There you go, Mr. P.! Clothes hung on the line. It was a perfect day for it. A sight that always cheers me.
Mr. Moon did get home last night around 1:30 a.m. He came in and kissed me and then he took his shower and came back to bed and before I knew it, he was not-quite-snoring but definitely asleep. And then he got up before I did this morning because that's the way he is. There was work to be done and only so many hours to do it.
I started laundry and got dressed for my walk. I drove to the park with trails fairly close to my house and got out of my car and began my trudging. I immediately realized that there was no real sense to the trails and I wondered if I would get lost.
Here's what the map looks like.
I think I may have walked most of those but who knows? I did find myself back at the beginning several times. I can't read a map for shit and I have no sense of direction so it was all quite mysterious for me. I did follow the trail that parallels the railroad track for awhile and I did find this small body of water.
That part of the trail system was in the woods and it was quite beautiful. Very old oaks, twisted and gnarled, their trunks dark against the sky. Fallen limbs were covered with bright green velvet moss and I enjoyed that.
But a lot of it was just very wide paths cut through what was probably pasture land and it was in full sun and although there may have been some interesting things to see, I must have missed them all.
I saw one other person. Another woman and she was huffing and puffing and as red as I probably was. For all I know she was on her fourteenth lap around the park. I used the Map My Walk app on my phone and did a little more than three miles and called it quits and somehow found my way back to where my car was parked. I got in and drove home and decided that I'd much rather walk Farm Road or White House Road, even with cars and pavement.
But it was good to try something new.
I had a case of the I-Suck's today. No idea why. It was just one of those days where I woke up feeling totally inadequate in all ways. The spider webs in my house seemed to be outlined in neon, the invasive plants in my yard glowed as if lit by the light from a rogue nuclear power plant. Ants in the cat food bowl. Chicken poop in the kitchen. Mold. Mildew. Bamboo growing up in the camellia bed. Green Acres, in other words although I am no Eva Gabor. Not in any way, shape or form.
Especially shape or form.
Which is a whole other part of the I-Suck headset.
I had thought that the walk would help with all of that but it didn't. I faced the fact that this is just the way some days are and put on my garden shoes and gloves and cleaned out the hen house and got fresh water for the chickens and then started raking leaves and hauling them to the garden for mulch. I didn't get a whole lot done but I did get the area with the tomatoes and peppers and eggplants nicely covered which will help with weeds and moisture retention.
I just went out to turn the sprinklers off and look what the setting sun is doing to the almost-spent lettuces.
There you have the stained-glass windows of my garden church.
I picked a few and they will be part of our supper.
I feel better.
And now off to cook supper for two. Life goes on. I may indeed suck but it's not the end of the world if I do.
I had a craving for some falafel today and Jessie and the boys met me at a Middle Eastern place and the boys were a bit wild. And funny. They both acted like two little guys who needed a nap but I hear from Jessie that that never happened even though she drove them around in the car for awhile and then took them for a forty-five minute walk. Maybe they just had the devil in 'em. This does sometimes happen, you know.
Still, I enjoyed seeing them.
After lunch I went down to the New Leaf market which is what the Coop is called here. I have been needing some Golden Seal which is the absolutely true herbal remedy that I believe in with all of my heart. I'm not saying that there aren't others that don't work, I'm just saying that Golden Seal always works for me. I use it for wound care and I have seen it do things that are just this short of miraculous. I've used it in treating a gunshot exit wound (yeah, really) and I gave some to a sister-in-law to use on the sores on her legs that because of poor circulation related to some serious problems, would not heal no matter what the doctors tried.
And Golden Seal worked.
I use it on animal injuries too and have some ointment mixed with it in the refrigerator that I keep for chicken wounds.
I went looking for my precious little baggie of it a few weeks ago when I had a gnarly-looking infected ant bite but could not find it. I asked the kids if maybe I'd loaned it to them and both Jessie and Lily reported that I had given them small amounts but not my own bag.
Never did find it and so it was time to replenish.
They don't keep it out on the shelf with the rest of the bulk herbs at the New Leaf. You have to ask an employee to get it for you and he measures it out AT THE CASH REGISTER and yes, it's precious. I bought ten dollars worth today and it'll probably last me for years. It doesn't seem to ever lose its effectiveness.
The way I mostly use it is to mix up a small amount of it with some antibiotic ointment. This, I am sure, is as sacrilegious to the alternative healing community as using Kool Aid at communion would be to a Catholic priest. However, this is what works for me and no, it's not the antibiotic ointment alone that does the healing. I've usually tried that on its own before I get out the little baggie. Together they seem to be magic but I think you could mix it with Vaseline and it would work. You need the gooey stuff to keep the Golden Seal on the wound. Just a tiny amount does the trick. When I used it to treat the gunshot wound, I made a strong tea of it and soaked the packing gauze I used in that. I was hesitant at first to do that because this was a serious wound. But I swear to you- within days that wound was healing up like nothing I'd ever seen before. It was beautiful.
Now. Having said all of this I feel I must offer a warning- use the stuff at your own risk. Mr. Moon is allergic to it. I used some on a wound on his foot once and he broke out in an itchy rash immediately. Not that I think any of y'all are going to rush out and buy Golden Seal but still...be aware that some people may not tolerate it.
