Jesus Gave Me Rain For Mother's Day

We got rain today. A good hard downpour for at least half an hour, maybe more, and there was thunder and there was lightening and I loved it. Now everything feels cooler and renewed and the white acre peas that Mr. Moon got planted in the garden today got a great watering-in. So did the second row of corn I planted. My Mother's Day present from my husband was the planting of those peas as well as a lot of weeding and mulching with leaves that he'd raked. And I appreciated that.

Just as I was planting my corn, Lily and Jason showed up with the boys and Magnolia and I was so happy to see them. It was a quick visit, but a sweet one. I got hugs from everyone and also a card and flowers and chocolate.
Pretty perfect.

I couldn't figure out anything special I wanted to do today for Mother's Day and when the rain came we just settled down in front of the TV and I made a Whirley Pop's worth of popcorn which was our lunch. We watched a few more episodes of Bloodline which we've been watching on Steve Reed's recommendation. We're enjoying it although it's one of those series where you think you know what's going on and then something happens that may or may not be a flashback and you may or may not be able to tell who's in the scene with the eerie music and murky darkness which leaves Mr. Moon and me saying, "What? What just happened? Who was that girl?"
And the other person saying, "Fuck if I know."
Also, a lot of the acting seems to be in the category of Overacting 101 but maybe that's just me.
The best thing about it in my opinion is Sam Shepard who dies in the series (not really much of a spoiler alert) and who is dead in real life but even more than that- the setting. The piece of property where most of the action takes place is on the beach in the Keys and I'd happily live there for the rest of my life.
Sissy Spacek has a major role as the matriarch of the family and I have to say that this is not her best effort. This could be more about the scripts than her acting ability. And yet, we are becoming sucked in by the show as always seems to happen.
Or, sometimes happens.

The one thing that I did keep thinking about today as a Mother's Day activity was going out to get a great seafood dinner. I think I had something in mind like this:

That is from a Red Lobster commercial and although Red Lobster is absolutely not the best place to go eat seafood, especially here in Florida so near the coast, they have the best ads in the world. Their food stylists are genius. 

Once again, however, the idea of going out to eat on Mother's Day is so disturbing on so many levels that I couldn't bring myself to do it. Mr. Moon suggested that we go to Ouzt's for boiled shrimp which almost made me cry because that was so far from what I had in mind but I love him for the offer. Ouzt's is a place on a river near the coast and its clientele is at least 90%...how do I put this?...people who would go to Ouzt's for Mother's Day. 

Bikers love the place. I'll just say that and leave it there. I'm not saying that I haven't had some good times at Ouzt's. I have. But those days may be over. 

I think that Jessie and Lily are having fun on their child-free hotel room get-away. 

This is a picture that they sent us. They look pretty happy to me. I just hope they use ALL the towels. And washcloths. And toiletries. 

And I'm pretty happy too. I've gotten the sweetest texts and calls from my babies and they absolutely make me feel celebrated and cherished every day of the year which is far more important than anything that could happen on one Sunday in May. 

I'm going to go finish making our supper which does not have one bit of seafood in it but that's okay. There will be more seafood available for me to eat at a later, saner date. 

Just probably not at the Red Lobster. 

Although...did you LOOK at that picture? 

Much love...Ms. Moon

Let's All Just Drink Bloody Mary's And Lay By The Pool

Today was a very big day. August and Levon both got their first real, professional haircuts by our beloved Melissa. August actually asked for this to happen. I think that he got to thinking about how pretty Melissa is and also, about that drawer where she keeps lollypops and that led to a boy wanting a haircut. August does love candy and he also loves the pretty women. This is just how it is. All of my grandsons gaze at Melissa as if she were a work of art that they can hardly believe they have the good fortune to be in the same room with. 

As well they should. 

We trooped into the familiar room where the magic happens and where the candy is stored and where the box of toys is kept. August went first. First he and Melissa did the "well, what do you think you want?" part of the appointment. August mainly wanted her to use the little trimmer. He loves that thing. Melissa said that all of the kids love it. Beyond that, August wasn't sure except that he wanted it shorter. 

Oh, look at those curls! It seemed sort of a sin to cut them but it's just hair. 

So curls got cut and the trimmer was used. 

Levon watched very closely, as he does. 

Then it was his turn. He sat on Mama's lap and Melissa gave him a lollypop. He sat as still as could be. 

She didn't cut much of his hair. Just enough to get him familiar with the process. Melissa knows what she's doing. 

And guess what? I didn't even get a picture of both of the boys after they were shorn. Or trimmed. I was too busy taking note of August's deep pleasure in eating his first ring pop. Levon gave me bites of his candy. 

"Ta-too," he said if I forgot to tell him thank-you. 

Jessie wanted to buy a few things at the make-up store and so we drove over there after the hair cuts and I sat in the car with the children (Levon had fallen asleep) and read books to August while she got a moment's peace to find what she needed. And she did. 

And then, glory of glories! We went to El Patron where Melissa met us and the boys spent the entire lunch flirting and vying for her attention. And doing a little running around. And eating some food. 

It was so nice. 

I will tell you that today has been another "what's the point?" day. Even with grandboys' first haircuts. Even with Mexican lunch with them and their mama and Melissa. This may or may not have something to do with Mother's Day. 

Just throw the word "mother" out there and I tend to go into a crazy state. 

Other ugly beasts have raised their prickly heads recently and sometimes I just get so tired of it all. Why in the world is it that something that happened over fifty years ago still has such a deep grip on my heart, my throat, my mind, my gut? 

I've given up trying to figure that out. I just know it does. 

