Cheer Up, Buttercup!

 Last night when I had served the fellas their supper and was bringing my own bowl of chicken and dumplings in, this is what I found. Jack was obviously thinking he had a place at the table. He really does, though, as he always lays between me and Mr. Moon while we eat, hoping that a miracle will occur and we will offer him some tasty tidbits. 
He is ever optimistic, that one. 

Owen and Mr. Moon both proclaimed the chicken and dumplings the best ever and they were good. The dumplings were very nice and fluffy and I even had to make two batches- one with self-rising flour and buttermilk, and the second with self-rising flour, milk, and plain yogurt because I'd used up all the buttermilk. I know that I can add vinegar or lemon juice to make a fake buttermilk but the yogurt worked beautifully. 

Gosh but we had a good time with our boy. He's just the sweetest. He wanted to go to bed early because that 5:00 a.m. wake-up call was going to come fast so he took his shower and got in the guest bed, fondly known as the most comfortable bed in the world. 
And it is true. 

Mr. Moon's alarm woke up me up this morning but I just rolled over and went back to sleep while the guys got up, put on their camo, loaded up their stuff, and headed out to the ponds. I got up late for me and I'm blaming it on Maurice who actually came and snuggled up to me after Glen left, and Lord knows I don't ever want to give that cat reason to become upset with me so I just stayed right there in bed having crazy dreams until I finally realized that unless I intended to sleep all day, I'd better get up. Maurice did give me one of her yowls of bitchiness but I was spry enough to get away from her before she could get her weapons out. 
I found a pot of hot coffee, just made, and two sweet notes from my boys when I got to the kitchen. Glen always makes the coffee the night before and when he goes hunting in the early morning, he sets it for when he's going to get up and then he pours that into a thermos flask and makes me a separate pot, set to brew later. 
Now that is love. 
The guys had a great time. Glen sent me a video of an eagle, soaring over the water, looking for fish or a duck. And Owen told me that he'd loved it, especially the eagle and watching the dogs work with the hunters to retrieve their ducks. It's a whole world and I know that nothing could make Glen happier than to share it with his boy. It would not be my choice of something to share with a grandchild, of course, but it is my husband's and I am happy for him to have these opportunities. He is proud of the way Owen conducts himself on hunts and fishing trips, too. And they get to go to breakfast afterwards and eat like Real Men. 

When they got back, Owen walked with me down to the post office and I was really surprised to see all the cars at the farmer's market organized by the My Gypsy Soul Boutique lady. Good for her! We didn't buy anything but it looked like other people were. I wanted to go to the PO because I'd gotten notification that a puzzle I'd ordered from eBay had been delivered and it had been. 

Now this one really is going to take me a year to do but I am excited to start it. 

And then Owen had to get to work. He took a shower and put on his Publix clothes. 

His grandfather is about six feet, eight inches tall. I love seeing them together. 

I drove him to work and then did a little shopping. When it came time to check out, I got in the line that Owen was bagging for. I took this picture when he wasn't looking, bagging up the groceries of the lady in front of me.  

I was so proud. I tried not to embarrass him and did not even kiss him when I left. It was hard. 

I've been a little low today, again completely unmotivated to do anything. I made myself get out and do some garden weeding but that and some laundry is about all I've managed to do. I really have no excuse. It's been a perfect day, weather-wise, and there have been so many birds at the feeder, chirping and chipping and even lining up in the camellia bushes to wait their turn to fly in and take their share. We've had so many cardinals this year. Their brilliant scarlet feathers, black faces, and yellow beaks are such a contrast to the mockingbirds' and wrens' dull grays and whites. And then of course the red-headed woodpeckers and blue jays and gold finches bring more colors to the feeder, to my life. I absolutely do observe the birds and listen to their songs and love the fact that I share my tiny part of the world with them. 
I have so very, very much that I am grateful for. And yet, as I have confessed before, sometimes these things, these riches, only serve to make me feel guiltier because how can I have all of this and still so often find myself sad? 

It's okay. I'm okay. 

And this made me giggle today. 

I love "Pickles." I've read that the artist bases a lot of his strips on his parents-in-law. I think. I could be wrong. It could be his own parents. But whatever, he is paying attention and he gets it so right so often. 

And for my (by now) quite familiar "one more thing"- here's another picture I took at the Trident restaurant yesterday which I find to be richly ironic. This is how one wall above the wainscoting in the ladies' room is decorated. 

For those of you who do not know- those are oyster shells. There was not one oyster on the menu that I saw. Sadly, they have cut off oyster harvesting entirely from the Apalachicola bay due to over-harvesting and water issues concerning the Apalachicola River which has been devastating to the local economy so it's not completely unreasonable that they don't serve those sweet, salty bivalves which have been gathered since before white people ever showed up in that part of the world. Other local restaurants are substituting oysters shipped in from places like Cedar Key, Florida, and Texas. And in fact, we stopped at a seafood retail place on our way home and Mr. Moon bought some in the shell and had them shucked and I am going to make him an oyster stew which he loves. 

I hate to think that the day will come when we've fucked up the precious waters of our planet so badly that oysters will be known only for their shells' ability to adorn a black wall in a restroom in a seafood restaurant. 

I am so ashamed at what we are leaving our grandchildren. They deserve so much better. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Yo-Ho-Ho, Owen Is Here! And A Restaurant Review

There's a new restaurant called The Trident down near the coast in Panacea, a little town that I've written about before. I lived there for awhile with my first husband with a bunch of other hippies. We were basically squatting in an old house that had neither plumbing nor electricity and only some of the rooms were usable as the floors in other areas were no longer, uh...safe. To put it mildly. But the house was right on the bay and that alone was worth the mild inconveniences. 
We were a motley crew for sure and there's an entire book's worth of stories from that time. No need to go on about that at this point. 

