It's The Little Things

Today has been the most pleasant of days. I took that picture this morning when I went out to let the big chicks out of the big coop and let the little chicks out of the little coop and into the big coop. This all involves sliding doors and screen lids and shuffling of food and water. I love watching the young'uns when I open up that lid to their night time coop. They flutter up and out, eager as they can be to stretch their wings and go about exploring their space again. Mr. Moon and I just went out together to collect eggs (or in this case, egg) from the hen house and look at the chicks. There's one that looks just like a bald eagle right now although that will probably change. And the jungle fowl still look so different. I swear, some of them have necks like anhingas. So interesting. The more I know about chickens, the more I like them. This batch has been incredibly healthy and lucky. Not one has shown any signs of illness or weakness. No paste butt or infections, no little feet that need splints made of scotch tape. Just happy, healthy, active little birds. And every one of them makes his or her way back into the little coop at night for bed. Such smart babies!


My mood this morning was one of deeply anxious despair but I decided to walk it out. And I did. Seven more miles and I saw crows and hawks and blue jays and a large beautiful doe who jumped a fence in front of me. A little puppy pretended I was chasing him on a dirt road. He'd stop and look at me and then run, run, run and stop again and we played this until he reached his driveway, his floppy ears flying. I think that at this point I probably need to start working on increasing my pace rather than just trying for more milage. I'm not unhappy with my pace, considering it's sustained for that many miles and there are a lot of hills and I do take breaks to stop and pee, but it would be nice for it all to take less time out of my day. I realize how damn lucky I am to have this time to spare. I crossed paths today with an actual human who was also walking and he recognized me from walking in Lloyd and he wanted to stop and chat about this and that which I hate to admit I really resented. I kept thinking, "Hurry up! I have so many more miles to go!" and when he finally finished telling me everything he wanted to tell me, I took off like a shot as he continued his stroll along the shady path.

When I got home I had a message from the TV repair guy and I called him back and he came over and fixed my internet connection problem. He looked like Wilford Brimley and wore a pair of black pants and a checked button-up shirt stretched over his belly and that was somewhat disconcerting in that he looked more like an appliance salesman than a technician. I tried not to hold that against him.

I had a nice little visit with my across-the-street neighbor and she gave me some egg casserole and grits leftover from a party they had for her grad students as well as vases of pretty little flowers. She and her husband are about to leave town and she didn't want either the food or the flowers to go to waste.

And then I ironed which wasn't that pleasant but it was okay. And as I keep saying- there is something quite satisfying about lining up clean, ironed shirts in the closet knowing that they will make my husband happy when he goes to get ready for work. This may sound horribly fifties-housewifely but he does a lot for me and after thirty-five years together, we've mostly figured out what works for us and a lot of that is the recognition of what we do for each other. He always thanks me and I like sending him off into the world looking taken care of and handsome. He's liking his new location a lot and has straightened out some zoning issues which looked to be a problem and they are treating him so well at the credit union.

And then my Lis called and told me about a truly peak-life experience she'd had last weekend playing at the Gamble Rogers Festival in St. Augustine. We both cried and oh! how I wish I'd been there! And it just made my heart so happy. I sure do love that woman.

To top it all off, it's still relatively cool with very low humidity and yet, warm enough to go to the beach, which is what Jessie and Vergil did today.

Can you see August and his daddy in the background? What a great selfie-shot! 

And that's pretty much that and once again, I am glad to be here. Shrimp and avocados will be involved in tonight's supper and you can hardly beat that. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Seething Resentments, Household Cleaning Tips, Book Reviews and Original Musical Performances. Also, A Bathroom Update

Mr. Moon's bathroom is coming right along. Yesterday he set the glass brick and as you can see, he's trying to figure out wall colors. He's been working so hard on this project. Sometimes I find him just sitting in a chair in there.
"I'm thinking," he says. "I have to sit down to think."
He thinks and then he DOES. He amazes me.

Today, however, he went over to Jessie and Vergil's to help with the chicken coop building. I know that Jessie is so eager to take her chickens home. I was invited to come too to just hang out but I have been in a foul and dark Sunday mood and sometimes, when that mood is upon me, I do tasks which I generally avoid because I hate them but if I'm already in a hateful mood, I might as well get them done.
Or something like that.

I did some weeding first, which I do not hate unless it is stinkin' hot and it was that today. When I could take no more of that I cleaned the shower in my own bathroom which had visible mildew in many of the spaces between tiles. I applied various toxic chemicals and scrubbed with everything from sponges to toothbrushes to my very strong thumbnail and finally used some clingy, bleachy toilet bowl gel cleaner which works better than anything.
So that was super fun and now that whole end of the house smells as if you could safely perform surgery in there.

On to the back porch which is where I spend half my life and which was horrible bad dirty and filthy and dusty and so forth. I didn't really clean it nearly as well as I should have but I did make it look better and tidier and got rid of some of the spider webs and accumulated dead bugs and what I suppose is spider poop since it's right under the spider webs. And I put a clean tablecloth on the table which makes everything look better.
Right?

The whole time I was cleaning and weeding and trash-taking and tidying, I was practically seething with resentment. Mostly towards myself in that I have no idea why I do this to myself, why I base my very own identity of self-worth on doing these tasks I assign myself and always fall short on because honestly, I do not like to clean at all and this is a large house for one person to take care of and although I do enjoy gardening and yard work, this is a big ass yard and I have a fairly large garden.
Was I a Mormon housewife in my last incarnation?
So I enjoy beating myself up for beating myself up, I suppose.
I swear- if I were fifteen years younger, I would swear I was about to start my period. That's how visceral and illogical my feelings are today.