I don't use it for internal problems although some people do. And by the way- it's the bitterest thing you can imagine. It does not taste good.
So. Speaking of alternative treatments, I ran into a woman I know at the post office today. She told me, "I've been losing weight!"
What do you say to this?
"Have you been trying to?" I asked her.
"I've been putting magnets on my ears! And it works! I can eat biscuits with butter and I still lose weight!"
"Wow. That's amazing," I said.
Maybe I need to get some magnets.
I stopped by the Bad Girls Who Get Saved By Jesus thrift store on my way home today. I felt guilty because I didn't have the children with me but I got over it. It appears to me that the entire store has changed. First off, it's a lot tidier. Secondly, they got rid of a whole bunch of crappy crap junk and seem to have better items. I saw a guy I know there and he said, "Much higher quality now."
He was right.
I got a tea set in the box for the kids.
Are those napkin rings?
I also a nice vintagey looking green glass pitcher that will make a lovely vase.
Or could, I suppose, be used as an actual pitcher. It would look good with bloody mary's in it, don't you think? Easter is coming up...
So that was fun. And then I searched out a greenway walking trail that's only about six miles from my house. I've never walked it but I think I will tomorrow.
Mr. Moon was scheduled to get into Tallahassee about 12:01 a.m. tonight. Or tomorrow morning to be accurate. But somehow things have gotten all fucked up and they canceled the flight from Chicago (where he is now) to Charlotte and he's now booked through Atlanta but flights are being delayed (weather?) and who knows when he'll get home?
Not me.
Air travel is just the worst these days. At least here in the US. If you DO get on your plane at the scheduled time, you won't have enough room to sit comfortably or even with any dignity, they charge you for every bag you have with you, you'll be lucky if you get a one ounce bag of pretzels and two sips of ginger ale. Remember when people used to complain about airline food?
Yes, they served a meal on most flights. Okay, so it may not have been terrific food but it wasn't bad. And it was food! And it came with real eating utensils. If you asked, the flight attendant would bring you a deck of cards or some magazines. Real magazines, not those in-flight magazines that someone's already done the crossword in.
Also, people didn't wear their pajamas on airplanes but that's a whole other cultural shift that I do not care to address now.
Anyway, I texted Glen and asked him please not to spend the night in the airport. That we are too old for that shit. He texted back that he'll get a room and he'll make them pay for it.
You know what?
I bet he will.
My husband is a force of nature when it comes to such things.
I miss him. I haven't even cut the mulberry pie yet and I think I'll save it all for him. I made him laugh yesterday when I told him that he needs to come home so that I'll have some laundry to do. My beautiful new space machines have been languishing for a lack of laundry. I love my alone time but that is predicated on the knowledge that I do live with someone I love.
It's so quiet in Lloyd tonight. My chickens aren't doing their usual bedtime fussing. Are they already on the roost? I should go out and see. The next-door band is not practicing, the church parking lot is empty. I'll make my solo supper. I bought a few scallops at the New Leaf and I think I'll do something with them and some beautiful cherry tomatoes and a little bit of kale from the garden and some pasta.
Liberace just appeared at the hen house door and walked a few steps outside. I imagine he was checking to see if there were any stragglers he needed to call in. He's a good rooster. He's no Elvis but then again, there was only one of those. Kian even remembered Elvis. He recalled that he was a very sweet rooster.
I hope that by this time tomorrow my husband is home and safe and that I'm cooking for both of us.
Can you read what the sign on that guy's bike says?
Dear Lord.
I see a lot of bike riders as I walk on White House Road but I've never seen this one before. And he did not appear to be someone who has spent a lot of time on a bicycle. He was having a difficult time making it up the hill.
Not that I'm judging him for that. Those hills can make me wish I could call a cab sometimes.
No, I'm judging him for the sign which he had somehow precariously attached to the back of his bike. I absolutely had to take that picture.
When we recrossed paths later on in my walk he actually said to me, in the most friendly, pleasant tone imaginable, "Isn't this a beautiful road?"
I agreed that it was and kept on walking.
Oh dear.
So it was a day. For some reason I was in a bit of a foul mood. Things were just making me angry. I got out in the garden and pulled a few weeds and planted a row of black-eyed peas and was working on getting a plot ready for my corn when I almost lost it. It was hot, I was sweating, ants were everywhere, and every time I inadvertently leaned on that sensitive part of my knee I could not help but cry out. It's just a terrible sharp burning pain and I know that sounds like a nerve thing, but it doesn't feel like that.
I don't know.
I do not know.
But I know that when my phone rang and it was my husband I actually cried.
"I just can't do what I used to do anymore," I wept. "And it sucks and I hate it."
He was going through some frustrations of his own and we ended up comforting each other and then laughing by the time our conversation had come to an end.
I gave it up on the garden and switched to stem-pulling on the mulberries. I sat down in the living room with my various bowls and turned on Netflix and what did I find?
A documentary I've been wanting to see for two years.
And I sat and cut tiny stems between my thumb and forefinger until my hands looked as if I had committed murder and cried like a baby, watching those beautiful old men, gypsy rockers every one of them, living and playing with such obvious joy.
