I will admit that I have used one or two of these expressions myself and am no stranger to many of the circumstances Mr. Knight portrays, some of them hilarious and some of them heartbreaking and some of them frustrating and some of them...well, they're all human. 

Thank god that kids are resilient. 

And some of them grow up to make a sort of art out of how they were raised.

It's been an odd day. I have the saddies, as my darling Sue-Sue used to say but it's not so bad and I am thinking about the strange and interesting life I have lived which, for example, included being the girlfriend of a drug dealer in Denver, Colorado for a short while and how much he loved my cooking and especially the dish I am making tonight which is pork and sauerkraut and potatoes and I'm pretty sure he's dead now and I know for sure that I got out of there right before he got busted and here I am, a southern mama and grandmama who hardly ever thinks about those days and yet, they happened and I can't really regret any of it. It has happened. And here I am, despite and because. 

Love...Ms. Moon

leave her alone- let her read

It's sixty-four degrees in my house which is unheard of for April in North Florida. We're usually running the AC by now or at least sweating and talking about it.

I'm being a complete waste case today. When I got up, Jessie had already made her daddy a beautiful breakfast with eggs and bacon and all was merry with the little boy, shrieking his pterodactyl shrieks, and the kitchen filled with light and good smells and smiles and chuckles. I held August while his mama cooked her own breakfast and then she nursed him to sleep for his morning nap, rocking him and singing to him in the rocking chair I got long before I had a grandchild but which Mr. Moon took one look at when I brought it in and said, "You've bought yourself a grandmother chair."
The sweetness.
I picked Jessie some greens and carrots and sent her home with those and with eggs. I would have given her anything/everything. This is how I feel now when my children leave my house.
"Here- take this." "Do you need this?" "What else do you want?"
I remember years ago I had a friend whose mother-in-law would bring her family big bags of huge packages of toilet paper and bread and paper towels and all sorts of things she'd bought and we sort of joked about it but now I understand. We know that we can't really take care of our children anymore but somehow, giving them these daily-use things makes us feel as if we are. At least a little bit.

I just want to read today. Maybe read and watch old Rolling Stones videos. It's gray and although I feel much better physically, I just don't want to do anything. Lazy, I suppose you would call it. But there are some things which need to be done, including cleaning the little chick residence. We showed August the babies last night and he was mesmerized. What were those little fluffy things with their constant peeps and scurrying about? I have started giving them bits of greens and apple and they eat them up. They are at the awkward stage of feathers-coming-in and sticking out everywhere, their patterns beginning to develop, their eyes so huge, their little beaks so clever and yellow and sharp. Mr. Moon is going to build them a box this weekend so that we can take them outside where they can scratch in the dirt (it won't have a floor) and yet be protected. It will have a screened top so that hawks can't get to them or snakes. I will still bring them in at night to sleep protected but they need the experience of being outside.
I wonder what the banties are going to end up looking like. The big chicks are the Barred Plymouth Rock and they will look like this,

hen or rooster, depending.

But I am cannot yet tell what variety the bantams are. We shall see. Bantams are listed as "ornamental" chickens which makes me laugh. But won't their eggs be darling if they are hens?

Ah well. Here I sit, looking up Bantam varieties online while my real ones need fresh water and food and my big chickens need clean nests. Something is eating my sprouting creamer peas in the garden and I should replant those in this wet dirt.

But I am going to spend some time reading today. I keep thinking of this poem which arrived in my e-mail last week from The Poetry Foundation.

Poem of the Day: Poet as Housewife

BY ELISABETH EYBERS

Always a broom leaned against a wall,

meals never on time, if they come at all.

Days without dates through which she moves

empty and stubborn, slightly confused.

Ironing hung dejectedly over a chair,

gestures that come from who-knows-where.

Old letters unanswered, piled together,

papers and pills stuffed deep in a drawer.

Thankful to be part of your heart's great whole

yet devoted to the limits of her own small skull.

O orderly biped, take heed,

leave her alone—let her read.

It seems perfect for today. 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Homade Is Always Best

I am feeling better this evening and did not even take a nap. This is not to say that I didn't want to take a nap. I even thought about going and laying down on the love couch in the library and reading for a while which might, theoretically, have prevented me from actually sleeping but we all know how that would have ended so instead I did some more ironing which is restful too.
I'm getting good at that shit although I am not good at ironing Mr. Moon's trousers because he has a 38" inseam and my arms get tired.
I also made a ninja run into town to get food and books. At the library I saw that same man who had fallen there a few weeks ago and we said "hello" and did not discuss much although I did say that I believed that I had listened to every audio book that branch library has which I might care to listen to. He said, "I know what you mean."

