I Never Left The Yard Today

I swear to god, I have been the most useless human being on the face of the planet today.
No walk because it was raining and no yard work for the same reason. I did go out and check the garden's progress because that's a big part of my day every day.

Those are the just-up cucumbers.

The very first sugar snap pea I've found. Look at that perfect little envelope of goodness. The hull is as sweet as the pea. No waste in this particular vegetable. In fact, the vines themselves are so delicious that it's hard not to eat them up before they can bloom and make peas. 

The green beans. They are standing as straight and sturdy as little green soldiers lined up for inspection. Do you see their tendrils? Soon they will find the fence in their miraculous way and grab on tight so that the plants can climb up. I am trying a new variety of green beans this year. They are a type of pole beans called Roma which Vergil's mama told me about. They are the flat kind of bean and supposedly they stay as tender as can be, even when they get big. 

Looking forward to that. 

So. See? This gives the illusion that I did something today. 

She gardens!

Not today, people. Not today. 

I dusted one surface. I cleaned the TV screen. 

That was my entire housekeeping effort. 

I ironed. You want to know why I ironed? Because I wanted to watch the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills and ironing was the only way I could rationalize doing that. I should be ashamed to admit this but I am not. While ironing I realized that my husband's shirts are in need of replacement. They might still look good from a distance (all ironed and shit) but up close you can see the wear. So I ordered him three new shirts. It's not easy finding Mr. Moon new clothes. I ordered these shirts from the Eddie Bauer Tall Man department because he's gotten shirts from there before but their Tall Man department is for men up to 6'3" and Mr. Moon is at least 6'8". So I got short sleeved shirts and am hoping for the best. Most of his height is in his legs but his arms are proportionate to his legs and that's always a problem. 

When we were young and I was sassy and we'd first started "dating" I realized that everywhere we went, people asked him how tall he was. 

Mostly women. 

So I got him a T-shirt and on it I had these words printed:

Six Ten and Well Proportioned. 

For some reason, he never would wear that shirt. 

Maybe it wasn't big enough. 

So. What else did I do today? 

Mmmmm...

Changed the chick bedding and gave them collard greens and grapes and clean water. 

Would you look at that cute little wing? 

And did I do anything else? 

No. No I did not. 

Well, okay. I ate breakfast and lunch. 

And thought about making a curtain and considered the fact that I'd have to like, measure and cut and shit and thought, "Nah. Too much work."

So we will just call this a resting day and try to do better tomorrow. 

Here's one more picture. 

Jack. He's my big, fat cat who likes to sit behind me on the chair I perch on and keep my butt warm. He is truly getting huge-ish. He got on the piano today and made so much noise walking down the keyboard that I had to go and check to make sure that some unauthorized adult human wasn't making that sound. Each foot that he put down made a note that resonated through the hallway, up the stairs, and into the Glen Den, dining room, library and kitchen. Even Maurice was startled. Jack himself appeared to be a bit disconcerted. 

He's a good boy except when he tries to beat up my darling Maurice. 

All right. Now I'm going to go cook something. In three days my husband will be home and August is going to spend the night on Friday and all three of Lily's kids are possibly spending the night on Saturday. April 13th is the anniversary of Lily and Jason and Jessie and Vergil and the Weatherfords are going to a concert and the Hartmanns are going on a little CRUISE!

Ten years for them. 

Can you believe it? 

They deserve it. 

But. Things are going to get busy around here again and I guess I need to just let my guilt go and realize that having a day where I did nothing was probably good for me in many ways. 

Or so I tell myself. 

Love...Ms. Moon

An Extremely Typical Ms. Moon Post

I am not feeling so great this evening.
It may have been my walk this morning. I did not walk an entire five miles but I walked fast. Faster than usual, actually, because I wanted to get home and take a shower and go pick up Lily and Maggie which I did. We had lunch and grocery shopping planned and had to be at the boys' bus stop in time to pick them up. So. Shorter, faster walk.
And it felt fine when I was doing it but fuckin' A. I'm not going to lie to you- I hurt now.
Also, it's probably going to rain tonight and that can often make my poor old joints ache more than usual.
Bitch, bitch, bitch.
Here's something beautiful.

That's my orange-blossomed native azalea, finally blooming. It does not get enough sun there but it persists in living and I guess that's what matters most. It's a big deal to me every year when it blooms and when the aged water oak which shades it finally falls over, it will get plenty of sun. 

Here's another picture of something beautiful. 

Or actually, someone. 

She'd let her mama do up her hair in little pig tails today and she was simply adorable. She is really starting to talk a lot in actual English. She must have asked to go see August at least a dozen times but August and Levon and Jessie all seem to have a little bit of a cold and so they stayed home today. This is Levon's first illness of any sort and that's got to be hard on a baby. And on a baby's mama.

I try so hard to tell Maggie how smart she is, how funny, what a good singer she is but I can't help telling her that she's beautiful and cute and adorable and precious and pretty. 

I just can't help it. And I know that's not what I'm supposed to do. We shouldn't put so much emphasis on looks but the words just fly out of my mouth. Those eyes, those lips, that curly hair! That darling little nose. Those pudgy little fingers. That Frida Kahlo eyebrow! 

