Jesus, Sunday's Are Weird

That was August last night about to dig into his chicken and dumplings. He ate a good amount and then it was bath time which he wanted (surprise, surprise) his Boppy to supervise and then it was bedtime which is when Mer steps in. He was so tired. He even told me he was tired so we agreed on just one book and it was a short one. Then he got got down on his bed and we went through the covering routine and he had Zippy, the very old chimp and the tiny sock monkey that Lily made me when she was a child. They sit up on the mantel of my room, my household gods. First August had to ask a million questions about Zippy. What did it say on his shirt? Why did he have all those buttons on his overalls? Why was he so old? When we had exhausted that subject he moved on to the little sock monkey.
"How old was Lily when she made this?"
Of course I don't remember but I said, "Maybe ten. Or eleven or twelve. Like Owen's age."
"How did she make it?"
"With a needle and thread."
"Was she all alone when she made it?"
"Yes."
"What if she got lonely while she was making it?"
"Well, you don't really get lonely when you're doing something you like doing."
"What if she got scared while she was making it?"
"She could have come to me and we could have talked about what she was scared of. Are you feeling scared?"
And then with great bravado he said, "Not a BIT!"
He may have been a little concerned about not being at home but mostly I think he was just stalling for time by this point. He pointed out that he didn't want to fall into the fireplace (his bed is on the floor between our bed and the fireplace which was not on) and so I put a screen in front of it. Then he didn't want to fall onto the screen so we moved his bed closer to our bed meaning it was practically touching it. Then he asked what would happen if he needed us and tried to wake us up but he couldn't? I told him that we WOULD wake up but as an added bit of security, showed him how he could poke me with his finger if I didn't. Then he demonstrated that he couldn't climb into our bed if he needed to which was a complete farce because as we all know, that kid could climb the refrigerator if he wanted something on the top of it. So I offered to scratch his back and he said yes, and I gently scratched his tender little back, my fingers barely tracing his soft skin. He finally asked about thunder, what should he do if thunder woke him up and I told him that we would be right there and finally he went to sleep and it did thunder and he didn't wake up.
Until 7:30 this morning at which point his grandfather got up with him and I went back to sleep until almost nine which made me feel like a horrible grandmother but bizarrely no one had died of starvation and I made sourdough pancakes and bacon and that child ate FOUR pancakes.

He and Boppy played Battle after breakfast, his first time, and he caught on quickly although he's still learning his numbers. I learned my numbers from my grandmother playing cards with me and I still remember that even though it was about four thousand years ago. We worked in coloring books and did a puzzle and other fun things and then Daddy came to get him.
"Want to go home and see your mama?" Vergil asked him.
"Yes," he said, and toting his backpack off he went.
Such a good little man.

The thought struck me last night that although "they" say that grandchildren will keep you young, I beg to disagree. I never, ever think about death as much as I do when I'm with my grandchildren. Not in a morbid way but just a matter-of-fact, inevitable way. I am not going to be around to see these children all grow up, graduate from college, discover exactly who they are, fall in love, have babies of their own. Even if I live another twenty years, which is of course possible, I'm simply not going to be able to get through their journey with them. Of course not.
That's just the way it is and I don't want to live to be a hundred and something, propped up at some nursing home tied into a wheelchair with a cake that I do not understand the meaning of in front of me.
But I can't help but think about it. How they will have their own lives that I am no longer a part of except for whatever memories they hold of me. And if that's selfish thinking, well, I'm guilty of it.
But part of it is not so much selfish as narcissistic- what will they do without me and their grandfather? We are a part of their lives that's mostly just love. We're not responsible for their discipline or education, we don't have to make the hard decisions about any of their rearing. We can respond with our thoughts if asked, but they all have wonderful parents who do and will do the hard work.
We're basically just here to love and appreciate them, to think they're marvelous and to tell them that.
I really want to make sure that they have enough years of us to incorporate all of that into their very souls.

Today, when August was playing cards with his grandfather, I told him, "August, I love your beautiful hands." I always have.

And because I'm his grandmother, I can tell him that easily. His grandfather gave a bit of a snort-chuckle because that's not something he would ever say to anyone, probably, but he tells our grandchildren how much he loves them in other ways. Grandfather ways.
And here's another thing- I don't want them to be sad when we die. They all seem to be quite aware that we are older than their parents and will die at some point in the if not-near future, the sooner-rather-than-later future. I want them to be just be happy that we were here.
And know, without one doubt, that we loved them unconditionally.

Well, that was a bit of a Sunday night musing.

I picked our salad from the garden tonight.

The Bok Choy, which I can only describe as minuscule, has already bolted. 

And it's January. 

It'll still make a good salad. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Mr. Cracky Is In The House

It's been a wind-chiming day around here today. The belt of weather that's affecting so much of the country has given us a little taste of its power. So far- just a taste and that is fine with me. We had some strong gusts this morning. As I sat on the porch I heard that sound that I've come to know so well- a slow, ripping and splitting of something huge but no crash followed so whatever broke away from its trunk must be propped up on branches to prevent its fall. I went out and looked around but didn't see anything.

Mr. Moon took off early this morning to go help a friend down at the coast build...something? A boathouse? A shed? A shed for a boat? I don't know. I should know but I don't. I did receive pictures but it's still in the framing stage of construction. I hung out here and got a few things done and made a quick run to the nearest Publix where I bought necessities (beer and bananas, etc.) and then took a nap. I knew that August was coming out and I decided to put my free time to good use.
Haha.
No. Seriously.

