Running About Very Slowly

It's been a fine day and I had lunch with Liz (not Lis) and Hank and Kati and got to see my still fevery, snuffly boys and held Gibson on my lap and showed him pictures and kissed him and kissed him and kissed him. Owen showed me his new Spider Man and told me stories about the adventures Spider Man has with The Hulk and his mind is so busy. Always, always.

I came home and took a short nap and now I'm going to get dressed and go to Monticello. Yes, I am really doing it tonight. I am going. I am determined and it will be fine. The funny thing is is that I am going back there tomorrow night for another event and I'll talk about that in the morning.

Anyway, here I am. And look what I found today.

It was not unlike the prospect of me going out tonight- a small miracle.

Be well and I shall be too.

I don't have anything interesting to say. Nothing. It's flat gray and the leaves are still dripping. My weather app says it's going to get up to 82 here today but I think that's a crack dream. I'm actually going to town in a little while to have lunch with a friend. I hope I remember how to operate a motor vehicle.

That about sums it up.

I might return a library book.
Yeah. No. That's not interesting either.
Sorry.

No Photo Shop Was Squandered Here, Plus- Dead Frog

It's rained on and off all day long. Never a downpour, just a constant drizzle. And it's been gray and it's been gloomy and I have been too.
Not that bad, really. Here's a fun thing- Gibson called me today. By himself. We have no idea how. Lily said he wanted to call me and she had just texted me to see if I was awake and before I got the text, he'd called. We had a brief conversation. I told him I wanted to get his sugar.
"Guga," he agreed.

I did wash the dogs. They were filthy and they desperately need to go to the groomer but I couldn't possibly take them to see Miss Beverly in that condition. Like cleaning the house before the maid gets there. Or at least, I imagine that's what it's like.
The shampoo I bought them smells so good I'm thinking about using it myself. My whole bathroom still smells lovely and flowery. The dogs still stink but that's because they're ancient.
I even heated up the bathroom for them before I washed them. Turned on the space heater and let it get nice and toasty in there so they wouldn't get a chill and...WAIT A MINUTE! WHAT WAS I THINKING? 
Jesus.

I picked up something off the floor of my bedroom this afternoon. It was a ball of dust with something in the middle.
A dried up frog.
Dead.
I threw him outside. Maybe he rehydrated in the rain. I'm certain he did not come back to life.

I was thinking I'd go to Monticello tonight and see Arsenic And Old Lace. I mean, how good do you have to feel to sit in a seat and watch a play? I even made cookies to take to the cast and crew. Dark chocolate, white chocolate, pecan, raisin, oatmeal cookies. No. I'm not kidding.
I'm not going to Monticello.
I have heartburn. Probably from eating cookie dough.

I actually spent some time looking for people I used to know on Facebook today. Hey! You've done that. I know you have. I discovered that the only man who ever hit me (once, and then that was it for him and me) studied theology at Notre Dame. I find this hysterical. He was an LSD-taking rich kid when I knew him. With anger issues. He seems to have a lot of kids now but no wife.
Mmmmm....

I miss my husband. I don't think he misses me in the least until it's time to go find himself some supper. He sent me a video he took from the deer blind. There were a lot of teeny-tiny deer in it. I'm pretty sure they weren't that tiny in all actuality. Just far away. I'm glad my husband doesn't have anger issues. He has hunting issues but I can live with that. Plus- venison!

As you can see, we had an incredible sunset in Lloyd tonight. It was practically psychedelic.  The picture above is the street heading east from my driveway. I'm not certain but I think that may be the only traffic light in Jefferson County. It's a flashing light, not a stop light.

That's mistletoe up there in the naked branches of a pecan tree. Those big clumps. Mistletoe. So if you need an excuse to kiss someone, you know where to come.

The picture of the church up there is the one next door to me. The Holy Ghost Revival Center. Have you ever seen a tidier, neater church this side of New England? It's the most well-tended, up-kept church in this whole entire area and honey, there are a shit ton of churches in this area. I'll bet there's a dozen churches within a five-mile radius of me. At least. But the Holy Ghost Revival Center is without a doubt the best kept. I'd be willing to bet they have the best music too. They're good neighbors.

That's all the pictures I have and pretty much all I have to say as well. I think it's quit raining but dripping-off-leaves is still going on. Honestly, I'm pretty lonely. Not lonely enough to take a shower and drive to Monticello. I just...can't. I can't explain it but I can't. It's like- it's one thing to be lonely if you're alone. It's another entirely to feel lonely if you're in a crowd. And I think I'd feel lonely at the Opera House. I'm probably fooling myself but it's how I feel.