Okay. Let's talk about Miranda July's novel The First Bad Man. Have any of you read it? I just finished listening to it last night and it was read by Ms. July which is always good because no one knows how to interpret the written word like the person who wrote the words. The reviews of it were very mixed, especially the short ones on Goodreads which I usually consult before I download an audio book. And I loved the beginning of it and then in the middle I decided it was just too weird and I didn't like it and then as the second half really got rolling, it sort of blew me away.
So basically, I'd love to hear from others who have read it to hear what they think.
And would I recommend it?
Ummmm...
Good question.
Let's just say that if graphic sex writing, hugely unlikeable characters, and weird girl-fighting upset you, this book is not for you.
I tell you what though- I am not going to have to try and remember whether or not I've listened to this one which frequently happens to me when I do a search for a new audio book from the library.
Nope.
Not going to forget.

Another thing I wanted to discuss was the fact that I can no longer seem to comment on Word Press posts. I was able to do that by signing into them with Facebook but now I get an error message which says that the URL was too long.
Perhaps this will be sorted out soon. I hope so.
Yolie, who has a Word Press blog, wrote recently about helping her mother "sort her shit." Yolie is supremely qualified for this task in that she and her husband, the Tearful Dishwasher, are now living a beautifully nomadic life in an Airstream and have pared their possessions down to very, very little.
As she so beautifully says in her post, she understands her mother's reluctance to let things go which she may need some day down the road and oh, how I can understand that!
And yet, there are so many other things which seem almost impossible to let go that we absolutely KNOW we will never need again. And for me, these things are mostly clothing.
I read a little piece in the New Yorker lately about an artist, and his mother was in the article too and she is the curator of a museum and she said something that has made me understand myself so much better.
What she said is that the things in our closets are like the displays in a museum. Each article of clothing holds memories of times and experiences in our lives so that the closet becomes almost our own personal museum.
And isn't this true?
How do I get rid of the dress I bought for one of my daughter's weddings which is not only beautiful, but which makes me remember the day I wore it and how happy we were and how Lis made the wedding cake and the groom's cake and Liz decorated and Jason danced to Billy Jean and how beautiful Jason and Lily were as they made their promises to each other and on and on and on?
And besides- I felt lovely in that dress.
But even the most prosaic of garments can bring up a time in my life which yes, has passed, but I don't want to forget.
The cargo shorts that I'll never wear again but which fit me when I was younger and felt strong and confident in my own body, even as the mother of four?
Just a damn pair of Gap men's cargo shorts but oh...what they represent.
It can be harder to get rid of a garment I bought at Goodwill which holds good and positive memories than it is to get rid of a garment I paid full price for but only wore a few times and never had a good time in.
Absolutely.

But of course, this only covers clothing, mostly, and we hold on to many things which have no intrinsic value at all but are, in fact, part of the Museum of Me.
That doesn't mean we should keep all of them but it definitely helps when it comes to deciding to toss shit that we really don't associate with anything except the fact that we "may" need it in some future time we really can't even imagine.

Here are a few videos I received today.



I believe that August calls himself Little MerMer when he is chewing gum because I chew gum and he has always been fascinated by that. Otherwise, he is definitely still Little Boppy.




This is a song which Maggie may have created herself about beans. No one recognizes it so it's quite possible that it's a Maggie original. Is she not the most gorgeous little girl in the world? And talented. Obviously.

And here is August and Levon's take on Maggie's Bean Song.



So, okay. I'll be talking to you tomorrow from my always amusing and slightly cleaner porch.

Hopefully, I will be less premenstrual (Hahahahahahahahaha!) and far more sanguine about things. If I take a good six or seven mile walk, I am certain that I will at least be too exhausted to gather the energy to be disappointed in myself.

Love...Ms. Moon

A Ramble

I am not going to complain about the weather. No, for May, the weather is remarkable. Cool enough to sleep at night and lovely in the mornings. I have not had the air conditioner on yet. This morning when we went to Owen's baseball game, we sat in the shade and it could not have been more pleasant.
However.
At this moment I have been doing stuff and part of that stuff was baking cookies which involved the oven and I just snapped at my husband and then I realized that I am just hot which makes me cranky especially when it's the sort of end-of-the-day-hot which has built up over the long afternoon and suddenly must announce itself with sweat and bitchiness. It got up into the upper eighties today so it's not completely surprising. If I keep my doors and windows mostly closed during the day, the night's coolness lingers longer than you'd think it would but by this time of the late afternoon, the cool has dissipated to be replaced with the heat. Not terrible heat, the way it will be, but enough to make me uncomfortable, especially if I'm cooking.
But now I'm sitting on the porch with a fan on me and I am fine but I tell you that the jasmine is about to kill me with its scent. It is honestly too much this year and although dying by scent of jasmine sounds like an ideal way to go, it really wouldn't be.

Hmmmm...

I think I'm still bitchy.

So yes. We went to Owen's baseball game this morning. Gibson had one first but I missed that. I got up pretty early to make the boys bacon and waffles before they had to leave the house at 8:30 with their Boppy, outfitted up and ready to play and I stayed behind to eat my own breakfast of an egg and toast. I am completely over pancakes or waffles or anything sweet for breakfast. I just can't do it anymore. But I got to the park in plenty of time to see Owen play and I will confess that this was his last game of the season and the first one I attended.
Bad Mermer.

I was amazed at how well these little folks played. Wasn't it just yesterday that Mr. Moon and Jason, Owen's coaches, had to constantly remind the children not to play in the dirt but to stand up and pay attention?
Now they're like, well, baseball players. That picture of Owen up there is him hitting a double. He's got a powerful swing and good aim to go with it. Or whatever it's called when you can hit the ball.
Don't ask me.
But I'm proud of him.
And Gibson spent most of Owen's game playing with his own carrot man in quiet pretending, sitting next to his mother. He's always done this and it blows me away. Remember when he'd play with the salt and pepper shakers when we'd go out? He creates these entire scenarios and has the objects act out whatever it is that his mind is creating. I love it. He may end up being the writer. A playwright, a screenwriter, a novelist. Who knows?
In the last few months, Owen has started gobbling up chapter books. He is reading the Diary of a Wimpy Kid series and can't get enough of them.
It's so interesting, watching these grandkids as they grow and develop. To see them become even more of themselves in this world with the activities they do and enjoy, their interests and questions and how they play. As St. Fred Rogers said, play is the work of childhood. I believe it.
I also believe it's an underrated and under-respected activity for adults too and I wish it weren't.
I know that when my husband and I go to Cozumel there is a lot of play involved and it is heavenly and it's so good for us. So why do we find it so hard to play at home? To spend our hours on things we may well enjoy such as carpentry for him or gardening for me but which is really and truly work if you think about it?
Because we're grown-ups, I guess.

