A Sweet Day At Home

The size of that live oak on the left is impossible to gauge from a picture. I think it is one of the biggest recorded oaks in Jefferson County and we have no shortage of huge, ancient, heritage oaks. Let me just tell you that the tree on the right is, in itself, quite large and it looks like a sapling compared to the one on the left. 
I took that picture on my way back from the Post Office today and as always, I cannot pass that tree without taking a deep breath and giving a little thought of praise in my head. I am no Pagan and I know that. Kathleen practiced quite a few of the old ceremonies on the days considered of ceremonial importance in that particular religion but I'm ignorant about them, as with so many things. Still, it does not take a Pagan to recognize one of the old gods and to be astounded and worshipful in its presence. 

That's what I think, anyway. 

It's been as gray and dull as an old tin bucket all day long. This weather is so weird. We've had a little rain but no wind to speak of. And the temperature has climbed to almost seventy degrees but will be back down to forty again by tomorrow morning. I've not been overly concerned about the gray day but have had a fine day, here in Lloyd by myself. I've mostly just puttered around, doing laundry and thinking about how I should get back outside and pick up some more of the fallen tree-parts that litter the yard. However, you know- rain. And also, sloth. Like I said, I did force myself to walk to the Post Office which is less than a block away if Lloyd had blocks which it does not. I had a card to mail to Billy. 

He and I had been texting this morning and he told me that his New Year's resolution was to tell the people whom he loves that he loves them, unabashedly. Now I love that word. Unabashedly. And honestly, Billy has always been pretty good at that. 
Some of you do not know who Billy is. Everyone in the world should know who Billy is, but unfortunately, they do not. Here's a picture of Billy. 

He has his own style and he does not and will not conform to anyone's idea of what he should look like or how he should dress or how he should do his nails or how he should live his life. I could go on for days about why I love Billy and why everyone who knows Billy loves him but I won't. 
Anyway, when Jessie and I were at World Market doing the Christmas thing, I found this card.

Obviously, it was made for Billy. It's a birthday card. I bought it and set it aside to send on his birthday which is not until the end of September. When we were texting this morning, I told him I'd already gotten his birthday card but that I was thinking of sending it now. He said, "Do it!" and so I did. 

I would not be surprised if he hasn't already gotten about five of these cards. 
Oh well. I crossed out "birth" in the "Happy Birthday" message and replaced it with "Every" so that it says, "Happy Everyday."

Totally appropriate. 

By the way, I love Billy unabashedly. 

Another thing I did today was to make a peach cobbler for my across-the-street neighbor whose mama died a few days ago. The mama was ninety-three years old so it was not a surprise but still, like I said to my neighbor, It's a different world when your mother is no longer in it.

And that is true and we live in the south and when someone dies, you take them food. That's all there is to it. I had a jar of beautiful canned peaches (well, jarred peaches) and made the simple, basic recipe that Truvy gives in Steel Magnolias which involves flour, baking powder, sugar, butter, milk, and peaches. That is all. And as Truvy says, she eats it with ice cream to cut the sweet. So I made the cobbler and then I went to GDDG and bought some vanilla ice cream so that my neighbors could cut the sweet. 
And you know what? While I was in the GDDG, I made a huge social blunder. I am still tossing this about in my head wondering why in the world I did this. 
As I was checking out (self-check-out because the GDDG doesn't hire enough employees to keep one at a cash register), a very tall man with short dreads came in and stood by the cash registers and kept looking around as if he was searching for someone or some thing. And I, for some reason that I cannot fathom, asked, "Are you looking for something?" 
As soon as I said it, I knew that had not been an appropriate thing to say. And he let me know!
"Do you work here?" he asked. 
"No," I said. 
"Well why in hell would you ask me that question?"
"I have no idea!" I said. "I'm so sorry."

And I was. And I took my ice cream and left. I know I could rationalize this by saying I was trying to be friendly but honestly- what a stupid question. It's not like I know where everything is in the Dollar General. I mean, I know where the ice cream and frozen pizzas and tortillas are. But truly, he looked as if he were looking for a person. 

I am not beating myself up about this. I know my intentions were pure. But I am realizing that I need to just keep my damn mouth shut sometimes because believe it or not, not everyone in the world needs to know I'm here. 

And then I had a nice chat with my neighbor about her mother and so on and so forth and I feel okay about it all but just...huh. Why'd I do that?

Here's a picture of Maurice, wanting some attention. 

I think this cat is going through menopause. She is so upset that Mr. Moon is gone. Her anxiety levels seem to be about where mine were when I was going through the change. 
Poor baby. 
But of course right after I took that picture, this happened. 

That is my blood. 

Her hunting skills are still intact. Last night she brought me the fourth baby mouse she's caught and killed over the last week. Remember that large mouse that Candie and I saw? I do believe that Maurice has found her nest. 

So that's life in Lloyd on this Friday. Clean sheets on the bed, a martini at a safe distance from my MacBook, the drummer at the church next door pounding out praise rhythms. The bird-frogs are calling and I cannot help but wonder what they're going to do next week when we have at least six days of below freezing weather, four of them down into the twenties. 
Be cold, I imagine. 

