Normal Is So Fine

It's been a nice day in Lloyd. Just as hot but still a bit drier and it was overcast this morning so I put on my overalls and went out and pulled weeds. As we all know, weed-pulling is nothing but a joy to me except for the heat, sweat, and ants. It was hot and I did sweat and got one pretty severe ant-attack but I persevered. The weeds I have growing now are so satisfying to pull. They come up fairly easily and make a ripping sound when I free the roots from their earth home. I knock all the dirt off of them and toss them in the garden cart and go on to the next one. It's also satisfying to look at what I've done, too, to see cleared dirt where I will soon be planting my fall garden. I do so love to make things grow.
The picture above is of a blooming Firespike. From one patch in the back yard that was here when I got here I have rooted enough to plant all along the front fence. I like to think that it is saying, "Hello hummingbirds and butterflies! You are welcome here!"

It's such a hardy plant and so easy to root. I had no idea how easy until one fall I cut some and put it in a vase and forgot about it until a month or so later when I noticed that it was still green and vigorous and had roots galore. I stuck them in the ground when spring rolled around and that was that. Now I root some every winter and the more I have, the more I can root. And bonus- it's a pretty green plant in my house all winter long that can thrive with barely any light at all. 

I also filled up my hummingbird feeder today and hung it on the kitchen porch. I hope I get some visitors. 

Here's my little kitchen porch. I do not realize until I take a picture of it how sadly in need it is of pressure washing, repair, and painting. 

Sigh. 

Well, so do I which is why I do not look in the mirror any more than is absolutely and strictly necessary. 

I cut out Maggie's butterfly dress today and began sewing. I have only screwed up one thing so far. Hurray for me! And not too badly. Easily taken care of with a seam ripper and a little patience. 

I have enough fabric left over to perhaps make August a pair of pants. He asked me yesterday to sew something for him and maybe that will do. He'd probably rather have a dress. Yesterday when we were watching "Mighty Little Bheem" there was a scene where Bheem, who is a super-strong little Indian toddler was given a choice as to what new garment he wanted and he picked out a dress. I loved the fact that his mother just shrugged and bought it and put it on him. This led to a mix-up between Bheem and a little Indian princess but it all got straightened out in the end. 

I also have pinto beans simmering on the stove. They are my favorite. They are not Mr. Moon's favorite but once in a while he has to take one for the team. 

The team being me, of course. 

He is very gracious about this and is yet another reason I love him so. 

He spent the Labor Day holiday driving up to Georgia to collect the hunting stuff he'd left at his former hunting camp. Deer stands? Other stuff? Etc.?

I don't know. But he used the tractor! And he is now home and safe. 

He's going to be hunting just down the road this year although I believe that two out-of-state trips are planned including one in Canada. I should pay more attention to these things. 

How normal and lovely this day has been for me! Last week at this time we had no idea if we'd be hunkering down for a hurricane or not. Dorian was still a tropical storm and the forecast was all over the place with a crossing of Florida a sound bet. But the Bahamas are still being pummeled by this monster storm and it is not moving. It is sticking to where it is, right over them, and I feel so guilty celebrating the fact that it doesn't appear to be headed our way while people are in sheer hell. 

And so I am not going to celebrate but I am going to be so aware and grateful for a day in which I could decide to hang a hummingbird feeder without worrying that it could become a deadly flying missile. Not right now, anyway. 

I will gladly take each day of normal we get. 

Or at least as normal as a day CAN be in these times. 

While I was out taking pictures I took a picture of the grave of Elvis. 

Yes, it looks like St. Francis has a horrible nosebleed. I found that little tile plaque in another part of the yard here. I buried Elvis right in the front yard- point of honor- because he was so good at watching over his flock and I wanted to feel as if he was watching over us. For those of you who have not been here forever, Elvis was my first true rooster and he was one of the finest, most handsome, protective roosters ever to walk the earth. 

 Believe it or not, that was Owen when he was a baby boy. He and Elvis were good buddies. 

I still miss that bird. He was a glory. I miss that baby, too, but I sure do love the guy he's grown to be. 

And that's it for today. 

Love...Ms. Moon

There Ain't Nothing Bigger Than Category Five

When the Weatherfords got here this morning August ran right past me with barely a glance looking for his Boppy. Of course. He wanted to go ride the tractor. As did Levon. And so while I made pancakes and visited with Vergil, the boys and their grandfather and Jessie checked out the tractor which has been repaired and is running fine.
It was so good to see the four of them. My daughter and her husband, their two boys. We had a delicious breakfast and pretty soon Mama and Daddy left to go home and unpack and settle in and the first thing on the agenda here was TV watching. Before they even left August informed Boppy that he'd already put his chair back for him. In the reclining position, you know.
And so a little TV was watched and then we moved on to other things. Levon has grown so much and is talking up a storm. He spent at least twenty minutes wheeling that little carriage around. He likes to "run in a circle." And so he does. He is no longer as attached to his shovels as he was but he did carry around a book on dump trucks most of the day. We had to read it to him at least a half a dozen times.

Here he is poring over it while his brother made a button necklace. 

We all helped to put a giant floor puzzle together. Of course it ended the way it always does with the kids running about and the adults obsessively looking for the pieces to complete the damn thing. But hey! There were a hundred pieces! 

We were proud. 

Then it was back outside for more tractor riding. Levon could not bring himself to do it. He just stood beside it and said, "Tractor." Over and over again. I think he was overwhelmed by vast amazement. August rode it though. 