For tonight's gourmet dinner we are having chicken and dumplings although my chicken and dumplings are not like your grandmother's were because they have things in them like collard greens and carrots and mushrooms. Traditional chicken and dumplings have chicken and dumplings in them with maybe a celery stalk and a piece of onion, salt and pepper. Mine have celery and onion too, as well as garlic and bay leaf and Bragg's liquid amino acids which tastes far better than it sounds. I am, however, using frozen Mary B. brand dumplings because, as I have said, I make Yankee dumplings and have no hand for making southern dumplings which are basically puffy pasta. The frozen ones are good and I am certain without a doubt that some dear sweet old southern lady who is named Mary B. is rolling out dumplings in her own personal kitchen at this very moment and handing them to her grandchildren who are packaging them up and putting them in a gigantic freezer to ship to grocery stores all over the country. Her sons and daughters are the truck drivers who deliver them, doing only four hour shifts per day and singing merrily along with the radio as they drive.
This is the way it works in my world.

I just got a call from Jessie. Vergil is out of town and August is teething and still has a cold and I could hear him fussing in the background. "Why don't you just bring that boy out and spend the night?" I asked her.
"Well, that's sort of what I was calling about," she said.
I don't know if she's going to spend the night or not but it will be nice to have her and August here. I have not seen my grandchildren since Monday and I am starting to pine for them.

I feel especially old and southern tonight. I saw a tiny mouse in the kitchen hutch when I went to put the crock pot away this morning and instead of freaking out I simply left the door open in hopes that either Jack or Maurice will do something about that situation but they have shown no interest at all today but instead have spent the entire day lounging about and hoping for Temptations. Perhaps tonight the desire to hunt will overcome them or perhaps it won't.

Okay. I just looked up Mary B's dumplings on the internet and get this- the name of her company is Hom/Ade Foods but her website is www.homadefoods.com which throws a whole new interesting kink into the visual image of Ms. B. and her kitchen, at least as to what Mary B. is wearing and the amount of make-up on her face as she rolls out those dumplings, one by one.

I have nothing to add to that. I'm going to go stir the dumplings.

Love...Ms. Moon

The World According To Me And Barney Fife

Remember when biorhythms were a thing? I remember people having charts of their upcoming biorhythms posted on their refrigerators so they could keep track and be alerted to sudden down-turns.
Haha!
Who knows? Maybe they're real.
I'll tell you what is real.
I still feel like shit.
I'm sleeping about 12 hours a day. The rest of the time I'm still getting shit done (hey! I mopped the kitchen yesterday!) but it takes me forever.
Oh well.
What I really want to talk about is Luna the World's Oldest Cat. She's developed some sort of respiratory malfunction and is spraying ancient cat snot everywhere. She is not happy. She just sits there and sort of almost falls over and catches herself and...oh god.
It's time.
Mr. Moon is calling the vet this morning to see if we can get a deal on kill-one/neuter-one.
Does that sound callous? No, it's callous and cruel that we've let Luna go on this long and obviously, Jack should have been de-balled months ago. His behavior is fine but it's not fair to let him impregnate any non-spayed females whom he may encounter. My next door neighbor has taken in a pregnant female as we speak and Jack could well be the father.




In other nature news, the baby chicks are growing fast. They've suddenly lost that newly hatched biddie smell and have taken on the next-level of growing chicken odor. I can't really describe it but it's a true thing. Like when your baby has been taking in nothing but breastmilk and you introduce solids and suddenly- their poop smells different and when I say "different" I mean, not as good. This is what will motivate us to get them other living arrangements set up. At least during the daytime. It's so easy to go to the Tractor Supply and buy some darling cute little puffballs of birds but the reality of the situation is that it's going to take a lot of time and a lot of patience and a little work to raise them up big enough to introduce them to the flock. It's not unlike having a few drinks with your sweetheart and deciding that you'll let caution fall to the winds and go have sex in the back seat of your vehicle in the parking lot and next thing you know you're enrolling some child in kindergarten.
Oh wait. That's not the same thing at all.
Well, it sort of is.
Sex and babies.
We humans are hard-wired to really like both of those things. Simple and true fact and that's why we're here.
Now that I've explained the meaning of life to you, I will let you go about your business.