Happy Friday, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon

I'm Baaaaaack

Being the very soul of patience I waited until it had almost been 48 hours since I splashed the vodka and club soda into my MacBook to open it up and see what was what. 
And, it seems to be functioning perfectly. However, there is that bright spot that you can see on the lower left hand corner which is where the liquid got into a port, I think. I guess it could have been the keyboard where it gained entrance. 
As always- who knows? Not me. 

Mostly, I am just very, very glad that it is working well and so far only shows what I hope is this cosmetic damage. I may or may not take it to the repair place but if I do, it probably will not be tomorrow. 

I'm tired. Also, we may be getting a bit more extreme weather tomorrow. Probably nothing like what we got on Tuesday. Was it Tuesday? My days are all confused right now. 

And then look at the forecast for the next week:

Ummmm...hang on. 

Twenty-one degrees? Are you fucking kidding me? And then twenty-five and then thirty-two? For those of you who live in the more Arctic climes, go ahead and laugh but those numbers are definitely not the sort of numbers we are used to seeing on a weather forecast. WE WILL DIE! And if we don't die, the plants will. All the porch plants are going to be killed if I don't bring them in. My Roseland mango, my Wabasso seagrape, my giant begonias and ponytail palms, my bird nest ferns, my Swedish ivy and all the philodendrons and the monsteras that I got at the dump and am so proud of! 
Ah, Jesus. 
And all of that is not to mention my azaleas which I had great hopes for this year for a fantastic bloom. I guess the roses will finally die back and be ready to prune. Will my arugula survive? My collards, my lettuces, my kale? 
Shit, shit, shit. 

All of the camellia blooms and buds will be frozen. 

Well, it is what it is. I'll start bringing smaller things in tomorrow. Mr. Moon has gone to the coast to help his friend with whom he fishes fix a boat trailer and eat lots of oysters but he'll be back on Saturday or Sunday so in time to help me move the big plants. 
I tell you- part of me just wants to let 'em root hog or die. I'm getting kind of old for this. But you know me. I do love my plant babies. 

Speaking of babies, I picked up August and Levon at their school this afternoon and hung out with them until Vergil got off work. Jessie was working today. It's such a trip walking up to that school to retrieve them. I figured out today that I started taking and picking up my own kids from that school 42 years ago. 
FORTY-TWO YEARS! 
And some things have changed but other things look almost exactly the same. Back when Hank and May were going there, and even Lily and Jessie, there was no need to hold up a tag with the name of the child you were picking up on it in order to collect them. They just ran out of school when the bell rang and you were there and they found you and you found them. 
But now it's an entire process. But of course the basics are the same- a child released from the school day, finding their adult, hugs given, a walk to the car or to the house if you live close enough, the crossing guard who is always a nice person and who chats as you cross. "How was your day? Did you learn something new?"
A good question for a child or an adult. Did you learn something new? 

The boys were terrific for me, mostly because I let them do whatever they wanted. I remembered to get them Kinder Eggs, the candy that comes with a toy. Oh, they were thrilled about that!

Sophie, the dog, is getting so big. She is the softest dog and she is really a fine doggo, especially when you remember that she is still a puppy. She wants to put everything in her mouth, just like a human baby, and she wants to be cuddled and she wants to be all up in your face and she wants to dance with you. She made August and me laugh so hard when she stood up on her hind legs and put one of her paws on the back door knob, for all the world as if she was about to open that door and cruise on out to the yard to see what was happening. She's pretty smart and I would not be surprised if she didn't eventually figure out how to operate the door knob. 

So all of that was lovely but like I said, I am tired. My new pair of overalls arrived today and I walked up to the P.O. to get them and I haven't even opened up the package to see what they look like. I mean- Gap overalls. How many pairs have I had by now? 

I feel like it's been years since I had access to my MacBook, my magic portal, even though it's only been two days. I am very, very glad it is operable and that I am able to access this world in which you live and read and write and tell me of your lives. I have spoken so many times about how important my routine is to me and time spent here is a big part of that. When I read your blogs, when I comment, when I answer the comments you leave here, when I write what I need to write every evening. I swear to you, I wrote at least three different blog posts about the storm we had on Tuesday and wasn't able to post one of them. I will just tell you that it was scary, for me at least, and there were funny moments and moments where my heart was beating way too fast. But here we are. 

And I realize more than ever how much this community means to me. 

Thank you. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Argh

 I’m fine. Not dead. But my MacBook has had liquid spilled into it once again and although I have gone through hell and back trying to post from my phone and have now written THREE posts about the past two days, nothing appears. 

Perhaps this will. 

It’s been a situation. However, everyone is good and technological problems can eventually be solved. 

Love…Ms. Moon

Being Prepared. Sort Of.

I swear to god I thought I posted this picture of the new ironing board cover which fits nicely and I do love the roses. I think I actually did put it in a post and even wrote about the amount of dust on the legs of the ironing board but then deleted it. You'd think I would have dusted those legs by now but no, I have not. The motivation factor around here has not gotten one bit better. 