Jessie's best friend from middle-school on is in town and the two of them have taken off to Thomasville, Georgia for a quick girl getaway and boy, does Jessie deserve it. As Vergil said, when those two girls are together, there's a lot of giggling going on. Melissa is Jessie's BFF and that's all there is to it. They played in the same bands together, she and her former boyfriend lived with Jessie and Vergil for awhile, and I think they'll always be close. Melissa has an exciting life now though, and lives overseas doing environmental work. She's pretty amazing, that one. I love her like one of my own. Anyway, Vergil took both his boys to Torreya State Park today to do some hiking and he reported that August walked over three miles on those skinny little boy legs and that even Levon walked a good part of it. Gotta keep those mountain muscles strong! Torreya is an amazing place but has not begun to recover from Hurricane Michael. August showed me with his hand how tilted all the trees are and there is only a small bit of the trail system open.
But after that and a nap for the boys, they came out here and as August said, he is going to have an over-sleep here. Before Boppy got home he and I got the broth and vegetables and chicken ready to put dumplings in and then we read some books. We made up his bed in our room with a sheet and a cozy blanket and a pillow, all ready for him to sleep on. He's so happy to be here.
When Boppy got home and was taking his shower, August and I went to shut the chickens up and let me say this- do not ever let anyone tell you that chickens are stupid.
They are not.
We're down to seven birds now, including Liberace the rooster and lately, three of the seven have been roosting in the tree right beside the hen house rather than inside of it but tonight, they are all seven snug inside. This wind definitely made them leery of a night outside perching on swaying branches. I was so glad to see them all there.
As I've been writing this, I've been hearing great rollicking peals of laughter from the Glen Den. I just went in to check to find this.

They are watching Tom and Jerry and August is incredibly entertained by the antics.

Here are what my pink perfections look like today.

I better go make dumplings and add them to the pot so that we can eat supper before the young Mister falls asleep. 

I can still hear him laughing. 

Love...Ms. Moon

As my darling Sue used to say sometimes, I have had the saddies today. There is truly nothing in this world that is going on that should make me feel that way but there it is and there you go- my whole being has been filled with that deep existential sadness that fills my body and mind and heart like gray cotton stuffing in a rag doll. Dense and not pretty in the least, settled in to every joint and valve and vein.

I even went back and looked on my blog to see if today was the anniversary of my mother's death because it felt like one of those days. A day when the body remembers, even if the mind has pretended to forget but no, she died on January 16, 2013 and if you'd held a gun to my head I could not have told you either the day or the year which says a great deal about me that I'm not proud of but it's the truth.

So I don't know what the deal is. It was a beautiful day and not cold but I couldn't even begin to bring myself to leave the yard to take a walk or go to the post office. Being here was all I could handle and so home I stayed. I swept seven rooms and the hallway, wondering as always how in the world so much dust can accumulate in such a short period of time. I swept up poodles-full of dust along with the black sandy dirt of Lloyd. I did laundry. I washed the sheets. And then I sat on the couch and watched one episode of Schitt's Creek after another, mindless and vaguely interesting, saved from complete ridiculousness by the amazing Catherine O'Hara and Eugene Levy and Daniel Levy and while I watched, I embroidered and beaded on Maggie's dress which was a sort of meditation for my hands.

So not perfect and my French knots are ludicrously uneven and deformed but still, I'm proud of the way it turned out. 

Mr. Moon came home just after I'd finished and I took a shower, wondering how in the world I was going to manage another birthday party but I put on my nun-nightgown dress and my silver conch shell necklace that May gave me and my favorite silver earrings and my new Dansko Mary Jane clogs and my husband made me a drink and off we went. 

When we got to Lily's, Gibson greeted us with his Gibson hugs and he kept saying, "Do you want to see the birthday girl?" and finally we did. There weren't too many people there and Lily had made queso dip and it wasn't so bad. Owen asked me what I thought I was best at doing and I told him "cooking" and he told me that he didn't know yet what he is best at and I told him that that was okay, he had plenty of time to figure it out. 

There was pizza and there was salad and there was Maggie who ran up to her mother and hugged her and said, "This is the best birthday party ever!" and there was Wiley Cash and The Darling Lenore who reminded me of Cher tonight, flipping back her long dark hair, wearing her shorts and cowgirl boots. When Maggie spilled orange soda all over the princess dress she was wearing it seemed like a good time for her to open my present and she did and she seemed happy with her new dress and when her mother suggested she put it on she said, "NO! NO! NO! Okay." 

She did put it on and here she is showing someone in the kitchen the beans on it. 

"Beads," her mother told her. 

"Beads," Maggie said. 

And then there was cake. 

Maggie didn't want any cake and she didn't want any ice cream, either, although her mama and daddy said that she couldn't open her presents until after cake and ice cream and I said, "Why not?" and so she opened her gifts while we all ate our sweet birthday goodness. May and Michael had gotten there by then and that was more sweetness. Jessie and Vergil didn't make it because the boys were exhausted and Hank and Rachel didn't either due also to exhaustion but for different reasons. 

But it was fine and there were plenty of folks to wish that girl happy birthday and I survived. 

My right eye is twitching like the plump pretty asses at a twerking convention and I still can't figure out any reason at all that I'm feeling this way, gray cotton stuffed and dull and dreary but that's the way it is. 

I'm also feeling especially tender towards my husband and perhaps that's just part of the whole thing- being raw and exposed and sad and open to all of it. 

I don't know. 

I don't know shit. 

But I do know that Ms. Maggie June has been birthday-loved to pieces and that she is an amazingly lucky child. 

My eyelid twerks and and twitches. I spent hours plying a needle in and out of pretty flannel, we have clean sheets. The moon is round and full as a mama's belly the night before she gives birth. See? There is nothing wrong at all. 

And perhaps tomorrow I will feel that in my bones. 

We shall see. 

Love...Ms. Moon

By this time next week we may have a new AC/Heater unit. Or we may not. We shall see. Like I said yesterday it's getting warmer for a spell but last night and this morning were cold. Jack was almost IN the fireplace. He's no dummy. But after I got home from my walk today it was really starting to warm up outside and I opened every door in the house to get some of that warmth inside.
It worked, too. By the time the sun started to go down it was sixty-one degrees in the house.
Practically tropical!
And now I've closed the doors back up again to try and preserve a little of that warmth.