And then both of the little guys watched the big guy clip jasmine and then the fence it was on which had been flattened about a year ago by the giant tree falling during Hurricane Michael so that Boppy could use the tractor to drag the piece away to roll up so that he can mow where it had been. This was a very exciting project. Boppy had to hook the tractor chain onto the fence and pull. August was so excited, "Come on, big boy!" he said to his grandfather. And come on they did and now the piece of fence is all neat and tidy and ready to be taken to the dump although how Mr. Moon is going to get it on the trailer or in the truck (too big for that, I think) I do not know. I suppose the tractor will be involved again. 

After all of that we were ready to come back into the house and drink water and cool off and lay on the bed and read a few books. Which we did. By then it was after four and Boppy took a shower and then we packed up the boys' things and put them in the car seats that Jessie and Vergil had left in my car and Boppy drove them home. 

They were both very tired. August even cried a little as I was putting him into his seat. 

"Why are you crying?" I asked. 

"I'm not crying!" he said, tears running from his eyes. 

"He's fine!" said his grandfather. "Tell your Mer good-bye."

I promised the boy that we'd see him again very soon and we will. 

I sent them home with boiled peanuts and pineapple upside-down cake. Mr. Moon has a friend who is getting pretty old and he just took a tumble the other day and I was asked quite sweetly if I would make a pineapple upside-down cake for him because he loves it. I said I would, of course, and by god, I screwed up the first pineapple upside-down cake of my life. I have no idea what happened but that cake just didn't rise and was as dense as pudding. Still delicious but it wasn't very impressive to look at so yesterday I made another, this time FROM A RECIPE and it looks much better but I doubt it tastes as good as the pathetic one I'd made the day before. So the sad cake gets eaten by us. 

Oh well. 

So that was all beautiful and loving and August even let me scratch his back for him and sort of half-way cuddled with me and Levon let me hold him on my lap and also showed his enthusiasm for an episode of "The Mighty Little Bheem" by pounding on my leg. I'm just going to come out and say this- that kid is such a BOY! A joyful boy. 

But I tell you what- my gut hurts reading about what's happening in the Bahamas right now. They've had wind gusts up to 220 mph. That's...just...unbelievable. I've been watching, sporadically, a live web cam of the storm which you can find here. 

It gives you a sense of how the winds slow a bit and then come back with furious intensity. And honestly- that doesn't begin to give you an idea of the terrifying reality of what it is really like. I heard one short recording of someone who was sheltering in a resort, I think, and the plywood was peeling off the windows and they were wrapping the children in blankets to try and protect them. I saw another short video that someone took when the eye passed and cars had been literally rolled down the streets. 

The Bahamas are not going to be all right. 

And we have a president who is so deep in dementia that he claims he's never seen a Category 5 hurricane even though this is the fourth Cat 5 hurricane we've had since he took office. It almost, ALMOST makes me feel sorry for him but it's impossible to feel sorry for Donald Trump and it's even harder to have any sympathy at all for those around him daily who are not coming forth and telling the truth about what's going on in the Oval Office. 

Here's a poem. 

Bless Their Hearts BY RICHARD NEWMAN

At Steak ‘n Shake I learned that if you add  “Bless their hearts” after their names, you can say  whatever you want about them and it’s OK.  My son, bless his heart, is an idiot,  she said. He rents storage space for his kids’  toys—they’re only one and three years old!  I said, my father, bless his heart, has turned  into a sentimental old fool. He gets  weepy when he hears my daughter’s greeting  on our voice mail. Before our Steakburgers came  someone else blessed her office mate’s heart,  then, as an afterthought, the jealous hearts  of the entire anthropology department.  We bestowed blessings on many a heart  that day. I even blessed my ex-wife’s heart.  Our waiter, bless his heart, would not be getting  much tip, for which, no doubt, he’d bless our hearts.  In a week it would be Thanksgiving,  and we would each sit with our respective  families, counting our blessings and blessing  the hearts of family members as only family  does best. Oh, bless us all, yes, bless us, please bless us and bless our crummy little hearts.

I do not and will not bless Donald Trump's crummy little heart. Forget about the dementia. I don't think he ever had a heart at all. And I will not add my thoughts and prayers to the Bahamas because I don't think that shit does one bit of good. I'll just hope for the best and admit my own helplessness. How I wish it were otherwise. Bless all of us. Why not? Or at least our hearts. Crummy or otherwise. Love...Ms. Moon

Yadda, Yadda, Yadda

Tiny dinosaur known as Miss Eggy Tina II

So. In chicken news I am convinced that I have at least two roosters in the four that are remaining of Darla's hatch. Not only is Elvis, Jr. a rooster, but I am now almost certain that Elvira is too. Did you know that Elvis Presley was born a twin? His older brother was stillborn and he was given the name Jesse Garon to go, I suppose, with the living brother's name of Elvis Aron. The spelling was at some point changed to Aaron. 

I guess I could name Elvira Garon but that seems a bit disrespectful, don't you think? Although, I could name them Aron and Garon. I kind of like that. We shall see. 

Guess what? I'm an idiot. No, no, seriously. I am. The barstools I found yesterday? They price tag did not say $80.00 for the set of three, it said $180.00. Big difference. 

Oh well. 

At least Mr. Moon and I got a breakfast date out of the deal. We went to a place called The Brick House Eatery in Monticello and they have an amazing breakfast. Have you ever had hash brown casserole? I hadn't until this morning. They were out of hash browns and substituted the casserole. We got portions the size of bricks, speaking of brick houses. No way I could finish the whole plate of food but it sure was good. 