I went to Publix and Costco today because we're supposed to be getting some kind of major storm here tomorrow. I mean- they've closed the schools. Lots of rain, lots of wind, possible tornados. Even my favorite meteorologist, Rob Nucatola, sounds a little concerned. And he's my favorite because he doesn't get hysterical every time a hurricane comes within four thousand miles of here. He's not an alarmist, in other words. But when he said that he was going to be bringing his wife's plants in from off the patio, not because of cold but because of wind, I got a little freaked out. 
I just read a post from the US National Weather service that contained this warning:

"Winds gusts of 40-50 mph are possible across the area on Tuesday. Given wet soils, this could result in trees falling more easily. "

Oh hell. This county is going to lose electricity for a very long time. Thank goodness for our generator but good Lord, I hope a tree doesn't fall on it. Or us, either, for that matter. 

So what have I done to prepare? 
Make sure we have enough food to last for weeks for no reason whatsoever and also, I have taken the hanging ferns down off the front porch and set them ON the porch.

That should do it, right? 

I hope so. I suppose that Glen and I should clean out the little space under the stairwell so that if we have to hunker down in there we can. I think that would be the safest place in the house. You know what? I've never seen a tornado in my life, much less been in one and I really do not want to start with that mess now. I have seen waterspouts over bays and oceans and that's scary enough. All of my kids live in relatively strong houses and apartments but Tallahassee has trees galore. I think the power situation is going to be bad there, as well as here. 

Gibson wanted me to drive him by the fally down house when he was here and I did. It has gotten even more horizontal in the last few months and I'm thinking this storm may bring it flat to the ground entirely. I worry about all of the people around here who live in trailers and not great trailers, either. 

Well, I'm future-tripping which is what I'm best at. That, and sticking my head in the sand, which is rich with irony. 

I'm getting close to being halfway through the Streisand book. She is keeping my attention. I'm just about to hear the part where she makes "A Star is Born" which I am interested in because I've always had a bit of a crush on Kris Kristofferson and I'd like to hear her take on him and what working with him was like. The way he talks always reminded me of our friend Ross's voice which is to say- oh honey, let me just shut my eyes and you go ahead and read me the phone book. I'll just get comfortable on this chaise lounge. 
Sigh. 

The McMurtry bio also continues to hold my attention although I have learned some confusing things from it. One of my favorite of McMurtry's novels is "Moving On". He wrote it at the beginning of his career when he was quite young and it's a long novel, filled with everything from rodeo competitors, to movie stars, to an old widowed cowboy who is no doubt based on one of McMurtry's uncles, to hippies in San Francisco, and also students of literature at Rice University in Houston. And their spouses. And kids. 
These are all subjects and characters that McMurtry knew intimately and he does an amazing job of bringing these characters to fully-fleshed-out life. The one character in the book who never seems exactly filled out though, is the character that I now realize was based, at least loosely, on himself. Not only was the character a little cloudy, he is a dolt, an asshole, a completely self-entitled jerk who has no idea what to do with his wife or his life. 
So that's interesting. 

It's starting to rain a little. Just a gentle patter now. As has been forecasted. 
Hopefully, I'll be able to report in tomorrow evening, alive and well and laughing at my concern. It's funny how the weather forecasts are so often perfect examples of the boy who cried wolf, but dammit- not always. 

Be well. 

Love...Ms. Moon

An Eight-Year-Old's Birthday

Eight years ago, right about this time, we were all welcoming Magnolia June into this world. That's darling Gibson hugging his mother and meeting his new sister, Maganolia, which is how he said her name. 

The holy trinity.

Auntie May holding that sweet squish of a girl. 

And this one from the morning after Maggie was born with her sweet brother Owen who had been waiting his whole life for this. That's what he told me. 

We do birth right around here. Well, we do birth the way we like to do birth around here. Strong mamas and excellent midwives, daddies right there helping, sisters, brother, grandfather, grandmother. We all gather and are, at this point, a very good team of baby-welcomers. It is one of the most profound gifts of my life that my daughters have been able to give birth at home. That they WANTED to give birth at home. And that the entire family has been there for them in any way we are needed or wanted and that the joy is shared among us, magnifying and glorifying it. 

And here we are, eight years later. Maggie wanted a skating party today and so the first part of the afternoon was at the rink where Jessie and the boys joined her. I hear that fun was had by all. And then we all gathered at the nice little park by the library for presents and playing, cake and a piñata. These outdoor parties are the best because no one has too much to clean up, no one's house gets trashed, all the kids get to romp and yell and it's simple and easy. 
Magnolia was pleased as punch. 

Here are some pictures. 

Owen directing the piñata breaking. He's wearing his Rolling Stones T-Shirt because he knew I'd love that. 

Levon, determined to bust that thing open. 

Maggie being sung to before she blew out her candles. We actually did a decent version of Happy Birthday. This is not always the case. Would you look at that cake? Lily made it. Of course. As I told her, "You did not get your cake-decorating gene from me."
I'm the one who makes cakes that everyone says of, "I'm sure it will taste good."

And all of us were there to celebrate our girl, including Candie, my cleaner and Lily's friend, and her kids and husband. It was a good party and I will admit to you that before we left the house, I was absolutely certain I could not possibly deal with it. I felt so overwhelmed. But it was okay. It really was. 

I love my family so much. We are fucking amazing. And we love our babies. 