Ah, well. All work and no play does indeed make Jack a dull boy and perhaps one day we will all reclaim our human right to continue playing until we die without feeling guilty about it. I remember when technology was going to be the thing that freed us all from the slavery of the work place but as I look around, I don't see many people enjoying themselves any more than they ever did. In fact, the opposite appears to be true. And instead of actual joyful, playful, relaxing activity, our leisure time is so often spent in tech-related activities. Facebook, Twitter, screen games, binge-watching...all that wonderful, time-sucking, soul-sucking stuff which never leaves us feeling better about anything.
Again, the opposite appears to be the truth of it.

Well, I'm not going to change the world or even myself tonight. But I am going to bake a chicken that I have marinating in yogurt and lemon juice and garlic and fresh oregano.
It'll hopefully be good but it probably won't be as good as those tacos I made last night with the Ortega crispy taco shells and the El Paso seasoning mix and the refried black beans and taco sauce and two kinds of salsa and avocados and onions and tomatoes and lettuce and cheese and sour cream.
Nah. Nothing's that good.

Love...Ms. Moon

I Ain't Got Time For That Mess

Oh, how my little dinosaurs are growing up and when I read an article the other day about how chickens are descendants of the dinosaurs who survived the meteorite, which only makes sense, I felt even prouder of my feathered babies than ever. They are really and truly survivors.
When the boys came over this afternoon, we went out to the coop to see them and we now definitely have a new Nicey. One of the Rhode Island Reds who is curious and relatively tame. She sat on Owen's shoulder and no, I did not have my phone to take a picture and I am so mad. He claims that this is the niceyest Nicey of all.

I did six miles this morning and that damn hill which is both gradual AND steep did not feel quite as bad. Is it possible that I might actually get stronger? My total for the week- almost twenty-three miles. I am a bit amazed that I am doing this. I really am. I suppose I knew I was capable of walking for more than three or so miles but having never really tried it, I was not sure.
Now- let's see if I can keep it up.
And if any of you are wondering if I've lost any weight- let me share this with you.

So no. I'm still plump as a partridge. 

Well, perhaps a stronger partridge. 

I need to cut this short as I am going to make venison tacos for these boys. 

The really junky kind with El Paso taco seasoning and Ortega crispy taco shells. I can't wait!

The object which is Owen is holding is a carrot ballet dancer. His name is Carrotovia. 

He's a Russian Carrot Ballet Dancer. Owen can make him spin and do pirouettes. His tutu is made of kale leaves.

Isn't he cool?

I told two Jehovah's Witnesses today that I was an atheist. When the sweet little white-haired ladies wearing calico dresses with their holy books and pamphlets clutched to their bosoms asked me sweetly why, I said, "Many reasons and it's none of your business."

"Thank you for your time," they said and they got in their car and drove away. 

Sometimes I wish I had a bulldog in the yard. 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Town And Country

I don't know. I might be getting a little obsessive about these walks. My legs hurt like hell this morning and I knew I was going into town but I was determined to get four miles in to make my weekly total. So I got out there and I walked a part of a different loop of the road I walked yesterday (which is where I took that picture of the rather beautiful truck, all lonely and by itself in the woods) and that last hill about killed me again and by the time I got back to my car my pedometer app said I'd only walked 3.75 miles and I said, "Fuck that," and walked another quarter of a mile.
Did I mention I downloaded another pedometer app, just to make sure I'm getting my milage right?
Obsessive.

Whatever. Another thing I did this morning was to decide that I wanted my bathroom back and all baby chicks were moving out. So I packed their little suitcases and kissed them goodbye and waved to them as they walked down the long dusty road to the coop.
Just kidding. I put them in a box and carried them out there.
It's warm, they're old enough. I'm done with the inside phase of chicken raising for now.
Mr. Moon told me that I'd forgotten to close the sliding door between the coop and the hen house whose door was wide open and so many of them were outside when he got home today. He got them back in but was unable to do an accurate head count. It's not easy to count nineteen chicks who won't stop moving.
Sigh.

I did go to town because it was Thursday at El Patron day. Here's Rachel holding Levon.

He's such a happy little guy. Since Boppy wasn't present, August sat on my lap for a good portion of the time we were there. It's amazing how much he loves me when his grandfather isn't around. Jessie told us that either yesterday or today (I can't remember which because I can't remember shit) the child came up to her and said, "I can spell August."

"Okay," she said. "Spell it."

"A-U-G-S-T." 

Which, yeah, isn't exactly right but Jessie was unaware that he knew any of his letters and he's not going to be three until September. 

How do these things happen? It's like when Hank wanted me to teach him to read at the age of three and I started writing things down like "cat" and "hat" and so forth, he could already read them. 

Sesame Street was big then and he paid attention. Obviously. 

After lunch I went over to Jessie's and babysat for the boys while their mama went to a doctor's appointment. It was fun and they were well-behaved. Levon is quite mobile on his tummy now and I would not be surprised if he didn't start pulling up soon. I gave him a bottle of his mama's milk which he held all by himself and drank most greedily and then when his mother came home, he went right for the breast. As usual, a lot of books were read and there was a delicious snack of pimento cheese and pretzels. August and I had a little pretend session wherein I introduced myself as if we'd never met and he said that his name was "Auga" and he lived in a forest. It went from there. He's a whippersnapper, that boy. 