That was the view from our table. They definitely have it going on at the Brick House. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The servers are pros. The menu has everything from fried pickles to blackened grouper sandwiches and filet mignon. Three beer taps. Excellent iced tea. Right across the street from Wag the Dog. 

Looks like Dorian has just been teasing us and is going to head up north without slamming Florida. Of course, it could change its mind any minute. And I really do fear for the Bahamas. And wherever it does decide to land. 

The Rolling Stones played the last concert of this year's US tour in Miami last night and they decided at the last minute to change the date from the 31st to the 30th due to the uncertainty of Dorian's path. According to reports the house was full despite the change and Jagger started the show with "Jumping Jack Flash" whose opening line is, "I was born in a crossfire hurricane," and then when they played, as an encore, "Gimme Shelter" whose first two lines are "Oh, a storm is threatening/My very life today," in a moment that I've read had to be seen to be believed, the heavens opened up and rain poured down while Mick and back-up vocalist Sasha Allen danced their way down the catwalk stage (Sasha in high heels, of course) to do their powerful duet, rain be damned. 

And when the last song had been played Mick said, "See you next time."

Bless those old boys. 

And bless this young boy. 

He and his parents and his brother are probably pulling up to their pretty little house in Tallahassee right this second after a long day of driving. And tomorrow I am having them out for pancakes and then Levon and August are going to hang out with us while Mama and Daddy get things unpacked and situated and maybe get to take a breath. 

You have no idea how happy I am about this even though August does want to break up Mr. Moon's and my relationship so that he can have Boppy all to himself. I see this as more of an indication of his love and intelligence than I do as a threat. 

Well. That's what's happening in my neck of the woods. 

And you?

Love...Ms. Moon

A Bit Of Melancholy On A Beautiful Day

When I woke up this morning it was notably cooler and the air was drier. A taste of fall. A false taste, of course, but still- a little lick of the delicious promise of what's to come. I took a walk. I washed the sheets and did other laundry and hung it all on the line. Maurice, as if she was delighting in the luxuriousness of the cooler and drier air as much as I was, lounged beneath the clothesline, stretching and relaxing in the shadows and light.

The sun has given my cat an extra tail. Can you see it? 

I had two books to return to the library in Monticello so I made a solo trip which felt strange. I always go with little ones and their mommies for toddler story hour. It was quiet and uneventful and Terez was not there. I returned my books and found another to check out. I noticed that someone had left a big box of sand pears at the door for whoever wanted them. I thought about getting a bag out of the car and taking some but I didn't. Maybe someone else will need them. 

And then I went "downtown" and did a little shopping which again felt strange and although not lonely, it was definitely different being alone. I went to Wag the Dog and found no treasures and to a vintage shop and there was nothing that that pleased me. The scent of potpourri was overwhelming and there was a little dog on a couch with the owner who said that every time the door opens the dog tries to escape and I thought, "So would I. So would I."

And then on to an antique store where I've been shopping for years and I swear- they have the same things they had a decade ago. At least in some cases. I did find three bar stool chairs that I think Mr. Moon will go buy tomorrow in the truck. The ones we have are partially woven raffia and are unraveling and the children and the cats have been helping that process along but these are oak and sturdy. 

They will probably outlive me and cost eighty dollars for the three of them. They are not antiques but they are what I've been looking for. 

I get overwhelmed by antique stores these days. Just so much stuff. And so much of it weird and unattractive and impractical and no one in their right mind would want it. Old tools that are special only in that they're probably over thirty years old and are rusty. Pictures that someone's aunt painted and which should have been thrown out fifty years ago. Skillets that were not good skillets when they were new and which are definitely not worth cooking in now. Ugly glassware, junky jewelry, pieces of quilts made of what appear to be the remains of polyester pants suits in lurid colors. Of course there are pieces I'd love to own. Beautiful old sofas and tables and desks and dressers but I have all of those things I need. It's odd to be sixty-five years old. I have things that are not perfect in any way but they do. They do. And I doubt I'll ever replace them at this stage of my life. And I have some beautiful things as well and I appreciate them but I don't need more. 

Sometimes, oddly enough, I have a wild urge to just move and leave everything behind. All of it. Find a place where the spaces are bare and simple and the lines are clean. Where I could make a new life within new walls, walk on new floors. But there are things I would miss too much. The old boards of the floors of this house. The walls that have sheltered so many for a hundred and sixty years. Its porches and hiding places for spiders and for grandchildren. 

Ah, let's face it- I'll never do that until they put me in the home and hopefully by then I won't know enough to give a shit. 

I went to the farmer's market where big sturdy women carry around crates and boxes of fruit and vegetables, where they have refrigerators with shelled field peas and smoked local bacon and sausage and basil and yard eggs. Three dollars and ninety-nine cents a dozen! My hens are worth a fortune! I got some green peanuts and some squash. I came home and boiled the peanuts in water as salty as the Dead Sea for my husband and maybe for Jessie, too, who will be home tomorrow and who loves them. 

And the storm? Ah, it grows stronger and it goes slower, sucking up the heat and power of the Atlantic. They are still not settled on a determined path and so it goes minute by minute, hour by hour, update by update. The latest projections show it possibly going up the east coast of Florida instead of crossing the state but no one knows for sure yet. It looks like it's definitely going to smash into the Bahamas and that is frightening. You can't totally evacuate an island. My cousin's daughter lives there with her two children and I think of how her mother must be worrying. How SHE must be worrying. One of the old men in the antique store today is certain that it's going to cut right across Florida, recharge in the Gulf and hit the state at Destin. I hope not. That whole area of the panhandle is still not nearly recovered from Hurricane Michael and with Trump diverting funds from FEMA to his imaginary wall, it never will recover. Or at least not any time soon. 