UGH! Magnolia June! Stop being so damn gorgeous! And loving. And kissy and huggy and stop doing things like putting your dollies to sleep in the cradle your Boppy made for your mama when she was born!

No. Not really. I want her to be exactly who she is and she is mighty sassy too. 

When she tucked those dolls in yesterday, Gibson started to get into the cradle with them and she yelled at him. 

"No Gibson! Not YOURS!"

And he backed off. 

He's a smart boy. And Lily corrected me today on what he said yesterday when he got off the bed to go do something. He did not say, "Sorry, Ladies." He said, "Excuse me, my ladies!"
Which is even so much better. 

The baby chickens are all doing well. I bought grapes for them at Publix today and a few minutes ago I chopped up some beet greens and four grapes and put them in their little pen. 

They love greens and grapes. 

I am going to clean out the tractor coop in the big coop tomorrow and perhaps put the jungle fowl in there. Those birds are insane. I cannot wait to see who they turn out to be. If they really are any of the breeds that they were advertised as, they could really be interesting. To get an idea of how energetic and chaotic twelve young chickens in a Pack'n'Play can be, watch this video that I made for August who asked if I would do that. 

And that's about it. Mr. Moon reports that he and our partner in the Dog Island house have fixed and repaired and cleaned a whole bunch of stuff down there including pipes and showers, did some maintenance work on the vehicle which gets us from dock to house, and scrubbed out the refrigerator. Good work, men!

And of course I MUST mention that the FBI raided the office and Park Avenue hotel room today of Donald Trump's lawyer, Michael Cohen. You've heard that, right? And so of course we'll be bombing Syria within forty-eight hours because there's nothing like a good war to distract the citizenry from presidential investigations.
Except for maybe when the investigation includes allegations from a real and true certified porn star who not only has huge breasts but appears to have an even bigger brain and absolutely no fear of the power of the presidency.
I mean- what could be sexier than that?

Oh god. The world is in a damn mess.

I'm going to bed early tonight.

Love...Ms. Moon

Pancakes And Smitty's Club And A Lot Of Stuff Inbetween

Well, I did not get around to the Smitty's post this morning due to the fact that I decided to invite Lily and her kids over for brunch this morning. But hey! I got to hang out with that darling little doll.

She has the most wonderful expressions. And her face changes from one second to the next so quickly that I just can't keep up with what she's thinking.
Isn't she just a peach and a plum of a little girl? Yes. Yes she is.

Here's Gibson, that handsome lad, holding one of the baby chicks. He has picked out the newest Dearie. He's a pro by now, not only at naming chicks but at holding them too. As the chick protested at little bit, he looked up and said, "He's dancing! It tickles!" 

He's so funny, that kid. Later on we were all lying on my bed reading a book and suddenly Gibson remembered something he had to do somewhere else. 

"Sorry, Ladies!" he said to me and his mama. "I have to go!"

Ladies? Only Gibson. I hear that he also told Jason's doctor the other day that he couldn't believe that his dad was getting ROCK HARD ABS! 

Jason has been working out a lot. 

And so we had a good time except that we missed Owen who is now gainfully employed by his other grandmother on weekends doing chores for her. 

Man. I should have thought of that. 

When they left I had so much to do, it seemed. Getting the kitchen cleaned up and the house tidied and laundry done. I'd already changed the chicks' bedding and given them fresh food and water. I am so proud of the fact that I can do all of this without removing the chicks from the Pack'n'Play. My four years of nursing school training has come in handy for something after all. I remember how to change a bed with someone in it! Well, at least with baby birds in it. 

And I watered the porch plants and I got out in the garden and did a little weeding and mulching and planted some more cucumbers and some squash. Golly but the garden looks pretty right now. 

And there went my entire day. But it was worth it. Of course. 

I keep checking on the babies, as one does, and although I had not forgotten how incredibly messy they are, spreading their food around everywhere and getting it in the water and pooping and pooping and pooping, I had forgotten just how fast they grow. It's frankly bizarre. I mean, there are chicks that have tiny little pinfeather wings who did not have them this morning. 

No. Really. Tail feathers appear as if by magic. 

So all of this has kept me busy but what I wanted to write about is that I got some pictures yesterday in my e-mail from a man who had commented on a post I wrote ten years ago. And you can find that post HERE.  

It was about a place that was a big part of hippie Tallahassee life and lore back in the seventies and eighties. A juke joint out in what used to be the boonies but is now completely developed with a fucking Target down the road. 

It was called Smitty's Club and I'm not going to go through all of the history of it again- I did that in my original post and in it, I said that I did not have any pictures of Smitty's or of Smitty from that time. 

Well, now I do. 

The man who sent me pictures, Terry Van Brunt, was one of the founding members of the band called Smitty's Band who rehearsed in Smitty's basement and who played at the club. 

And this is one of the pictures. 

And I was slayed. That's Smitty's band and some of Smitty's family with Smitty right in the middle. Seeing this picture hurled me back a million years and looking at those faces, so young and beautiful, absolutely blew me away. Terry Van Brunt is the guy in the back row, farthest right. 

