We ate outside for lunch today and the babies got to play on the patio for a few minutes before they were corralled into their high chairs. Maggie seemed to want to find out whether or not August's face would come off but no one was hurt and August didn't seem to mind a bit and Maggie seemed to get a lot of pleasure out of the attempt.

She seems to get a lot of pleasure out of everything, that delicious little goof. 

After lunch we went to Publix- three carts, two babies, one boy. August seemed to have the very best time of all. 

It's so odd when I am deep in the anxiety. I feel wrapped in something that I can barely see through, can barely feel through, but the smiles of these babies gets in. They do.

Lily sent this picture of Gibson who fell asleep waiting for his brother at the bus stop with his mama and his sister. 

Pre-K can be tough on a guy. When Lily asked him what he did in school today he said, "Science."

How I love these children. 

Even in the sharply painful fog of this day, they have brought me joy. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Blah, blah, blah

Another day as pretty as it can be and I'm just...crazy.

Oh well. What else is new?

Spent about an hour trying to find a repair person to come look at this machine. My neighbor recommended a guy and I called him and he can get here tomorrow. He's a one-man business, I believe, and let's just go with that.

I've had a sort of headache for two days and it feels like there's something sloshy in my head. It's probably sinus or whatever and it's not so bad but it's adding to the general feeling of malaise I have, a sense of not-right and the great problem with anxiety is that you never know if anxiety is causing you to feel not-right or if you're feeling anxious because you're not-right or if you're seriously fine and just anxious, and anxiety, being the deceiver we know it to be is telling you that you're not-right.

There are some fine lines there, I admit but if you've ever experienced anxiety, you know the neighborhood.

Anyway, la-di-dah and I'm going to town to go to Publix and I'm thinking that at this point, the Republican party is like some sort of hideous reduction sauce of all of the worst of the worst who have remained to defend their nominee and by the time it's over, there will be nothing in the pan but some burnt crust of lifeless carbon, the flame underneath still raging.
Perhaps it's nothing more than a purification ritual.
Who knows?
Not me.
I don't know shit.

Love...Ms. Moon

Bless The Mothers, Bless Their Babies

Jessie brought her boy out to see her daddy and mama today and we had a very fine time with them. Now- let me stop right here. A momentous thing happened last night in that both Lily and Jason witnessed Magnolia June taking three steps at a time.
As in- she is starting to walk.
But August, who is three months older than his cousin, has no interest in walking whatsoever. He can rise from a sitting position to stand all by himself but when he wants to get from one place to another he does a crab crawl like none other I've ever seen and he is fast and except for getting his hands dirty as he goes, there seems to be no reason whatsoever (in his mind, at least) that he should simply walk. Now, I can't wait for him to start walking because he's such a skinny little monkey and when he does start walking he's going to look so adorable because all babies look like drunken monkeys when they walk and he's going to be the cutest little skinny drunken monkey on the planet.
Perhaps he knows this and is preserving his dignity whereas Maggie just wants to keep up with her brothers and is not overthinking the situation.

So. Okay. We have this little Radio Flyer push trike sort of a thing out here that I believe my ex-husband and his wife gave us when their grandchildren had outgrown it, knowing that I had grands who could and would appreciate it. I gave it a quick wipe-down with the Fabuloso-vinegar-water spray today and we offered it to August for his enjoyment. He was so excited about it that he almost leapt from his mother's arms and when he finally got to it, he figured out everything he could do with it in about one minute.

This included standing on the seat and dare-dogging it. He rode it, he pushed it.
He loved it.

He figured out how to sling a leg over the seat and to get on or off it. He was the boss of that thing. 

Before he and Jessie left, I cleaned his hands of the Lloyd black dirt but he got them dirty again, escaping from the kitchen and making his way back to the porch and back to the trike. 

So he was amused and we were too. 

His Boppy babysat for him while Jessie and I went down to the Subway next to the Flannery O'Connor convenience store and got lunch which we brought back and ate as a picnic in the backyard. 

It was just the most beautiful day and the kind of day that makes you want to hit the road on a trip down long and interesting highways with no destination in mind, or perhaps to take a ride out on a river. Something. Anything.

But we stayed here and that was okay, too. We discussed the washing machine situation and Mr. Moon called a repair service and dammit, it costs so damn much to have someone come out and replace the shit that's broken that it's hardly worth it and I think we're going to end up buying a new one and, researching the blog, I believe that washer is only about five years old and that's a fucking sin. 

I don't know. 

Anything beyond picking out what sort of a sandwich I wanted was just too overwhelming for me today so we haven't done anything about it and have spent the entire day doing not much of anything beyond playing with that boy.

Well, that's all right. 

He's a good boy to play with and it was proven today that he is as happy as he can be out here in Lloyd with his grandparents and so he needs to start hanging out a little bit more and maybe giving his mama and his daddy some time off. 