I don't have anything cosmic or profound to say tonight. I hope that's okay.

It's gonna have to be.
What the hell am I going to do with all these cookies?

Have a good Friday night.

Love...Ms. Moon

Update On My Day

I have washed the dogs. Can cutting my toenails be far behind?

The outside matches the inside today.
Gray and chilly and raining but not enough rain to actually do any good and at least I did walk down to the Post Office where the Esquire magazine was indeed waiting and so there's that.
There is most certainly that.

Soup

I feel quite certain that if I went back and read my posts from hunting seasons in years past I would discover that I almost always get sick with something when my husband is gone on these week-long or longer trips.
Searching my soul, I do not think it is because of loneliness at all. I think it is a matter of feeling abandoned which of course is ridiculous because my husband has not abandoned me, but merely gone off for a few days to do something he loves. However, the issue of abandonment is one that I have been trying to deal with my entire life and I am aware of that and I know where it came from. It's no big mystery. When I was very young my daddy disappeared and my mother, although (mostly) was present in the physical sense, she was not extremely emotionally available. She had too much on her own plate and I know that and as an adult I even understand it and can empathize but again, knowledge of where and why doesn't always cut the anger or the fear, just as adding more and more water to a soup which has been overdosed with hot red pepper doesn't always make it fit to eat.

Soup. I've got soup on the brain.

I've got a pot of soup on the stove big enough and powerful enough to feed and cure an entire ward of the languishing ill. I loved making it. I love the way the knife blade slices through the celery, the carrots, the onions, each vegetable giving way to the edge with a different feel, the way the big knife I use to cut the greens bites through them with such a satisfying thunk. I love peeling and crushing clove after clove of garlic. I love gathering the greens in the garden: the mustards, the collards, and yes even the kale. I love the cutting up of the hot peppers into the tiniest, thinnest molecules of heat, even the way my fingers sting when I'm done. I get a thrill out of sharpening the knife enough so that when I cut the tomatoes the skin offers no barrier but splits beneath it with ease.
I have no patience for dull knives.
Show me your knives and I will tell you how serious you are about your cooking.

I drank tea all day as I made the soup, as I called the Dish people. The woman I got on the phone was wonderful. I explained what I had done already and how the second receiver was working fine and she said they would send me a new receiver and take some off of next month's bill for the two weeks of wonkiness we've experienced. I didn't even ask for that. I wasn't even on the phone long enough to ask her how the weather was. I sipped my tea (green with spearmint and peppermint) and explained the situation and then we were done and I hadn't even finished my cup.

Lis called and said she was on her way to Tallahassee to do a little recording and that she wanted to come by on her way home for coffee, for us to sit and swing our legs and chat for a few moments. I told her I was feeling a little sick and she said, "That's all right," and I'm glad she came. It was all rightness to see her, if only for a few moments. We sat on the back porch and heart-shared and I was so glad to see her.

I was so cold when she left and I took a hot bath and read and read and when I got out, I dug out one of my Goodwill cashmere sweaters and I'm wearing it now and thinking about abandonment issues and how guilty I feel because I've called Lily to tell her that I really don't think I can keep the boys tomorrow. I have barely done that in the four years since Owen was born and I keep thinking that I'll probably wake up tomorrow and feel fine and then she'll have missed a day of work for nothing and that's a lot of money. What if I don't have the virus? What if I just have the memory-ache-of-abandonment sickness?

Ah well. The universe probably doesn't care at all either way and sometimes, as Lis and I talked about today, we need to take care of ourselves.

And so I will eat some of that soup and get in the bed and read some more.

It's okay and the moon is shining down on all of us here on this tiny, fragile, miracle of a planet where life began and a soup formed from which it grew and expanded to form all of this from ferns to the giant redwoods, to spiders and camellias and garlic and collard greens, from the ant to the elephant, from the dumb stupid brain of the mighty dinosaur to the incredibly sensitive and clever fingers and thumbs and brain of the human to the unbelievably open, fragile and sometimes tender thing which is the human heart.

And the moon shines over it all, that blind, silent cold witness.
Which is beautiful, even still.

I have not been abandoned at all. I have been given this gift of time by myself to think and to be and to feel deeply. And to make soup. From which it all springs. And I know this is true, just as I know that sharp knives make good cooking, just as I know that life is too mysterious to get all worked up about.
And that beauty is to be found in all of it.

Quiet

I don't think it froze last night and thus, all of my plant protective measures were taken in vain and now I need to go uncover everything, remove the burden of sheets and tablecloths from the green stems and leaves. It seemed so bitter last night before I went to bed but now the sun is shining and cutting through the chill, the dogs lay in the warm spots on the porch, their old blind eyes closed in pleasure.