The new restaurant is also on the bay (Dickerson Bay, to be exact) and right down a dirt road from the house I lived in which is no longer there. The building itself is not new as it was a restaurant back about thirty years ago. Twenty? Some time ago, shall we say?
The new owners have obviously put a ton of money into fixing it up, from structural repairs to a new interior design and a fancy new bar that looks out on the water. It is pretty spiffy. 

We've been wanting to try it, having eaten many good meals at the old version of itself. Glen and I would often stop there on our way down to Dog Island when we were young and crazy and would cross the bay in the dark. We've heard good things about it under the new management and so we went down today to check it out. 

The decor was quite fancy. And whimsical. That I did very much like. There were schools of fishes hanging from the ceiling and I am a gal who does love whimsical things hanging from ceilings. 

The plastic plants didn't do much for me though. God knows they get enough light to grow real ones. 

The bar.

We weren't having drinks and sat at a table by the window in the dining room with the hanging fish. The view was lovely. 
The menu was disappointing as hell. 

Panacea seafood is well-known throughout this whole area and generally, the restaurants there serve classic favorites. Shrimp, fried, boiled, broiled, or blackened. Oysters- fried, roasted, or raw on the half-shell. Crab claws, fish of various kinds, hush puppies, baked potatoes in foil with salted skins and lots of butter, or cheese grits or french fries, if you'd rather. Seafood platters with ALL of it. Simple salads but with delicious dressings. 

And so forth. 
Sometimes fancier specials. The old restaurant had served a dish of sautéed cocktail crab claws with scallions and tomatoes that I did love so much. 
But the menu we got today was very limited. There were appetizers, sandwiches and wraps, salads, and a few entrees. The prices for the entrees were crazy. Side orders were all extra. 
We ordered an app called "stuffed crab balls". Almost all of the menu items had cutesy little names. The stuffed crab balls were, I have to say, very good. Cream cheese was involved.
Mr. Moon ordered a shrimp salad, I ordered a seared tuna salad. 

We got our salads. The greens on mine were pathetic. Tired as a forty-five year old mother of twelve children. Way past their due date. I sent it back. This is a new thing for me. But you know what? I'm not having it. I get the seared tuna salad at a sports bar in Tallahassee that's delicious and the greens on it are lovely. I told the server that the tuna was fine and I'd just keep that if she could find me some fresher greens. She brought me another plate and the greens were...a little better. I just ate them. Mr. Moon's greens weren't doing any singing or dancing either, but mostly they were not slimy.

So that was our lunch and I was vastly disappointed. 
I kept sighing over the memory of something that all of the seafood restaurants in that area used to bring to the table along with your menus which was a clever little green and white ceramic dish in the shape of a boat with Captain's Wafers in the long part of it and soft, molded garlic butter in the separated bow part. 

I doubt there was so much as a saltine in that entire restaurant. 

I think they are probably counting on making their money off drinks. That menu was extensive. And of course they are not cheap either. And look- when we go out for a nice meal, we don't mind paying what it costs. But if I feel like things are really overpriced, it pisses me off. I've worked in the service industry, in restaurants, and I know how hard it is to make enough money to stay afloat in that business. And I realize that change is inevitable. There are still restaurants down there serving the good-old-days food. People love it! But it seemed like it would be fun and interesting to try this new place with a new attitude. "Sea to table" is their motto. That's the name of a huge, big shiny boat boat on a trailer at the entrance to the restaurant which Mr. Moon looked at and said, "What a great tax write-off!" and which I doubt one fish has ever been caught off of. I could be wrong.

Well, anyway, we had a good time despite my bitchiness and it was nice to walk out on the dock afterwards. 

See that house across the bay? I want it. 

On our way home we stopped by the Wacissa just to look at it for a moment. 

It was so peaceful. This is the river's time of year to rest. Soon enough, it will be hot again and families and teenagers and church groups and all the people will be flocking once again to its shore. But for now, it is beautiful and serene. 

And then we came home and Mr. Moon went and got Owen and he's even taller than he was a few weeks ago. 
As my friend David used to say, "I shit you not."

He is literally a head taller than me. I said, "Stop it! Stop getting so tall!" Then I thought about it and said, "No. Don't stop it. Grow to be eight feet tall. I will still hug you."
He said, "That would be awesome." 

Here he is with his short hair. 

I've got the chicken cooked, carrots and onions and green beans and portobellos and garlic and celery simmering away. I'll tear up the chicken, add it in, make the dumplings and drop them one by one into the broth, put the lid on it, and let it become food for the soul. And I'm going to make us a little salad with greens that do indeed sing and dance, right on the tongue. The sheets on Owen's bed are clean and crisp, he knows he is loved. 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

 

Memories And General Meandering

These are azaleas which are starting to bloom. Sorry for the lighting in that picture. It was not taken at the proper time of day. At least you can get a sense of the color which is almost vulgar in its strident pinkness. I love it. 

The mulberry tree is starting to put out leaves. That is always exciting. I wonder if it will be a year of plentitude for the mulberries or a year of sparseness. It varies for reasons unknown to me. 
The craziest thing is that I swear I can see the pecan tree branches starting to swell with new growth. They have that arthritic knuckle look about them. It's weird because pecans are always the very last tree to leaf out. They are the first to lose their leaves in the fall, the last to get them in the spring. I have been observing that everything else seems to be blooming or leafing in the regular time but this is truly odd. Perhaps I'm wrong but when I brought it to Mr. Moon's attention, he admitted that he thought so too. Our pecan trees are very old and the branches are very high so it's hard to tell for sure but damn! I just went outside to check on the one right behind the back porch and I can definitely see leaves coming out.

There you go. That limb that shows up black in the photo is a pecan branch and it is making leaves. The tree behind it is a water oak and they keep their leaves through most of the winter and do not drop them until the new ones come and push the old ones off. Same with the live oaks.

We really ought to take these pecans out. They never produce more than what the squirrels can eat. 

They're tall and spindly and drop branches in a breeze. They are...old.

I'm feeling so old. I don't exactly know what's going on with me. I think that perhaps this stupid kidney stone that's too big to go through my ureter may be playing up. I've been having achy pangs and my stomach has the same feeling it did with the last one. Sort of...not right. 
Or I could be making this up because it's my mind that's not right. 

Either/or. 

Yesterday when I was talking to William, the guy who owns the landscaping company, he said, "We never see you at Kool Beanz anymore." I agreed that was true and told him that I rarely go out at night, that I have a lot of anxiety these days. 
"Well, you can't let that rule your life!" he said, and I thought, Oh, you sweet, sweet boy.
He and his husband love to travel and they got back from Tanzania recently. TANZANIA! I have other friends who have made plans to go to Chile to stay in a place in the most arid desert in the world. 
I hear the stargazing is amazing. 
People DO these things. 
People go to Walmart too which is almost as unfathomable as going to the most arid desert in the world to me but not quite. I do go to Walmart sometimes. 
Needs must, blah, blah, blah. 

Thank goodness I can still go to lunch. I mean- where would my career be if I couldn't? For those of you who missed it, I recently described going out to lunch as my new career. Today I met Jessie and Lily at The Wharf which is about a thousand times better than that Fish House place Jessie and I went to last week. It's also right beside Costco so there you go. We had a good time talking, as always. Before Lily got there, Jessie told me about her experience at the birth yesterday. It wasn't exactly typical, if there even is such a thing. The mother's first two babies had come very fast and this one came even faster, I think. Jessie was not there when the nine-pound boy arrived. Tanashia, the midwife, had barely gotten there herself. A birth that happens within three hours of contractions starting is called a precipitous birth and when you read about women who have their babies on the way to the hospital, that's often the story. In my experience, precips are generally pretty uncomplicated. Not always, but mild shock seems to be the most commonly reported negative outcome. These are the babies that firefighters and police officers and EMT's and daddies and siblings often end up delivering. Or the mothers themselves. I remember a home birth I attended once where in the prenatal visits, the father said over and over again that he really did not want to be in the room when the baby came. 
So of course he ended up catching that child himself as his wife's labor was so short that neither the midwives nor I made it there on time. 

All was well. 

**********

For several weeks now, I've been thinking about making a hippie apple cake. That's the kind of cake that when I was a very young hippie I could throw together in almost any kitchen while everyone in the rest of the house was quite stoned and listening to records or making music in the next room. Don't get me wrong- I was stoned too. 

It was my super power. The munchies are true and powerful and having cake magically appear was astounding. 

I rarely bake these days except for bread and I'm having a hard time with it. My bread does not rise the way it should and it's not the yeast. It foams up nicely. So I am not really surprised that the cake I just made looks more like bread pudding in texture than cake-like. 

I have lost my baking magic, it would seem. 

Probably because...I am old. 
Or at least, feeling so old. 

I guess I'll go make a little caramel frosting to go on it. That will help. And at least the cake is full of apples and raisins and pecans and spices. 

Owen is coming tomorrow to spend the night. I am very happy about that. He and his Boppy are going on a youth duck hunt early Saturday morning. He wants chicken and dumplings for his MerMade dinner and so he shall have it. There is something about my feelings for Owen that are so tender and deep that if having to be old is a prerequisite for having a fourteen-year old grandson to love so much, I guess it's okay. 

And damn. The tears come again. 

It's all right. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Untitled

 I finally overcame my overpowering sense of inertia today (notice I did not say this morning) and took a walk. That part of it above, is Lloyd Creek Road which is really a pretty road and not heavily traveled. I was heading towards home when a truck stopped beside me and it was a guy I met a very long time ago. He and his husband used to go to the restaurant Kool Beanz every Friday night, as did Glen and I and we struck up a friendship. Turned out that they lived in Lloyd too, or close enough. Not so far from where we live. This guy, the one I talked to today, has a very successful landscaping business and I see his trucks all over Tallahassee and around here. But I hadn't seen him or his husband in quite awhile and I'd just been thinking about them recently so it was nice to see him. 
We caught up, him parked in the road, me beside the truck, and not one car came by. It was good to see him and before he pulled away I said, "Hey. I need some help with my yard. I'm getting old and all I find myself doing is pulling out invasives."
"I'll come by," he said. 
I hope he does. Glen and I always called them "The Boys" and they're a sweet couple. 

I really don't have much to talk about today. I've felt okay. Slow but okay. I weeded some and that's been about it besides the walk. I took some books down to the little free library. I was happy to note that some of the books I'd taken last time were gone. Jessie and I had talked about going to lunch but she's started a new side-gig sort of thing, assisting at home births with the midwife who delivered both Levon and Maggie. I have spoken of this woman and I will always speak of her highly. She was an L&D nurse for many years at the hospital but as so many nurses do, she became frustrated with the way birth is handled in that setting. So, despite having three beautiful daughters and a very handsome husband, she went back to school and became a licensed midwife. She trained under the midwife who delivered Gibson and August who was also a fabulous midwife. So this morning Jessie was on call and got a call from Tanasia that she had a mom in early labor but before we could even start talking about lunch, the baby was coming and so lunch was canceled. 
I am so excited for Jessie to be doing this. When I had her, I had been working as a birth assistant myself for a few years at the local Birth Center. I remember so well that feeling of knowing that a mama is in labor and trying to tie up loose ends with kids and husband, not knowing when you'll be needed or when you'll be home. It's a physically challenging job and an emotionally challenging job and sometimes it's the best thing in the world and sometimes it can be really hard. But it is, in many ways, the best thing in the world to help women give birth- to bring new life into this world. And now my daughter will know this feeling too and I especially love that she'll be doing it in the sweet intimacy and comfort of a family's own home. Back in the way, way back days, I, too, assisted midwives at home births, and three of my children and most of my grandchildren were born at home. 

I could go on about all of this for pages and days but I won't. I need to make supper. And besides that, I've talked about all of these things many times before. I am a fierce advocate for midwives and for women who want to have their babies at home in safety and in comfort and we who have had the good fortune to be able to do that are the lucky ones.

Today's camellias. 

Love...Ms. Moon

A Day Of Remission And Recovery

As you can see, the weather has changed again and we have gone from gray to blue overnight. Even before it got light this morning though, I woke up and searched my feelings and felt like perhaps some emotional fever had broken. When I got up, I was still crying but then it was as if a faucet had been turned off and I was done. 

This has been the strangest, most sudden bout of darkness I think I've ever experienced. It absolutely has been almost physical in its nature and today I feel as exhausted as if I had truly had a physical ailment. I feel that shakiness that comes after a flu or even a surgical event. 
I really do not understand what happened. 

Last night after supper, I talked to my husband and told him honestly how I was feeling and for once I did not apologize. "I don't WANT to feel this way," I said. He knew I didn't. And he held me and he told me he loved me and said all those sweet things and I guess that helped. That and a whole lot of hours of sleep.
One of the things he said last night was that perhaps we could drive to the coast today, just for fun, and although I said that maybe, yes we could, I couldn't imagine getting up that much energy only to cry all the way there and back. But around noon he asked me if I maybe wanted to do that, or just go out for lunch, and I said, "Let's go out for lunch."
And we did. We went to a Mexican place near here where neither of us has ever eaten and I seriously doubt we'll go back. It was underwhelming. But then we went to the Bad Girls Get Saved By Jesus Thrift Store and I found some treasures. Lily had asked me to look out for deviled egg platters for her and I found two.

I sent those pictures to the kids and Lily wants one and Rachel the other. I have one identical to the second one pictured and almost everyone I know has one too. The first one is a bit different though, and I like it. I think it comes from the sixties. 

I also hit a sort of jack-pot when I found four nice clear pyrex bowls. My weakness is bowls, for sure. They are nothing fancy but just nice bowls of different sizes. So I bought those too. 

It was, I have to say, a little cheering. 

And then we drove home the back way on a road that I lived on so many years ago. The house is gone now because it burned down years ago but I think of that house often. I've spoken of it before. Entirely made of pine, a shack, really, It looked quite a bit like this house.

It had electricity but no running water. An outhouse and a hand pump out back. 
My ex and I lived there with baby Hank and it wasn't easy but there were parts of it I loved very much. It was almost-adequate shelter from the storm, although not the cold. Or heat. Or bugs. 
The weathered wood simplicity of it was beautiful somehow though and we had hippie neighbors including Chloe and her husband and a child or two. They were building their own house which was rather magical in my eyes. 
So. A drive down a memory road. Some things familiar, some things so very changed. Someone has bought a huge number of acres where there used to be nothing but pine and oak and scrub and scraped the ground raw. We have no idea what's going in there. Something hideous, I'm sure. I told Glen, "I really sort of hate humans," and I meant it. He did not try to dissuade me from my opinion. 

Here's a sweet thing that happened today- I had seen a picture on FB of a slender piece of wall where someone had created a system for hanging cast iron skillets and pots. When I saw the picture, I was feeling so bleak that although I admired it, I had no energy to even try and imagine something like that. Too much work. Who cares? What the hell? But today I realized that there's a place in our pantry where the wall would be the perfect place to do that. I did not have the picture but I looked up other ones on google and showed them to my husband and he said, "Sure, sure. We can do that."
And I know he can. 
I already keep my cast iron in the pantry which is great because I don't have to bend down to pull it out of the lower cabinets in which it used to live. That stuff is heavy! But it's taking up a lot of space that I could be using for something else. 
Like...food.

And I'm sure he could build me something to put the iron pot lids in. 

This wall ain't doing a damn thing except holding up the ceiling or something. I do like that admittedly tacky picture but I can find another place to put it. 

It felt so very good to ask my husband if he would do something for me and to have him respond so readily and enthusiastically that of course he could. It's hard for me to ask for things I want as I am sure it is for many of us. But the honest truth is, sometimes asking someone we love if they could help us in some way is a gift to them, I think, because if they do truly love us, they want to help us. 

But my god, learning to ask is hard. 

One last picture. We went to the garden to try and figure out where we want to plant the potatoes and then I did a little weeding and Mr. Moon fixed some sprinkler heads and then the garden looked like this.

And the miracle was that I could not only see it in the lowering light of the sun, but I could really feel it. And it felt very good. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Discourse On Depression

 I finally completed that puzzle last night. I know it took me forever but the truth is- I didn't want to finish it. I was enjoying too much. At the very end, I slowed down my work on it considerably, very much like slowly savoring the last chapters of a book that has had you in its enchantment and which you are loathe to leave. Because doing jigsaws is a relatively new activity for me, I have had to learn a lot and the main thing I've learned is that there is no enjoyment for me in doing a puzzle that I don't have a certain affinity for. It's like reading a book that you have no real interest in but do simply to pass the time and say that you have done it. And it turns out that I love busy, cheerful scenes with vibrant colors. 

And now I feel bereft. A little bit, at least. 

Hasn't been a good day, y'all. It's like yesterday's gloom was, unbeknownst to me, a slide into a very dark place. 
It happens. And hopefully, there will be a way out quickly. I hope that as much or more for my husband than I do for myself because I am nothing but dark presence when this happens. 

I remember my mother's depressions. In those days, there was no real knowledge of the disease nor was it at all probable that anyone would be properly diagnosed and of course there were no antidepressants. 
There were the Mother's Little Helpers- amphetamines and drugs like Valium but the overwhelming view of any sort of mental illness was that if you kept going and kept your mind off it, you could simply overcome it. 
Sometimes that works. Depression is a disease of remission and exacerbation and thankfully, people can recover from it without medication. Unless they can't. I guess that situation is what people used to call a "nervous breakdown". If your depression got so serious that you were incapable of getting out of bed and going about your day or taking care of your family or going to work or showering or eating or...
Nervous breakdown. 

My mother's depression was profound. Strangely, one of my brothers absolutely denies this. A different brother, more like me in many ways, remembers it all too clearly, as do I. And depression can be genetic, of course, which would help explain where mine comes from and which makes me wonder where my mother's came from. Did her mother suffer from it? My granny was very deaf and as such, she did not do a lot of interacting with people. Some, for sure. She and Granddaddy had friends they went out to eat with, got together to play Scrabble or Canasta with. But I cannot honestly say that I have any clue at all as to the state of her emotional health. She spoke very lovingly about her family of birth. She was the youngest of twelve children and I think they had a lot of good times. But I know that my grandfather was not the easiest person to live with and in his work, when she was raising three children, he was very often away. That could not have been easy. Did she go through periods of time when she did not think she could get out of bed? 
Did he?
Who knows? 

The only thing I do know is how much my mother's depression affected me. Mother had many, many difficulties and heartbreaks and sometimes something would happen that would send her down to the deepest places. When she was at work (she taught school) she could mask what she was going through to a degree. But when she was at home with just my brother and me, it was a different story and she scared me and made me feel completely helpless and yet still somehow responsible for her pain. I was probably seven or so when all of this began. I can remember thinking quite clearly that if I did EVERYTHING right, and was the most helpful person I could possibly be, she would get better. She would be happy again. In short, if I were perfect.

And no seven-year old girl is perfect. Not in this world. 

When I'm in a gray place myself, I think about these things and I have compassion for my mother but I feel as if she could have done a little better at trying to shield me and my brother from her pain. Having your mother lock herself in her room and scream that she was going to kill herself is pretty traumatic for a child. Not having anyone to go to to try and get help or not even knowing that it was possible to get help was devastating. Somehow I knew that she would have been so incredibly angry if I had talked to anyone about these things and at that age, I was already quite aware that my job was to protect her and not the other way around. 
And this behavior mode became more in play when my stepfather began sexually abusing me. There was no one to go to for help, especially not my mother. I honestly wonder what she would have done if I had but I did not have the words for what was happening although I knew it was so wrong as to quite possibly destroy the misfit family she had created when she married him. 
And that I could never do. 

Whether depression is genetic or not (and we can be sure it is), there are situations in life that can definitely exacerbate it. Sometimes we can understand those situations and sometimes we can't. They just seem to arise but my thought is that deep inside of us, we do know but that we have tried so diligently all of our lives to keep them in the deepest, darkest parts of our souls that we have hidden them even from ourselves. And sometimes, with years of hindsight, we can see them clearly. Therapy helps. It can save us. So can medication. But there is no magic wand. 

Not yet. Maybe someday.

I took a walk today because you're supposed to. I went to town to do my shopping because I had to. I took my medications as I always do. I am being gentle with myself. I am remembering that tomorrow is the twenty-ninth anniversary (I think) of the death of my friend Sue and for whatever reason, that particular anniversary always hits me hard. 

Well. Onward. Tomorrow may well be a much better day and I will smile again. 
One thing did make me smile today. I was pushing my shopping cart from the store to my car when I smelled the funkiest, skunkiest weed smoke I may ever have smelled in my life. I looked to see where this smoke was coming from to see a very fine looking man with long dreads, dressed so very sharply, walking to the store. He had just gotten out of his truck which had an open window.
Mystery solved. 

Love...Ms. Moon

A Sunday Situation

I did not take one picture today. It was raining when I got up and had been raining most of the night. It rained until late this afternoon. It was a good steady rain, giving the dirt the time to really soak it in. 

And frankly, it was sort of depressing. 

I'm feeling a bit low today, a bit emotional. It seems to me that so many of us tend to only want to show our sunny sides when the reality of life is that it is no more sunny all the time in our hearts and minds than it is in our weather although of course there are places where it rarely rains and there are places where it hardly ever stops.

Metaphors can only take you so far. 

But my point is, none of us feels all giddy with happiness every day. One day you may be on your knees in the dirt pulling up a tiny oak sapling and have an almost spiritual experience and the next day you may wonder why on earth you're still here. A day where every thought leads to a dismal place. Where every action seems pointless or fraught with negativity. And I'm not talking about clinical depression here or bipolar disorder either. I'm just talking about the way life can be, day to day for almost everyone. 

Some people do seem to be preternaturally cheerful all of the time. Frankly, they drive me crazy. I mean, I recognize that some people absolutely do have a more optimistic outlook on life than I do and I am happy for them and wish I was more like them. But the ones who never seem to waver in their belief that life is genuinely and continuously as happy as a theme park are just...well. 
Lying. 
Or brainwashed by some cult or religion.
I watched a video about toxic positivity the other day. It mentioned people who love to announce that they write in their gratitude journals every day. Oprah popularized this whole gratitude journaling thing, I believe. She also got half the world believing in "The Secret" which is basically, as I understand it, putting your desires out into the universe and believing they will be granted. 
So many of us want to believe that if we can just change our way of thinking we will become the shiny happy people we want to be. 

Most of you who have been visiting here for awhile know that I don't believe in anything woo-woo. And for me, "woo-woo" can range from the belief that when you take communion the wine and bread turn into Jesus' blood and body, to believing that the universe is a benign and loving something-something that wants us to be happy. 
Wouldn't that be cool?

Don't get me wrong- I believe in miracles. The pragmatic miracles as I call them. The creation of life whether human or bean sprout, the love we can have for others that delights and sustains us, the fact that humans can survive unbearable things with grace. Sunrises, sunsets, camellias, art, eggs.
Keith Richards. 
You know. 

But I do not believe that if you write down five things you're grateful for every day you will become a happier person. 
I think I've said this before but I can remember as a child singing a song that I guess is a hymn whose lyrics go, "Count your blessings, count them one by one/And you'll be surprised to see what god has done."
Sounded good to me. So I tried it. I counted up those blessings. I had a place to live and food to eat and whatever else an eight-year old considered a blessing in her life. 
Guess what? None of the horrible stuff in my life that was happening changed in the least. And it also raised the question- if god had done the good stuff for me, who was doing the bad stuff? 
It was all rather mystifying. 

I've never had a problem with being grateful. In fact, I may be hyper-grateful. But I am under no delusions that being grateful for so many things in my life has the slightest chance of negating that which has been, or may possibly be, incredibly difficult. 

So yes. It's been one of those days. I can and do feel grateful for what I have and what my situation is and all the many blessings I have been given but that doesn't counteract my Sunday sadness, my feelings of hopelessness. 

And then I looked out the kitchen door to see this. 

And I had a picture to take. 

Does that magnificence change the way I feel? 
Not really. 
But it reminds me that beauty alone is enough to make me want to wake up again tomorrow. 

And I probably will. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Beautiful Day Report

I could not love this weather more. Highs in the low seventies, lows in the high thirties. Well, until tomorrow when it's going to be a low of fifty-two and a high of sixty-four and it's going to rain all day. Oh well, it'll be a cozy day to stay inside. 

I seem to have developed a new style of doing yard work. I mentioned this the other day. Instead of picking out one area and sternly telling myself that I am going to tackle it and get it done, I am sort of gently meandering about with my garden cart and pruners and trowel and letting myself flow organically from one spot to another. I started out today in the bed pictured above which is right outside the kitchen. There are a few rose bushes in there that needed pruning so I started with those and then I got my loppers out and pruned that sago palm. I picked up a lot of the litter from last year's crop of pine cone lilies and turmeric as well as bananas. It wasn't a lot. I did NOT start pulling border grass or that horrible, awful, chenille plant that is taking over that area. There are dead chenille plants covering the coming-up chenille plants and I just can't deal with that right now. I'm being all Scarlett O'Hara about it. 

But since I had my loppers out I decided to trim back some azaleas that have died and left ugly branches looping about so I did that and found myself right next to the fence in front of the house. 

That area's been griping me because the freeze bit and blackened the firespike that I rooted and planted there and they looked like hell. So I started in on them as well as the dead stems of the phlox. It was nice to see the firespike and the phlox are both starting to put out this year's new growth. I hope we don't get another freeze but that is a possibility as it's only February. Some of the coldest weather I can remember around here happened in March. But still- it's always heartening to see new growth. Those two dead-looking plants are bridal wreath spirea that I planted there and should not have because they do not get enough sun and hardly bloom. Eventually I think I'm going to have to take them out. I have another one that I planted in a sunnier spot and it does well. It's forming the tiniest little buds you ever saw in your entire life. 

While I was working by the fence I also pulled the little oak and cherry laurel sprouts as well as the incredibly invasive Florida holly (which is neither native to Florida OR a holly) trying to take hold. BEGONE! I told them. 
It felt so good to be outside on my knees, cutting and pulling and being able to observe the new green coming up. I had a moment of very peaceful and calm almost-ecstasy, in fact. One of those rare moments in time when you feel like you are doing exactly what you want to be doing, what you need to be doing. I was listening to another one of my beloved ex-Mormon podcasts to which I am still absolutely unexplainably addicted. Does that ruin the image of the moment for you? 
Oh well. It's the truth. My ecstasy is my ecstasy. And yours is yours.

And after I got to the part of the fence where there were no more dead plants to trim back, I pulled a few more weeds and rootlings and hauled everything to the burn pile and came inside, folded some laundry, started the dishwasher and sat down to write this. I feel content. It's good to have my husband home. He spent most of the day trying to replace the struts on a car of his with little success. He is somewhat frustrated but he'll figure it out. He always does. 