When I was getting ready to go home he said, "Don't leave, Mer!" which tore my heart out. "Do you want me to live here?" I asked him. 

"Yes," he said.
"Where will I sleep? Can I sleep with you?"

"Yes," he said again. And then he thought about the fact that his bed is pretty dang small and started to laugh. When I did finally leave, he was eating some leftover birthday cake and happy as a clam. 

Chocolate can ease our pain and sorrow, as he has already learned. 

Mr. Moon has removed the Pack-n-Play from my bathroom and I'm about to go in there and try to create a little chickless order. And then I'll make our supper of delicious and super easy clam spaghetti. Tomorrow Owen and Gibson are coming over to spend the night and we are way overdue on that. 

Lord. Why don't we all just live in a family compound? It would make things so much easier. 

Maybe in Costa Rica. 

I'll get right on that. I bet there are walking trails in the jungle galore there. Wonder if my pedometer apps would work there, though? 

I'll start googling. 

Love...Ms. Moon

We Celebrate In Style

Last night was just pure fun. Everyone was in a jolly mood and some of us ate and some of us didn't and some of us had tasty beers and some of us didn't but we all played trivia and celebrated Jessie with all of our jolly little hearts.

Hank is the best trivia guy. He has it all together with a picture round and an audio round and question rounds and, not to brag or anything, but Team Jessie's Groupies won. 

We didn't really count because we had too many people to make up one team and also, well, Hank knew we were coming and there may or may not have been questions on childbirth practices throughout the ages and maybe the audio round featured songs with mandolins in them and well, we knew a lot of answers. There were a lot we didn't know, too, but come on- could YOU identify a picture of pickled kale stems? 

Who would take the time and effort to pickle kale stems? 

Having said that, I do have a lot of kale stems hanging about the garden. 

Anyway, it was especially fun having Levon and Little Boppy partying with us. 

August got a little bit wild before it was all over, due to cake and the late hour but he hung in there. When I went to kiss him goodbye he told me that his name was "Boppy." 

"Yes," I said. "Boppy's name is Curtis Glinden and your name is August Glinden."

"My name NOT Glinden," he said with great certainty. "My name Boppy."

"Okay," I told him. "I love you, Little Boppy," and he was satisfied. 

The funny thing is, he's so much like his daddy that it's funny. If he's anything it's Little Vergil but if he wants to be called Little Boppy, Little Boppy we shall call him. And it sure does make Big Boppy happy.

Everyone liked the cake and Jessie liked her presents. I got her a hippie gift assortment from World Market which included everything from pretty blue glasses to a package of heirloom lentils. May got her this butterfly.

Among other things including a mermaid bottle opener which was awesome. 

I think she had a good time. 

I sure did. I looked around at our little group and I was so proud to be the mama, the mama-in-law, the grandmama. I'm sorry I don't have pictures of Lily or Rachel or our beloved Liz Sparks. It's a miracle I got the pictures I did and honestly, Rachel took some of those. 

The best ones. 

This morning I decided to walk a little unpaved road off the beautiful road I've been walking on. I drove it a few days ago to see if it looked like a good place to walk and it did, although there are quite a few hills and the one which is at the end of the road on my way back is pretty dang steep. So that's what I did and although my stupid doody-head pedometer app did it's stupid doody-head thing it does now and then and completely misrepresents my milage when I'm starting out, I'm sure I walked at least six miles. I took it slow and easy and just really enjoyed the sights. There are several bodies of water and peaceful woods and lovely homes and horse farms and trailer houses. A wide variety of things to look at and wonder about. 

Exactly one car passed me and I saw one other person in a yard. A few dogs went crazy as I passed but they were well fenced and I said, "Hey, babies!" in as friendly a tone as I could muster and they didn't raise any ruckus when I made my return trip. The hill at the end was not easy but I am looking forward to climbing it with less and less effort. 

Hopefully. 

There are two loops off of that road which I can explore eventually and according to Google Earth they are as shady and as empty of human habitation as I could want. 

I transferred the two Rhode Island Red chicks to the outside this morning, leaving only the Americaunas and Jessie's Australorp, Miss Poppy, in my bathroom and they shall be going out soon. 

Here the reds are, reunited with their Dixie Rainbow sisters. They are all coming along nicely. 

And so it goes in the Kingdom of Lloyd. I am feeling especially grateful and yes, okay...blessed tonight. I just am. 

Big Love...Ms. Moon

My Birthday Baby

I got to see my girl on her birthday today along with her fine little men.

August took the walker into the Glen Den where the toys are so that Levon could hang out with him while he played. When I asked him how his trip to see Grandfather and GoGo went, he said, "Pretty good."

We are not surprised. 

After much planning and changing of plans about tonight's get-together, we finally decided to just have every one meet at the place where Hank is doing doing his thing tonight after supper for cake 

and Trivia. Everyone had so many different requirements and concerns and it looked for a little while as if Jessie might be buying food for everyone and making food too and I said, "Nah. That's stupid. You and Vergil get your supper and we'll all meet up at Midtown for cake."

She heaved a great sigh of relief (and I did too) and that was that. 

Here's the cake. 

Mississippi mud cake with chocolate buttercream frosting and candied pecans. With native lilies. 

I have on a dress and I have on make up. This is as good as it gets. 

Gotta run. We're going to be late. 