There was a mother and a father and their baby at the park. The little girl was probably about sixteen months old and she was toddling about and was fascinated with Sophie, who was also there. Immediately, almost our entire family turned towards that little child with such yearning and delight on our faces. As I told the mama, "Our family loves babies more than anything."
And Hank said, "As you can tell from the number of children here."

I'm sorry I haven't answered yesterday's comments but let me tell you that I am so grateful for all of them and I am also saddened that many of us are all feeling the same things. Perhaps it is the winter and the way things slow down in the cold and gloom. The sap does not run in the trees, the plants are all dormant, every bit of their growth hidden to our eyes, but will surely be revealed when it is time. These things affect us all, no matter how evolved and sophisticated we may believe we are. 
I guess to everything there is a season. 
But is there a purpose to everything under heaven? 
Philosophers could discuss this for eons without coming to a sound conclusion but I personally think not.

Some things definitely happen for a reason and this can be abundantly apparent. Other things- well, if they happen for a reason the reason must be that there is a god and he is a cruel and vengeful bastard.

I think I would just rather believe that life can be pretty random and so often unpredictable. 

Happy birthday, Magnolia June. You are so loved. 

Eight years old. How can this be? 
When I said good-bye to her this afternoon I said, "Thank you for inviting me to your party."
"I didn't even invite you to my party," she replied. "My mommy did." 

She's not wrong. Oh, the literalness of children. How I love them. 

Love...Ms. Moon

I So Need To Get On Up

This popped up in my Facebook memories from six years ago which means I, myself, Mary Moon, have no memory of it all but hey- Thanks, Facebook!

I've been thinking all day long about how I have lost my motivation to do almost anything. It's gotten to the point where the thought of watering the porch plants almost makes me want to cry. I'm not taking walks, I'm not doing yard work, I haven't gotten either my flu shot or my latest covid vaccine. I've got all these things in my head that I could/should be doing like making an appointment to see a dermatologist, making an appointment to get my hair trimmed, finding the flannel to make Levon's name blanket, and so on and so forth and I am doing none of it. 
I spend most of the morning, every morning, reading blogs and commenting on blogs, perusing FB, reading the local paper, doing a crossword and then Wordle and another NYT's game called "Connections." This can easily take me up until noon at which time I start laundry, make the bed, and figure out what else I can (not) do for the rest of the day. 
It's ridiculous. 
Of course, some days I have to go to town to shop and some days I go to town to pick up August and Levon from school. I do cook us a decent supper every night. 
Put the point is, is that I don't WANT to do anything. I absolutely have to force myself to do the smallest tasks. 
Am I depressed? 
I ponder this. If I am, I don't think it's crippling. Because of anxieties I dread having to do things that are not part of my usual routine but my usual routine has become less and less productive. 

Today I did one load of laundry. One. And I have not folded and put it away yet. I worked in the garden, weeding for an hour or so and you know I do not hate doing that. But it all feels so overwhelming. I swept the kitchen which needed it badly. I watered the porch plants which takes me less than ten minutes but which seems to take all of my energy to do. The porches need sweeping. All of them. The oaks are dropping their leaves like crazy which is what they do here- they don't like to go until the new leaves are just about ready to push them off the branches anyway. The thought of actually doing something like raking is beyond my ability to imagine. There are downed branches in the yard that I need to pick up and put on the burn pile. There are cardboard boxes in the pantry that also need to be taken to the burn pile. There are places in the yard that need to be cleared and pruned of last year's growth, now dead and brown. I've never finished the bit of the front yard I was working on for awhile to pull the border grass and crocosmia and other assorted unwanted plants. I could be going through drawers and closets to winnow out all that stuff we don't need anymore. The books I pulled out of the library to take to donate somewhere (but where?) are still on the table in there, the project completely abandoned. 

I had a story idea last night and vowed to make an attempt at writing it but I can't really see that happening. 

So. What can I do about this except to sit here and gritch and whine about it? Please don't try and tell me that really, I'm doing plenty. I know I'm not. And although advising me to go out and start some volunteer gig is probably a great idea, that is not going to happen. I don't want to take yoga, I am not going to join a gym. 
I guess honestly, I just want to sit here and feel sorry for myself and feel guilty and old and definitely not in love with myself, losing myself in Facebook reels and jigsaw puzzles, the time passing like a dream with nothing to show for it. 

I had a friend at one time who told me that she woke up one day and she realized she was just absolutely in love with herself. 
I was first off, astounded. 
Secondly, I mystified. Was it even possible to be in love with oneself? Was it permitted? How did one come to that conclusion? 

Well, it turned out that she was absolutely a narcissist but that may or may not be the point here. Shouldn't we at least be able to tolerate ourselves? Shouldn't we be proud of some of the things that are uniquely us? 

Probably. How do we find the balance? I realize intellectually and also on a gut level that unless we are doing things that make us feel proud, we have no reason to be. 

Well, I do pick camellias. 

I guess that's something. 
I used to plant them, though. 

Here's something funny- this time of year there is some critter that makes a sound-song that I always thought was a bird. I've been trying and trying to get my Cornell bird app to identify it but it just won't. 
Guess what I just realized? 

It's not a bird. It's a frog. 
Well, it has a pretty song. It's a calling song, a three note announcement to the universe that it is here. 