I have to go make supper. 

I hope you're having a decent Friday. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Ms. Cranky McCranky Pants Swears A Lot

Well, today had its ups and its downs, especially if you were Magnolia June. By the way, she's posing in front of her very own Magnolia tree. I believe it was planted over her placenta because that's the way we do things 'round these here parts. In that picture she was very happy. She was wearing her new dance clothes which she picked out herself and which are actually gymnastic clothes but for the class she's going to the kids can wear whatever they want as long as they have the right shoes. So she was happy, as noted, and excited and then it was time to start class and the world turned upside down. Turns out that these days parents can't actually observe the class first-hand, they sit in a lobby of sorts where there are video screens which show the classes via camera. There were only four children in the class- three little girls and one little boy and the teacher was wearing a pair of gym shorts and a Dr. Seuss T-shirt and had bare feet and you could see where her eyebrow piercing jewelry had been taken out and all of this was a bit new for old me who remembers when dance teachers, even for the very young, wore the classic tights and leotards and ballet shoes, etc., etc. I suppose all of that balletness was to give the children a picture of the ethereal being that ballerinas are as a sort of motivation. Or something.
This is not a criticism of the teacher of this class or of this school in general. It was just a bit unnerving for me.
So Maggie was being a bit shy but she went into the studio and she did stand on her spot for the first half of the class wherein they wore tap shoes and did little tappy things and when I say "they" I mean the teacher and one little girl who had taken dance over the summer. Maggie and the other little girl just stood there looking shocked and shy and the little boy stood in the corner looking vaguely amused. Or something. I'm not sure. It's difficult to see over the nanny-cam.
As soon as the tap shoes portion of the class was over and the children came back out to put on their ballet slippers, Maggie lost it. She wailed. She cried. She clung to her mommy. She did not want to hear anything about how nice the teacher was or how after class she could get a cookie at Publix or ANYTHING! Eventually, when class resumed Lily took her back in the class and stood beside her by the door and finally she slipped out of the door which brought on fresh new tears and wails and finally, the teacher opened the door and let her out.
Ooh boy.
Not a great beginning.
But you know- some of us just have a hard time at first with new experiences.
Before we left she did thank the teacher which took quite a bit of bravery on her part.

Since we had about an hour before it was time to pick up Hank for lunch, we decided to go by Costco where, we discovered, everyone in Tallahassee was shopping for hurricane supplies and filling up their cars with gas. I mean, people were lined up to the road waiting for gas.
Okay. First of all- the storm isn't even supposed to hit Florida (if it does hit Florida which it probably will but really, who knows?) until Sunday. Three days away.
Secondly- people were buying flats of water. In plastic bottles. Of course. Now, I'm not sure that people who are on what I call "city water" ever lose their water during hurricanes. The city has that covered. Okay? And why in HELL can't people fucking save containers and fill them up with tap water if they feel the need to have extra water on hand? You ever hear of a bathtub? You can fill that sucker up and use the water to flush your toilet for days. It's ridiculous. And sure enough, it was announced that Costco had run out of water before we finished our shopping.
This whole thing just sickens me. Do people not realize that the water they're paying out the butt for in planet-destroying plastic bottles comes from municipal water supplies for the most part? I talked to a woman later on in the day about this and she said that she generally keeps four cases of bottled water on hand because that's what her family drinks and she had been down to only two cases so she bought five more to have in case the hurricane gets here and she has two little children and they need to stay hydrated in this heat.
WTF?WTF?WTF?
I have no hope for this planet. None at all.
And guess what? We don't deserve to live here. We're too fucking stupid.

Okay. Calm down. I'll step off my soapbox for a second.
Take a breath.

We went to lunch at Maria, Maria's and it was as great as it was the first time and there were lots of customers. Good for them! The food actually reminds me of Mexico. Now don't get me wrong- I love Tex-Mex as much as the next gringo but to eat food that takes me back to the streets of Cozumel is a pure pleasure. It was good to see Hank and Rachel. By this time Maggie had completely gotten over her trauma and calmly and steadily ate her way through a goodly portion of chicken fingers and french fries and no, they're not Mexican, they are Childrican.

They still don't know what this storm is going to do. Right now the National Hurricane Center is giving a forecast that looks like this.

As you can see, the entire state of Florida is in the aptly named "cone of uncertainty." If you want to read a truly scholarly and fully fact-filled opinion about what's going on you can go HERE. 

I feel certain you do not so just go ahead and watch the weather channel and see people go into histrionics about it all. One thing that most of the forecasting models do agree on is that the storm is going to be a Category 4 when it hits land and that, my friends, is a strong fucking storm. Winds of 130 to 156 mph and nobody wants to be in that kind of crazy. Did you ever see a full-grown tree bend in half? I doubt we'll see winds like that here in the Panhandle of Florida and we may get almost nothing at all. Or hell, it could cross the state, hang out in the Gulf and gather strength for awhile, head north and knock the shit out of us. 

You just never know. 

And there's nothing we can do about it except to buy lots of bottled water and make sure our cars have gas in them because nothing says fucking stupid like getting in a car in a hurricane to evacuate at the last minute. 

This has not been a very Zen-like post. I would apologize for that but I've never claimed to be a Zen-like person. I'm a cranky old woman who swears like a dirty sailor who has already seen enough hurricanes to last her the rest of her life. 

Catch you tomorrow!