I'll report in as to how things went. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Lagniappe- What A Good Neighbor

Limits Have Been Reached

Well, I finally did it. I've had a long day and have barely sat down. I walked over six miles and it felt great and I felt as if I could have just kept going on that beautiful shady road forever but knew I had to go to town and get some things done and so I stopped and came home and did some chores around here and then I did go to town and I did get things done and then I came home and got more stuff done and by five-thirty I'd hit a wall and godDAMN! if the guys next door didn't start in with the thrashing pounding beating guitar soloing turning-the-amps-up-to-eleven crap and I tried to text him but my phone won't text people out of the network from my house and so I just walked out my front door, walked over to his, and knocked. They were between songs and it still took me knocking three different times and also calling out my neighbor's name before he answered the door.
"I just can't..." I said. "I just take it anymore. I'm sorry. I've tried. But I can't."
And he looked rather pissed.
"Well, thanks for not calling the cops," he said.
Which indicates to me that he's considered the possibility of someone doing that.
"Oh, Ryan, no!" I said. "I would never call the cops unless I thought your house was in danger."
I meant it at that moment but thinking about it, there are a lot of other reasons I'd call the cops but it would just be rude as hell for that to be the first inkling he had that I might not be too happy about the noise.
He said they'd turn it down or install some sound-proofing or something and I said thanks, and apologized again and said that I hated to damp down anyone's musical spirit but really, just...no. And reminded him that we do indeed share this space.
Again he said, okay, we'll do something, thanks and then shut the door and yeah, he's mad and I know he considers me now to be the old fucking bitch who lives next door but he probably already thought of me that way ever since I chastised him for cutting down one of the most beautiful camellias I've ever seen.

Haven't heard a peep since I left so good for the old fucking bitch.

I wonder if Jefferson County even has any sound ordinances. I wouldn't be surprised if we didn't.

And so that is how it's gone today and I'm not sorry at all that I went over there. I am sorry that it took me so damn long.

Jessie and Vergil are on their way home and tomorrow is Jessie's birthday. We may be celebrating with pizza and Hank's trivia although I am not sure. I do know that I am making a birthday cake. Twenty nine years ago right now I already knew that I was in labor, although it was slow and easy at that point. The magnolias were in bloom as they are now, and I was as full of apprehension and excitement and questions about how things would go and who I was about to meet as I was of baby.
Sure turned out good, didn't it?
I had no idea that in twenty-nine years not only would that baby be all grown up but that she would have given me two wonderful grandchildren.

We never have any idea. We just don't.

Okay. Stand up for your rights. When you reach the point where you'd rather be considered an old fucking bitch than to hear one more moment of sound blasting which may be technically music but which is hell in your ears, do something about it.
Be the bitch.
As nicely as possible.

Love...Ms. Moon

Pea Pickin' And Zombieland

Tiny figlets are forming on the fig tree and every year I get so optimistic when I see them but then the critters get to them and they never get very big and my entire fig harvest is fairly embarrassing.

The sugar snap pea harvest, however, is abundant. Here's what I picked today.

Yes, there are a few aphids on those peas and no, they won't hurt a thing. I get a newsletter from the New York Times about cooking and food and in today's letter there was a recipe listed for Stir-Fried Beef and Sugar Snap Peas. 

I do believe I will make that tomorrow night but with venison. I think it will be delicious. Peas and onions from the garden, venison from the woods.

So. It's been Sunday. I did not have the blues but did not feel exceptionally brimming with joy, either. I didn't feel like doing much outside and Mr. Moon was mowing which means I can't hear my audio book as I work in the garden so I decided to stay in and do a little ironing and watch some mindless TV. I found Zombieland on some random channel and watched the whole darn thing as I smoothed shirts with heat and hissing steam. 

I have to tell you- and this is a confession- I love that movie. I think I just really love Woody Harrelson and have loved him since he first appeared on Cheers. Nobody in the world can do that goofy good-looking farm boy, aw shucks character like Woody. White Men Can't Jump is another one of my favorite movies and I should be ashamed to admit loving either of them but I'm not. 

But back to Zombieland. 

Woody's character is named Tallahassee. The movie was indeed filmed partly near here. And...BILL MURRAY PLAYS HIMSELF IN IT!

It's just a funny and absurd movie and like Shawshank Redemption (another favorite of mine), if it's on TV and I come across it, I'll watch it. Same with the Blues Brothers. 

I never claimed to have any class. 

I transitioned two more chicks to the outside coop today. The little Dixie Rainbow chicks which I'd never even heard of before we came across these at the Tractor Supply. That makes a dozen chicks outside and seven inside now. And yes, some of the teens are still getting out of the coop but they can also get back in and I still have no idea how but I'm trying just not to worry about them. Which always works so well. 

Got the big news today that Gibson has now lost both of his top teeth. Here's the picture. 

We shall now be calling him Fang. It's a good look, don't you think? 

Here's a question I have about the Bill Cosby situation- why the HELL is his wife still with him? 

This boggles my soul. 

As does the question of why Melania is still with the Porn Star Fucker but I can only imagine that she has been promised a huge amount of money to stay with him while he's in the White House. And I hope that she did not use Michael Cohen as her lawyer. 

That's all I got today. 

I had a Sunday which didn't suck and that's about as much as I can ask for the Sabbath. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Keep Those Lines Open! (Possible Trigger Warning.)

Our smart TV has recently quit being very smart and refuses to recognize the internet and by the time we think about this every evening, we are too damn tired to try and get our old brains in gear enough to do anything about it except what you always do which is to unplug every Gee Dee thing involved in the situation and plug it all back in and hope for the best.
So today, since Mr. Moon was off fishing in the Gulf of Mexico and I was putzing around doing a little of this and a little of that I decided to tackle the problem. First thing I did was to once again unplug everything and wait awhile and while I was waiting, to google a solution for the problem and I came up with this which illustrates about how it went.