That's probably what this blog is for me. 

Love...Ms. Moon

We're Back To The Two Of Us

We had a most traditional visit with Gibson, up to and including him allowing me (asking me!) to read him "The Little Red Hen Makes a Pizza" and "Professor Wormbog In Search for the Zipperump-a-Zoo."
I was so happy. 
I know that those books with their so very familiar words and pictures are comforting to him, just as they are to me. He still does the voices of the Dog, the Cat, and the Duck in the Little Red Hen book and we both do commentary on the Professor Wormbog book. 
What can I say? Both of these books are so charming that even though we know exactly where they're going and how things are going to end, we still feel delight at the conclusions of both. And you know what? Sometimes we still find something new in the pictures that we've never noticed before. Now that's the sign of a good book, whether it's for children or adults. Don't you think? 

He slept so late this morning. Such a difference now than when the kids were little and wanted their Boppy to get up with them at 5:30 in the morning. Well, Levon still does but he's been trained to stay in their room until 7:00 under threat of NO TV! 
So I'd already started prepping pancakes when he unwrapped himself from his blankets. I'd had a rather horrible night. I kept waking up having bitten my tongue so yes- we're doing that again. I tried to find my bite guard but couldn't and instead woke up my phone which made the bedroom look like an airport runway, lit for take-off and landing. Maurice wanted to get in bed with us but Jack was already there so she just scratched the corner of the bed with her scythe-like claws and meowed. Mr. Moon kept patting the bed to tell her that she should just come on up as he didn't know that Jack was already in the bed and so I laid there, awaiting the apocalyptic battle that would happen if she DID jump up onto the bed. 
Luckily, she's not stupid. 
Eventually I went back to sleep but it was not restful. 

But I managed to make the pancakes and bacon and scrambled eggs so all was well. Gibson and I walked up to the post office after breakfast and we even stopped in at the My G*p*y Soul Boutique. He wanted to see what they had. 
Well, they have more than they used to and a goodly amount of unpackaged incense that, had I stayed for longer than the ten minutes we were there, would have given me a headache. They still had "natural" clam shells (meaning unpainted, I guess) priced at $1.50 but the most outrageous thing I saw was an objet d'art made from the fallen-off piece of a trimmed palmetto frond that had been painted, mostly blue, but with some sort of possible beach scene at the very top and given a hanging thingee made out of what could have been, uh...I don't know. Straw? 
$30.00
Well, okay. 
I saw nothing I wanted in the least and neither did Gibson so we came home and I hung sheets on the line before I drove him home. 

Another perfectly beautiful day. 

Mr. Moon has spent most of the day watching a vintage car auction online. He paid the fee to get access to watch and to bid, if he wants. 
Trust me- he has already gotten his money's worth, just on the watching part. He's had a great time, sitting in his chair and looking at dream cars go through the line. 
He has not bought anything yet. He said he did bid on a '55 Chevy Bel Air but it sold for twice what he bid on it so no, he did not buy it. I would be worried but I know that man and if he doesn't think he can make money on something, he's not going to buy it. And if he does buy it, he will make money on it. 
He never ceases to amaze me.

Thank all of you so much for responding to my how-do-you-make-meatballs? question. I ended up browning them first in a skillet where I'd cooked some onions and peppers. Then I took the meatballs out, put the onions and peppers back in, cheated and used a jar of pasta sauce, and a little while before we ate I put the meatballs into the sauce (or gravy!) and simmered them gently. They were not mushy but pretty nice. The bread I made was edible although not beautiful, and the salad I made was both beautiful AND edible. 
Gibson thanked me several times. God, that boy is sweet.

Here was his reaction after this morning's pancakes which were made with sweet potato, oat bran, apples, and blueberries. And buttermilk, of course.

I picked three azaleas which have appeared in the yard when I went out to take the compost and pick tonight's salad. 

I really hope they're a glory this year. Two years ago Glen pruned them back too late in the year for them to bloom and last year we got a hard freeze before they bloomed and we haven't had a good bloom in awhile. 

All right. Time for a damn Friday night martini. Clean sheets are on the bed. Lined dried, true and tried. Looking forward to getting intimate with them later. 

Happy Friday, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon

Family Traditions

Mr. Moon and I met up with Lily and Maggie and Owen and Gibson at Chow Time for lunch. 

Our favorite place to sin. 

Oh my. 

You know, most buffets have food that is really not so good and I'm not going to say that most of the food at Chow Time is good for you but if all I ate when I went there was the hot and sour soup and some boiled shrimp and a little sushi, I would be completely happy. SO GOOD! 
But no, of course I have to get a little rice, a spoonful of this, a spoonful of that, a spring roll...you know. 
It's always a good time. And everyone gets what they want.

And it's just fun. 

Maggie wasn't feeling great and indeed, was sick two days ago although Lily said she was fine yesterday, so whatever she had may have "come back on her" as Glen's mama used to say. She felt a little warm to me today and had those sick-girl eyes. 

Would you look at Owen? He's getting so very tall that I have to get on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. He is so loving to me and to his Boppy. He got teased a little today when Lily pointed out that Gibson's mustache is coming in faster than Owen's. Gibson will be 12 in March. But as we pointed out, Owen got more of the Norwegian genes from Boppy's side of the family and Gibson got more of the Italian genes from his dad's side of the family. And Italians are apt to have a little more facial hair than those people from the frozen north countries. Which makes no sense if you think about it. 