I should go take a walk but it's about to rain again and so I won't. The rain has been wonderful, doing all of my watering work for me in the garden and yard, keeping things cool and lovely.

All right. Proceed with caution unless your biorhythms are in a spectacularly high place and perhaps you should check your horoscope as well. Drink green tea, eat wheat germ, (unless you have a gluten intolerance, of course- consult your doctor), read a good book, tend to your babies whether they be human, poultry or sprouting avocado seeds. Get plenty of rest, think long and hard before throwing caution to the winds and then go ahead and do whatever you want. Try not to get any ancient cat snot on you.
And if all else fails, watch reruns of the Andy Griffith Show because after all these years, that's still one of the best things on the television.

Love...Ms. Moon

Every time I see the headline on Huffpost, "Chip Implanted in Brain Helps Paralyzed Man Control His Hand," I read it as "Chimp Implanted in Brain..."
And I think, Wow. Poor chimp. How'd they do that?

Maybe I need a chimp implanted in my brain.

An Historic Day

I am moving like a snail today, or perhaps more like a turtle, determined to cross that road despite his speed limitations. I do not feel good but I am not deathly ill either. Slow, achy, my eyes feel weird. But you know- it's okay.
And I'm not being a martyr here- it really is okay and I'm slowly getting things done and here are what the chicks look like in their clean little house this morning.

Can you see how much they are changing? They peep constantly and they poop and eat and rest and drink and practice scratching. I can't wait to introduce them (in a most protected way!) to the great outdoors. 

But mostly what I want to say today is that this is the anniversary of both Lily and Jason (eight years) and Jessie and Vergil (three years) and that nothing in this world could make me happier than seeing my daughters legally shacked up with such fine men, such good daddies, such loving husbands. 

My heart overflows with the way they have formed their own families. 

Life can be hard and there is absolutely nothing in this world like having a loving partner to share the joys and the sorrows. To celebrate the best things together and to help each other through the most difficult. 

And they have given us all so much to celebrate. 

I am proud of them, I love them, I am wishing them lifetimes of as much love and joy and laughter and fun and dancing as can possibly be fit into a lifetime. Grand adventures. Always. And then grand children. Because that is the best. 

Yours truly...Ms. Moon

I'm A Little Slow

Yesterday, even when I was just standing there ironing, I kept wishing I could lay down. I hurt everywhere.
I did this morning too but you know- some days you just hurt.
So I went to town and had lunch with some cute mamas and babies and did some Trader Joe shopping and I realized that I was coming down with something. Probably just the cold that Jessie and August have because god knows that I spent half of last weekend kissing August and encouraging him to slobber all over me.
I came home, got in the bed and slept for two hours.
I am missing Owen's performance but Boppy got home and is there to represent us.
I hear that Owen's biggest fear is that he'll fall off the back of the bleachers.
I'm pretty sure he'll be all right.

When was the last time I was sick?

I can't even remember.

Are You This Way? Different? Tell Me

When I wake up in the morning it takes me quite awhile to get myself to a place of anything resembling equanimity. EVERY MORNING of my life I wake up and feel as if I am the scum of the earth, a complete failure in every way. The clutter and dust and dirt around me is proof of this. If I were a halfway decent person I'd keep things tidier, cleaner. The garden that I love shouts at me that I have no idea what I'm doing out there and that I should have pulled those greens a month ago and planted another row of beans. I go to let the chickens out and note that the nests need cleaning which leads to my feelings of failure at not using the chicken poop as fertilizer the way I always thought I would.

Failure, failure, failure.

The simplest things which I may have planned for the day loom so large as to seem insurmountable. Anything which may lie outside my regular routine is something dreaded, no matter how much "fun" it should be. I find love notes from my husband and wonder why in the world he still cares about me. My thoughts become filled with "shoulds."
I should clean and mop the kitchen. I should plant those beans. I should go to a fucking museum or a movie once in awhile. I should call a friend. I should be a better wife. I should be a better mother to whichever child I feel I not been as attentive to as I should be. I should be a better friend. I should lose weight. I should get my sewing machine fixed and start sewing again. I should get Jack fixed. I should clean out my closets and throw away the things that I know without doubt I'll never wear again. I should answer letters. I should mail a gift I bought for a friend a month ago. I should take a walk. I should do crunches. I should, in fact, be a better person and a different person entirely.