It's not like we don't have any toys or anything interesting to look at or do. It's like a damn day-care around here plus, petting zoo, plus library. And snacks. Plenty of snacks. And porches to swing on and rock on and hang out on and mermaids to look at. August was fascinated by my mermaids, probably because they all have bare breasts. 

Or as we call them- nurseys. 

He's just such a delightful child, as all of my grandchildren are, and when he left he was holding a feather we found in the yard by the car and had tickled him with and was tickling his own head with it, and also a giant bear which I gave him because we have three giant bears and god knows, nobody needs three giant bears and he loved it.  

Despite all the joy he brought us, I have felt a bit under the weather and low-spirited and so have made a pot of garbanzo bean and everything soup, and have some bread rising. The laundry is piling up and I should have taken the garbage and recycle today but did not. 

Well, so it goes and so it is and tomorrow I guess we'll go buy some new expensive crap washing machine that'll get us through another five years and tonight I'll get in my bed and read some more of Springsteen's autobiography which I am very much enjoying. 

One more thing: 

It appears to me that every famous guitar player who ever lived had a mother who bought him his first guitar. They may have been cheap guitars, they may have come from the Sears and Roebuck, or they may have come from the Western Auto but by god, those women went out and spent every penny they did not have on an instrument for their kid and to a man, every one of those guitarists remember those guitars with almost obscene pleasure and are beyond grateful to their mamas. 

And oh yeah- almost all of these begged-for purchases were inspired by Elvis Presley's first appearance on Ed Sullivan. Or the Beatles. 

And that's your fact for the day from me. 

Love...Ms. Moon

From The Damned To The Sublime

I knitted obsessively last night as I watched D. Trump loom and stalk around that stage, snorting and sniffing, lying and threatening.
If I ever do finish that baby blanket, I'm going to have to sage it before I let it be used to cover an innocent child.

It's so good to have my sweetheart home. I mean, Maurice is fine to sleep with but it is such a comfort to reach over and touch the sleeping warmth of my husband in our bed. It got chilly last night and we both slept well and we both slept late. Since he works out of a bank which is closed for Columbus Day (and no need to educate me on the inappropriateness of having a Columbus Day-you're preaching to the choir here), he could take it easy this morning and I made us a huge pot of oatmeal with apples and raisins in it, and he figured out how to get my washing machine unlocked so that I could at least get the drenched clothes out of it and onto the line, and Jessie and August are coming out for a visit.

It's a beautiful day and I'm just so grateful for it.

Here are Dotty, Darla, and Nicey 2 who have finally made their way a few yards from the hen house to scratch along the red passion flower protected fence line.

Owen and I discussed these chickens' names yesterday and he wanted to give them all "nicknames." So, we have settled on Dotty Begotti, Darla Star, and Nicey Two Two.

I wonder if he finished writing his book.

Love...Ms. Moon

A Day

It was such a different dynamic having just Owen and Magnolia here today. Of course. We had a lot of fun and it was so wonderful getting to spend some one-on-one time with my boy Owen. I mean, Maggie was here of course but she's not very demanding when it comes to our conversations and activities. She's the sweetest little monkey and being able to watch Owen with her made my heart so happy. I remember before she was born and right after and how absolutely blissed out he was, first by the idea of having a baby sister and then, with the reality of her and I wondered if he'd tire of being a big brother. If the novelty would wear off.
But no. Not at all. As we were playing with her today, patty-cake and eensy-weensy-spider and this-little-piggy and making her laugh, I said, "Isn't this a wonderful age for a baby?"
And he said, "Yes! It is! But when she's one, it's going to be even better!"

And oh, how she loves him.

We walked up to the post office and down a shady road and whenever Maggie would fuss, Owen would simply walk in front of the stroller and talk to her and she'd settle and then laugh. 

It's not like anything I've ever seen- this love between them- and Gibson is the same way with her. When I was a child, I was the oldest of four kids and the only girl and I can remember so clearly wishing I had a big brother. 

And seeing this little girl with her big brothers, knowing that they will be watching out for her, loving her, her entire life, just gives me a feeling of great peace in my soul. 

There were snacks and the walk and feeding the goats and chickens and Owen wanted to play Monopoly which we've always played simply with a dice and our little train or shoe, going around the board, but today I told him we'd play the real game. I counted out the money and put the cards on the board and tried, as simply as possible, to introduce the idea of buying property and collecting rent. He got it pretty quickly and before I knew it, this child who has no idea how to count money owned three railroads and both utilities as well as other properties and was beating the living crap out of his grandmother. 

Sigh.

So it was a very good day and I not only appreciated the time with Owen but also, the time with my granddaughter who is just so happy and so fine. Sometimes she smiles so big that her eyes squeeze shut and she claps her little hands and chatters away in Maggie-Tongue and she fell asleep in my arms this afternoon while I rocked her and sang to her. 

I took them home when Jason got off work and while we were in the car, Owen started writing a book on Post-It notes. The first chapter was this: "It was a dark and stormy night."