I know y'all are absolutely fascinated by these tales of our temperature control woes.
I'm sorry.
And I just completely deleted a whole bunch of words concerning what I write about and what I don't write about but sometimes, I just don't feel like trying to compose it all into anything resembling sense, much less coming up with a way to end it.

Tonight is one of those nights.

Suffice it to say that it was a fine day, a normal day in the life of Ms. Moon.
And for whatever reason, that's all I have to say about it.

We'll see what happens tomorrow.

Love...Ms. Moon

Pain. What On Earth's It Good For?

It was another gorgeous day here today, absolutely clear-blue and cold this morning. I have to admit that I am getting over the romance of heating with gas log fires for the simple reason that they are not getting the job done as to my specifications. I am wondering if my husband is going to research units until it's too warm to worry about it. For another year, of course.
I really don't think that's his plan but I can see it happening. Knowing him as I do I wonder at the fact that he asked me to marry him as quickly after we got together as he did. 
"Act in haste, regret in leisure" is his motto, if he does have one.
I hope he hasn't been regretting in leisure for the past 35 years.

Anyway, nothing like a walk to warm a soul up and I took one. I came home and did some housewifey stuff and ate my lunch and read an article in the New Yorker.  (Link)

It sort of blew my mind. We've all heard of people who can't feel physical pain, which is definitely not a good thing in that the people who have this difference do things like cut themselves, burn themselves, break bones, drink scalding liquids, etc., etc., much to their detriment.
And the woman in this article does not feel pain. She can feel pressure but not pain but she's managed to live a fairly normal life and has raised two children so she's okay there. But the thing that really interests scientists and was so fascinating to me is that she doesn't really feel emotional pain either. She can feel concern and she can feel distress or a sense of urgency in an emergency but for the most part, she does not have the flight-or-fight reaction to situations that most of us still experience even though in our world, our lives, they are no longer appropriate for the most part and can cause us actual physical harm. This is not to say that she couldn't logically figure out that she's in danger and do something about it. She very much could and has. It's just that her blood pressure doesn't shoot up and her body flood with adrenalin if she gets stuck in traffic.
And according to all who know her and have met her, she's gregarious, caring, and just a damn nice person.
There was so much to this article. It starts out with the way we view pain as something which makes us stronger and more empathetic and which has purpose and meaning in the lives of humans, but it ends up making us wonder if that's just bullshit.
Which I've always believed. "God never gives us more than we can bear," for example. In truth, humans are often given more than we can bear and it doesn't actually make us better people. Sometimes it kills us.
Anyway, it was a fascinating article and in studying her, scientists and doctors may learn a great deal about pain and how to control it in completely different ways than we've been going at it. Could this also lead to help for people who suffer emotional pain?
I think it may. I've already thought about it in relation to things that have arisen in my day which were causing me to stress out and it's given me a different perspective.
Anyway, read it if you get the chance.

I drove to Monticello to return some library books and it was nice to see Mr. Terez. I've become his friend on Facebook and that's given me a whole other community to learn about. He's such a nice guy. He came over to me as I was perusing books and gave me a hug. He gives the politest hugs in the world but you can still feel the sweetness. I love watching the way he treats everyone in the library with respect and friendliness. While I was there I found and checked out this book.

If you've never read any of Alexandra Fuller's books, it might be time to remedy that situation. Her first book, Don't Let's Go To The Dogs Tonight is devastatingly hard and sad and wonderful and beautiful. I'll just leave it at that. 

I finished Maggie's dress this evening. Well, except for any fancifying I might want to do. It went easy and I think it's pretty. 

It's actually a variation of the pattern of the nightgown I made her. I hope she likes it. 

Mr. Moon is at a basketball game of Owen's and then he's going to watch the FSU basketball game which is an away game on TV with friends at a little pub-like place so I'm on my own tonight. I'm going to heat up some leftovers and maybe do a little embroidering on the dress. It's going to be cold again tonight and then we should see some warmer temperatures. And I'll probably be bitching about that. 

I'll try not to. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Our Woman Baby Is A Woman Girl Now

And that is what Maggie looked like four years ago, just about right now. She was a husky little thing, eight pounds, 13 ounces but we tend to have big babies around here.
It was such a sweet, fast birth. One of my main memories is of Tanasia Huff, a then-midwifery student, coming in and getting things ready as calmly and quietly as anyone possibly could, radiating peacefulness as she set out the instruments she and Diana, the midwife, would need or might need for the birth. It's like she absorbed the very air and energy of the scene, analyzing it for what it could tell her about how things were progressing. She's now got her own practice and she delivered Maggie that night, wordlessly slipping the cord that was around Maggie's neck over her head so that our little girl could be pushed out into this realm of light.
It was so beautiful. Lily was so beautiful. Maggie was so beautiful.

Gibson meeting his baby sister. 

The announcement of her birth on the blog is HERE if anyone wants to read it.

Jason loving his new daughter then.

Jason with her today. 

Lily and the birthday girl and her daddy and Jessie and August and Levon and I went to the Chinese buffet to celebrate. It was a sweet lunch. 

And then I went to Target with Maggie and her mama and daddy and let her pick out a birthday present. Her cake and presents party is going to be this weekend and today was just for her- doing what she wanted to do. And what four-year old doesn't want to go to Target to pick out a present?

After much deliberation she chose a Peppa Pig play set. Lily sent a picture a few minutes ago of her playing with it. 

"She's been playing with it since we got home," Lily wrote. She looks happy, doesn't she? That girl loves to pretend. 

