Dear Friend,

 

I got two pieces of actual mail today. The one above is from a writer who works for the Monticello News and the Jefferson Journal, which are the two papers published in Jefferson County. I have discussed these publications before. They only come out twice a week and I think they're basically the same paper. It's all local news, heavy on arrests, club luncheons, local organization awards, Christian opinion columns, etc. 
I usually buy one of the papers at the Hilltop when we go there to get lunch. It can take upwards of five minutes to read one. 
So, when I got a letter in an envelope and opened it up to see a sheet of real, true notebook paper with actual handwritten words on it, it was somehow fitting that it had come from one of their writers. She wants to interview someone from the "Moon family" about our house due to its "age and significance". I believe I will be saying "no" to that. 
But honest to god- a reporter from a publishing company who writes a letter on a piece of notebook paper with a pen? In 2024? She couldn't have typed it out and printed it? 

Well, it's sort of charming. And a little disturbing. 

The other piece of real mail that I got came in the form of a card from an old friend whom I've been friends with since before Jessie was born. The way we met and how our relationship developed and bloomed is a long story and again, I have spoken of this friend before. Her husband was a musician and she and their children traveled with him all over this country in an Air Stream trailer. When they came to this part of Florida, they stayed with us and their kids played with my kids and she and I bonded deeply. She'd been a midwife, I worked at the Birth Center, we both had three children and then, strangely enough, both got pregnant with our fourth kids around the very same time. 
And boy, did we write each other letters! How did we have the time? She not only kept the family together, homeschooled the kids, and housekept in an Air Stream, she was also her husband's manager and this was before cell phones. She booked his gigs, she planned the routes, she kept the books, she did it all. While my life was not nearly that demanding, I wasn't exactly being a slouch. I worked part time at this and at that and took care of my own kids and house while Glen was working ten or twelve hour days, six days a week. I volunteered in the schools and carried kids to dance and karate and piano and Girl Scouts and...
You know. 
But for years and years, we kept in good touch with our letters. In our letters we could tell each other all the things that we needed to be able to share with another woman in our situations. We shared our joys and our fears and frustrations and day-to-day doings. We encouraged each other, we expressed our respect and love for each other. It was a beautiful thing. 
Recently, she called me to tell me that she was going through old boxes of things she'd saved and my letters were in there. She just wanted to tell me how much she'd appreciated those letters and enjoyed our correspondence. I think it brought each of us joy, both in the writing and the receiving parts of it.

If there's one thing that I hate that's happened due to the internet, it's that we do not write letters anymore. Of course we can text and email and Instant Message and there are a myriad of ways to communicate but letters required some time, some concentration, some consideration and effort. And they could be kept. 
What a wealth of memories and information are found in old letters. And there was just something about receiving a letter written in a friend or lover's hand that no amount of technology can replace. 

I am thinking of that this evening. I am thinking of how much I loved getting letters, of how much I loved writing letters. I loved stationary, but sometimes, if needs be, I, too wrote on notebook paper. I loved the physical act of putting pen to paper. I loved my pens. I still love my pens although I rarely use them. 

And, I guess that this blog is how I write my letters these days. I type them out on this magic box machine and send them out to the universe. It is not the same at all as writing a letter on paper but it has its own power and joy in it for me. And perhaps that is why I end each one with... 

Love...Ms. Moon

Getting The Fall Garden In

 I don't take pictures in the library very often but here's one of the mantel in there. The color of the wall looks beige in that photo but really, it's a sort of peachy color. I like it. The bookshelves are a very dark, almost brick-red which I also like. I think a lot of people wouldn't really think to use those two colors together and I hadn't considered it either. A former owner choose all that. Everything on that mantel has some sort of meaning to me. Well, maybe not so much the candles although I used to love Virgin of Guadalupe saint candles which you can buy in the detergent section at the Winn Dixie and don't ask me why. I have noticed they are often sold near the detergents in Mexican grocery stores too so I imagine there's a connection there. 

I finished planting the seeds today. 

So beside everything I planted yesterday we now also have the mustard greens, the collard greens, red cabbage (as an experiment), two varieties of arugula, lettuces, carrots, and beets. I planted the beets in three of the canvas growing bags, also as an experiment. Mr. Moon can't stand beets but I love them and surely would love to get enough to pickle. I planted carrot seeds in one of the planting bags too and was going to sow some in another but when I stuck my hand in to pull up a few weeds, the little red ants (aka fire ants) attacked my hand with a vengeance. It hurt but it's fine now. Needless to say, the rest of the carrots got planted in the ground. I tried so hard to plant everything very purposefully, seed by tiny seed. I am hoping not to have to go through my annual angst about thinning baby plants which I never do as thoroughly as I should, leaving too many plants crowded up in the rows which does not help with their growth at all. I just always feel as if I am committing some sort of baby-plant murder when I thin, even though I use the thinnings in salads. So I'm trying to nip that problem in the bud although I know I did not entirely. There's a fine line between wasting seeds and expecting too high a rate of germination. 

Does that sentence make any sense? Probably not. 

Halfway through my planting, it began to rain. Just a little sprinkle and I didn't even bother coming back in the house until I realized it was only going to start coming down harder. The booming thunder was another clue. Maurice was with me and she waited until the stupid human put down her trowel and she followed me in. She has really been sticking close to me. We got a good downpour and when it quit, I went back out and planted in the wet dirt. I hope the rain didn't wash away the seeds I'd already planted. It was a pretty serious rain and now it's thundering again and more rain is coming, according to the weather widget. 

Sigh. I'd hate for all that work to be for naught. It'll probably be fine. 

While I worked, I was listening to Whoopi Goldberg's book, "Bits and Pieces" which is mostly about her mother. It's read by Whoopi, of course, and it's not very long. I've almost finished it and have enjoyed it. Whoopi does talk about her career some but honestly, it's a love letter to her mother who died in 2010 and from how Whoopi describes her mother, she deserves all the love letters. Lily recommended the book to me and I'm glad she did. 

Here's a picture of the hurricane lilies in the back yard right now. 

Not a great picture. Not even a good picture. But you get an idea of how they pop up one after the other as those are all in different stages of growth. 

I've made a loaf of bread today and dammit, it's so close to being burnt in the crustular area that you might as well just call it burnt. I swear, I cannot make bread the way I used to.

There are so many things I can't do the way I used to and I expected that but not being able to make a decent loaf of bread? 
Didn't see that one coming. 

No need to discuss the things I CAN do now that I never could before like growing chin hairs. 

We'll talk tomorrow.

Love...Ms. Moon

A Successful Appointment And Other Meanderings

Mr. Moon spread mulch in the garden today and made me some rows to plant. He makes the rows because as he actually said today, "Otherwise they won't look right." 
This was said as a joke but we all know that the man cannot abide crooked, wandering rows and if I make them, they will be crooked, wandering rows. I am happy for him to make them. And after he laid them out, I got on my knees in the dirt again and planted the tiny seeds of Tom Thumb butterhead lettuce, romaine lettuce, rainbow chard, and two types of kale. I hope to finish tomorrow, getting in all the rest of the lettuces and arugula and collard and mustard greens, beets, and carrots. Is that all? Maybe. 

And even though I don't think I even spent an hour in the garden this afternoon, it is almost miraculous how much better I feel about life in general. 

I went back to Quest this morning. My appointment was at 10:40 and all went well. They send you a link to click on when you get there to add your name to the list. The place was far more crowded today than it was yesterday and it seemed like they were calling people back a lot more slowly than they were yesterday. I chose a seat as far away as possible from the continually running screen on the wall that tells everyone how blood work can detect heart problems and other medical things that I do not want to talk about or hear about at all. The whole room is as welcoming and comfortable as the holding area in the county jail (or at least what I would imagine the holding area at the county jail is like) and people do not really make eye-contact or talk to each other but today there was someone behind me who was whistling in a low, tuneless, constant manner. I desperately wanted to turn around and see who was doing it but that just seemed rude. And then to add to that, every few minutes someone else would say, "Shut up!" pretty loudly, and then, someone started moaning. 
Everyone in the room just acted like nothing was happening and I followed suit. 
I got called back after about twenty minutes so thank god for that. The phlebotomist told me her name was "Daisy" and I said, "Huh! I just finished reading a book with a character named Daisy. She was really sweet."
"Well that's not me," this Daisy said, organizing her vials and labels. 
"I think you and I would get along just fine," I said. "I'm sweet sometimes but other times...I am not. Sometimes it's just not appropriate to be sweet."
"You got that right!" she said. "I don't care what people say."
I liked Daisy. 
She popped that purple strap of rubber around my upper arm and I showed her the vein I call "The Phlebotomist's Delight" and when she slipped the needle in I literally did not feel it. So that was easy. Then came the peeing in the cup and I was free to go.

I hear that I can check the results of my tests online but I will tell you this- NO.

I will not be doing this. I am sure that if one thing looked wonky I would go into such deep and profound anxiety that no amount of gardening or Ativan could help me and it would last until my appointment next week with the doctor. So hell no. If I'm dying, let me remain ignorant for as long as I can. I know this is a stupid attitude but it is the one I have and if you've ever experienced severe anxiety you may understand. 

I went to breakfast after my blood draw to a pretty darn nice place. It's not fancy but it's not the Waffle House either. I would gladly have gone to the Waffle House but I wanted to go to Goodwill after I ate and this restaurant was on the way there. I have to tell you that every now and then it is such a lovely thing to be taken to a table by a host, seated, asked what you want to drink, being brought that, deciding what you want from a menu, ordering it, and then being served delicious foods. This breakfast was delicious and I'm certain it contained all of my caloric needs for the next two days as it involved a croissant and hollandaise sauce. So I sat there and read my New Yorker magazine and ate that good breakfast and just enjoyed the hell out of it. 

Then I went on to Goodwill where I didn't find much of anything that I wanted. I got a sort of very light loose sweater garment that can drape comfortably over my ever-expanding physical self. It's soft. The sweater-garment, not my ever-expanding physical self but come to think of it...

So that was that and I came home and went to work in the garden. Look who came to help me. 

Our darling little Scarface. 

I have to tell you that Maurice is becoming more and more relaxed as the days go by since Jack has gone missing. She is playing with cat toys. She is asking for treats with much more authority, confident in the knowledge that Jack will not sneak up and steal them from her. She is letting us pet her for a little longer without drawing blood. She is walking around the house with more temerity, not having to fear an ambush at any moment. 

She is probably incredibly glad that her faux brother is gone. 
No grieving for her! 

Oh, Maurice. I understand. Jack has certainly not added to her quality of life in all the years he's been here, despite our love for him. 

So that's the feline update from here and no, we have not seen any hint of our boy and I miss him, even as I understand why Maurice certainly does not. 

Life goes on, even after it doesn't, I guess. Or something like that. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Quest Labs Is Not Quest Love

That's the only picture I've taken today and it's of Miss Sophie, Jessie's dog, and that's how she likes to relax to watch and see what's going on outside. 

I was in town because I need to get blood drawn before my annual appointment with Dr. Zorn and because I have absolutely no sense whatsoever, I did not make an appointment beforehand. Now, in my defense, last time I went to that lab I did have an appointment but they were so far behind due to a staff shortage that it still took well over an hour before I was ushered into the inner-sanctum where they keep the needles, tubes, rubber tourniquets, and all that other paraphernalia. So why bother to make an appointment. 

BECAUSE, YOU DUMB SHIT, WITHOUT ONE YOU'LL NEVER GET SEEN!

This is the lesson I learned today. Painfully, and slowly. 
Painfully because sitting on my ass on that chair was not kind to my sciatic nerve and slowly because it took me about an hour and a half to realize that walk-in's are really not going to be seeing the piercing chambers. It wasn't really horrible. I mean, I hadn't eaten or had any coffee but that's not a biggie. I did not enjoy the very old lady who took it upon herself to sit down beside me after her labs had been done to explain to me why I should have made an appointment ("You can do it on a computer or on your phone!") when she had just heard one of the employees give me the entire speech about how they deal with walk-in's (never). Then she got up on unsteady legs, and as she walked towards the door she said to me, "You really should have made an appointment."
Well, no shit Ms. Sherlock. Thanks so much for pointing that out. 
And then I proceeded to wait another twenty minutes and then I left. As soon as I got in the car I made an appointment for tomorrow and have text confirmation of that and so I shall be back tomorrow. 

The rest of the day wasn't bad. Some of it was really good. Jessie and I ate lunch and then I went to Publix and saw Lily and got groceries and then I went to Costco and the very nicest thing happened there. When I was walking in, an employee that I did not recognize passed me going the other way and said to me, "You are so pretty!" and I can't tell you that last time that happened. I was wearing my aqua blue linen dress that I do always get compliments on whenever I wear it but no one ever calls me pretty. I was so shocked that for a second I didn't respond but then I said, "Thank you!" and "So are you!" I didn't even really see her long enough to have made a real judgement about that but I had noticed that her eye shadow was very fancy. Not as beautiful as Brenda's mermaid eyes are, of course, but she had definitely taken care and taken time to make herself attractive which I had certainly not done. I had on no make-up, a plain pair of earrings, aqua-blue flip flops that match my dress, and that was that. Oh, my hair was pulled back and held with a hair stabber so tightly that it was this close to giving me a headache.
So anyway, that was the sweetest thing and another woman told me that my dress was a beautiful color and it is and what am I going to do when I finally wear that thing to shreds? 
Well, I'm not going to worry about that. I'll probably be so agoraphobic at that point that I'll never leave the house anyway. 

I got to see Jessie's little chicks who are all getting their wing feathers. I held one of them and sniffed it. I do love the way baby chicks smell. One of them is at least twice as large as the others and may well be a rooster. I am excited for her that she is raising chickens again. 

I am so tired tonight that I am wondering if I am still experiencing the after-effects of Covid. I know it's quite possible. Or do I have a terminal illness? I guess we'll see if I ever get my blood drawn. I was thinking today, while I was in the lab place, of a guy who worked at one of the places I did a clinical experience in when I was in nursing school. It was an unusual assignment, really. It was in a gunpowder factory in St. Marks, which is near the coast about forty miles from Tallahassee. So my nursing partner and I would travel down there together on the days we were scheduled to be there and the whole thing was just rather bizarre. The reason they had student nurses going to a gunpowder factory is that this place had a clinic with a registered nurse. Not only did she take care of any and all medical problems that didn't require a doctor, she also had to test the employee's blood every month or so for lead levels because guess what? There's lead in gunpowder. There were a lot of strict rules about all of this. A doctor came in once a week to discuss problems that anyone was having and looked over records. I'm sure this was all OSHA directed. I have a few good stories about this place. My partner was a good friend of mine and oh my god. We made each other laugh so much that it was hard to be appropriate at times. 
But the nurse who worked there was an older woman who had seen it all and probably done most of it. One day when she was doing blood draws for the lead levels, a guy came in who had been addicted to heroin which he had been introduced to when he was in the Viet Nam war. He offered this information freely and the nurse was not disturbed in the least. The problem was, although he'd been clean for years, during his active drug use, he'd blown out all his veins because he had used intravenously. I mean, ALL his veins. That poor nurse could not get a good vein so he began showing her the places where he thought she might be able to stick that needle to get some blood. They worked together on this project in a friendly, non-judgmental way. Perhaps this is why I'll never forget that experience. I can't remember whether she was ever successful or not but I do recall that he tried to get her to let him try to hit a vein and she just could not go that far. 

So that's your story for today. 
We'll see what tomorrow dredges up in the muck of my mind. 

Love...Ms. Moon

 

We All Will Be Received

Remember when I posted another picture of an elephant ear blossom about a month ago? That plant has been sending out new flowers ever since which is so weird because I'd never seen one before that I could remember. They are so...religious icon-looking to me. Like Mary in a nave. Especially with the light behind it. 

So I guess that's my Sunday holy blessedness from the Church of the Batshit crazy which hasn't been as crazy today as it was last Sunday when I spent the entire day crying. That's a pretty low bar to hurtle, though, when it comes to mental stability and enjoyment of life. I haven't felt especially crazy but my mood has matched the day which has been gray and dry and uninspiring. 

I laid out Levon's blanket and the different colors of flannel that I bought to make it with and realized that I should have gotten more of the camping print than I did in order to layer it all properly so I went online and ordered another few yards from Joann's Fabric. I could go to the Joann's in Tallahassee but I have no idea if they still have that print and it was just so easy to sit here on my ass and type in a few things and know that it will be coming at some point. So that's the story on that for now. 
Because I used up all my motivation yesterday I decided to go sit on the couch and maybe begin a new knitting project and watch "The Perfect Couple" on Netflix which I got hooked on a few days ago. I found one of my knitting books for completely incompetent knitters and found a hat pattern I thought that maybe with divine intervention I might be able to follow, knowing of course that I do not believe in divine intervention, and then I couldn't find the needles I wanted and I knew I'd had them recently. 
I do knit but I can't knit for shit, to coin a phrase perhaps, and mostly just start scarves that I never finish and hell, we live in Florida anyway. But the thing is, I love yarn and when I find it in thrift stores, I can't help myself. I buy it. Not crappy stuff but real quality yarns of cotton or llama or soft wool and silk. And then I never make anything out of it! So I have baskets and bags with my stashes in them and I went through all of them looking for these particular needles and I couldn't find them so finally, feeling completely inept and stupid, I started on some visible mending on a nightgown and when I reached over to the side table to grab my scissors, I realized that needles were right there, within inches of my hand. 
For fuck sakes.
But I continued on with the mending which entailed ripping out stitches, removing the patch, repositioning and pinning the patch, and then beginning again with the stitching. 

This did not, in the least, make me feel any more capable. At all. 

And that has pretty much been it for me today. I made some pizza dough and have picked arugula and basils to make into a sort of salad to go on top of the pizza and I realize that I have no mozzarella, only parmesan, but that will have to do. What is pizza but a crust made of a bread-like substance with whatever you want on top of it, all baked together? 

And no, Jack has not returned nor have we seen any sign of him whatsoever. I broke down and washed the piece of an old flannel blanket that I lay on top of the pillows in the guest room because that is where he usually spends his leisure hours, aka, most of his life. I suppose I should say "where he usually spent most of his leisure hours" because I do not think he'll be back there again. 

Maurice is still worried, I can tell. Or at least confused. She's been paying me a lot more attention and has taken over the job of lying on the table on the back porch where I sit at my laptop. 

I suppose that all of her facial wounds will heal now although her doppelgänger is still living in the yard and I think they go at it at times. She's gotten quite furry in the last few weeks and I wonder if that means we'll have a cold winter. Probably not. 

I better go start chopping up stuff and grating parmesan. 

But first. Sunday's hymn from the Church of the Batshit Crazy, written and performed by Paul Simon, one of our churches' most holy saints, especially as applies to rhythm and words. And oh, dear Lord. I just remembered that he made an album called "Rhythm of the Saints." Whatever, bless him. Bless us all.

Love...Ms. Moon

Too Much Nature Part Four Hundred And Thirty Thousand

I took this shot last night in our hallway before I went to bed. I loved the way the trim on the porch was outlined through the window beside the door. It was raining.

No. Still no sign of Jack but I did have a cat-related situation last night which continued this morning. I was watching TV in the Glen Den after I ate my supper which is the room to the right of that staircase, when I heard the unmistakeable chittering meow that Maurice makes when she has caught something. 
And I'm not talking about the flu. 
I can only imagine that this is the sound a female wild cat makes when she has made a kill and is bringing it to her cubs. And sure enough, there was Maurice in the hallway with an animal dangling from her mouth, still alive, still kicking. 
And of course, the human of the house whose job it is to deal with these things was not here. 
I truly believe that Maurice, knowing I've been in distress and also knowing that I am obviously no good at hunting, went out and got something to bring to me to provide comfort and sustenance. I could be anthropomorphising here but I believe it. In a way, I am her kitten. So I got up off the sofa and saw the animal and said, "Goddamn, Maurice. Why do you do this?" And then I told her, "Look, I appreciate it but...really? REALLY?"
And then I got the broom and the dustpan and managed to get the small animal away from her and because it was still alive I just took it outside and gave it its freedom. Now, I thought it was a rabbit. But here's the thing- when I'm dealing with these animals that Maurice brings in, I don't really look at them any more than is possible. I do not know why, but I don't. I don't want to see the blood or anything else of that nature. 
So. I came back in, told Maurice again that she was a good hunter, and then I went to bed. 
I got up this morning and it was still raining. I got my coffee and my laptop and came out to the back porch where I basically spend my life, only to be greeted by Maurice, lying in a chair, who gave me a shortened version of the kill chitter meow. 
Oh dear god no. Not again. 
But oh dear god yes. Again. 
Only this time, because obviously I have no idea what to do with fresh game, she had done me the favor of skinning the creature which I assumed was the same animal she'd brought in last night, disemboweling it, leaving the offal and another bloody...something right there so that I could more easily enjoy it. 
Again, I did not really look. Again, I thanked her. Again, I said, "But really, honey. No. Don't do this again."
So I sat down with my back to the horrid gift she'd brought me in order to drink some coffee and steel myself enough to deal with this new bit of fresh hell. 
When I finally did, I could not help but look at the remains which were only the intestines and some other organ which was attached to those, and a small piece of a head which did NOT have rabbit ears, but a small pointed ear and I am sure that it had been a huge rat. 
Which hopefully, she had caught outside and not in this house because oh my god please no, please no, please no. There were a lot of largish  intestines. 

I scooped up all of that, covered everything with the broom in the dustpan which is how I do it in order not to have to look and also to make sure nothing falls off the dustpan and walked to the edge of the property where the woods start and threw the remains in there. I came back to the house, set the broom and the dustpan outside in the rain to rinse off the blood, then got out paper towels and my Fabuloso and white vinegar and water mix and cleaned the small puddle of blood off the porch floor. 

I am such a bad bitch, am I not? 
Well, no. Not really. I'm probably scarred for life. 

Now. Those might have been two different animals that Maurice caught. Or, I might have misidentified the animal last night. Either way, we know who the bad bitch is in this house and her name is Maurice. The mighty hunter.

So that was my morning and instead of working on Levon's blanket I decided to do some yard work because it finally quit raining. Here's the area of the yard I decided to go to work on.

Fun fact: I entirely cleared out this area last year. 

Before I started in on that though, I went around to the other side of that tree and the azaleas and dealt with several very large thorn vines, pulling them from the tree, cutting them up, and putting them in the yard cart. Those things have thorns that could tear your skin off. Gloves were worn. I also pulled a large piece of the water-oak branch that fell during some storm out of the azaleas. All of that mess went to the burn pile. 
Then I started in on the crocosmia, nandina, more thorn vines, deertongue grass, tropical chickweed (aka sticky weed for a reason), devil's needles, Yaupon holly and other assorted plants determined to live in my yard, including a type of red berry holly that is taking over North Florida. 
I tell you what though, the dirt beneath all that stuff is thick with worms. I have to figure out something to plant there that will hopefully be a more native solution to the landscaping. 
While I was out there, I took a picture of the aloe/dewberry bramble bed which now looks like this. 

Those aloes have edges like saws. Seriously. That is not hyperbole. And of course the dewberries are covered in briars. 

Florida is trying to kill me and probably will one of these days. It's not the alligators any of us should be worrying about. It's the invasive plants. 

Thankfully it started raining again because I was soaked through with sweat and I needed an excuse to stop. It POURED down. 

And within twenty minutes it looked like this. 

Here's how much of that patch of ground I got cleared before the rain came.

Impressive, right? 

Ha. 

I'm going to go make soup. The man reports that the waves were a bit huge today and there was quite a bit of, if not seasickness going on in that boat, very unhappy tummies. 

Love...Ms. Moon

P.S. I forgot to mention the ants in the kitchen this morning. The big, stinging, red kind. 
Sigh.

Not Good News

There is a pall over the house today. Jack has not come home. Maurice wanders about meowing and has spent time today sitting there on the back porch, looking out into the yard. Now, whether she's looking for Jack or not, I do not know. I also have no idea if she's concerned or just curious. Who knows what cats think? 
Who knows where cats go in the dark?
Glen has looked under the old kitchen and the deck leading out to it. No sign of Jack in those places. The house has skirting to block access to the underside but I know critters can and do get in there. It's impossible though, to see what's under the house without an extreme amount of very uncomfortable scooting as it's quite low to the ground. 
My biggest fear is that Jack is hurt and is lying up somewhere suffering. There are so many places here where he could be doing that. As to what might have hurt him? Who knows? A fox, I suppose, would be the most likely culprit or one of the ferrel cats who hang around the yard. Not to be morbid but we've seen no sign of buzzards. If he's hiding and alive, we wouldn't see any so I guess that's a good sign. 

I had a cat a very long time ago who disappeared like this. His name was Jagger and he was a beautiful gray cat. He was there one minute, gone the next. Poof. We never saw him nor sign of him again. That was forty years ago and I have not quite gotten over that yet. We lived in Tallahassee then, in a neighborhood. I've always wondered whether someone stole him. I doubt anyone would steal Jack around here. Glen did call our next-door neighbor, the Trump Sign Lady, and she says she has not seen him. She is a true animal lover and so I trust that she would tell us if she had. At least she didn't suggest that a Haitian may have snatched him. 

I've felt spacey and disassociated all day long. I'm just gliding around on a slick gray cloud or perhaps slogging my way through extremely thin, wet cement. Something like that. Glen is upset and as I said, Maurice is at least aware that something is very wrong. 
I have had many cats and they have come and they have gone. But it's always rough when a beloved pet dies. Look- I'm the mother of four and grandmother of five and I know the difference between a child and a pet but I also know that our cats and our dogs are part of our family. Glen's and my little Lloyd family is made up of us and the animals, and as much as we bitch about them being obnoxious at times, we love them. We just do.

Night before last when Jack came to bed with me he let me scratch his head some and then he turned around and as cats will do, presented his tail to me to scratch back there. I had a very serious talk with him and said, "Jack. We love you so much and we love to pat and scratch you but humans just do not appreciate having a cat ass in their faces." I gave him a little nudge and he turned back around. 

He will come home or he will not. He is alive or he is not but I really hope he is not in pain somewhere.

I worked on Levon's quilt some more today. I got the back attached to the front and that went quite well. I only goofed up one place and ripping out the stitches there took me longer than it took me to do the original stitching. By far. Because that backing fabric is so fuzzy and the stitches are so small, it probably took me half an hour to find the little fuckers to rip but then they were easily replaced with everything where it should have been. 
I realize now that I have the print of the camping flannel going lengthwise and not crosswise as it should be. Why did I not consider this? I doubt Levon will care and I am going to try not to either. It's even possible that I'll change my way of doing things and make the letters of his name go in a vertical direction to go with the fabric. Oh, wouldn't that be just the wildest thing I could ever do? 
Probably. At this point in my life, anyway.
I'm not sure the universe could handle such rebellious changing of the game at this point. I am not sure I am that brave.

I'd like to discuss, just for a moment, this woman that Trump seems to be hanging out with A LOT! Her name is Laura Loomer and she's 31 years old and from what I've read, is so far over the top with her social media posts that even Marjorie Taylor Greene called her out for being racist and Lindsey Graham, a former Never Trumper who, as we all know, did a hard right and became one of Trump's most devoted boot lickers (I use the word "boot" to protect any delicate flowers who may be reading here) has put out a warning that any relationship that Trump has with Ms. Loomer could be a disaster for his chances of reelection. Laura is a crazy-ass conspiracy theorist, homophobic, racist, "proud Islamophobe," and pro-white nationalist. Among other things. Hell, she ran for office in Florida twice and was defeated both times. That's how crazy she is. Even Florida wouldn't elect her. 
However, it turns out that she's been hanging with the Orange Intestine at Mar-a-Lago and helped with his debate prep, accompanying him to the debate and also to a 9/11 memorial ceremony. And, by the way, she thinks that 9/11 was an inside job. 
So what's going on? You know what I think? I think that a thirty-one year-old relatively attractive woman is doing her best to make the old orange cream-sickle melt into a puddle of powerlessness so that she can step right into that mess, sop up the power for herself, and become internationally famous and adored.
Or something. 
Do I think they're having, uh, intimate relations? Well, I would not bet my life on it but if they're not, he sure thinks they will be. Plus- bonus! His hardest-line, most right-leaning, conspiracy theory-believing supporters who love the Donald because he makes it okay for them to be horrible human beings must just love her! 

All right. Friday night. Again, Mr. Moon is at the coast, waiting for this rain to clear so he and his guys can go fishing tomorrow. And again, I'm fine with that and hope he has a great time. He's had a hard week, dealing with business and doctors and insurance and so much more. He deserves a few hours of letting it all go and there's no place better to do that than on the open water. 

Here's a picture of Maurice sitting by me while I did some handwork on the corners of the blanket. 

She spiked me with her claws when I tried to quit giving her scritches but I'm not actually bleeding so all is well. 

A picture of a bee.

I wonder what Mexican basil honey tastes like? I sure would like to know. 

And a tiny rose bud.

I found that bottle in the yard. I think it may have held ink. 

One more. 

A picture of August that Jessie found on her phone. Levon took it. I think it's pretty dang amazing. 

May we all have clean sheets tonight. Or...soonish. Whatever. 

I'm getting good at making my own martinis but I miss having someone to kiss and toast with. He'll be home tomorrow. 

Love...Ms. Moon

A Day In Three Parts

Well, let's see. What might be the Number One Selling Book on the New York Time's nonfiction list this week? 
Could it be...oh...Lovely One by Ketanji Jackson Brown? Co-written with Rosemarie Robotham? 
Why yes. Yes it could. And yes, yes it is. 
The book has hardly been out for a week. There's an interview with Ms. Brown in the NYT's if you'd like to read it. 

In the interview Ms. Jackson describes Rosemarie as a "brilliant collaborator." 
I have already said it but I will say it again- I could not be more thrilled for our beloved 37 Paddington. Go visit her and read what she has to say about this absolutely amazing achievement. 

********************

I am so glad to have had that news to cheer my heart and soul today because it's been a little rough. It rained most of the day and that wasn't a problem but the flat grayness of everything did nothing to improve my mood. Physically, I've felt better but I have had no motivation at all. I finally talked myself into starting Levon's name blanket which I want to give him for his birthday which is on the same day as Hank and Rachel's wedding. We've already discussed having a little table set up for presents for the boy and I sure would like to have that quilt on it for him. I bought the fabric months and months ago and it's been stashed in the guest room, making me feel guilty every time I go in there which is about fifty times a day because I have to walk through that room to get from the kitchen side of the house to the laundry room/our bedroom side of the house. 

It's probably a very good thing that Levon looks to be the last grandchild because I'm not sure I could get back on the floor to cut and pin what I need to cut and pin to make the blanket again. For those of you who haven't been reading here since Fred and Wilma invented the wheel, I made my first name blankets for Hank and May when they were little. Just nice flannel blankets with their names on them. 

And then of course Lily and Jessie had to have their own and once the grands started coming, I made them blankets too. Here are two I've made. 

Not quite finished but you get the idea.

Children seem to love these blankets. I think all four of my kids still have theirs and I know that at least August wants to sleep with his every night. So it is imperative that Levon gets his blanket too. I try to suit the fabric I choose to the child but I struggled with Levon's. His interests are so varied and, unlike August who adores rainbows and the color pink, I'm not sure his favorites are that defined. Jessie went with me to buy the material so it was sort of a joint effort on determining what he might like and I ended up with this as the print.

I hope he doesn't think it's too babyish. 
I used an old tablecloth as the piece in the center between the very, very soft green fabric and the printed flannel. I used to try and find old blankets at thrift stores to use but this is Florida and even on our coldest nights, we don't need that much cover. So I cut the tablecloth and flannel to fit and stitched those together and then pinned that to the soft green fabric and I can sew that up tomorrow. Maybe. 

Then I'll cut, place, and sew the patches of different colors of flannel and on top of that will be Levon's name which I will machine baste and then hand-embroider along the edges. That is really the part that takes awhile but it is something I love to do. Each blanket is different, of course, and I love the idea that something I make for each grandchild will be with them for awhile and will hopefully bring them warmth and comfort. 

********************

And now, the really hard part of the day- we haven't seen Jack since last night when he came to bed with us. He does that most nights, settling himself on the bed while I take my shower and then snuggling up for lots of petting while I'm reading my book and when Glen gets in bed he makes sure to give him a little head bump, we turn out the light, he settles down beside me again, and sometime during the night he leaves to go do whatever it is that cats do at night. Sometimes he's back in the bed when I wake up but he's always at his food bowl when I walk into the kitchen. He knows I'm going to give him some wet cat food which I mix his ground-up thyroid pill in. Our routine is that I fix that for him while my every-morning-but-Sunday cheese toast with tomatoes is in the toaster oven but every day he optimistically tries to convince me it's time and every day I tell him that no, not yet. Soon. Our routine does not deviate. 

I noticed this morning that he wasn't there for his treat but once in a blue moon he'll be busy elsewhere and come in a little later so I didn't give it much thought. But when I was eating my lunch today on the back porch where he always joins me I realized that not only was he not there, but that I hadn't seen him all day. And neither had Glen. I looked upstairs but there was no sign of him there. Neither was he trapped in a closet and he wasn't under any of the beds. And I am so very, very worried. I've walked around the yard but saw no sign of him at all. This is just not normal behavior for him. At all. He spends his days on a bed or within a foot of his food bowl, interspersed by periods of napping on the back porch or lying right beside me while I type. 

Glen and I are both worried. Even Maurice seems to be confused by the disappearance of her mortal enemy. 

Well. There's nothing we can do at this point except to wait and see. I know that cats do often take a few days to go on walkabout and then return home, hungry and unapologetic. But Jack has just never done that. He moved in, he knew he was home, and he's been here ever since. 

We shall see how things unfold. 

Love...Ms. Moon

I Think I'm Just Lazy

Here's what I worked on last night while watching the debate. Can you see the places where I got really angry? Whatever. I have a new potholder and Kamala Harris owned Donald Trump last night. It was a good debate in many ways. The moderators called Trump on his lies and controlled his ranting while Harris gave sane and intelligent answers while at the same time, baiting the old shithead. I knew she was going to do it and she did and he took the bait like a catfish on a ball of Wonder Bread with a sharp little hook in it. The man had nothing of substance to say whatsoever (he has a "concept" for a plan to replace Obama Care) and merely repeated his lies and brought up the newest internet bullshit about Haitians capturing and killing and eating pets in some neighborhood in Springfield, Ohio according to someone's neighbor's daughter's friend or something like that. The moderator did NOT let him get away with that one. "It was on TV!" the orange one protested. 
I did scream at the television once when at the very beginning of the debate he brought up post-birth abortion again. 

Anyway, we watched it all but turned it off when the talking heads began to discuss it. We'd seen what we wanted to see and that was enough. 

As I foresaw, I've felt pretty shitty today. Zero energy. I probably watched more TV today than I've watched in forever. Yesterday I started watching a movie that's streaming on Netflix and I thoroughly enjoyed it. I finished watching it today. Here's the trailer. 

If foul language upsets you, this is not the movie for you but then again, if foul language upsets you, why would you be reading here? The acting was great, the characters terrific, the storyline very good. 

While I was watching it today I finished up shelling the last of the peas. I have a pot of them cooking now. 

In yard news, the pinecone lilies are turning red and will soon be that deep scarlet that they become. 

Maybe this is the year I'll actually try squeezing the liquid out of one and using it to wash my hair with. Their other name is "shampoo lilies" but I've never actually tried it. That picture comes from the little bed by the kitchen where many seemingly unrelated plants grow and also, as you can see, some lovely fungi. The "yard" behind the old kitchen is filled with these lilies. I suppose I could very easily say that they, too, have become invasive, despite how much I like them. 

And that's about it. It's been gray all day long and as cool as it's going to be for awhile. Supposed to be back up into the high eighties starting tomorrow and lasting through next week at least. Hopefully, my ennui will be gone by tomorrow and I'll get some things done around here. God, I love that word- ennui. That and angst are two of my favorites. When I use them I feel as if perhaps I have not completely descended into dementia. Perhaps when I have though, I'll just be an old lady in a nursing home, holding a baby doll in her lap, chanting, "Ennui, ennui, angst, angst, ennui."

It could happen. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Don't Worry! Be Happy!

 Despite the fact that I swore an oath to never buy another orchid again due to the fact that I always end up murdering them, I saw some tiny ones at Publix last week and bought that purple one. I took it out of the little white ceramic cup it came in and put it in the pretty pitcher that came with the two bowls I bought at the Bad Girls Get Saved By Jesus Thrift Store a few weeks ago. Those bowls have already brought me eight dollars worth of pleasure, which is what I paid for them and the pitcher, and now it is pleasing me too. 

And if the orchid dies, it dies. All things must pass eventually. 

Today was a Candie day and as we all know, being in your house at the same time as a cleaner is just...uncomfortable. Well, it is for me. And of course I had the lunch with Lily planned and then we asked Jessie if she wanted to come and then Mr. Moon heard about it and he wanted to join us and next thing we knew, Vergil was coming too so it was a big table instead of a small one and we had a good time. Chow Time never disappoints. I think we have all learned how not to overdo it there which can be easily done. I have to say though that I love seeing the guys who are obviously outdoor workers come in and fill up plates so that they resemble small mountains of all the foods. And of course all of these men are relatively small but I can't even comprehend the number of calories they burn through in one day's work doing construction or landscaping or yard maintenance or road work or...whatever. 
We, however, are not construction workers although Mr. Moon is sometimes and actually, so is Vergil. But not always. Not everyday. So we must show restraint unless we want to be rolled out of there like a doodlebug in the dirt. 
We laughed a lot at lunch. Lily, whom I always say is the funniest person in our family, retold the story of how she lost an earbud in her sleep one night and where she found it the next day while in the shower, and I will not repeat it but it's a good story and ended with the words, "I thought I was growing a tumor or something!"
You get the gist. 

While we were eating I discussed the fact that I was going to go get my Covid and flu shots like Mr. Moon had done the day before and he reminded me that I'd gotten the Covid shot a few months ago. That I had been one ahead of him. 
"Oh yeah," I said. So after lunch and after I did my Publix shopping I went to Walgreens to get just the flu shot. It was great. I didn't have to wait very long and the woman who signed me in asked me all the questions which were easily answered and then on the last one she said, "Okay, this is stupid but I have to ask..." 

And I said, "Am I pregnant?" 

"Yes!" she said. "How did you know?" 
"Well, you said it was a stupid question." I then hastened to tell her that one never knows- miracles can happen and I certainly haven't gotten my period in a long time so..."

"Neither have I!" she said, and we both laughed. The guy who gave me the shot had on a name tag that said "Noah" and he sported a mustache as fine as any pornstar's which I'm sure he's grown in order not to be ID'ed every time he tries to buy a beer. He was okay but I seriously got the feeling that because of my age he was certain that he was dealing with an old demented person, which is partially true on both accounts, but not entirely. He asked me which arm I preferred and I cracked up, thinking instantly of the question in terms of whether I like my right arm the best or my left. I knew what he meant but it sounded funny to me. I shared the joke with him and he fake-chuckled. 
Ah well, Noah. Give yourself fifty-five years and you'll be the old demented person and someone will be treating you like you should probably be in a nursing home eating gruel-goo from a bowl with an afghan across your knees. 

I've felt okay today. Not great, physically, but is that lingering effects of Covid or is it due to my little dip here into depression or am I dying of some as-of-yet undiagnosed terminal illness? 
Who knows? Certainly not me. 
I forced myself to make two medically related phone calls this morning. One to the Gyn to make an appointment to put my legs in the stirrups and one to Dr. Zorn's office to ask what the protocol is now to get blood drawn for labs before my appointment which is in SEVENTEEN DAYS. And that tiny, nonthreatening little exercise in dealing with something like an adult just about wrecked me and sent me into a deep place of anxiety. I feel sure that I'll be coasting along the surface of this place until both appointments are over. If I'm lucky. If I'm not, I'll just fall right in and struggle not to drown. 
Hell. I might as well schedule an eye exam which I know I am dreadfully overdue for. And I'm not even scared of eye exams. Or gynecological exams either, for that matter. 

Okay. Let's move on to a less stressful topic. 

Tonight's debates. 
Will you be watching them? I believe we will be. I'm not quite sure why. Kamala Harris could do anything, say anything, and I would still be voting for her. I can't even think of anything she could do or say that was so terrible I'd vote for Donald Fucking Trump. 
And yet- talk about stressful. Our country is absolutely facing the biggest threat it's ever faced as far as I can see and the results of the coming-up election will determine whether we continue as a democracy or turn into a fascist state ruled by an insane dictator. I am so fucking sick of the media treating Trump and the things he says and does as if they were somehow normal for a presidential candidate while meanwhile holding Kamala to a standard that does indeed imply a sense of normality. How can she fight against that if half the country doesn't care that Trump doesn't know how magnets work or that he has the emotional maturity of a toddler who is not yet potty trained or that he's a convicted felon or that he's a huge racist and misogynist, a cheater, a liar, a sexual predator, a failed businessman, tried to overturn a certified election and encouraged a treasonous take-over of the capitol, and god knows what else? 

They do not care.

Trying to focus on the good, the simple, the real. Breathe in, breathe out. Keep doing that as long as you can. 
That's all I have tonight.

Love...Ms. Moon

A Little Lighter

The fire spike in the front yard is finally starting to bloom which is good because I know the hummingbirds are hungry for it. The front yard gets so very little sun due to the oak trees. When I moved here there was a patch of fire spike that someone had planted in the back yard. It was never much of a grower or bloomer because of the shade from the Bradford Pears and the magnolia tree. It eventually all died out but over the years I had rooted so much of it during the winters and replanted in different places that it's legacy definitely lives on. 
I have not hung hummingbird feeders this year due to the fact that I read somewhere last year (was it from one of you?) who said that unless you change the nectar and clean the container every other day, it's best not even to put it out because of the mold that can grow in it which is dangerous to the tiny birds who love the sweet stuff. It's not really that much work to make fresh sugar water solution or to clean the feeder but really- every other day? 
I am pondering this. Meanwhile, I will just keep rooting fire spike and replanting. 

Today has not been a terrible day. I don't think I've cried more than once or twice. I've had very little energy but I am not in that horrible dark box I was in yesterday. I pulled up the rest of the field pea plants and weeded those areas. I did it very slowly and although it's not very hot today, I sweated through my clothes again. I've just looked up excess sweating as a side-effect of Covid and it definitely is and some people continue to suffer from it for long periods of time after recovery. Glen noticed sweating a lot more too but he says his is not as bad as it was. And who knows? Everything I've been going through could be a lingering aftereffect of the virus. Or at least related. I am of the opinion now that radically decreasing my dosage of HRT has had more than a little bit to do with the emotional aspects. I've upped my dose and am watching carefully to see what happens. And now I've got to make an appointment with the Gyn to get an annual because he won't fucking prescribe the HRT unless I do. Why do I have this horrible fear of doctors? And these days, let us add on the fact that making any sort of appointment or commitment is incredibly difficult for me. Well, not lunch. Making arrangements to go to lunch with my children is not stressful at all. 

Okay, okay, okay. Enough of the I'm-crazy talk. And I really don't have much else to talk about. Glen got the most recent covid vaccine AND a flu shot today so I'm expecting he's not going to be feeling very well tomorrow. I'm going to be in town (to have lunch with Lily!) and may go ahead and get both of those too. I am sort of a hyper-reactor to the shots, or have been so far, so I guess I'm asking for it. Maybe I'm just a big ol' hypochondriac. I remember my darling friend Sue's boss telling her once that she had the strongest mind/body connection he'd ever seen and she did. Anything that affected her mind created some malady in her body. I mean, it really did. I remember once when we were at a mall and she was telling me something very painful about her son and her nose just began profusely bleeding right there. We humans are funny critters, aren't we? Some of us funnier than others. 

Here's another picture of two hurricane lilies growing right next to each other in my side yard.

Surprise! I think it is so fitting that Ellen Abbott reports that in her part of Texas where they also grow, they are called Surprise Lilies. And you know, hurricanes are generally surprises too. 
Surprise! A Category Four storm is headed your way! 

Perhaps we should all call them Surprise Hurricane Lilies. 
And speaking of, there's a tropical storm, Francine, in the gulf and it's looking to be heading to the coast of Texas and to Louisiana. I am thinking of Ellen who is still cleaning up debris after the last storm to hit them. 

I worked with a Francine once. I was the hostess at a Jerry's Restaurant which was very much like a Shoney's, or a Village Inn. It was an interesting job in some ways and Francine made it more so. She was older, a professional server if there ever was one and if you've ever worked with a professional server you know what I'm talking about. MAD respect. I remember once after a huge breakfast rush that we'd had and she could finally sit down for a little break, she told me in her sweet, sweet southern voice, "I could smoke a cigarette this long," indicating a length with her fingers at least five inches longer than a regular cigarette. 

Good times. Good times. 

All right. I need to go make supper. 

Love...Ms. Moon