I think I might be getting sick or I may just be tired or who knows? It doesn't matter. Beyond the unburdening of the plants and the calling of Dish Network I have nothing I have to do today. It occurred to me to check and see if the TV in our bedroom is getting a signal and it's a mystery why we haven't checked that already. The truth is, we almost never watch that TV and it is mostly used, when used at all, to play VCR tapes for Owen when I'm trying to get him and his brother to settle down. We still have tapes of old Disney movies and Owen loves them but we've never gotten into the habit (thank god) of watching TV from the bed.
Anyway, the signal in there is fine so I am thinking we may just need a new receiver for the other TV and there you go but I guess I'll call Dish and talk to some nice person and ask him or her how the weather is wherever he or she is as we go through all of the options and instructions they will no doubt give me.
I've done this before.

I plan on moving slowly today and cherishing each moment of solitude. I've already spoken to my Jessie on the phone and it was heart-balm to hear her sweet, cheerful voice. She was on her way home from an early-morning dance class at the YMCA. She told me that last night she made lentil soup and bread and that her sister-in-law and her husband and their baby came over to eat and that this morning Vergil left her a note thanking her for making such a delicious hippie-mama meal.
Yes. Heart-balm.

And speaking of soup, I think I'm going to ignore all the fancy food I bought yesterday and make myself some chicken soup. I had two chicken bosoms in the freezer which I've taken out to thaw and I have carrots and celery and garlic and onions and greens from the garden and limes and CILANTRO and tomatoes too. Not from the garden, though.

So yes. The dogs and I are going to lay about and be warm and drink plenty of fluids and be grateful and now if only the post office would deliver because it's time for my Esquire Magazine to arrive. Yesterday I read an article in the New Yorker which sort of blew my mind with sadness and beauty. You can read it here if you need some beautiful sadness.
My god I love to read.

Thank YOU for reading here.

Being still...Ms. Moon

The Kind Of Things Hunting Widows Watch On Cold November Nights

A Day

That's Owen scowling at me for taking his picture. 

"I hate those pictures!" he said but I am his grandmother and I took the picture anyway and there it is, scowl and all. He is feeling better but has circles under his pretty brown eyes and Gibson was a little fussy too although when he woke up from his nap and found me instead of his mother, he only fussed for a minute and then allowed me to hold him close to me and show him pictures on my phone of his grandfather which is what he always asks for. He points to the phone and says, "Boppa!"

I show him all the pictures. "Who's that?" I ask him. And he tells me. Owen, Gibson, Mama, Daddy, MerMer, Boppy, Hank, May, Jessie, Vergil. He smiles and nods with his whole body. I never want to forget that, how he nods with his whole body. It starts at his head but it travels all the way down, a sort of dance of agreement or of recognition or of happiness. 

I kiss his neck and he says, "Guga," and offers me the other side to get sugar from. Lily reminded me yesterday that Owen was his age when she got pregnant with Gibson. "We thought he was so grown up," she said. 

And we did, but of course we had no one to compare him with but his younger, even more of a baby self. 

Owen today told me that his mother might have another baby someday. A sister! And wouldn't that be awesome? 

"What if she has another baby someday and it's a boy? Another brother?"

"Two brothers!" he said. "What would we name him?"

Lily and I waited to see what he would come up with.

"Maybe Dragor," he finally said. "Because he would like dragons."

Note to self: Do not let Owen name any of his future possible siblings. 

I hate this time change. Yes. Still. I was waiting for Jason to get home, knowing that I had to get to the grocery store, that I had left the back door open for my dogs, that the heat was off and it was getting cold and that it was getting quite dark. Owen wanted to watch Power Rangers but Gibson wanted to watch something else which I could not determine. It was a miracle that I could operate the TV's remote and find anything they wanted to watch at all. Owen is convinced that the inability of his grandparents to operate the remote at his house is because we are old. He reminds me of this frequently. But today I was operating it skillfully. 

"B!" Gibson kept saying, grabbing for the remote. I had no idea what "B" was. It wasn't Barney and it wasn't Elmo and it wasn't Mickey Mouse and the Beanstalk and Owen kept insisting that his brother really wanted to watch Power Rangers, despite the sad proof that he did not in that every time I put on the Power Rangers, Gibson cried. 

"I wish Gibson was asleep," Owen said. "Then I could just watch Power Rangers."

When Jason got home Owen was watching Power Rangers and I had given up all responsibility and was letting Gibson watch Yo Gabba Gabba on Youtube on my phone. 

Lord, Lord. What a world and I have no shame. 

(I will say that that Gabba Gabba guy is a good dancer, though. I will admit that.)

I handed over the children to their sweet, tired papa and went to the store. I bought completely random things including organic carrots and butternut squash-filled pasta and a huge container of spinach and dark chocolate and tangerines and some sort of black rice and a lobster tail (on sale for $3.99!) and humus and BOGO coffee (again! already!) and finally and at last, dog shampoo. I  came home and shut up the chickens and fed the cat and turned on the heat and the lights and moved laundry from washer to dryer and I've made up the bed with clean sheets and I've wrapped the most tender of my plants against the possible freeze and I've talked to all of my children except Jessie and I have leftovers heating up because I'm just too tired to cook. 

I still haven't called the Dish people so my TV is probably still fucked up but hell's bells- I haven't turned it on in two days. 

The book I'm reading in my cozy bed requires no technical ability other than turning pages so it hasn't been a problem but I will call them tomorrow. 

I hear that the deer are moving. The wind has quit blowing. My house is quite cozy. My plants are as protected as I can provide. My grandsons are in the very capable hands of their daddy while their mama is at work. 

We abide, as the Dude says. 

I have nothing more to add to that. 

Amen. 

What In Hell Is This Wind Blowing In?

What a fucking morning. Jesus.

I've talked to Mr. Moon and he's probably going to get his business done at the bank and then head back up north to continue the hunt which I understand. He's trying to take care of everything but it's disconcerting to know he's here but that he'll be gone again.
But that's nothing compared to my shock when I realized that my landline's voice mail had two messages this morning. Both from Hank. He'd called at 3:21 a.m. to tell me he was having a horrible nosebleed and needed a ride to the ER and another one from 8:30 to tell me he was okay.
The room we're sleeping in now doesn't have a phone in it. Okay, sure, my iPhone is plugged in but I turn the ringer off at night and I can't make or receive calls out of the house on it anyway because there is some sort of strong anti-cell-phone protective barrier going on within these old walls and underneath the tin roof which leads me to wonder if perhaps those folks who line their hats with tinfoil to protect their brains from evil beaming rays may have something figured out.
Anyway, Hank managed to get May on her phone and she sped through the dark streets and picked up her brother and took him to the ER and that situation is resolved but I NEVER KNEW IT WAS GOING ON AND I FEEL AWFUL!
God. And I guess I was in my bathroom when the second call came in and since it's approximately a quarter mile from the rest of the house, I didn't hear the phone in there, either.
So from now on out, I'm bringing a phone with me into the bedroom at night and that's that.
I've talked to Hank now and I've talked to May and everyone is okay but I feel distressed and guilty and anxious. I don't care how old my babies are, even the slightest hint of a threat to them and their health and wellbeing is enough to send me into a spin and make me want to do something to fix it. NOW!

To put the cherry on top of the cowgirl (thanks, Tom Robbins), there's a possible freeze warning for tonight and of course all of my plants are outside. Most of them are too heavy for me to drag in so I'm going to have to get out and cover everything up in sheets and blankets like little babies in an under-heated orphanage. Every year I go through this and every year I wonder why in hell I bother.

Sigh.

Gibson and Owen both are still running fevers although they seem mostly okay. Owen didn't eat much for a few days but Lily reports he's doing better with that today and of course, it would take more than a viral infection to do much to curb Gibson's appetite. I am probably going to go in and babysit them for a few hours this afternoon and hopefully, get to see and kiss my husband before he returns to the deer stand.

And so it goes. The wind is blowing this cold air in like a giant fan set in front of the freezer but the sun is shining clean and strong through it all. The Bradford Pear leaves are still green but they are rustling and talking as if in alarm and they should be.
I went out last night and had fun and felt bold and happy and obviously in doing that, I have upset the entire order of the universe.
At least that's how it feels. To a crazy woman.
I want my boring back!

I better go round up sheets and blankets.

How is it where you live? Have the crazies set in there too or is all well?

Let me know.

Love...Ms. Moon

I Did It!

I went out at night by myself and I came back and in between the drive there in the dark night and the drive back in the even inkier darkness, I had a wonderful time. I met up with my friend Kati and we sat at the bar (all the tables were filled- on a Tuesday night!) and we ate delicious salads and listened to the music and it was wonderful.
It occurs to me that every picture I post of Lis and Lon playing at the Mockingbird looks the same but here you go anyway.

It's a terrible picture and I apologize but it is the best I could do and I took it as proof that I was there. Jason Thomas, Lis Williamson, Lon Williamson, and Gabe Valla. The one true Gatorbone Band.

The picture may be terrible, but the music was sweet and easy and pure and good. From my seat I could see Gabe's fingers flying and dancing on the fretboard and I have been watching him play for so many years and I think he was as good tonight or better than I have ever seen him. My favorite songs they do are always Lis's songs. The ones she wrote herself. They grab your spine and shiver you to your toes. One of my favorites of all my favorites is one she wrote about the many incarnations of her and Lon's lives and love together and it is absolutely unbelievably haunting and when she and Lon harmonize and close their eyes to sing together and their voices intertwine and grab and soar and become one thing, you believe. She is wordsmith as well as singer and guitar player. It absolutely amazes me that one day she just woke up and started writing songs and they came forth fully formed and they flow in every way, musically and lyrically. I was talking to Kati about this. She went to high school with Lis and says, "She's always been that way. Always." I am not surprised. Not one iota.

Well. It is late. Mr. Moon is coming in tomorrow morning to close a car deal. I do not think he shot a deer. Gibson is running the fever this evening and so the virus travels through the family and at least it does not seem to be the worst virus in the world and for that I am most grateful. I am sorry though that our little merry man has been laid low. He had such a good time today with his mama and me and we had such a good time with him.

The wind is blowing tonight and it is cool and supposed to get cooler. It is still 11/12/13 and Lis promised from the stage tonight that next year they will play on 12/13/14. Last year they played at the Mockingbird on 12/12/12.

There is magic in numbers. There was magic tonight on that stage. I went out and I came back and I am so glad I did. I got to be with ladies I love. I got good hugs and got to kiss beautiful women on their soft lips. I wore my hair down. I felt like Mary and at least every now and then, that is a fine thing to feel like.
Tonight was one of them.

Sleep well.
Love...Mary

About To Get Ready To Go Out To Hear Music

But here are some pictures from today.

And now you know- if you need a flock of metal ducks or a giant dragon that could cut your head off with his wings, you know who to call.

So Much To Do

I'm still doing the Time Change math which makes me a complete and utter slob and lazy ass. I didn't get out of bed until eight this morning which is really nine and if sleep was a competitive sport, Wheaties would be breaking down my door to get me to sign a contract.

And wouldn't that be cool?

No?

Well, I've never done a damn thing that would be considered worth payment (with the possible exception of certain physical activities in my younger years and of course, I did those for free) and I doubt I'll start doing anything of monetary value any time soon either.

Are we tired of the Woe Is Me thing yet?

Well, I have a full day of possible activities in front of me including taking the trash and calling The Dish Network to see if we can figure out why our signal keeps going out. I have a feeling it's branches getting in the way of the dish but I told Mr. Moon I'd try. If it IS branches, this will entail hiring a guy with a bucket truck to remedy. Life is not easy in Lloyd. Never has been. People used to have to till the soil and chop their own firewood and make their own lye soap and raise and butcher their own meat and now (the horror!) we have to hire someone with a bucket truck so that our satellite TV will come in properly.

And maybe I'll be going to Monticello. I found a full jar of the Hollywood Beauty Body Butter in Mr. Moon's bathroom cabinet so I don't have that as an excuse but I do desperately need some dog shampoo.

Jesus Christ I have the most boring life on the planet.

Time to let the chickens out!

Love...Ms. Moon

What's Next?

My husband didn't go to work today as his office is in a bank which of course was closed for Veteran's Day but he was doing his homework this morning to see if the auction he goes to in Orlando had any of the cars he needed for his customers when he figured out that they didn't and that he might as well just head up to Georgia to the hunting camp.
It's Rut Week, or something like that, meaning that the deer are moving, which in human terms would be not unlike Spring Break in Cancun. Does Gone Wild! Bucks jumping off of balconies after doing way too many shots of tequila! Wet T-shirt contests in the forest! Primeval Twerking goin' on, y'all. The moon is right, the temperature is dropping and the deer are horny.
No pun intended, trust me.

So one minute I was thinking that he might be gone for a night and the next minute he's packing up enough camo and...stuff...for a month.
"How long do you think you'll be gone?" I asked him.
"Can we keep that open-ended?" he asked.
What could I say? This is the man who leaves me so many love notes in the mornings in front of the coffee pot that I have cigar boxes overflowing with them. This is the man who gets on his knees to tell me how much he loves me. This is the man who has put up with my particularly spiky form of insanity for thirty years. This is the man who is the grandfather of my grandchildren. This is the man who has supported me in all ways since he met me. This is the man whom I love.

Still, I felt rather abruptly abandoned. I will not lie to you.
As soon as he left, I laid down in the bed. "I have taken to my bed," I texted a friend. I fell asleep almost immediately as if a hard knock-out punch had been delivered. I woke up after just a few moments and laid there breathing so regularly and being so still that a jury of thousands would have judged me to be asleep but somehow even though I was wide awake, I could not bring myself to move a millimeter in any direction. I laid there, I breathed, I wondered what my life means and what in hell I was going to do with myself for the next...open-ended time.
Then I got up and made coffee and started writing something.
I feel better now. And it's not that I mind being alone. Lord, I love being alone. It was just a shock to my system.

Tomorrow I may drive to Monticello. There is a body butter that I seem to only be able to find in the "ethnic" section of the Winn Dixie there which I use in winter. It bills itself as "Organic" although I think in this instance that only means it's carbon-based as the second ingredient in it is mineral oil and it contains many ingredients whose names I cannot pronounce. It is cheap and it smells good and my skin drinks it up. I may go visit the Mexican Import place if it's still open. They have giant tin roosters, six feet tall, and pots shaped like turtles and fishes and shot glasses and a little folk-art carousel made of metal which my grandsons would love and which I would buy first thing on the list if I won the lottery.
I might. I might do those things.
Lon and Lis are playing in Tallahassee tomorrow night. Maybe I'll go see them. Maybe I'll embolden myself enough to shower and put on make-up and heft my hiney into the car and drive to Tallahassee in the dark and listen to them play.
Maybe. It would do my heart good, it would do me good, to do those things.

When I was laying there in the bed today, pretending to be asleep for the jury of thousands, I wished I had the courage and the life-spark enough to simply pick up and pack up and fly to Mexico, get a room at Hotel Pepita and those of you who have been coming here for a few hunting seasons know that this is not a new fantasy.

I just talked to Mr. Moon. He is safely up in Georgia. I have talked to Lily and the boys are safely back from their trip to St. Augustine which they took with their other grandmother today. I have talked to Jessie tonight about everything from cooking pecan-encrusted grouper to acupuncture. I talked to Hank this morning when the Veteran's Day parade was being staged in front of his apartment in downtown Tallahassee and he described what was going on.
"Oh Lord. There's a guy wearing a Civil War hat. He's got a beard and he's old but I'm pretty sure he didn't fight in the Civil War."
I have not talked to May and I miss her but today is her first day off in a week and I do not wish to disturb her as I know she's exhausted. I have a potato and chicken in the oven.

I will probably not be flying to Mexico. Maybe I will keep writing.

I will most definitely keep loving the man who has the need to hunt the deer and I will also see my grandsons this week although Lily just called me to say that Owen has a temperature and since his father has a viral infection of some sort, he obviously has caught it and who knows which of us will catch it next? My sweet little man. I hate that he is sick.

Life just keeps throwing you curve balls.

Keep ducking.

Much love...Ms. Moon

Not A Veteran's Day Post

Well, everyone's posting about Veteran's Day and I don't think any of my immediate forefathers fought in wars. I could be wrong. My father was in the Army which is why I was born in a quonset hut in El Paso, Texas but I'm pretty sure he didn't fight in any wars. My grandfather on my mother's side lost all of his fingers on his left hand in a saw accident when he was young so he didn't go to war.
I had a great-great-great-whatever grandfather who was a General in the Civil War (Confederate Army, that would be) but I'm not so sure I'm real excited about that. My brother who lives out in Washington state would be the one to ask about all of this as he knows far more family history than I do.
I know that my husband's father fought in WW II but he never talked about it until right before he died and they were not good memories.
Fuck war.
I'm sorry anyone ever in the history of the world had to participate in any wars and I'm still and eternally waiting for humankind to beat their swords into plowshares which is one of my favorite lines in the Bible.
I'm not holding my breath, though.

I'm obviously not any damn good at Veteran's Day tributes.

And there's a lot more I could say but I won't and instead, I'll just tell you that it's beautiful here today and clear as a bell and nice and cool and I'm going to go take a walk. I dreamed I was pregnant last night and in my dream I thought now how the hell did THAT happen? I was neither too upset nor too excited but just figured I'd let things proceed as they would and mostly I believe I was just happy to have an excuse not to have to try and hold my stomach in.

Done your Christmas shopping yet? I hear there are some great Veteran's Day sales going on.

Life is confusing.
To me at least.

Let's chat later.

Love...Ms. Moon

History

Mr. Moon spent all day cutting what passes for grass in this yard and trimming and blowing the dust and leaves off of things. Yes, I know. Blowing. Well, he has a blower and he wants to use it and frankly, after he mowed, the dust was so bad on the porches that no amount of sweeping would have done the job. I have often spoken of the dust here. It is black and almost has a greasy quality to it. It sticks and does not come off easily. When we are dry, as we are now, it covers everything and today the mower kicked it up bad and after he took his shower, my husband said, "Could you do me a favor and go out and get a handful of dirt and rub it in my eyes because I just don't think they're damaged enough."
Like that.

Sometimes I wonder if the black dust comes from the century or so of the trains going by. I suppose it's possible. I used to live about eight miles down the road from here back in the seventies and the track wasn't near that house and the dirt there was red clay. Just a different vein of geography, I guess. I sure could grow cucumbers in that red clay. No clay here except for that which Mr. Moon washes off his truck after he gets back from the hunting camp in Georgia. I do not find the black dirt here to be that fertile although it sure as shit can grow some powerful big oak trees. We must be on top of easy access to the aquifer or something. What I know about geology could be stuck up an ant's butt and it wouldn't even know it was there.

I, too, worked in the yard today, trimming and cutting and pulling the spent stuff of summer. I trimmed the sago palms and the Canary Island date palms and the Sabal Palms. I pulled dead and leaning rooster lilies and the damn Mexican bluebells which I wish with all of my heart had never been started here. Same with the rooster lilies and the Canary Island date palms, if you want to know the truth and I myself planted those fuckers. The rooster lilies are a fine green plant but the bloom is insignificant and then they keel over and I have to pull them and once started, there is no getting rid of them. The Canary Island date palms are spiky instruments of torture and indeed, I ran one of the spines through my glove and into my finger today and I cursed it.

Anyway, the yard looks a tiny bit more civilized and working in it, I thought, as I always do, of what the it must have looked like over a hundred and fifty years ago when the house was built by this guy.

Walter Lloyd Bond was his name and I need to dig out the little booklet that Mrs. Miller gave me when I moved in here, almost ten years ago, which is a history of Lloyd which she wrote and self-published. I find myself more and more interested in my little village and endlessly fascinated by the story of it. Lloyd.
Mrs. Miller is dead now but she grew up in this house and raised her children here and then moved across the street in her later years with her husband and son and wife and their children.

We're a funny little village and I am glad to have contributed in some small way to it with my palms and my camellias and my love of this house which my grandsons love so very much. I hope with all of my heart that they remember it when they get grown. The chickens, the goats next door, the ancient oaks, the tilting floors of the house and the many hiding places it holds.

Sometimes I am overwhelmed with it all. I tell Owen about how my office used to be the kitchen and how they cooked on wood stoves and we talk about how, if he was a boy who had lived here all of those years ago, he would have had to collect wood and bring it in to warm the house, to cook the food,  and how he would have been tasked to tend the animals. He doesn't really understand, but maybe someday he will.

I'm about to make some pesto pasta and I think we will sleep good tonight. We are both tired from tending boys and yard and house. It's a good tired.

We sat out on the porch and had a martini and talked about it all, me and the man who bought me this dream house. We talked about Lloyd and the black dust and we talked about our grandsons and all the funny and sweet things they did and said last night. Time stretched back and forth and we chewed on it as we rocked in our chairs on the porch. At our age it is the natural and good thing to do.

I better get to it.

May we all sleep well tonight.

Love...Ms. Moon

And Here There Is Enough For All And Then More

This was the scene in my kitchen at about nine a.m. Sweet potato/apple/banana/pecan pancakes and bacon.
Plenty of bacon.
Which made everyone very happy, as you can tell.

We had a good time with those boys. Last night was terrific. Boppy and Owen made the fire and it was a roaring good one, snapping and sparking until it burned down to good coals. They cooked steaks and sweet potatoes for us while Gibson and I made green beans and sliced up the bread. We all ate like beasts and Owen proclaimed himself to be a Steak Monster. He has just truly realized that meat comes from animals and after a short bout of internal ethical debate, he's cool with that. For now, at least.
After supper there were baths and wrapping up in towels and then pajamas and we let them play for a little while to get some ya-ya's out. Gibson had only had about a fifteen minute nap all I day and I knew he was tired. I'd watched him fade and rally at least five times over the course of the evening. His last burst of energy came when he and Owen and I laid down on the bed to watch Tarzan. He wiggled and bounced all over the bed. He was a jumping bean, a boy-determined-not-to-sleep. Finally I said, "Enough of this," and took him to the Pack'n'Play where I deposited him with his blanky, his stuffed manatee, his bear who plays sweet soft music. I laid down on the bed beside his bed and he fussed for a moment or two and then he laid down on top of the manatee, the bear by his side, and he was asleep in the blink of an eye.

I slept with Owen, and Boppy slept in the room with Gibson. Good move on my part! Owen slept like a cool, still stone while Gibson woke up at three and Boppy took him into his bed where he flung himself about for the rest of the night and finally sat up at 6:45 and was truly awake.
Mr. Moon is moving slowly today, let me just say.

The parents have come to collect their guys and it's Sunday morning and it'll probably take us all day to recover but that's okay. It all worked out very well and not once did the boys ask for their parents. They feel completely happy and safe here, although Gibson did dive for his mama's breast as soon as she picked him up.

I am so grateful for the fact that they are so at home here. I am so grateful for the safety and love we can provide and the fun as well.

I keep thinking about the possible 10,000 dead in the Philippines and I realize how very tenuous life can be. I can't even comprehend it. My heart stills at the thought of what the aftermath must look like, smell like, feel like for those who did survive.

I have no words.

It is Sunday. We are here.
What a fucking miracle.

How It's Going

Gibson riding the rails. That's a carrot in his hand. And on his face`.

Owen telling Boppy stuff. 

Lily and Jason having a good time being childless for an evening. 

Aren't they gorgeous?

Right now Owen and Boppy are making a fire to cook dinner on. Gibson is helping me write this. 

And that'll do for now. 

Love...MerMer

What I See Today

Buddha, pine cone lilies, my grandmother's shallow pottery dish with graceful handle, same color as the dark green iron plant leaves in it, sun shining Buddha's belly to a high fat gleam, the train muscles by.

Do the dishes, feed the chickens, dump the compost, let the dogs in and back out, make the bed, sweep the porches, the pecan leaves have a stickiness to them, they want to clump together even in their dried death.

The train still passes, car after car rattling, squeaking, metal against metal, squeal and squeak and rock and roll, a ponderous dinosaur of a thing, down the track, more times a day than you would think. The first night we spent in this house when the train went by I bolted upright, the window frame above me shaking in the thunder of it all and I thought oh god, what have we done? and I've never been awoken by it since. Gibson still not adjusted though, to the sound of the blasting whistle, he hears it and runs to me in terror. I hold him tight and if he's a few steps away from me when it first sounds, I race to him because I know he's going to want me. "It's okay, it's okay. It's only the train," and then the boys watch it as it goes by, I think of my grandfather counting the cars of the trains that passed on the Flagler trestle over the Sebastian River fifty some years ago, the trains still run across that trestle.
I wonder if anyone still counts them.

I am filled with a winter's-coming melancholy today, a what's-the-point? opinion of it all. Clean out the hen house, they will just poop it up again. Sweep the porch, the trees will just give up more leaves to drift and fall upon the boards, wash the dishes and we will need to eat again before you know it, make the bed and we will merely pull down the covers and insert ourselves into them tonight, mail ourselves to sleep in that envelope of sheets and blankets, twisting them about us as we dream. Read a book and forget what I've read, read the news and what seems important today is nothing tomorrow, relatively, and then it repeats itself, the horror, the bizarre, the cruel, the strange, even that which is good, proof of something eternally all right about the human race held up as a mirror to the other side of the coin of our insanity, greed, stupidity, ignorance.
Sometimes you cry for the beauty, sometimes the tears fall for the pain of it all, sometimes for the beauty of the pain or the pain of the beauty, the earth beneath us is filled with the bones of that which mattered at one time, mattered as big as a meteor, a dinosaur, a war, an entire civilization of meat-eaters, plant-eaters, pottery-makers, great-thought-thinkers, and why did they go deep into caves to draw upon the walls?
We tread on ancient forests, oceans, animals, knowledge most painfully acquired, now forgotten, and have you ever happened upon an arrowhead, spearpoint, shard of pottery with the maker's fingerprint trapped in clay?
Shivers come upon you. You are not the first nor will you be the last.
We always have company even if it's only the ghosts of the beasts, the maker of the arrowhead which he used to kill the beast which allowed the people to live, to mate and make the children who somehow lived on to lead us to this and it's such a fool's notion to think we are the greatest, the most anything except ignorant, perhaps, of how it all works, this planet and its tides and our hungers and how we feed them, even as we decode the very genes the hunter preserved with his meat and his mate.

We are not great, we simply are.

Thus- sweep the porches, feed the chickens, make the beds, make the babies, preserve their lives, we are but one tiny bead in the great string of them wrapped around and around the earth and up to the stars and beyond, we are stardust.

I do not think we are golden but perhaps tomorrow I will. And even today, even today, I can see that we reflect the light which gleams the fat Buddha belly, which shines the wings we may or may not have with which we may or may not use to transport us at least as far as back and forth in time's shadowy vessel, as shallow as that green dish, as deep as all of darkness.

Okay. Maybe A Little Too Much Stuff