It's so interesting, watching each of my grandchildren grow from babies to kids and now, in Owen's case, to pre-teen. How different they all are, each one born with his or her own personalities right there from first breath. They all have their own interests, their own strengths and their own outlooks on life. 

But the hair often has to grow in later. 

I found this picture of August and Maggie. Maggie was a few days old, August three months. The difference then was so pronounced, wasn't it? But they were both beautiful then and they are beautiful now. 

After lunch, before Target, we went to a restaurant supply house right by the Chinese buffet and there was a little display of a cutting board with a pretend cheese that could be separated into sections. Before we knew what was happening, Maggie was cutting up the cheese and serving it to August  who was the Daddy, and Levon who was the baby. They played at this the whole time we were there and it made me so happy to watch this unfold. 

There is nothing in this world more beautiful than babies and children. 

Happy birthday, Magnolia June. You are loved more than you will ever know. 

Keep being you. 

As if you had a choice...

Love...Ms. Moon

More About Hanging In There

It got so warm and cozy in the main part of the house last night that Mr. Moon asked, "Why do we even need a heater?" I'd been wondering the same thing. Our room got so warm we had to shut that fireplace down. I like to sleep cold with my duck and a quilt, both folded over on top of me because my husband only wants the lightest of blankets on him even in the coldest weather.
If that whole weighted blanket thing is real (and I believe it is) then it makes sense that I, the crazy person in the couple likes to have pounds of covers on me while he, the sane one, doesn't want or need them.
Of course there's more to it than that but those are the facts, Jack.
But we turned all of the gas logs way down last night and when we got up this morning it was cold in this house. I put on my corduroy overalls, a thermal shirt, a cashmere sweater and my dead mother's wool coat. Perfect outfit to feed the chickens in, right? Oh. And also, of course, my butt-ugly, lined clogs which look like two boxcars on my feet.
Don't hate me because I'm beautiful.

I took a walk which warmed me up considerably. I'd shed my light jacket by the time I got home. I decided against going to town which I had thought I might do because I wanted a few things for our dinner but worked out an alternative menu. I really wanted to sew today and that's what I ended up doing. I found a piece of pretty flannel that I made something out of last year for Magnolia but it was last year so I don't remember what. But I cut out a dress and started on it and got pretty far along before I had to put it down and start supper. For some reason my husband is tired of eating supper at 8:30 and wants to eat earlier.
Say what?
Are we old?
Oh yes. Yes we are.
So I got a lasagna together with ALL of the vegetables in it and made up a non-sourdough loaf of bread, feeling like I was cheating on my starter. It's just plain old French bread but it'll be good with the lasagna. I refuse to eat at six o'clock but I will try and do better about getting our supper on the table before Mr. Moon faints from hunger.
The house is cozy again, finally having heated up. I think it may actually have gotten below 32 degrees last night for a brief period of time. It's not supposed to get that cold tonight though. The deal with our heater is that we're trying to make up our minds on whether or not to get this one fixed or buy a new one. As some of you know, this unit has been a constant pain in our asses for about fourteen years now and I am of the opinion that it's time to just quit spending good money on it. We also need new ductwork underneath the house because something (most likely a possum) has managed to crawl her way underneath the house and tear a bunch of it up.
Sigh.
Too much nature.

Do you know what I was doing four years ago tonight?
I was waiting to get a call from Lily who was on the trembling verge of giving birth to the Splendid and Magnificent Magnolia June.
And tomorrow is her birthday. That's another reason I wanted to make her a dress. I think we're having a little party on Saturday evening. She wants to have her friends over for cake and presents. Magnolia defines her friends as her family. She is right about that.
I can't believe she's about to be four and that August already is. Time is passing way too fast. Just way too damn fast.
Unless you count the time that Donald John ShitHead has been president. I can't even keep up with what evil activity he's up to, informing Congress of his actions via Twitter.
Look- let's face it- if there ever was an "adult in the room" while he's been president, that person is long gone.

I know that sometimes it seems like my life is just one funny, perfect family event after another but trust me when I say that underlying every moment of my life there is the horrifying and terrifying knowledge that this man is president, making decisions that affect the lives of everyone I know and love, not to mention everyone else on the planet.

I read today that John Bolton has said that if he was subpoenaed he would testify in Trump's impeachment trial. Well why the fuck can't he just come forward and tell the world what he knows now?
I'm pretty sure that every news outlet in the world would be happy to hear what he has to say.

But would even that do anything to stop the madness?
I doubt it.

Well. Tell the ones you love how much you love them. Try to find the good in all that you can. Eat good, real food. Read a lot of books. Be there for the people who need you. Do something every day that brings you pleasure. Don't be afraid to give compliments to strangers. Look people in the eye. Laugh whenever possible. Spend as much time in nature as you can find time for. Refuse to stay silent when you witness something that needs speaking up about.
And so forth.
You know.
Be kind.

Speak the truth and fear no man.

Love...Ms. Moon

A Sunday That Was Far Better Than Saturday

Well, it's not so bad in my house without the usual central heat. The cats do keep looking at me like, "Do the human magic, Human! Make it warm again!" I've got the gas logs on in three of the five fireplaces in the house. Of course originally they were wood-burning fireplaces but somewhere along the line they got replaced and I'm not upset about that. Fireplaces can be lovely and crackly and magical but they can also pull all of the cold air from between the door and window frames in a drafty old house which makes it colder than the fire warms. I know this from experience. Experience that after forty years I still remember.
That was a shack, truly, and there were cracks between the wall boards and floor boards so it wouldn't be quite the same. This house is still solid and was built far better than that one to begin with but still- the gas logs work nicely. And there are so many doors in this house that I can shut off entire areas to keep the rooms warmer so it's pretty cozy, really. And even though they're gas fires, not real fires, they're still pretty. I especially love the one in our room pictured above. It's the most primitive looking one and I feel certain that it, unlike some of the others, has not been rebuilt or rebricked or whatever it is they do to fireplaces to restore them for use.