Magnolia will be eight on Sunday. And then she and August will once again be the same age and all will be right with the world. There's a little recess in the wall at the entrance of Chow Time and Maggie always wants to get up there and use it for her own personal stage. 

Gibson joined her today. 

My darlings. 

After lunch Gibson got his overnight things from his mom's car and got in my car with me. Boppy was in a separate car because he had different errands to run. Gibson and I went by Publix because I needed to get a prescription and also, rainbow sherbet was required for tonight's purple cows. 
"Would you rather have a root beer float?" asked Lily. "You love root beer."

"Nah," said Gibson. "I like tradition." 

And so sherbet and ginger ale were purchased. I already have the grape juice. 

We also stopped by the Bad Girls Get Saved By Jesus thriftstore and had a good time, walking around there but we didn't buy anything. They had some nice small pieces of furniture that could reasonably have been sold in antique stores for a hell of a lot more money than they were asking, but I really don't need any more small tables or whatevers. There was a darling child's rocking chair that I would have bought in a heartbeat if I had a grandchild small enough to sit in it. Really lovely. 

We drove home the long, pretty way and had some very fine discussions. Gibson is smart as a kid can be. I love talking with him. He seems a little worried about how he's going to feel when he's old enough to move out on his own. Will he be okay, living alone? I pointed out that he will probably have roommates. He agreed that that was true. He said he's learning to cook now so he'll be able to do that for himself. 
"I wonder what I'll make for myself?" he mused. 
"Whatever you want!" I told him. 

He also told me about memes for kids, I guess, about the good and bad of spending the night with grandparents. 
The good: the sheets are always clean and the bed is always old and comfy. 
The bad: the houses are apt to be large and very dark and you may hear weird noises in the middle of the night. 

These things are partially true here at Mer and Bop's but I do always put a nightlight on for him. I know he likes that. I told him that I've spent many, many nights here alone and that I've never been woken up by any weird noises. 
"I worry when you spend the nights alone. Doesn't it bother you?" he asked me.
"No! I love it!" I said. And of course I do. I told him about the apartment I lived in by myself when I was quite young and that looking back now, I realize what a precious time that was. 
And it really was although I fancied myself to be quite lonely. I don't think I was so much. I just wanted a boyfriend. 
And I got one and that was the end of living by myself. 

I've made up a plateful of meatballs to cook. I've got a dutch oven heating in the oven to bake my loaf of cowboy sourdough bread and I've picked the greens for our salad. I've been busy today and that is good.

Let me ask y'all a question- I did not grow up with a mother who made spaghetti and meatballs. We just had spaghetti with meat in the sauce. And so I have no traditional way to cook this dish and recipes vary in that some call for you to completely cook the meatballs separately from the sauce and some call for you to cook the meatballs in the sauce and some call for you to do a combination of both. 
What are your thoughts on this? 

I better get in that kitchen and get things cooking. I have two boys to feed although after the Chow Time lunch, we could probably wait until at least nine o'clock to have our supper. I don't think they'd be very happy about that, though. 

Oh- and guess what Gibson wants for breakfast? 
Pancakes. Because you know- tradition. 

We are not surprised. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Yada-Yada-Yada

It has been a wet, gloomy, chilly, drizzly day in Lloyd. I rose to the occasion by doing nothing. I fell into the jigsaw puzzle time suck which only quantum physics can explain, and sat there listening to Barbra for at least three hours. I've now listened to seven hours of this book which means I've heard 15% of it. So far I'm still enjoying it. It's interesting enough. It's no Keith Richards autobiography, I'll tell you that. Hell, Babs doesn't even drink and I doubt she's ever slept with Ronnie Spector, or partied with Howlin' Wolf either. If I discover she has, I'll be sure to tell you. 

I ordered a different ironing board cover. I went for a pretty one this time. It also has all the bells and whistles, though. 

Roses! And I did measure the ironing board and this one should fit. 

I also ordered another pair of Gap overalls. I'm living large right now, obviously. 

I read Rebecca's latest post which is a step-by-step recipe with time instructions for making a loaf of sharp cheddar and dill sourdough bread. This inspired me enough to at least feed my starter which has been in the refrigerator without intervention for probably weeks now. I could practically hear its little voice, growing fainter and fainter pleading, "Help me." 
Now. Let me tell you something. The reason Rebecca's sourdough bread comes out looking like something you'd buy in an extremely high-end artisan bakery shop, is because she does all the things she describes in her post when she makes her bread. 
Y'all- I can't. 
This is why Rebecca is a true bread artist and I am a...dilettante. If I can even be called that. I bake sourdough like Gus would have in Lonesome Dove using his cast iron dutch oven over coals on the trail while herding cattle. 
Well, if Gus had had a Kitchen Aid with a dough hook. 
But please go visit Rebecca and see how she does it. 
When I was in the fancy cookware shop yesterday, the lady next to me in line was buying sourdough-making supplies and we got to chatting. I told her about how beautiful the bread is that my friend out in Washington makes. The lady behind the counter got interested and next thing I knew, I was showing them pictures from my phone. There were oohs and aahs of genuine appreciation. 
I am such a fangirl. 

