You Have To Cook A Fucking Meat

I'm just digging in at this point, knowing that I will get through it all, this ridiculous season of ridiculousness. Lily and I were talking the other day and she said that she was starting to not enjoy Christmas much at all.
"Well, I said, "You're the mother and it's up to you to do most of the shopping and wrapping and decorating and cooking and cleaning and while you're doing all of this, you're supposed to MAKE IT MAGICAL!"
"Yeah," she sighed. "You're right."

Owen wanted to go shopping with his mom and Maggie and me and so we allowed as how that would be okay and Costco was fine. No Raisin Bran sampling. We mostly got things for the Christmas Eve gathering which will be a lot of party food. 
"Are we done?" Lily asked at one point. 
"If we check out, we sure will be," I said. 
And so it was. 

And then Owen wanted to go to the Indian buffet and we allowed as how that would be fine too so we went and ate spicy delicious Indian food and Owen ate what he always eats there which is about twelve plates of butter chicken with the sauce and naan to dip into the sauce. He knows what he likes. After that we went to Big Lots to get a few things and here's what Maggie looked like in her new dress I made her.

She was fascinated by the jingle bell necklaces so of course Mer bought her one. I put it on her and she said, "Tank-you, Mer," as sweet as can be. 

Then I took the Hartmanns back home and I came home and unloaded the car and shuffled laundry and made up the bed with clean sheets and did a little ironing and now I've made Mr. Moon a Meyer's lemon meringue pie and I think I'm going to heat up last night's leftovers because I'm just fucking tired as hell. 

So here's one of my very favorite Christmas videos and it too, is a leftover from 2015 but like delicious cauliflower casserole it bears repeating. 

Watch it. It will make you feel better. I promise you with all of my heart. I put my hand on my copy of Sticky Fingers and swear to you.
Even if I have posted this before (and it is possible) and you have watched it before, watch it again.
Or don't.
Whatever.

Love you with all of the Christmas magic in my heart...Ms. Moon

Pictures And Stuff

The Bradford pears have finally let go of their leaves and my backyard is a Turkish carpet of glory color now.

These trees were here when we moved in and Mr. Moon curses them for being useless and he is right except for these few weeks in fall. And they do make a pretty bloom in spring. Still, it would have been better to plant olive trees or citrus or fruiting pears, perhaps some of the gritty sand pears which I love to bake with. 

The Bradford pears are certainly not of native origin here and once thought to be sterile, it is now becoming apparent that they are not and birds spread their seeds and the resulting sprouting trees in the woods can choke out natives. 

Cut them down and put in a pool, is what I say! Perhaps bordered by the state tree, which is the Sabal Palm. And a few pear trees. And olive trees. Or citrus. Or Pink Perfections. 

Or all of them. 

I do tend to overplant. 

Meanwhile, here they are and they are beautiful right this second.

The sky cleared today and the winter Solstice looked and felt and smelled far more like spring than winter. I am barefoot and wearing short sleeves and the sky became as blue as a dream lover's eyes. 

(How many ways can blue be described?)

My Seafoam Camellia is blooming. 

Isn't that just a splendid blossom?

I finished Maggie's dress. 

It is not splendid but it is soft. When I was trimming the seam which held sleeve to bodice, I cut the sleeve and didn't even realize it until I was turning it right side out. 

Sigh.

I had to rip the stitches of it and remove it and cut out and attach a new one. 

God bless the inventor of the seam ripper. 

I pretended today that it is not four days before Christmas and did not one thing to get ready. Tomorrow I am going back to Costco but Lily is going with me to give me direction and to keep me from falling apart in the aisles. 

I may pre-medicate. 

I need to go a few other places as well. 

On this day a year ago, I was finishing up my final packing for Cozumel. I went back and looked at my blog post from then and had a little weep. 

Ay yi. 

I also realized that my beets looked better last year at this point than they do now. 

I better go make supper. 

But first- my political statement of the day. I received this from Lulumarie last night. 

There is little else to say. 

Love...Ms. Moon

A True Christmas Present

I got to spend some time with this lady today and I am so glad I did.
She drove to Tallahassee this morning with one of our friends- Lulumarie, here on the blog- who lives in St. Augustine and who had ordered a car from Mr. Moon which she picked up today. Lis was buying Lulumarie's car and so it was a busy day for Mr. Moon, getting all of the papwerwork in order, getting tags put on cars, making sure that all was absolutely as it should be.
After most of that was done, the four of us went to lunch at the Farm-to-Table place we like so much. We sat leisurely in a booth and ate our good food and chatted and enjoyed the time and then Lulumarie got in her new dream car and drove away, headed home, while Mr. Moon went back to the office to finish up Lis's title work and she and I went and delivered a beautiful hat she'd made for a friend and then we went to the Quarter Moon, Tallahassee's hippie shop for the past umpteen years. We both found little presents to give and then we went and had coffee.
It was a gloomy day today. Still warm and humid but overcast, the sky bruised dramatically, but almost completely empty of rain. Lis had told me some absolutely devastating news about one of her oldest and dearest friends, a man I've known for quite a while too, a good, good man who, with his wife, has already been through more than any parent should go through. This news sat with us as we drank our coffee, and we spoke about how things like that put it all in perspective. How this going out and buying stuff for people because we feel we have to is absolutely so unimportant.
And we were quiet for awhile, finishing our coffee, thinking about life and how it can be so impossible to understand, so quick to turn, so easy to take for granted.
It was like the sadness of this news cushioned us in a cocoon of reality which, for a moment at least, obscured the buzzing bullshit which we all too frequently allow to divert us from that which has true meaning in our lives. I know that doesn't really sound as if it makes sense. But it is how it felt for me.