Jessie brought the boys out this morning. Everyone was fine and merry. I remembered to give August and Levon the last Christmas present which was delivered after they left for North Carolina. It was a punching guy and they had great fun in the hallway, knocking him over and watching him stand back up (mostly) but in a little while, we noticed that Levon had found a different use for the smiling wrestler. 

Sorry for the blurry boy but he was moving whereas his passenger was not. 

We decided to go to the Hilltop and get our lunches and eat outside. It was a good plan although the boys really were not ready to leave my house. Levon literally said, "Stay Mer's house." Getting them into their carseats is always a process and this one was even more interesting. August tried to escape by getting on his daddy's truck. 

"You climb up here!" he told me. 

"No. I will not," I told him. 

By some sort of mommy magic Jessie got him down and buckled in and off we went to the Hilltop where we got delicious foods and ate outside in the warm sun and watched customers come and go from state troupers to little old ladies fresh out of church in beautiful fancy hats. 

It was so much fun. 

And then they drove me home and although the kids wanted to come in and play some more, Jessie wanted to get Levon home for a nap and so off they went with promises to have them back soon. 

Here are pictures from Dog Island that Mr. Moon sent me. 

Oh, those men! Oh, that sky and water!

They had taken last night's leftover chili and sourdough bread to eat for their lunch and this was on their break. I bet they washed their bowls and spoons in the bay. 

They're on their way home now and I can imagine they are both so tired. 

I am waiting to hear the report about what they've found and what sort of plans they've been forming. 

I better go get some supper started so I can feed my man before he falls asleep in his chair. 

Stay warm, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

A Touch Of The Crazy

I found that gorgeous camellia today and I was so pleased. I swear, it may be edging out the Pink Perfection as my favorite. It's so delicate, so seashell-like. I've tried to identify it but have not yet succeeded. I'm going to keep trying. It rained last night which makes the blossom even more beautiful with those droplets upon it. Planting all of the camellias I have planted in this yard has paid off tremendously. I can't imagine going through winter without these beauties to pick and bring in to brighten my hallway and kitchen. And they are finally, after at least fourteen years, growing quite large. They do fine in all the shade I get in my yard which is a small miracle.
And after I'm gone, I hope that subsequent owners of this house and yard will enjoy them and appreciate them just as I appreciate and enjoy the azaleas that were planted in the front yard although there are many different plants here that are the bane of my life, being invasive and impossible to get rid of.
NOT MY FAULT! I want to tell the people who live here in the future. Mary Moon did not plant those horrible things! 

Eh. It's been a day. After I discovered the camellia I found that another hen had been murdered in the night. Mr. Moon and I searched the coop to see if we could find where the predator was getting in and we did and my husband spent a good two hours replacing wire and wood and making things secure again. We thought at first that we'd lost two hens, including little Ms. Violet, my oldest hen, the banty who has survived so long with her wily, fast ways. We found feathers that could have been hers and she was not in the hen house this morning although she was last night when I shut them up.
BUT- she appeared later in the morning, running from wherever she'd been hiding, to beak and peck at the corn scratch and the little survivor even left us one of her small eggs today. I guess that the animal who took the other bird (and we did find the body outside of the coop) managed to drag her out and she escaped. She looks fine, bless her tiny little brave heart. I suspect a raccoon because they, too, are wily and smart and they have those clever hands that can pull wire and those smart brains which can make and carry out plans.
Anyway, the sight of another chicken death made me sad and I felt resigned this morning to bloody nature and the impossibility of keeping all of my chickens safe. I just couldn't shake my sadness, my despair. Some days I don't have a clue as to what I'm supposed to be doing but as I get older and older, I hate the thought of giving up and just going along as always, letting the things that I've always dreamed of doing slip away into ennui and anxiety and fear. And so I did more laundry and I scrubbed toilets and I finished cooking my beans and then I mulched the garden with bagged leaves that Mr. Moon had collected yesterday in his truck while he was in town.
I always feel a bit iffy about using someone else's labor to shortcut my own labor but really, where's the downside? Taking bags from the front of someone's yard which they have lined up and ready for the city to take to the dump is actually doing everyone a favor, including the planet. They won't be taking up space in a landfill and will enrich my soil and hold in moisture and help with weed control here. It's hit or miss as to what you'll find in these bags but today's haul was fine. Mostly leaves of various trees, a few cuttings from cypress but not too many and very, very few sticks.
Best of all- no dogshit or trash.
There wasn't enough to cover the entire garden but there was enough to fill in the spaces between the rows of what I've planted and a little more. I might actually have to get out and rake and haul our own leaves to finish the rest but that, my friends, is a lot of work.
We shall see.

And then I dug up a rose that needed more sun and I planted it in the garden by the gate. I cleaned the nests in the henhouse and put that hay with its bounty of chicken-produced fertilizer around it. Fresh chicken shit is too "hot" to use as actual fertilizer but I've never found it to be destructive if I keep it from actually touching roots or plants. It will break down with the hay.
That's my theory, at least.

And then I came in and read and napped. I just couldn't do any more than that. I don't know what's made me so sad. I'm not angry or especially worried about anything. It's just felt like a Sunday, one of those days with overreaching, nonspecific sadness.
It'll pass.

After I woke up and took a shower I felt a little better and then I got call from Jessie's phone but it was August. And Jessie. I was so happy to hear from the little guy. "How are you feeling today?" I asked him.
"Good!" he said. This, for August, is a strong declaration.
He told me that his mother had taken him to the doctor who "fixed me all up."
I told him I was so happy about that and we discussed what his medicine tastes like ("It's supposed to taste like bubblegum") and what color it is (white- I guess they've quit dyeing it that lurid color of pink) and how they picked aphids and washed the leaves on their lime tree today. He also informed me that he needs to come for a sleepover soon.
I agreed! However, I told him that it would be best to wait until we get our heater fixed.