So our Gibson is coming to spend the night tomorrow! Hurray! Our sweet, sweet boy. His meal of choice is spaghetti. I asked him if he wanted meat sauce or sauce with meatballs. He said, "Meatballs, preferably." Which I loved. Of course I will make meatballs! 
I was reading some old posts of mine when I was searching for pictures of our visits to Weeki Wachee and I was reminded of the sweetness and joy that Gibson spread wherever he went when he was a little guy. I mean, he still does, but he was so darling, just saying, "Hi!" to everyone, giving them smiles that stole their hearts and making them smile right back. So tomorrow I'll wash the sheets on the guest room bed because every grandchild deserves fresh, clean sheets at Mer's house. I will be so glad he's here. 

I truly enjoyed cooking in my new pot last night. Mr. Moon did finally get the dishwasher back in working order and I was able to take my kitchen back. I believe I picked the perfect thing to cook in that pristine white pot.

It's a little unsettling how much pleasure I got out of seeing those beautifully colored ingredients simmering in that saucepan. 

Sigh.

And that was one delicious dish. I used some apple cider vinegar, some balsamic vinegar, a little water, a little Turbinado sugar, salt, and caraway seeds in it too. 

I think my Pennsylvania grandfather was being channeled through me and Le Creuset. 

Mr. Moon's at a basketball game with Tom tonight. They had to leave here at 5:45 in order to be in their seats at 7:00 for the tip-off. Tom refuses to use a wheelchair which would make everything so much easier but Glen respects his right to preserve his dignity however he can at this point. This is the first game of the season they've attended. Not only because of Tom's troubles with mobility but also (and probably more importantly), FSU's basketball team sucks this year. Or so I'm told. 

Love...Ms. Moon

I'm Beginning To Suspect My Grandchildren Think I'm Insane

We had another incredibly blue-sky day today. I took that picture while I was waiting for Jessie and the boys to show up at Jason's Deli for lunch. The boys had little pizzas, Jessie and I had salad bar, and everyone but me had soft-serve ice cream for dessert. I ate the boys' pizza crust for my dessert. 
Yum!

I enjoyed seeing the boys again. And of course, Jessie. Those children must think I am the most banal person on earth. I always ask them the stupidest questions in an attempt to be amusing, I guess. And I address them as if they were thirty-year olds with complete and utter seriousness. 
"So how was Target? Did you get anything?" 
And they look at me as if it really is time to start checking out the care facilities because OBVIOUSLY I don't have a lick of intelligence left. 
They're not far wrong.
There's a guy at Jason's Deli who has worked there forever and he never, ever fails to crack a joke in the most dead-panned way and the way he talks to kids is so interesting. I think they like him because he really is sweet to them and not in a stupid way, either. I told the boys today that he is a very important person because he makes many people laugh every day. I could just see August's brain comparing a man who works at a deli who makes people laugh to an astronaut or a brain surgeon, but he did not try to correct me. Those children tolerate me which is nice of them. I suppose they like me okay because they always tell me they love me when they're driving away and they throw kisses although Levon's thrown kisses look more like he's just flicking his wrist in the general vicinity of his face. 

After lunch I went to the fancy cookware store to return some baking dishes that Mr. Moon got me for Christmas. He'd forgotten that he's already given me some of the same baking dishes and did not mind me returning or exchanging them at all. 
I found something I really wanted to exchange them for and it was a two and a half quart Le Crueset saucepan. I remember when my husband gave me the first Le Crueset pot I ever got and I almost made him take it back. That much money for a damn pot? 
But he convinced me to keep it and has added to my collection over the years and now I love them with all of my heart. I have a big one I make soup in and a smaller one that I make smaller amounts of soup and also gumbo in and cook greens in, and also another pan that I use to cook sauces in and also stews, but lately I have been dreaming of a smaller one to make small amounts of vegetables in or rice or...well, whatever I want that will fit in a two and a half quart saucepan. So...

I saw one that looked just like that, even the color, and although I had to add a few bucks to the deal, I got it. I am going to cook some red cabbage and apples and onions and raisins in it tonight and I cannot wait. If you think I was excited about an ironing board cover (and I was), you can only imagine how over the moon I am about this new purchase. 
God, I'm spoiled. 
Between the Le Crueset and my collection of cast iron skillets and pots and my grandmother's old Revere Ware, I have the best cooking vessels in the world. 
In my opinion, anyway. 
And not a Teflon pan amongst them. Or whatever they make non-stick pans with these days. If you don't go crazy overboard trying to protect your cast iron seasoning, those things are as nonstick as I need. 

I am listening to a new book now. I downloaded it a few days ago. 