This is my every morning routine.

I think this may be the way it is for many of us.

And yet, we do get up, we get out of bed, we face down the fears and the feelings of failure and the shoulds. We manage to do that which has seemed insurmountable. We make some headway on the clutter. We clean out the nests and we pull the greens and we plant the beans. We make the bed.
We do our best which is all that any of us can do although it is so tempting to compare ourselves to those who seem to accomplish everything that we feel we could never do and not only do they accomplish amazing things, they do it with grace.

I am about to go to town to hang out with my grandbaby mamas. Tonight I am going to go hear Owen sing at a school function. In an hour or so, I will have pulled myself at least partly out of my angst, my self-negativity. And I trust that this to be true because I have experienced it over and over again.

And tomorrow, I will start all over.

This is how it is for me. How is it for you? I would really like to know.

Love...Ms. Moon

Home

My heart is very, very full this evening and in such a good way. I had an opportunity to meet two people who immediately felt incredibly familiar and there was so much about them which was gracious and good.
And besides that, meeting them gave me an opportunity to be even more grateful for this place where I live which is a sort of paradise, even with the funkiness, the chicken poop, the not-to-be-denied state of things around here which could be kindly described as "lived in."

I have often said that this old house is my dream house and I'm not joking. It offers such solace to me, such a feeling of stability and of comfort and even of stately, if faded, beauty.

And the love I have for this yard is no secret. For the house I can take no credit- it has stood in one form or another for one hundred and fifty seven years. And of course, the oaks which are part of my strength and my constant state of awe, are far older than that but I have added to this yard. I have tended it. I have respected it and observed what might be planted here and then there to thrive and I have set chickens free on it to run and scratch, I have played with grandchildren on it, I have shown them some things about nature and the growing of plants that they would not have known had I not lived here.
I am proud of that and more than proud- I am so damn happy every day that not only do I get to live here but that I get to reap the benefits of it all.

Here's my blooming native azalea which I planted and I cannot get a good picture of it, no matter how hard I try. It's as if when presented with its colors, the camera does not know how to respond. I remember when Kathleen and I went to Tallahassee for the Goodwood plant sale years ago and I bought this and brought it home and planted it. I know I talk about these things a lot but here's the honest truth- I feel as if in this house I have finally found a home. The house I lived in for many of my childhood years looked fine from the outside and there was a woman who came and cleaned every week and my mother was obsessive about cleaning the windows but the things that went on inside of it were the things that bred fear and worry and anxiety. At least in me.

So to live here in a house which has sheltered so many lives for so many years and where the things I have planted are beautiful and responsive to my care and which provide us with food and with flowers and with a peaceful and graceful place to be is a sort of miracle. To have grandchildren who love to visit and who have an entire history since birth of being happy here is another.

And today I got to share some of that with two new friends and I was glad.

On my walk this morning I took this picture:

And I do. My blessing is all of the blessings. 

And I know how boring I am, talking about this stuff so often. 

But I tell you- I am struck with wonder about it all every day. 

Every day of my life. 

I'll find something to bitch about tomorrow. I promise. The possibilities are endless. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Grace Can Be Delivered By Mail

Some days it can be the smallest thing which breaks the wall of sadness of unknown cause.
Today, it was receiving a package in the mail with two brand new beautiful chicken cards and two new CD's by an old friend. And best of all- real words on paper, written just to me.

There. Just like that. After a walk after a rough waking, the tears spring forth and I determine to go on for another day.

Bugs, Boys, Babies, Blossoms, Biddies, Blobs, And Basic Babbling

It was another one of those days when I woke up and knew I had to get my head out of my ass and so I went and got those two wild boys which was good because their mama worked all day yesterday and needed some rest and snuggle time with the Beautiful Magnolia June. When I got to Lily's house at the end of the rutted clay road that leads to it, there were two boys standing there, waving their arms and laughing out loud and I began to smile and I pretty much smiled all day.

There they are, strapped into Mermer's space Prius, seats all the way back so that they could relax. Because you know- their life is so stressful.

We did a repeat of last Sunday for the most part. They helped me clean the baby chick chest and then they helped me water the plants in the back yard which is always fun.