I have side stories with some of these folks. The woman holding the little boy gave me thermal underwear before I moved to the house not far from here that we rented for $75 dollars a year which had no running water and walls that you could see the outside through and god did I need those thermals. That little boy grew up to be an amazing drummer and his daddy is in the back row to the right of Smitty. The first weekend I lived in Tallahassee I went to a local music festival and he was running a booth that sold egg rolls. His business was called "One Hung Low" which yes, is horribly racist but I'll never forget it and he certainly meant nothing evil at all. 

The guy on the extreme left is a man I still know and run into occasionally. He's a drummer. I showed this picture to Jessie and she knows him too. That's Smitty's son, Mac, on the back row to the left of Smitty and his son and his wife next to him. 

And that guy in the front? The kid? The pretty one. 

That's Floyd. 

I think I've written about Floyd before. He was a guitar prodigy. A child genius when it came to music. And he was so lost. 

His mama died when he was quite young and she was beloved and I don't think he ever got over that. When I met him, he was a little bit older than he was in that picture and he was stumbling drunk and probably tripping at a different club in Tallahassee where my ex, Jerry, had been playing with Bill Wharton whom I know I have talked about. Floyd almost stepped on Bill's guitar or maybe he did and instead of cursing him out, Bill said, "Floyd, you got your guitar out of the pawn shop yet?"

"Not yet," said Floyd. 

"Well, how about we go down there tomorrow and get it out and you start playing with us?"

That's the kind of man Bill Wharton was. 

Is. 

And so Floyd became a member of the band family and we tried so hard to take care of him. So hard. He was such a beautiful, lost soul. One of my favorite memories of him was from one night when the band was playing down in a bar in Panacea, Florida (and that's a whole book in itself) and a drunk shrimper was trying like hell to get all of the band wives and girlfriends to dance with him to a juke box tune and none of us would. Finally, he turned to Floyd who was on break. 

"Hey man," the shrimper said. "Would you dance with me? I just really wanna dance."

"Sure," said Floyd, and he did. 

The night Floyd hung himself Jerry and I were expecting him over for supper and for them to work up some tunes. He never showed up. 

Oh, god. How we mourned him. We just couldn't keep him here. 

But for awhile he was a glory with a light almost strong enough to defeat the darkness. And he played in Smitty's Band. 

Here's a great article that Terry sent which was published a few months before I got to Tallahassee. It was in the Florida Flambeau, which used to be the name of the paper at FSU. 

He sent me this, too. 

That's the way it was. A chicken dinner for one dollar and forty cents which was probably half a chicken, fried, with baked beans and cole slaw that Mac's wife made. 

Smitty's gone from us now and has been for a long time. Floyd's been gone even longer. Others in that picture are gone as well and so many of the friends and the lovers. The ones of us who are left are what you might call old. 

Or at least older. 

I'm sure we're far older than Smitty was in that picture. Instead of long hair, a lot of us don't have much hair at all. Our bodies, now thicker and slower, were all so lithe and beautiful then that nudity was nothing special. Nothing special at all. And where if once we danced with wild abandon, now we dance carefully if at all. 

Maybe we dance like Smitty did. I can see it all still- his closed-eyed shuffle, beer bottle in hand, ladies dancing with each other, couples dancing close and then away from each other and coming back to touch again. Little kids standing in front of the stage, wide-eyed at the music and the folks making it, doing their own hippie-kid dances. Everyone sweating because there was no air conditioning. The neon beer signs, the Christmas lights. The people outside, smoking a little weed with the stars and moon above. Laughter. Always laughter. 

These are a few of the things that picture brought back to me. And here I am, the grandmother of five, a garden-tender, a chicken mama, a wife. I am a woman who fiercely loves the ones who are here and the ones who are here no longer but who will always be in my heart. 

You better believe it. 

And also, I am just so glad that I got to grow up and be a hippie and dance in long skirts and be a part of something that was just amazing. 

And that I got to know Smitty who not only tolerated us hippies but was probably amused enough by us to let us hang out with him, let some of us live in outbuildings on his property, have band practice in his basement, and use his club as a place to gather the tribe. 

Terry Van Brunt- thanks for the memories. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Chickens And Grandbabies And Memories, Too

I am simply not breaking any new ground here lately. Not in my life, not on the blog. And you know, that's okay. A large part of the reason I write here and post pictures is so that my children and my grandchildren will have a record of some of the things that we and they have done and how everyone looked, month-by-month and year-by-year and as such, I do recognize great value in blessourhearts, even if what I do here is not exactly literary.
Or, at all.
And there is also satisfaction in knowing that some of the things I write about do touch other people in some ways, whether I am writing about depression or anxiety or childhood sexual abuse or politics or religion or chickens or the garden or cats who bite that we love anyway or cooking or eating or...
You know.
From the ethereal to the mundane and a lot of the stuff in between.
Today was fairly mundane but it had charm, as well. I was planting a rose that Ellen Abbott sent me just as it was beginning to sprinkle, tucking it into dirt with a little bit of chicken shit buried deep beneath the roots so as not to burn them and placing hay around it as mulch when I heard a car pull up and then saw August running towards the house, his little arms still as he ran, the way he does and my heart did burst a little.
I called to him and he changed course and as always was full of questions about what I was doing and why I was doing it and on and on and when I'd finished we went to look for eggs and found three and carried them into the house where I showed Jessie and August the four new chicks.
"Do you want to go get more chicks?" I asked him.
"Yes!" he said and so I changed clothes and we and his mama and his brother all drove to Monticello in the now-falling rain where we had lunch and then went and bought chicks at the Tractor Supply. Vergil has agreed that building a coop and a run would be a splendid thing to do and so I am going to raise a few babies for them while they get things ready.