One does get exhausted, though. At least I do. 

But this is fun- yesterday when I was with Jessie and Lily at the river, we were talking about Mother's Day and what they wanted to do for it and when they both got quite honest, what they really wanted was a break. A little time away from being a mother. 

Now anyone who has ever had and raised children understands this. I myself have had some wonderful Mother's Days spent away from my children. Flowers and brunches are fine but Lord GOD Almighty, give Mamas a little space and time to remember who they were before they became mothers. 

So I don't recall who suggested it first yesterday when we were talking but what started out as sort of a joke ended up being a plan. 

The girls have decided that what they really want is to spend the night in a nice hotel with a pool where they can drink wine, watch whatever they want on TV and get some real, true deep and uninterrupted sleep.

Sister-Mother-Friends on mini vacation! I encouraged that plan with all of my heart. 

"Do it!" I told them. "Just do it!" 

And it's going to happen. 

Their daddy, who knows how hard it can be for mommies, is paying for them a very nice room and I hope that this becomes a tradition. Those sweet girls have even asked me to join them which I appreciate with all of my heart but I want them to have the whole time, the whole space, the whole BEDS to themselves. As a mother, I am definitely on inactive duty these days and I get a good night's sleep every night and besides- they may need to talk about things they wouldn't talk about if their mother was around. 

So that makes me happy. 

Mr. Moon is out in the garden even though it is after seven. He's been working outside so hard all day long. I am going to make him a good supper although it won't be as good as last night's. I made a sort of bastardized version of Salade Nicoise which looked like this:

It was quite possibly the best salad I ever tasted. The arugula, greens beans, carrots and eggs were grown or laid right here and it was amazing.

Sometimes I do hit it out of the ball park. Sometimes I do get it right. 

For example- when I married that man. 

Happy Mother's Day to all of us who are mothers and to all of us who have nurtured. 

Sex and gender are no determiner of that nor is fertility or age. There are plenty of people who have nurtured students, patients, clients, the arts, artists, friends, co-workers, spouses, partners, dogs, cats, wild birds, gardens, parents, nieces and nephews, the planet, and/or whatever they have encountered which needed nurturing, tending, and loving. I dedicate Mother's Day to all of them. To all of us. 

Go do something nice for yourself. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Grandchildren And The River

Now that is a happy boy. He has a shovel, a truck, and a dinosaur. He also has a nice beach worth of sand to dig in and water to splash in. He has a big brother to wrestle with and play with and to watch intently and learn from. His Auga.

He has a mommy and daddy who are there for him every moment of the day and night and he has mommy-milk if he needs it and he is needing it less and less all the time. 

Which is great!

And so sad, too. 

He has cousins who adore him and aunts and uncles who do too. He has THREE sets of grandparents and he has Florida with its rivers and oceans and he has North Carolina mountains. 

Yep. That little boy has it all and I am just loving watching him grow. He may be the last grandchild. I don't know. One never knows about these things but he might be. Lily did tell August today to tell his daddy that he wants a baby sister. Lily loves babies. So do we all. And dammit, they just don't stay babies long enough. 

He can say Lily now. He calls her Ye-Ye which is what his mama used to call her when she was his age. He is learning all sorts of words and he can mimic almost any word. He has a good mouth for speech.

He can certainly tell you what he wants. He is getting to be as golden as his brother and I am as mystified by those boys' toast-colored skin as I am by August's curls. And as enchanted. 

When we were getting ready to leave the river today Maggie wanted to help Levon with his shoes. He let her. She had some difficulty, even with August supervising the operation and I asked if she wanted a little help. She said she did and as I put the flip-flops on his tiny boy feet, Maggie kept saying, "Don't worry, Levon. MerMer is helping."

My heart, my heart, my heart. 

We had such a good time at the river. They've made some changes at the Wacissa. They've paved the parking lot and they've built a swell new dock.

I don't really like change very much. I try not to be one of those old fogies who resists all change. I mean, that's ridiculous. Some change is for the good and that's all there is to it. But I do not like the paved parking lot. Seems to me that that's only going to encourage more people to visit what used to be an almost secret little perfection of a swimming place at the very end of a road that very few people drive down. But isn't that selfish? And hell yes, I can be one of those cranky old folks who sit around and say things like, "I remember when no one but three rednecks, two hippies and an alligator used to come here!" 

Because I really can remember that. 

But so what? That ain't the way it is now and I do love a dock. Always have. A wooden pathway connected to land but over the water, almost magical in its ability to span two states of being. 

Here's a picture of Magnolia June from the dock. 

That girl. She just charms me to pieces. 

She is the boss of us all. She's learning to recognize letters and she can figure things out that I can't. 

Here she is with August on the new dock. 

Those two are a force of fierceness. They are cousins united in age and in curls. They share genes and lunches of chicken and french fries which they both love along with plenty of ketchup for dipping. They get in trouble together and get out of trouble together. They know they are loved. 

We mostly had the river to ourselves. There were a few guys who were fishing when we first got there but who moved on to the rope swings. They were neither too loud nor profane and they paid us as little attention as we paid them. Things will change when school ends but for today, it was almost perfect. Cool enough not to bake and yet, warm enough to make submerging in the cold river water a not ridiculous prospect. 

We drove to the Hilltop for our lunch. This was my suggestion. Lord, I do love the Hilltop with its menu of 157 items. At least. We all got delicious foods that frankly, were not good for us at all and I am sure that several fryers were employed in the making of them. It was wonderful. 

While we waited for our order to come up, fun was had on the long church pew where people patiently sit while their food is being prepared. 