Love...Ms. Moon

Maggie Day

Magnolia's mama dropped her off this morning about nine-thirty and we had a splendid time, that girl and I. She did everything. And she brought her dog.
(Sidenote: Jack does not like dogs. Especially in his house.)
The first thing she did when she got here was ask, "Do you have any toys?"
Hahahahahahahaha!
She immediately went and got her baby and the new carriage and wheeled her around for a bit and then put the baby's blanket on Sammy whom she claimed was cold. Sammy was walking around when he was covered and the blanket did not stay on very long.
After her mama left she played a little piano, talked on the phone, took care of her business obligations. I love that sometimes when she is having these pretend conversations with pretend people she sounds annoyed. Like Hank said, as if she's saying, "Look Karen. I don't have time for this shit. Okay?"
She wanted to play with the cocktail glass mermaids and monkeys and other assorted animals and so I made her a beach with a bath towel and bowls of water and everyone went swimming. This is something that Gibson still loves to do. So much to pretend about there.

We went and let the chickens out and gathered eggs and she wanted me to cook her one and so I did. She ate all of it and a piece of toast. And grape juice. She loves grape juice.
Then it was on to the Glen Den where we decided to make a button necklace. This turned out to be a really fun project. I threaded a big needle for her with pink embroidery thread and she carefully sewed in and out of the buttonholes to hold the buttons in place. I was most impressed with her diligence and focus and she did not poke her finger once.

After the necklace was finished she played with toys. 

She had a few conversations with Hank on the Fisher Price phone and informed me that he wanted her to come to his house. 

"That's nice," I said. She nodded somberly. 

Then she wanted to go out and swing on the porch. So we went out and sat on the swing but she decided that she wanted to go sit on the other porch. Why not?

We chatted about spiders and spider plants. I offered to give her one of the baby spider plants in a pot but she graciously declined. 

"No, please," is what she says. I love that. 

By this time it was lunch time and I heated up some eggplant parmesan and spaghetti and she ate a little of that. Then she wanted a fruit popsicle and we sat on the back steps and she ate it while we watched the chickens eat the rest of the eggplant that we couldn't finish and then we gave them some cornbread. 

"I like cornbread too," she told me. 

"So do I," I said. 

So do chickens but then again, they like everything. 

Despite having just eaten lunch, Maggie decided that a tea party was in order. And so we got out the tea set and had water-tea with pretend cream and sugar, and our cookies were honey-nut cheerios. 

And THEN, we decided to play a little matching game and that was fun. She won the first round and by the time we were halfway through the second round her mama came to get her. She was very happy to see her mother although after some hugs and kisses she said that she could leave again. Sammy was even happier to see Lily. She is his human. You can tell that he's not had a permanent home for his entire life but that he's pinned his hopes on Lily. He jumps up and barks and wants her to pick him up and cuddle him which she does, of course. He's polite around everyone else but it's Lily that he loves. 

Before they left I got the girl to pose with her new necklace on. I think it is very fetching. 

She wanted me to take one with her holding her baby. And so I did.

It was truly a fun day and Maggie was most amenable. Of course, I did everything she asked me to do and she had my full attention which is not always the case. She told me she loved me several times and that filled my heart so sweetly. 

Tomorrow I'm going to go watch her first dance class and then we're meeting up with Rachel and Hank at Maria, Maria for lunch and I am looking forward to that. 

And to top everything off, Jessie called and they are coming back Saturday. 

Be still my heart. 

Just in time for the hurricane! Which is probably not going to hit us directly but may hit my beloved Roseland or, it may miss Florida entirely and curve up the coast of the US. I am so damn glad that Puerto Rico didn't get it. 

I Facebook Messaged my friend whom we rent the magical pool house on the Sebastian River from and told him I was thinking about him and to be safe. He responded with, "Ugh."

Yeah. 

It cannot be just my imagination that these yearly storms are getting more frequent and stronger. 

They just are. 

And the worst of hurricane season has only truly just begun and does not end until November 30. 

Well. What can one do? 

Have tea parties and make button necklaces and play with mermaids and baby dolls, I guess. 

By the way- our chanterelles were delicious and we did not die. 

Can't ask for more than that. 

Love...Ms. Moon

The Telling Day Will Be Here Soon

The beauty berries are starting to show their mauvey, glossy glory and the golden orb weavers are claiming their territories for their final days and egg laying.

This pretty little thing has one boyfriend. He's up there at the very top. Not the dangling one you see behind her. I believe that one is deceased. This is what was going on when I watered the front porch plants and I rudely broke her web so that I could pass by with the hose. She will rebuild. 

Last night our power went out from nine until about eleven thirty. There was hardly any rain and not much wind going on. I'm not sure what the power outage source was. We laughed and joked about how it's time to get the generator ready and I bitched about having to go to bed without the fan blowing on me. I am addicted to that fan. After a few hours the air conditioned house begins to heat up and get humid and it all reminded me of hurricanes and how it feels during and after when the power is gone and we are stumbling about in the semi-darkness as this house was built to trap and hold coolness, not for bright light in all of the rooms. We go about with miner's lamps and move camp lanterns from room to room and that is what we did last night. I fell asleep but woke up just a few minutes later, my husband rambling about the house doing something until I realized that the power was back on and he was turning out lights and setting clocks. 

I woke up this morning, unsettled. I hate this season of storms and listening to experts about possible hurricane formations and paths and forecasts. They are looking at this one now. 

Dorian. Tropical Storm Dorian. Oh, Dorian- what chu gonna do? Are you going to dance with the wind above that hot summer ocean and spin and turn until you make of yourselves a baby hurricane? And if you do how fast will that baby grow and where will that baby go? 

My favorite local meteorologist always cautions about too-early predictions. 