I am not kidding you. 

The second chapter was, "Someone was there."

The third chapter was, "It was Snoopy."

He told me that he plans to write ten chapters. 

That boy. 

Lily is very sick. And miserable. Her throat is so swollen that they gave her a steroid shot before they let her leave the clinic. Strep is the suckiest of sucks and I feel so sorry for her. I remember once when I was married to my first husband and we both got strep at the same time. Hank and May were still littles and we could barely pull ourselves out of bed to change a diaper or make a peanut butter sandwich. I mean- it was fucking traumatic and I'm just glad we all survived.

But. We did. And so will Lily and who knows who'll get it next? Not only is strep the buggeriest bacteria but it may be the most contagious. 

Sigh and sigh again. 

Life. 

My man is home and he's tired too. He brought me a beautiful turtle shell from the woods, bleached by time and rain to white sculpture. He knows me so well. 

We'll be watching the debate because how can you not? It's a nasty train wreck about to happen and my fondest hope is that Trump completely loses his shit and walks off the stage, out of the race, out of the running, and out of our lives. Not that Pence is one damn bit better. 

We shall see. 

Let's check in tomorrow, shall we?

Love...Ms. Moon

Life Is What Happens When You're Busy Making Other Plans

I had thought to have all the grandkids over for pancakes this morning but then Lily texted me that she was sick. Very sick. Fever, aches, chills, couldn't swallow her spit...
We all know what that means.
So I went over to her house and got the children and took Gibson to his other grandmother's so he could play with the darling Lenore and brought Owen and Maggie out here with me and pancakes and bacon were made and eaten and Lily went to the doctor and yes, she has strep.

That girl hasn't had a good day since she turned 31. I swear to god.

Anyway, all is well here in Lloyd where the brother and sister are happy and the day is gorgeous and life unfolds as it will and happy birthday, John Lennon.
I miss you every, every day.

Love...Ms. Moon

We Do Reap What We Sow

Don't I live in a pretty place and don't I have pretty chickens?
Yes. Yes I do.
I got that garden planted today. I planted collards, mustards, arugula (including a variety called "wasabi"and isn't that going to be delicious?), rainbow chard, winter kale, beets, carrots, Romaine, and a row of Mesclun.
It took me all afternoon due to the fact that it was 90-something degrees out there but I got it done and now the sprinklers are on it and I sure do hope it all comes up because damn! That was a lot of work.
Mr. Moon is going to laugh at the crookedness of my rows but I do not care. They are nicely spaced with enough room to walk between them and I'm as excited as an eight-year old to watch everything come up.
Well, you know, if it does.

I've spent some time today watching as the Republican party falls apart. It is odd that after everything Trump has said that it took the words "grab them by the pussy" to really create the horror and disgust necessary to cause the rats to flee the sinking ship. But I get it. There's just something so inredibly violent and wrong about the image those words describe.
Ugh. Not to mention that any woman who has ever been kissed or touched in places or ways that have made her feel demeaned or invaded or violated can't help but react in a visceral, immediate and passionately furious way. And I'd venture to say that a large majority of all women have been the victim of this sort of unwanted invasion in their lives at one point or another and most of us have shrugged a lot of these things off, thinking that surely we must have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time wearing the wrong clothes and somehow signaling that we were asking for it because why else would a man do that to us? And it wasn't...rape? Right? And we took the anger and sense of shame and confusion we felt and stuffed them up inside ourselves silently and I think that many women probably never admitted to themselves until the moment that they heard those words on the video that what had happened to them had been a real and hideous violation of their bodies. By not just an asshole but a complete monster who never once had a thought about the heart and the soul of the woman he was touching and thus, for that moment, claiming rights over them that they had no right to.  
And right there, on that tape, Trump revealed himself to be that monster. We all knew he was an ignorant asshole but he just kicked his ass up into the monster category and even his running mate realizes that.
It makes me laugh, all these Republican politicians calling for Trump to step down, to be replaced. It's too goddam late, motherfuckers! You created this situation and now you have to suffer the consequences. Or, as Bill Maher said, "Don't let Trump quit! You assholes voted for him, nominated him, handcuffed yourself to this dead hooker, now drag it to the finish line!"
Although I would not have used the word "hooker" in there. That's disrespectful to women, too, but I agree thoroughly with the gist of what he said.

So. That's been my day. Planting seeds and watching the seeds that the Republican party planted and nurtured so carefully for years come to fruition.

My seeds will feed me and my loved ones if I take care of them. The seeds that the Republican party planted have revealed themselves to be the horror that they are and they are finally realizing that it's too late to weed them out. The damage has been done.

Good luck with that, you hateful motherfuckers.

Love...Ms. Moon

Done

"Grab them by the pussy."

Grab them by the pussy.

That's it. I could sit here and write ten million words about what a horrible human being Donald Trump is but he said it all in those five words.

And you know what? Any person left in this country who still thinks that Donald Trump should be our president can go fuck themselves. There is absolutely no excuse, no rationalization, no way to make those words (and the ten million other ones he himself has uttered with his ugly little white boy entitled mouth) mean anything but what they mean.

You want to vote for Trump? You go ahead. You just proved that you're a racist, misogynist, ignorant asshole.

There. Those are my words.

Fuck. That. Shit.

Grab this, motherfucker. Just try.

Growth, Change, Taking A Breath

Lily posted this picture of Maggie on Facebook today because that little girl is NINE MONTHS OLD! Can you believe that? And look at her- she's becoming a little girl. Still plenty baby but not nearly as much of a baby as she was just a month or so ago. And of course, the tres chic denim miniskirt with leggings does add a great deal of maturity.
Oh god. My babies. My babies, my babies.

Here's another picture Lily posted the other day:

Do you remember those days? Four years ago when Owen was my tiny rockstar prince and Gibson was a baby. I looked at that picture and I cried. Of course I love seeing these children grow up. What kind of a monster would I be if I didn't? And yet...

It's like I always said about my own children- it's as if someone came and stole my babies and replaced them with these people. No one could love their people more than I do but god, I do love babies. The weight of them. The squish of them. The delicious nuzzley necks on them. The open-to-the-universe heart and eyes of them. Their delight in the simplest things. Their need for being held and cuddled. 

The other day I said to Owen, "Come here and let me hold you and pretend you're still my baby."

"Utn-huh," he said. "We're not doing that."

Lord, Lord, Lord. I have become a stereotypical grandmother and there's no way around it. 

"Well, let me kiss you on your head then," I said. And he let me do that. He's tolerant of his old Mer. Up to a point. 

So we went to a different restaurant today and it was good. A sort of Asian fusion buffet and they had what Gibson wanted which was shrimp and noodles and they had Mongolian beef, tofu AND eggplant as well as absolutely delicious egg rolls and soups and other very tasty dishes not to mention an entire little refrigerator/cooler with all sorts of incredible desserts including jello puddings, nutty-buddy ice cream cones, flan,  AND home made cheese cake. 

Well. Only in America, y'all. 

Make America great again? I don't think so. We ARE great. 

Here's a few more pictures. 

I love that little hand on Uncle Hank's shoulder.

Gibson posing after I told him that all the food on his face made him look like he had a beard, which I thought was quite attractive.

Maggie and her beautiful mother. 

 I came home to find red feathers and one cardinal head on the back porch. 

Really, Maurice? 

Then I went to do a load of clothes and now it would appear that my washing machine is broken and it's broken in locked position so I can't even get those clothes out of it. 

Ah well. 

All of the chickens are fine and put to roost and I've heard from my husband and all is well with him. There is so much going on in my state, my country, my planet, which is horrifying and scary but right now I'm just holding on to this which is good right here. 

There is a thin line between being selfish and being unattached in the Zen sort of way. I tend to believe that I am more selfish than Zen but at least I know there's a difference. 

We are finally getting some gusts of wind. I wouldn't mind some rain. 

Love...Ms. Moon

And I Am Feeling Twice My Age

Quiet and fairly still here. I just don't think this storm is going to have much to do with us. I hear that it's tracking a tiny bit east of where they thought it might which is giving the coast over there a little less in the way of wind and water but it's still a very dangerous storm and from what I can hear, the interstate is still humming.

We are in the negotiation phase of lunch- where, when, how? Hank's car isn't working, he's babysitting until 12:30, Gibson is running a fever and isn't in school but doesn't feel too bad and so should be okay to go to lunch but we can't kiss him.
And so forth.
It's always like this. It'll be good for me to get out though, go see my babies and I need to go by the store.

It's Friday.
Stay safe.

Love...Ms. Moon

Fretting

Well, alone again. Can't stay off the internet, torturing myself with updates on the storm and they're all just stomach-churningly horrible. I have so many friends on the other coast and I worry, I worry, I fret and I worry.
And that does no good.
The interstate which is about half a mile from my house has hummed all day with westward intent. What a time for the truck stop to be closed, eh?
And this just in: Disney World has closed for only the fourth time EVER!
Ever.

Right now it's still as a held breath in Lloyd, air-wise. I wonder if we'll get winds and rain. Probably. But honestly- we'll be fine.
I just have to stay busy and focused. And spend less time on the internet, of course. Between the politics and the hurricane, it's not doing me much good.
Or any good. Whatsoever.

I think I'll make a spinach and rice casserole because I'll get comfort in the making and in the eating. And tomorrow, if all goes okay, I hope to go to lunch with my babies because we haven't done that ALL WEEK LONG and I miss them.

Here are two pictures Jessie posted last night on FB of August, pretending that a chocolate bar is a cell phone.

Now. If that doesn't cheer me up, then I need to just go jump off a cliff.