So much silliness. 

Silliness is the best. 

Summer is coming on and as proof I present the fact that I have already found two ticks on my body that had to be removed as well as getting some chiggers. Mr. Moon is developing a case of poison ivy, no doubt from all of the raking in the front yard he did yesterday. Why do any of us live here? 

I guess because of rivers and beaches and giant oak trees and cafes in the middle of nowhere that offer everything from fried fish dinners to Reuben sandwiches to black bean burgers to red velvet cake. 

And maybe because we're insane. 

I will leave you with this. 

Work hard. Play hard. Sleep hard. Don't forget to read. 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

A Better Day

My green beans are blooming and I actually picked a good handful today and I figure that if you add in my labor, each one of them should be worth about twenty dollars.
Let's face it- I do not grow food to save money. I do it because it tastes better, I know what was and wasn't used in the growing of it, and you can't beat it for freshness. But perhaps mostly because no matter how much I bitch and moan about the heat and the ants and being too old now to do it the way I used to, it is something that I apparently need to do for my own soul and wellbeing.

It's been a good day. I have neither cried nor napped. The past few days I have slept at least an hour every afternoon and it's been that kind of sleep which I fall into, deep and dark, to escape thought and feeling, an erasing of consciousness, temporarily at least. But not today. I'm actually tired now (and there is a difference) from my walk, from gardening, from house chores.
I even cleaned out a cabinet and threw things away that I know I will never use. This is not much of an accomplishment and neither is anything else I did but the very fact that I have done something of use, have been even vaguely productive, is good. When the black dog sits on your lap or even on your porch, it is so very hard to gather the energy to do anything.
"What's the point?" is the mantra on those days.
"What is the fucking point?"
And no answer comes to mind which seems adequate.
This is hard to explain to someone who has never wrestled with depression but for those of us who have, it is absolutely as familiar and self-explanatory as, well, breathing.

My hens each laid me an egg today except for Darla who sits so patiently on her nest. My husband brought me home a magnolia blossom and put it in one of my Goodwill silver coffee servers.

I guess it's a coffee server. I really have no idea. The blossom is closed up for the evening but will open in the morning. And it fills my kitchen with its sweet, but not too sweet, lemony scent. 

I picked some arugula for a salad tonight and also, some collards and kale which will go into my chicken dish. 

The bugs are getting to those plants fast and I need to use as many of them as I can before they are nothing but lace on stems. My corn is a few inches tall, my tomatoes are blooming (and Mr. Moon just told me that they are already getting bugs), my squash are blooming, my row of black-eyed peas is looking good and the dollar weed hasn't entirely choked the cucumbers yet. Cucumbers are so funny. Some years I barely get enough for a few salads and some years I get so many that the canning kettle never cools down from the pints of pickles I make in it. 

I wonder what this year will be like? I surely would not mind making a crock of those sweet pickles that almost hurt your teeth with the amount of sugar in them. It's been several years since I had enough cukes to do that. 

Well, I better get to the third shift of the day. The cooking of supper, the packing of my husband's lunch for tomorrow, the filling of the blender jar with what he will whirl into a smoothie tomorrow morning before he goes to the gym. Right now he's raking leaves and dumping them on the garden as mulch. I have told him twice that that's enough. That he needs to come in and rest. 

"Thank you," he replied to me the second time I offered these instructions. And then he hauled the garden cart back to the front yard. 

The man never listens to a word I say. 

Mostly. 

I am grateful for the surcease of darkness today. It's a subtle but very real shift. It would be nice to wake up tomorrow feeling the same. I think that Lily and Jessie and the kids and I may go to the Wacissa and if there is such a thing as soul balm, the river would be it, especially with little children splashing and playing and needing to be wrapped up in towels and hugged in order to warm up. 

We shall see. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Not Feeling Too Optimistic

When I come to that sign on my walk I have completed one mile. When I'm walking on White House road, that is. Here's the funny thing- I've never seen a child on this road, even though I have been alerted to watch for them.
Yeah. Not really that funny.

I want to thank everyone who shared their birth experiences here. I will answer each comment. They all tear at my heart and make me remember how it used to be. I do think things have changed but some of the changes are not for the good. For one thing, there is entirely too much reliance on dates and on sonograms to determine when a baby "should" be born and there is an emphasis on being "overdue" that is, I feel, not very helpful. Why we continue to want to put every mother and child into a graph of what is normal and not normal is beyond me and in doing this, we create a lot of what I consider to be mostly unwarranted worry not only concerning dates but also weight. Once again, so very many doctors are reluctant to trust that most women can give birth to larger babies and warning women that their babies are becoming "too big" leads directly to a great many births being induced with hormones and drugs that are not truly proven safe when with a little time and patience and trust in the process, the problems that induction can cause are eliminated.
When I had Hank, the doctor told me after the birth that honestly, he did not think I would have been capable of delivering him and that he had been thinking that I would need a C-section. That if I had come to the hospital when I was "supposed" to, I would have indeed had one. So those long, long hours of labor that I went through allowed my body to do what my body was meant to do- to shift, to adjust, to open and to allow me to push that baby out.
And Hank wasn't a huge baby. Eight pounds something? I can't remember.
The doctor didn't tell me that it was a good thing I'd stayed at home for the labor and thus prevented surgery, I think he was just a little bit stunned that I'd been able to do what I'd done but of course he wasn't happy that I'd done it. I'd proven nothing to him. The difference in having a C-section and in giving birth vaginally probably didn't mean squat to him but to a woman, it's a huge difference. For one thing, yeah, it's major surgery and thus carries risks that vaginal delivery does not. Also, that being my first birth, I never would have been able to have my subsequent babies vaginally as the trend then was to have all C-sections after the first. This is still the philosophy of many doctors.
So. In a lot of ways, not going to the hospital early on changed my life and the life of my family.
I'm so grateful that Cesareans are available for women who need them and sometimes they definitely do but certainly not as often as they are performed.

Okay. I'll stop talking about this for now.

Speaking of lady parts...

I can't believe it but one of my orchids is blooming. For years I've been saying that my orchids never die nor do they bloom. But this one has two flowers on it and I am a bit amazed. 

I really don't have much to say today. The daily events in Washington never cease to anger me, enrage me, baffle me, and it seems that lately they have been occurring at what one of my grandchildren might call super speed. This whole executive power thing is unbelievable. The information that Trump was literally America's biggest loser of income for a decade is another. Iran? Are we going to go to war with Iran? The news that Trump and Cohen managed to get rid of dirty pictures of Jerry Falwell, Jr., thus ensuring the evangelical vote. Does Congress really have the right NOT to impeach this president? Isn't it like a cop, sworn to duty who witnesses a crime? And it's not just what Trump and his people are doing, it's the fact that his supporters still adore his motherfucking ass. Yeah, that's the worst part. That's the part I'll never understand. Or get over.

And let's not even talk about another school shooting. Or the fact that a woman can get the death penalty in Georgia for abortion. 

It's all too much. It's all too fucking much. 

I'm overwhelmed. 

And it's hot. And I'm not handling my own life very well. 

So it goes, so it goes. 

Perhaps I need to be patient with the process. That all will unfold as it should...eventually. 

Even if that means we humans fuck up the planet so badly that all life as we know it ceases. 

Yes. That would be the extreme case. 

I have no doubt it could happen. 

Lately I have little trust that it won't. 

Later, kids. 

Love...Ms. Moon 

Some History Or Why I'm Still A Hippie

Here are the pictures I was trying to post yesterday:

Again, someone was having a moment.

Moment over! Isn't she beautiful? 

And in something else leftover from yesterday- the thing that really pissed me off worse than anything about what this guy

said about the doula and the willow tree is that he had no right to be discussing anything about Meghan Markle's birth plan in a public forum. Not only was it highly suspect as to confidentiality and incredibly disrespectful, it was purely tacky. 

Just tacky. 

I hope he got his ass kicked by a higher up. 

If there IS a higher up to the Envoy of the Royal College of Gynecology. 

And yes, I AM still pissed off about this and I'm going to be probably for the rest of my damn life. 

This is just such a sore subject to me even though I haven't given birth in thirty years. I still harbor great animosity towards certain doctors who were involved in my care when I was going through my pregnancies and planning home births. With my first birth, I went to a local doctor for my prenatal care. I did not decide to try to have a home birth until I was about halfway through the pregnancy and I did not inform him of that decision because in those days, I probably could have been arrested for child endangerment. The whole home birth movement was so newborn itself that there was no such thing as a licensed midwife except for a very, very few old women in rural counties who had been trained and licensed back in the thirties, probably. A friend of mine did use one who was miraculously still alive and still practicing to deliver her baby, Dawn Rose, a few weeks before my baby arrived but I had chosen to ask a few of my friends to assist me who were very interested in becoming midwives. As I've said before, we basically had a copy of Spiritual Midwifery and a shared wish to avoid what hospitals were doing in those days which included enemas, shaving, exclusion of the partner from the process, drugs (always drugs!), wrist restraints if it appeared that the mother might have the gall to try and touch the "sterile field" which had been created with the shaving, enema, and tons of Betadine, an almost 100% episiotomy rate, the whisking away of the babies to the nursery with absolutely no opportunity for bonding, and the giving of the baby a bottle before nursing was begun to ensure that, well...what? The baby had a patent passage for liquid to pass through? 

There was more. 

It was horrible. 

Dark ages for sure. 

One of the women who attended me with that birth had actually given birth at home with her husband delivering the baby. They had lived for some time down in the Yucatan in what was then the entirely Mexican and rural area of Tulum and they had observed the women there giving birth at home and wanted to do the same. Another of the women was in nursing school. She went on eventually to become a nurse midwife and taught in various schools but at this time, was still just a student nurse. And the other woman was a friend of mine who had had two babies, both in the hospital, but one with no drugs. She had used the then almost unheard of Lamaze method of childbirth. 

This was so radical that the local newspaper had written an article about it. 

Anyway, these ladies helped me through 28 hours of labor at which point I gave up. I wanted to go to the hospital. And I did. Hank was born probably less than an hour after we got there and yes, I got an episiotomy and yes, I got shaved, and yes, I got yelled at for touching the doctor's hand, reaching for my baby after he was delivered because now the doctor had to change his gloves before he could stitch me up, and yes, my baby was taken away from me to be washed and fed in the nursery but by the grace of this doctor (deep sarcasm), my husband had been allowed into the delivery room with me. 

And this is what the doctor said to us after our baby was born: "I don't want to become known as some hippie doctor. You hear me?"

No fucking problem, man. No fucking problem. 

And we somehow had the courage to take our baby and leave the hospital a few hours after the birth. We got lectured by several people about how foolish and reckless we were being and we had to sign all sorts of papers but I am proud of us for sticking to our guns. 

We were so young. I was twenty-one, my then-husband was twenty-three. 

Two years later May was born right down the road from where I'm living now but in a trailer we lived in on a piece of property we owned. The same ladies were with me and I had begun to assist in illegal home births myself. We had bought and devoured English midwife textbooks and obstetric manuals. We had acquired fetascopes and learned to keep records. We had gotten some experience. We knew a little more about what we were doing. 

And May and the rest of my children were born at home, each one delivered by one of those ladies including Lily who weighed over ten pounds at birth and had a nuchal hand, meaning that she had one of her pretty little hands up next to her head when she was delivered. With, I might add, no episiotomy and no tearing. It was a scary birth but my midwife knew what to do and did it and all was so very, very well. 

So that's the background from whence I come with my anger at that doctor's comments. My friends and I were told we were foolish, we were risking the lives of mothers and babies, we were criminals, we were nothing but airy-fairy hippies. 

But we changed some things. 

Oh yes we did. 

Obviously, not nearly enough. 

And let me say that we here in Tallahassee had one person who supported us in a sort of quiet and underground way. This man. 

Dr. Brickler. Remember him? I surely have written about him before. Here's an article about him. 
I won't say that he risked his neck or his career but he took the women who had to be transferred to the hospital and did not shame or lecture which at that point, in the seventies, was huge. And even then, he was so highly regarded and respected that no one called him on it. And he went on to support and be the backup of the first free-standing birth center in Florida where all of the babies were delivered by midwives.
I worked there myself after I became a nurse.

Well. That's my story for the day. And a bit of an explanation of why I am the person I am and how I became that way.

Believe in what you believe. Create change with your knowledge and your heart and your work.
I guess that's enough.

Love...Ms. Moon

Power To The Women

Well, hell. AOL (yes, AOL and go ahead and laugh) seems to be down which is a pain in the ass for all fifty-six of us who still have our email accounts with them. What this means for me right now is that I can't send pictures from my phone to my laptop where I write my blog posts which sucks because I have a really cute picture of Magnolia that the world is the worse off for not being able to see.
Honestly, I hardly ever have a problem with my AOL account so I'm trying to be all Zen about it and shit because what else can I do?

I had a very nice day with my daughters. All three of them and Rachel, my future daughter-in-law had lunch with us and so did Magnolia, my granddaughter, so you can imagine that I was very happy to have been lucky enough to enjoy the company of all of these beautiful women and a woman-baby. It was a good thing because I woke up at 1:30 this morning in existential despair and although I was able to go back to sleep I woke up many times after that, still in that horrible state of mind and when I finally got up, I was no more cheerful than I had been in that deep part of the night when things are traditionally so very, very dark and seemingly insurmountable.

We all went and got pedicures and I have to say that this was the first time in my life that I ever got a pedicure when I still had the polish from a previous pedicure on my toes. We had a really good time, May and Lily and Jessie and I. We so rarely get to hang out with May but she was off work today. We were all pampered and painted and polished and prettied (or at least our feet were) and we talked about everything from podcasts to the prison system.
Afterwards Jason dropped off Magnolia on his way to work and we all met Rachel at a sushi restaurant, where there was only one server for many people but he was so cool and so professional that we never felt ignored or slighted and just reveled in the extra time we had together. It was a beautiful meal in every way.
After we said our good-byes, Jessie and I went to a Goodwill but it was not a very productive experience. As I said to Jessie, it looked as if the entire Nation of Polyesters had died and someone had donated their clothing to this particular store. Not just polyester but DOUBLE KNIT which some of you may be so mercifully young you do not remember. Jessie did score a lovely little kid piano with a bench for August and Levon so that was good.
And then I came home and did a little bit of ironing and I'm back to feeling somewhat dismal again. I don't know what's wrong with me. It's possible I'm going through an old-age crisis which I have discussed here before and it's also possible that I should not have weaned myself off of my antidepressant.
I was taking so little of it and it didn't seem to be doing much and of course you read all of these articles about how placebos work as well as the medications do but perhaps I've made a mistake. I don't know. I do know that it took me months to wean entirely off of it and going back on it seems as if I am admitting defeat but defeat against what?
Normalcy?
Fuck if I know.
And I will admit that I am still taking a very, very lose dose of another antidepressant which my doctor prescribed to help with side effects that the first one was causing so I'm not entirely brain-altering drug-free.

But you know what? None of that is really what I came here to talk about. What I came here to talk about, what is foremost on my mind right now is something that I heard about on NPR as I was driving home. I had read on the news on my phone that Meghan Markel and Prince Harry had their baby today and I was happy about that. Yeah, yeah, what's the point about getting excited when a royal has a baby and who cares and blah, blah but dammit! It's a lovely thing when the world stops for a second to celebrate the birth of a child, I don't care whose it is. And although no one has confirmed it entirely, it would appear that the baby was born at their home which, granted, is what most of us would label a palace even though it's called a cottage.
And you know me- I'm all about home birth when it's a safe alternative and I am quite sure that it was indeed a safe alternative for the Duke and Duchess of Sussex. There was probably an entire surgical ward set up and staffed in case there was need of an emergency C-section.
But guess what Dr. Timothy Draycott, envoy of the Royal College of Gynecology said recently at a meeting of the American College of Obstetrics and Gynecology in Nashville, Tennessee about the Duke and Duchess's birth plan?
"Meghan Markle has decided she's going to have a doula and a willow tree...let's see how that goes!" And the room was filled with laughter and merriment.
He continued, "She's 37, first birth...I don't know."

NO TIM! YOU DO NOT KNOW.

Fuck him.
Fuck doctors (especially male doctors) who make fun of women who want to have their babies at home in their own beds with a midwife.
You know what? I have been fighting for women to have the choice to birth in their own homes with midwives since 1976.
And guess what?
This shit is still happening.

