It's A Beautiful Morning

I keep thinking that tomorrow will be a better day. That I will wake up and this gnawing beast in my heart will be quieter in his chewing, that my thoughts will be more placid, more in tune with the cool, sweet air, the light which pours over everything, unhindered by the leaves of the pecan which are on the ground now leaving the limbs bare and unable to block the outpouring of the sun's affection.

I have moments of epiphany where I tell myself to let things pass through me, these thoughts, these worries, these jagged bits of unbased fear, just let them in and show them the way out, leaving me untouched and fine, tell myself to breathe in and breathe out, just so.
Yeah.

I slept so many hours last night and here I am again, using sleep as a drug and as a drug, it works well. But the time comes when you have to get up, no matter. You have to. There is no more sleep in you for that time.

Eating is becoming a problem. I don't care for it. And if I don't want to eat, I don't want to cook either. Thanksgiving is coming up and god knows I have plenty to be thankful for, not the least is which I am quite certain that in a day or two I will wake up and these feelings will be calmed. I know that.

Well, until then, one goes on. There is a walk to be taken, there are nests in the hen house to clean out. There is a house to clean, a birthday party to go to. There are lines to begin learning. I started marking my lines last night and I am wondering at Jack and Jan's sanity in assigning me a part which has so many of them. Truvy is in almost every scene, offering a line here and a line there. I think I am going to love Truvy and I can't wait until I can embrace her fully and take her into myself, giving her back out onstage. Dr. Stage, the real actors call it. You may puke before you walk onto it, but once there, you are healed. I am hoping for the best. I am going to do my best but that doesn't mean I am not scared to death.

Scared to death. I remember when depression danced with me by itself and as ridiculous as this sounds, I wish it were still so. Why did it decide to bring a new dancer with it? This anxiety? I knew the dance before, the steps. I did not like the dance, but it was familiar. Now, two years after this new partner has shown up, I am still confused and clumsy. I am wishing they would grasp each other- depression and anxiety- and forget about me in their dancing, go off together and leave me be, but no, they have formed some sort of crazy bond and decided that I am a perfect hostess for their goings-on.

It will pass. It will pass. It will pass.

It is a beautiful morning. I am not lying. It is.

Mr. Moon

Do you see this man? He is probably, along with my children, the reason I am still here.
The first night he stayed with me I gave him the first test. He was going on about how beautiful I was or some such thing and I said, "Don't bullshit me, man."
He has done his best not to ever since then.

Tonight we were sitting on the porch, having our Friday night martini and we were talking about this and that, things we might want to do in the future and I said, "I need to get out of this hole before I can think of doing anything at all," and he said, "I'll be here when you're ready."
And then he asked me again if there was anything he could be doing or should be doing or shouldn't be doing to make me feel better and I said, "No. You are doing perfect."
And then I told him that I would marry him again tomorrow.
"I feel the same," he said.

Oh that man.
Tall as the clouds and sweet as honey. Feet on the ground and arms long enough to wrap around me and pull me close.

We were talking about how it's time to start thinking about building our house in Apalachicola and he asked me a while later, after a kiss, "Will you kiss me on our deck looking out on the bay in Apalachicola?"
"If we have a deck in Apalachicola, I sure will."

I have no ending for this little bit of writing. I hope I never do.

If he lives to be ninety-nine, I hope to live that long too, minus one minute.

What else can I say?

I call him Mr. Honey Man. I call him my husband. I call him my love.

I call him Mr. Moon. That is his name.

Early Morning

It is dark as ink outside and yet, I'm up. Mr. Moon is already out of the door to go to the gym. He is like that Nike commercial- Just Do It.
Me, I'm like a, well, it's too early to think. But I am definitely not a Just Do It sort of girl. I'm a waffler, a drama queen, a preparer, a procrastinator, a no, no, no, I can't do it sort of woman.
I'm a stay-very-still-in-the-sheets until the last second sort of person. Not a jump-up-and-get-it-done sort of person.

Another doctor today, but this one Kathleen's surgeon. We go up to Thomasville so he can take out her stitches, check to see that the incision sites are all clean and not infected. I talked to her yesterday and she is not feeling very well. This last chemo kicked her ass. She's taking it easy, though, resting. Trying to eat. Taking her nausea medication, doing her best. She's such a reminder of how strong humans can be. She puts me to shame, she does.

The sky is lightening. Elvis is crowing in the hen house. I need to go take a shower, get dressed, go let the chickens out into the coop, get on the road.

The dogs are lying at my feet, Buster on a pillow which has fallen to the floor, his head tucked into his legs.

This chilly day has begun and here we go.

Happy Friday, y'all.
Love...Ms. Moon

Haiku My Heart, Beware The Virgin

Altars everywhere
The eye cannot rest for fear
Of some Virgin's gaze

I believe this is self-explanatory. And yet, at the same time, there is no explanation whatsoever. It is what it is.

You may join us, if you wish, over at rebecca's place for more haiku.
And don't be afraid- you, too, can haiku.
We'd like it if you did.