I knew enough to take a damn picture of the model and serial number so that when I called the tech number after the rebooting did nothing again, I would have it at hand.
And that was about the only thing I did that went smoothly.
I got a guy named Sam (right, sure) and he spoke perfect English and although he did have an accent he was absolutely understandable, even to my old ears. So that was all good. But I swear, it was like talking to a machine. I generally try to somehow insinuate a bit of humanity into these conversations because you know damn well you're going to be on the phone with this person for at least forty-five minutes of your own personal life but I did not even try with Sam. I just followed his instructions, often feeling as if I was 98 years old and not in control of any of my faculties or cognitive abilities.
Still, we managed to go through about fifteen different steps to try and remedy the problem and none of them worked and finally Sam told me that within three business days, the technician department would be calling me to set up an appointment for a service technician to come to my house and replace parts or do whatever needed to be done.
Sigh. Okay. Whatever. My ear was really sweaty and I just wanted the whole thing to end.
But then, BUT THEN, Sam said, and I swear this is true, "So, please keep your lines open so that our technicians can call you."
My lines open?
Oh, Sam.
"I'll do my best," I told him, thinking of the fact that I can leave for three days and come back to discover that not one person has called my land line.

Anyway, that's what I did for part of the day and I also did a little garden weeding. Here is Maurice, looking to see what is in my weed pan.

There was nothing of any interest to her and so eventually, she sauntered off to hunt dragonflies or something. 

Two of the chicks got out of the coop again today but when I held the door opened for them they went back in. Let's face it- no matter what I do, those chicks are going to figure out how to get out. They can fly because they are birds. People don't really think about chickens flying but trust me- when the occasion or need arises, a chicken can fly. Not like long distances or anything although I would pay to see that. But they can fly up to roost in a tree or over a fence. 

I have a lot I want to say about the Bill Cosby conviction but I'm not sure tonight's the night. I will tell you one thing- I am having a harder time hoping that he goes to jail until he rots than I probably should be and I think it's because as a child, when I was being abused, I absolutely had to separate the stepfather I knew who was a very intelligent man who was a college (okay, Jr. College) professor and fairly well thought of man in the community and whom my mother loved, with the stepfather who was abusing me. 

He was both of those men. 

And quite honestly, I loved the one, even as the other tormented me and filled me with fear every night of many years. How to reconcile this? 

Separate them. Which required a great deal of non-logical thinking. 

And so perhaps that is why I'm having such a hard time with this Cosby thing. Logically, I want him to go to jail and have to suffer the indignities and hardships that anyone who had done such horrible and criminal things to women and then denied, denied, denied would have to suffer. 

But...

He's Fat Albert. He's the Jello pudding guy, mugging for the camera. He's the Dad is Great! He feeds us chocolate cake! guy. He's Dr. Huxtable in the cozy funny sweater who loves his kids and wife to distraction! 

Yeah. He is both. And the logical, non-damaged part of me says, "Lock the sonofabitch up until he dies."

Hell, his actions have affected me. When all of the accusations against him were coming out I got thrown into a depression/anxiety spiral that I had to fight my way out of. 

And yet, there is still that fucked-up part of me who will forever be a little girl, wishing desperately for a daddy's love and if Bill Cosby wasn't a daddy figure to many of us, I don't know who was. 

That's enough of that. 

Here's my favorite thing I read today. It was posted on FaceBook by Hank who is down in Apalachicola, staying at the Gibson with Rachel. He said, "This morning I described myself as the vaguely disreputable eldest son of a large southern family."

Hahaha!

I commented this back:

"I believe perhaps you should have said that you are the beloved eldest son of a large, vaguely disreputable southern family."

And in that vein I will tell you that the Confederate jasmine's scent is so strong that it's almost making me nauseous and the fish are jumpin' and the cotton is high. 

Well, at least the part about the jasmine is true. I don't know about the fish, and the cotton ain't high yet but it will be. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Princess Baby And Chick Escape Artists

Well, there you go. That's it. That's all there is. Baby girl with curls kissing her mama.
What more is there?
Can I just say that if Magnolia June is the only granddaughter I ever have, she will be woman baby enough to balance out all of the boys? She is a force, a peach, a doll. She is a thinker, a singer, a cuddler and a talker. She is demanding, loving, giving, and joyful. Yellow is her favorite color. She charms everyone she meets. When we went to Japanica today, an older gent could not stop talking about how cute she was. How open. When we left the restaurant, she turned to all of the customers and raised her hand and said, "Good-bye!" as if she were royal.
She is.
She is the princess of my heart and I fucking well wish that the word "princess" had not been ruined by Disney but let's pretend that it hasn't.

In other baby news, I took a bowl of chopped greens and fruit out to the chicks in the coop. Not only had they all figured out how to get out of their coop-within-a-coop, but four of them were outside the COOP! I mean, outside. Peeping and scratching merrily in the leaves, little miniature chickens doing what their mamas would have taught them if they'd had mamas. Oh Lord.
I managed to get one, ONE back in the coop. Then I realized that now there were SIX chicks outside the coop. How in hell were they getting out? The coop has chicken wire which they cannot get out of buried into the ground all the way around as well as a wooden frame. The top part of the coop, about four feet up, does not have the chicken wire, but a sort of wire that I knew they could get out of but four feet up?
I finally figured out that they were probably flying up to the top of the lid of the chick box and getting out of the wire from that advantageous perch.
Jesus.
I tried and tried to herd them back in the coop but forget it. I finally just pulled a chair over there and guarded them. Mostly I was worried about cats. My cats never chase chickens but these babies have to be a temptation. And let's not even mention the two feral cats that hang out around here. They would have no qualms at all about snatching one of my chicks. And then there's hawks...
But they were fine and Mr. Moon got home and we opened up the door to the coop and he herded one way and I herded another and got them all back in and I lifted the lid of the chick box, hoping to make a less convenient place for them to fly up to to escape.
And then they all ate and drank like office workers at a Friday afternoon happy hour involving free tacos, as happy to be back inside as they had been to be outside.

And now I'm going to go finish making my strawberry rhubarb pie. The pastry is waiting in the refrigerator, the strawberries and rhubarb are macerating in sugar and tapioca. I was going to get this thing done way earlier but I had not taken into account that I would be spending so much time doing guard duty for teenaged chickens.

Ah-lah.

It's a good life.

Kiss like you mean it.

Happy Friday.