All love...Ms. Moon

Nature Is A Very Broad Subject

This little wren has been visiting me on my back porch the past few days. I'd say she was looking for a nesting place (several little wren families have been raised here in the past) but isn't this NOT the time to build a nest and lay eggs?
Oh, I could look it up but I'm too busy looking up Hurricane Matthew and thank those of you who have inquired about it and its possible effects here. It is a monster, scary storm and I am very, very worried about the folks I know living on the east coast where it is supposed to hit and even the ones I know in Central Florida but it's not supposed to be too much danger for us.
And yet, I keep going out to speak to my husband as he puts the fence back up and is getting his things all packed up to leave for Georgia this afternoon, my anxiety obviously apparent, and he keeps reassuring me that it's all going to be fine, just fine. He even said at one point "not to worry so much" and then he laughed a little and said, "Who do I think I'm talking to?" and I laughed too but it wasn't really that fucking funny.
I'm sure he's right.
And I'm sure if I begged him to stay home, he probably would, probably being the key word there, and I don't want to find out that I'm wrong so I'm not going to do any begging.

Ah well. I need to just get on with life.
Here's a picture of some of the prettiest little flowers I see blooming right now. They are so determinedly orange and cheerful. I have no idea what they are but their vine leaves look like Morning Glories.

Otis keeps trying to mount Violet, the wind is gusting, and Maurice is watching it all. 

I need to get busy.

Love...Ms. Moon

Mindfully Grateful

Not a great shot by any means but I love how the red of Otis' comb and wattle is the same shade as the red of the passion flower blooming on the fence.

I've had the most laid-back day due to the fact that a guy was supposed to come inspect for wood-destroying organisms at three never has shown up or called and so I spent the entire late afternoon being lazy, reading, mostly. I texted Lily and Jessie that the most frustrating thing about it was that I wanted to take a nap but was afraid to fall asleep lest he show up and I didn't hear him and then I texted that that had to be the wussiest thing I've ever said in my life.
But I do wish I could have taken a nap. To be honest.

Last night Maurice slept with me again and this morning she was adamant that I get up when she thought it was time and after kissing me on the lips (yes, she does this) and gently nipping at my hands, she then jumped onto the bedside table and knocked off the lamp, which did not break, and my plugged-in phone, which did not break, but the charger it was plugged into did in fact break, the little part that sticks into the phone coming completely cracked off the base of the charger. I had to pull that little part out and the phone seems to be working fine but dammit, Maurice! you owe me for a charger! And it wasn't an off-market charger either It was an official Apple charger!

And I was just bragging on her last night because she hasn't drawn blood from me in over a week.

Why do we have pets? Why?

Anyway, the interview on Fresh Air with Bruce sort of restored my soul a little and I've felt more at peace today. If you can't get enough Bruce and didn't hear the interview, there's a link to it here.

And so it goes again. Another day. I've got chicken cooking with fresh pineapple and onions and cinnamon and I have jasmine brown rice simmering on a back burner, artichokes steaming on another. Mr. Moon will be leaving for Georgia tomorrow afternoon for more hunting activities and I'm hoping he gets the garden fence put back before he pulls out of Lloyd so I can plant my seeds and bedding plants. I will miss him and hope to have the garden all sown and lovely by the time he gets back. We are so late this year but it is what it is and maybe the mushroom compost will speed things along, or at least, support our efforts in positive ways.

Again, I have to say that I am as lucky as any woman on earth could possibly be, and luckier, by far, than most.

Love...Ms. Moon

And I Quote

"Physical pain?
Physical pain is my friend.
I pursue it every night for four hours. I'm a good Catholic boy."

Springsteen in response to Terry Gross's question on whether or not physical pain had contributed to his depression.

Springsteen Speaks

Another day, another walk. In the past eight days, I've walked six and am proud of that. Done crunches and stretches too. And I feel stronger.
But just as crazy.
Got twenty pages into the Springsteen autobiography. We all knew the man could bump some verbs and nouns together in a tasty way, as Juancho might say and I am not disappointed with his style, his voice, as he writes. By the age of seven he'd already been fucked up by an overly permissive grandmother, a drunken father and the Catholic church.
I always said that if you wanted to raise true artists, fuck 'em up as kids as much as possible.
Of course I didn't mean that but it does so painfully often seem to be true.

Well, Terry Gross is interviewing the man himself on Fresh Air right this second.

I think I'll listen.

That was the good thing today and although nothing really bad happened to me whatsoever, not me personally, it's been hard, so hard, and I'm quaking inside for no reason whatsoever except whatever it is which is making me quake.

What The Hell?

Woke up this morning with my anxiety-meter redlining for no reason whatsoever. I had strange dreams but nothing too scary and Maurice had spent the entire night with me close enough to touch and her eye is mostly healed and it looks normal again and I truly thought she was going to lose it or be blind at the very least, so that is good, and it's a beautiful cool day and so what? Why? How?
Fuck.
I don't know.