I love the Tractor Supply. They have EVERYTHING and they are so nice. We looked at all of the different varieties and it's so hard to pick out a reasonable number of the peeps. They did have one breed that I refused to even consider which is the Turken. I have NEVER heard of this bird but yes, they are a real breed of chickens and feel free to google them. Somehow, a naked necked chicken (which is basically what they are) is just WRONG to me but I am sure that's merely a prejudiced judgement and they are probably lovely birds.
Anyway, we decided on two Plymouth barred rocks, two Buff Orpingtons, two Rhode Island reds, and two Dixie Rainbows, which I had also never heard of. And they shall always be called Dixie Chicks, of course.

Here is August, concentrating so hard on holding the two Buff Orpingtons safely that he had to stick his tongue out. We also bought some chicken probiotics (helps to prevent paste-butt and yes, that's a real thing) and chicken electrolytes and another little feeder and we brought everything home to Mer's and took the babies out of their boxes and set them into the old Pack'n'Play with the other chicks. 

I was a little concerned about putting the new babies in with the older chicks I got yesterday because they are so much bigger but everyone seemed cool with the arrangement and August wanted me to pick up each one so that he could pet them on their heads. He did not, however, want to hold any of them. His mama did though.

There are few things as light and as soft as a young chick. Holding one is like holding condensed air. Soft, condensed air which often has a loud cheep. 

After we were certain that all was well and I had covered the sides of the baby bed with old tablecloths because the little ones need to keep warm and it is going to get chilly tonight, we let Levon show off his crawling skills. 

He's gettin' there, folks. And also? He is sitting up by himself. Still not five months old yet. When you hold him, he tries to climb you. "You need to get this kid a baby rock gym," I told Jessie. He is such a merry little lad, so quick to smile and laugh. 

And I do believe that on Wednesday, Jessie and I are going to drive back to Crawfordville to see if we can buy some Americaunas as that is when I was told they were getting a new shipment of them. 

Good Lord, but what a crazy assortment of chickens we are going to have. From the possible Jungle Fowl birds I bought yesterday to the very decorous and domestic Barred Rocks, it's going to be a United Nations of Poultry. 

I hope. 

As I said to Jessie today, "It's not just 'don't count your chickens until they've hatched.' It's 'don't count your chickens until they've hatched, grown up to be hens, started laying eggs and survived for a few years.'" 

As we all know by now. 

And all of this has added up to a very fine day but something else happened that has amazed me. 

I really want to write about it now but I want it to have its own post, although most of it will be pictures and a link to a ten year's past post I wrote. 

Let me just say that it has me time tripping and remembering things I had maybe not entirely forgotten but it's definitely sharpened the lens of my memory. 

I'll sit down tomorrow morning and write about it. It won't be as earthshaking to anyone as it is to me but it is definitely part of my history, as well as Tallahassee history. 

Here's a teaser. 

The rain has cleared. My gift rose has been planted and I like to think that it is stretching its Texas roots out into the Florida dirt to see what that might taste like. The corn and cucumbers are coming up. There are twelve baby chickens in my bathroom. They eat, they poop, they sleep. The birds are singing the world to sleep with their end-of-day songs. And despite all of this goodness, I am filled with a sort of melancholy but it is a melancholy which will not kill me nor has it robbed me of all feeling or color or sense of light. 

I could never say it better than this. 

Much love...Ms. Moon

Evil, Goodness, And Chickens

I actually took down last night's post.
For those of you who saw it and commented, I thank you. It was a completely innocuous post, mostly pictures from Apalachicola and I posted it from my phone because I didn't take my laptop.
And then I got a comment from some horrible, nasty, vile person filled with hateful lies about Jewish people and I couldn't figure out how to remove the comment with the blogger app on my phone and so I deleted the whole damn post.
I absolutely could not tolerate the idea of such putrid vomit anywhere near blessourhearts.
The same comment appeared a few days before but I just marked it as spam and disappeared it. I suppose, since the commenter wrote as "anonymous" it's a bit tricky to block him or her.
If it happens again, I'll look for answers on how to do that.
I've been so very lucky in my years as a blogger. I've had almost zero trolls. Oh sure, I get the occasional spam comments with links to porn or interweb viagra but those are easily removed and do not bother me overmuch.
But. This was intolerable.

I am home in Lloyd now. I had such a very sweet visit with Mr. Moon and his sister. We went out to supper last night at the Owl restaurant in Apalachicola which will cook your catch for you and so Mr. Moon took them a piece of the grouper that his sister had caught and gave it to the chef who gourmeted it to the stars. It came back to us with a sort of caper, red pepper cream sauce and all three of us ate every last molecule.
And here's a picture of the brother and sister who love to fish and who love each other.