According to what I've read, Meghan went into labor in the early morning hours and gave birth at 5:26 a.m. Mmmm...even if "early morning hours" means 12:01 a.m., that would mean a less than five and one half hour labor. For a first baby. With a "geriatric" mother. Yep. That's what they call women who are giving birth after the age of 35.
And hey! I could be wrong and Meghan had to have a C-section. I don't know for sure but when you have a papa who looks like this:

who says things like, "How any woman does it is beyond comprehension," I think maybe not. 

And what I have to say is FUCK YOU, DR. TIMOTHY DRAYCOTT! 

Even if the birth was Cesarean, it is entirely and perfectly correct for a woman to be able to choose how she would prefer to give birth and to have faith in the process and in her own body. 

Which is the problem. 

Doctors are trained to believe that women's bodies are not capable of what women's bodies have been doing for tens of thousands of years. 

Not always perfectly- I understand that. 

But when there is back-up and when there are trained assistants who help a woman do what a woman can do, it is a beautiful thing. And a safe thing. Study after study has shown that women who have low-risk pregnancies are just as safe having a baby at home as they are in a hospital if they have proper assistance. And as for doulas? Studies show that women who have them when they labor and give birth have better outcomes and lower rates of complications and interventions than women who do not. 

You'd think that someone who is the envoy of the Royal College of Gynecology would know that, wouldn't you? 

As to the willow tree- not sure what that's all about but if having one available makes things easier for laboring women, I wish I'd had a few. 

All right. 

Congratulations to the newest member of the British royalty. 

And to Amy Schumer too. And to every woman who gave birth today on this whole entire planet. 

Every damn one of you is amazing. 

As are women and our bodies. 

Trust me. Trust us. 

Please. 

Love...Ms. Moon

From Chicken And Dumplings To Shrimp Quesadillas With Ponderings Inbetween

August ate last night's chicken and dumplings like he was motorized. He loved them.
"These are the tastiest in my world!" he proclaimed.
We kept telling him to slow down but he apparently was powerless to do so. And they really were good. I made the "yankee" dumplings with nothing in them but self-rising flour, baking soda and buttermilk. They were so light and mouth-melting that they seemed to hover over the broth with chicken and celery and onions and carrots and peas and green beans and mushrooms. My chicken and dumplings are extremely nontraditional but they are awesome. And not that bad for you, either, if you add in all those vegetables and use skinless chicken breasts. Which I did.

Then it was off to bed for the little man. I read him about five books and then tucked him into his bed with two big bears for company. When I went in to check on him before I took my shower it looked as if one of the bears was pinning him to the mattress.

I took the bear off of him and gave the animal a stern warning not to do that again.
He slept until seven and then got in bed with us. I can actually sleep with a child wallowing around behind me in the bed but Mr. Moon can't so he got up with him and put August on the couch and turned on the TV and he got into his chair and finished his night's sleep. I finished mine in the bed. When I got up I gave the poor starving child a yogurt and then made pancakes and bacon. They, too, were consumed in record time. I think that the very act of living in August's body requires a great many calories.
Unlike living in mine.
But that's another story.

After breakfast there were more books. I asked him if he'd had any dreams the night before.
"Just one little one," he said.
"What was it about?"
"I dreamed I felled in love with Mommy. My mommy."
I told him that was so sweet. He agreed it was. When I told Jessie about that she said that he seems to felled in love with her in his dreams fairly frequently. He also reports felling in love with me and with Boppy.
Again- I do love a three-year old. They're old enough to tell you what's on their minds and what's on their minds is still so untainted by societal rules. And as we all know, none of us have dreams that stick to the rules but when it comes to telling others about them- maybe not, unless we're paying them to listen.

After his mama came to collect him it became just a normal day. It had been raining on and off, finally and at last and thank goodness. I did laundry, swept some floors, mopped where grape juice had spilled last night, swept the front porches clean of oak leaves, found three eggs in a potted plant, and watered the plants. Just little things that make me feel a bit more settled in my soul.

I watched an episode of Chelsea Handler's Netflix series called "Chelsea Does" about race. Well, I haven't finished watching it. I wasn't ironing or anything, just sewing up an undoing in a skirt seam. It disturbed me so fucking much. The part that was hardest for me to watch was filmed in Tallassee, Alabama, not to be confused with Tallahassee, Florida. There was a whole Confederate thing going on with Civil War reenactors. It's so damn painful to watch because a lot of the white people who were interviewed spouted the same bullshit lies about the Civil War and slavery that I heard everywhere growing up. The ones that get me are along the lines of, "Well, it was really all just like one big family on the plantations." And of course, "Only a few really mean people beat their slaves. Most people were kind to them."
Etc.
You know what? I didn't believe that shit when I was seven. Plus?
Slaves.
I'm pretty sure that one word is all you have to know.
And it's so embarrassing to hear a big ol' redneck say things like, "People just believe that all southerners are stupid, ignorant hillbillies," in a stupid, ignorant hillbilly accent because you know what? I say that too. And I know that we AREN'T all stupid, ignorant hillbillies down south, even if our accents would make you think otherwise.
I belonged to a FB group called something like "Florida Pioneers" at one point because I do love the history of Florida but I soon realized that there were about zero Florida pioneers of color represented and that's not even good history. And then, AND THEN, a few people started showing their true colors, mainly the ones on the Confederate flag, talking about their heritage and shit and after I got into some verbal sparring and was told that I just didn't know what I was talking about and didn't I have any pride in my ancestors, I unfollowed.
Fuck it.
But not until I had stated that yes, some of my ancestors had indeed fought in the Civil War and had also owned slaves and lived on plantations and NO! I was NOT proud of that fact.
I'd be a lot prouder if I was the descendant of one of the slaves who'd escaped before the Civil War and joined up with the Creek Indians to form the Seminole tribe which is still the only tribe of Native Americans who never signed a treaty with the US government.
Now THAT would be something to be proud of.

So Lord, Lord. I guess that Ms. Chelsea's little episode triggered something in me. Something that's in all of us, especially those of us who live here in the deep south.

And in further possibly racist themes, I am making shrimp quesadillas for our supper tonight and not because it's Cinco de Mayo which is not the Mexican Independence Day no matter what most of us ignorant US citizens think. No, I'm making them because I have a shrimp to use up and also avocados and I'm in the mood for them. They won't be nearly as good as the ones we get at Playa Corona in Cozumel. Nothing could be that good. But I'll do my best.

Thanks for coming along with me on these stream-of-consciousness journeys. This is the way my mind works, the way my days go, the way my life flows.
I seriously doubt I am unique in this regard.

Love...Ms. Moon

Adventures In Grandparenting

I know. It looks like these poor children are being interrogated, doesn't it?
But no, they were just standing far back while their grandfather drilled through a lock on a box.
It's a long story but it was sort of a fun project to watch.
Who knew we had a drill press?
Not me.

I got zero good pictures from today but it was a good day, nonetheless. I was a bit worried about Levon because he's the most mama-boyish of all the kids I've ever known but honestly, he was downright merry. Once, ONCE, he said, "Mama?" and I said, "Mama and Daddy went bye-bye for a little while."
He did not bat an eye but proceeded to have more fun.
There was not one fuss. He just transferred his need for Mama to MerMer and he also had a good time with his Boppy whom he (surprise, surprise) adores.

We did go down to the post office/old train depot and I have to say it was pretty pathetic. They opened up the part that is usually closed and it had a few benches in it and a few fairly non-interesting displays of train stuff. Mr. Moon put a good donation in the box though and we did get some hot dogs and a bag of chips. Then we went across the road to where the St. Elizabeth AME church was having a fish fry and bought two mullet dinners and brought those home where there was plenty of Crystal hot sauce.

This is what a church-sold mullet dinner looks like in the deep south:

You got your fried mullet, you got your coleslaw, you got your baked beans. And two slices of white bread under the mullet which makes it a sandwich. 

We split up the dinners and enjoyed them, especially Levon. That boy can eat. 

We did some other stuff. Read books. Changed diapers. Watched a little TV. As I mentioned, drilled a lock. Gathered eggs, ate graham crackers and milk. I received a kiss-attack from the both of them when we were laying on my bed reading a Richard Scarry book. I don't know what instigated that but it happened. And then Vergil and Jessie got back from Thomasville, Georgia where they had taken their semi-day off to lunch and shop and August just wanted them to collect Levon and leave him here alone with his grandparents and Levon didn't appear to be too excited but did have a little bit of nursey before he asked me to read his truck book to him again. 

"Heavy" he kept saying about it and it was about dump trucks and their loads ARE heavy indeed. 

He's a smart kid. 

And that's how it went. I'm cooking some chicken to make chicken and dumplings. August's bed is all ready for him. He didn't take a nap so he's probably going to need to go to bed early tonight. And I better get in that kitchen and get busy chopping vegetables and making dumplings. 

We do not go hungry around here, do we? 

No. No we do not. 

And as August said to his parents as they were leaving and he was busy peeling a length of bamboo- "Bye for now!"

Really. He said that. 

He's a crackie. 

Love...Ms. Moon

The Old Girl Is Tired

When I went out to clean the nests in the hen house today, Darla was off the nest, doing her self-care (haha!), eating, drinking, taking a little dirt bath. I got to see what she is sitting on and there you have it. Only two of those eggs are hers, if that many. I really should mark them and take away any others that accumulate. Seven is enough I think, especially in this hot weather when the temperature under her body must reach well over a hundred degrees.
Again though- I don't really know what the best thing to do would be.

The heat and mugginess has gotten to me even though I have the air conditioner on all the time now. Generally in summer I turn it off in the morning and open the doors and let the fresh air in but that only means that in the evening, when I turn it back on out of desperation, it takes hours to get back to a comfortable temperature. That can't be efficient. But I took a decent walk this morning and have been half crippled since. I still managed to get some things done. The hen house, some laundry, and I went to town to buy shrimp and groceries. Mr. Moon wants a salad for supper tonight and it will be a shrimp salad. I have boiled the shrimp and now must peel and de-vein it.
Sometimes I think I am just insane. I am really too tired for any of that sort of mess.

And so here I am, being bitchy and cranky like a small child who needs a nap desperately. We keep getting forecasts for rain and then it does not appear but the skies are heavy and bruised and I am a believer in the old wive's tale that an impending storm aggravates joints and muscles. Old wives are smart as shit and know a thing or two about pain. I am almost angry that the rain does not come as promised. Who am I angry at? The forecasters? The sky gods? My own body?
Whatever. I just wish it would happen and that the skies would open and rain would fall to cleanse everything and that lightening and thunder with their cracking electricity and booms could change the very charge of the air.

Well, obviously I have nothing of worth to say tonight. I plan to get to bed as soon as possible, as early as is deemed fit for an adult because tomorrow Levon and August are coming to play so that their parents can have a much-needed day to themselves. And also, of course, because I am tired as hell.
Perhaps we shall walk down to the post office which is in an old train depot with the boys tomorrow to check out this event:

Did I already post about this? 