It's so hard to explain how I feel about this band. Actually, it's impossible unless you grew up when I grew up and music became something that was far more important than perhaps it had ever been for such a huge number of people in such an almost universal way.
Music was what pulled our world tribe together.
This may sound extremely naive and hippie-ish and even ridiculous but you know what?
Fuck that.
It's true.
And although there were SO many musicians and bands that represented so many different genres and cultures there were a few that changed everything.
The Beatles. Always number one.
Bob Dylan. No one like him.
Jimi Hendrix. He blew us into planetary exploration.
Janis Joplin. She showed us what a strong and determined woman can look like and sound like even as she pulled her heart out of throat and gave it to us.
And more, of course. So many more.
But those- well, they were at the top of it all and the Rolling Stones were the black hats to the Beatles' white hats, as even Keith said. You have to have one if you have the other and as in the yin-yang symbol, neither side is bigger than the other. Neither is more important than the other.
The old joke goes:
"Who's the greatest band of all times?"
"The Beatles."
Who's the greatest rock and roll band of all times?"
"The Rolling Stones."
And two of the Beatles are dead, one of them John Lennon whose death many of us old folks will never quite recover from and Jimi's dead and Janis is dead and Bob Dylan ain't dead and he's still playing but I'm pretty sure that it's because he wouldn't have a clue as to what to do with his life if he didn't.
But.
The Rolling Stones. They're still doing it! They're still kicking the shit out of rock and roll and they have survived addictions and cancers and now Mick's heart problem and problems with the law and marriages and divorces and deaths of loved ones and even one of Keith's children, a baby who died of crib death. They've survived inter-band fights and disagreements and business shit and artistic shit and personal shit on every level. They have survived and they pick up their instruments and they didn't get plastic surgery and yeah, okay, Mick and Ronnie obviously dye their hair but that's their business. Their faces look like the Grand Canyon with the deep crevices that go way past what we might call wrinkles and they're still skinny, blitz babies all.
Which is another thing they all survived.
And I can't help but love them for all of that and this isn't even mentioning the music they've given us that's made us dance and sing and feel evil in the very best of ways and they are still here, looking no more like pretty boys than they ever did, but only like themselves, wearing the faces that they have created out of their lives, their spirits in bodies that may be old and even gnarled but more beautiful for all of that and when they're onstage and Keith plays the first few chords of "Satisfaction" I am twelve years old again and listening to a radio whose cabinet is made of wood, its dial made of Bakelite, and feeling like maybe, even though my stepfather visits me nightly and makes me feel as if I have absolutely no control over my own body, there is this message in this music that tells me that if I just hold on, I can somehow tap into this power that they are so obviously filled with and I will be able to claim it for my own.
Does that make sense?
Probably not.
But it does to me.
And now that I'm old, too, with this wrinkly skin and this body that I don't even recognize as my own sometimes, you can't imagine what it means to me to see these same men who seemingly transcend all of those age things to be what they have always been which is...The Rolling Stones.
They still have that power and maybe, just maybe, I can still claim my own.
And it would appear, from the concert footage in this documentary, that it's not just us old people who appreciate what they're doing. The thousands and thousands of people who attend their concerts appear to find as much joy in the music, no matter what their age, as audiences ever have.
Well, as I so often say, That is enough of THAT!
The mulberry pie is in the oven and is just about ready to come out.
And no, I can't do pastry. That's ridiculous. But I'm pretty sure that I've never in my life spent as much time working on a pie in my life if you include all the days of picking berries I've done and all the thinking about it that's gone into the making of it. Plus, my fingers and fingernails may be permanently dyed purple black and I have two cuts on my forefinger from stemming the berries.
I may not even cut it until Mr. Moon gets home.
Or I may.
We shall see.
One more picture.
I swear- these are the last of the camellias.
I'm going to miss them so much, their sweet baby-pink faces gracing my yard, my house, my soul.
I really used to be into little altars. I put thought and effort into them. Some of them were just general spaces with treasures and things I loved and some were created for specific purposes. I think of those days as my pagan days.
Or something.
I don't think I ever really believed in any sort of healing or intentional purpose coming from those altars except in the sense of the concentration of my own thoughts with objects that represented them. Candles were indeed lit sometimes.
These days...not so much.
As I become older and my intense dislike of religion grows ever deeper I now disdain any sort of magical thinking and that goes from believing that a loving god listens to prayers to believing that the universe is conspiring to give us what we want.
I have as much disdain for Oprah and her Secrets as I do for Scientology.
But hey! Whatever makes you feel good and brings you comfort, right?
And some of my little altars still bring me comfort. And make me feel good.
The one above, which has been pictured on this blog at least a hundred times, is in my hallway. I pass it many, many times a day and I try to keep fresh flowers on it because THAT makes me happy. Those pretty red roses smell like heaven and I am glad to have them there today. I've added a wisteria bloom since I took that picture- one of the very last- which I discovered when I was out kicking bamboo. There are pictures of my children and there is a jar of Cozumel sea glass that Glen and I brought back from a trip we took decades ago. There are seashells and turtle shells. There is the tiny silver mug with my initials engraved on it that someone gave my parents when I was born. There is black coral which I illegally brought back, also from Cozumel, that I found on the beach, washed up from deep and secret depths. There are candles. There are feathers.