I did my crunches, my stretches, started laundry, downloaded a new book, took up my walking stick and headed out because what else do you do? Sit home and tremble?
Sometimes. Sometimes you do but if you can, it's best to move.
And so I did, down the sidewalk and onto the little path where the beautiful old house under the beautiful old trees sits, it's Make America Great Again: Trump! sign still there up next to the ancient wire fence.

The other day as we drove past the truck stop it looked closed and Mr. Moon told me that he'd driven past it the other morning early and no lights were on and so I went to explore that and sure enough.

I peeked into the windows and the shelves are bare as bones, the coolers and refrigerators empty as well. This is so weird. In the forty-something years I've either lived in or haunted this area, that place has been open. Nasty, dirty, bereft of any charm whatsoever, stinky, unwelcoming, with food (when the restaurant was open) that would hardly please a starving person but still- open.
You know?
This leaves the one convenience store and Subway right next to the truck stop open and that store is scarier than the truck stop ever was. No matter when you go in there you see the same employee- an old woman whom Flannery O'Connor might have been frightened by, her skin as blue pale as skim milk, her eyes somehow flat and wild, both, as if she were eternally and always being held hostage, as if she would simply discorporate if she so much as dared step outside the store, and I've always suspected she sleeps on a cot somewhere in the nethers of the place. And yet, she manages somehow to ring up the purchases made by unsuspecting travelers who have wandered off the interstate, the local people who have no transportation or other choice.

Oh, Lloyd.

Well. I walked and I walked and I sweated and I sweated and now I'm home and feeling no less anxious but tired, so I guess that's an improvement although it hardly feels like it.

I'm going to eat some lunch and shower and go to a nursery and buy my bedding plants, my seeds, even as I am thinking of Haiti and wondering if it will even be there after this storm passes, people living in tents still, all these years after the earthquake. I am thinking of how much damage the relatively mild storm which hit our area just over a month ago did and wondering how in hell life can be preserved when a storm with twice the windspeed covers an island where people live in such tenuous conditions on hillsides and beside crumbling walls.
I am thinking of so much today, too much, some of it close to home and some of it far away and wondering how we humans can go on, day after day, and yet- we do. We do.

We go on and we hold on and somedays we wake up and it's all right we felt tenderly held in the light and those days do come.

I wonder what's going to happen with the truck stop?
Like so many things- I have no control over that at all.

Love...Ms. Moon

You Don't Need To Walk On Water To Be A Miracle In My Book

I tell you what- this whole being physical and productive shit is killing me. I was doing great up until about four-thirty this afternoon at which point I thought I might die. But I did not die, as per usual, and got Mr. Moon on the road to auction with his snack bag and popcorn and kisses and admonitions to be safe and to text me when he gets there and so forth.
Because, you know how it is- the ONE TIME I forget to tell him to be safe, he won't be and it'll be MY FAULT.
That is in the Mother's Handbook which is issued to every woman when a baby she's either given birth to, adopted, or perhaps just came in contact with, triggers the delivery of. You've never seen a copy, you say? That's because you've never looked at a mother's DNA under an electron microscope. It's there. Trust me. And some of the stuff in it is transferable to being a wife, too.
Definitely for being a grandmother.
So. You see that darling girl? You know what I let her do today? I let her chew on a dead, dried up tiny worm.
Yes. Yes I did.
We were outside and she was chewing on something and so I did the mouth-sweep, as you do, and was horrified to discover not the leaf I was expecting, but a tiny curled-up worm jerky.
Oh Lord.
Well, good for her gut bacteria, right? What could possibly have more beneficial bacteria than a worm? Have you seen any of those yogurts or probiotics advertising themselves as having more beneficial bacteria than worm jerky?
No. You have not.
Because they don't.
I need say no more.

So I did my job as a grandmother today and also, I kept all three of the children alive which is not as easy as it used to be since Owen learned to climb trees and swing from the branches like Tarzan or a monkey.
Gibson is sick with jealousy that he can't climb the tree and desperately wanted me to put him up there and I not only refused, I told Owen that he had to come down because it was making his brother crazy but I don't think I fooled him. He knew exactly who was being made crazy.

But we had a good time and when I left, Owen said that I should tell Boppy that "Owen loves him," and then Gibson chimed in and said, "Me too. Tell him that Gibson loves him," and Maggie, safe and happy in her mama's arms actually reached out her arms to me and I held her one more time before I left, giving her one more chance to rip my earring out of my earlobe but I deftly avoided her quick grasp and handed her back to her mama, earlobe still intact, cheek kissed again.

And so, a day that started out well looks to be ending well and the little birds went outside the coop today and then went back in and I even took the trash and recycle and did laundry and I've washed my new nightgown for premium softness and oh, boy. I sure am looking forward to bed and my book.