Well, that's another story, isn't it?

Meanwhile I was absolutely delighted to get to have a conversation with August and even more happy that he had wanted to call me. He is growing up so very fast.

Mr. Moon and Vergil are going to cross the bay tomorrow to Dog Island to begin preparations for rebuilding/restoring. We've decided that dammit, we own a piece of unique and irreplaceable Florida and it's ridiculous to have it sit there unused. Our partner in the house is very ill and I think we're going to buy him out and the plan is to finally fix the things that need fixing. This would include a well, a pump, replacing flooring and getting rid of the 1970's shag carpet, replacing a rotten deck and stairs up to the house, putting in a new stove and oven, and god knows what else. Oh yeah, replacing the plumbing in one of the bathrooms so that the shower and bathtub there are operable.
Not simple. Not easy. Especially on an island where the only access is by boat.
I think we're going to actually pay for some help which is unheard of for Glen who can handle almost anything from carpentry to plumbing but the truth is, neither he nor Vergil have the time to spend on it. But they're going to go out tomorrow and get a fix on the situation and begin the process.
I'm excited about that. I know I've had my problems with going to Dog Island. There's the poltergeist and the PTSD from visits past including one where it may not have been a good idea for a woman in a horrible state of anxiety to try and fix herself with a solo week-long visit there.
But we've had wonderful times on the island in that little shacky place and now, as Mr. Moon points out, we can go there together for days at a time, not just the occasional weekend, and I am longing to do just that.
Hell, maybe we'll even replace the horrible ancient couch and chairs.
It could be a project. Something to work on, to plan for, to look forward to.
Just what the old woman needs, right?
And maybe the poltergeist is ready to make peace with me.
I hope so. It's such a treasure and one that would be like nothing else on this earth that we could leave to our grandchildren.
If you want to learn more about Dog Island and our experiences there, do a search for it at the top left corner of the blog. I've written reams. And there are many, many beautiful pictures of a Florida that few get to see.

Good Lord. I've rambled enough. The white bean chili is simmering. Last night's sourdough loaf is ready to be sliced and heated. The wind comes and goes bringing more cold air. There is another episode of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel to watch.

If you've hung in this long, you're marvelous too.

Love...Ms. Moon

I'm Just Doing What I Can

The day has been so gloomy here and humid as hell. Warm, too. A pregnancy of the air, heavy and cumbersome with rain yet unborn. But look- there's one of Jessie's raised beds and you can see the volunteer zinnias, still blooming their pretty little heads off on January 3. Tenacious little fuckers.

I raced around here this morning, getting things done before I went into town to see Jessie and the boys. I put white beans to soak and started a sourdough loaf. I stripped the bed and began the laundry process. Let the chickens out, tidied up the kitchen, got dressed, went to town.
I was so happy to see the Weatherfords. Jessie claims she feels so much better but she is pale and wan. She says that really, it was a nice vacation, despite being sick. Vergil wasn't working at all so he took the boys with him to do work on their future home spot and to visit with his family. Jessie got to hang out with the family too, as much as she could, and she loved that.
When I walked in their door, August began to tell me that he was sick and he listed all of his symptoms and he said, "I have a fever," and he was eating a frozen yogurt pop and was shivering and Jessie was in the background, shaking her head. He hadn't been running a fever just a little while before and had been acting fine until I got there and he decided to unload his woes, whether real or imaginary. And then he immediately went and got a book for me to read and Levon got one too and we read books for awhile so Mama could take a shower.
Of course it was not unreasonable to believe that August could be getting sick. His mother had strep so...
We know how that goes through a family.
We decided to go to lunch and meet Boppy and before we went Jessie took his temperature again and it was 91.1.
Well. There you go.
We did have lunch and August ate a normal amount and seemed to be in a good mood and Levon was in a good mood although all he wanted was bread but that's not weird.
Here they are, my boys.

Jessie called the doctor's office as soon as they reopened after lunch and made an appointment to take them in and when we all left the restaurant, they headed off in that direction. I went to Goodwill. Don't ask me why. 

I actually bought things today. I got two nice cotton sweaters (there was NO cashmere) and two shirts. I have no idea if I'll ever wear the shirts. One I just couldn't leave behind. It's a cotton/silk blend, blue with white fishes swimming and flying all over it. 

I went to Publix and while I was there Jessie texted to say that August had indeed tested positive for strep, but not Levon. 

It may be only a matter of time or he may not get it. Supposedly the test shows positive before the symptoms begin so we shall see. I'm glad that Jessie caught it early. At least August won't have to go through the agony of being truly sick with that particular nasty bacteria. 

I came home and did more laundry and made up the bed with clean sheets. I decided against making the white bean chili I had thought to make this morning when I soaked the beans. Our lunch was substantial and I'll just make us some clam spaghetti. The sourdough loaf is in the oven. It rose like Jesus on the third day. The chickens are up, my man is home having accomplished more in one day than I'll probably get done this entire year. 

I told him about August. He said, "I'm glad I didn't kiss him."

I did kiss him but not on the lips. He'd never allow that. At lunch I asked Levon if he'd like to sit on my lap. 

"No," he said and I said, "Okay," and then he came and sat on my lap. 

I felt like the queen had just made me a dame or whatever the title is that queens bestow on ladies. 

I hear that Trump has, well, I don't want to talk about it. I really just don't. I can't do a damn thing about what may or may not be about to happen. Instead I'll tell you how I make clam spaghetti. 

Buy two cans of minced clams. Open them. 