"I'd rather be right than first," he always says. And he hates that "cone of uncertainty." He says that with this one, Thursday will be "the telling day."

The power went out again this afternoon. Only for an hour and a half. "Caused by equip. damage. Approx 675 customers impacted," Duke Energy informed me via text when the power came back on. 

This all feels too much like the warm-up exercises for the real thing. 

I got nothing done today. A short walk. A little laundry. Just as I was about to lay out the pattern for Magnolia's dress, the electricity flickered and flickered and flickered and stopped. I said fuck it and laid down on the bed with Jack and read in the semi-darkness as rain came down outside. 

But then it came back on and I got up after a nap and here are Darla and Dottie in the jungle of my kitchen bed. You can see that the pinecone lilies have emerged and in the next few weeks they will turn as scarlet as a cardinal. 

I have finally named the four youngest birds. The one I think is a rooster I am going to call EJ for Elvis, Junior. May he live up to that holy name. The hen (this is all yet to be completely proven) who looks like him will be Elvira which was what we named Elvis when we thought he was a girl. And the two goldens are Sissy and Sally. 

And it's all silly because no one will actually know or care but me. 

Yesterday Lily texted to ask if I'd like some Chanterelle mushrooms that they found in their yard. I've never cooked wild mushrooms if you want to know the truth. Well, maybe once I cooked some that Vergil brought over but I'm not sure about that. But I told Lily that I would like them and so tonight I am going to make a mushroom sauce to go over a venison roast that I'm cooking. 

Mr. Moon is a bit afraid that I'm going to kill him. I told him that if he dies, I will too. 

I am sure that he finds this comforting. 

As we speak he is working on the generator. I suppose we need to get our act together regarding batteries and flashlights. As to food- I am not worried in case of a storm. For one thing, Publix always opens back up almost immediately after storms pass. They all have generators. Besides, we can keep our refrigerator going with our own much smaller generator. It will run that and a few lights and most importantly- my fan. I have a gas stove. We are on "city water" instead of a well with a pump and they always manage to keep that going. 

One supposes that a trip to Costco to buy extra vodka and beer is in order though. 

I'll think about that on Thursday, the telling day. 

And tomorrow my granddaughter is coming over for a little visit. Lily and Lauren have appointments with our darling Melissa and I have offered to keep the girl so that they can do that and have a leisurely lunch after. I need some time with that golden haired woman-baby. 

It is drizzling. It is the very end of August. Here we are again. It seems like time and the seasons pass in a breath, in a dream, in a dance, in a kiss, in the slap of cold river water as we dive under the surface with our eyes open to see in a blurry haze another world, right there, all the time even as we go on about our business pretending and forgetting that it is there at all. 

Life is so mysterious even when we keep our eyes open. 

Love...Ms. Moon

A Little More Memory

That's an Eastern black swallowtail butterfly, I do believe. I spied it just now walking back from the hen house where I collected three eggs, one so fresh that the protective coating hadn't hardened yet and it was not warm, it was hot. Anyway, the butterfly is on a magnolia leaf, perhaps drying out her wings as we just got a nice little downpour. Or just hatched as far as I know. I am ignorant in the ways of butterflies.

So when I got to Tallahassee all of my troubles did not magically disappear even though I felt a deep sense of being far more at home than I ever did in Denver. I had arrived in a state of deep depression and looking back now, I see that I was already suffering from some anxiety which made it hard for me to ever feel as if I fit in completely, even with the people I met who were, for the most part, so dear. I think that on that first afternoon I not only met Herb but also a woman flautist who was going to FSU's music school with the sweet boy, and also Bill Wharton.
Lisa, the flautist, was from Miami and was brusk and tough as a woman could be. Or so she presented herself at least. She did not suffer fools gladly. She had a voice like Janis Joplin's, rough and her laugh was a cackle. She loved reefer. She was diabetic and that wasn't stopping her for a second. She was fierce and determined and forthright in all ways.
She scared the shit out of me.
Bill was another story. He dropped by the house to show the sweet boy the guitar he'd just gotten. An Ovation and I can remember like it was yesterday, him sitting on a chair and showing us how easy it was for that rounded-back of an instrument to slide from his lap but he cuddled it up and he played a little bit and told us he'd just gotten a job as a roofer.
"A reefer roofer," he said.
I think he worked that job for about a week. Bill's a musician and that's that.
And that was the beginning of meeting D's network of friends. They were all kind to me but it was hard for me to accept being accepted. In Denver I'd been the southern girl. I was literally asked if it was true that southerners like watermelon and fried chicken. Not black people, specifically, just southerners in general. My accent got made fun of. I had very limited experience with drugs or alcohol and the preponderance of students there from NYC were, to say the least, quite experienced. They'd all gone to prep schools (and believe it or not I didn't even know what a prep school was) and mostly chose DU because they loved to ski.
Well, I could water ski but I sure wasn't going to bring that up.
Anyway, I felt like a true alien among them. I did make a few good friends but I am not in touch with one of them and haven't been for many decades.
So here I was in Tallahassee meeting a whole new group of people, mostly musicians, some artists, hippies all, and who was I?
A college drop-out with no goals, no achievements, no desire to go back to school, no purpose, suffering from depression but trying to pretend that all was well and I was cool- what did I have to offer?
I had no idea.
And then to make things even worse, D. decided in about twenty-four hours that me living with him was not a good idea and that's when I completely lost my shit. I'd driven more than halfway across the country on the premise that I'd have a place to live and a man to love and, well...not so much.
As I've said before, I am certain that he never thought I'd take him up on his offer for me to come to Tallahassee and live with him. And he was busy. Music school was no joke. He had hours of rehearsals and classes. And he didn't want or need to be tied down. Not in the least. And I understand that now but my god, I was so lost then.
D. let me stay in his house for awhile and I did everything I knew to do to try and get him to change his mind. I cooked. I domesticated until I couldn't domesticate anymore. I listened to Mahler and Pink Floyd, neither of which I really enjoyed. I got stoned. Finally I moved into an apartment that a friend of D's in the music school needed a roommate for. I didn't know her very well, didn't like her very much, and we had nothing in common. I cried. I cried and I cried and I cried. I slept a lot.
I got an ulcer.
But slowly I made friends with other people and slowly I began to make a life for myself and slowly, the light began to come back into that life.
It took a long time and there are many stories that are part of how I began to make my way back.
Back from where, I am not sure. I think I'd been depressed and anxious since early childhood. But I scrabbled up that rocky cliff one handhold at a time and was graced with the love of a few people and all of it led to where I am now.