I'd love to post a video Jessie sent me today of August demonstrating how to say "book" in both English and sign language but unless I post it first to Youtube, I can't figure it out and dammit, I just don't have the energy for that sort of foolishness tonight.
It's amazing and funny and as I was saying just a few weeks ago, no matter how many times I went through the normal development of a child with my own kids or saw it in my friends' kids, every time I see it again, it blows me away and makes me believe that each of my grandchildren are geniuses.
Which, of course, they are.

Which, of course, they all are.

We all are.

Love...Ms. Moon

Just Put On That Tail And Become A Mer!

It has been a terrific day so far and I'm not joking. I took a good walk and when I got to the Post Office, those two things were waiting for me. My Bruce book and my new sexy, hot, voluminous white cotton nightgown. I plan to spend many happy hours wearing my new sexy, hot voluminous nightgown in bed with Bruce.
Before I start the Bruce book though, I have to finish the one I'm reading which is an older Kate Atkinson book which is, in some ways, the funniest book I've ever read.

I can't describe it but I will say that Atkinson, as we all know, has a master's ability to deal with many levels of reality at once, braiding and twisting and revealing as she wishes. Dang. She's good. And, as I wrote my daughter May, who just finished the book, in some strange ways it reminds me of Larry McMurtry's novel, All Of My Friends Are Going To Be Strangers although on the surface one would never see the resemblance. Both books, however distant in time and space, portray the insanity of graduate English departments. Not that I'd really know but now I can certainly imagine. 

So. There you go. I'm not going to go buy seeds and plants today but am going to babysit three of my grands for awhile and I have to go to the grocery store. It is a beautiful day and whatever niggling worries I am carrying in my gut are controllable. When I was collecting my package at the PO, I inadvertently left my beloved walking stick which Mr. Moon made for me, beside the window and when I went back to get it, I discovered that the sweetest old man had given it to the post master for safe-keeping. He had longish white hair (think Will Geer) and was wearing tidy dark blue jeans and a crisp white shirt with suspenders and his eyes twinkled. 

Yes. A terrific day so far and I feel good and strong, albeit sore, but that's a fact of my everyday life and as long as I keep digging in the dirt and walking down the roads and paths, I'll be okay. 

Love...Ms. Moon

P.S. Jo shared a video on FB today which has brought me great joy. 

Here it is. May it bring you joy as well. And inspiration. 

The Topic Is Mostly Shit, Once Again

So, I thought, as I shoveled and toted and spread the mushroom compost today. What the hell is this shit?
I had a vague idea that it was the leftover material after mushrooms had been grown on it. It seemed to contain what I would have to call horse shit (I've shoveled my share of that, believe me), along with straw and, well, I didn't know. It smelled not poopy but a little acrid. I could smell ammonia. I could smell something almost like creosote. What was I putting on my garden?
I came in for a break because I had to take a break about every twenty minutes and I'm not kidding you. It feels lovely cool in the house but out in the sun working it was Sweat City. Not to mention that I'm sixty-two years old. Anyway, while I was on my break, I googled mushroom compost. 
Here's what I found on the all-knowing internet:

Spent mushroom substrate is the composted organic material remaining after a crop of mushrooms is harvested. Mushrooms are grown in a mixture of natural products, including horse-bedded straw (straw from horse stables), hay, poultry manure, ground corn cobs, cottonseed hulls, gypsum, and other substances.

Yep. That made sense. 

So. Between the two of us, Mr. Moon and I got all of it spread out on the garden and then Mr. Moon tilled it in and now I'm watering it in. As it is, just off the truck, it's too salty and intense to germinate seeds in, which would sort of negate the beneficial properties of it so it has to mellow a bit, as does horse shit or chicken shit. Oh god. Y'all don't need to know this. You really don't. And if you're a gardener you already do so I'll shut up now. 

About shit, anyway.

So now neither one of us can hardly walk and we're moaning and complaining about every movement we make and we're laughing, too, because GOD DAMN! how'd we get so old? Mr. Moon also worked on his deer blind project and smashed his thumb and I got stung by a wasp that had crawled into my glove to take a nap while I was taking a break. This is not the first time that's ever happened to me and it's my own stupid fault for not checking before I put them back on. Why a wasp would want to crawl into a nitrile coated glove, I do not know, but it happens. 

And so it goes. My anxiety got sweated out of me, mostly, and I have venison marinating and the laundry is put away and it's peaceful here in Lloyd. The chickens are having their last scratch-about before roost time. I opened the door to the big coop today to let the Darla, Dottie, and Nicey II go out to explore the world but I believe the very idea frightened them so much that they spent most of the day huddled in the baby coop. 
Them chickens ain't right. 

Maybe tomorrow I'll go buy my seeds and get those started in the ground. Maybe even a few already started plants, too, just to get things going. I am SO ready to start eating some fresh greens. I remember back when it was only in spring that I got the garden fever but these days, it seems to come on at least as strong, if not more so, in the fall. 