I can't remember. I can't remember shit. 

Anyway...grilled hot dogs! I hope they have relish. 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

This Is Ridiculously Long

Despite, because...yesterday was hard.
Not because of Jessie's birthday. Despite Jessie's birthday. It was also my mother's birthday and although she is gone now, there is still a power in that fact and my body, I think, holds it. I also somehow woke up with the sure certain knowledge that Jessie and Vergil and their boys are going to be spending the summer in North Carolina and although I think that this is the very most wonderful thing in the world for them and for the marriage and for the continuing strength and happiness of the family, I will be quite honest and quite self-centered in saying that the idea of not seeing those boys at least twice a week, if not more, not to mention their mama and daddy cracks my heart in two.
So let's just say that I had a lot of emotion going on. Way too much, in fact. I could hardly move. I was paralyzed with something so deep that I may as well have been shackled and bound and I barely moved all day.
I literally could not.
I slept for some time and that was a blessed relief.
When it was time to get ready to go pick up Rachel I did manage to do that. I took a shower, put on my favorite dress and Mr. Moon and I drove to town and we got our daughter-in-law to be and drove to Jessie's house where the boys were beside themselves with the crazy glee of a party and cake and loved ones. Jessie dressed Levon in that precious linen outfit you see up there in that picture and he was as handsome as a small boy can be.
We had a drink and then headed to the restaurant where we were to meet May and Michael. Hank and Lily both had to work so they couldn't be there.
The place Jessie had chosen for us to eat is a restaurant that Mr. Moon and I went to every Friday night for years. I mean seriously- every Friday night for many, many years. We always sat at the bar in front of where the chefs worked, where the salads were made, where the plates were created. We had our routines and our rituals and it was strange and wonderful, both, to be back. We were greeted by the hostess whom I did not recognize from the old days but from her very face and features.
"Are you a Wharton?" I asked her.
"How can you tell?" she asked me.
And yes, she was. She is the granddaughter of the two people that I met in the first days I moved to Tallahassee back in 1974. Her grandmother was pregnant with her daddy at the same time I was pregnant with Hank. Her grandfather and my first husband played in a band together.
We go back.
More emotions.
And then...our server greeted us. And yes, she is someone I know from all of our years of Friday nights. And to cap it off, her mother taught my first Lamaze class. We hugged and hugged.
More emotions.
It was a little crazy and I felt more than a little crazy. I felt big crazy. Why do I make such common, every-day life events into such huge things?
I have no idea. It's who I am.

There was so much love and so much fun. The little boys could run around because we were in a huge room (new since we've been there) that only had two big tables. We were at one and another birthday party was at another.

Both little boys were enchanted with their beautiful Aunt May and would not let her have a moment's peace but I think she was okay with that. 

Rachel took some gorgeous photos but I'm having problems transferring them from the Google drive folder to this blog. 

Sigh. 

Trust me. There was a lot of silliness and kissing. 

We ate delicious foods and all the while I just felt so off. I was neither in that world or any other and yet, of course I was, and needed to be. It was my daughter's birthday and I was in a wonderful familiar place with some of my most beloved loved ones and yet, I was still curled up on my bed, and at the same time, I was holding my baby Jessie for the first time, and then again, I was a small girl getting up very early on May 1st to pick a basketful of flowers for my mother on her birthday in Roseland. 

Well. It was what it was and I tried my hardest to BE HERE NOW. 

Jessie seemed so happy. Vergil had given her a gift certificate for a massage and had gotten off work early to take care of the boys while she got it and he'd written her a beautiful letter and he and the boys had walked to a local florist and picked out a bouquet of star lilies for her. I think it was a very fine thirtieth birthday. She opened presents and read cards. She drank good wine and knew that she was loved. 

Is loved. 

My tenses are as confused as my ability to locate myself in time was. I apologize. 

After supper, we all went back to Jessie's house and there was cake. 

Levon helped with the decorating for the first time. He is growing up too fast. 

And there is the happy birthday girl, the birthday woman, about to make her wish and blow out the candles. Everyone liked the cake just fine, especially August whose daddy let him light the candles with a special safe lighter with special safe help. 

My grandchildren are all so lucky to have the papa's that they do. They don't know it but they are. I could not have possibly wished for better fathers for them, better husbands for my daughters. We are just the luckiest family. 

And today? 

I was more here, less dissociative. More firm in my foundation. 

Lily picked me up and we drove to Monticello for the story hour and Jessie and the boys met us there. It was as fun as ever and today plenty of people showed up including Wiley Cash who, when he saw me said, "Grandma!" and came and hugged me. 

I love that little guy. 

While we were waiting for lunch after the library, Lily asked August if she could do his hair and he agreed that she could. 

Where in the world does that hair come from? And where does Ms. Maggie's come from? Her other grandmother, I feel certain. She has ringlets that remind me of the ringlets that all of the saloon girls used to have on the Westerns that I watched as a child. It struck me today that we were supposed to believe that when those women weren't having sex for money with cowboys (never stated, only implied), they were doing each others' hair and arranging them in gorgeous locks tied up with silk ribbons while wearing scanty underwear. Fancy scanty underwear. And then having pillow fights. I guess.

Here she is, kissing her Levon goodbye. 

Good Lord! That's enough. 

Tomorrow's Friday. I'll see you then. 

Love...Ms. Moon

A Beautiful Woman Has A Beautiful Birthday

More tomorrow.
I am tired.

Love...Ms. Moon