I want to tell some of those stories. How one hippie, broken girl managed to hold on when it was unbearably hard. And how over the decades she found, if not complete healing, at least a way to live with the past.

Here's a picture I stole from a post Lily put up on Facebook today.

Maggie and Sammy on the red dirt road in front of their house. That's where this life has led me. 

And this picture of Levon that Jessie sent yesterday after a long, arduous hike up a mountain. 

I wish, oh how I wish, that I could have whispered in that hippie girl's ear and told her that it would all be okay. To try and not worry quite as much. To even, dare I say it? Enjoy herself a little more. 

Because it is okay. And all of that has resulted in this. 

Fresh eggs and butterflies on magnolia leaves and grandchildren whom I adore more than words can describe and a man I've loved for thirty-six years and so much more than I could ever have imagined. 

I'm not really a fan of the Greatful Dead. They never played the music that made my soul dance but when they coined the phrase, "What a long strange trip it's been," they nailed it. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Such A Bless Our Hearts Post

Maurice has been having a hard time of it, mostly because of Jack. We weighed Jack the other day and he weighs eighteen pounds. I know this is not record-breaking when it comes to cat weights but I doubt that Maurice weighs eight pounds. Hell, she might weigh less than five pounds. She's tiny. And so Jack has finally established himself as the King Of All He Surveys which is mostly the house.

Jack enjoying the new Kantha cloth throw I so thoughtfully purchased for his napping pleasure. 

He only goes outside to pee and poop and occasionally relieve the boredom of napping on our bed by napping on the table in the back yard. Or to make sure that Maurice isn't trying to nap on the table on the porch. I have to pick the big boy up to make our bed in the morning and he does not like that. He hangs on to the sheets with his toe scimitars and it's a struggle every day. Meanwhile Maurice does come in to eat and sometimes she even snuggles up in Mr. Moon's lap when he's in his chair although yesterday when she was trying to do that he had the audacity to pet her and she...wait for it!...clawed the crap out of him. She's so touchy.
But in the garden she can come and go as she pleases and hang out in the shade and watch me pull weeds and when she asks to be petted, I can safely indulge her, wearing my gardening gloves as I do. I wear them as protection against the fire ants but they work pretty good for cat claws as well.

This is African basil. I think. It's about the only thing still thriving in the garden besides all of the volunteer sweet potatoes. There's a lot of the basil though and I use it in salads and in cooking and should make up some pesto and freeze it in ice cube trays for the winter. That works very well. I'm slowly getting the garden cleared out and ready for the fall planting. For whatever reason, I am pretty excited about that this year. I think I might do some research to find some more interesting greens and lettuces to plant although of course I will plant the old favorites- the collards and mustards, the mesclun, the arugula. Perhaps I'll go insane and try some broccoli and cabbage again this year although I've never been able to very successfully grow those. I do not know why. One year we did get a few giant cabbages but that was obviously some sort of glitch in the universe or something. 

I just finished listening to a beautiful production of a gorgeous book. 

A very finely told tale and I would read it with my eyes but the narration is perfect. So- if you listen to audio books, I definitely recommend this one. I was so sad when it ended. It restored my faith in publishers sometimes getting it right and honoring good writing. 

So. Did you see Barack and Michelle's summer play list? The songs they've been enjoying lately? 

First of all- we used to have a president who listened to music. 

Can you believe that? Wonder what Trumpsteak listens to? Nazi martial music, I would imagine. 

Okay, okay, let's let that one go. No need to waste air space on it as a friend of mine said recently. We all know how we feel about that. 

But see #34 there? "Happy" by the Rolling Stones? 

You have no idea how happy that makes me. That's a Keith song. It's one he wrote and one he always performs at concerts while Mick goes backstage and catches his breath or does forty push-ups or whatever it is that Mick does while Keith takes the stage. I'm pretty sure I've posted a video of the song before but hey! It's Sunday. Time for a hymn.

This was filmed thirteen years ago and it's quintessential Keith Richards. Watch the first few seconds of it at least to see him do his blessing. It's a fine rockin' song and I'm glad that President and Mrs. Obama have enjoyed it. 

All right. That's about all I have to say tonight.

Gold rings on ya and all your babies too.