Splash a little oil or butter into a nice, heavy pan or skillet. Heat the oil but not too much. Slice up onions and add them to the oil. Smash or mince or smush some garlic and add that too. When the onions are soft and before the garlic burns, add the clams with their juice. Add some salt and pepper and a pinch or two of oregano. Or Italian seasoning. Whatever. Turn the heat way down and put a lid on the pan or pot. Let it heat through nicely. 

Boil a pot of water and cook some pasta. Mr. Moon likes angel hair. That's fine with me but your choice. 

When the pasta's done, drain and put some in a bowl and dip clam sauce onto it. Sprinkle some grated parmesan on it if you want. 

Serve. 

Delicious. 

It's supposed to rain tonight. And then get cold. Our heater is well and truly now busted. We have gas logs. I have cashmere. We'll survive. Jessie's zinnias probably will too. 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Now And Then

That, my friends, is what the kids call a "family sleeping pile."
They love to do this. It brings them much joy as you can see and there were no tears at all until Owen "pressure pointed" his brother which made Gibson cry for a moment and then he said, "Now it's my turn to pressure point Owen!"
Not under my watch, kid.

I had texted Lily this morning to see if her children wanted to come over here to play for awhile to let her get a few things done. Lily's like me (too much like me) and things like filling out forms for schools and making appointments are ridiculously stressful and she had some of those things she needed to do. But that's not why I had them over. I really did just want to see them and hang out with them and she said that would be fine and I came and got them and they were all happy to come to Lloyd. It was a raucous good time. The boys and I played the card game Battle and I got soundly beat and we ate lunch and we played the matching game. Maggie plays that with us.

We were on our second game of that when Maggie became bored and threw all her tiles onto the table and Owen, with the calm acceptance of a much older person said, "Well, guess we're done!"

Maggie took the kid accordion out to the backyard and sang a lovely song whose lyrics included, "Mer's so cute. Mer's so cute." I'd post it but I'm not having any luck with getting videos from phone to blog these days. I need to figure that out. 

She really has a lovely singing voice and I'm not kidding. 

We chased Liberace out of the house, much to Liberace's pissed-offedness. You don't realize how huge that bird is until he's inside. Maggie and Owen collected eggs and got four and Gibson cuddled with his Mer a lot. He's my lovie. They let me read them a  few books which was great although they were mostly family sleep piling as I read. Finally, I texted Lily and said, "They say they are ready to share their love with you again," and she texted back that she would come and get them and she did. 

But it was fun. They actually spent a lot of time playing a make-believe game which involved Gibson either being a dog or the kidnapped son of the police chief. I tried to tell Owen about O. Henry's story, The Ransom of Red Chief but he wasn't that interested. And Magnolia played by herself with babies and with the little farm for awhile. 

Of course I had to take a nap when it was all over.

A few days ago Mr. Moon's sister sent him two pictures which I showed the children because the subjects are Boppy's grandparents. Thomas Henry Moon and Annie May Krisle. Thomas was born in 1889 and Annie Mae was born in 1891. Henry died at the tragically young age of forty, having stepped on something in the barn that cut his foot which got infected and killed him a few days later. 

This was before penicillin of course. He left Annie Mae with three young children and I'd heard stories from Glen's parents about her that left me astounded. She was known as "Mammy" to the family by that time and I had an image in my head of what she might have looked like. She began a business of making brooms after Thomas died and remarried but from what I have heard, her subsequent husband was much less of an asset than a pain. In her later years she lived with Glen's family and I suppose she had dementia but before that set in, she did the work of four women, supporting her children. Not only did she run her little business but she sewed for the community, saving the scraps with which she made quilts by the dozens if not more than that. She made each of her kids (two boys and a girl) a hope chest and she filled all of them with quilts for adults, babies, and children. She also gave them china, tablecloths...I don't know what all. She set bones and treated injuries for those in the community who couldn't afford a doctor. She cut hair. She baked cakes for everyone at Christmas. My mother-in-law told me stories of Annie arriving at her door with literal buckets of batter for her to bake in her oven to help her make these cakes. She fed the hands who worked the farm that Mr. Moon's dad share-cropped. I've heard that she barely slept and would take it upon herself to paper her walls in the middle of the night sometimes, slapping the pasted panels up with a broom. Even the ceiling.

She loved good china. She was strong and she was amazing. 

And I'd never seen a picture of her until now.

I am blown away. Look at those two gorgeous long-legged people. These pictures had to have been taken sometime before 1930 which was when Thomas died. They were married in 1914 and if I had to guess, I'd say that the photos were taken closer to then. 

Look at the way he's looking at her in the first picture. 

Look at the way they're holding each other in the second. I am not sure but I think that for the era in which these pictures were taken, these were audaciously candid shots. 

Who was the photographer? They lived in a small village literally named Bug Tussle, Tennessee. 

It seems almost miraculous to me that the pictures were ever taken, much less preserved. 

I can see Glen and his daddy in Thomas. I can see my husband's sisters in Annie Mae. I can see my own children in them. And their children. 

Annie Mae lived to be seventy-seven. Glen still remembers her and his memories are a bit occluded by his little-boy memories of her in various stages of her disease which is sad. I wish he could remember her more fully from when she was the force of nature she must have been. 

I think I would have been completely intimidated by her, as I am sure that Glen's mother was, but I think we might have gotten along. 

Well, all of that is on my mind tonight. I need to talk to Mr. Moon's sister to find out more. She is about six years older than he is so she has more memories. I also need to thank her for sending us these pictures. They mean a lot to me. We'll put them in a frame and hang them. 

If for no other reason for me to cherish these pictures, they show the sort of love that my husband's family seemed to have when I met him. I couldn't believe their affection, their ability to take in and love whoever came their way whether step-grandchildren, grandchildren, or the spouses of their children. I owe so much to that family that it's ridiculous. 