Done

I am tired. I am just so fucking tired. Anxiety will wear your ass out. It will strip you down and leave you cold and empty.

Yeah, yeah. Everything went fine. They renewed my antidepressant. Does it help if you cry? I guess so.

Time with Owen was good. I held him to me and he patted my back after I changed his diaper. "There, there," he seemed to say. "There, there, Grandmother."

He fell asleep in my arms and before I put him on the bed, I kissed his bow-tie lips so softly.
What a wonder he is to me. What a surprise that I never could have dreamed.

It's too late for a nap, too early to go to bed. My espresso didn't even touch this tiredness. Didn't even call its name.

Well. Laundry. There's always laundry. Dead flowers to throw out. Pine cone lilies to replace them with. There's that.

And then something for dinner. Something. I don't even care what. I'm fat. But my blood pressure's good.

Well, tomorrow's another day. Thank god.

Anxiety, Part II

Well. Good morning.
I'm showered and have eaten my twigs and seeds and the chickens are fed as well as the cats and dogs.
It's chilly.
My anxiety level, on a scale of one to ten is merely around a five so I'd say that was pretty darn good. Pre-ty,pre-ty good, as Larry David would say.

I've put on my big girl panties and am going to go. See the doctor. Or nurse practitioner. I hope. I like them better.
Feet in stirrups. Breasts bared and kneaded.
Etc. Etc.

Then to lunch with Lily and Owen and Pop-Pop. Maybe. If Pop-Pop gets back from the woods in time. Then I'm taking care of Owen for a few hours at his house.
Okay. It's a plan.
I have my knitting and I have a book.

I shall survive.

Wish I had the courage to ask whoever does my pelvic if I could take a picture of her in action to share. That would be a nice shot.

I won't.

Too bad.

Here I go.

Love...Ms. Moon

Anxious

Mr. Moon is washing the dishes. He claims he is all the dishwasher I need.
Well. Maybe.
God love him. I sure do.

I was so anxious tonight that when I came home from town I took an entire Ativan. Just the tiny one. And I have to say that it really did help. I made the supper and I hope I can sleep tomorrow.

I really wish I knew why going to the doctor causes me so damn much anxiety. It always has. It may have something do with flu shots- it took three people to hold me down to give me one when I was about seven. Things did not improve after that. I'm not afraid of being stuck, I'm not afraid of being prodded. I think I am just afraid of being told that I have a terminal illness. And I'm not afraid of dying, either. It's just somehow the thought of being ill...

I don't know. But when I tell you how much courage it takes for me to go get a check-up believe me.
And then they'll want me to get the tests. THE TESTS. The colonoscopy. The mammogram. The bone density test. The bloodwork. All of the damn tests which yes, save lives. Sometimes.

Meanwhile, the things that actually do bother and hurt me- well, they can never find a reason for those things so I'm crazy, I guess, on top of just being neurotic and insane.

Well. By this time tomorrow, it will all be over. Except of course for...THE TESTS.

And I'm doing all of this because I need to either get a new antidepressant or start taking the full dose of the one I've been on for several years. I started taking half because...it made me so anxious to go back and be seen so that they would renew it that I tried to string out that time before I had to go back. It sort of worked. For awhile.
No. I have never claimed to be brilliant.

And let's not talk about the money this all costs. We only have catastrophic insurance. So. Well. Merry Christmas.

I had a good time in town today with my Jessie Girl. We had lunch and bought yarn and took Dad out to the airport to collect his car from the rental place. And we went to Costco and Publix. I took a good walk this morning.
It is going to get cold.

I'm going to go take a bath and read for awhile, then get in my bed and try to sleep.

So go ahead- tell me what a foolish person I am being. How immature. How irresponsible. Etc. Etc. It's okay. I agree with you.

Thank god I had that Ativan. That's all I have to say.

"I'm Just The Worst Little Buddhist In Town"

That title is a quote from Cher which I found in the Vanity Fair magazine last night. Cher is endlessly fascinating to me. I actually went to see her on one of her "final" tours some years back (thanks, Ms. Fleur!) and although it was quite the experience, it wasn't as much fun, somehow, as it was back in the olden days to get stoned and watch The Sonny And Cher Show.

Different realities and sometimes the least real is the most pleasant.
I think you know what I mean.

She looked amazing at that concert but still- there was something off-putting about it. She looked a little like a grandmother wearing her old show-girl costumes and you know that if your grandmother came out of her bedroom wearing one of those things you'd be like, "Oh, for god's sake, Grandma, have some fucking dignity!"

Just because you CAN do something, doesn't really mean you should.

BUT, hell, Cher is Cher and her grandmother just died recently so you know she's going to live forever and she'll be wearing feathers and a g-string up until the end (whoa! now there's an unintended pun!) and people will be paying the big bucks to see her do so.