This morning when we woke up, we discovered that Mr. Moon's foot and ankle looked 99% better. The final diagnosis of inflammatory arthritis must have been correct because he responded so well to the prednisone. Hurray! And then in an early morning call he discovered that a Tallahassee credit union would be absolutely delighted to have him come and join their team. The bank he had worked out of for so long started off as a credit union and he enjoys that atmosphere of real caring about the members. He stayed with the bank for a long time after they became a bank but recently, another bank bought that one out and so changes were made and he was one of them. For awhile he looked for an office space of his own to continue his car locator service but he did send his resume to this one credit union and they seem very excited to snap him up. 

So hurray again! 

Change happens and sometimes it can be very good. 

We all went to a late breakfast at a place that's just recently opened for breakfast and lunch. The business itself- Delores' Sweet Shop- has been in one location or another since I've been going to Apalachicola, serving ice cream and, well, sweet things I guess. But now it's in an old house in which several businesses have come and gone. 

Would you look at this?

The bones of the place are still there and what beautiful bones they are. 

So we ate our eggs and grits and biscuits and then Mr. Moon and his sister got ready to go out on the boat for more fishing and I packed up and came home, meandering through the tiny towns and across the pretty rivers until I got to Crawfordville, Florida, where I stopped at the ACE hardware to see if they had any fancy chicks. 

When I got in the door I asked an employee if they had any baby chicks. 

"Yes we do!" he said. "We have four and they are just waiting for you to take them home!"

Four. Four chicks. 

I looked at them in the cage they were in. They were not exactly baby-babies, having already started to get their feathers. 

"Do you know what kind they are?" I asked him. 

He gestured to a sign beside the cage. 

"Do you think that's what they really are?" I asked him. I mean, those are some rather exotic breeds.
"Mmmm...well. Maybe," he said. 

Shit. They're probably just the last four chicks they had of all of the varieties and stuck them in the same cage. 

But of course you know what I did. 

I bought those last four baby chickens having been assured that not only have they been sexed and are all female (right) but that they seem smarter than the other chicks. 

Uh-huh. I assume they've been doing Sudoku, waiting for some human to come and buy them. 

They boxed all four of them up for me and I bought a bag of chick starter and brought those babies home. They peeped and talked during the entire journey and did not appear to be very happy about being trapped in a cardboard box after a lifetime of excitement in a cage in the center of the Crawfordville Ace Hardware. 

I brought them home and set up an old Pack'n-Play in my bathroom which is not ideal in any way but that's where they are. They have a light for heat and they have food and water and tonight I'll start giving them chopped up greens because they are certainly old enough. 

Baby dinosaurs are living in my bathroom. 

For having had chickens as long as I have, I really know absolutely nothing about them. I don't know the names of varieties, I don't know the different attributes of different breeds. Well, except for the Americaunas which lay the different colored eggs. And oh yeah- banties which are like miniature chickens who are sort of wild. People REALLY get into different breeds just as dog and cat-lovers do but since Kathleen brought me that first batch of peeps, I've simply taken the birds which have come my way and have learned to love them all. Except for some of the roosters, of course. 

But if I'm going to do this, deal with the mess and the worry and the fuss of raising these babies, I'm going to get some more and so tomorrow I'm going to go to the Tractor Supply in Monticello and see what they have for offer. Jessie's got chicken fever but no coop but I've told her that I'll raise a few that she can have if she can convince Vergil to build her chicken housing. 

And I know he will. Eventually. He grew up with a chicken-raising mama and he knows the value of good, fresh eggs and friendly hens. 

I swear to god, I never in my life thought I'd grow up to be an old woman who tended chickens but it would seem that I have become exactly that. 

Well. There could be worse fates. 

Lord but I'm lucky. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Some Things I Will Never Understand, Some Things I Do

Dammit, today was hard. Just hard. I didn't walk because it was forecast to rain and storm like hell and the radar showed a band of stuff coming our way that looked serious and then nothing happened but a few podunk showers that didn't amount to anything.
Sigh.
And I had anxiety.
And, and, and.
But Jessie needed a babysitter for just a little while and so I went to town where I found these people.

Knowing I would find those people is what got me to town, of course, and after Jessie left to go get her teeth cleaned, I read books to August and held Levon who was very tired but not ready to go to sleep. Instead, he tried to get the books I was reading (and August instructed me to use two hands on the book while reading to him which is not easy when you're holding a squirmy baby) and so then I put him on his tummy on the floor and he liked that until he crawled to the coffee table and got stuck in the legs of it which made him angry. 

This little boy is a trip. His physical abilities and his need to move are progressing faster than his cognitive abilities to figure out the consequences of his movements. He's a hoot. 

So I picked him back up and gave him a little of Jessie's milk in a bottle which he took a tiny bit of and then refused any more, deciding that it was just too weird. Or something. Who knows? 

But he never really cried, just got a little fussy and when his mama came home she gave him a little of her milk from the original container and he fell asleep in approximately four seconds. 