After that Owen begged me to look online for a science experiment we could do and we found one that involved water, oil, food coloring and an Alka Seltzer called Blobs In A Bottle. So we did that and it was pretty cool. The amount of science involved was extremely slight but who cares? We used scientific equipment like...a funnel. So yeah, it was educational. Right? 

Then Boppy got home and we all hunted for bugs for the chicks which is more damn fun than hunting Easter Eggs. Those boys scream and call out, "There's one! There's one!" as we turn over rotting logs and rocks to find creepy and crawly things.

It's so odd how all of us will pick up any bug-like critter, even the really weird-looking ones if we're hunting them for the chicks. Even I do it. Hell, I've grabbed maggots out of the compost with my bare fingers to take to chicks. I have no idea why this is. Because the bugs are now considered food rather than something disgusting? Whatever. It's fun. 

We collected a good many insects and a few spiders and centipedes and worms and we took those and some violets and sour flowers to feed the babies. Here's what the boys look like when they eat sour flowers. Especially the stems.

The chicks ate everything we gave them with great gusto and I had no idea that they liked flowers but they do. It is funny to watch a tiny bird run to catch a bug and then try to hide from the rest of the chicks as they chase her down to try and steal her prize. Is this cruel? I don't think so. If those chicks were being raised by a mama, they'd be feeding themselves bugs all day long by now. 

We kicked bamboo which is still coming up at an alarming rate and we played Battle and we played The Matching Game and Boppy set up a shooting gallery for B.B. gun practice with Owen while Gibson and I had another tea party. 

This time I just went ahead and put a towel down under the tea pot and cups and told him it was a tablecloth. Worked a charm. You have never in your life experienced as macho a tea party as the one you might share with Gibson who announces everything he is doing with his outside (only) voice as he is doing it, all the while using dramatic arm and hand gestures. I've never met anyone in my life like Gibson. He's rare and precious. 

Somehow during all of this I managed to get laundry done and Boppy managed to get the boat unloaded. And of course, there were all sorts of snacks. 

And then their mama came to get them and I got to hold and kiss Maggie who had just gotten a bath so that every time I sniffed her I almost fainted from the deliciousness and she was wearing a beautiful white cotton and linen old-fashioned jump suit sort of thing with bows and buttons. Lily said that she knew why such garments had decreased in popularity since the olden days- we don't have nannies and servants to do all of the buttons and bows up. But Lord, it was sweet. And now they're gone and I'm going to cook some shrimp and crab claws that Mr. Moon bought on his way home and a salad with the new mixed greens and arugula that Mr. Moon planted a few weeks ago, already ready for eating. I sent Lily home with beets and carrots and I kissed all of the children when they were buckled into the van and told them I loved them and kissed their mama too. 

She is such a good mama. I am so grateful she lets me take those boys for no other reason than that I need some Owen and Gibson therapy. 

And I needed it today. 

My ashe magnolia has a bloom on it. 

This morning it was still a bud. 

Beauty can be brief and transient. Best to note it and enjoy it while we can. 

I've talked enough. 

Blah-blah-blah. 

Have I mentioned lately that Luna, The Oldest Cat In The World, is still alive? 

She is. 

Sigh. And sigh again. 

All Love...Ms. Moon

Home Again

That's how blue the sky was this morning in Apalachicola and there are four people whom I love with all of my heart. The place we were staying is a restored cotton warehouse and mercantile, I believe, with a wonderful shop downstairs while upstairs is now four beautiful suites, each one with a complete kitchen and enough room to graciously live in.
It was a good 24-hour trip. Last night we had one of the most incredible dinners I've ever eaten and I have eaten some incredible dinners. The fisherpeople had caught grouper and sea bass and the restaurant right next door to where we were staying allows you to bring your catch in and they will cook it for you and so that's what we did.
I loved our waiter. He was gracious and smart and not the least bit obsequious and he worked with us and the kitchen to give us exactly what we wanted and then a whole lot more.
We got the sea bass sauteed with capers and artichoke hearts and it was absolutely perfect. The grouper we had two ways- blackened and grilled. Both as good as anything I've ever tasted. Everything was served family style- the garlic mashed potatoes, the basmati rice, the steamed vegetables. So, so perfect.
Of course the freshness of the fish had a lot to do with it but the chef did it all royal justice. Simple, elegant, lovely.
The Owl Cafe in Apalachicola, y'all. If you're in the area, go dine there. You won't regret it, even if you don't take your own fish. I promise. And save room for dessert.

This morning we ate our breakfast and strolled around town a little bit and went and walked on our property which Mr. Moon and his sister staked out this past week as to the footprint of the house.
This is getting real. Really real.
We stopped at Cafe con Leche and got coffee and then walked back to where we were staying. I packed up and came on home and all is well in Lloyd. I have the sprinklers on the garden and the baby chicks are alive and thriving, thanks to Hank who spent the night. I've unpacked and am just taking it easy, enjoying being home. It's supposed to get down into the forties tonight which will be very nice. This weather is about as perfect as Florida weather can get.

My heart is full of a lot of things and my mind is too. Mr. Moon will be home again tomorrow and it will be good to have him back. I was glad to be able to go to Apalach and spend time with some of my sweeties. It was such a joy being around August for an entire day. That boy shrieks like a seagull, like a pterodactyl, with joy and merriment and the goodness of life. He slobbers on my face, he explores my necklaces and bracelets, he carefully examines his grandfather's beard with great thoughtfulness. He flirts, he hugs, he bounces, he hides, he laughs out loud. He studies things with those big brown eyes and he is busy every second that he is awake. He is afraid of nothing and has no reason to be, having been cherished and loved on every second of his life. He is learning to eat- acorn squash and homemade applesauce from Vergil's mama's apples so far- but his mama's milk is still his favorite.

I feel a great and very real sense that as he is beginning the very first chapters of his life, I am living out the very last ones of mine. I am not at the end yet, but the end is something I can see from here.
This is a sobering thought and I want to make the very best of those years, whatever that means. I really have no idea but I am quite certain, as always, that the very core of them must be love in whatever ways it presents itself.

Oh, how wise I thought I would be by the age of almost sixty-two.
Oh, how silly I was to think that.

Yours in Love...Ms. Moon Who Really Does Not Know Shit

Apalachicola

River view. Lots of seagulls. 

Jessie and August and I have been hanging out all afternoon while Mr. Moon and his sister and Vergil have been fishing on the deep blue sea. 

We ate about five pounds of fried scallops, oysters, and shrimp for lunch. It was delicious. August sat in a high chair for the first time ever. 

Mostly he just wanted to chew on the table. He keeps looking at me like, You're still here! Amazing!"

We went shopping. I bough August a toy. He's having a good time. 

Soon the fisher people will be back and we'll all go to supper. It will be fun. 

It's right pretty here. The golf cart-with-dogs-thing still seems to be popular. We just watched a shrimp boat coming in with approximately four thousand seagulls and six pelicans following it. 

They were clamoring. And not for attention. 

That's the news. 

Love...Ms. Moon

I'm Probably Not Normal

All right. I am leaving my beautiful little piece of paradise to drive down to Apalachicola for the night which is another little piece of paradise but you know me...anxiety much?

All I have to do is tidy up things around here, taking a shower and pack an outfit or two and that just seems impossible. How ridiculous I am!

Anyway, I better get moving.

I'll report in from the coast.

Happy Friday, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon

Dear Mr. Moon- This Is What I've Been Doing With My Time And Our Money Since You've Been Gone

Well, if I am a bit bi-polar, I sure do love the days when I'm feeling good.
Today was one of those days.
Jessie and I went to two plant nurseries and we let old August tag along because we kind of like him and although he still isn't house-trained, he's pretty good company.
That boy...
He's been kissed so many times in his young life that if you lean in to him, he'll plant those pretty little lips right on yours. Or your face. Whatever.
And he had a great day, being outside and seeing all of the pretty plants and flowers and getting compliments and swoons from ladies everywhere.

Here he is posing with the rare and endangered Farmosaurus. Wouldn't that dinosaur look good in my garden? Yes. Yes he would. 

Jessie has the fever to get her yard tidied up and more filled with good growing things and so we were on the hunt for bananas for her to plant as well as things for a butterfly garden. We went to the biggest local nursery and she bought various butterfly and hummingbird attractors but their bananas were a bit pricey so we saved that purchase for the next place we went.
I bought things too. I've been wanting to put something in next to one of the sheds on the property which gets quite a bit of sun, right next to the spirea. I had though I might want some different colored phlox than the ones I have growing everywhere or perhaps some pretty canna lilies but then I saw the roses and I just felt all dreamy and drifted around like a butterfly myself, sniffing this blossom and inhaling that one and I settled on a Louis Philippe which is an antique rose meaning it doesn't need all the pruning and fertilizing and pest control that newer hybrids do. Plus, this yard just doesn't seem suited to the more formal roses but rather to the blowsy, free-growing ones. I dug a hole and planted it and I surely hope it does well.