Thanks for coming along with me on this particular segue into our lives here in Lloyd. I could be wrong about many of the facts of what I remember Grammy and Paw Paw telling me about Mammy but I think I have the gist of it. 

She was amazing. And Thomas Henry must have been too. 

And they surely loved each other. 

What a sadness that they got such a short time together. Fifteen years. Not nearly enough. 

Everyone has a story, as Yoko Ono said. I wish I knew more about theirs.

Love...Ms. Moon 

My Usual Blah-Blah Plus Observations On Cooking Collard Greens

The cats aren't quite sure where to be or what to do right now. Mr. Moon has made the decision that Jack can no longer sleep with us. He okayed that decision with me and although it sort of hurts my heart, I understand. Jack, after cuddling my hip for part of the night likes to walk over and lay down on Mr. Moon's feet. This is not really something Mr. Moon enjoys but the problem comes when he tries to turn over or shift his feet at which point Jack goes a little crazy trying to kill the bed mice, and then cursing and a cat being helped to the floor often follows.
The other day Mr. Moon was talking to me about this- how much it disturbs his sleep.
"I know you love him," he said. I thought about that for a moment because it is a pleasure for me to have Jack sleep with me and he does a terrific job of keeping the covers pinned down with his warm, soft bulk. And then I quit thinking and said, "I do love him. But I love you more."
"Phew!" said Mr. Moon.
And so we've shut the door on Jack and I don't know where he's sleeping but Maurice has found a spot she likes in my bathroom which is the farthest-away room from the rest of the house and of course she wants to make her bed on a Goodwill cashmere sweater. Since Jack can't possibly be as far away from the food dish as my bathroom, she is relatively safe from his attacks there and of course, cozy.

I woke up this morning to find my husband back in bed after his drive to the airport and back way before dawn. I was so glad to find him there as I'd been having one of those horrible dreams in which he is indifferent to me. You'd think after thirty-six years of life together that I'd be less apt to have these dreams, wouldn't you? But I swear to you that in my dreaming world he has a girlfriend and they have a child. I've seen pictures. IN MY DREAMING WORLD. Not unlike dreaming of a certain place over and over again, I dream about this fictional woman. She has dark hair. She works in the automotive world. She is disdainful of me. I hate her.
Which is a lot of energy to expend on someone who does not exist. Mr. Moon, when I tell him about these dreams says, "That hurts me, that you would have a dream like that. I love you."
And I know he does but let's face it- when your very own father is someone that you do not see after the age of five it's hard not to believe deep down in your soul somewhere in the funkiest, darkest place that you are not deserving of love.
This is of course ridiculous. My father didn't see me after the age of five (until I was thirty and that's a whole other story) because he was a drunk and was probably horribly ashamed and also, my mother did everything in her power to protect my brother and me from him and she had good reason to.
But this is all very hard for a little girl to understand and these things were never really discussed. Even at that tender age I knew that talking about my father was horribly painful for my mother and I didn't want to upset her. And of course the general school of thought then on things like this was that if you just don't talk about any of it, the child will eventually get over it and forget.
Which is the exact opposite of what really happens but who knew that in 1959? I doubt there was any sort of counselor or psychiatrist or psychologist in all of Indian River County at that point in time.
Well.
This is one of my own explanations of why it is so difficult for me to accept the love of a good man, even after having been with him for over half my life.
So back to this morning- it was sweet to find this man sleeping beside me.
A good way to start a new year, even with the dream.

After I made breakfast I started the collard greens.

And then, the black-eyed peas and ham bone. The greens are still simmering although the peas were done way before now and I let them sit. I've now added the rice to them and turned them back on. Black-eyed peas and rice are what we call Hopping John. Again. No idea why. I could easily google it but frankly, I'm not that curious. It just is. 

I cheated and bought grocery store collards because mine are still only big enough for baby green salads and I didn't feel like going to Monticello to the farmers' market to buy decent ones. They'll be good enough. I have to tell you though that I was quite taken aback to read this recipe on the back of the package. 

This recipe is absolutely horrifying. First, I have never in my life met a southerner who combined collards and potatoes. Add in the milk and you've got a true gag fest going on. And the directions to cook the greens for four and a half minutes? 

Bite my southern ass. 

Collards are lovingly simmered for hours. Days. They are the queen greens and they do not break down like your spinach, your mustards, your turnips or your kale. They do not become mushy. They become more and more tender so that they are bitable and delicious. YOU CANNOT CREATE POT LIQUOR IN FOUR MINUTES! 

Well, okay. Enough of that. Next year I really have to plant my greens earlier. 

I am also going to try something completely new for me which is sourdough cornbread. There are actual recipes for this which I have perused today. What happened was that I needed to feed my starter and when you do that, you have to dump out a cup of the starter before you add in the fresh flour and water. I hate throwing out that cup of starter and therefore...

It might be disgusting. It might be awesome. Whatever, with a bit of cane syrup and butter on it it won't suck. I hope. 

Besides the cooking stuff today I worked in the garden. I planted a row of beets. Finally. And planted a few more lettuce seeds and kale seeds and a whole other row of arugula. My poor garden looks bonsai. I just do not get enough sun. 

We struggle on and today it did feel good to get down in the dirt. 

I also did a bit of trimming back of dead stuff and cut back a few roses. Despite the fact that we got a light freeze recently, the roses seem undaunted but I know they need pruning. 

This little boy and his brother and mama and daddy are heading home tomorrow. Jessie reports that she feels MUCH better and is so grateful that Penicillin still works for strep. I will be glad to see them but I am also so grateful that August and Levon have a mountain family with a grandmother who is a musician. I can teach them to curse. Other Grandmother can teach them violin. 

Sigh.

So. 2020 has begun. I know that the way we keep time is simply an artifical construct but still, I feel some possibility in the so-called new year. 

Let's see what unfolds. 

Love...Ms. Moon