Here's August, applying lip balm. This is one of his favorite things to do around me. He knows I have it in my purse and he always asks for it and then he makes damn sure that his lips are completely and totally balmed. 

He applies it to my lips too and then, if I'm lucky, I get to kiss him so that we can test out the relative balminess of our lips. 

I was lucky today. 

While all of this was happening, Mr. Moon was in the ER of the Sacred Heart hospital in St. Joe, which is the next town over from Apalachicola. There is a hospital in Apalach but I think he was advised to go to the one in St. Joe. Whatever. He'd called me this morning reporting that his ankle and foot were red and swollen and painful when he stood on them. 

I insisted that he go to a doctor, knowing that these symptoms could indicate a variety of potentially serious conditions and so he went. He was in the ER for hours and hours but they did blood work and an x-ray and a culture, all of which takes some time. One never knows how good a diagnostician any practitioner is but he was given two possible diagnosis, neither one immediately fatal. He was also given prescriptions and a print-out of things to look for which could indicate the need for more medical attention as well as things to do which included everything from elevating his leg to wearing his seatbelt. 

Which of course he does anyway. 

Both of those things. 

None of this relieved any of my anxiety in the least and as he said to me, "You're more stressed out about this than I am," and I said, "So what else is new?" and he laughed. 

And of course I'm going to head over there tomorrow to make sure that things are okay, whatever that means. I have no idea. But. I want to hug him and kiss him and heal him with my magical love. Which always works, right? 

And maybe someone will buy me some oysters. 

So. There you go and there you have it. That was pretty much my day. 

But here's three more things:

When I was leaving Jessie's house, August said something he's never said before which was, "I need some MerMer hugs," and boy, did I give him some! 

A picture of the marvelous and splendid and indomitable Magnolia June that her mama sent me. 

I can't wait to make her some more dresses. 

And last but not least- do you remember me talking about unruly hair syndrome? Or, alternatively, uncombable hair syndrome? And how sometimes we think that maybe August has it (although his hair doesn't seem nearly so unruly or uncombable lately) and how one of Mr. Moon's nieces has it? 

Yeah. You probably don't. 

Anyway, it's a real true thing and lately I have become a follower of a FB page called Florida Pioneering Families and recently, this picture was posted. 

The absolute only explanation I can find for these ladies' hair is UNCOMBABLE HAIR SYNDROME! 

This was not a hairstyle that Florida Pioneering women generally adopted. 

Or ever adopted. 

Unless there's something going on here I don't understand which may have involved fingers in early electric sockets. 

Oh, it's a mysterious and strange world where we have not figured out so many things, whether of swollen and painful ankles to uncombable hair syndrome to why men of peace so frequently become the victims of assassination. 

As Saint George Carlin said, "You know what's interesting about assassination....did you ever stop to think about the people we kill? It's always those who tell us to live together in harmony and try to love one another. Jesus, Gandhi, Lincoln, John Kennedy, Bobby Kennedy, Malcolm X, John Lennon. They all said live together in harmony... BAM! Right in the head. Apparently we aren't ready for that yet." - George Carlin

I remember where I was fifty years ago when I heard the news that Martin Luther King, Jr. had been shot. 

Some things you never forget and you will never understand. And you will absolutely never completely come to peace with inside your heart. 

Fifty years. And we ain't nearly there yet. We're still crawling and running into coffee tables with no idea how to get ourselves out of the situation. I wish I could say that I have hope that someday we will. 

It sure won't happen in my lifetime. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Good News And A Good Day

That is Miss Camellia who finally gave up this afternoon after begging for more cat food and simply laid down at my feet and took a nap. That's how chickens nap by the way.
I absolutely know she only did this because she thought I might change my mind at any time and give her more food but still, when I looked down there and saw her, that glamorous, pin-up girl leg stretched out, I must admit I was charmed.
Ah! She loves me!
No. She loves Publix brand dry cat food.
Still.

So yes. I got up at 6:20 this morning after a rather dreadful night of sleep with crazy dreams and got myself dressed and drove to town in a fog so thick that at some points, I could barely see twenty feet in front of me. If that. My friend was ready and waiting to be picked up and we drove to the digestive disease clinic and we waited there for some time until my friend got called back and I just hung out and read some and I'd like to say here that lately I have actually noticed people reading real, honest to god books in public places. Like when eating alone in restaurants or in waiting rooms and today I must have seen at least six or seven people reading books and they came in all ages and ranges of human form.
Is this a thing?
I sure hope so.
But the best news is that my friend is fine and doesn't have to have another colonoscopy for five years which is very awesome. I drove her home and got her to her door and then I did indeed go to Waffle House where I ran into two women friends which is so funny because the last time I went to Waffle House (and I don't even remember how long ago that was) those two women were there too. I think they meet up to eat late breakfast at that particular Waffle House fairly often.
And let me interrupt this narrative again to say that why they don't have a cafe at the colonoscopy factory, digestive disease clinic is beyond me. Everyone who goes to get a colonoscopy has to have someone to accompany them and almost every damn one of them would at least go get a cup of coffee and a bagel or a sandwich or something.
But. Whatever.
So I was starving (hahahahahahahahahaha!) and ate about a ton of Waffle House food and it was so good in its own Waffle House greasy way. And it was lovely to sit and chat with my friends.
All of this led to me coming home and sleeping for I-don't-want-to-tell-you-how-long but I assure you that it was the sort of sleep where you're reading a little bit and then the book falls out of your hand and next thing you know, it's hours later.
Mr. Moon and I were talking about power naps the other day. He can literally sit in his chair and sleep for ten minutes and arise refreshed and renewed.
Ten minutes would just make me insanely angry and looking like the Hulk.
In fact, if I know that I only have a few minutes to nap, I can't even fall asleep whereas knowing that I have as long as I want to nap is the most luxurious and comforting thing I know.
Well, we all have different sleep needs and that's all there is to it and there is no right way or wrong way to do it, no time frame which is perfect for all.