Today Hank and Rachel brought me some feathers that Rachel had collected a long time ago. You can see them in front of my beloved Mexican Virgin of Guadalupe. I put them in the broken neck of an old bottle I found outside over by the goat pen. I knew I brought it in for some purpose instead of just tossing it back to the ground.
And so I did.
These are the sorts of things that anchor me. No matter how far I drift or what my state of mind is, these objects represent parts of my life that the memories of bring me great pleasure.
But they are just stuff, no matter what meaning I invest in them.
And I know that.
Yesterday when I decided to ask my brother if his daughter, my niece, would like her grandmother's jewelry box a great yearning came over me to see him. Since our mother died, things have just been weird and although this brother and I have had a deep and abiding relationship since the day of his birth when I was twelve years old, we have not seen each other very much at all. And I have not seen his two children in forever.
Or, well, at least since Mother died.
And he is my only sibling who lives in Tallahassee.
So yesterday when Chuck and I were texting, I told him that Jessie and the boys were going to come out today and maybe he and whoever might want to come out too. We left it loose and it ended up that Hank and Rachel wanted to come out and to my great joy, Chuck said he'd be coming with his son Kian.
My nephew.
I've written quite a bit about Kian and his sister Riley. They used to stay here sometimes when they were little. They loved it here. If you do a search at the top left side of my blog for "Kian and Riley" you'll find quite a few posts about them when they were little. Here's a few pictures I took back then.
They were like my practice grandchildren, just as their father had been my practice baby.
Like my grands now they would spend the night and take baths in the giant bathtub and want pancakes in the mornings. They loved gathering eggs and vegetables and walking to the post office and seeing the railroad tracks.
So seeing Kian today was just lovely. And seeing his father made my soul feel like, "Oh, there he is," and I felt as if no time had passed at all since the last time we met up.
I felt so easy with both of them and August was happy as can be to meet them and he fell in with Kian immediately. Chuck, who has worked in childcare for thirty years squatted down to talk to him and August felt seen and appreciated. "Excuse me," he would say, and I would say, "Yes?" and he would say, "No. I'm talking to that man."
And he'd proceed to tell Chuck whatever was on his mind.
And Hank and Jessie were happy to see their uncle. We all went out and picked mulberries and ate them which was a good ice-breaker. We all had purple mouths and fingers where the sweet berry ink stained them.
Kian walked about the house and relived some of his childhood. He is seventeen now. Taller than his dad. Taller than me, for sure.
We all went to the Hilltop for our lunch which was as delicious as ever. Here are Kian and August.
Rachel wooed Levon with much chasing and merriment and the little guy laughed so much. We all talked and laughed and caught up. Chuck and I even got some alone time before lunch and that was precious to me. I hear that Riley really wanted to come out too but had too much homework. She has a boyfriend! I want to see her so much. I hope she likes her Granny's jewelry box.
After lunch there were several southern good-byes. First in the parking lot of the Hilltop and then in my yard.
It was, for me, a completely beautiful day. And dammit, I am not letting the umbilical cord of my relationship with my brother get so tangled again. He is too much a part of me and my life and like the objects on my altar, the very sight of him brings me joy. And although Kian and Riley have great relationships with the many, many wonderful people in their mother's family, they are part of me too and this side of the family is a whole other wonderful root of their family tree.
No. I never got the corn or black-eyed peas planted and no, I did not de-stem the many mulberries I want to bake into a pie but all of that?
Just stuff.
I wouldn't trade this day for anything.
I got to hang out with my brother. And his darling son and some of my kids and a few of my grandkids.
I have no tidy ending for this post. I have a feeling that very little in life has a tidy ending. There are always complications and unexpected situations and circumstances and fine and fancy dances. There are rainstorms and brainstorms and oh my god but there are tears and there are fears!
And yet.
And yet.
If we love, if we just keep loving, there can be such unbelievable sweetness.
I sent this picture to Lily and Jessie today with an accompanying text saying, "This is an actual photo of my foot."
I wanted to go get a pedicure. I haven't had one in practically forever due to the fact that the toenail that I ripped off in the bathtub in the overall-hardwear-related incident has taken this long to grow back. But it finally has.
The three of us spent approximately four lifetimes texting back and forth about various options and details concerning getting a pedicure and this involved schedules and child care and all that stuff until finally we resolved it all in an unsatisfying manner. Jessie and I would go and Lily would work.
I picked up Jessie and got to see the boys and I read August two books and he showed me his bunk bed for about the tenth or so time and showed me Slothy, his stuffed sloth whom he sadly proclaimed to be sick. Levon showed me his tractor. A lot.
While we were getting our pedicures, Vergil was going to take the boys on a bike ride so we helped them get all loaded up. Vergil has a very, very cool bike to take his sons on rides with.
This boy. When you kiss him good-bye, he puckers up and after you smack him on the lips with your lips he says, "Ta-too" which of course means "Thank-you."
I can't handle it.
Throwing us kisses before they took off.