Love...Ms. Moon

Stubborn Old Woman

This morning I decided to let the littles in the outside small coop explore the big coop if they wanted. I opened the wire lid of it and the two blond Buff Orpingtons immediately fluttered up to the edge and then fluttered down to the ground with a few of the jungle fowl right behind them. Here they are, eating some cornbread. I hope beyond hope that they'll get back into their little coop tonight but they probably won't and I'll be forced to chase the little buggers to catch them and put them safely in with their brethren. I'm about ready to transition some of the inside chicks to the outside and have also made the coop box ready to receive babies. I'm not quite sure how I'm going to do this in terms of who-goes-where, but I'll figure it out.

Another thing I did this morning was to give myself a challenge. Lord, that sounds so stupid, doesn't it? But hell, that's exactly what I did.
And I met it.
Last night I said to Mr. Moon, "If I walk seven miles tomorrow, I will have walked twenty in total for the week.
"Haha!" we both said.
And then this morning I just fucking decided to do it and I did.

I LOVE Jessie's response to this.
Did you get lost? Oh my god.

No. I did not get lost unless you count getting lost in a sort of meditative trance. I am listening to this.

I heard part of an interview on NPR with the author yesterday and today, when I went to search for a new audio book from the library, there it was. 

It's rather beautiful. 

So I put one foot in front of the other and after quite awhile, I had walked all seven miles. I did not do it very fast, but I did it fast enough. 

And once again, I did not die. I didn't feel as if I would die at all. Which is sort of amazing. 

I have written many times before about how I simply cannot walk for more than a few miles without stopping to pee. Quite frankly, I feel fortunate that I am still continent at all and it has not been easy to find places for me to hide from the road to squat and water the weeds. The road is barbwire-fenced for miles and miles. But I have found a few places and this is the magical one. 

The photo does it no justice. I can't seem to capture it properly. But it is shady and green and fern-filled and cool and it is a lovely bit of serendipity that I found it in such a mundane way. It is posted but not fenced and I take that to be as much invitation as I can rationalize. It's like stepping into another world and I promise, I tread lightly. 

I saw a pileated wood pecker today, which is not so uncommon but I also saw something that I could not positively identify although I thought it was probably a fox squirrel. I looked them up when I got home and I was right. Here's a picture of one although I did not take it. 

Trust me- that looks NOTHING like our regular squirrels and they are rare here and they are good at hiding but the one I spied was on the road and as I came around a corner and saw it, it did not dart immediately the rest of the way to the woods but seemed to observe me as I observed him. And then, he scooted up the bank and up a tree and I felt so lucky to have seen him. 

And so that's what I did today, or at least part of it and Lily finally got that tooth pulled which is wonderful because it started causing her agony again yesterday. I don't care how old my children are, it makes me so anxious when they are sick or in pain and I am so glad that her pain has been relieved.

I thought I was going to be hanging out with Magnolia tomorrow morning because that's when Lily's appointment was scheduled for before her pain became unbearable which is why I decided to walk seven miles today to make the twenty, thinking I would not be walking tomorrow. 

And I probably will NOT be walking tomorrow but I sure do need to get into the garden and get some work done there. 

I hear the little chicks peeping their roost-time song. 

Time to make supper. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Again And Again And Again

There's Miss Camellia, patiently waiting for a treat. I am NOT giving her one because she's had like three separate treat sessions today and come ON!
Unless I change my mind and do give her one.
Okay, okay. I just gave her a few more Publix brand Friskies. At least she doesn't peck me anymore when I ignore her. I discouraged that activity by never rewarding it with food and by waving a napkin at her. She really doesn't like a napkin being waved at her. Anything resembling an attacker from the sky is extremely threatening to a chicken which is why the little ones in their baby pen go insane when I lean over them to change their bedding or give them fresh food and water. You'd think that a few weeks of my presence meaning deliciousness would convince them to relax a little when they see me, the giant, above them. But it hasn't.
Well, the fear of a threat from above is absolutely ingrained in chickens and if it wasn't, a lot fewer would survive.

I went to town again today to say good-bye to Jessie and Vergil and their sons as they are now off on a little trip to visit Vergil's papa and his step-mama, Grandfather and Go-Go. When I got to their house, August ran out to greet me and told me to "come up here" meaning the steps, and then "come into my house." Which I did.
"I'm going on a big, big airplane!" he said. He's been on planes before but he doesn't remember. He was happy to see me and we talked about Grandfather and Go-Go and he showed me all his stuff and wanted me to read him books and when his mother tried to get him to eat his lunch he said, "I won't!" which, because I am his grandmother and not his mother, was extremely funny to me.
I'm not going to be the one who has to deal with a child whose blood sugar has crashed on an airplane.
I ate my lunch, however, and then kept the boys occupied while Jessie and Vergil got the car loaded and the kitchen cleaned up. And then I kissed them all good-bye and went to Publix AGAIN and came home and here I am. The greens and fruit have been chopped and distributed to the different chicks, the shrimp has been peeled for tonight's supper, and I am in a cheerful mood despite the fact that band practice is going on next door.
AGAIN!
I just wish I liked the sort of music they play. But I don't. And I can't. And I never have. Rushy, pushy, percussiony rock, or something like that. No subtlety whatsoever, just testosteroney and loud.
They need to smoke more dope. That's my opinion. Add a little yin to their yang. Know what I mean?

And that's all I really have to say tonight. 

I'm just happy to be here. I hope you are too.