Love...Ms. Moon

Pondering Death And Life- You Know- The Little Things

We went to a funeral today. My brother's father-in-law died last Saturday and although Mr. Moon and I were not close to him, he had made a huge difference in the lives of my brother and his family. He loved them dearly and took them on wonderful vacations. A month ago, in fact, they all went to North Carolina together and a good time was had by all. He was my niece's and nephew's only grandparent after my mother died and they adored "Papa."
And so of course we had to go. Family. The service was held in a funeral home and was short and sweet. His daughters and a few of his siblings spoke as well as his best friend. It was decidedly non-religious. The holy name of the father was only mentioned once, heaven a few times, hell not at all. Mostly the stories were about funny things he'd done, how caring he'd been as a father, a brother, a husband.
It was good to see my brother and his wife and Kian and Riley, so almost-grown now. We saw them at Easter but I swear they've grown since then. Kian is driving now, Riley is about to get her license. I think they were all glad we showed up. We were glad we went.

I think of how we never pulled a funeral together for my mother. Part of me is ashamed of that. Part of me is not. I know that her church friends might have wished that we had. Her minister called me at least three times before he finally gave up, inquiring as to what sort of service we might want. We're not a religious family in any sense. One of my brothers lives in the Pacific Northwest and he wasn't going to come, believing rightly that seeing Mother while she was alive was far more important than attending a funeral. And my other two brothers and I were going through confusing times due to several issues and...well, it just didn't happen.
Ironically, the last time I saw Tom, my brother's father-in-law was right after Mother died. Chuck and his wife and their kids and Tom came over and we ate some ham and hung out, mostly on the porch. And that was that.

I wonder what will happen when I die. Humans can't help but contemplate that situation for themselves. I don't mean where will I go when I die? What sort of form my soul will take? Not that. No one knows and if anyone tells you that they do, don't believe them. I'm thinking eternally gone. Done. And as much as I love to sleep, that's fine with me.
No. I'm talking about what my kids and husband will do. (I better go before him.) I really don't care. I mean, I'll be dead. We joke about it sometimes.
"Play Thunder Road."
I think that's the main directive I've given. That's not much to go on, is it?
I imagine that there will be drinking involved. As there should be. Dancing, I hope.
I remember after my beloved friend Lynn died and how, at the end of a long day of celebrating her life, Shayla and I danced in my hallway to Somewhere Over The Rainbow by Iz Kamakawiwo'Ole. I had danced in so many hallways and kitchens with Lynn and that dance felt sacred. Lynn would have loved that more than anything. Sometimes it is best, I think, to let these things arise organically rather than to plan a sterile service with no room for improvisational hallway dancing.

Well, I really did not mean to discuss after-death plans. I rarely have any idea what I'm going to write about when I sit down.
Talk about arising organically...
But the topic of my death doesn't depress me. I've lived. I'll die. Whatever happens after will be what it is. Now the thought of other people's deaths is another thing entirely. That I can't even discuss.

It's pouring rain and the sun is shining. There is no doubt a rainbow involved somewhere. It smells of the funk of wet dirt and the sharpness of ozone. The best perfume in the world. All over the world and right in my family there are people mourning the loss of loved ones. Every one of us has lost someone. Some of those losses are almost unbearable. Some of them are more confusing than painful. There are no rules about these things. Not about death or how we should feel about it or what we should do afterwards.
But I do like to think of the people I've loved who have died and how much they would have loved this or hated that. I miss them and selfishly, I miss the parts of me that went with them because we share different parts of ourselves with different people. We have entrusted those people with these parts of ourselves and they have loved us despite them or because of them. That's what love is, I think. Or some of it.

Ah well. I think I'll go make some curried squash and sweet potato and cashew soup. You know why? Because I can. And I want to. And I'm alive.

Love...Ms. Moon

Back On The MacBook

I was hanging sheets on the line today when I got a call from from the Computer Doctor place to tell me that my MacBook was ready to be picked up.
"OH!" I trilled. "You just made my day!"
"Uh, well, okay," said the guy.

I already had an errand planned for just a few blocks away from the repair place and I had thought how wonderful it would be if I could combine that errand with picking up my s-typing beloved almost-like-a-child-to-me laptop but had had little hope that this is how it would go and so when that's exactly how it turned out, I felt like a child promised a trip to Disney World by a rich uncle she'd never heard of. Or something like that.

And so I ran my errands and went to Joanne's Fabrics to get some material for Maggie a dress
and then I saw this:

I was forced by the universe to purchase three yards of it. What I am going to do with it I do not know but how could I leave it in the store? 

Maggie's material looks like this-

Purple! Butterflies! Sparkles! 

Ooh boy. And if August wants a dress of it, I'll make him one too. 

Speaking of the boy, Lis got to visit with Jessie and the boys today.

She and Lon are in North Carolina right now, playing festivals and a wedding and enjoying the relative coolness. I'm so glad she got to see her fairy goddaughter and the boys. I know that Jessie was thrilled about that. I so wish I could have been there too. 

But instead I was driving around Tallahassee, buying stuff. I've said this before but I'll say it again- I am not bipolar but on a rare day I find myself in a very fine mood wanting to shop. So besides the fabric I also went next door to Tuesday Morning and got a wooden recorder for the children to play and a new Kantha cloth to put on my bed because it's just so pretty. While I was shopping there I heard a woman wearing a big old honking cross around her neck say, "Oh, shit!" 

That made me smile. 

So it's Friday. The stock market is tanking. Trumpsteak has commanded everyone to stop doing business with China. The Amazon is on fire. RBG has a tumor on her pancreas. We can probably survive all of that except the fire in the Amazon. 

But here in Lloyd, Florida there will be clean sheets on the bed tonight and an eggplant parmesan made from our own eggplants. Mr. Moon is about to make us martinis and NASA has announced that they have named a rock on Mars after the Rolling Stones. 

I don't even know what to say about any of it so I'll just say this-

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon