Walking Flowers

A Day Of Respite

Today has been ten thousand times better than the past few days and perhaps that is because the temperatures have finally mellowed a bit and it has been fall-blue-sky-clear with lower humidity and I don't believe it got over 75 today. My roses are having a late-bloom and those red ones are especially gorgeous. They don't really look quite like that in real life but somehow the red and the light confuse the camera and no matter what I do, that is how they appear in their portrait.

I took a very long walk today, an hour or more, and that, too, may have had something to do with my more cheerful outlook. The fall blossoms, the butterflies, the dragonflies, the prints of critters in the soft sand and mud, that amazing sky, the green of the pines against it. Even the piece of land that was cleared last year holds treasures like the beauty berry. I know, I know! I keep posting pictures of that stuff but I love it.

The other day I saw a squirrel sitting on top of our fence with a stalk of the berries clutched in his little paws and he was chewing them almost frantically. I swear- I have never seen as many juvenile squirrels as I have seen this year. I have no idea why. Does more rainfall make more squirrels as well as flowers? 

Two days ago I went to town and went shopping and had lunch with Lily and Maggie and I haven't posted any pictures from that and now I must and will. 

Because...

My little tutu girl. Would you look at that beautiful little dimpled hand? 

She is so friendly. Everyone she encounters get's a big "Hey!" and if they do not respond in kind, she is truly mystified. She doesn't really like anything on her head but she liked that hat. Perhaps she felt as if she was in her own private room when she had it on. It certainly did not get in the way of her watching the ducky video on kids' Youtube. 

Tomorrow I think I will get to see Jessie and August and who knows? Maybe Lily and Maggie again too. And then Mr. Moon and I might possibly drive down to the coast in the late afternoon to get oysters and shrimp for him to take up to the hunting camp this weekend to share with the guys who have had him over to their houses for suppers. 

A fried mullet supper for the two of us may be involved in that journey. 

I spent a good hour this afternoon in my library, culling more books and cleaning shelves. It feels so good to do this! Yes, books are sacred but I don't need all of them. And trust me- I have a lot of the ones I really don't need.

And so there you have it- something beyond or at least removed from the subject of sexual abuse, harassment, and assault. It's been wonderful to have a day where I could enjoy, truly enjoy, the things in my life which are real and loving and beautiful and precious. I am always aware and grateful for these things but days in which I can truly enjoy them are rarer than I wish they were. 

It's supposed to get down to 54 degrees here tonight. 

Speaking of rare, beautiful, and precious...

Here's a lizard. 

Yeah. My kitchen porch needs painting. And okay, okay, I cropped out the chicken shit. 

So what, chicken butt? as we sometimes say. If we are five years old. Or sixty-three. 

It's always appropriate in my opinion. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Nip It. Nip It In The Bud

May posted this on Facebook the other day.
I think that this is a good place to start to create change.

It goes without saying that I love my daughter and I think that she is incredibly smart and also, a badass.

Lately I've made a pact with myself to stop laughing and smiling when men say stupid things that offend me. It's hard, because, well, we do this, right? Ladies? So tonight, when a man was trying to flirt with me on the phone during a pick up order while I had a line in front of me... I asked for his phone number (as you do when taking a call for take out) and he talked over me, asking me my name, saying "So, are you a student here in town? " I said, "I'm a 40 year old married woman. Now can I please have your phone number, sir? " He gave me his number, the man at the front of the line gave me the best smile, and I felt great. No flirting, I have people I need to serve. A bonus: when he came in he looked like Colonel Sanders. Douche Colonel Sanders.

Love...Ms. Moon

A Sort Of Hell But One I Should Be Used To By Now

The truth:

I think that for me, this whole Me Too thing is horribly triggering. And not necessarily for the reasons you might think.
This same thing happened when the Bill Cosby accusations started flying thick and fast and then again when the grab-the-pussy tape came out and more and more women started stepping forward to tell their own stories about Trump's gropings and all manner of unwanted attentions.
Now the Weinstein situation is in the news and yes, he's gotten fired but why is this the case that finally caused people to say, "Enough?"

For me, the trigger is not that these men did the things that they did and got away with it for so long. It's that women DO speak up and they are not believed or they are ignored or they are told that they asked for it or should just "forget about it" or any one of a thousand things that makes it so clear that the men are not held accountable and the women are so very often blamed and shamed and left feeling completely powerless.

And in some very primitive way, this throws me right back to childhood when no one protected me, when I was ignored, when my needs and my heart and my soul were sacrificed for the status quo and I again I feel as if the world is a horribly dangerous place where there is no justice for women or children or for the disenfranchised of this world and fear and hopelessness crest over me and I feel the pain of everyone who has ever come forward and said, "Me too," and yet nothing has changed.

I have been trying on and off all day long to write about this in a way that explains how these publicized reports make me feel and I just can't corral my thoughts in an orderly fashion. I think that this is due to the way that the fear and anxiety and depression which result from this publicity scramble my brain which tries valiantly to simply shut down when presented with things like this.
Disassociate! Disassociate! it screams to the point where I can barely spell my own name, much less express a cogent thought. 

Perhaps I will try again tomorrow.

Love...Ms. Moon

I Don't Know. I DO NOT KNOW!

Another day where I have nothing to talk about. I did some embroidery and I am now hoping this quilt is ready for my newest grandchild-to-be's high school graduation.
While I embroidered, I binge-watched (I guess?) a bunch of episodes of Frankie and Grace which I have avoided until now due to Jane Fonda but Lily Tomlin is a genius and there are some good lines in there and Jane Fonda isn't so bad, actually.
So.
I wish I was a better needleworker. One thing I have noticed is that no matter how much I knit or embroider or crochet, my work never seems to get any better. I am mediocre at best. My mother was an amazing knitter and crocheter and could follow a pattern like nobody's business. Jessie's really good at knitting too and it rather stuns me. Maybe in my next lifetime I'll actually take lessons or something. Meanwhile, I putter on with what I do and I do enjoy it but it always ends up looking messy and so imperfect.

Mr. Moon is home and I am glad to have him back. I don't mind being alone at all but honestly, I know it's not really the best thing for me to have too much time spent solo.

So, on Facebook right now it's a thing to make your status "me too" if we've been sexually harassed or assaulted to point out the vast number of women (and of many men, as well) who have experienced these things.
I don't know why but I'm not feeling it.
I have no doubt that at least 99.9% of all women have, at some point in their lives, been sexually harassed or assaulted or both and far more than once, most likely. This is the reality of it.
And hell no, it's not all right. HELL FUCKING NO! And it's not excusable. It's something that all women live with and have lived with and which they have to carry as unwelcome and painful baggage for the rest of their lives. Which is just wrong. It's like soul-crushing is built into the female human experience.
And please know that I do realize that this is also true for many males. I know it like I know my own blood.
But what goddam good does it do to post what is so obviously true on FB? Who are we swaying with this information? Who are we enlightening? What are we changing?
To be honest, I am feeling this way about so many things in social media. Not the personal stories so much but the "Type yes if you agree with this" kind of thing.
Fuck yes, I think Trump should be impeached.
Fuck yes, I think athletes have every right to protest violence against African Americans by police and everyone else.
Fuck yes, I am horrified by the things our government is doing for no apparent reason except for spite and (let's face it) racially based hatred of MY president, Obama.
Fuck yes, cancer sucks.
Fuck yes, we need to do something about global climate change.
Fuck yes, we need to save the manatee, the pandas, the elephants, the tigers, the vast and impossibly complex rain forests and trees and rivers and our mother seas.
Fuck yes! We need to help the starving, the sick, the under-served, the under-represented, the homeless, the abused, the vet with PTSD and/or life-altering physical problems.
Fuck yes! We need to ensure the rights of all citizens.
Fuck yes, women should have autonomy over their own bodies and be able to make their own choices about their reproductive systems.
Fuck yes, fuck yes, fuck yes to all of these and so many more but when push comes to shove...
What good does typing "yes" as a comment do?
Anything?
It's Facebook. It's not a direct line to the gods or the government.
It's so easy to feel like we're doing something of value when we type those "yeses" and I almost wonder if that isn't part of the problem.

I don't know.

I just know that when people write their true stories, their experiences, I pay attention. That's when I make room in my brain for learning something I did not know. For being able to view something in a way that perhaps I have never considered.
And that is another reason I will always love the blogs.

But god love us. Bless our hearts. We do what we can and it hurts nothing at all to say me too. 
But until we name names, until we stand up and say, NO MORE!, until we point out what sexual harassment is, nothing is going to change.
And even then it's not a sure thing. I mean, Trump got elected president and he admitted sexual harassment and assault out loud on tape and he laughed about it and bragged about it and never really apologized for it.
But.
Maybe.
If there are enough women who come forth to accuse even the rich and the powerful along with the regular guys who don't think twice about what they're doing when they try to sexually engage a woman or a girl in any way shape or fashion when that sort of attention is neither asked for nor appropriate, perhaps things will change.

Type yes if you, like me, feel like you don't fucking know shit except that it's a crazy world.
Or don't.
Either way, it's all right. I know where your heart is.

Love...Ms. Moon

Memories, Observations, Factual Report

I have had about the most boring day in history although I wasn't bored. I spent most of it sewing and I have to say that at this point, King Richard's quilt looks like a color-blind circus costumer made it but I'm sure that by the time I embroider some on it, it'll be awesome!
Right?
I did get off my ass for about half an hour and went outside and picked up some windfallen branches and pulled a few spent rooster-tail lilies (why did I ever plant those damn things?) and sweated like a trouper, as my granny used to say, and came in and wondered if I am somehow damaged by old age or something and will never be able to work outside in the heat again.
That would be sad.
Speaking of working outside, I realize that after approximately fifty years of gardening I planted my seeds in a completely shitty way and although some of them are coming up relatively normal, some of them obviously got rain-washed by the gully busters we had last week.
So I feel pretty darn useless.

That's a confederate rose up there in that picture and I'm sorry but that's its name. We could call it by its formal name which is hibiscus mutabilis or it's other common name which is the dixie rosemallow.
Jeez. Not much way to win with this one.
Whatever you call it, it's one of my favorites, so fancy and pink, almost tacky in its exuberant girlyness. It really does remind me of the flowers that my best friend Lucille Ferger and I used to make with Kleenex and bobby pins. I just googled "making flowers with Kleenex" and that's still a thing. I wonder if Lucille is still alive. I can't find her via Google or FB although I think I did find her twin sister but only the fact that she is, or was at least, a physical therapist.
Of the other three siblings I can find no trace.
How odd. My life between 1960 and 1965 was so very wrapped up in the lives of the Fergers who lived at the other end of the street which I lived on in Roseland- the only paved road in Roseland proper then and the only paved road in Roseland proper now. When I go back to Roseland I can't believe how small it was. The house is still very much there although the garage where Mrs. Ferger washed the clothes in an old wringer washer and the chicken coop are gone. Five kids and the daddy was a barber. In those days, a barber, even in a very small town, could support a family of seven although it was always tough, making ends meet. I could tell even then. My family still calls soda crackers with peanut butter on them Ferger snacks. But Roseland was a poor place and the Fergers had enough to eat even if it was plain and simple and a car, even if it was old and rusty, and they had a record player which we listened to Mitch Miller records on. (Watch the bouncing ball!) They were Catholic which was an oddity in Roseland but not really that remarkable.
I'll never forget watching Lucille's brother cut the head off one of their chickens and indeed, it did run around for awhile, headless and bleeding. I'll also never forget camping in the yard with Lucille, our tent made of a blanket stretched between garage and chicken coop and fastened with clothespins. We burned Pic mosquito repellent coils and we got up in the very deepest part of the night and looked up at the sky and the number of stars above us was so unfathomable that I would say that that was my first religious experience and my first inkling of the concept of infinity.

Ah, lah.

Childhood.

I just went out and shut the chickens up and tonight, Joe Cocker is sleeping by himself and Mick is The Man. Would you look at this?

Mick has his wing over Miss Dora and if there is an explanation for this behavior, I do not know what it is. It's certainly not cool enough for them to want to share body heat. I just googled that (what in the world did we do before Google?) and it would seem that Ameracaunas are a snuggly breed and Mick is an Ameracauna. Ameracaunas are the ones who lay the colored eggs and frankly, I think they are a superior breed. Or at least a very sweet one. That's little Violet and Lucy behind them and I know that it's Lucy and not Owl because the egg I got today was the pale green one, not the blue one. 

All right. This is what happens when I don't talk to another soul all day long. 

Thank you for letting me talk to you. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Redefining Our Origins

If you are as blown away by my new header image as I am, go here to read about the artist, Hermonia Rosales.
My daughter May introduced me to her and her work.
I am in her debt.

More Than I Can Say

My MacBook cranked right up this morning with no problems and I can't tell you how grateful I am for that. I was met with sadness though when I opened the door of the hen house and let the chickens out. There was a pile of feathers and Miss Owl, I think, was missing. It's always been hard for me to ID Owl and Lucy unless they are together for comparison but I think it was Owl. Lucy has been looking around all day and I can tell she is off. I got no egg from her and I saw her inspect the pile of feathers.
Hawk? Owl?
Most likely one of the two. An aerial attack, a quick claw-snatch and flap of strong wings.

It's quiet this evening after a fairly busy day. I met up with Lily and her children and Jessie and her child at Costco and it was chaos, as it always is when all of the cousins are involved. Owen even said that August was way more energized than he'd ever seen him. Gibson brought a piece of paper and a pencil and he was writing tickets. I'm not sure what for, but he didn't write me one.
Phew!

We were too early for samples and the children were bitterly disappointed. Owen insisted that he was about to die of hunger. Maggie and August were given some of my cherry tomatoes which they love and a few blackberries and they were happy and did not starve. Actually, Maggie is eating an entire Babybel cheese in one go in that picture. 

After Costco we headed over to our regular eating establishment, El Patron, where we sat outside and it wasn't bad in the shade. There was a nice breeze and they always bring us lots and lots and lots of chips and salsa and bring Hank a giant tankard of his beverage of choice and we tip them like we've all been food servers before (which we have) and even Mr. Moon showed up to join us. 

August took his accustomed seat on his Boppy's lap where he is most content.

Magnolia entertained herself by walking around and visiting everyone.

Gibson was his Gibson self and told us more jokes and kept a record of our behavior on his ticket sheet. 

And Owen did not die of hunger but posed with his Uncle Hank and our Rachel. 

Here are Jessie and her beautiful belly-full-of-baby and August and Lily and Maggie. 

Can you see Maggie getting puckered up? 

And...she makes her move!

August, as usual, appears to barely tolerate such mushy stuff. 

And all of that was the exciting part of my day. After lunch I went to Joanne's Fabrics and bought blanket binding for King Richard's quilt and then I went to Publix. Mr. Moon has driven to Georgia to the hunting camp and so I am alone again, but not upset about it at all. I can and will work on the quilt and whatever I want tomorrow at my own pace with no one's schedule to adhere to but my own. 

I just closed up the hen house and found Joe Cocker on a tiny ledge with three hens. Camellia, Dottie, and Violet are all snuggled up to and underneath him despite the fact that there is a whole lot of empty real estate to bed down in. Dearie is up in the tree along with Nicey and it seems to me that Dora is displaying some broody behavior, sitting flat in the same exact position she was in on a nest hours ago when I checked for eggs but that makes no sense whatsoever. This is not the season for hens to hatch eggs. 

Unless of course, the global climate changes have affected the eons-old internal timepiece of my hen. 

I discount nothing these days which appears too unbelievable to even contemplate. Since Trump got elected every day of his reign seems to bring another act or quote of his which shatters what I thought even possible from him. I comfort myself by thinking at random times during the day and night that perhaps at this moment, he is being arrested for treason or some other high crime which surpasses even his own party to ignore but I am beginning to think that no such crime exists for these soulless people of privilege, these heartless people from hell. 

All we can do right now is to absolutely not lose sight of that which is true, that which is real, that which is correct, that which is loving, that which is right, that which is sane, and to not accept any of these perverted things which are coming from the now-defiled office of the president but to speak up against them and to remember that history will not be kind to these people although this is rather cold comfort while we are in the middle of it all. 

Peace. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Well, Lloyd officially has a liquor store now. It's in the same strip building as the "food mart" and the Subway and you can get gas out front. Those and the auto repair shop are the entire sum of commerce in Lloyd although there are approximately 497 churches in a five mile radius of my house.

We are not exactly thriving here, are we?

I knocked over a glass of water this morning and some of it got in my MacBook which has upset me a great deal as you can imagine. I honestly don't think my computer is fried because I shut it off after I drenched the side ports and that all went just as it's supposed to. I leaned it up on its side, open in a V all day and now I have it just sitting open. I'm going to give it twenty-four hours before I try to restart it and I've got my fingers crossed. So obviously, I am writing this on my phone. 

Here's a picture I took on my walk. 

Now isn't that just pretty? 

I think so. 

This is what I've been doing most of the day. 

Sewing and pinning and cutting and sewing. 

I'm getting there with my fifth grandchild's quilt. 

Still a ways to go, though. 

I love the smiley, friendly llamas. And it will be soft. 

And that's about it. Mr. Moon is not back yet from Apalachicola where he went today to work on the lot but he should be here soon, most likely by the time Jeopardy comes on and definitely hot, filthy, exhausted, and happy as a man can be. 

I think that tomorrow is going to be lunch-in-town day with Lily and Jessie and Hank and Rachel and all of the kids because it's a Teacher Planning day. I am probably inappropriately excited about this as it's been too long since we got together for one of our rowdy, chaotic lunches. My hug-and-kiss supply should be topped up nicely. 

Dang but I love my family.

And I know exactly how lucky I am.

Thanks for dropping by. 

Love From Lloyd Where You Can Now More Easily Drink AND Pray...Ms. Moon. 

No Complaints

Y'all! I don't really want to be Martha Stewart. I mean, she seems like a pretty okay woman with a good sense of humor to me and god knows she's got a lot of energy and survived her prison sentence with a lot of class in my opinion but mostly, I just love that she and Snoop Dogg are working together and appear to actually enjoy each other's company. And who the hell wouldn't want to be friends with this guy?




Anyway, moving on as I will never even meet Snoop Dogg or be anything like Martha Stewart who can do EVERYTHING, obviously, although I did spend quite a few hours today working on Baby King Richard's quilt and I have almost have one part of it done. I also got to go hang with Magnolia June for a short time today, just the two of us, and it was sweet and fun. I love that little woman baby, that sassy pants princess, that curly-haired cutie. She likes me okay, too. We got a good thing going on. She's so loving with everyone to tell you the truth, but I like to think that she has a special place in her heart for me.
We looked at some books and laughed and laughed at a sound that a button in Elmo Learns To Use The Potty makes which is supposed to replicate the sound of toilet paper spinning off the roll. She let me scratch her back but she would not let me give her a foot massage.
"No," she said. And so I did not.

It rained hard again this afternoon and we got a few mighty cracking booms of thunder and today I have felt relatively cheerful and so much less despondent than yesterday.
Again- no idea why. Absolutely nothing has changed.
More of my seedlings are coming up in the garden and I washed some rugs and chased a roach which was so big that I honestly didn't want to kill it because the guts would have been just too much to handle without a Hazmat suit so he's now somewhere under a kitchen cabinet or maybe the dishwasher.

And that's what's happened in Lloyd today and I'm going to broil some snapper and make my famous gourmet spinach and rice casserole (haha) and maybe some stewed tomatoes.

None of this is special in any way but because I am feeling not-crazy, it just seems rather heavenly. Well, except for the cockroach.

I better go start cooking.

Love...Ms. Moon

Today's Interior Design Tip From Your Fantasy Lifestyle Guru

If eggs are not washed after being taken from the nest, they can safely sit out on the counter for weeks, thus making them not only more handy for cooking and freeing up room in the refrigerator, but also becoming a lovely decorative piece for your kitchen which changes daily with use and new additions.
If you are lucky enough to have hens and a neighbor who creates lovely wooden bowls from downed trees such as pecan and oak, your kitchen counters will always look lovely.

Do I sound like Martha Stewart?
Sometimes I wish I was Martha Stewart because then I'd know Snoop Dogg and I would cook him fabulous munchie-satisfying omelets and custards from my beautiful eggs and he would sit in my kitchen and talk about things such as how cosmically perfect my eggs are and the deep meanings of everything.

I believe we would laugh a lot and I would give him new hairstyles if he wanted me to.

Rain

The rain is coming down fast and furious, and it is beautiful. It's even cooled things down a little bit although not much, and of course it's done nothing about the humidity but still...
It is a blessing in and of its wet and pure self.

I have had a hard day. When I wake up and feel more despondent than usual, I try to talk to myself with an optimistic heart, telling myself that the lowness will pass and perhaps truly good things will happen and they often do. But today my little self-cheering speech fell flatter than it usually does and I have simply struggled through this one, one foot in front of the other until I finally gave up and laid down and slept for awhile.
I did get to the post office and to town to run a few errands which had to be done, including going to the library which always cheers me but today, even that didn't help and I despaired a little with the woman in front of me at check-out who owed a sixteen dollar fine for overdue DVD's, which I can tell was not a sum she could easily spare.
Still, I got Trevor Noah's book, Born a Crime: Tales From a South African Childhood and I have been wanting to read it.

So yes, good things have happened today. I found that book, I got my errands done, it has rained a fine rain, the arugula and mesclun have busted dirt, the tiny green ears of the first leaves are showing in my crooked rows. This is always such a fine sight, to see beginnings of the plants which I have helped to be with my planting of seeds in the dirt of our garden. Until the day I die, it will be a miracle, this ability to grow food from seed and soil, just as is the egg which comes from a hen, the bread which rises with the yeast, the tree which grows and has grown throughout the added-up lifespans of many humans, bearing witness to not just the first white people to settle here but the people who came long before them to hunt the still-prolific deer, to drink from the streams and rivers and springs.

Still, despite all of these things, so marvelous and fine, not to mention all the rest of the wonders of my life which sustain and bring me love, it has just been a hard day.
Hard days happen.
They just do and this is part of being human, although a part I would be so happy to give up.

The rain has almost ceased and the sun is setting behind the gray drape of clouds but still, things proceed as they always do, whether I can see them or not.
There are so many metaphors there but I see no reason to belabor any of them.
Sometimes it just is what it is.

The chickens are coming in to roost. They survived the little storm as they always do.

As do we.

Love...Ms. Moon

Also...

Happy birthday to both of these human beings.
I don't even have words...

Random But Loved

I am alive but have a little boy here with his mama while Daddy is in a tree stand.

"Come now, play more," said this little boy to his Boppa. 

I spent most of the day working on August's brother's quilt. I have no idea where I'm going with this. 

And...

Joe Cocker, one damn handsome rooster. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Slumber. Party. Not Necessarily In That Order

Well, it was definitely a jam-packed spend-the-night with lots of hugging.
"Maggie, do you love Big Bear?"
"Yeah."

There was pizza and macaroni and cheese. Since it didn't come out of a box, Boppy and I were the only ones who ate the macaroni. Oh well. We enjoyed it. Maggie went from high chair to her own chair to my lap to Boppy's lap and back again.

She has that man wrapped around her little finger. 

After supper was bath and shower time. Gibson and Maggie got in the tub together and Owen got in the shower. He likes to clean it for me when he's in there. I do appreciate that, even though he just uses soap and a washcloth. 

Gibson had a relaxing bath and pondered the great questions. Or something. 

Maggie did not go down in the pack-n-play exactly as she was supposed to. I read her some books while the boys ate their requisite purple cows and then kissed her and put her in bed and said, Night-night! and she proceeded to cry a lot. 

So then I rocked her for quite a while and then Boppy rocked her for quite awhile and I went and got my hair brushed by two boys and we read all of our books. They brushed and brushed my hair as I read and they did the parts of the duck, the dog, and the cat in The Little Red Hen Makes a Pizza as they always do. 

"Am I hurting you?" asked Gibson as he managed to tangle my hair and then pull on it. 

"No, not very much," I said. And that was true. 

"I want to make you so beautiful," he said, "So Boppy will love you."

"I appreciate that," I told him. 

And I did. 

While we were reading, we heard Maggie cry some and so after the last story I kissed the boys good night and tucked them in and turned on the nightlight and went to see what was going on with my girl and her grandfather. He would get her to sleep and then every time he put her down, she'd cry. I took over the rocking and crooned and crooned to her and she rubbed my arm and laid heavy on my old bosom and finally, I just went and put her in bed and she fussed for a minute but then she went on to sleep. 

And that would have been that except for the dang baby-monitor which beeped every time it lost the "link" and of course, every time Maggie would stir and utter, "MerMer!" I would jump bolt upright, as would her grandfather, and then she'd settle back down and be silent again. 

But some sleep was had by all and the morning came and here's what Maggie looked like.

I have to tell you- Owen and Gibson adore their sister with every fiber of their beings. They want to hug her and show her things and do fist-bumps and kiss her all the time. She is their royal princess. She is the joy of their hearts. This morning I heard Gibson say, "Who's the prettiest little baby girl in the world?" and then he hugged her. 

I can barely stand it. 

The boys wanted hot cocoa and so I made them some and of course, Maggie wanted some too. I poured a little milk in a mug and gave it to her with a spoon and she was perfectly happy with that. 

Owen was the one who came up with the idea to put the dishrag under her cup and got it out of the cabinet and arranged it for her. 

"Good thinking!" I told him. 

And it was. 

And then, the boy made us his famous Delicious French Toast. 

He really did. I was so proud of him. 

He cracked the eggs and mixed in the cinnamon and the vanilla and milk and he dipped the bread and put it in the pan and paid attention and turned it when it was ready. He did not burn one piece! I was a bit astounded at how well he did. And then we all ate French toast with syrup and "powder" on it which is what Gibson calls powdered sugar.

And then the boys played Wii with Boppy and Maggie played with dolls in the library.

She was so serious. She would put the dolls in the bed and rather sternly say, "Night-night" and then cover them up which was quite an accomplishment. Sometimes she had to get in the bed to do the job properly. Then, she would immediately get them up and put them on the floor on the blanket or in the rocking chair and then go through the entire routine again. 

This went on for at least half an hour which is nothing short of a miracle for that girl who basically likes to change activity at about the same rate a hummingbird changes flowers. 

Then Daddy came to get them and they all went home and Mr. Moon and I tidied up some things and then...I went back to bed. 

Heaven. 

We've gotten some good hard rain, bands from Nate, I suppose, and that's been perfect for the just-planted garden. My cat bites are doing very well, no signs of infection and in fact, I got two more today when Maurice was obviously trying to get back in my good graces. She licked the wounds after she bit me so I know she loves me. 

I got an e-mail today from a company called Petzlover and I decided that it had the best subject line ever in the universe. It was, "Sell your cats quickly online."

I suppose there is nothing private about anything you write on the internet and that Petzlover determined that perhaps I was in the market for a fast, easy way to get rid of my feral pet. 

We all know that I am not going to sell Maurice online or anywhere else. For better or for worse, we are wed together, crone and familiar. 

So it was a good night and I am proud of the way these children are growing. Owen not only made the French toast, he went and let the chickens out and gave them their scratch all by himself. He is protective and so loving towards his sister. Gibson is getting funnier and more profound every day and he, too, is a stellar big brother. And Maggie? Her vocabulary is increasing by leaps and bounds, I watch her as she becomes more and more autonomous and definite in her play and her activities. And she has the sweetest manners I've ever seen. She says, "Thank-you," not only when we give her something but also when we do something for her whether it's helping her down steps or getting her baby unstuck from the rails of the baby bed. She knows what she wants and she knows how to get it. 

Yep. These kids are growing up good and they are a testament to their parents' attention and love. 

And there is nothing on earth that could make a grandmother happier, although a martini and the prospect of sweet potato bread and chili made with black beans is a close second. 

Be well and gentle with yourself. 

Appreciate what you bring to this world. Appreciate what others bring to this world and let them know you do. 

Don't sell your cats quickly online. 

Unless you really want to. 

Here comes the rain again. 

Heaven. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Farm And Garden Report

This looks like the surface of the moon but actually, it's a row of planted carrot seeds in my garden. I got them planted along with the beets and the mustards and now I'm waiting on Owen to get here to turn on the sprinklers because he gets a huge thrill from that. Don't ask me why.

Owen, Gibson, AND Magnolia are coming over to spend the night. This will be Maggie's first overnight with us.
Pray for me.
Their other grandmother has had all three of them before and I don't know how she does it, frankly. But Mr. Moon and I will probably survive. I hear that Maggie is by far the best sleeper in the family. I am counting on that but I did take a nap this afternoon, just in case. Also, because I wanted to.

I have to say that it really is so very, very odd to have the temperature and humidity both be so high at this point in the year. It is wearying.

And no real relief in sight. 

Well, I hear that the children are en route and I need to go put on my make-up for their arrival.

Hahahahahahahahahahahahaha!

Pictures of the frolics will follow tomorrow.

Love...Ms. Moon

The Weather Is Awful, Be Glad You're Not Here

Dear god it is muggy and hot here today. Mr. Moon got up way early to go sit in a deer stand and came home miserable and empty handed. This weather is supposed to continue for at least another week. The thought of getting out and finishing up the planting leaves me completely unexcited.
But hey! At least Nate is still not forecast to hit here although as I said last night, we will probably get rain.
Which is good.
For us.
Here we go again with the guilt for being glad that a possible disaster is going to affect someone else and not us.
We are human.

If you can't tell what you're looking at there, it's my hand with the main cat bite on it. As you can see, it is showing no signs of infection. I appreciate the concern, though. I really do. 

And now I guess I better get to it. Whatever "it" is. 

I suppose I should get out there and plant beets and carrots and mustard greens, etc.

Sigh. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Is It The Full Moon?

The youngest cousins accompanied us to Costco today and sampled everything from pizza to pork chops to peaches. They are starting to really pay more attention to each other, especially when it comes to who has what and who is being allowed to do what. It's amazing how early the it's-not-fair sense kicks in.

It was good to get out of the house I guess, although I am sure I was lousy company. I woke up feeling as if the world must surely be done with me and that I am nothing but an annoying, busy-body old lady who really has nothing to offer anyone and please don't bother to tell me this is not true because that's just the way I felt and still do, actually, plus I had a lot of anger mixed in there and I'm not sure at all where that came from.
So this afternoon when Maurice and Jack were about to get into it and I made the incredibly stupid mistake of reaching out to stop Maurice from leaping on Jack and she bit me so hard that I'm sure I have a bruise under the bandaid as well as a bloody hole or two, I was so mad I could have thrown her across the porch. Of course I did not, but I will admit that I threw an apron at her and screamed at her.
Goddam, it HURT!
I know she didn't mean to hurt me. I know that. But honestly, how long have we had this cat? And I have shown her nothing but love and affection, all on her terms, never forcing the issue but waiting for her to come to me, feeding her the trailer trash treats she loves, never over-reacting in the least when she's bit or clawed me.

May I just say- it's not fair?

I still love her but I'm fucking keeping my distance and you can bet on that.
I understand that we not only anthropomorphize our cats in believing that they do very much care for us and have deep affection for us but we also probably rationalize their bad behavior in the same way.
"Oh, it's not her fault. She had a traumatic childhood."
How often have I said that?
And honestly, I know nothing about her childhood. She never has shown any fear of humans (or anything, for that matter) so I don't think she was treated roughly as a kitten. For all I know she was a beloved pet until she started displaying the clawing and biting and was then abandoned in front of my house where she has been ever since.
Well, don't worry. I will get over my snit before the puncture wounds are healed.
What's one more wound anyway? I have a veritable railroad track of rose thorn wounds down my leg, ant bites on my arms, and a scrape on my hand which I have no idea how I got. Sometimes I look at beautiful older women who are done up nicely in one way or another and I feel ashamed that I don't even make an effort. There's a woman about my age I see at Costco who has short blue hair and tattoos and she wears awesome clothes and I want to be her. And then I see a lady with pretty hair, fixed up in an attractive way, not screwed up in a stupid Olive Oyl bun and stuck to her head with a hair tie, wearing make-up and tasteful jewelry and clothes that don't look like she slept in them and I want to be her.
I don't know. But here I am, liver and age-spotted as a leopard, scarred and gouged and bit and wrinkled, crooked and bent and wattled and I just feel as if I've given up and wonder why in the world my husband stays with me or why my grandchildren don't scream with fear when they see me.

And so.

I got a good long row of mesclun planted along with a row of collards (two kinds) and a row of arugula and that was all I could manage to do this afternoon. It doesn't look like Tropical Storm or Hurricane Nate will be much of a threat to us (although hey! who knows?) but we should be getting some good rain which I will be grateful for. Somehow I am at a point in my life where there's almost nothing which soothes and quiets my soul like good, steady rain, especially if it's falling on a just-planted garden although watching it fall on any green growing thing feels like a promise of hope.

I will hold to that thought and I offer it to you as well. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Gifted

Fall is the season here for gold and purple blossoms.

My walk is filled with them and the butterflies are still heavily invested in the blossoms.

When I got to the post office this morning there were two packages for me. From Summer's End.
Oh, my heart.

Preserves made by Rebecca's own hand from fruit grown on her own piece of blessed heaven-dirt. And a snuggly blanket for the baby soon to come. 

Now, you know- when I started blogging, I did not use my whole name and figured that most people would think "Ms. Moon" a pseudonym and I posted no pictures of myself or my house or anything which might identify me. I suppose I was worried that some evil person would hate me and find me and kill me or something. I don't know. Whatever. 

And then, over the years, it became apparent to me that this attitude and this fear were ridiculous. We all relaxed a bit concerning crazed internet killers and now, when my friendships which have originated here become, either through actual meeting or the sending of words or tokens or homemade gifts or...well, anything sent through the mail- it seems all the more special and almost a sort of miracle. The miracle of us finding each other and becoming important in each others' lives. The miracle of caring and of being able to share deep hopes and dreams and fears and loves. The miracle of human connection which is now being made in this new, previously undreamed of way. 

We take it all for granted now but honestly, it hasn't been that long since I got my first computer and began to use it for communication via email (dial-up! screech! screech, whistle, screech!). Not really that long. And then Hank encouraging me to start a blog. And then...and then.

And now. Preserves to eat and a blanket for the baby and all made with love. Some of the oldest technology used to make gifts have found their way to me through this whole internet thing and I cherish that with all of my heart. 

So it's been a good day and I cleared that garden of weeds and that feels so good. Mr. Moon is going to till it after he finishes putting new brakes on a car. Or brake pads. Or something. It would be good to get it planted before the weekend when we are most likely going to get at least a lot of rain. 

I am wondering what is going on in Cozumel. Are they tying things down and buying water and getting ready for the storm which surely seems to be coming their way?

May they all be safe. 

Well, I need to get busy cooking our supper but first, here's a picture of my red passion flower with chickens in the background.

And the very last zinnia of the year. 

It's a beauty. 

Love to you all and thank you for being part of my world, my life, my heart.

Ms. Moon

Oooo-kay!

Zoom! Zoom! Zoom! She pushed her baby doll in the stroller at one hundred mph across the kitchen floor and laughed and laughed when I would put my foot out to stop her. One time I didn't put my foot out, being distracted by something and she tumbled forward and had a spill but the baby remained in the stroller and Maggie's tears lasted for about four seconds and then she went on to something else.
Yes. The picture is blurry. Every picture I took of her today is blurry. Except this one.

See that thing she's holding? That is a toy armadillo which is so realistic that I honest to god thought it was an actual dead baby armadillo on the deck at Lily's house. I called to Owen to come and look at it and he was like, "Uh, Mer. That's a toy."

"Oh," I said. "I thought it was real."

"Oooo-kay," he said. 

No one can put you down like an eight-year old who knows more than you do. 

But hey- Maggie thought it was a doggie so I'm not the only one who was fooled. At least that's what she called it. She made it walk and said, "Doggie, doggie, doggie."

That girl is so smart. When it was time to go pick up the boys at the bus stop I put her seat in my car and told her where we were going.

"Owen?" she asked. 

"Yes, we're going to go get Owen."

"Gibby?" she asked next. It just about kills me that this is what she calls Gibson because that is what my father's father called me because Gibson is my middle name and I was named after his mother, Mary Gibson. 

"Big bus?" she said. 

"Yes. We will wait for the big bus."

And so we did and when the boys got off the bus she was thrilled to pieces and when Gibson ran to kiss her, she reached around his neck and kissed him back and I almost could not handle it. 

I was watching the boys and Maggie this afternoon so that Lily could go shop at the One Week Boutique and don't ask me about that. It's at the Civic Center, it's huge, they sell children's clothes. That is all I know. By the time she got home she was regretting her decision to go but I think she's coming down with whatever version of this crazy virus we've all had that her body decides to go with. Will she puke? Will she have upper respiratory symptoms? Will she run a fever and have body aches combined with all of the other symptoms?" 

Choose one from column A. Etc.

Her forehead already felt hot to me when she got home. I used my Mama TherMOMeter on her and that hand is pretty darn accurate. 

Today is the first day that I've really felt recovered since I got the damn thing. I took a very good walk this morning and did not think I was going to die. Hallelujah and praise the Lord. This is the illness that just keeps on giving. 

Anyway, life goes on and let us be thankful for small but positive steps in any healthful direction. I was glad to be able to hang out with the kids although Owen climbed the loquat tree about halfway up to the sky and when I discovered this and told him to come down he said, "My mom lets me," which is the default response to anything the kids want to do that I don't want them to do. I texted Lily and she said that no, he is not allowed to do that. I feel sorry for kids today. That age-old strategy for getting to do things they shouldn't when Grandma's in charge just does not have much chance of working now. He hasn't had a seizure in quite awhile, knock wood, but if he did have one up in that tree...

Still, it was amusing and rather impressive to see him get that far up and it was even more amusing when the cat climbed the tree to be with him. 

And, since things are never allowed to get boring around here or anywhere else, there is a tropical depression in the Gulf which is projected to become a hurricane by the weekend and could quite possibly affect us but most definitely is going to affect my beautiful, beloved, spiritual home of an island, Cozumel. 

In his blog at Weather Underground, Dr. Jeff Masters, hurricane expert had this to say:

"If this track does indeed verify, I expect that TD 16 will be a Category 1 hurricane on Friday afternoon when it makes its closest pass to Cozumel, the northeastern tip of the Yucatan Peninsula, and the western tip of Cuba."

Luckily for Cozumel, they do not have to depend on DT for help if the hurricane does affect them. The Mexican government is hell on wheels when it comes to recovery and those people know what they're doing. No one will be throwing paper towels at them and then saying, "Have a good time!" as he gets on his plane and flies away. 

So. We tumble and fumble and carry on and it's October 4th, 2017 and I have the air conditioning on again. We slept without it last night and it was not that comfortable and it's supposed to be even warmer tonight. I really hate the idea that we might lose power again this weekend but it will be what it will be. 

Zoom, Zoom, Zoom! goes life and you cannot put your foot out to stop it no matter how much you want to.

Love...Ms. Moon