Cher and Meryl Streep are good friends which is sort of surprising. They met when they did the movie Silkwood together and if you've never seen that movie, you should. It's a good one. The other night Mr. Moon and I watched It's Complicated with Ms. Streep and Alec Baldwin (don't you always think it's Alex? I do) and it was a sweet movie and Meryl is getting older but she's still gorgeous and that face- oh- that lovely face. There's an intelligence in that face that knocks me out and a beauty that is forever true. It's such a different sort of beauty than Cher's.
I find it hysterical that they're good friends. They seem so different and I'm sure they are.
But they're both mothers and they both love their children and seem to be proud of them, although it seems like Cher is having some difficulty with Chaz's transgendering. She still claims he's a lesbian and as I've said before- get over it, Cher! Men can't be lesbians!

Okay. I'm babbling.
Good morning.
The sun is out, I called the doctor. I have an appointment for tomorrow. Tomorrow! Jesus!

I took the pictures of the huge oak tree out front this morning because it was calling me. I love how the bark of it reminds me of an old elephant's skin.

Rather wrinkled and almost baggy in a frozen-in-time way and yet- beautiful and interesting in a way that a young, smooth tree just is not.

Too bad humans are not regarded with the same eye for beauty as trees.

Sigh.

Cher wouldn't have to keep getting plastic surgery and she wouldn't have to keep getting back into those fishnets either because she'd know that an old face can be as beautiful as a young one and a surgically rearranged and tightened face looks...surgically rearranged and tightened.
But, hell, as Cher said in the article, she could get her tits put on her back and it's no one's business but her own.
And some women are like Cher, and yes, Lady Gaga, too, who famously wore a meat dress

and some women are like Meryl Streep and they can all get along, and we can all see the beauty in their differences, their own definition of who and what they are.
It's complicated.

Well, here's another picture of the oak tree.

That's my reality this morning and yet, I am fascinated by Cher and I respect her and I can still see her beauty, as enhanced and rearranged as it's been.

I'm sorry. I'm too old to see Lady Gaga's beauty but I'll trust whoever tells me it's there.
(Meat hat? Meat purse?)

It's a big world and there's room for all sorts of beauty, that which shines and sparkles, that which simmers quietly, that which is not apparent at first glance but which, upon noticing, you can't keep your eyes off of.

I'm just happy to be here, observing it all, being amused and awed, and wondering where I fit in the whole picture. No answers today but I'll bet you this- I'll bet I'm the only blogger in the world today who posted about Cher AND oak trees.

Well. Maybe. Maybe not.

I'm as unique as you are and we are as unique as everyone else in what and how we think, how we look and feel, how we perceive this world and its amazing and mysterious ways.

And as long as Vegas pays Cher millions and millions to do a show, she'll be doing it, and there's something comforting in that. Not as comforting to me, personally, as that oak tree out front, but still, comforting.

Some of us are more unique than others.
You can quote me on that.

Love...Ms. Moon

Oh Lord

Well, I'm gonna be Truvy. In Steel Magnolias. Jan just called me.
I'm going to play a woman that Dolly Parton played on film and who says, "There is no such thing as natural beauty!"
Okay.
We shall see how this goes.
I have to tell you that I feel completely intimidated.
And a little bit excited.
I hope I can wear one of those beauty parlor smocks the whole time. And I guess I might have to curl my hair.
Help.

Indulge Me

That good boy was here most of the day. He comes in like the owner of the country, the ruler of the kingdom. And he knows he is.

There was no electricity when he got here. It was dark in the house but the rain was tapering off and we went out and found our first egg in a week. A huge green one and we were both overjoyed. I mean, I love my chickens and would probably keep them as pets but it's mighty nice to get eggs.

The rain cleared for awhile entirely and we went for a walk, up Main Street and to the post office. We talked to Ms. Liola, we discussed the power outage with quite a few folks. "Around eleven it should be back on, they said," was the word on the street. I hadn't even bothered to call it in.
And sure enough, just when we got home from our walk, we found the lights on again. Good timing for us although we didn't really do that much which required electricity, although we did some laundry, Owen helping by shutting the door on the washer, putting things in, pushing buttons.

I swept the floors and he found the old fireplace popcorn popper and used it as a vacuum. He didn't learn that here, I'll tell you. I never vacuum. He ran the popper over the floors as I swept them. We were a team.

He pulls chairs out from underneath the tables and climbs on them and then proceeds to belly himself up on the tables, too. He reaches for the camera, he hands it to me, finds a pen, hands that to me too. There is nothing safe from Owen.

We played on the porches and we went out to the garden. We looked at books and he found his dust mop for more cleaning. He emptied the cabinets and he spent a good fifteen minutes with a tube of tennis balls, opening it, taking the balls out, putting them back, replacing the lid.

He fed muffins to the dogs and ate pizza and yogurt on the run. We gave crackers to the chickens and every time one of them took one from him, he'd give a yelp of joy. He didn't have any major falls and he can tell me what the cow says, the rooster, the hen, the chicken, the cat. His meow is perfect. He can also tell you what the ghost says.

After we go through the litany of animals I say, "Owen, what does the grandmother say?"
He looks at me and I say, "I LOVE YOU!" and then I hug him up, tight, and he lets me.

I'll tell you something- this early evening darkness is killing me. It's not a joke, how the early fading of light triggers something sad in my brain. SAD. Seasonal Effective Disorder. What a great name.
Well. The days will continue to grow shorter until they turn that corner and then, slowly, they will become longer again. And until then, I'll hang on. You will too.

And we will have joys. My Owen, my friends, my incredible family. I found a note when I got home yesterday from Mr. Moon that said, "You are the love of my life." He has no idea what those notes mean to me.

I'm going to go make a salad with just-picked arugula. It doesn't even know it's dead yet, those peppery greens. And carrots, shredded and orange. And celery and dried cranberries and chicken and tomatoes, too. I'm going to throw everything in there. Mr. Moon will be home soon.

Tomorrow I call the doctor. Tomorrow I will do that.

And then I'm going to go to town and buy the fresh cranberries and pecans to make the cranberry orange relish for Thanksgiving and more pink yarn. I'm knitting up a storm and these old hands wake up hardly able to turn the fan off but I don't give a shit.

Busy hands are damn good things.

The rain has cleared. The sun has set. Owen discovered puddles today. He walked right through them and was happy.

And that made me happy too.

Be Careful What You Wish For

It rained all night. My electricity must have gone out at some point because my clock was flashing on and off, on and off.
I got up and got my trust Timex Expedition with the Indiglo and it told me what time it was.

It was early/late.

It's still raining this morning, coming in waves like labor pains. The wind whips up and drives branches and wind chimes into a frenzy and then it calms down again to just the constant rain falling.

Owen will be here soon. No walking about outside for us this morning. Just running in the house, climbing, munching food and playing with toys. And reading books. And playing peek-a-boo. And kissing. I hope he's in a kissing mood.

Kathleen left after oatmeal and tea to go home to her kids. Her dogs are her kids and she worries about them all night long when she's not with them. They worry about her too. She seemed to be feeling okay and I had a good time with her last night. I hope she's cuddled up now with Maggie and Harry and Bob and a few of the cats too.
I assume her chickens are still in their coop but with Kathleen...well, you never know.

The rain pours. The ground opens its dusty mouth and receives.

Good morning.

A Day

So we went up to Thomasville this morning, Kathleen and Judy and I and checked into the cancer center. This was certainly not our first visit there but it was our first time for Kathleen to get chemo there.
We sat in the waiting room for a good long while but they finally called us and damn! only one person is allowed to go back to the "Infusion Suite" with each patient.
This totally fucked us up. We are used to being a team of three, not to mention the fact that Thomasville's cancer center has been just a delight in every way. No signs on the wall telling us not to use our cell phones and every one knows every one and there are muffins and Sarah Lee pastries for us to indulge in, not to mention coffee and oh yes, that adorable Dr. M.
So- we were like little children who had been given every thing they asked for and then suddenly denied a whim or wish - What?! Only one person can accompany the patient?
But that was the rule so we stuck to it and I stayed with Kathleen and Judy went outside and stretched out in the sun and I stayed with Kathleen while the nurse came and did her teaching and stuck a needle into Kathleen's new port and started the whole chemo process.
Here's what Kathleen looked like:
Ain't she cute?
And then I took my camera and walked around and took this picture of the walled garden outside:
I'm sensing a theme here. In Tallahassee, there was always that giant blown-up condom
across the way from where Kathleen got her chemo and now- well- is it just me- or is that trickling little terra-cotta pipe fountain just the least bit phallic?
Whatever. It was so much more pleasant in Thomasville. The nurses seemed far more sure of themselves, the whole process went smoother and much more professionally and there was plenty of real sunshine, coming in through the windows.

After Kathleen got settled in, Judy and I took off to run some errands in Thomasville. We went to the tractor store and the Goodwill. That was fun. And then we went downtown to find lunch. As I have mentioned, Thomasville is one of the prettiest old southern towns you can imagine. Her are two images I caught:
The Buster Brown Shoe Store is no longer there but the sign is. How many of you remember that sign? And the X-Ray machine? Oh my god. Well.
This is just a throw-away shot with the old brick road, the beautiful old buildings and a rather gorgeous cloud arrangement.

When we got back to the cancer center, I took a picture of the fountain out front with a crow who had been drinking deep of the fountain's waters in front.

While they were finishing up the last of the chemo, Kathleen asked me if I would make home-made pizza tonight.
Would I?
Oh hell yes.

Here it was before it went into the oven:
Onions, garlic, peppers, spinach, olives, mushrooms, sliced tomatoes.
Here it is after we ate our fill:
I am not even kidding you.
It was freaking good pizza.

And now Kathleen is in bed and I'm going to bed soon myself.
It's been a GOOD day because I got to spend it with women I love and finish it off by making something with my hands that pleased one of those women.

It's supposed to rain tomorrow. Storm maybe. We need rain so badly and we watched the clouds building up all afternoon and we are hoping for the best. It doesn't FEEL like it's going to rain but my joints ache like hell so maybe it will.

I'll tell you the truth- I feel at peace right now. I feel as if this day has been filled with what I was supposed to be doing.
And really- that's all I ask. That I feel that what I do is what it is that I've been put here for. To hold a hand, to drive the car, to feed the chickens, to make the pizza, to knit a few rows, to wash the dishes, to do some laundry.

Tomorrow I'll be taking care of Owen. I hope the rain pours down. I want to show that boy the rain from the porch, the lightening from the sky. I want to feed him pizza too.
And for right now, this feeling of being at peace is so sweet that I could weep.

But I don't feel like crying and that's good.
I've cried enough in the last few days.

Sleep well, y'all. Let's all sleep well and heal from whatever ails us.

Love...Ms. Moon

It's Almost Ever's Birthday. Let's Send Her Gifts.

This man and this woman are about to have a baby named Ever Elizabeth.
They have been wanting to have a baby together forever.
They have been raising three (or is it four?) children together almost forever.
They have been friends and lovers and husband and wife...forever.
And it is time to have this baby.
And we love Maggie May with hearts that overflow from the abundance of love she puts out into the universe with her words, with her warrior-heart, with her lover-heart, her mother-heart, her wife-heart, her WOMAN HEART. With her words she cuts our hearts into ribbons and then, with her words, sews them up again with painless, invisible stitches.

And we, the people who dip freely into the great shimmering pond of those words and who have come to love her, want to celebrate her and her family and the coming of this so-desired and beloved (already) child.
And because we live way too far apart to meet up for ginger ale and sherbet, cake and cookies, and to bring great bags of tissue-wrapped presents, some of us are hosting a cyber shower for this beautiful woman.
Maggie May. We love you with all our hearts and we offer our hearts to you and your family as this world shifts and rearranges itself to make room for this baby you are about to hold in your arms.

Ms. Petit Fleur has done the work of finding the codes to make the paypal donate button possible. You'll find that on the side, over there, right at the top. Maggie and her family will need some extra funds so that she can stay home for awhile with her newly born and if you'd like to help with that, please- do. Donate. That would be the very best gift you could give them.

And they are also registered at Baby's R Us Registryand their account can be accessed by name: Maggie Ethridge or Registry #: 46171571.

The hosts of this cyber shindig in honor of Maggie and their web sites (besides me, of course) are as follows.

Elizabeth---- The Moon Worn as if it had been a Shell

Terresa----- The Chocolate Chip Waffle

Mindy---- Petit Fleur's Adventures

Stephanie----Unsweet Mama

Go read what each of them has to say. You know them. We are, all of us, sisters together. You too. Unless you're a brother.

You know, here we are, this community of people who have found each other through our words and somehow, sometimes, we want to physically touch the people whose words we love because through those words, we have come to love the writers of them.

Let's do that. Let's change, if not THE world, then our world, a little bit, in a way that will show this amazing woman how cherished and loved she is.
She speaks the truth and my truth today is that she needs to feel and know that here we are. We love her.

And oh- even if you can't donate (and that is okay! I promise!) go to Maggie's place and leave your comments, your good wishes, your welcome to Ever Elizabeth. That may be the most important part of all.

Sending MY love to all of you and to the Currys.
If I had my way, we'd be sharing cake and ginger ale and sherbet.
But this will do.

Party on.
Love...Ms. Moon

Hiding

Here's the thing about depression- you hide it.
I've been struggling again for awhile, it had made its appearance all week on and off and I wrote about it some but then I'd cowboy up, cupcake, and I'd write something cheerful or grateful and that's good. There's nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all.

Yesterday I wrote a post that was horrible. Just, so fucking depressing and I deleted it and posted something else entirely which may have hinted at things but didn't go there, exactly.

So when I finally admit it, when I finally come here and write the words that tell how I am really feeling, it seems so very sudden and oh yes, here's Ms. Moon again, babbling on about her struggle with depression, blah, blah, blah, blah, we've heard it before, tomorrow or the next day she'll be babbling on about how glorious it all is, blah, blah, blah.
Right?
Right.

And I DO feel guilty about being depressed. Fuckin' A, I feel guilty! What right on this earth do I have to feel depressed? Okay, sure, there is adversity, my friend has cancer, the holidays are coming up (and for those of you who don't know me that well, here's a fact- I hate the holidays with a red, royal passion), and oh, I don't know. The fucking beans got frost bit. Who knows why this stuff triggers something in me?

I'll tell you this- I do honestly think it's very chemical. I have bad chemicals. And I take an antidepressant and I hate doing that. I take fish oils. I take magnesium and Vitamin D. All that stuff. And I don't know if I am just DNA'd to suffer depression or if something happened to me in the womb or in early childhood or what, but depression is part of my make-up. Some people meet adversity with renewed determination. I wish to god I was one of them.
But I'm not.
And I KNOW that depression and anxiety limit my life. I dreamed the other night that Mr. Moon was with a group of people, paddling a canoe across a lake to see a beautiful house and there was light everywhere on that lake and the woman in his canoe with him was a gorgeous creature with shining black hair and I stood on the shore and watched these people paddle off and I was so sleep-struck in my dream I couldn't even yell out for them to wait for me. I was stuck in sleep. On the shore.
You don't need to be Freud to figure that one out.

I also dreamed that there was a little girl who had been abused somehow by a predator and he had been seen in the area. She asked me if I thought she should do something about that. And thinking about it, later, of course that little girl was me.

A few days ago I started writing again on a memoir that I started awhile back that I am including recipes in. And I was writing a part about a particular time in my childhood where my stepfather had been at his worst with me and hell- that's a pretty obvious link.
So yes, I should DO something about that predator. Well, metaphorically, at least. But my god, the years I have spent in therapy, the years I have thought about it, worked through it, accepted, fought, accepted again, respected the effect it had on me and cherished the good parts, WHAT ELSE DO I DO?
Yes, I've done burning and release ceremonies too.
Don't ask me to do another. I don't have that kind of heart. If I did, I'd just go to church. Or something.
The supernatural, whether it comes in the form of sage or Jesus just does not work for me.

So what does work?
Exercise. Time. Patience.
Writing about it.
That helps.
And yet, here I go, feeling guilty again.

I write about it and my son calls to check on me.
I write about it and I now it causes my family grief.
I write about it and I am afraid that my friends won't tell me of their troubles or troubled thoughts.
I write about it and I feel tremendously self-indulgent.
I write about it and it eventually passes and then I feel stupid. Why did I write about something that I KNOW will go away?
Because.
While it's happening, it's so profoundly affecting.
While it's happening, it's impossible to believe in the logic of the knowledge it will pass.
While it's happening, there is no logic to be found. Oh sure, it's still there. The logic of knowing, though, and the logic of feeling are two entirely different things.
Chemicals.
Fucking chemicals.

I stole that picture from The Dishwasher's Tears. I didn't even ask permission. I THINK I saw somewhere on his blog that Tearful said it was okay to use his stuff. Did he or did I dream it?
I don't know but I do know this- I have never in my life seen an image which recreates the visual of how depression feels better than this picture.
Tearful created the image to illustrate grief on July 2, 2010.
Grief. Depression. Fear. Anger-turned-inwards. Anxiety.
It says it all, somehow.

So. Now I've written a self-indulgent post and stolen an image from a writer/artist whom I admire tremendously and I'm not proud of myself.
But I'm not hiding.

And I am going to go out into the world this afternoon. We are going to town to see Owen and get a few things we need.
And I did take a walk.
And I did pick up trash.
Trash which had been hidden by summer's growth but which is now visible as that growth dies back.
I am doing what I know how to do.

And I'm not going to apologize.

(I'm sorry. See- I can't stop myself.)

But as I keep saying- I know I am not the only one. I know I am not alone.
So if you know exactly what I'm talking about, know that you aren't either.

And we don't have to hide. It is not shameful to be depressed or tell the truth about it. It is not shameful to get help. I am going to call the doctor this week and that is one of the hardest things in the world for me to do.
But I'm going to do it.

There. Done.

We go on. As long as it takes. Nothing lasts forever. Etc.

My Blind Eye To The Sun

It's Sunday. He is home and all is well, the light is pouring like honey over the yard and house and this entire world we live in.
And yet- oh. God. I am struggling so.

You know, many people just quit posting at all when depression overcomes them. I suppose I should too.

I ain't fit to be with.

Do you know how guilty it makes me feel to have everything, every thing in the entire world and to feel this way and not be able to appreciate these blessings?

I hope you don't. I think many of you do.

Time to walk. Time to get out and put one foot in front of the other, quite literally, and then come home and continue to do so.

Waiting

I am waiting for Mr. Moon to come home. I have homemade chicken pot-pie leftovers and fresh, just-picked greens from the garden washed and put in the refrigerator. I've washed the sheets and made the bed up fresh. Not much left to do.

The audition went nicely. I loved seeing so many faces there, some easy and relaxed because they have been there before, some nervous and worried because they were in a new place, doing a new thing and that takes a lot of courage. There was one girl I'd bet my ass is in some sort of acting school. She had legs eight feet long and her skirt did not interfere with the view. (Perhaps I have been reading too much Chandler.) God would have approved that skirt, the better to see his handiwork. She'll get a part. I betcha.

I saw a woman there I hadn't seen in a long time. In fact, since I first auditioned at the Opera House myself about five years ago. We both got cast in a play but she discovered she had breast cancer before we really got going with it and she had to drop out. She was glad to see me too, and we talked. Her partner, I think, also got breast cancer in the last few years and died just this year. Before she died, she made this woman promise she would go back onstage.
And she would be a perfect Ousier. I told my friend Pat that until I saw this woman, I wanted the part of Ouiser but that I'd rather not be in the play at all than not see her get that part. I also told Pat that I meant it too, and wasn't just saying it because I'm a good Christian woman, which made Pat laugh. She's the wife of a minister and I love her because she IS a good Christian woman and a wicked one, too, in her own good way and she knows I'm not a Christian woman at all, but we probably agree on far more things than we differ on. I would love to be in a play with her again. We've been in several together.

So it was fun. Jack and Jan are directing and I always love working with them and will love it again if I get cast. I hope I do. Maybe that would get my head out of my ass. But if I don't, life will go on and god knows I'm busy enough as it is. But I always know that no matter what, my time spent at the Opera House is always good time. Always healing time. Always a bit magical.

He's coming home. That man is coming home. And here I sit and wait. I should go put the rugs on the floor that I have washed and dried, hang up his towel that I laundered. It's always a bit of a shock when he's been gone and comes back. I have to readjust to the reality of someone else being here, of another person in the house, having another person's needs to consider.
Since that person is my husband, it works out.
I will be astounded, once again, at how tall he is. I know- after almost twenty-seven years of knowing him, that should not surprise me so much anymore, but you know it does.

So many things surprise me that should not. And that's just the way it is.
I am waiting for him to come home. I wonder what surprises he will bring me besides his height.
His love always surprises me. Never ceases to amaze me, too.

And isn't that a wonder?
I think so.

He's here.

Decoding The Invisible Code Of The DNA Of The Mind

I woke up this morning from dreams which I described to Kathleen as the floor sweepings of complete junk, dumped out for my brain to show me.

And then after actually thinking about them for three or four seconds, I realized they had more obvious meaning than anything I've dreamed in a long, long time which is not to say they WEREN'T the results of brain floor sweepings, it's just that my brain has some really untidy and nasty stuff in there.

Kathleen wanted to go home this morning and said she was feeling fine so I took her. When we pull into her place, I always feel as if we are entering a kingdom of sorts, a magical kingdom where the dogs and the cats and the chickens and the flowers all reach out to her in the light of her own piece of this earth's sun and embrace her back into themselves. The dogs are frantic to see her again, the cats act as they don't care but each must have his or her scratch and rub, each must have part of mama in some way. The roses, still blooming, seem to open a little fuller, the peeps sing a little sweeter.
She is that sort of woman who has created a kingdom of simple and good things and she is happy there.
There is so much to be said for that. There is so much I could say about loving Kathleen.

I talked to Mr. Moon and he is on his way home to me. I am so glad. He got to ramble and rove around the place he grew up, he got to see his cousins, he got to hunt and fish. He is not bringing home a Tennessee buck but he is bringing home memories and something he can only get from going there, just as I can get things in Roseland I can get no where else.
I will be so glad to see him pull in tonight. So very, very glad.

I guess I am going to the Opera House this afternoon. They are having auditions for Steel Magnolias and hell, I might as well try. I've never seen the play or read it either but I know it's quite different from the movie and it all takes place in Truvy's beauty salon and there are no men in the cast. Only six women. As much energy and time as it takes to be a part of a stage play, I know it is good for me. I know I need to step out of myself at times and put something else on center stage, quite literally. And who knows? I may not get a part. I can only imagine that every woman in Jefferson county would like to be a part of this and half the women in Leon county, too. But I'll go.
I've done no preparation and it'll be cold reading but I'll do the best I can.
I will do the best I can.

Which is what I am doing this day. I swear. I feel like I'm in the middle of a crazy sea that pops up tsunamis one moment and the waves wash me into a placid place the next.

Here are some pictures. Jessie took the ones of Owen yesterday. When Kathleen and I got back from Thomasville Jessie was here taking care of Owen until I could get back and when I took him on my hip, it was like I could finally breathe again.
Look at this face:

And look at this face:

I took that of Elvis this morning.

And the faces of the loquats:

They are opening now to the delight of the bees.

And then finally this:

He is so brave and so curious and he has my heart in every pocket of his jeans and he has my soul in his finger.

It is one of those days where I cannot understand why I have to feel everything so damn much.

I guess I just have to. And if I didn't, well, I would not be who I am. I would not be floating in this crazy sea and I would have missed everything that matters.

That's what I'm telling myself as I do my best, as I think about the things revealed in sleeping, dreaming, and awakening.

Happy Saturday, y'all.

Love...Ms. Moon

Thanks and A Request For A To Check In, Please

Thank-you all so much for every precious word and comment. All is well here. I'll write more later.
It's been a long day.
Right now, though, I need A to get in touch with me if you could? Some friends are trying to do the same diet as you have been doing for awhile and need some help. I have lost your e-mail address.
Thank-you.
Love you ALL....Mary

Haiku My Heart, The Goodness Of Being Alone For Awhile

This week I have held
Just my grandson and myself
With these, my old hands

It has been a very different sort of week for me. I have been mostly alone, my husband out of town and me sick with a sort of cold/flu. I have learned a great deal this week, not the least of which is that my husband creates 90% of the laundry in this house.
And it has been good.
Sickness causes us to pause, to rest. Causes us to turn necessarily inwards. I think of all the commercials on television, advising us that if we take this medication, or that one, we can go out into the world and act as if we were not ill at all, and thus we spread our viruses, thus we ignore our most basic instincts, thus we treat our bodies as if they did not matter at all.
I have been alone and yet, mostly not lonely. I have written more, read more, and thought more than I have done in a long time. I have had moments of profound melancholia. I have had moments of peace. I have drunk more tea than I have perhaps ever drunk in my lifetime up 'til now. I have slept well. I have had strange and wondrous dreams.
I have missed my husband. I have thought of him every moment. I have been so glad that he is where he grew up, in the rocky hills of Tennessee, happy in the woods, watching the morning there catch light, watching the deer come in and the wild turkeys flock. I have talked to his sister about the death of their dear aunt, I have said to her, "We need to go have some FUN! Let's go to Las Vegas!"
Well. It's been a week. It has seemed as if nothing was happening while at the same time, I have realized that even in rest, growth occurs. I have hosted an entire lifespan of a virus. I am, I have to say, grateful to it. It gave me the opportunity this week of being alone to rest. To hold myself, as it were, in my very own old hands. I have realized that the world can turn without me. That I can use these hands to hold myself.
And yet, it is only the knowing that they will be used to help and hold others which has made this time so precious. And if I had the words to thank all of you for being there for me this week, I WOULD be Raymond Chandler. I would be Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings. I would be a great writer. But I don't. And I'm not. But I tell you this- if I hadn't been able, this week by myself, to send my words out and then have proof that they were read- well. I don't know. And I do know this- your words here and on your own blogs are so real to me that I can almost feel your flesh. I can almost feel your faces in my hands. I can feel your hearts in my own heart. So I hold you too, in these old hands. They are wrinkled but they are soft and they are strong. Can you feel them? I hope so. I do.

For more Haiku, go visit rebecca.

Update

I went over to Kathleen's where she and Judy were both in their respective lounging positions watching an old black and white movie on TBS.
"What's on?" I asked.
"We don't know," one of them said. "It's Pat O'Brien week. We're just watching lots of Pat O'Brien movies."
I don't think they've moved much since Kathleen got her surgery on Wednesday. She was, in fact, completely floored at how seriously her body took surgery. As in pain. As in needing to sleep all the time. As in being nauseous. As in not wanting to move, eat, or, well, move.
Judy is being her caretaker. She warned me before I went over there that Kathleen was still in her hospital gown and she herself was in sweats and wasn't wearing her hair. I said, "Well, then I'll fit right in in my overalls and my undershirt and holey socks. I sure as shit ain't putting a bra on. But I do have hair."
"That's okay," she said.

I stayed for awhile, knitting and chatting while yet another Pat O'Brien movie came on and then I started coughing and felt like I was spewing viruses into the air. So I said, "Well, I guess I'm going to take my surprisingly full head of hair on home."

That made 'em laugh. I love those women. God, I love those women.

I called Mr. Moon just awhile ago and we had a nice chat. He's still up in Tennessee and he hasn't gotten his big buck but he's still hopeful. He told me about the little four-point buck he saw this morning, chasing two does for all he was worth. Animals have interesting sex lives which seem to me to be at least as complex as humans' sex lives.
Anyway, we laughed about the little buck going after the women and we talked about Aunt Elizabeth, too. He'd read my blog post about her and said it was perfect and that it had made him cry and boy, if that didn't make me feel good, I don't know what would. Not that my husband cried, but that I got it right enough so that it moved his heart. I love that man.

Now the crazy thing is, is that another aunt of his has also had a stroke. She was the wife of Mr. Moon's daddy's brother. So Aunt Ann is the last of that little group and who would have thought that she'd have a stroke a few days after Elizabeth, and yet- she has. She is not expected to live, either and you just have to wonder sometimes. I got an e-mail from her daughter this morning and she said in it that the family hopes she does not linger or suffer.
Me too.
She lives in Tennessee and Mr. Moon went to see her yesterday. So at least he got to see her.

Funny world. And this is not the hunting trip that my husband planned but then- whatever turns out the way you planned?

I hear Owen got a goldfish at the fair last night. This makes me happy. I hope he got to eat something fried. I wish I'd been there but I just wasn't feeling up to it.
I'm glad he's got a new pet. I hope he lasts awhile, Goldy. Or whatever they name it. I'll see him tomorrow. Not Goldy, Owen. I'll be taking care of him after I take Kathleen up to Thomasville and I'll be bringing Kathleen here to stay for a few days until she feels better. She said that since she's met Dr. M, she's been miserable. Colonoscopy, endoscopy, PT scans, lab work, and now surgery. But, he's doing his job and that's that. I think she's starting chemo again on Monday. Lord. She is brave.

I'll bet she and Judy are still sitting there, watching Pat O'Brien movies. "Two old bald ladies," is what Judy called herself and Kathleen. Two beautiful bald ladies, not that old, either.

I think I'm going to take my surprisingly full head of hair for a nap. It's going to be a big day tomorrow. I need to rest up.
And then Mr. Moon will be home on Saturday. I sure will be glad to see that man. I'm going to hug and kiss him a lot, even if he doesn't bring home a buck. I didn't marry him for his hunting skills, y'all, but that's been a nice bonus, even if it took me about twenty years to figure it out.

I'm a slow learner. What can I say?

Love...Ms. Moon