Maurice came and hung out with me while I was outside as she so often does. 

Here's the next bed I might start working on.

It's a mess with its own last year's phlox, border grass, and another horrible, terrible, awful, and invasive plant which is the Mexican petunia. I have no idea how it got there. I certainly did not plant it. In fact, I once approached a couple in the parking lot of Lowe's who were carrying a bunch of those demon plants to their car and told them that if they planted them in their yard they would end up being the bane of their existence. 
They took them back. I am still proud of that moment. 
A friend of mine broke her arm by falling while trying to pull those motherfuckers. It should be illegal to sell them here. 

So much with the ecstasy, right? It is a fleeting and precious thing. Unless you're talking about MDA or MMDA which is not as fleeting but which I am NOT talking about. Although maybe someday. 

That's the wisteria. It just occurred to me to check it and it, too, is responding to the cosmic messages it receives which tell it to begin its yearly glory, becoming knobby as arthritic knuckles. 

Time to make supper. 

Love...Ms. Moon 

Ahh...The Sleep Of The Peaceful War Field

This was the sight this morning of the southwest corner of the main crossroad in Lloyd. The one with the flashing light. In the distance you can see the post office which is where I was going when I took the picture. The old store is falling down and is trashy enough on its own so, hey! let's throw in an abandoned sofa with a pint liquor bottle on it! The dump is literally a block away. 
I bet you anything that sofa is going to be there for months. I hope I'm wrong. But honestly, the old store looks so bad that it hardly matters. Someone bought that building and they haven't done one thing to it or with it. If they tear it down, I don't think it can be zoned for anything and the parking lot is minuscule. The county's been on the owners for years to do SOMETHING but so far, there has been no progress. 
It's like I say though- I'm so used to it I don't see it anymore but hopefully, it will dissuade people who are thinking of moving here not to. Is that mean? Yes it is. Is it logical? No it's not. 

Does it work? 
Well, maybe. Along with the trailer park with the rusted out abandoned trailers and other assorted sites of sheer ugly. Manmade, all of them, of course. 

But it was another beautiful day and Mr. Moon called this morning to say he was on his way home and he should be here in about forty-five minutes, in time to make me a Friday night martini. So that's pretty exciting. I told him I wasn't sure he was going to come home at all but he claims to miss me and his cats and his bed and I'm wondering if its really all in that order. Making up the bed with clean sheets took me most of the day. Now there's a story behind this, of course. 

Last night, Jack was on the bed with me and we were sleeping peacefully and suddenly, I was awoken by the sound of cat-fury. Hissing, howling, spitting, slashing. And it was all happening up by my head. I started screaming at them and Maurice jumped off the bed and ran. I guess she'd thought she could sneak up there and sleep on the bed too but of course Jack was not about to tolerate that. 
I checked my phone and it was 1:37 a.m. and I thought, "Oh hell, I'll never get back to sleep now," and then promptly fell back asleep. So that was fine and I'd completely forgotten about it until I went to strip the bed this morning, only to find some pretty serious bloodstains all over the area in which the fight was held. My first thought was, "Oh god! Am I dying?" but quickly realized that the stains were not where I sleep and realized it had come from one or both of those damn slashy, bitey cats. I checked them for wounds but saw nothing apparent and I haven't seen any more blood today so I guess they're all right. 

But the blood had gotten all the way through TWO mattress pads which I use to keep the sheets from sliding around and actually, onto the mattress itself. 
I did three jumbo-sized loads of laundry and I'm pretty sure those bloodstains are never going to go away entirely. Too bad Oprah can't come help me. I heard her on a podcast one time and she could not quit talking about stain removal. It was like her new favorite hobby. I think she was there to talk about empowering women but the subject kept going back to stain removal. I bet she's good at it. 

Another thing I did today was to talk for two entire hours on the phone with my oldest best friend. She called me and we caught up and it was so delightful. We weren't even teenagers when we met in the sixth grade and now here we are, two old crones, cackling for all we're worth. I never talk to anyone on the phone much anymore. But when I see her number come up, I answer. We've both been through a lot since we met, as one does living a life, but it's just such a comfort and a joy to be able to recall the things that we truly bonded over all those years ago and how they still sometimes relate to what we're doing and experiencing now. And somehow, those memories seem like they happened yesterday. We haven't laid eyes on each other in almost thirty years but when we talk, we just continue the conversation we started over sixty years ago. 
I love her so much. 

So that was mostly my day. Doing laundry and talking to my girlfriend and sort of getting ready for Mr. Moon to come home. That doesn't really require much though. I thawed out some chicken and picked some salad greens and I have bread rising. It'll be good to see him but there's always a little period for me of re-acclimating when he gets home. Like, "What are all these clothes doing in the laundry room?" as well as having to think about someone else's needs when I've just gotten so used to being a wild and crazy old woman by myself. But I have a lot of practice and it's nice getting hugs and kisses again and having someone to laugh with and bitch to about things I feel bitchy about (and I don't mean him) and yes, even cook for. 

He's my sweetheart. 

I really wanted to show you all some of the different colors of pink that my camellias come in but I wasn't able to come up with a way to truly get good comparison shots. Here's what I did get, though.

There's a bush I have blooming that Kathleen gave me which puts out blossoms that are barely a shade past white. The most delicate pink you can imagine. And then of course there the shades of young-girl's first dance lipstick pink, and baby cheek pink, and the possibly quite perfect pink of the pink perfections. I don't even know what to call the pink of the ones that are probably my favorite. And all of these flowers contain their own different varying shades of pink- universes of pink in and of themselves. 
Colors that would make Barbie cry. 