I intend to mulch it with a good layer of leaves and I watered it in good. 

Okay. So. A rose. No big deal. That's not mania, right? 

But then I saw a collection of succulents planted in various containers. For some reason, I've been drawn to the succulents recently in a big way and even bought three little ones at the Walmart when I was there a few days ago. 

But these- oh, be still my heart. 

So I had to buy this one.

I mean...I MEAN...what could I do?

And there was Jessie, not just being an enabler but an encourager. 

"Mama," she said. "Just buy it."

My children have always been the boss of me. This is just the way it is so I did buy it and there it is on my kitchen porch on top of a clay vase that I've never figured out a use for but it makes a pretty nice pedestal for that lovely hen and hopefully, will prevent my real chickens from pecking it to bits. 

We moved on to the next nursery where we got two banana plants for Jessie and I ended up buying two Coumbine baby plants that I wanted because they remind me of maiden hair fern, my favorite. I planted them on either side of the Buddha by Elvis's grave in the front yard in the rotting hollow log I've been planting things in for a few years. 

Buddha seems cool with that. Buddha seems cool with everything. 

I also bought a huge new porch plant that I've put in the pot where I just removed a split-leaf philodendron that I've been growing for about thirty years and which has given me countless babies to repot and/or pass on. I did not just throw that mother plant away of course. I am not heartless! It has grown so leggy and fragile lately but I've planted it in the real, true dirt and hope to be giving it a second life. We shall see. Meanwhile, the new plant looks very much like a split-leaf philodendron itself and may well be one but a smaller-leafed one. It just charmed the hell out of me. 

I promised Jessie that I'd split it up and give both her and Lily a piece of it but when I took it out of its plastic nursery pot it was way too pot bound for me to even consider doing that. Its roots are as tangled and twisted as the neurons in my brain and I am no surgeon. But I think that if I'm patient, it will eventually give me some of its new babies to share and I will. 

One thing I've learned over the years, not just from experience but from the words and advice of other gardeners is that gardens and yards take patience. You put in plants and hope they'll grow there and if they do, great! Plant more of the same in the same location if they please you. And if they don't thrive there, move them somewhere else where the light and soil requirements will be more suitable. Hopefully. It takes years to figure out this shit and I have no more understanding for people who just hire a service to come and landscape their yards than I do for people who hire interior decorators to set up their library. Every plant in my yard that I've put in has a memory, a story, a history. They all mean something to me. Ferns that were dug up in the woods when I first started walking in Lloyd which I planted and which have thrived. Camellias that we planted as mere twigs which are now taller than I am. Palms that I have bought and planted or were given to me. The phlox that my neighbor at my former house gave to me as babies, so tiny that their roots were hair-like. My darling Sue-Sue's day lilies. The azaleas I put in so long ago and which are now, finally thriving after surviving all the years of being pissed on by dogs too lazy or old to get more than a few feet away from the back door. Plants I've rooted, plants I've transplanted, plants I've bought. Plants I started and carried with me from decades ago. 

And there are so many things growing here that were here when I moved in. Not only the giant oaks and magnolias but a few roses, the tea olives, the bananas, the trillium, the tung trees, the azaleas which have probably bloomed here since before Christ lost his foreskin. 

The older I get, the more I love this dirt, this yard, these plants. I'm not sure I've ever appreciated a spring as much as I am appreciating this one. And perhaps I've never appreciated the idea of the great gift of leaving beautiful growing things to survive me when I go. 

It's a bit like having grandchildren. You look at them and you realize that a bit of you will survive long after your death, just as I carry what my ancestors have given to me. 

We don't plant Live Oaks for ourselves. We plant them for those who will come after us. 

My grandchildren or someone else's. 

I remember talking to old Mrs. Miller when she was alive. The woman who lived across the street who had grown up in Lloyd and spent years in this house as a child.

"That yard has never looked better than it does now," she told me. 

I wish she could see it this spring. I think she would approve. 

Love...Ms. Moon

More Dancing

It's a beautiful, beautiful day and clear and cool and my world is lovely but that's not what I came here to talk about. In fact, I don't need to talk at all.
Ellen said it. I believe it.
Love...Ms. Moon


L