Now I do love Barbra and was looking forward to seeing what she has to say about her life and herself but when I started the playback, I was informed that it would take me 48 hours to complete. 
Wait. What? Forty-eight hours? Surely that had to be a mistake. A book that takes twenty hours is a big book. I looked it up and by golly, in print the book is 900 and something pages long. 
Well. I guess she has a lot to say!
So I thought that I'd start listening to it to see if I thought it was worth dedicating that much time to, and I'm really enjoying it. She narrates it so you get all the nuance and inflection straight from the horse's mouth, so to speak. Not comparing Babs to a horse here, y'all. Far from it. I'm sure there must have been a cowriter but her voice is strong in the words. She talks about food a LOT! I doubt she has forgotten one snack she's ever eaten in her life. She also talks about what she wore for particular performances, even the performances she did at the age of eighteen. She is in love with vintage clothes and shoes and still has many of the clothes she wore back then. Of course she bought the things at thrift stores because she couldn't afford new clothes but she certainly came to appreciate the fabrics and workmanship in older dresses, shoes, tops, coats, and jackets. 

One of the things that I certainly did not know and was shocked to hear is that when she started out, she had no thought of being a singer. Her voice was just...her voice. She desperately wanted to be a great actress and did everything in her power to train with the best acting teachers. Her singing was more a matter of...opening her mouth. 
She took one singing lesson and decided the woman was trying to make her be something she was not and that was that. 

Unless something unforeseen comes up, I'll probably listen to the entire book. I mean, I've never taken a singing lesson, I wanted to be a great actress, I love food and beautiful vintage clothing. 
It's like Barbra Streisand and I are exactly the same, right? 

Sure.

So, it's time for me to make supper and I have a man in the kitchen surrounded by many tools who is doing noisy things to my dishwasher. I couldn't get it closed properly and asked for help. The top tray has been janky for awhile and he has obviously decided that it's time to fix that. 
Well, hell. 

I want to cook in my new pan! 

Here's an ant on a camellia. 

If I were an ant, I would like to live in a camellia. 

And I'll leave you with one of the questions I asked Levon today which was, "Do you want me to pinch your butt?"
"Sure," he said, with the least enthusiasm possible. 
And I did. Just a tiny little fingernail pinch that even his pants didn't feel. He rolled his eyes and went on with his life. 

No wonder he adores me.

Love...Ms. Moon

I'm Just An Old Grandma, Blogger.

 I got busy again today. It started out when I got up and discovered that Vergil and Glen had shot a buck (no pigs yet) after having gotten together about 5:30 this morning to go hunt. I realized they were going to be wanting something to eat when they got back here to process the deer and for some damn reason I decided that making a frittata would be the easiest thing to do. With biscuits, of course. So knowing I had to pick the collard greens for our annual dose of New Year's Day luck, I went ahead and picked kale while I was at it and about an hour later I had a potato and onion and kale and bacon and cheese and tomato frittata or maybe it's a Spanish tortilla, I do not know, in the oven. Whatever. I also made the biscuits and by the time the men had finished up their work and the deer was on ice, everything was ready to eat. I'd invited Jessie and the boys to come join us and so they did. It was a biscuit fiesta. 

Y'all- I swear- August has grown at least an inch since Christmas. When the boys came in, my head rested directly on his head when I leaned over to hug him. It's crazy! 

The guys told me all about their trip to Weeki Wachee which they loved. Levon's favorite part of the whole trip was the mermaids. You have no idea how happy that makes me. Jessie told me that their friend Amber, who was with them on this little trip, cried the whole way through the show which is what I always do. That, too, made me happy. Every time someone else gets the magic of those mermaids, I feel like the world is a slightly better place. 

After we finished eating, I started the collard greens and black-eyed peas for tonight. They're still simmering on the stove with the last remnants of the Christmas ham. I'll make a pan of cornbread here in a little while and add some rice to cook with the peas. 
And that is New Year's day around here. 

I put away the ornaments today that were on my tiny Christmas tree and also the nativity. Buddha is back on his mantel. 

That's my granddaddy in the picture behind him, holding baby Hank. Forgive me my tacky chalkware birds. I can't help buying them at thrift stores. Or at least I did not used to be able to resist them. I'm pretty good at it now. I have all sorts of treasures on that mantel in the library. 

******************

And a complete and utter delight just happened. We got a quick, quick and loving visit from Lon and Lis who had been in town for the one-year birthday party of a grand-niece. Lis had told me about this a few weeks ago but I had forgotten, of course. She called me before they got here and I made them a pot of coffee because they had to get back on the road to Gatorbone and they were able to stay long enough to eat little bowls of black-eyed peas and collards, thus ensuring their luck for the new year. I am SO glad they came by. We have been sorely missing them and even just seeing them for a little time was the joy that made this day a truly good New Year's day. 

What a lucky woman I am! Friends, family, greens from the garden, boys eating biscuits with butter and honey. Who could ask for more? 

I am sorry that yesterday's post got put up with a warning. Jesus Christ. Whatever. Neither of the things that I can think of that might have triggered that particular algorithm is anything I've never posted before. Here's a picture of, although not the same mermaid as the one I posted last night, a very similar one that I feel sure has appeared in this blog before. 

As to the word "cocksucker"- I've said that word here so many times that I can't even count them. 

Well. If you want to hear more of the word (haha!), I suggest you go watch the video HERE.

It's every "cocksucker" ever said on Deadwood and is impressive in its range and scope. I'd embed it but I really don't want to be kicked off of blogger forever. 

I better go eat some black-eyed peas and collard greens. 

Love...Ms. Moon