When I did get up, I went out and picked most of the rest of the beets and sterilized jars and cooked beets and made pickling syrup and cooled and peeled and sliced beets and onions and it all added up to three and a half more pints.
Sigh.
But they are so beautiful.
And I have to tell you that although the freekah and garden medley that I made last night was vastly underwhelming, the arugula, goat cheese and pickled beet salad was one of the best things I ever ate in my life.
And I am going to use the left-over pickling juice that I heated the beets in before I put them in their little jars to make pickled hardboiled eggs. Have you ever done that? They are delicious! And the longer you let them sit, the farther the beet juice absorbs into them, making them the most beautiful pink color you ever saw. In fact, Lis does this for the yolks she uses to make deviled eggs with on Easter and how cool is that?

So that was my day and I have to admit that I am enjoying my alone time so very much. I do miss my husband but having my time entirely to myself is, again, a huge luxury although I do realize it's a luxury because I have the certainty that my husband will be coming home.

My kitchen is a disaster area with pickled beet juice everywhere, a cooling canning kettle on the stove, cutting boards and bowls needing to be washed and put away and it doesn't matter a bit because no one is expecting supper at any specific time.
And I know my husband is happy and having a wonderful time with his sister catching grouper.

Win, win, win, win.

Sometimes life works out beautifully. Not always by any means, but every now and then.

Night, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon

Peaceful

On the route that I've been taking recently for my walks, I have to trudge up a fairly busy county highway for a mile and a half which sucks as much for the fact that it's pretty much all directly in the sun as for the fact that I am constantly having to walk onto the shoulder to hopefully avoid getting hit by cars and trucks. It's not really that bad, though, and there's a pretty good hill I go up that makes me feel as if I am actually getting some real exercise and up until today, I've been taking a side-road at the top of the hill for a mile or so which goes around a cemetery and through some country neighborhoods like the one with the rose house. But this road is not ideal either. It's getting a lot of traffic due to a detour caused by the rebuilding of the bridge over Lloyd Creek and there is almost no shoulder there and quite honestly, I'm in more danger of being hit on that road than I am on the highway.
So. Today I went a little farther after the hill was topped to a different side road and it was so lovely and I enjoyed it so much. It travels through farmland and there are some country gentleman houses set way back and there was almost no traffic but a great deal of shade. Also, the road is relatively flat, which is very nice.
After about a mile on it, I took a small, unpaved road off of that road which looked like this.

So pretty. And along the way I saw some of the most beautiful Spanish moss I'd ever seen. I swear, it looked as if the moss had been combed. 

We get so used to that moss around here that we don't even register it but I did register the moss on these trees. 

And then I walked home and it was hot and when I crossed the creek I wondered if the story of the huge alligator who lives under that particular bridge is true because it surely would have been nice to walk down and have a little swim. 

But I did not. 

I rested a while when I got home, eating my lunch and watching another hour of that documentary series about the Rajneeshees and man, all I can say is that those people got up to some really weird shit. Criminal shit. And who the fuck would follow a man who never even speaks and who wears a one million dollar diamond watch that sparkles and shines as he raises his hands in namaste prayer form as the lights from the video crews shine down upon him and drives around in one of his many, many Rolls Royces so that his disciples can bow to him as he passes? 

Lots of people, obviously. 

And some of them would even attempt murder in his name. 

Hmmmmm...

Religion. 

Okay. Let me just say that I am ever grateful NOT to have the religion gene. 

And then I got up off my ass and went out and got the cucumber row planted, having first pulled up a bunch of dollar weed which is one stubborn and tenacious plant. Actually, I didn't get the whole thing planted because I ran out of seeds and I need to make another seed run. 

And I am happy to report that the bean seeds did not get eaten but look fine and hardy and filled with gusto. 

That is just such a happy sight to me. 

I really want to pull the rest of the beets and get them pickled and maybe I will do that tomorrow afternoon. In the very early morning I am taking a friend to get a colonoscopy. You know me- don't expect me to show up at your party but if you need a ride to get your colonoscopy, I'm your girl! 

So this day has gone by well and I feel pretty good and have not been lonely at all. The only person I've talked to, voice to voice, is the man Mr. Moon took the roosters to who was walking by when I went out to get the paper. We had a proper chat and he told me that he's lived in Lloyd his entire life and we discovered that we are the same age but for a few months. He has eight grandchildren and two great-grands. We both agreed that having good families is the very best thing on earth. 