We went to a nail salon that Jessie had been to before. It had a water feature that she liked.
I liked it too. It was mesmerizing, watching the little cartoonish bubbles rise to the top and disappear.
I ended up sitting next to Jessie where that lady in the blue shirt is sitting in the picture. And all was well. We both had very nice guys working on our feet. I always feel so fucking entitled when I get a pedicure. First of all, it's ALWAYS a person from another country who is giving me the pedicure. Secondly, they are required to touch my feet which are always so nasty. They look exactly like the feet of a sixty-four year old woman who goes barefoot half the time would look like. Also, I get terrible calluses on the backs of my heels. But I try to restrain my guilt and always tip very, very well. And then enjoy it all as much as possible. This includes the massage function on the chairs they always have. But today my chair seemed to be totally out of control. No matter what I set it on, that thing bounced me back and forth so hard that I was embarrassed.
No. Really.
And then, I happened to look down the row of chairs and there was another old woman whose chair was doing the same thing and she was rocking and rolling and I started laughing and before I knew it I was in the middle of that sort of inappropriate laughter you usually get in church and I could not stop. I don't think the lady noticed. I hope not. And I wasn't really laughing at her. I was laughing at the situation we were both in. I laughed so hard that both my nail tech AND Jessie's asked if I was okay.
"I'm fine," I managed to sputter. "Just fine."
And I gathered myself together and pulled myself together and finally quit laughing. And I turned the massage function off of the chair entirely. I wouldn't mind having one of those chairs to use in the privacy of my own home but I just could not deal with being bounced around like that in public.
And now I'm laughing again.
But it was all great fun and my feet look brand new.
Here's one of them. I actually have two. Can you tell that I wear flip-flops when I'm not barefoot?
So it's been a rather jovial day except for the part where I went through an old dresser to weed and pare the contents. I had some of my mother's things in there and it did not bring me pleasure to go through them. I still have her purse and wallet and it just seems so weird to throw those away but honestly- would I want my kids to keep my purse and wallet around? I'd want them to use the purse if they wanted to but the stuff in my wallet? Throw that shit AWAY! Mom's jewelry box was also in there and I went through her jewelry again. Mother loved to travel and she bought very inexpensive jewelry on those trips which represented the places she'd visited. I don't want those things and neither do my kids. But most are silver and I can't just throw them away. I texted one of my brothers to ask if his daughter would like her Granny's jewelry box, pre-loaded with some jewelry. He wrote back that she very much would. So that's good. There are papers I need to throw away. There's an actual receipt for the services of the moving van that she used when we moved to Roseland from Chattanooga in 1960 which lists all of her earthly possessions. Anyway, none of that was very jovial but I did manage to clear out drawers and make a donate pile of some sheets and pillow cases and silver-plated platters as well as a bag to take to the trash depot. Now there is room for quilts and blankets and that feels good.
I've picked more mulberries and I think I will definitely be making a pie tomorrow. Mr. Moon has been texting me from the Auburn game and he is so happy.
I am happy too.
It feels good to just flow with the day as it comes, being lazy and doing little chores that I normally would never feel as if I had time for.
Which is ridiculous.
Here's the picture I sent my husband last night when we were telling each other good-night.
Sexy, right?
"He looks like he's telling me to stay in Chicago," Mr. Moon texted back.
Jack may think he's the man but I know he's just the neutered male cat. I won't tell him that, though. His purring brings me too much comfort for me to want to hurt his feelings. And aren't we supposed to believe that it's what we think about ourselves that's important?
There is cute and then there is cute.
Look at these two fellas. How cute are they? That's Mr. Moon and his college roommate who was also an Auburn basketball player, holding their tickets for the final four.
You may know what the final four is. I really don't but it does appear to be important. And they do look so very, very happy.
Mr. Moon left this morning and now he's in Chicago where his friend lives and I guess tomorrow they'll be heading to Minnesota. They are going to have such a good time and dammit, I may not understand one bit of it but I do, without doubt, understand that this makes my man so happy and that makes me happy. Life is short. Jump on that train and ride it to Minnesota. Or wherever it is that would make you grin like that.
So. What am I doing while my husband is up north?
Well. I went to lunch. Of course.
Hank and Rachel and Lily and Jessie and August and Maggie and Levon and I all went to El Patron and ate delicious tasty Mexican food.
Here are Hank and August.
Hank let August taste his Coca Cola. August has never had Coca Cola, as far as I know. I'm not sure how he liked it although he did ask if he could try my lemon water after he had his sip of the forbidden. Maggie got to taste it too. I think she's probably had Coke before. Maybe. She asked for more.
Maggie wanted to play with Levon. Of course. She seems to view him as a small pet. She loves pets. Lily says that if they see a dog from the car she wants to stop, get out of the car, and pet it.
In fact, she told our server that she could pet Levon's head if she wanted.
We were sitting at a table quite far removed from other diners and she walked Levon around and around a little island. Like you would a little doggie, perhaps. She and August also played some tag until that got out of hand. I love how Levon is so trusting of Maggie. She helped him up and down the two steps that were involved in this circular walk so carefully. I swear, I'm not sure I've ever seen a child as (dare I say it?) nurturing as Magnolia June.
More pictures are required.
That sweet little boy head, that gorgeous tangle of rainy-day curls.
Oh, my heart!
And so there was that- lunch. I took Rachel home while Hank did a few errands because she's been sick and had gone to work for half a day and I could tell she was tired and ready to be home. I hate that feeling of having to buck up and pretend you don't feel like hell when all you want is to be in your own home and your own bed with the door to the world shut behind you.
I love Rachel. I love that Rachel and Hank love each other. I can't imagine anything better. When I saw Hank today I hugged him hard and said, "My baby!"
Of course this is so ridiculous and I do it when I hug all of my children if I am moved by emotion to do so. But they ARE my babies. And they taught me what love is. To be quite honest, they taught me what life is.
And I am so grateful that Rachel is part of our lives and our love now. And she so beautifully is.
After that I went to Publix where guess who I ran into?
JESSIE AND AUGUST AND LEVON!
Levon seemed to be especially excited to see me again so soon in such a different context. When I saw them I said, "Look at the healthy things in my cart!" And indeed, I had asparagus and organic sweet potatoes and lovely peppers and a small carton of blackberries. I was so proud. Of course this was before the beer and tonic aisles and before I bought that beautiful little steak I'm going to cook either tonight or tomorrow.
When I got home I finished doing laundry which is still making me inordinately happy, and made up my bed with clean sheets AGAIN for me and Jack and then I went to gather eggs and pick mulberries.
I can't tell you how excited I am about these berries despite my recent post about the over-abundance of spring. I think that in a few days I'll have enough to make a little pie and won't that be something? One mulberry is enough to shoot me right back to childhood to the mulberry tree in Roseland where we children gorged ourselves every spring. We dyed our lips and our fingertips purple and I know that my mother made a pie of them at least once. I remember her saying that they needed some lemon juice and I will add some to my pie if I make it.
And that is the story from here. It rained sweetly all night last night. The squash is coming up. Once again the church next door has gospel music wailing from the windows and the guys on the other side of me are practicing whatever it is they play. Mick Jagger seems to be recovering nicely from his heart surgery. I do believe he'll live to dance again. And sing again. And strut again. And play harmonica again. Hell. Who knows? He could father another child or two.
Excuse me. Isn't it time for you to go throw the scratch?
Because Dearie sleeps in a tree rather than in the hen house, she is outside and roaming before the other chickens get out in the morning. I do not mind her on the porch because I have so much affection for her. She lets me stroke her soft feathers and is completely comfortable with me.
My fine little dinosaur.
So. Guess what?
In a non-amazing turn of events, my dryer quit working last night. I don't know about you but I suspect collusion.
That's right.
Collusion between my old washer and my dryer. What else can explain this?
My husband was on it, though. He took the truck to work this morning and called the woman we always deal with at the appliance store. She was quite happy to get rid of the dryer that was the other part of the pair with the washer we bought last week. Not happy enough to give it to us but happy nonetheless.
And as we SPEAK, the dryer is drying. Mr. Moon is heading to Minnesota tomorrow to meet up with his old Auburn basketball teammate to watch that tournament thingee Auburn's playing in. So he needed clean clothes. And he wanted to get my laundry situation all squared away before he left because he's that kind of man.
I'd show you a picture of the new dryer but it looks just like the new washer so what's the point?
Right now the dryer's in the spot where the old dryer was in the old laundry area because the wiring isn't quite finished in the new laundry room. When we move that thing in there it's going to look like a space command center.
I took my first real decent walk in quite awhile this morning.
I almost died.
Not really.
I drove down to Farm Road and parked at the north end and walked from there. I love Farm Road although it's almost all uphill going north to south. But of course that means that it's almost all downhill from south to north.
And it's pretty as can be.
Also, I saw zero cars on my walk today.
Well, that was fascinating, right?
In another non-amazing turn of events the god of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (you're not supposed to call them Mormons anymore) gave the prophets a new revelation concerning the children of gay members of the church. They can now be baptized just like "regular" kids. Also, being in a same-sex marriage is no longer grounds for excommunication. It's still wrong but they're not going to kick you out. You aren't "apostate" as they say.
It's a bit difficult to understand. Policy versus doctrine. To be honest, I don't understand it but it does seem that the Mormon god reveals these sorts of things when people start leaving the church because of the old policies. And of course, "fervent prayer" is always involved.
For example- polygamy, Black men in the priesthood, and now this.
What a bunch of fucking crap.
I wonder if their god will ever reveal that humans born without penises and testicles can be part of their so-called "priesthood."
Not any time soon, I'm betting.
So that's that. I did figure out what I was going to talk about yesterday that I couldn't remember and it wasn't important at all. I'd just done some googling to see if I could figure out this weird pain below my knee when I kneel on it.
No. I couldn't.
Everything to do with messed-up knees seems to be a result of one or two of two things: Injury from repetitive motion and old age.
Thanks WebMD!
At least none of the sites I visited told me I was going to die according to the symptoms I have.
Always a plus.
I'm going to go make supper which is going to involve a few mustard green leaves. Not the giant ones. Just a few normal-sized ones. And some kale. And some collards. And some chicken thighs.
It's going to be good. I hope.
Don't tell Dearie about the chicken thighs. Not that she'd care. Hell, she'd eat chicken thighs if I gave her some. Chickens are nothing if not practical. Also, their god is eminently sensible in all regards.
Dearie inspects a map of Florida to determine where she should take her next vacation.
I wake up every morning these days and I just do not want to get out of bed. It's been cool in the mornings and my cozy covers comfort me with their weight, their warmth, and the sheets feel like silk. I begin an internal debate about the radical idea of just not getting up.
I deserve a day in bed, I think.
There's nothing I have to do, I rationalize.
Just stay here, my bed whispers, and I will hold you in comfort and in peace. I will keep you safe.
And then I get up.
Thank god for coffee.
I'm just not feeling spring this year. I mean, sure, it's been great, what with the flowers and all. Birds doing it, bees doing it.
Theoretically.
A bounty of eggs being laid. The delightfully temperate weather.
It's all good.
And yet...
Oh fucking sigh.
Somehow the overwhelming abundance of it all is simply too much for me right now.
Remember when it rained here for days and days and days?
That matched my mood better than this cheerful berry-bursting, bird-chirping, blue-sky sunshine that's going on now. Well, it did rain almost all day on Monday and that was good. Supposed to rain again on Friday and Saturday.
That would be excellent for staying in bed all day long.
What in hell is wrong with me?
I don't know.
I drove over to Lily's today and we went into town together with Ms. Maggie. She's such a hoot. The new thing she's saying now that's so damn cute is her use of the word "fridger" for refrigerator. I took Lily two dozen eggs and she put them in the fridger.
I think I'll start using that word.
We met up with Jessie and the boys at Midtown Pies where May works. I couldn't get my brain in gear enough to even know what I wanted to eat. It's like I was a lump of gray play dough. I did take this picture.
Bebes eating pizza. They were both wearing Mer-Made dresses. That made me happy. I hear that Magnolia wants me to make her an Elsa princess dress.
What?
I think I'll buy her one. I mean, how do you get all those jewels on the skirt?
Okay. I just looked up the pattern for an Elsa princess dress and found an image of the fabric and notions requirements.
Yeah. I'll be buying that dress. You might as well ask me to knit the Eiffel Tower.
Not gonna happen.
It was great to see my beautiful May and I gave her a dozen and a half eggs which she can now put in her fridger. What a relief to give these eggs away! I was drowning in them. After lunch Lily took this picture.
I'm their grandmother and that is almost too much cute for me.
When I got home I got out in the garden a little bit. Would you look at the size of this mustard green leaf?
"What do you want for supper?"
"Oh, how about a mustard green leaf?"
They're starting to bolt too. I hope they stay edible until Easter because I think we're going to have the annual They Crucified My Lord And He Arose From The Tomb But Looked So Bad That His Own Disciples Didn't Recognize Him celebration here. Our friend Mark is coming which means that I will be making a ham which is actually the reason I celebrate Easter which is the official day to eat ham and deviled eggs. And greens and maybe some challah. I can make the hell out of some challah.
Don't bother pointing out how dirty my hand is in that picture. I am aware of it. Be assured I have washed it and its mate quite well since then.
Also don't bother pointing out that it would seem to be ridiculous that we eat a food which Jews believe to be absolutely forbidden, to celebrate the death and resurrection of a Jew named Jesus.
Maybe I'll cook some shrimp and crab and scallops too. Stuff 'em and wrap 'em in bacon.
Sound good?
Oh yeah.
I was going to talk about one more thing. What was it?
I told you my brain was in gray play dough mode.
Was it Trump and how he kept saying "orange" instead of "origin"?
Hmmm...
I don't think so.
Was it him repeating the lie that his father was born in Germany instead of the Bronx?
No. I don't think it was that either.
But I will say that it's pretty obvious to me that the man is not in the early stage of dementia. He's in the sure-as-hell stage.
Dammit. I can't remember.
Dementia?
Depression brain?
Well, if I think of it I'll let you know.
Meanwhile, I'm going to go open up my fridger and get some leftovers out of it and heat them up.
God, what I'd give for a thunderstorm right about now.
I have taken no pictures today. Well, I did take a picture of a chicken's butt to send to Jessie to show her that Big Mama's Van Gleet seems to have cleared up.
It may not have been Van Gleet because that seems to require treatment and the only thing I've done to treat the situation is to put cider vinegar in the chicken's water a few times. She may actually have had roosteratitus which is only cured by massive reduction in roosterage.
Okay. Here's the picture of Big Mama's fluffy butt. As well as Connie's and Liberace's.
See anything?
No. No you don't. And that's the way we like it.
So what have I done today?
Three more loads of laundry for one thing. Jesus, but that washing machine is a beast. I wish I had some bigger rugs to wash in it! You know what I really like about it? The way it sings a little tune when it's through washing.
Much better than a loud buzz. MUCH better.
My refrigerator does the same thing if one of the doors is open for more than thirty seconds. I like this feature. They're the same brand and I have no idea if they're actually dependable appliances but I love the way they're designed. My refrigerator still thrills me every time I open it.
Here's another feature I really like about the washer.
See those blue things on top? Those are the dispensers to put the detergent and bleach and fabric softener in. And when you're finished loading up whichever washing additives you want, there's a little lid that slides forth and covers it all up.
Ta-Da!
I don't know why I like this so much but I do. It does eliminate some messiness.
All right. I'll stop talking about my washing machine now.
I'm making those NYT's black beans AGAIN! I just can't stop making them. They're so good. So yes, we had soup last night and we're having soup again tonight.
We love soup.
Every time we eat soup one of us says, "Too bad Jay Leno's not here."
We say that because he said a very, very stupid thing one time which was this:
"Soup is just a way of screwing you out of a meal."
Eh, fuck that, Jay.
Obviously the poor man has never had a real bowl of soup in his life. Either that or he's just not right in the head when it comes to what constitutes a meal. But each to his own, right?
So I went to the store today. My big outing. Do you ever wonder if the cashier is judging you on your food choices? I do. Also, do you look at what's in people's carts and judge them on that? Yeah, me too. Sometimes people make me feel guilty with their superior food choices. Sometimes I feel superior. I shouldn't admit that. Also, I just shouldn't do it. Who knows what the real story is? Plus, it ain't my business.
So there were just two people in front of my house on the sidewalk having a loud argument. We listened to see if we needed to intervene. Also, we couldn't help but listen. The doors and windows are open and the guy, especially, was shouting at the top of his lungs.
"You don't even kiss me anymore!" he screamed.
"You don't respect me!" the woman replied.
It didn't appear that it was going to get physical and they've walked on down the street now. Like with the food in someone else's cart- you just never know.
I've been with a few men that weren't really the best boyfriends but only once did I date a guy who hit me. He hit me once.
That was it. We had no more dates.
And he seemed so funny and normal and intelligent and caring and all that stuff.
Until something I said set him off. I can't begin to remember what it was.
I'm grateful, so grateful, that I never fell in love with an abusive man. Well, not that kind of abusive, anyway. One of the things that made me fall in love with my husband is how gentle he was. Okay. Once he did pick a guy up and carry him out of a bar because the man was really drunk and wouldn't stop sniffing me.
Literally. Sniffing me.
But he didn't hurt him.
And I guess that's the daily report. I can hear a hawk calling and a little while ago I heard the "You're sweet, you're sweet, you're sweet" bird. I think it's a mockingbird.
It's time to go punch down the focaccia. I believe it's done "proofing" as they say on the British Baking Show.
It's going to be a good dinner, Jay Leno be damned.
Is it a washing machine or is it a space ship? Is it a household appliance or is it a teletransporter?
Well, the instruction manual only covers the doing of laundry in it so I suppose we should trust that. And I have broken it in well and truly. I don't even know how many loads of laundry I've done but I will tell you that my iPhone health app claims that I've walked three miles today and that's 99.9% all from being in the house. My dryer is still in the old laundry area so each load must be carried in there to dry. It's not that big a deal. I'm getting those steps in, people! And it's already so nice to have the flat top of the dryer to fold on. We haven't figured out the arrangement we'll have in the new laundry room as to flat surfaces and storage areas but it won't take much to make me happy.
This is, without a doubt, the largest washing machine I've ever owned. Let's just say that washing rugs is not going to be a problem. In fact, I have a load going right now with two of them plus a pair of Mr. Moon's overalls. And I could have gotten three more towels in there easily.
But they are all already washed.
And folded.
And put away.
Oh, what a good little housewife I've been today!
After the guys came to deliver the machine the floors were pretty tracked up with the mud and dirt they brought in with them. It's been drizzling off and on all day which makes for messy conditions. So when they left I finally got the kitchen and that bathroom and the former laundry area mopped. I did it twice because once would have been a joke. If I'd done it three times I still would not have eaten off the floor but come on- who really eats off the floor?
Oh well. Babies. Sure. But they need all that dirt for their microbiomes. It's science.
I've also cleaned the coffeemaker with vinegar and done some ironing.
And made up the bed with clean sheets.
And picked some greens to go into our corn chowder tonight.
From now until all of those greens are bolted and pulled, we're going to be eating them in one form or another with every meal.
So. I am tired. Exhausted. But contented.
And very, very happy to hear that Mick Jagger does not appear to have a treacherous disease but instead needs a heart valve replacement. Or, heart valves. I don't know. And yes, of course this is serious but he's in great shape and should recover well. I've said more than once that Jagger may be the world's greatest athlete and I'm not kidding when I say that. James Brown might have once been the hardest working man in show business but he's dead and Mick's definitely not. I suppose we need to give a nod to Bruce Springsteen as well. His shows last for hours and hours and he's not just sitting up there on the stage behind a mic with his guitar. That man moves too.
And I suppose that's all I really need to talk about tonight. I don't want to discuss politics or religion or the meaning of life. I just want to be grateful that I have a washing machine and that we're going to have at least a tiny bit of cooler weather and some more rain before the unbearable heat of summer blows in like a blast furnace. The mulberries are starting to ripen, my fig tree is going to get so much more sun this year since that beautiful old oak passed away, and I'll have clean sheets when I crawl into my bed tonight.