Let us all sleep well tonight, my dears and dream of green and tender things. 
Having said that, I'll probably dream about shoveling shit all night.
Well, there are worse things to dream of. Trust me. There's shit and then there's shit and horse shit is not that bad and good things can come forth from it.

Love...Ms. Moon

Blurry Reality. Typical For Sunday

My dreams were weird last night and this morning and so I've woken up to a knotted stomach, dream-driven anxiety. I hate that.
But. Time to work it out.
In the garden.

It's another beautiful day and I am thankful that Trump seems to be flailing and failing although I'm still scared shitless and I'm grateful that the sweet potato biscuits I made this morning were decent and I'm grateful that there are books to be downloaded from the library for free and I'm grateful I'm not religious and have the fear of GOD to worry about along with everything else I worry about (although wouldn't it be lovely to just be able to hand everything over to that god and have such faith that he would take care of everything, no problem, all will be well if not in this life, then surely the next?) and I'm grateful that the frighteningly powerful hurricane Matthew is not headed this way but I sure am worried about Haiti and Jamaica and Cuba.
As Mr. Moon and I agreed- if it were headed this way, we'd be scooting off to some place safer but what can you do when you live on a small island or an island where you have no transportation to escape the path of destruction?

Well.

Sunday.

I just watched little Miss Dearie fly OVER the wisteria arbor to land under the bird feeder.

I better get busy.

Love...Ms. Moon

Birthday Party For A One Year Old Boy

It was such a fun birthday luncheon with this little goof ball. Just...sweetness. Vergil grilled some burgers and squash and zucchini (is that redundant?) and there was potato salad and cole slaw and beans, guacamole, chips, salsa, and my personal favorite- pimento cheese!
And cup cakes.

The babies played with each other. Or, played next to each other. Or taunted each other with chips.

Or, sat on each other. 

(Possibly best picture ever taken.)

Okay. Only Maggie sat on August. Poor August. His little cousin is already dominating him. And is bigger than he is. And seems to completely bewilder him. But he had his moments in the limelight.

He was perfectly cool when it came time for his candle and his birthday song.

Here he is playing one of his favorite games. You put something on your head and pretend to sneeze and the thing on your head falls off. Hilarious laughter ensues.

The sweet family. 

 He loved his new kitty book.

And his new doll. When Owen saw it, he said, "Look! August got his own brother!" 

Speaking of Owen, here he is with with his daddy and his adoring sister. She loves her brothers more than anything on this earth. Well, except maybe for her daddy and mommy. She seems to like them too.

So it was just practically perfect. It would have been better if May and Michael could have come but they were working. 

Sigh.

I kept refusing offers of a beer while I was there because as I said, I had to come home and shovel mushroom compost. And then what happened when I got home? 

I got on the bed and stretched out in the cool with my book and read for a little while and then took a heavenly nap. When I got up, I did go out into the garden and picked peppers. 

I swear to god, y'all. It took me forty-five minutes to pick those peppers. But it wasn't very strenuous labor, I have to admit. 

Oh well. I can shovel compost tomorrow. Right? 

And here's my pinecone lilies.

At least I kept one of my promises. 

I do my best. 

Love...Ms. Moon, aka Mermer, Proudest Grandmother In The World And By The Way, Gibson, Who Is Only Four Years Old, Is Learning His Left From His Right. 

Are you kidding me? 

Brilliant grandchildren. Just brilliant. 

Babies, Men, And Other Amusing Things

Lily posted those pictures of Maggie on FB at about eleven last night.
Looking ready for bed, right?
Oh my god. I can't believe how that little squishling is growing up. She just loves life, that one.

I'm loving life well enough this morning. It's actually chilly. As in- I'm wondering where my slippers are. Also, the mushroom compost delivery truck is here. Mr. Moon took down some of the fence last night so that the guy can dump the compost directly into the garden which is going to save us countless hours of work. It's still going to be a lot of work, but not as much.

That's one pile. There's another. They're both steaming in this cool morning air. I'll be sweating by the time the afternoon is over, you can count on that. As soon as we get back from August's little party I'll be putting my overalls on and getting out there with a shovel. 

The pinecone lilies are beautiful right now. They are at maximum scarlet. 

I need to cut a few and bring them in to put in a vase. I doubt anyone but me even knows they're out there. Mr. Moon does the big picture thing. He looks out at the yard and sees whether or not the grass needs cutting. I look out into the yard to see what shy thing might be blooming. 

Speaking of which- he's out there now, mowing. He's on GO this morning and has been since before I got my sleepy ass out of bed. He's got a deer blind building project with a deadline that he's trying to get to.

No. The trip to Canada was not the only hunting he's got planned for the year. Of course not! He's also got the hunting camp up in Georgia and I don't even know what all. 

Ah lah. I love that man. 

So that's the news from Lloyd this morning. Yard mowing, mushroom compost spreading, birthday party attending, deer blind building. 

And so forth.

What's going on at your place?

Love...Ms. Moon