The man should be home any minute so I guess I'll go powder my nose and do my hair. 
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! 

I hope I'm wearing my most fetching overalls but I think that would be an oxymoron. 

Oh, one more thing! Billy's son Waylon texted me this morning. He said, "Happy Groundhog Day. The groundhog didn't see his shadow so spring is coming early!" 

I was so honored and so charmed by this. It was a beautiful way to start off the day. I answered him and thanked him for letting me know. And as I texted back to him, it sure looks like spring around here. 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

P.S. Title of this post is courtesy of Rebecca who was responding to a text I sent her about the catfight that didn't keep me awake nearly as long as I thought it would. I asked her permission and she graciously granted it. 

P.P.S. Mr. Moon is home, safe and sound, and martinis are being enjoyed. All is well with my world. 

How Fortunate I Am

That's a neighbor's redbud tree that's blooming. I took its picture this morning while I was taking a walk. I'm not sure it looks very healthy. We used to have a redbud in this yard but it died, as did the dogwoods. We used to have so many dogwoods around here and now they're gone. Mostly. Supposedly they were killed by something called Dogwood Anthracnose. I surely do miss them. When they were in full bloom, they looked like clouds come to earth to show off for a little while. 

I spent time outside today as it was another beautiful day and not too cool but definitely cool enough. I pruned back all the roses and then I worked some around the huge live oak in the front yard, clearing the detritus left from last summer's growth. I cut back some of the skinny bamboo that seems to just appear out of nowhere, six feet tall before I notice it. Another pesky plant. I pulled some dewberry vines and also wisteria vines that were tangled in some of the bamboo. There is so much more to do. I seem to just wander from one part of the yard to another with my clippers and garden cart, never finishing any area completely, merely pulling and pruning and digging up whatever is in front of me. 

As I worked today, I got some of those visceral memories that occur at certain times of the year. It's a combination of the light, the temperature, and probably even the smell, and perhaps the sounds of certain birds. Suddenly, out of the blue, I kept getting flashbacks of when we first bought this house, 21 years ago this same time of year. We didn't move in for a few months, needing to do a few things before that happened. A little painting, a few repairs. I don't know. But in those months I cleaned this house top to bottom and I spent time outside, mostly just walking around and falling in love with the property, the oak trees, the old barn, wondering what I'd plant in different places, wondering what would be coming up in spring, taking it all in and falling in love with this place harder every day. An old house and its yard have a feeling all their own. A sort of history that you can sense. The yard gives up secrets of old bottles and pieces of dishes, children's toys, railroad spikes, and farm implements. There had been life here for well over a hundred years and now, we would be part of that. 

These fleeting but strong flashes of those early days are thrilling, not unlike when you look at your love and for some reason get a perfect and vivid reminder of how you felt when you first met. Before you knew their every quirk and habit, before they knew yours. When there was still a process of mysterious and shimmering discovery occurring, when each and every part of them was so new and so very charming. Before some of those oh-so-darling quirks turned into, "Could you please not...?" or "Seriously, you like to hunt THAT much?" With a house it's more like finding out that that the cool antique hardware on the doors is not very easy to use or that those really cool kitchen floors slant downwards, making it almost impossible to level kitchen appliances and every cherry tomato you ever drop is going to end up in the poorly designed space in front of the cabinets which also collects dirt, medications, cat food, and feral beans. And yeah, mouse droppings because you have MICE! 
But if the love, either for the person or the house, is true and strong, you just learn to live with these things and you can even come to cherish them because they are part of what or who you love. 

But oh, those seconds of the rememberings...they are part of the joy of long love. And today I felt that as I was in my yard. 

This is the live oak I was doing some clearing around today. I have no idea how old this tree is but I am quite sure it is at least 200 years old. It is elderly. Its bark is as wrinkled and bumpy as an aged elephant's skin. You can't get a feeling of how large it is from that picture but take my word for it- it's big. 

That branch to the right has a huge hole in it. The branch itself is probably hollow. Some day, the tree will drop that branch. I have been expecting this to happen for twenty-one years now. 
I cannot say I worship this tree because that would be inaccurate. I am not a Pagan. But I can say that I am in awe of this tree and that I feel incredibly lucky to have shared part of my life in its shade and presence. 

The two largest oaks in my backyard are well into the dying process. They have lost huge parts of themselves in storms. The sound when those parts of them fell away was not something I'll ever forget and the ground indeed shook when it happened. 

When the section on the right of that tree fell, it stretched all the way across my backyard. That tree, and the other huge one I spoke of, are both on the railroad's property and so they sent a crew to deal with the fallen parts. I was so afraid that they were going to take out the entire trees but they did not. 
I was grateful beyond belief. And the parts that are still living reach way into the sky and provide shelter and habitat for who knows how many different species of flora and fauna. They are an eco-system all unto themselves. 

So yes, it has been a good day here in Lloyd. A day when I was able to remember with my mind and eyes and skin what it was like to first come here and be in awe of what I was going to be allowed to live in, to live beside, to live with. 
But not to own. I was never fool enough to believe that anyone could own this place. On paper, sure. But in reality- I was just fortunate enough to be part of the long line of humans who have had the honor of caretaking this house, these trees. I think that the trees were probably here long before Europeans ever stepped foot in this area. I like to imagine the indigenous people who lived here so long ago stopping to rest under the shade of them as they went about their lives. 

And that's what I've been thinking about today. 

Love...Ms. Moon