Love...Ms. Moon

Love And Other Emotions

Magnolia June displaying one of her many, many diverse emotions.
That child. She feels as familiar and known to me as my own self and I guess it's because I birthed and raised her mama. Who knows? But I sure do love her. I went over to stay with her for a few hours this afternoon while Lily finally got in to see the dentist. Maggie and I drove to the bus stop and waited on her brothers and of course Gibson, who is always the first off the bus with his backpack worn on his front, ran up to me and hugged me and said (as he always does) "Mer! What are you doing here?" And then Owen, who is as cool these days as James Dean leaning on a car wearing a leather jacket and having a smoke, sauntered down the steps and took his time getting to where I was waiting.
"Oh, hey Mer," he said. "Where's Mom?"
Gibson wasn't sure I could help him with his homework.
"You have to read," he said.
"I can read," I told him. "I think I can do it."
He was doubtful but we managed.
Lily got Owen into a sleep-over camp for kids with epilepsy in June and he's very excited about that. I am too. I'm sure he's going to have the time of his life canoeing and swimming and doing arts and crafts and archery and all of that stuff but I'm mostly glad that he's going to get to hang with some other kids with epilepsy. He won't be different there. He'll just be another kid. Well, another kid at the camp for kids with epilepsy. But you know what I mean.
Here he is up in the loquat tree.

I should not have let him climb that high but I did and he came down when I told him to. 

I find myself being at once complacent about Owen's seizures and afraid for him too. He hasn't had but two small ones on Christmas when he forgot his medication for a day in a year or more and yet, witnessing the few he had before we got this med thing figured out is something I can't forget. 

The way I love all of my grandchildren is so primal and so profound and quite frankly, so unexpected that I often find myself feeling as if I don't have any idea what to do with it all. 

I will say this- whenever you remember your grandmother kissing you and hugging you when you were probably way too old to appreciate it, please forgive her. She had to kiss and hug you like that. She loved you so much that nothing in this world could have stopped her. 

Trust me. 

And speaking of profound, if you have not read Rosemarie's post today, please do it now. It is to the point, it is true, and yes, it is profound as hell and I no more know what to do with my feelings about what's going on in this country than I do with my feelings about my grandchildren. 

The Confederate Jasmine is blooming. I am sorry, but that's the only name I know it by. The scent is almost too heady to bear, even from many yards away. The sun is setting and I am exhausted. I did another long walk today, but faster. I had planned to only do a few miles but once I get out there, it's so easy just to keep going. Easy until it suddenly isn't and I still have miles to walk back. But that's okay. It's good for me and I will sleep well tonight. 

The baby chicks are all thriving. Knock wood. I gave them chopped kale and chopped honeydew melon for their treats today. They ate 'em up. 

And I would like to end tonight by saying the name of the man who took the gun from the shooter at the Waffle House in Nashville. 

James Shaw, Jr. 

He is now raising money for the survivors. 

He is a hero, no matter what he says and the fact that our president has ignored him is shameful beyond belief. 

If I was Trump's wife, I wouldn't hold his hand either. That tiny little hand, as tiny as his little tiny heart, its tiny little muscle pumping his cold, cold blood through his cold, cold veins. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Walking, Reading, Shopping...etc.

I walked the miles today but I walked them relatively slowly which is fine. I still can't get over how beautiful this road is, how sparse the traffic is, how relatively few houses there are on it.

Here's a guy that was walking, or rather, doing whatever it is that snails do to travel, even more slowly than I was.

I would have moved him to the shoulder of the road but he only had a few inches to go and I decided to let him finish his journey on his own. 

Or her own. 

I just looked it up and that is a Florida Rosy Wolf Snail which, according to this article, was responsible for "the single-most catastrophic extinction event in modern times."

Which happened in Hawaii. 

Doesn't look that dangerous, does it? 

Well, there you go. Don't go introducing non-native species into other habitats. It just never seems to go well. 

But in Florida, they are fine. 

So are these. They are specimens of the Coral Bean which are native here and feed the hummingbirds. 

And that is an Oakleaf Fleabane. It's fringy petals can be white or a sort of pinkish lavender. They too are native. 

And these are a few of the plants I saw on my walk today. 

After I got home and had my lunch and did a few things around here, I went to Tallahassee to try and find some new walking shoes. I went to Dick's first because (a) their decision to quit selling semi-automatic weapons was brave and I want to support them, and (b) their online presence claimed they carried a good line of women's Saucony running shoes. 

(b) was a lie. 

Then I went to another place. They had some Saucony's but (a) the woman working there seemed so absolutely disengaged from any sort of customer service as to render her presence an annoyance, and (b) they had only one style and I didn't like it, and (c) they did not have my size. 

Then I went to yet another place. And you know how much I love to shop. 

Hahahahahahaha!

This place had several styles and some in my size and I ended up buying a pair that I will probably regret because I was sucked into getting them due to the comfort factor of the memory foam insoles. They are very lightweight and will probably take even less time to break down but whatever. 

And no one annoyed me at that store. Actually, no one helped me at all which was far more preferable than a sales associate who appeared to look upon me as pond scum because I did not want Nikes or New Balance shoes and then ignored me completely. 

At least the guy who worked at Dick's asked what I was currently running in. 

Again I say- Hahahahahahahahahahahaha! 

Run? Not unless there's a bear. 

And then I went to a feed store for more chick feed and I have to tell you- the employees at feed stores are just the nicest people. The guy who helped me had a great handlebar mustache and answered my questions about a few chick-related things quite honestly and did not try to oversell and before I'd even paid for the bag of food, he'd put it in the back of my car. 

Where it still is but that's another subject involving me and upper body strength which I used to have. 

To top it all off, I read an article in the New Yorker that I really enjoyed. It's entitled "Bean Freak" and it was written by Burkhard Bilger and it's about a guy named Steve Sando. Who is the bean freak. It involved not only beans and the growing and eating of them but also Mexico where Mr. Sando spends a great deal of time looking for beans that have been undiscovered by the gringo world. 

So you know I loved that. 

Plus, I already had a pot of pintos cooking on the stove and that is what we will be having for our supper. 

Chicken keeper tip of the day: If you at least partially freeze grapes before cutting them up into tiny pieces for your young chicks, it will go much easier and your knife will not have to be as sharp as a razor blade to get the job done without smushing them. 

There you go. Customer service at its best. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Lagniappe