And oh- I just spoke to Camellia who was on the porch clucking at me and giving me the eye for treats.

"No," I told her. "You have had three treats today. Two cat food treats and one banana treat."

She clucked some more and went back out the cat door. 

She did lay me a perfectly beautiful and rather large egg today but still- enough is enough. 

And thus, my heart is pretty much at peace and I am quite content, although a bit apprehensive about getting up at six-thirty a.m. to drive to town but it will be a sort of adventure. For me, at least. The woman I am taking has had colon cancer and so I am certain that these appointments must fill her with far more than mere apprehension although she says that everyone at the clinic treats her so beautifully and takes care of her so well. She's sort of a rock star there as her case is a bit unusual. Also, she is a woman I respect a great deal who is a real, true Christian who does not judge, never tells you she's praying for you, and who, if she is needed, will be right there for you. And hey! Maybe after I take her home, I will treat myself to a delicious Waffle House breakfast with hash browns and raisin toast with apple butter. 

Sounds like a good idea to me. 

And now I'm going to go turn off my sprinklers and pick something for my supper. 

I might even cook some freekeh tonight. 

It always all boils down to food, doesn't it? 

Well. For me at least. 

Love...Ms. Moon

There Is One Biscuit Leftover

It surely could not have been a more beautiful day. The sky was completely blue, the new leaves on the trees a sweet shy new green of their own making. I did what I usually did on these occasions and got up and immediately began chopping and cooking and mixing and rolling and cutting out and grating and chopping some more and by about nine thirty I had a frittata or Spanish tortilla or whatever-you-call-it in the oven which had in it: onions, mushrooms, kale, red peppers, tomatoes, cheese, eggs, and potatoes. Also shallots. The tiny ham was wrapped up cozy in aluminum foil and was in the oven too. I had the biscuits on the baking sheet and rising. And the kitchen looked like there'd been an explosion in it but by the time people started getting here, everything was tidied up and we were ready to begin partying.

My little Easter Egg. 

The baskets were well received although only August seemed to be truly thrilled. Gibson immediately started writing police tickets with his pad and pen. I said at one point that I had fifteen eggs in the frittata and he whipped out his pad and said, "I'm going to have to write you a ticket for that."

And he did. 

I kept worrying that there was not enough food. There were eleven of us plus Levon. And one frittata and a couple of dozen biscuits and a small ham. And that was it. Everyone kept telling me there'd be enough but we whipped up some deviled eggs out of the egg-hunt eggs before we sat down to eat. And what's Easter without deviled eggs? 

Lower in cholesterol, that's what. 

Egg hunt. 

Here the children are, being forced to sit all together for a photo before they can begin to go find eggs. 

I have about six pictures of this same exact line-up and Gibson had the same face in each one of them. The EXACT SAME FACE. 

He was a little grouchy today. 

We let the littles get a head start on finding the eggs. 

Maggie is taking out the quarter and nickel in this egg, hoping to find candy.

And then we let the big guys go for it. 

Some smarty pants Easter Bunny left two eggs WAY up in a tree. August got some help from his dad and retrieved them. 

Owen's rocking the samurai hair. He's always been my beautiful little rock star. 

May and Michael, watching the proceedings. I was SO glad they came out.

And this is what we looked like at the table where, BELIEVE IT OR NOT, there was more than enough food to go around and then some. We ate our egg pie and our biscuits and our ham and there was much passing of honey and butter and jam and hot sauce and oh yeah, the deviled eggs were okay. 

And then, after awhile, everyone left and the kitchen had been cleaned up and the tables put back in the house and the napkins and tablecloths were in the wash and then Mr. Moon finally got everything together with his boat and his fishing stuff and his clothes and his medications and his pillows and he left too. 

And it's so quiet. 

I swear, I don't quite know what to do with myself. I don't need to make a supper for my husband. The tablecloths and napkins are washed and on the line looking so pretty with the sun setting behind them, shining through the colors of cloth like stained glass and I don't have to worry about them until tomorrow when I take them off the line. My laundry loads will be so much fewer and far between. The house is reasonably tidy and I swept after every one left and...well? 

Now what? 

I haven't been by myself in so very long, it seems. Since hunting season, at least. 

Oh, there are so many things to do. I could make Maggie some new summer dresses. She's outgrown all the ones I made last year. I could go to a movie! What? What?! Haven't done that in years. 

And no, I'm not kidding.  

I can plant my cucumbers and squash and zinnias and okra. 

I can pickle some more beets. 

And Lord knows I need to mop a few floors. And clean out the refrigerator. Oh god. I don't want to talk about that. 

I can go sit on my front porch and rock and watch the view from there. Isn't that what old southern people are supposed to do anyway? 

I can sit here on this back porch and simply watch the birds at the feeder and the chickens as they scratch beneath it and watch the sky for hawks and swallowtail kites and pileated woodpeckers.

I can be quiet and I can be still. 

I can fully and truly appreciate this beautiful spot I am so lucky to live in. 

I can think and I can read. 

I can note and wonder at the blossom on the Ashe magnolia. 

I can breathe in its lemony perfume. 

I can just be. 

Love...Ms. Moon