A Day Involving Many Perfect Perfections

It has been a most interesting day. 

Well, for me. 

When I woke up this morning it was raining gently and just starting to get windy. Soon we were getting huge gusts of wind that twisted the trees and bent them and I heard snappings and crackings and sure enough- quite a few branches fell. As always I wondered if I was risking life and limb by hanging out on the porch while all of this was going on. Were there tornadoes? My neighbor who always calls me to warn about tornadoes is out of town and the reports online seemed to be mixed on that subject. But I just stayed where I was and watched the craziness and thought about how much I dread hurricane season. 

But beside the branches and a few things flying off of tables or counters in the house where doors were open, no harm done and the rain never did amount to much. 

Still, it was a foretaste of things to come. 

Lily lost power for about three hours and shockingly, I never did. I was very grateful for that. 

After things had calmed down Jessie came out with the boys to dye Easter eggs. Before we got started though, August went to the trash depot and the post office with me. It's so funny- he totally has a ritual about this now. He sits on Gibson's old booster seat and he has a pile of books that he "reads" for the entire one and a half block journey there and back. Those books stay in the car and are always ready for this Mer and August adventure. 

See how exciting my life is? 

But I tell you what- some day I am going to look back on these trips to take the trash and I am going to miss them. 

Levon seemed thrilled to be in Lloyd. He went straight for the Glen Den where he pulled out a small child's chair, set it in the middle of the room and just sat on it. 

I have no idea what the little guy was thinking but he cracked Jessie and me up, seeing him sitting there, taking in the sights. After a few minutes of hanging out like a dude, he started pointing to the fish replicas on the wall. 

"Fish," he said. He's a good talker, that one. Look at those little feet. Can you stand it? 

After awhile he and August dumped out all of the toys in the toy basket and then the fun really began. Levon brought me two bouncy balls and when I bounced and caught both of them at the same time he laughed so hard I was afraid he was going to break a rib. He was thrilled! 

Then there were books and then there was lunch and then we set up the table on the porch for egg dying. 

Jessie and I both agreed that dying Easter eggs is just about the best holiday ritual there is. If not THE best. First of all- eggs are perfection in all ways. Perfection and magic. Their shapes, the way they feel in the hand, as if human palms were designed specifically to hold an egg. The way each egg delivers a perfect protein and which is also quite possibly the most versatile food source on the planet. The way that a hen can lay a clutch of eggs to sit on for three weeks and at the end of those three weeks, tiny bits of perfect fluff peck their way out of the eggs with their egg tooth which probably evolved with the dinosaurs, emerging already knowing how to peck and scratch for food, how to follow Mama, how to heed her calls, how to make their own chirping cheeps so that she always knows where each of her young'uns are. 

Take all of this and add color to eggs and if that's not beauty, I don't know what is. 

We filled up mugs and cups with boiling water and vinegar and food coloring and we just had the best time. 

I kept saying, "Isn't that the most beautiful shade of blue you've ever seen?"

Or purple. Or green. 

Sheer beautiful perfection. 

Sigh. 

Both boys ended up with dyed hands. Levon especially found this interesting. He kept holding up his little hands and looking at them in wonder. 

While all of this was going on the weather went from being beautiful and sunny to looking like it was about to storm again, over and over. And the temperature began to fall, slowly but inexorably and as I write this now, it is once again cool and feels so fresh and occasionally the wind stirs up the leaves again and makes the wind chimes tinkle out a few pretty notes. 

I went to Publix after Jessie and the boys went home and bought all of the rest of the stuff I need for Sunday. Tomorrow I plan on doing some tidying up and making the greens and the marinated carrots which is what I am choosing to call those things because "copper pennies" sounds foul as pertains to food. I looked in one of my old church cookbooks and lo and behold, there are three recipes for these in it. 

I'll go through my other homegrown church lady cookbooks tomorrow just for the thrill of it. The recipes all seem very similar. I will probably not be using the entire cup of sugar that these old cookbooks call for but I may well use the canned tomato soup just because that's a constant in all of the versions. And here's one of my guilty secrets- I make a very, very fake beef (or venison) stroganoff with a can of tomato soup in it and I fucking love it. 

Let's face it. Campbell's tomato soup is just damn good. It ain't gourmet but it makes me happy. 

Occasionally. And Publix had Campbell's soup on BOGO which of course I took as a sign. 

A Holy Easter Sign of what the Christian god would want me to use. 

Am I right? 

Of course. 

And it being Friday, I have clean sheets on the bed. August helped me make it up. 

"I am very strong," he said as he tugged the fitted sheet at the corner. He seems to be a little bit obsessed with strength these days. When I was tugging the trash bag out of the kitchen trash can he said, "Mer, you are strong." 

And then he proceeded to tell me that I am old. 

"You can be old and still be strong," I told him. 

And that's true. Or at least sort of true. 

I'll leave it at that. 

Happy Day They Crucified Our Lord. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Speaking Of Food...

Today was the day to go to Costco and buy the ham for the Jesus-Is-Risen-Like-A-Loaf-Of-Challah Celebration. Jessie needed to go too and so we met there. August ran to me when he saw me, his little legs churning like a sprinter's. "Mer!" he shouted and I was so glad to see him.
His brother, who had just woken up, looked at me like, "Oh god. Really? Her again?"
He cheered up though quite a bit before too long. As you can see in that picture.
Costco is a crazy place. Where else can you buy containers of food that look fairly normal-sized until you get them home where you realize you've bought literally pounds of food when all you need is ounces?
I say this as a woman who has enough of a cheese assortment package and crackers to make canapes for everyone attending a reception after one of those mass weddings that the Reverend Sun Myung Moon used to perform. (No relation to the Lloyd branch of Moons. Let me make that clear.)

Sometimes I'll look at what's left of my formerly giant block of cave-aged cheddar from Costco and think, "Whoa! I better get some more! We're almost out!" only to realize that in all actuality, I still have more than you'd get in a regular cheese purchase at a regular grocery store and then I calm down and wait a few more months. In this case with the cheese assortment package, there are five different wedges of various cheeses, all of which look delicious, and each of which would have been enough on their own for the appetizer portion of our meal.

Let's face it though- these feast-based holidays are nothing more than excuses to buy and consume foods we've been wanting to buy and consume all year but had the good sense not to. 

But you never know how many people are going to show up for one of these ham-related shindigs. Or any food-related shindigs. Just our family alone is a slightly daunting number. And of course we define the word "family" loosely. But fiercely and sincerely. 

Besides the ham and the cheese I got ONE package of a sliced smoked salmon sampler. I asked Jessie if I should get two. "If you want leftovers," she said. 

How did I raise such a sensible child? 

I'll cook the greens on Saturday, let them sit overnight and then warm them up on Sunday. They'll be better after a day's merging of the flavors as most things are. 

So. Okay. Speaking of food. This morning as I was perusing the Tallahassee Democrat, I came upon this article for a dish called "copper pennies." it claims that this is "the best carrot side-dish ever."

What the fuck? I said to myself. As I so often do. 

I had never in my life tasted or even heard of such a thing. So then I started googling and damn if there aren't about a thousand recipes for copper pennies online, most of them claiming that these are the best things ever. EVER! And that their mama's recipe was the best one. Or their granny's recipe. 

Have YOU ever heard of them? 

Tried them? 

Made them?

I am so intrigued because they just sound so weird. But not as weird as meatballs cooked with Heinz chili sauce and Welch's grape jelly which are about the best things in the world to eat. 

Another reason I'm intrigued is that the carrots in my garden need to be pulled. Most of them have split from getting too big. So I just might make up a batch and see what all the fuss is about. 

I'll let you know if I do. 

Wait. How did I get here from Costco? 

No idea.

But after Costco Jessie and I met Lily and Lauren at the Indian buffet for lunch. And as always, it was delicious. But today was different because we were celebrating Jason even though he was not there. 

This man, this daddy, this husband

got the official notification today that he has been promoted to the position of meat manager at Publix. 

This is a huge deal. 

Not only did he get the promotion but the store he's going to be working in is one of Tallahassee's largest Publix's and the store that managers wait for years to be transferred to. He's worked there before so everyone knows him and the store manager likes him and he's got the rhythm of it already. It's fondly called the Club Pub because it's near the campus of FSU and the students shop there. It's an extremely high volume store and he's going to be working his ass off. 

But that's okay because he's been working his ass off for years and he so deserves this and we are so proud of him. 

This is going to mean so much for his family and family is what Jason is all about. Lily did good when she picked him to be her husband and the daddy of her children. I can't say enough about how proud I am of him. 

So we were all happy to hear this good news and we ate our Indian food and yes, the kids were a bit unruly but you know- kids. 

One second they're being tiny dictators, insisting on getting their way, and the next minute they're saying, "I love you, Mer," and cuddling up and offering you bites off their plates. 

They are entirely unique and sentient beings who have only been on the planet for a year or three but who came equipped with every human emotion available and every human desire intact and every human ability to think and reason well in place. They may not have the experience or maturity or self-control to harness all of this exquisite humanity but that too is part of their charm. 

Oh god. I love them. And oh god. I am so glad that I am a grandmother now and not a mother because I just do not have the energy required to be the firm voice of reason and authority. 

And guess what? 

That's why grandparents spoil their grandchildren- because they know it's easier, FAR EASIER to just give in than it is to upset the little people and we are worn out from upsetting our children, the parents of these grandchildren in an effort to raise them properly. 

And yet, the sweetness is undeniable. I have a little wound on my thumb knuckle from grating hard Parmesan cheese on a very sharp grater and August wanted to kiss it at least three times today. 

Well, that's about it for today's ruminations and ponderings. 

We're supposed to get some fairly serious storms with possible high winds and perhaps even tornadoes in the morning which is hard to believe right now. There is not one breath of a breeze. Not one leaf is moving. And then it's going to get cooler again and I am not sure that I've ever been able to keep my duck out of its summer storage this far into spring. But the celebration of eggs and rebirth should have perfect weather and we'll be able to eat outside, pondering the magical alchemy of egg yolks mashed with mustard and mayonnaise and salt and pepper, the deep funk of salty, vinegary greens from the garden and the sweet community of what we call family as children race around the yard, high on chocolate Easter bunnies, jelly beans, and the certain sure knowledge they are loved, no matter what. 

We shall see, won't we? 

Love...Ms. Moon

A Little Tiny Adventure

Yes, yes. I went away and now I am back.
Short trip, eh?
I meant to post on my phone last night but that turned out to be complicated and I just wasn't doing complicated so I didn't. It would appear that the world has not come to an end although there is that thing about the pig brains being brought back to "partial life" after they were dead for four hours and that may be a sign of impending doom.

Who knows? 

Not me. 

Anyway, I always go over to Apalach for a day or two when Mr. Moon and his sister are having their fishing week and it appeared yesterday morning that it would be a good time to make that little journey. The fishing had been nonexistent due to weather as I had said before, and they had made plans to drive over to Biloxi to do a little gambling on Thursday and then of course this coming weekend is the ritual eating of the ham celebration which I need to prepare for so there you go. 

I packed up and hit the road and had a lovely trip to the coast. Everything is so green and the giant magnolias are blooming and it was cool and I had a wonderful time just being leisurely and pissing off the drivers behind me by only going the speed limit. 

I stopped and ate my lunch at a picnic table in the shade after ordering here. 

I've passed that little food truck a million times and never stopped but yesterday I did. I got what they call a "shrimp burger" which is about six fried shrimp on a hamburger bun with lettuce and tomato and tartar sauce and pickles. I added hot sauce. 

It was perfect. 

And the lady in the counter window called me "Sweetie" which did not offend me in the least but in fact, made me smile. 

Good iced tea, too. 

I drove over rivers and through woods and past little villages and thought about how beautiful this area is. It's got its faults and that I will freely admit. You do sometimes catch sight of a confederate flag and billboards like the one I saw that said nothing more than WE LOVE YOU JESUS! but there are also probably more mixed marriages in that area than anyone could believe. This is may be due to the fact that everyone of similar skin tone is related to everyone else of that skin tone and so intermingling the genes (and skin tones) is a good idea. 

Well, at least that's my theory. 

I got to Apalachicola and Mr. Moon and his sister were waiting for me to go look at a house for sale. I really do NOT want to go into the whole thing about whether or not we're going to build a house on our property so let's just say that we're weighing options. Buying an existing house is one of those options and there is something to be said for acquiring a house that we could start using immediately. The siblings had already looked at it from all angles and peeked in the windows but they politely waited for me to meet with a realtor to go inside it. 

It was cute. Built all of wood inside, some of which had been blasted down to its original wooden woodiness. Which I like fine. Smells good. But the lot was only big enough for the house and a bird feeder and a few plants and some bricks and that wasn't great. And most of the rooms were tiny, as rooms built back in those days had a tendency to be. And there was a second story but the steps up to it reminded me of the steps on the pyramids in the Yucatan except a lot narrower and the kitchen was neither practical, roomy, or charming enough for one to forgive the impracticality or lack of space. 

So, nope. 

The realtor was an interesting guy. Liked to talk. A lot. In fact, he told us stories about people that I felt a little bit uncomfortable hearing. Like...not my business. Nothing vile or slanderous but still, a little over the top for me. 

So that was that and eventually we all went out to supper and because the weather was so beautiful we were able to eat outside. 

That bird snatched a piece of bread off a table after the people who'd been eating there left and carried it over to that post to eat before the server came back and chased him off. We were amused. And the food was delicious but I ate way too much and thank god we only had to walk about forty feet back to where we were staying which is a beautiful place with a kitchen bigger than the one in the house we'd looked at. I could actually live quite happily in this suite. 

The building was originally a warehouse right on the river from when Apalachicola was a major shipping port for cotton and other goods. This was before roads or railroads were built in this part of the country and it was a booming town. It has quite the history. Now it's mostly known for its beautiful old homes, its seafood industry, and tourism. 

We were all so food-stunned when we got back from eating that we weren't capable of much more than sitting on those couches. I started reading a back-issue of the New Yorker and found an article that absolutely blew my mind. You can read it HERE.  There's an audio option too. 

It's about the discovery of the amazing record of when the massive Chicxulub meteorite hit the earth about sixty-six million years ago. I'd read brief articles about the finding recently but this article went into far more detail and I'm still boggling about it. If you feel the need to put everything into perspective right now (and who doesn't?) I suggest you read the article too. It's fascinating. Really, I can't say enough about it but perhaps I am just one of those people who never outgrew her love of dinosaurs and fossils and the mysteries of our planet. 

This morning, despite the fact that last night I had vowed never to eat again, we went to the Mexican restaurant in Eastpoint that serves breakfast and I always enjoy that. 

I wish I didn't love to eat so much. 

And then I did a little Apalachicola shopping and here's the best:

My beloved Lis's cards being sold in River Lily which I always refer to (completely without irony) as the best shop in the entire southeastern portion of the United States. 

Because it is. 

They only sell the BEST things at River Lily. And that is all I need to say about that. 

I also went to the bookstore which I love so much. I was so glad to hear that they did not get one drop of water in that beautiful old building during Hurricane Michael. A lot of places in Apalachicola had a great deal of damage from that storm. Not like Mexico Beach or some of the inland towns like Blountstown and Marianna which were completely devastated and which have not yet begun to come back (thanks, FEMA!) but enough damage that some buildings were destroyed and some of the oldest businesses in town are no longer operating. 

But the bookstore is good. 

And then I kissed my husband and hugged my sister-in-law and we laughed at my conjugal visit and I came on home where my chickens seemed glad to see me. 

I am glad to see them too. 

I've seen Jack but I haven't seen Maurice. She always gets so pissed off when I leave. She'll show up eventually. 

I've unpacked and have a load of clothes going and I collected thirteen beautiful eggs and have the sprinklers on in the garden. I also picked what I'm going to make into a very simple brothy soup with a few dumplings for my supper to try and make up for some of my gluttonous sins. 

So. Home again. I enjoyed my time in Apalachicola and of course I loved being with Glen and Brenda but oh, how I love my funky old house and my own kitchen and routine and bed and critters. And tomorrow I plan on seeing some grandbabies and kissing them until they scream at me to stop. 

I am a home girl at heart and in soul, too. 

Love...Ms. Moon

The Complete And Unexpected Delight Of Cooler Weather

It has been an absolutely perfectly perfect day here in Lloyd. Weather-wise, at least. I decided to take a shortish walk on the sidewalk that goes from the corner a few hundred feet to the east of me to the county line west of me. I had to stop almost immediately though to cross the street and take a picture of a neighbor's roses. They are fabulous every year and you can actually smell them from a distance as they warm in the sun.
I don't think there's been one cloud in the sky all day long and it's been drier and cool enough to work outside without sweating which is what I've done this afternoon although I will admit that I did not do anything very strenuous. I concentrated on the front yard, especially by the fence where I have planted rooted firespike and wild phlox. The invasive bulbed plants I always thought of as wild gladiola but which are not but which I cannot remember the name of because I'm lucky I can remember my own name these days has gone completely crazy.
I've just used The Google and I think these plants may be Van Bourgondien Crocosmia Masoniorum.
I will never remember that shit nor frankly do I see any reason I might need to.
Anyway, they are everywhere and do not really bloom in my yard due to lack of sun and I pulled the ones choking out the plants I do want there along with some dewberry and some thorn vine and a few other random things. I cleaned up the grave of Elvis, my beloved rooster who died too young. And then I got out the big pruners and cut back the Canary Island date palms.
I bitch about these motherfuckers every year because they are lethal. Their fronds are made up of needles that seem to want nothing more than to pierce human skin. Here are some I trimmed and hauled to the burn pile.

I planted these evil things and I admit that I was wrong, wrong, wrong in doing so. I have no idea what I was thinking. But as I texted to Mr. Moon, these things are going away. ASAP. I don't care what we have to pay to get rid of them. They are quite literally dangerous. They could poke a kid's eye out or lance an arm. When I was a child I accidentally kicked one and had to go to an emergency room because the needle pierced my toe all the way through. 

I picked up some branches and also trimmed a few fronds off the innocent Sabal Palms I planted by my front porch. I do not regret planting these and again- hopefully they will one day be tall and proud, ever-guarding the front of this old house. Like the Ashe Magnolias though, they are slow-growers. At least in this yard where there is far more shade than sun. 

And that has mainly been my day. I've picked some carrots and kale to go into my supper which is going to be a sort of eggplant parmesan. I am quite looking forward to making it. I've already baked the eggplant. I am trying to decide when to go to over to Apalachicola to hang out with my man and sister-in-law. They have had terrible luck in picking their week to fish. It's so windy there that no one is going out on the water. Not gulf and not river. And I so wanted some grouper. At this rate I'll be lucky to get some shrimp bought on the way home from the coast. 

Can you believe the Notre Dame cathedral fire? That's insane and horrible and so sad. I visited that cathedral when I was eighteen years old and of course I can remember standing in awe, gazing at the Rose Window. I pray (in my own way) that the fire was not caused purposefully. That would just be too evil. Unfathomably evil. I cannot imagine all of the art and history that just went up in smoke. To me the cathedral does not necessarily represent a religion or even a country. It represents the spirit of human beings who set themselves to the task of creating beauty and symmetry and awe with stones and glass, sweat, blood, and dreams. An impossible task and yet- one that was achieved and has stood in majestic proof for over eight-hundred years. 

The very thought of what it took to conceive of and to build that cathedral makes me wonder if the best, most noble and glorious days of humanity are long past. 

I hope not. 

Time to go chop some vegetables. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Here I Am

The Ashe magnolia I planted so long ago got knocked back and lost some branches last year when a pecan limb fell on it but enough survived for me to get this bloom. Isn't it lovely? There will be more blooms. These are the slowest growing trees I've ever seen. I planted another one in the front yard and I swear it hasn't grown six inches in a year.
But they are worth it and some day when I am dead and not even remembered, someone will appreciate their beauty.
I hope.

So. Here I am in a completely different situation from the chaos of last night. Not only have the children long since gone home but my husband is off again for his annual fishing week with his sister. They are staying in Apalachicola and I'll go down and visit them for a day or two sometime this week. And so instead of children running around being crazy and me trying to fix supper for all of us and toys and books and crayons and puzzles and games spread out everywhere, it is just me in a relatively tidy home.
Quiet.
Peaceful.
And you know what?
I am fine with that.

I had a good time with the kids. They are good kids. They are indeed my babies. I think back on the time when I took care of Owen when he was just a tiny thing and kept it up for years and then Gibson was born and I took care of him too and I wonder how I did it. But I'm glad I did. Not only did that allow Lily to work part time and bring in money to support her family while knowing that her children were being loved as well as tended, it also gave me a bond with those boys that I believe will always be there. And then of course, there is Magnolia June who reminds me so much of her mother and sometimes she also reminds me of Jessie. I always called Jessie my "project baby" because she loved to move things from one place to another, working industriously to create an order that I did not understand but appreciated. Maggie does the same. She will transfer all of the pieces of a puzzle to a little suitcase and then back again and she loves taking all of the dominoes out of their tin box and then putting them back, one by one in tidy stacks so that they will all fit. This requires thought and patience and I am impressed at the way she can do this. She moved a bunch of books off the shelves this morning and put them in orderly piles on a wooden chest. I think she was making a library of her own. And of course she has that love of her dolls which I recognize myself in. I can distinctly remember sleeping with one or another of my baby dolls or stuffed animals, making sure that my arm was completely around them and that they were covered up, warm and cozy.
Maggie did the same last night with Zippy, holding him close and pulling up the cover to his little chimp chin.
When the chaos was at its peak last night Maggie got out the baggie of rubber bands which she has always loved to play with and left them all lying on the rug in front of the sink.
"Maggie," I told her, "You need to put those rubber bands back in the bag."
"NO!" she told me. "YOU do it!" Then she snatched an apple and ran out of the kitchen.
I sighed but before I knew it, she was back and had put all of the rubber bands back into their baggie.

And she was proud she'd done it. 

That's my girl. 

She was a bit wild after bath time last night. I got on the bed with Owen and Gibson to read them Professor Wormbog In Search For The Zipperumpazoo and The Little Red Hen Makes A Pizza. Because of course we had to read those. And Maggie was like a little frog, jumping all over the bed and running about. 

"She gets this way at bedtime," said Owen The Wise Elder Child. 

I was determined to get her to sleep in her own bed though and after I kissed the boys good-night Maggie and I went into Mr. Moon's and my bedroom where her bed was all ready and she did get in it and she did snuggle with Zippie and then she did get out of bed immediately. 

She needed milk. 

She needed a kiss from her Boppy. 

She needed...oh, I have no idea. 

And I was so mean!

"Magnolia, you get back in that bed!" I kept telling her and finally she faked cried for about thirty seconds, leaning on a closet door and then she got in the bed and fell asleep immediately. 

And the true miracle here is that she STAYED IN THAT BED ALL NIGHT LONG!

I couldn't believe it. 

So that was how the evening and night went and this morning I made the pancakes. I even remembered to bake a sweet potato last night to go into the pancakes. Once you've had sweet potato buttermilk pancakes it's just impossible to go back to any other kind. 

Jason came to pick them all up pretty soon after breakfast and then Mr. Moon left to drive down to the coast, trailering his boat just as a storm approached.
"I ain't scared," he said which is something he always says at times that he probably should be scared. "Don't you close your eyes for a second!" I admonished him. 

"I won't," he told me. 

And off he went. 

I tidied up the house and did some laundry and watered the porch plants and took a nap, falling asleep just as the rain began to fall. 

And so here we are, back to the beginning again. Mr. Moon made it safely to Apalach as did his sister. The rain brought cooler temperatures and I am grateful for that. I turned on the AC yesterday for the first time this year and although I give thanks for it when it's needed, I would much rather have the house open. I need to go make myself some supper and I have no idea what I want to eat. I wish I was one of those people who, when eating by themselves just have a bowl of cereal but I doubt I will ever be one. 

I don't even like cereal for breakfast. 

Maybe for a late-night snack/dessert. 

Ah-lah. Despite my nap I feel weary but I do not feel despondent. You know me. I like being alone just fine. 

Love...Ms. Moon

My Babies

We had a tea party on the front porch with mulberry pie, whipped cream, and real tea. With a great deal of sugar stirred in. Of course the entire sugar-bowl's worth of sugar would hardly be enough to sweeten one real cup of tea.

I'm afraid the day hasn't been nearly as exciting as the children had hoped. No ponies, no bounce house, no magic show.
Just old Mer's house with eggs to look for and the bamboo jungle to explore and Wii to play and puzzles to dump out (all 750 pieces) and put back in the box and baby dolls to play with and Jack the Cat to pet and a porch swing to swing on.
Right now Gibson is drawing pictures, Maggie is playing with something in the Glen Den and I do not know what Owen is up to at the moment. Last I saw him he was eating carrots he'd picked from the garden. I do know that he wants to watch The Great British Baking Show while we eat supper which charms me. Good thing he ate some carrots. We're having pizza and roasted broccoli for supper and he claims that broccoli is the devil.
Maggie and I have made up her bed right beside our bed. She seemed to be excited about that but I think there's probably about a .01% chance she'll actually sleep in it.
"Cuddle me, Mer!" she will say after she's climbed into our bed.
I could be wrong.
She's taken off her dress and is running about the house with nothing on but her underwear. This is what children do. At least the children I've known and loved. With that head of tawny curls she reminds me of a sleek little lion.

A lion who likes pie and tea and whipped cream and baby dolls and kitty cats and cuddles. Who claps her hands two times together when she is satisfied with something or making a point, a quick, crisp exclamation of approval. 

Time to get to the evening portion of our programming. 

I'll report in tomorrow. 

Love...MerMer

P.S. 

This is what Owen was up to. 

Clever lad. 

Just A Little Post

Ugh. I've already started and deleted two posts here this evening.
I just don't have it in me to get philosophical or confessional or political or anything right now. And I don't have any amazing adventures to relate. No big chicken news. No epiphanies or major break-throughs or break-downs either.
Just regular old life.
I went to Costco with Lily and Jessie and and Magnolia, Levon and August. Then we went to lunch. While we were at the restaurant the mamas took the children outside to play while we waited for food and Maggie and August brought me the flowers you see in that picture, clutched in their little fists and handed them over. Maggie said, "Here Mer. You can take these to your home."
And as you can see, I did and they sprang back to life like Jesus from the tomb when I put them in water.
I loved that she said, "Your home."
She and her brothers are coming to spend the night tomorrow night so that Lily and Jason can go out. It will be their anniversary and it is Jessie and Vergil's anniversary too. They did not plan this very well if they wanted to have child-care for anniversary celebrating provided by their mother. Maggie is so excited at the prospect of spending the night here. I've been a bit derelict in my duties as regards having kids over to spend the night. Owen did come over a few weeks ago but he got to be the only kid. And August has been here. But Gibson and Maggie haven't been here overnight for quite awhile. We shall remedy that tomorrow. I have bought pizzas and have all of the fixin's for purple cows.

At the Costco today I bought Baby Alive dolls for both Maggie and August. They were so happy. As we all know, Maggie loves babies and Lily says she'll play with this new one endlessly. I'm not sure about August but he wanted one too and so I got him one. They both kissed me and hugged me with great fervor and so that money was well spent.

Here's a picture of Maggie with her favorite baby.

Oh, how Magnolia loves that little boy and he loves her back. The joy of watching all three of these cousins together is something very special and it makes my heart happy. 

I was wearing a favorite necklace of mine today. It's silver and has many hearts on it. Thirteen, to be exact. August, aka Mr. Why, asked me why my necklace had so many hearts. 

"Why do you think?" I asked him. 

"Because you have so many people you love," he said. "Like me." 

All right. I guess my life hasn't been completely meaningless. 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

What A Girl Wants

I went back to White House Road for my walk today and honestly, it's a most beautiful road. The trees, the farmland, the wildflowers that grow in the ditches. I walked far enough to see the friendly cracker cows that hang out in a field. Right after I took that picture the one in the back laid his chin over the neck of the spotted one and rubbed gently. It looked like love to me.

I've been in a funk of despair the last few days. Hard to explain, even to myself, but I've just felt so worthless. So pointless. So useless. All of those -less words.
Perhaps the real problem is that I feel less than I used to in some way. My husband asked me last night what the matter was and I ended up saying, "Here I am, almost sixty-five years old and I'm a housewife and not even a very good one!"
This is quite true.
And I have always felt a bit of unworthiness at just being a housewife. Of course I've had other jobs in my life. I mean, real jobs. Where they pay you. Which is what our society bases worth on, right? And in my heart I've always felt that being a housewife and a mother is absolutely a worthy occupation but there was always part of me that felt that if I went out and got a well-paying job (say, as a nurse which I was educated to be), my husband would not have to work so hard.
But I could not figure out how to be a good wife, a good mother and an income earner all at the same time. And I knew and I KNOW that many women can do this but I just never could. And thankfully wasn't forced into it.
But all of that is behind me and I am actually at an age where many people retire from their "real" jobs and even my husband is choosing the hours he wants to work and he is doing things that make his soul happy and he would gladly support me in every way to do things that make my soul happy and he does.
But when it comes to figuring out what I would like to do in that vein, I can never figure it out. Toss in my neurosis about leaving behind what is comfortable to me (am I agoraphobic or do I really just like my house a lot?) and it's hard. And now I've reached the age where I get mail every day that reminds me that I am about to qualify for Medicare, I feel time breathing down my neck. There is also the mirror for a reminder and the almost constant pain in my joints is absolutely another.
And it all boils down to...WHAT THE FUCK DO I WANT? 

And then I feel guilty for even having those thoughts because I am one of the luckiest women on earth and have far more than I ever could have dreamed, especially when it comes to love and family.

But you know, I'm human.

There are some dreams that I've had that I'll never get my hands on. Some of them because I haven't made the effort to achieve them, some because they are the sort of dreams that would require the absolute participation in and shared enthusiasm of my husband and that simply doesn't always happen.
He's probably never going to get his thousand acres on a lake, either. Or is it a hundred? Either way, probably not although if I died tomorrow I think that within a year he'd be figuring it out.
And of course our fleeting plan to move to either Mexico or Costa Rica for our retirement ended the second Owen was born. I mean...we are just not the twice-a-year-visits sort of grandparents.

And so all of this has been weighing on me and yesterday I scrubbed all of the toilets for the ten thousandth time of my life and that somehow just nailed it for me- I will always be scrubbing toilets. And when I die, someone else will do it and life will go on and so WHAT THE FUCK?

Or something like that.

So I took my walk this morning and I've been to Publix and I've done some ironing and it occurs to me that what I might really want is a swimming pool. Cheaper than a beach house. We've discussed this before and Mr. Moon is not as enthusiastic about the idea as I am although it would be good for both of us in so many ways. And where I'd like to put it is right where eight Bradford pears are growing and they need to be taken out.

Maybe it's not a swimming pool I really want. Maybe what I really want is to be able to kneel and get up without having to think about it and gather my forces before I attempt it. Maybe what I want is the impossible- to be young again.
Or at the very least, not in pain again.
To dance again without knowing that I look like an old person dancing.
To be able to put on lipstick and see a me in the mirror that's pretty cute.
To be able to spell words that I used to be able to spell without a thought. To be able to remember words that I can't remember now.
And I'm not stuck on all of this. I accept and I cherish being a grandmother.
But somehow I'm just not finished wanting what I want. Whatever that is.
I am so grateful to still be able to move my body even if it does hurt. I am so grateful that I can still grow food and shop for food and cook food.
Real food.
I am so grateful that my grandbabies like me and probably even love me.
But that's not all of it.
And dammit, since I have lived this long which is far longer than I ever thought I'd live, I don't want the last years of this life to be one compromise after another. Some of that is inevitable.
But.
I still want to be a little wild sometimes.
I still want to be amazed sometimes.
I still want to be Mary.
I want to not be done living until I actually die.

And isn't that okay?

Meanwhile, I need to get off my mental ass and figure out a few things that I want to do and then just do them.
Easier said than done.
But I really want to try.

And now I'm going to go cook a giant mustard green leaf. And a few other things.

God. Supper's going to be late again. My poor husband.

Love...Ms. Moon

Vastly Imperfect And Perfectly Human

There you go, Mr. P.! Clothes hung on the line. It was a perfect day for  it. A sight that always cheers me.

Mr. Moon did get home last night around 1:30 a.m. He came in and kissed me and then he took his shower and came back to bed and before I knew it, he was not-quite-snoring but definitely asleep. And then he got up before I did this morning because that's the way he is. There was work to be done and only so many hours to do it.

I started laundry and got dressed for my walk. I drove to the park with trails fairly close to my house and got out of my car and began my trudging. I immediately realized that there was no real sense to the trails and I wondered if I would get lost.
Here's what the map looks like.

I think I may have walked most of those but who knows? I did find myself back at the beginning several times. I can't read a map for shit and I have no sense of direction so it was all quite mysterious for me. I did follow the trail that parallels the railroad track for awhile and I did find this small body of water. 

That part of the trail system was in the woods and it was quite beautiful. Very old oaks, twisted and gnarled, their trunks dark against the sky. Fallen limbs were covered with bright green velvet moss and I enjoyed that. 

But a lot of it was just very wide paths cut through what was probably pasture land and it was in full sun and although there may have been some interesting things to see, I must have missed them all. 

I saw one other person. Another woman and she was huffing and puffing and as red as I probably was. For all I know she was on her fourteenth lap around the park. I used the Map My Walk app on my phone and did a little more than three miles and called it quits and somehow found my way back to where my car was parked. I got in and drove home and decided that I'd much rather walk Farm Road or White House Road, even with cars and pavement. 

But it was good to try something new. 

I had a case of the I-Suck's today. No idea why. It was just one of those days where I woke up feeling totally inadequate in all ways. The spider webs in my house seemed to be outlined in neon, the invasive plants in my yard glowed as if lit by the light from a rogue nuclear power plant. Ants in the cat food bowl. Chicken poop in the kitchen. Mold. Mildew. Bamboo growing up in the camellia bed. Green Acres, in other words although I am no Eva Gabor. Not in any way, shape or form. 

Especially shape or form. 

Which is a whole other part of the I-Suck headset. 

I had thought that the walk would help with all of that but it didn't. I faced the fact that this is just the way some days are and put on my garden shoes and gloves and cleaned out the hen house and got fresh water for the chickens and then started raking leaves and hauling them to the garden for mulch. I didn't get a whole lot done but I did get the area with the tomatoes and peppers and eggplants nicely covered which will help with weeds and moisture retention. 

I just went out to turn the sprinklers off and look what the setting sun is doing to the almost-spent lettuces. 

There you have the stained-glass windows of my garden church. 

I picked a few and they will be part of our supper. 

I feel better. 

And now off to cook supper for two. Life goes on. I may indeed suck but it's not the end of the world if I do. 

That's reassuring. 

Much love...Ms. Moon

Wanderings

I had a craving for some falafel today and Jessie and the boys met me at a Middle Eastern place and the boys were a bit wild. And funny. They both acted like two little guys who needed a nap but I hear from Jessie that that never happened even though she drove them around in the car for awhile and then took them for a forty-five minute walk. Maybe they just had the devil in 'em. This does sometimes happen, you know.
Still, I enjoyed seeing them.
After lunch I went down to the New Leaf market which is what the Coop is called here. I have been needing some Golden Seal which is the absolutely true herbal remedy that I believe in with all of my heart. I'm not saying that there aren't others that don't work, I'm just saying that Golden Seal always works for me. I use it for wound care and I have seen it do things that are just this short of miraculous. I've used it in treating a gunshot exit wound (yeah, really) and I gave some to a sister-in-law to use on the sores on her legs that because of poor circulation related to some serious problems, would not heal no matter what the doctors tried.
And Golden Seal worked.
I use it on animal injuries too and have some ointment mixed with it in the refrigerator that I keep for chicken wounds.
I went looking for my precious little baggie of it a few weeks ago when I had a gnarly-looking infected ant bite but could not find it. I asked the kids if maybe I'd loaned it to them and both Jessie and Lily reported that I had given them small amounts but not my own bag.
Never did find it and so it was time to replenish.
They don't keep it out on the shelf with the rest of the bulk herbs at the New Leaf. You have to ask an employee to get it for you and he measures it out AT THE CASH REGISTER and yes, it's precious. I bought ten dollars worth today and it'll probably last me for years. It doesn't seem to ever lose its effectiveness.

The way I mostly use it is to mix up a small amount of it with some antibiotic ointment. This, I am sure, is as sacrilegious to the alternative healing community as using Kool Aid at communion would be to a Catholic priest. However, this is what works for me and no, it's not the antibiotic ointment alone that does the healing. I've usually tried that on its own before I get out the little baggie. Together they seem to be magic but I think you could mix it with Vaseline and it would work. You need the gooey stuff to keep the Golden Seal on the wound. Just a tiny amount does the trick. When I used it to treat the gunshot wound, I made a strong tea of it and soaked the packing gauze I used in that. I was hesitant at first to do that because this was a serious wound. But I swear to you- within days that wound was healing up like nothing I'd ever seen before. It was beautiful. 

Now. Having said all of this I feel I must offer a warning- use the stuff at your own risk. Mr. Moon is allergic to it. I used some on a wound on his foot once and he broke out in an itchy rash immediately. Not that I think any of y'all are going to rush out and buy Golden Seal but still...be aware that some people may not tolerate it.
I don't use it for internal problems although some people do. And by the way- it's the bitterest thing you can imagine. It does not taste good.

So. Speaking of alternative treatments, I ran into a woman I know at the post office today. She told me, "I've been losing weight!"
What do you say to this?
"Have you been trying to?" I asked her.
"I've been putting magnets on my ears! And it works! I can eat biscuits with butter and I still lose weight!"
"Wow. That's amazing," I said.
Maybe I need to get some magnets.

I stopped by the Bad Girls Who Get Saved By Jesus thrift store on my way home today. I felt guilty because I didn't have the children with me but I got over it. It appears to me that the entire store has changed. First off, it's a lot tidier. Secondly, they got rid of a whole bunch of crappy crap junk and seem to have better items. I saw a guy I know there and he said, "Much higher quality now."
He was right.
I got a tea set in the box for the kids.

Are those napkin rings? 

 I also a nice vintagey looking green glass pitcher that will make a lovely vase. 

Or could, I suppose, be used as an actual pitcher. It would look good with bloody mary's in it, don't you think? Easter is coming up...

So that was fun. And then I searched out a greenway walking trail that's only about six miles from my house. I've never walked it but I think I will tomorrow. 

Mr. Moon was scheduled to get into Tallahassee about 12:01 a.m. tonight. Or tomorrow morning to be accurate. But somehow things have gotten all fucked up and they canceled the flight from Chicago (where he is now) to Charlotte and he's now booked through Atlanta but flights are being delayed (weather?) and who knows when he'll get home? 

Not me. 

Air travel is just the worst these days. At least here in the US. If you DO get on your plane at the scheduled time, you won't have enough room to sit comfortably or even with any dignity, they charge you for every bag you have with you, you'll be lucky if you get a one ounce bag of pretzels and two sips of ginger ale. Remember when people used to complain about airline food?

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Yes, they served a meal on most flights. Okay, so it may not have been terrific food but it wasn't bad. And it was food! And it came with real eating utensils. If you asked, the flight attendant would bring you a deck of cards or some magazines. Real magazines, not those in-flight magazines that someone's already done the crossword in. 

Also, people didn't wear their pajamas on airplanes but that's a whole other cultural shift that I do not care to address now. 

Anyway, I texted Glen and asked him please not to spend the night in the airport. That we are too old for that shit. He texted back that he'll get a room and he'll make them pay for it. 

You know what? 

I bet he will. 

My husband is a force of nature when it comes to such things. 

I miss him. I haven't even cut the mulberry pie yet and I think I'll save it all for him. I made him laugh yesterday when I told him that he needs to come home so that I'll have some laundry to do. My beautiful new space machines have been languishing for a lack of laundry. I love my alone time but that is predicated on the knowledge that I do live with someone I love. 

It's so quiet in Lloyd tonight. My chickens aren't doing their usual bedtime fussing. Are they already on the roost? I should go out and see. The next-door band is not practicing, the church parking lot is empty. I'll make my solo supper. I bought a few scallops at the New Leaf and I think I'll do something with them and some beautiful cherry tomatoes and a little bit of kale from the garden and some pasta. 

Liberace just appeared at the hen house door and walked a few steps outside. I imagine he was checking to see if there were any stragglers he needed to call in. He's a good rooster. He's no Elvis but then again, there was only one of those. Kian even remembered Elvis. He recalled that he was a very sweet rooster. 

I hope that by this time tomorrow my husband is home and safe and that I'm cooking for both of us. 

I'll report. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Saved By The Rolling Stones, Once Again

Can you read what the sign on that guy's bike says?
Dear Lord.
I see a lot of bike riders as I walk on White House Road but I've never seen this one before. And he did not appear to be someone who has spent a lot of time on a bicycle. He was having a difficult time making it up the hill.
Not that I'm judging him for that. Those hills can make me wish I could call a cab sometimes.
No, I'm judging him for the sign which he had somehow precariously attached to the back of his bike. I absolutely had to take that picture.
When we recrossed paths later on in my walk he actually said to me, in the most friendly, pleasant tone imaginable, "Isn't this a beautiful road?"
I agreed that it was and kept on walking.

Oh dear.

So it was a day. For some reason I was in a bit of a foul mood. Things were just making me angry. I got out in the garden and pulled a few weeds and planted a row of black-eyed peas and was working on getting a plot ready for my corn when I almost lost it. It was hot, I was sweating, ants were everywhere, and every time I inadvertently leaned on that sensitive part of my knee I could not help but cry out. It's just a terrible sharp burning pain and I know that sounds like a nerve thing, but it doesn't feel like that.
I don't know.
I do not know.
But I know that when my phone rang and it was my husband I actually cried.
"I just can't do what I used to do anymore," I wept. "And it sucks and I hate it."
He was going through some frustrations of his own and we ended up comforting each other and then laughing by the time our conversation had come to an end.
I gave it up on the garden and switched to stem-pulling on the mulberries. I sat down in the living room with my various bowls and turned on Netflix and what did I find?
A documentary I've been wanting to see for two years.



And I sat and cut tiny stems between my thumb and forefinger until my hands looked as if I had committed murder and cried like a baby, watching those beautiful old men, gypsy rockers every one of them, living and playing with such obvious joy.
It's so hard to explain how I feel about this band. Actually, it's impossible unless you grew up when I grew up and music became something that was far more important than perhaps it had ever been for such a huge number of people in such an almost universal way.
Music was what pulled our world tribe together.
This may sound extremely naive and hippie-ish and even ridiculous but you know what?
Fuck that.
It's true.
And although there were SO many musicians and bands that represented so many different genres and cultures there were a few that changed everything.
The Beatles. Always number one.
Bob Dylan. No one like him.
Jimi Hendrix. He blew us into planetary exploration.
Janis Joplin. She showed us what a strong and determined woman can look like and sound like even as she pulled her heart out of throat and gave it to us.
And more, of course. So many more.
But those- well, they were at the top of it all and the Rolling Stones were the black hats to the Beatles' white hats, as even Keith said. You have to have one if you have the other and as in the yin-yang symbol, neither side is bigger than the other. Neither is more important than the other.
The old joke goes:
"Who's the greatest band of all times?"
"The Beatles."
Who's the greatest rock and roll band of all times?"
"The Rolling Stones."
And two of the Beatles are dead, one of them John Lennon whose death many of us old folks will never quite recover from and Jimi's dead and Janis is dead and Bob Dylan ain't dead and he's still playing but I'm pretty sure that it's because he wouldn't have a clue as to what to do with his life if he didn't.
But.
The Rolling Stones. They're still doing it! They're still kicking the shit out of rock and roll and they have survived addictions and cancers and now Mick's heart problem and problems with the law and marriages and divorces and deaths of loved ones and even one of Keith's children, a baby who died of crib death. They've survived inter-band fights and disagreements and business shit and artistic shit and personal shit on every level. They have survived and they pick up their instruments and they didn't get plastic surgery and yeah, okay, Mick and Ronnie obviously dye their hair but that's their business. Their faces look like the Grand Canyon with the deep crevices that go way past what we might call wrinkles and they're still skinny, blitz babies all.
Which is another thing they all survived.
And I can't help but love them for all of that and this isn't even mentioning the music they've given us that's made us dance and sing and feel evil in the very best of ways and they are still here, looking no more like pretty boys than they ever did, but only like themselves, wearing the faces that they have created out of their lives, their spirits in bodies that may be old and even gnarled but more beautiful for all of that and when they're onstage and Keith plays the first few chords of "Satisfaction" I am twelve years old again and listening to a radio whose cabinet is made of wood, its dial made of Bakelite, and feeling like maybe, even though my stepfather visits me nightly and makes me feel as if I have absolutely no control over my own body, there is this message in this music that tells me that if I just hold on, I can somehow tap into this power that they are so obviously filled with and I will be able to claim it for my own.
Does that make sense?
Probably not.
But it does to me.
And now that I'm old, too, with this wrinkly skin and this body that I don't even recognize as my own sometimes, you can't imagine what it means to me to see these same men who seemingly transcend all of those age things to be what they have always been which is...The Rolling Stones.
They still have that power and maybe, just maybe, I can still claim my own.
And it would appear, from the concert footage in this documentary, that it's not just us old people who appreciate what they're doing. The thousands and thousands of people who attend their concerts appear to find as much joy in the music, no matter what their age, as audiences ever have.

Well, as I so often say, That is enough of THAT!

The mulberry pie is in the oven and is just about ready to come out.

And no, I can't do pastry. That's ridiculous. But I'm pretty sure that I've never in my life spent as much time working on a pie in my life if you include all the days of picking berries I've done and all the thinking about it that's gone into the making of it. Plus, my fingers and fingernails may be permanently dyed purple black and I have two cuts on my forefinger from stemming the berries. 

I may not even cut it until Mr. Moon gets home. 

Or I may. 

We shall see. 

One more picture.

I swear- these are the last of the camellias. 

I'm going to miss them so much, their sweet baby-pink faces gracing my yard, my house, my soul.

Love...Ms. Moon