Mr. Moon let us know that the title work was done and we drove back to the bank and Lis signed a few papers and then got in the beautiful green Highlander which Lulumarie had sold to her and Lon. On the back of the vehicle was a Greatful Dead bumper sticker and the "lander" part of the Highlander insignia had either fallen off or been removed by some parking lot jokester at some point and we giggled about the significance of that. I was so sad to see her drive away.
I love that woman.
She is my secret sharer, my mother confessor, my partner in crime.

Tomorrow is the solstice and I am hoping that as we change into this new season, our hearts are lightened with our days.

And to keep it all real, I will tell you that I went back to Costco today and the only things they were sampling were spring rolls and RAISIN BRAN! Who wants a tiny white cup of dry raisin bran?
I didn't.
But I did see my gal who always cheers me and we hugged as always and her eyes were worthy of an Egyptian princess.

Even in the midst of sorrow and anxiety and holiday madness, there are moments of great transcending love and also moments of sweet human interaction if we just take the time to let them happen, keep our eyes and hearts open, and try with all of our hearts to be as kind to each other and to ourselves as we can be.

That's what I think.

Love...Ms. Moon

Practical Distraction

So why in the world did I think that I would get Magnolia June's dress finished today? Who do I think I am? The high school girl I used to be who could indeed whip up a fancy Vogue pattern in one day?
Sigh.
I am not.
Still though, I had a wonderful time listening to a book and stitching and ironing and trimming and stitching and ironing again. I have finished most of the bodice and sleeves and hopefully, one more day will be all I need to make the skirt and sew it to the bodice. I do this all for me, of course. My enjoyment. There is no need to make Maggie dresses or to embroider onesies for Levon, either. Somehow, though, I feel as if I am loving them when I sew or embroider, just as you do when you cook or bake for someone you love. There are no shortages of gourmet bakeries or fantastic restaurants or cute kids' clothes these days but homemade is, if not better, than at least unique in itself, there never being another brownie or pot of soup or dress quite like the one you are making.

Duh.

And it all distracts me from all the rest of the crap going on right now.
Lis sent me this today.

Yep. Pretty much our world at the moment. I would so much rather think about seams and stitches than about things I am not even going to say out loud at the moment because you know as well I do what I'm talking about. 

Talk to you tomorrow. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Sinners Can Be Winners!

I was walking past a house where a woman lives who is the daughter of people I know who have a Trump sign still in their yard. I got to thinking about something the mother had said to me once about one of her children or grandchildren getting pregnant without the benefit of marriage and she shrugged it off, made some slight joke about it, and of course I do not judge whatsoever about a child being born out of wedlock, as we so priggishly used to say. The family is quite church-going, though, and also have a religious sign in their yard and it all got me to thinking.
It has been such a conundrum to me that supposedly good Christians have supported Trump so enthusiastically even with his admitted extremely ungodly like actions towards women, his affairs, his three marriages, the women who have accused him of sexual harassment and assault while they hated Obama who has lived, relatively speaking at least, a very straight and narrow life, especially when it comes to marriage and fatherhood and respect for women.
Of course here, in the south, race plays a huge part in that and I am not going to try and pretend it does not.
Still, though, one would think that a man like Trump would be at least not a favored candidate for those who proclaim to follow the Bible and the teachings of Christ.
But then it hit me- these people all have had failings when it comes to living in a Christ-like manner and they know it. We all do, but for those who claim to be Christians, it must be an even darker burden, knowing that they have failed to live up to what they say they so strongly believe in. And then here comes Donald Trump who, even though it is quite apparent has absolutely no inclination towards religion, says he does. Says that the Bible is his favorite book, after the one he hired someone to write about himself, of course. And in just avowing that he believes in Christianity, just in saying that he reads the Bible, just in courting the Christian religious voter's support by giving lip service to outlawing abortion, he makes himself one of them- as obviously imperfect as any human could ever be and yet still, a believer!
And yet, as Christians are so fond of saying, if you just believe, all is forgiven and your sins are washed away in the blood of their savior and besides that- look at how very, very forgiven Trump is! So forgiven that he has billions of dollars! (According to him.) He lives in a golden palace! He has been elected president of the United States! God has spoken!
Sinners can be winners!
And Jesus loves them too despite all of that silly talk about the camel and the eye of the needle.

Ugh.

Well, I could be wrong about all of this. Not that that's ever happened before.

And on that cheery note, I am going to go tend to household chores and then sit down to sew a pretty rose and bluebird print flannel dress for this incredibly delicate and feminine little girl.

Doesn't she look like a miniature Bandita? A small, gleeful, wicked Pistolera? 

She don't care 'bout no Jesus and would much prefer to be washed in mud rather than blood. 

Oh, how I love her!

Happy Holidays!

Love...Ms. Moon

It Is A Misty, Moisty Evening

That is what the lettuce looks like tonight after it rained. The flashlight shows the diamond water drops, and how amazing to think that even at night, it is that green, needing only a shaft of light to draw the color back from the darkness.

I went to Costco which wasn't nearly as crowded as you would think it might be, one week before Christmas. I walked about with my cart the size of Montana, texting my children, "Would you want this? Or this? Do you need this?" and so forth and the samples were crazy good, the best cheeses and salty ham, sliced as thin as an assassin's blade. That was my lunch, each of those bites added together and it was delicious. I have gotten a very, very good start to the whole gift thing and of course I feel guilty because none of what I bought was "local" or "locally sourced" nor did the purchase of any of it contribute to a cleaner planet, a healthier community, or a starving artist.
It all is what it is which is the booty/bounty of what I could fill my cart with and someone is making a living, either where the products were made or here where the employees keep the shelves stocked, serve up the samples, check people out with such fine efficiency. One of the things I love about Costco is the way I see the same employees year after year. I almost feel as if I have developed a sort of relationship with some of them. The lady who found my wallet when I inadvertently left it is someone I always look for and when I see her, I hug her so hard. In the whole word of huggers, she is definitely in the top ten and she is most amazing eye-make-up applier I have ever seen. Please do not think I am being ironic here. Her eyes always remind me of mermaid eyes. They would be beautiful naked but she makes them into works of art.
What was I talking about? Oh yes- everything is local somewhere and I do understand that this is hardly what "buying local" is meant to do. I am not ignorant. I am just a horrible shopper.

I reached a point in my shopping where I suddenly HAD TO GET OUT OF THERE and I did and when the cashier rang me up and announced my total I almost fainted.
"Whoa!" I said, and she said, "That accelerated quickly, didn't it? You have fallen prey to the lure of consumerism." I wondered if perhaps she has a degree in philosophy or poetry or something like that as that was not the response I was expecting but it was awesome.

So. Mrs. Moon, you may be wanting to ask, Do you still have a husband?
I am fairly sure that I do and he will be home within the hour after having driven all the way from Tennessee today. I am going to make him a salad from that lettuce in the picture and clam spaghetti and warm up some of the Parmesan/Rosemary bread that I bought at the Costco which is absolutely some of the best bread I've ever personally eaten.

The leaves are dripping onto the leaf-strewn ground and I can hear a lonely frog singing off in the distance. Cars go by and their wheels make ssshhhushing sounds as they drive through the puddles on the wet road. It is so warm that one questions the date on the calendar. I took a nap this afternoon and when I woke, I had to think for a minute about what time of day and season it was.
Ah yes. Late afternoon, almost the winter solstice. Christmas will be here in a blink and the days will start growing longer.
It is comforting to think that no matter how much we humans screw things up, the solstice is something we can count on. It is real and true and eternal and can be observed and predicted and proven and celebrated. The light returns, not in theory or as a metaphor. It is not only evidence-based, it is science-based.

It is something we can hang our hats on.

Love...Ms. Moon

In Which I Take A Spill, Levon Speaks, And Keith Richards Persists

Somehow last night when I was turning off the light in the Glen Den while holding my supper plate and fork and cup, I suppose I tripped over one of the many pillows or some of the many pillows that always get stacked up right there, including one actual buckwheat (I think) sort of pillow-stool that we cannot figure out the origin of. We went to Mexico last year and when we got back, there it was.
Anyway, I tripped and then I suppose with my monkey toes I grabbed onto the rug and somehow I bent my big toe on my right foot back in an unnatural way- please don't try to support your entire body against a tussle with gravity with the strength of one big toe- and I tumbled to the ground and as I laid there I thought, "I hope this isn't too bad," and it wasn't. Not at all.
Just a very sore toe, mostly.
And even sorer hip joints than yesterday which were pretty bad sore already so I'm feeling stupid and pathetic today.
As pathetic and useless and stupid-looking as a swollen big toe which is pretty pathetic and useless and stupid-looking.

It ain't even broke, just...you know. Sore.
So what? It's plenty warm enough to wear my open-toed Crocs so no worries there.

Christmas. I think it's finally caught up with me and no more fucking joking about Walgreens, okay, people? The tittering hysteria about it is gone and Evil Santa has taken over as being far more representative of my mood than Buddha behind the manger.
If you get my drift.

Part of the problem with depression and anxiety is that all the while you are suffering from them you are also beating yourself up for suffering from them, these so-nebulous, seemingly self-inflicted, sorry-ass pity parties and you blame yourself and think, "Just straighten up, go take a walk, go feed the poor, go sing some jolly-holiday-jingles, go drink some herbal tea and take a nice, long, soothing bath in your privileged white-woman claw foot bathtub, you privileged white woman."
I mean. How can anyone who has a  giant claw foot bathtub with hot and cold running water, with jewelry and with cast iron skillets in all sizes, with grandchildren and love and books and everything, every thing in the world, dare to be sad, to be anxious, to be absolutely flattened by such nothingness? And how in the world do I manage to feel guilty about feeling guilty?

I don't know.
It just happens.

But. Just as my toe will get better, so will my spirits. Might not happen until long after the toe is its normal self and to be truthful, I don't know what normal is for my spirits, but I keep watching this and weeping a bit for the beauty of it and it helps. It always helps to let out some of the tears for whatever reason.



And I know that for all of my sadness, my feelings of complete inadequacy, I am still able to be grateful, to be thankful, to realize my vast good fortune.

We fall, we get up. We survey the damage, we go on.

We ponder the great mysteries and sometimes we just have to say, "I don't know."

Anyway, let us remember that in the categories of great mysteries, there is always Keith Richards, husband, father, grandfather, the man who wrote the guitar riff for Satisfaction, and the man who was never supposed to live this long.
I am so glad he did.




Perhaps the best "Fuck You" in history.

Happy birthday, old man. Keep on with it.
We shall too.

Love...Ms. Moon

The Traditional Bad Santa Post With Pictures And Gift Suggestions

Well, guys- there he is! It's the Ms. Moon traditional BAD ASS Santa, aka Evil Santa, aka, What-the-fuck-were-they-thinking?
Yes, I let him out of the closet today in order to complete my holiday decorating.
Lily and her kids came over for pancakes this morning and Owen set up the Nativity for me. He arranged the angels and Mary and Joseph and the donkey and the cow and I said, "Whoa! You forgot someone, buddy!" and I went off to the library to fetch the missing figure from the mantel where he lives when he's not being part of the cozy little scene in Bethlehem.

We do so try to be inclusive here at the Church of the Batshit Crazy. 

Here's what the whole little tableau looked like after I got a few magnolia branches to fully create that perfect seasonal touch. 

Don't you think that the picture of my great grandfather adds just the right amount of solemnity, dignity, and merriment? 

I do. 

Thank you, Owen, for helping me to make the holiday magic! 

Here's what the magic boy looked like eating pancakes. 

For some reason, he likes to eat pancakes like an uncivilized beast. He doesn't use butter or syrup on them so that he can eat them with his hands and not get them all nasty. So...a rather fussy uncivilized beast. He's growing his hair out. And do you see that cleft in his chin? Just like Levon's. 

Speaking of that family, I got a picture from Jessie today and this is what they're doing in North Carolina. 

Say what? It got up to 70 degrees here today. We're going to have to take August to the beach when he gets back so he can thaw out. Seriously, I bet he is loving it all. 

And here is Ms. Maggie June, doing what Maggie June does best which is being crazy cute. 

I believe she had just heard one of the roosters crow. 

Our family can be a bit dramatic. I admit it. 

While they were here, I put a CD of Keith Richards' Crosseyed Heart on and Maggie was standing right there with me when the music started. She was enchanted. 

"Can you hear Keith?" I asked her. "He's playing for you."

She waved at the player and in her best Southern accented voice said, "Hey!" I swear that she can put as many syllables into that word as a Miss Georgia Peach and I feel quite certain that she totally believed that a tiny man was playing in that box with the lights and dials and buttons on it. 

And I did not get one picture of Gibson what wasn't blurred. So. Sorry, Gibson. 

And here's one more picture of Owen, pretending to take a nap with his mother who had to work all day yesterday. For some reason, every time any part of my family gathers over here, people end up in my bed. 

Probably because it's the coziest bed in the world. It's Snuggle Central. I love that. 

After they all left, I messed around and cleaned up the kitchen and swept a few floors and texted with a friend and did one load of laundry and finally got around to cutting out the dress I want to make for Maggie. And that is all I did today.

Besides chasing off a huge hawk who was trying to snatch a chicken. The roosters make a big racket when a hawk is around. Not only mine, but the roosters next door. 

Predator birds are so cruelly beautiful, aren't they? This one must have had a wing span of three feet and his talons were immense. He'll be back. There is no doubt of that. 

I am panicking a little bit. I mean, tomorrow is Keith Richard's birthday, which is a good thing, but it is also one week from Christmas and I am completely unprepared. So yes, of course I spent the weekend embroidering and yardworking and starting a new dress for Maggie. Every now and then it would occur to me that perhaps I should do some shopping. Like, put on real clothes, get in the car, drive to town and go to stores. 

Well, the mere thought of such foolishness gave me the vapors and led me to thinking about washing down a few Ativan with a slug of vodka and when I feel like that, I choose to consider it to be a sign from god that I should not in any way participate in whatever was causing me to have those thoughts. 

However, I suppose there will be no getting around it tomorrow. 

I used to have a friend who came to see me once on Christmas Eve day. She told me that when she left my house she was going to go do all of her Christmas shopping. 

"Where?" I asked her, as it was getting late. 

"Oh, Walgreens," she said airily. "Is that wrong?"

No. It was not wrong. There are many, many fun and useful items at Walgreens which anyone would appreciate getting for Christmas. Who doesn't need a new digital thermometer? A knee or wrist brace? This season's palette of Maybelline eyeshadow? A one pound bag of snack-sized Almond Joys? A bottle of Eau de Almost-Smells-Like Chanel Number Five? Lightbulbs? A puppy calendar? A box of assorted-size Band-Aids? A huge bottle of Vitamin C? And nothing says I love you and am celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ Our Lord with you like incontinence products. Am I right? 

Hell, they sell wine and clothing and Inspirational Christmas music at Walgreens! I imagine you could even get gift certificates for flu shots! 

You think I kid. 

Sigh. 

I do not. 

Oh ho-ho-fucking-ho. 

I have survived sixty-three Christmases in my lifetime and I will probably survive this one too. 

What's the best Christmas present you ever got? I'd love to know. Share the joy, people. 

After all, it's the most wonderful time of the year!

Love...Ms. Grinchy McGrinch Grinch Moon

I did today what I said I would and I worked in the yard and I cleaned out the chickens' waterers and I finished the little fish on the onesie for Levon.

What I did in the yard was to pull and dig invasive plants and cut back the dead parts of lilies. The invasives will be back, there is no doubt of that but at least right now I have a little moment of time where they are at least not in evidence. Once these things get started there is no real getting rid of them.

Not unlike white supremacy, racism, fear of the other, ignorance, hatred and greed, eh?

Well.

Look what I found today.

The first of my pink perfections of the year. Isn't she beautiful?

Some of the roses I did NOT prune back the other day are blooming. I picked the red blooming one for its scent which is heavenly and the white one was here when I moved in. Mr. Moon dug it up and transplanted it to a spot by the garden this year and it has already proven to be so much happier. 

After I finished in the camellia bed and trimmed back the frozen parts of the firespike, I said, "Done," and I was. I was tempted to start in on the elephant ears which look atrocious, all wilted and mushy or perhaps the spirea, but I took my yard cart of trimmings to the fire pile and dumped it out and came inside and got started on finishing up my embroidery. 

Isn't it a happy little fish? As with the yard, I could have gone on, adding water waves and bubbles and Lord only knows what but since it's a garment that Levon will only be able to wear for a few weeks at the most, I believe I was wise to knot the last strand I used and call it done. And tomorrow I can start on a dress for Maggie. And perhaps I will prune the spirea then too, and the elephant ears as well. 

We shall see. 

So boring. Such an unsatisfactory post. But sometimes that is the way of it. There are days of small accomplishments, some of which no one in the world would notice or care about but me and this has been one of them. Perhaps the chickens will care that I bleached their big waterer and scrubbed it before rinsing it and filling it again although I doubt it. 

I may not dance like no one is watching anymore (oh! how I used to!) but I do chores like no one is watching. Which they are not. Do I get points for heaven?

Nah. 

Love and kisses, y'all...Ms. Moon

Well, I Guess It's A Bob Dylan Day In The Hippie Life Of Ms. Moon

Well. That's over.
Once again I am going to say that I adore this doctor. He is so kind, so thoughtful. He listens. He laughs. He explains. He gives you choices. He touches you on the knee when he talks in a way that makes you feel connected, not weird. Like a real person.
He does not judge.
At least not out loud and I never feel judged when I leave his office.

Today I told him about Jessie's home birth and he loved the story of her having that baby between breakfast and lunch. He told me that at one time he lived near London and he and his friends used to go to a local pub where the husband of the family who owned the pub did all of the front-of-the-house work from bussing to taking orders and pouring drinks and the wife did all of the cooking. One day he and his friend went by and the pub-owner husband told him that his wife had just had their ninth baby, upstairs in the living quarters and was already downstairs, cooking. I doubt he'll ever forget that.
My blood work was pretty okay. When I'd gone in last time after doing blood work, one of my white blood cell counts was wacky and he told me that there was maybe one in a hundred chance that I had Lymphoma and he was sure I didn't but for the sake of everyone's peace of mind he needed to get it checked again and today he said that as he'd expected, that had been a big fat nothing. I do not have Lymphoma.
Which I wasn't really worried about until two days ago when the major anxiety of knowing I was about to go see him kicked in.
That crazy familial cholesterol is still high but half of what it was and he gave me options on that and didn't seem too concerned. He NEVER makes me feel as if I have to take a medication.

So. I survived. The unfortunate thing is that those lovely, wonderful serotonins that usually kick in when I walk out of the door of a doctor's office stayed silent today and it took me awhile to shake the dissociation which is what my mind and body, with no permission from me or whoever I think "me" is, takes over when I have a doctor's appointment. I went to Target though, and shopped for a few presents. I got Magnolia and August both the newest version of the Fisher Price farm although now it's called Little People Caring For Animals Farm and that is just fine with me.

I have had one version or another of this toy for almost forty years and have one still and every one of my kids and my grands has loved it. So now August and Maggie will be able to take care of their own animals on their own farms in their own homes. 

Little people are so easy to buy presents for. You could buy them something that cost five bucks or fifty and they would be completely delighted with either. Not so much with kids Owen and Gibson's age and I have not yet found them anything although I offered to buy them a goat. I mean- they could take care of a farm animal for real, right? 

Lily wasn't very excited about the idea. 

Damn. 

After I walked around Target for a little while, I realized I was hungry as hell, having been able to only get down a bit of yogurt before the appointment and I paid for what I had in my cart and came on home and ate some leftovers and laid down for a nap, having bad anxiety-crash, and slept for two hours without moving an inch. Mr. Moon is on his way to Tennessee to visit an old friend and I am here with Maurice and Jack, and the church next door is playing music. I can hear drums and the singer. I can hear the bass chunking out the holy rhythms. I have my little Christmas tree plugged in and I plan to spend the next few days sewing and embroidering and working in the yard. After I finish with the little fish onesie I think I will make Maggie a flannel dress and I have a pair of August's overalls to decorate with all of the rich colors of embroidery thread. 

My old hippie-ness is making itself known with a vengeance these days and I am glad of it. 

I will not ever regret being a hippie and I will not ever stop being one, or at least the version of one I can be at my age. 

And because I bought Maggie a farm and therefore, there shall be a Maggie's Farm, I give you this.

Bob Dylan playing his song, Maggie's Farm at the Newport Folk Festival in 1965. He shattered the world of folk music by strapping on a Fender Stratocaster and plugging in with Al Kooper and The Butterfield Blues Band backing him. The crowd went insane and not in a good way. Their own Dylan, their own blue-eyed boy, their own mystical poet of the acoustic guitar had betrayed them with the flip of an amplifier's switch and they were not happy.
Dylan, however, was not deterred and as he has since the first time he stepped foot onstage, he did exactly what he wanted.
He still does.
Not unlike Magnolia June. I hope she wants to play with her farm.

And I hope that all of you are safe and warm and at peace tonight. I am feeling emotional, as we are sometimes apt to do at the end of another year. And although I know that no one ever watches these videos, here's another Dylan song, this one performed with The Band on the film The Last Waltz. I truly believe, deep in my heart, that this is one of the most beautiful and hopeful and lovely songs ever written and although of course none of us can truly stay forever young in some sense, in the soul sense, it is quite possible, right up until the day we die.





That's what this old hippie thinks and wishes for all of us on this chilly December night in North Florida.

Love...Ms. Moon

Baby Love, My Baby Love, I Need You So, Oh My Baby Love!

Mustard greens are a bit prickly and when raw, they have a gorgeous bite, a wasabi bite, a horseradish bite. Thus, they are delicious, cut fine and added to a salad. Cooked, they are milder and they are not thick greens and do not need a lot of cooking time but I am from a region where we like our greens cooked until they are spoon tender, and tonight I am cooking my mustards with some collards which are still quite young and therefore, not as tough as they do get eventually, and some kale which is also fairly young. I cut up one piece of bacon and let it cook down a little in one of my favorite iron pots and added sliced onions and then the greens, washed until free of all dirt and grit (mustards are bad to keep sand on them) and then cut longwise and then crosswise. I added water and a vegetable bouillon cube and salt and pepper and some balsamic vinegar and now they are coming to the simmer. Mustards are like spinach in that they, too, cook down to almost nothing whereas collards do not and neither does kale, especially when those greens are mature and more sturdy. Mustards are good greens to go into a quick stir fry with whatever else you're throwing into the wok. They go well with soy sauce, as do all of the greens I know.

We are having those greens tonight and will also have some sweet potatoes and pork chops and this is one of our very favorite meals. I will probably make some cornbread, mainly to sop up some of the broth from the greens and it will all be delicious.

Tomorrow Jessie and Vergil are taking their sons up to Asheville as a dear family friend died and they want to go to the memorial service. I know that I am going to miss them in the week they are gone so I ran by today to get some love to tide me over. August was so excited to see me and that's another thing about being a grandparent- these little people just love us to pieces. It's a special sort of love which is the purest and least complicated I've ever experienced, coming and going. Of course it's all just a trick of evolution to keep us grandparents around and helping to take care of and help provide for and protect these babies of our own children but it works.
It works real well. Adoration does not suck.

August grabbed me by the hand and said, "Come!" but he didn't even really have a plan. He just wanted me to obey him so I did. He ended up going to get books which we read and I also got to hold Levon and he is now smiling, as Jessie says, "whenever he's not crying."
I witnessed this today.
At one point, she was changing Levon's diaper and clothes and she brought him to me, just wearing his diaper so that I could get some almost-naked-baby love, which is the best love there is. I nuzzled his soft neck and smelled his head and touched his soft back and tummy and legs. How I love Jessie for that act of generosity!
We asked August to pose for a picture, holding his brother and when I said I would send it to his Boppy, he agreed. By then, Levon was not quite in the mood but the entire photo shoot only took around eighteen seconds, so it was okay.

I am most impressed that August kissed his baby brother but he did. Crying doesn't seem to bother him too much. 

I asked August today who Little Boppy is again and once again, he said, "August," and then he said something about Big Boppy and my heart just swelled to immense proportions. And just as I was wondering where my husband was this evening, I got this picture. 

I guess I wasn't the only one who needed a little sweetness. 

Here's another picture that Jessie sent me of the two young gents kickin' back. 

One more picture and I stole this one from Facebook. 

Don't Owen and Gibson look suave and debonair? Doesn't Maggie look like we all feel this time of year? Or am I just speaking for myself?

I've got a 10:15 appointment with my doctor tomorrow and I'm hoping that none of my blood work indicates a terminal illness. Don't laugh- even writing that makes my heart go up into my throat. How odd I am about these things. How completely divorced from common sense and reality. 

Well, hopefully tomorrow night I'll be posting again about how much I love my young and handsome doctor. I keep thinking about what one of my friends who also goes to him said which is that going to see him is just like going to see a friend named Dr. Zorn and having a chat. 

It's true. 

I hope it's a nice chat. 

Whatever happens, that particular appointment will be over and done in sixteen hours or so and what a relief that will be. Plus, I'll be asleep for eight or nine of those hours and that's a good thing too. 

And then, before you know it, it will be Keith Richards' seventy-fourth birthday. As we all know, Mr. Richards' birthday is a major holiday here in the Church of the Batshit Crazy and there will be appropriate celebration. 

Stay tuned. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Satisfaction

In the interest of getting off my fat ass today I took a pretty good walk and spent a lot of time outside, trimming back frozen stuff like bananas and lilies and also roses. I have no idea of when or how to prune roses but every now and then something just overtakes me and I go at it with my pruners. Then I decided to trim up the wisteria arbor which was so overgrown that even I had to duck to walk under it. That job always takes me hours and today was no exception. I get out the big loppers and the ridiculous kitchen step stool and risk my life reaching up to cut through the tough, woody vines. But it's done now and although I have many, many other things to trim and cut back and pull, it feels like I've made a good start. Ms. Shelly is a good motivator. I saw her on my walk and she was raking her yard as usual. One leaf on her lawn is one too many. I will never, ever be that sort of yard-tender but we share a love of our little pieces of dirt and we like to take care of them. We discussed the Roy Moore loss and we both agreed that it was amazing and wonderful and positive and then we started talking about how women are speaking up now and how that's such a good thing.
I do enjoy my chats with her.

So all of that and laundry has been most of my day. Miss Nicey never did show up and I think she's gone which makes me incredibly sad. This morning when I went to let the chickens out, an opportunity presented itself to shut Joe Cocker and Pearl The Rooster into the coop and so I did. They have food and water in there so it's not cruel. They have plenty of room to walk around and scratch in and roosts to hang out on and it felt good to give the hens a day off. They moved around the yard with Mick and I heard no squawking from them at all. Miss Honey did not leave the nest though, and I know she's traumatized.

After I got all of my yard chores and laundry done late this afternoon, I finally sat down with the little project I'm working on in the picture above which is another decorated onesie for Levon. As I stitched I watched the Keith Richards Netflix doc called "Under The Influence" for about the seventh time and loved it just as much as the first time I saw it. That is heavn for me- embroidering on a garment for a baby and watching the joy on Keith Richards' face as he plays music.

I am a simple woman and my pleasures are fairly simple too. Unlike the Rolling Stones, I can indeed get satisfaction. Mostly. Sometimes. And that's good.

Love...Ms. Moon

Rooster Retification Soon To Be Accomplished

Lily and Maggie and I met up with Jessie and her boys at her house today and then we walked up to the local park, Lily pulling August and Maggie in a wagon and Greta the dog on a leash. At the park the kids played on the playground and Jessie and August and Greta and Levon and I walked a little bit around the park under the beautiful pine trees. August found a walking stick and then he found one for me. It was about seven inches long.
"Touch ground," he instructed me, demonstrating how one is supposed to use a walking stick.
Mmmmm...
It was another beautiful day, still cool but not cold, the sky old-Levi's blue.
After our little outing, we picked up Hank and went to eat lunch at our standard favorite, El Patron where every one of the lunch specials are $5.87 and the food is pretty darn okay and we can eat outside, not to mention that the server brings us many, many chips and dishes of salsa. Here's August, offering me a chip which he has pre-dipped just for my enjoyment.

Such a thoughtful lad. 

And here's Maggie looking like a movie star in my opinion. 

Levon got held and snuggled by all of us and as we all know, Hank holding a baby is about the best thing in the world. 

That baby has gained over three pounds since his birth but he's getting so long that he's still skinny. Oh, to have genes like that! He takes after his daddy. And his mama, too, for that matter. He's smiling on the regular now and he talks to us. He's rocking the baby-mullet hairdo and it looks quite fine on him. All-in-all, I would say that Levon is a pip, and a fine addition to our family. It amazes me how easily and quickly these babies slip into our lives and our hearts and our family as if there had never been a time when they weren't here. 

And in the woo-woo sense of things, perhaps there never was a time when they weren't here. Just not in a corporeal sense. 

I am not discounting anything, especially when it comes to babies. 

After lunch we dropped off Hank, and Lily and Maggie and I drove to Owen and Gibson's bus stop where we waited for them to be dropped off.

"Are we going to your house?" Gibson screamed when he saw me. I don't know why the parents of my grandchildren don't just all move in here. Their children would certainly be happy about that. Can you imagine the amount of laundry we'd be doing? Lord. At least none of my leftovers would go to waste which would piss off the chickens. 

Speaking of, Miss Nicey is not in the hen house tonight and I have no clue as to where she is. I hope she's okay, just hiding from the unholy trinity of Mick, Joe Cocker, and Pearl. 

This situation is just about to get rectified. I refuse to see my hens suffer any longer and I feel quite certain that not one of them will mourn Pearl's passing and I will do my culinary best to ensure that he is honored in death with my chicken-stewing capabilities. 

Bless his heart which I shall cook for the cats. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Putting The Fun Back Into Infundibulum

The sun has set and all of the color has followed it, lighting up skies far from here. Although life is definitely not fair, all humans get an equal opportunity to view the sun and the moon and that is pretty cool.

I just went out to check on the chickens whom I'd already shut into their hen house because I heard a racket I could not identify and actually, any noise coming from a hen house at night is not good. I grabbed a stout stick on my way out (Mr. Moon is out of town) hoping with all of my heart that I wouldn't have to use it on a possum or a raccoon but when I opened the door, I found Joe Cocker trying to climb the tin which covers the nesting boxes. It's a steep slope and he kept slipping back and flapping his wings and that was the sound I heard and I have absolutely no idea in this entire world why he would try to do that. Earlier he was on his narrow ledge perch with Darla and Little Violet who had abandoned her usual roost up at the top of that tin to sleep with him. I would assume for the warmth.

That's her butt on the right. 

So why was Joe trying to get to the top of overhang?
God only knows. Not me. I can't even venture a guess.
I do know why Nicey spent the day on my back porch, most of it on the table.

She was hiding from the roosters and my resolve to get rid of at least Pearl has hardened. This morning I myself knocked Mick off Miss Honey who is missing half her head-comb and many feathers due to the constant sex she is subjected to. When a rooster mounts a hen, he beaks her hard up on the head and perches on her back with his talons. The entire act barely takes seconds but that is plenty long enough to inflict pain and pull feathers. Roosters don't even have penises so I am not sure how the sperm meets the egg but somehow, it does. 

I just looked it up. If you care to learn about chicken reproduction, you may read about it HERE where you will find extremely scientific words like infundibulum and magnum. 

All of this would make absolutely fascinating small talk at any holiday party and is sure to impress people with your Scientific and Big Word knowledge when it comes to how chickens mate and reproduce. 

You are welcome. 

Anyway, as I said, Nicey spent all day on the back porch. She even let me pet her. A little. I fed her cat food and a bit of cut-up venison and vegetable stew. At one point I'd left the back door open for a second and she walked right into the house which would be fine with me- she could live inside for all I care, but I am loathe to clean up chicken shit and no, I will not be diapering a hen. Call me cruel but that's just ridiculous. 

I wonder how she knew that I would protect her because I feel certain that she did. 

Again- who knows? Not me.

Okay. Cute picture time. 

This is Maggie wearing a coat and hat that my mother knit for Jessie. My mother was a true craftswoman when it came to knitting and to crocheting. She used those teeny, tiny needles and followed directions that would make my head explode. How cute do they look on Ms. Magnolia? I think the child could get a well-paying job as a model. She's just so...cute. And expressive. And photogenic! And she has curly hair! And she's my granddaughter! 

Her parents should totally exploit her for money. She would love it. And dang it- kids are so lazy these days. Hell, when I was two years old, I was working in a coal mine. When I got a job at McDonald's at the age of four, I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. 

So. Modeling. Piece of cake! Jeez. 

And here's a picture of our babiest baby. 

Isn't he precious? Yes. Yes he is. That's the flannel quilt I whipped up for him out of scraps and it makes me want to make flannel quilts for everyone in the family. If I worked night and day I could probably get them all done by Christmas. 

Christmas 2027, that is. 

Maybe. 

Speaking of Christmas- Have I bought ONE Christmas present? 

No. No I have not. 

And I have five grandchildren, not to mention four children, all of whom have very significant others whom I adore. 

I suck. 

Well, that's the news from Lloyd today. Oh! I did wear my grubby overalls to Publix today and the world did not end. It would appear that no one gives a damn what I wear to the grocery store. How odd is that? I just could not deal with putting on regular going-to-town clothes and yet, I needed yogurt and jasmine rice and Mega Rolls of toilet paper because Mega Rolls mean you have to replace your toilet paper about half as often, as well as other things I cannot live without because I am a spoiled and entitled First World Person.

Ho-ho-ho. 

Fuck you, Christmas. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Chickens

When we go to shut the chickens in at night, we always do a head count. I am not sure exactly why because if one is missing, well, it's missing. But that's what we do.
Right now we have ten chickens. Seven hens and three goddam roosters.
I say "goddam" because those roosters are making life hell for the hens and I think that's why we're not finding eggs and now that Pearl has reached sexual maturity, my ladies' lives pretty much consist of trying not to be mounted. And the roosters' lives pretty much consist of making sure no other rooster gets his ladies so there's a lot of fucking and a lot of the knocking of one mating rooster off a hen by another rooster.
I swear- I'm ready to turn Pearl into chicken and dumplings. This may sound cruel but what's going on now is cruel to the hens and not fair at all. Honey and Nicey spend most of the day in the hen house, hiding from the men birds. When I went out to clean it today, Nicey refused to leave it, just moving from one nest box to another as I took out the hay, scraped up any poop, and put in fresh hay.
And no one wants another rooster. That's just the truth. My beautiful rooster Dearie got the message a long time ago and moved next door where there are many, many hens but even there, he does not invade the space of the primary rooster. He hangs out in the goat pen mainly.
I wish that Pearl would start acting mean so that I had a better excuse to do away with him but so far he's only mean to the sister-wives.
Chicken society is as strange and complex as human society in my opinion. Mick and Joe Cocker seem to have worked things out between them fairly well. That's Joe's butt up there in that picture and Dottie is to the left of him and Camellia is to the right of him and Darla is underneath him. That's four chickens on a ledge that was never meant to hold one. Meanwhile, there are empty nest boxes with fresh hay in them which are enclosed on three sides. Pearl is in one by himself, Mick and Lucy are where they always sleep which is in three open boxes. Honey and Dearie are in a nest box and tiny little Violet is sleeping where she's been roosting for quite awhile now which is on a tiny perch above the nest boxes.
Ten chickens.
Each with his or her own personality and quirks and favorite place to sleep.
And I'm lucky these days if I get two eggs a day.
Meanwhile, they get regular laying feed, corn scratch, and kitchen scraps, not to mention begonias and whatever they scratch up during the day. They eat better than a lot of humans do.
They definitely eat better than my cats do.

Anyway, that's enough about chickens. It's getting cold again tonight with another freeze expected. It's so chilly that Maurice came and sat on my lap while I was embroidering and did not bite me. I was almost flattered but then I realized that she only wanted my warmth. Still, it was nice.
I will take whatever affection is offered me with grateful grace. Especially if I am not bitten in the process.

Love...Ms. Moon

This Life

It did indeed freeze last night and now my yard needs even more attending to than it did and the house is a bit of a mess due to the boys and also a major pancake and bacon breakfast with them and their mama and their sister and our friend Lauren. It has been a bit chaotic.

To say the least.

But now everyone has gone to play at the park or do something that is not occurring here and it was a beautiful visit with the boys. Owen fell asleep last night as I was reading him a few pages of The Yearling and then I read Gibson The Little Red Hen Makes A Pizza. This morning he came into our room to tell me that something was going Bam! Bam! Bam! and I said, "Oh, come on and get in bed with me, boy," and he did and we had a good cuddle and then Owen came in and kissed me and Boppy got up and made them cheese toast and I slept a bit more and then got up and made them hot cocoa.

Owen and I made the pancake batter and then Lily and Maggie and Lauren got here and Boppy had to go off for a little while for a car delivery and we all ate except for him but we saved him plenty of pancakes and bacon. 

And now it's almost one o'clock in the afternoon. How in the hell did that happen? 

Oh. When they were about to leave, Maggie sat down on the kitchen floor and took off her socks and shoes and disappeared into the library. This is what we found.

Looks like she tried to put the socks on her baby too but as we all know, putting socks on a baby can be difficult. 

Golly. It's quiet here now. 

And I'm not complaining.

Love...Ms. Moon

My Christmas Spirit Is A Sad Sort of Spirit. But I Am Trying

My emotions have been as labile today as a teenager's. I was angry for awhile, until we finally got all of the plants squared away. There are plants on the table in the mudroom which we set up for them every year before the first freeze.

And there are plants on the chest in the hallway.

There are also plants in the library and plants tucked here and there all over the place. And still, there are many plants pulled up to the wall and covered on the porch. Some of my plants are just too big to risk anyone's back on and besides that, I do the same thing with my plants that I do with my leftovers- I just magically make more of them. I can't help but divide and repot or root and pot and so there are always more and I've gotten to an age where I realize that even the most precious of them are not irreplaceable with the exception of my Roseland mango which is now cozy in the laundry room which is not really a laundry room but a very small space where the washer and dryer are and there is a window in there. My chickens have lately taken to eating begonias of all varieties and I've had to cut some of those back almost to the root. Hopefully, wintering inside will give them a chance to spring forth again. 

Dang chickens. For years and years they never touched a beak to a begonia but now they act like the leaves are made of tortilla chips. 

Adaptive behavior, I suppose. 

We brought in the little Norfolk Island Pine which was my Christmas tree two years ago. 

I hung an entire string of lights on it which may be overkill but it is cheery and Owen and Gibson have helped me to decorate it with mostly old and treasured ornaments, some homemade and some merely so old that they are treasured. 

I insisted that they had to wear the elf hats that Aunt May made years and years ago. They liked them. 

"Mer," said Gibson, "Do you have an elf on the shelf?"

"Oh hell no," I told him. 

Was that inappropriate? 

Whatever. 

Owen and I have made pizza dough which is rising and Gibson is playing with my iPad. They've played Wii games with their Boppy and I think they're just happy to be here. I'm happy they're here too, although my anger has now been replaced with a strange sort of childlike sadness which is one of my default Christmas emotions. 

Unless I'm in Mexico for Christmas which is far enough away from my childhood, I suppose, to allow me to feel free to simply be there in the moment, able even to enjoy the ornaments and lights of the Cozumelanos and the music coming from the Catholic church downtown which has no walls. 

Well, the fact of the matter is that I am going to be here this Christmas and if I am sad, well I will just have to be sad. And I am sure there will be joy. Or at least, some sweetness. 

I better go check that pizza dough. 

I wonder if we'll read "The Little Red Hen Makes A Pizza" tonight. That would be appropriate. 

And traditional. 

Stay warm, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon