Taking Care Of Business

The star hibiscus has another bloom and I worship at its feet. 
I mean, you know- metaphorically. There are some things that are simply so stunning and so lovely that it's impossible to ever truly take them for granted. This flower is one of them. 
Another pragmatic miracle as I like to call these things. 

I've had such a great day. When I woke up I told Mr. Moon that I was going to make a list of things I wanted to do today, simply for the pleasure of crossing them all off as I did them. 
"Just for fun," I said. 
Somehow I knew that today was going to be productive. I think this feeling is part of my sudden and unexplainable good attitude. 
Of course, this being me, I do have a dark fear that having discovered this weird feeling of happiness, I will soon be diagnosed with a terminal illness and I'll feel even worse than I would have because I JUST STARTED BEING HAPPY! 
So unfair. 
Well, that could happen. 
Meanwhile, I did make my list and I did check off everything on it. 

And honestly, I just like to make lists with a fountain pen. 

So yes, I cleared and cleaned off my back porch table where I live and washed the tablecloth and towels and other laundry. I put a clean tablecloth back on the table and threw away a bunch of clutter that had been taking up space. I also got rid of a bunch of spiderwebs under the table. For some reason this year, we have a lot of very, very almost fluffy spider webs. I don't know how else to describe them. They are nothing like the webs the golden orb weavers make. I haven't even seen the spiders. They're almost invisible and they seem to like to live under tables and chairs and the webs feel mysterious and annoying when you brush up against them with a leg or a foot. So I made a concerted effort there and swept under the table and around it. 

I took the trash to the trash place, I stopped at the post office, and I took all of the paper and cardboard that we stash in the pantry out to the burn pile. I had thought that Mr. Moon and I had an agreement wherein I would deal with the household trash and he would deal with the burn pile stuff. 
I seem to have thought wrong. 
At our age we appear to have what I might call "selective memory" issues. He has no problems dealing with all of these legal issues that Tom left behind but when it comes to remembering that he's supposed to take out the paper and cardboard, he simply cannot. 
Ah well. Not a big deal. 
I poured clog destroying chemicals down my shower drain because it has become more than a puddle in there when I shower. It's like a shallow pool for my feet. Every night when I take my shower I vow to remember to do that the next day and it's been about a week now that I've forgotten every day until I get in the shower the next night. And you can't just pour that shit in and leave it. You have to flush it with hot water after about fifteen minutes so that requires some attention. 
But things are flowing nicely in there again. 
And lastly but not leastly, I watered my front porch plants. Such an easy thing to do but I don't enjoy wrestling with the hose situation. 
Good Lord. That's not even worthy of being a first world problem. 

What I really wanted to do after checking all the things off my list was to do more clearing of the chenille plant and other invasives by the side of the house where I was working the other day. However, that area was in the sun by the time I got around to it so I decided to tackle the bed to the right of the driveway, aka dirt entrance to the property, which I spent so many hours working on last year to what was obviously no avail because this is what it looks like. 

The crocosmia is worse than ever but my determination is strong. As you can see, there are other weeds growing in there and I got out my shovel and dug some of the larger ones up and then got on my knees with my trowel to once again battle the roots and bulbs of the crocosmia. I was quite surprised and delighted to find that for some mysterious and unexplained reason, the dirt in there is now soft and so easy to pull roots from. Is this because of all the rain we've had or is it because of the work I did on it last year? 
Who knows? 
Not me. 
But I got this much done in just a few hours. 

It would have all been an absolute pleasure (you know how much I love to weed) if it hadn't been 95 degrees in the shade. I had sweat rolling off my face and everything I was wearing was soaked but I still managed to enjoy myself. I also discovered some crepe myrtle plants which had come up from the root system of the one I planted on the other side of the fence. I had no idea that crepe myrtles spread like this and guess what? This can result in dense thickets if left unattended, according to what I'm reading online. 
Oh great. Now the crepe myrtles are going to become invasive. 
Well, I need to keep an eye on them, obviously and I will try not to leave them unattended. 
And I also have this. 

It's hard to tell but that's a loblolly pine, also known by about ten other names including "southern pine." I've been watching it for over a year now. It is totally a volunteer, quite possibly planted there by a winged seed from a nearby adult. It was just a tiny sprig when I first sighted it and I have carefully weeded around it, mostly just to see what would happen. It's gone through drought and being choked by the crocosmia and yet, has survived and is growing. Yay, little pine! Keep on living! It's probably a little over a foot tall now. 

And that's the story of me today. Mr. Moon and Jim worked from 8:30 to 5:30 on Tom's stuff. A conference call with an attorney was involved as was more delving into the depths of some of the items in the many sheds and so forth on Tom's property which is hot, nasty work. 
Jim has hit the road home to St. Augustine after spending the week here. I am amazed at how both men are still managing to retain their sense of humor about the whole situation. You just have to. 

Here's a lamp Glen brought home, thinking I might like it. 

Cleaned, rewired, and with the shades replaced as several of them are broken, it might be worth keeping and as we all know, I need more lamps. 
It's heavy enough to be used in an Alfred Hitchcock type murder if one has the strength to heft and swing it at someone's head. I'm serious. It must weigh twenty pounds. At least.

Oh, Tom. 

Wild and invasive morning glories. 
At least they bloom. 

Love...Ms. Moon

 

Mostly Back To Our Regularly Scheduled Programming

Last night when I was making our supper, Glen kept saying things like, "You shouldn't have to make your own birthday dinner," and I kept reassuring him that I was enjoying myself so much. And I was! I steamed the spinach for the casserole in a skillet and then used the skillet to cook the salmon in. I already had leftover rice which I mixed up with the spinach and an egg and a little evaporated milk I had leftover from the scallop thing I had made the night before with salt and pepper and a little parmesan. I baked it in the pretty green casserole dish, perfectly sized for a two-person casserole that I recently thrifted. I baked it in the toaster oven/air-fryer so the kitchen didn't get heated up from using the big oven. 
I cooked the salmon in a little olive oil with salt and pepper, lemon juice and dill like May taught me. That was it. 
And the corn on the cob was simply boiled for a minute or two. 
It was sort of a very perfect dinner and it was pretty and I got a great deal of pleasure from making it and eating it too. So did Mr. Moon. The eating part, I mean. I am grateful to be able to cook good things for us and I am grateful we have the means to be able to grow some of the things we eat and to afford those we don't grow. For me, cooking is for nourishment and pleasure. And some nights, it is just a joy. 
Of course the man cleaned up the kitchen afterwards and I have to say my slice of Publix carrot cake was every bit as delicious as I had hoped it would be. 
It was such a good birthday. 

And today was special too! I picked up Hank and we went to lunch together and we sat and we talked and we talked and it was just so much fun. That darling boy of mine is a wonder. All of my children are so different and I find each and every one of them so enjoyable to be around, to talk to, to hang out with. We are at ease with each other. It is a blessing indeed and I do not take that for granted. 
We stopped in to the two little thrift stores in the same plaza and although we did not buy anything, we had such a good time looking. Hank found an old copy of The Five Little Peppers and How They Grew which was a favorite of mine and a favorite of his. Oh my Lord, what a silly and dated book it is and we loved it so much. I just looked it up and it was published in 1881! There was an entire series written about the poor Peppers and their saintly mother, all written by Margaret Sidney. It was fun, admiring and criticizing and waxing nostalgic about so many of the items. And laughing so hard about others. Hank and I pretty much raised each other, along with May, and we have so many shared memories. 

And that was my beautiful afternoon. 

Mr. Moon is still dealing with Tom things and probably will be for quite awhile. 
Sigh. 
As he said yesterday, "This is not what I had bargained for." But back when Tom asked him to be the trustee of his estate, he was in fine health and relatively young and the whole idea of what that might eventually entail was just a shimmer of a possible future reality. 
And yet, here we are. I admire him and Tom's friend Jim who is helping Glen with all of this so much. It's a huge task, both on the legal side and on the possessions side. 
Especially that one. 

But right now Glen's in the Glen Den, shelling the peas I picked today. I didn't even go out to the garden yesterday at all which I believe may have been a first for me in many, many months. We're still getting some nice things.

I started a new bottle of pepper vinegar today and discovered I was out of white vinegar. Why I did not put that on my list I do not know but I used the apple cider vinegar, along with balsamic and wine vinegars. Now that should be interesting! 
I need to pickle my jalapeños. I doubt I have enough to fill up a quart jar but still, I use them in cooking and there's no need for them to go to waste. 

Here's what the Seminole pumpkin is doing today. 

And here's a new baby, growing on the vine which is covering the east side fence. 

I am fascinated by this vegetable. I think I am going to start calling it The Seminole Hulk Pumpkin Vine. 

While we're at it, here are two zinnia pictures I took. The ones in the garden are just about spent. Done and dusted for the most part. 
Sigh. 
But the garden by the kitchen still has a few beauties that look pretty healthy. 

This one is a tiny bit past its expiration date but the colors are still fantastic. 

And now a picture that I meant to post yesterday, but due to my narcissistic birthday ramblings, I forgot. 

That was in the Tallahassee Democrat, the local newspaper and it is of our Gibson out on the field practicing with his new high school's marching band. 
Do you have any idea how freaking hot it is out there? 
So freaking hot. 
We are very, very proud of that sweetest of the sweet boys. 

It has rained here which yes, did give me a delicious scent of petrichor but which now seems to have released the scent of something dead. It's not horrible, but here on the back porch, it's definitely smellable. It could be the corpse of the fucking giant Georgia Thumper that Mr. Moon smashed with a whelk shell because it was the only thing he could find at the moment, on the back porch steps and then tossed to the side of the steps. 
I would really rather not have seen that. 
But what I'm saying is, is that the grasshopper was so large that it's inevitable decay could be the cause of the death smell. 

Life in Lloyd! Too much nature. Etc.

Love...Ms. Moon

It's Been Mighty Fine

 

Me on my 72nd birthday, ready to go to town. I did put on shoes before I left. 

It has been a funny day and not much birthday-related stuff went on except for the fact that I got so many sweet birthday texts and some calls, including one by Lis and Lon, doing their traditional birthday greeting which involves them singing Happy Birthday, accompanied by one of them playing along on an instrument. Daisy, their dog, used to sing along with them but she has passed. Still, we all miss her voice. Lon played ukulele on this year's arrangement and I have to say it may have been my favorite ever except for the absence of Dear Daisy. 

I took my time around here this morning and then got dressed (see above) and went to town to try and get my iPhone Air stuff transferred back to my iPhone 13 Pro because I just can't deal with this stupid camera anymore. I gave it every chance, I figured out how to do work-arounds, I managed to get a few good pictures. And then I said, "What the fucking fuck? Get the phone you want."
The iPhone Air is a fine little phone, no complaints, it's just that the camera will not do. So yes, I had the fantasy that I could just give it back and they would do their magic and I could walk out of Costco which is where we got our new phone plan with my old phone in my pocket. 
Boy. What a dimwit I was.
I could go into a fifty page description of all that went on there with the very sweet man and woman who helped me but I won't. To sum up- no. Not under the plan we have. Nor any plan as far as I can tell. And this means that to get the camera I want, I'm going to have to get a completely different, more updated phone which is so not what I want but sometimes you simply cannot get what you want. 
Carrying on the theme, you can though, if you try sometime, say it with me, get what you need. 
So my problem was not completely resolved but it probably will be soon and the phone will be ten thousand times more capable of probably controlling the universe than I need it to be, but it will have a camera that will take decent pictures, especially macros, that I don't have to spend ten minutes and two hands doing the work-arounds that the one I have now takes. 

Glen had met me by the time that whole situation was dealt with and supposedly I will get a call from...someone? within a week and things will go on from there. A solution will be found! 

We went to lunch, as it was already 2:30 and that was not an extremely groovy experience but needs must, right? And by that time, our needs exceeded our patience in finding the perfect restaurant and I wanted to get home so we could go to the river. 

Before that, though, I had to stop by Publix for a few things and a Lily hug.

I gotta tell you, I love Publix carrot cake. It has lots of spices and raisins and you can depend on it for all of your carrot cake needs. And it was on sale! 

I also bought some salmon and a few other things and then hightailed it back to Lloyd where Mr. Moon was already waiting. We got the groceries put away and put on our bathing costumes, and drove to the river. 

There were far more people there than I expected but the Wacissa is a mysterious place and one never knows what they'll encounter. It was beautiful, though, and the water was as cold and clear as ever. It took me even longer today to fully immerse than usual and I am blaming it on the fact that I am 72 now. But I did it and over an hour later I still feel calmer, cooler, and more at peace than I did before. 

The mother cypress standing watch over us all. 

Look up! 
I did indeed. 

And now we're home and having birthday martinis and I'm going to go cook that salmon and then we're going to eat some Publix carrot cake. 

Maurice giving me birthday love.

That's a damn lie. She wants her evening treat. 

I am happy again. Good Lord! 

And thank all of you for your beautiful birthday messages and good thoughts. I cherish each and every one of them. 

Big 72-year old love...Ms. Moon

This Life I Love

Those peppers are what I used to make a stuffed pepper casserole last night. I had no peppers big enough to stuff with rice and ground beef and tomatoes and onions and all those good things so I made up that combination, steamed the peppers you see there in a little water in one of my skillets, put those in the bottom of the baking dish and added the rice mixture on top. Then cheese. Then I baked it. 
It was pretty awesome. My first real use of the clown peppers although I have used some of the bell peppers. Extremely tasty. I may make a pizza with those peppers on it soon. They are very mild but with a nice flavor. 

So I've been thinking a lot about my birthday, which is tomorrow. I'm about to be seventy-two so today was my last day of being seventy-one which is a pretty obvious fact. I've been thinking, and even saying, that I'm seventy-two for quite awhile now so I don't think it's going to be a big shock. Some numbers of my life years feel more correct than others. Definitely true in the example of seventy-one/seventy two. Seventy-one didn't feel true. Seventy-two did. And now it will be. True, that is.

As I said to someone today, I am fairly amazed at the fact that I've reached what the Bible tells us is a person's lifespan- three score and ten, and then a little bit more. I never expected to live this long. And I am a bit surprised at how relatively healthy I am and how I really don't feel that old. I sort of simply feel like...myself. 
(I just knocked wood.)
I don't LOOK like I used to and there is no doubt about that. But what seventy-two year old person looks like they did when they were decades younger? I don't care how much botox and fillers and surgery you get done, there is just no substitute for youth. Let us not kid ourselves. I don't even try. I absolutely know I feel so much better in my brain and my body after having lost weight even though I no longer have bosoms and my skin is so wrinkled that the grandchildren are fascinated by it which is pretty funny.  

I spent some outside today, perhaps to prove to myself that I can still do it, that I can still work outside in this intolerable heat and humidity but what mainly motivated me was the fact that I could not stand what my little kitchen garden looked like. Probably no one but me would notice the difference but I did what I did for me and let's not kid ourselves. 

It's still wild but the weeds have been a little bit tamed. And then because I'm insane, I did a more weed pulling/bed clearing by the side of the house. 
By the time I quit I didn't even feel up to driving to the river. 
Perhaps that's what I'll do tomorrow. Drive to the river. Sit in a chair under the cypress tree and read my new book. 

We shall see. 

Glen has been asking me for weeks what I want to do on my birthday and I've been saying, "This." 
By which I mean living another day in this very life I live. 
He and Jim, Tom's friend from St. Augustine, spent all day long going through hoarder shit in 108 degree heat and that's their plan for tomorrow too. They want to just get it done, get it over with. 

I know without a doubt that if I had told Glen last week that I would really love to go to Paris or to Florence or, hell, to Las Vegas, he would have figured it out and taken me there. But that is not what I want. 
Like I said, I just want more of this. 

Looks like a thunderstorm is rolling in. Sounds and smells like that too. What a lovely birthday present that would be. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Lagniappe

 

Husband and wife hallway dancing has commenced. 

It's All About Mick Today

Was there ever a prettier frontman? 
Well, perhaps Little Richard. 
But was there ever a more iconic rock and roll singer? 
I don't think so. 
Today is Mick Jagger's eighty-third birthday and as I said on a Rolling Stones post on Facebook- he has set the bar way too high for us mere mortals. 
I can barely remember a time in my life when the Rolling Stones weren't there. Here. Everywhere. 
I have written so much about this band and I don't feel the need to repeat myself but I do feel the need to acknowledge Mick, one of the old boys, as I call them, who is not only still here, but who has just recorded a new album which I believe I may have noted shows that his voice is not only as good as ever, but it may be better than ever. 
Is the key to having a long and very healthy life being born with a physical education teacher as your daddy? 
Perhaps. 
And perhaps we should get back to Keith on that BUT, when the Stones were doing their 2024 tour, Mick was still ruling the stage, dancing, running, skipping, wiggling his (still very cute little) ass, and singing that (still very cute little) ass off. 

I really have nothing to talk about today so I'm just going to give you a few more pictures of the man who, along with Keith Richards and Charlie Watts, have given me so many hours of dancing delight and so much permission to be a woman who owns my own body, my own sexuality, my own joy in the evil celebration of what rock and roll can be. 

Mick Jagger. The man whom women lusted after and made men secretly doubt their sexual identities, who wore eyeliner and eye shadow and pants that showed off his assets and who, with Keith Richards, wrote some of the best damn songs ever written. 
You can argue with me on that but I bet you almost anything that if you hear the first four chords of Start Me Up, you know what it is. Of course, that's Keith's riff but when it comes to their music, they are indeed the Glitter Twins. 

And here's Mick a year ago with his youngest child, Deveraux Octavian Basil Jagger who is eight years old. His partner is Melanie Hamrick, a former ballerina. 

You should see Deveraux dance. 

So yeah, happy birthday, Mick. Don't stop dancing. Don't stop singing. Don't stop doing what you do which is something no one else on earth can nor ever has. And certainly not for this long. 

Love...Ms. Moon

I'm A Happy Idiot

I did it! I sat my ass on the couch, watched "The Bear" and shelled all the peas I'd picked. It took a couple of hours but they were very pleasant hours and the peas seemed quite ready and willing to get naked. When I took that picture, I didn't realize how appropriate the expression on Jeremy Allen White's face was as he looked at my feet. 

I've had a good day. I've had a couple of very, very good days in a row as a matter of fact. I told Mr. Moon yesterday that oddly, I am as happy right now as I've probably ever been in my adult life, not counting the days right after having a baby which were always the best days for me but they were magic days and I'm talking here about regular days.
I'm not sure why this has happened, is happening. Of course I really did enjoy our trip but part of that, I believe, was because I simply didn't feel the need to stress about things.
Okay. There were a few things I felt like stressing about but none of them were really that bad. 
I think part of this current happiness is that the tide, as I say, is really in with my husband. Those of us in long-term relationships know that sometimes the tide is in and sometimes it is out. And right now, we are having some glorious high tides. 
Oh! If life could only always be this way! And when I'm happier, my husband is happier and when he's happier...I am happier. And so forth.

I am wondering if I am happy because I am not feeling stressed about things or if I'm not feeling stressed about things because I'm happier. Hank and I had a bit of a text conversation about this and we discussed things like how stupid yet complex the brain is, how it all has to coordinate with chemicals and hormones and memories and experiences and nerves and, oh, who knows? The weather? How our hair looks today? 
Finally, though, Hank said it best, as he generally does. He said, "We don't give ourselves enough grace."
When I read that, tears came to my eyes. It is so true. I am so hard on myself, so critical of myself, so disparaging of myself and why? But right now I'm not feeling that way. Here's another thing- I spend half my life, at least, worrying about my cognitive decline. Every time I turn around I seem to be losing bits and pieces of my brain function. And then the other fifty percent of the time I am brooding over that, fretting over that, and looking for even more proof. 
However, in the last few days with this wave of feelings of wellbeing, my brain seems to be working pretty okay. I mean, for a woman of my age. And I realize I am giving myself grace about it all. 
How odd. How weird. 
One thing that I do believe has influenced me are the words my friend Karen said to me when we were up in Tennessee for her fiftieth anniversary wedding. Karen lost a child some years ago to a horrible form of cancer and she will never be the same. Of that there is no doubt. But her smile is still so beautiful, her aura so pure and what she said is that she has learned to just go with what life presents her. Not to fight it. And I believe I may be internalizing that some. 
I hope so. 

Anyway, it's been absolutely wonderful and I am grateful. If I wake up tomorrow in my usual angst, I will at least know that this feeling is possible. 

I just wrote a long thing about a woman's videos on Facebook that I am currently obsessing over and then deleted it. Jessie has basically told me I'm being an asshole about this and she is right but we all have the right to be assholes about things, right? The woman is a dreadlocked white woman (not judging or anything) who, at the age of thirty, knows EVERYTHING and whom I believe has studied medicine at the online school of RFK, Jr. She also sells "natural" products she and her husband supposedly make including a lotion of some sort that works as a skin soother, a lube, a bug repellant and a healer of swamp crotch. 
After hearing what she has to say about the evils of regular washing with soap and water I would be a bit leery when it came to using any of her products, including the scented candles. 
Ooh boy. 
I hate to tell you how much pleasure it has been bringing me to write imaginary comments on these videos. I am again showing great restraint. They would do no good. The woman is too ignorant to know how much she does not know. I only hope that the free birth she has planned for her baby out of the utter trust in her own health and strength after having absolutely no prenatal care by either doctor or midwife goes well and that she and her baby come though it all safely. 

And that's about it for tonight. 
A time of goodness, a confession of foolishness. 

The pretty little vase in use in Lloyd. 

Love...Ms. Moon

A Matter Of Trust. Also- How Fun It Is To Get Yourself Your Own Birthday Presents. This Eliminates The You Can't Always Get What You Want Situation

I'm sitting here fretting because Mr. Moon is not home yet from a day in town and he's not answering texts or his phone. He went to lunch with me and Lily and Lauren and all was well but I forgot to ask him what he had planned after that. 
This is not entirely unusual behavior for him although IT IS MARTINI NIGHT and he's generally not tardy for that. 
Oh, how quickly the mind can jump from all-is-well to worst-case-scenarios. And when this does happen and I tell him how worried I get he always says something along the lines of the fact that he is always fine. 
Indeed. 
And I just spoke to him. He is fine. He was on another call when I called him. He's been doing stuff for Tom's estate and is now at a carwash, cleaning out Tom's car and getting the crap out of it (not literal crap in this case, thank goodness) and will be home directly. 
I don't think he realizes, after all this time, that I am so apt to freak out about things like this. Why should I? As he says, he is always fine. 
Now, my first husband? 
I still have the PTSD from worrying about him getting home. Because he was in a band he was always late getting in when he'd had a gig and frequently if they'd just had a rehearsal. And when I say late, I mean hours and hours after the bars closed. As you can only imagine, he was up to no good but somehow it was very hard for me to let my mind go THERE. I am sure it's because I couldn't deal with that reality. It took me years to accept what was staring me in the face and I'll never forget the moment that happened. It was a horrible, horrible moment and I can still feel it in my very bones, that second of lightning strike-like realization. 
But before that happened, there were so many nights when I'd worry that he'd been in a car wreck or had been arrested. We lived in Lloyd for most of that time, even farther from town and more in the woods than where Glen and I live now and it was truly not beyond possibility that he had either been in a wreck or had been arrested and traffic was so sparse on the roads at that time of night that if he had been in an accident, it could have taken hours for someone to discover him. 
You have no idea how many times I stayed up until four or five in the morning, wondering what it would be like to be a widow. And of course we had little children so add that to the equation. 

Lord but I was so gullible, so trusting, so self-deceiving. And I still wonder why none of our friends told me. Everyone knew. Everyone but me. And I suppose I knew too but like I said, I couldn't face it. One sweet, dear man did tell me once that my husband really shouldn't treat me like he did which should have probably been enough but denial is a powerful and mysterious thing. 

So that's probably why I get overly concerned when Glen's late getting home or I can't reach him by phone. I know he's not out being up to no good. That's just not him. But as to wrecks? Sure. That could happen to anyone at anytime, anywhere, and that old fear just kicks right into gear and common sense flies out the window.

Well. That is certainly not what I meant to write about this evening but that so often happens with me, doesn't it? 

I was out in the garden this morning, not doing a real picking or anything, just a survey although of course I did do some picking, when I found this tiny embryo of a Seminole pumpkin.

I was so thrilled. I have honestly never had anything in any of my many, many gardens that grew with the vitality of these pumpkins. Ever. Not even close. And it seemed so long before they started blooming and then another good, long wait before I saw any pumpkins but here was proof it was going to happen. 
And then I found this one! 

Marigold for scale. And also because it was just there. 

And I have no idea how many of those there are on the vines because it's not easy to make my way through them without a machete or some other sharp bladed instrument. So I will just have to be surprised. I wonder how many will actually grow into maturity and I have no idea exactly what they look like when they do. 

Here's an internet photo of what they can look like. 

All I really know is that the pumpkins, when ripe, can be stored for a year. I think of the family in "The Yearling" and how growing some of these could have added so much variety, flavor, and vitamin A to their diet. 
Now, the Baxters would not have had the ingredients to make the dessert found at this website, but I certainly do, and surely would like to try it. Curries, soups, breads, pies...I think all of those could be made with these pumpkins. 
Stay tuned for Seminole Pumpkin Kitchen Adventures! 

What else was I going to write about? I went to town and had lunch with Lily and Lauren and Mr. Moon, as I mentioned above. That was fun. I went to a jewelry store/repair place where I'd had two necklaces restrung. One of them is great but the pearls are not. I swear to you, they are at least an inch shorter than before. I know it's normal for the stringing material to relax and stretch a bit over time but this seems a little over the top. I have absolute trust in this place. It's been in business in Tallahassee forever and ever and the same family runs it that opened it. They surely would not risk their reputation by stealing a few cultured pearls. 
Any suggestions? 

Oh! Oh! I ordered myself two birthday presents! One was the final book in Colson Whitehead's trilogy set in Harlem over a span of years whose main character is a man named Raymond Carney. I've read the first two more than once and have even read them out loud to Glen on trips. Those books, in order, are, "Harlem Shuffle," "Crook Manifesto," and now "Cool Machine." I am so damn excited to step back into that world. 

The other present I am giving myself is of course, the vinyl edition of Foreign Tongues. I want those liner notes! 

I heard an interview with the artist who did the cover image and trust me- it all makes sense. His name is Nathaniel Mary Quinn and I am sure there is a story there. And if you can't tell, that picture is a conglomerate creation of Keith, Ronnie, and Mick. 
Yes. I know. I am a fool for those old boys and part of the reason for that is how they are wearing the faces they have earned in their over eighty years of life. 
Well, Ronnie's only something like seventy-nine or something. 

The man just got home. He said, "I forgot it was Friday."
"I figured that," I said. 

Oh well. Lucky for me I can make a pretty darn excellent martini myself, which I did. He can make the second one. As MFK Fisher so wisely said, a bird cannot fly on just one wing. 
Or something like that. 

I had an entire complex menu planned for tonight but I have switched it up to make it simple. We'll be having clam spaghetti and a salad. I just went out and picked a little arugula and basil for that salad. Here's what my basils are looking like. 

Cinnamon (or Mexican) basil, Thai basil, lavender basil, African basil. I do believe I'm going to have to make some pesto soon. As you can see, some of the basil in the first photo is growing from last year's reseeded plants. 
Basil, like Seminole pumpkins, truly wants to live here, I think. 

Ooh...clean sheets on the bed tonight! 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Home

 

I grew this glory from seeds that Ellen sent me a few years ago after I verbally swooned over the photos she posted of hers. I always forget what she called it but in looking it up, I see that it goes by a few names, one being Texas Star Hibiscus, another Scarlet Rose Mallow, and one even Florida Native Scarlet Hibiscus. Call it what you will, it's even swoonier in real life than it is in photos. 
Of course it's in the mallow family along with okra, Rose of Sharon, swamp mallow, hibiscus, and cotton. I just learned that! Cotton? Well, okay. 
I'd love the plant just because Ellen sent me the seeds but I am IN love with the plant because of its blooms.

I got a few things accomplished around here today. I picked some more peas and peppers. With what I picked yesterday, I was able to make another bottle of pepper vinegar, this one with two different types of peppers, tabasco and the cayenne ones. 

The vinegar looks cloudy because I used half white vinegar and half unfiltered apple cider vinegar, specifically the dregs of a bottle which has all that healthfully good sediment in it. 
Or something like that. 
All I can say is that I better grow some decent greens this winter to use these vinegars on. I also have jalapeño peppers but they're just a little too stout to happily accept being pushed down the neck of the bottles I have. I suppose I could and should make something else with those but I may just find another type of bottle to put them in. Who among us does not love getting a bottle of pepper vinegar for Christmas? 

I do really love the way the bottles look with all the peppers in them. So brightly colored they are a visual representation of summer's heat. 

I took the trash and I unpacked my suitcase and put everything away. I did laundry. I picked those peas and peppers and pulled a very few weeds. My Lord but it is hot out there. I'm sure I did some other things but I can't really remember except for the fact that Shelly from pottery came by to see me and my house after she and her mama, son, and the son's friend had been to the Wacissa for a swim. That was nice. I showed them around this old house and by now I feel like a tour guide. "And this is the bathroom Oprah built..."
And so forth. 
I spend a lot of time on these tours apologizing for flaking ceiling paint in the hallway and flooring that needs replacing. "Don't walk there!" 
Sigh. 
Shelly's mom was so sweet, as is Shelly. Her son asked if he could play the piano and I said that of course he could. 
The kid has a damn gift. I mean- a real gift. I couldn't believe it. My old out-of-tune piano is probably still in shock after being played so proficiently by someone who absolutely knows what they are doing. 

I had thought I'd have enough time today to get into some real pea-shelling but I only managed to spend one and a half episodes of "The Bear" at the task. It is going faster because I'm only picking the really ripe pods which are far easier to shell. I am going to cook the ones I did today for our supper tonight along with grouper that Glen caught and croquettes, also known as patties, made with squash that I didn't grow and eggplant that I did grow. So. Fish, peas, and croquettes. This should be good. 
I'd say that I'd missed cooking in my own kitchen while we were in NC and I did, a little bit, but it was also fun to have to make do and improvise when things weren't quite what we needed. There was a griddle in the kitchen that I cooked the pancakes on and it was fabulous. 
But sleeping in one's own bed and cooking in one's own kitchen really are the best. 

Glen spent the entire day and I mean the ENTIRE DAY mowing the grass. I know I always say we don't really have a lawn and we don't in the front yard but various types of grass-like plants grow in other parts of the yard and those need mowing, as do the few little sprigs of whatever greenery growing in the front yard and it looks fabulous. 

Part of the reason it took so long was not due to how tall and dense the grass had gotten but also because there were so many limbs which had fallen due to all the storms, especially the pecans and water oaks. 
He just finished about half an hour ago and has driven to the Wacissa to surrender himself to the cold, clear, healing waters of that river. I should have gone but instead, I'm doing this and am about to start that supper. 

When I watered the porch plants (oh yeah- that's another thing I did) I had to take a picture of this lovely Golden Orb Weaver. She's not fully grown but she looks healthy and her web is a work of weaving art. 

I am happy to see her and her many sisters around. Some of them already have boyfriends or husbands or whatever they call the relatively tiny spiders who talk their way into hanging out in the web, no doubt benefiting from the bounty the women bring in. I shouldn't criticize. If it weren't for them, there would be no babies to grow up and weave their own webs. I have no idea if the Golden Orb Weaver Women eat their mates. I would not be surprised. Protein is where you find it. 
I just looked it up and yes they do. Sorry guys. But the lady spiders don't live into winter so the fellows just go a bit earlier, I suppose, after literally giving their all. 

I gotta make supper. 

Love...Ms. Moon

In Which I Finally Get To Hold A Bebe And Other Delightful Things

I took that photo yesterday morning before we packed up to leave for home. I loved catching the looks between Bop and Levon, an entire story right there.
We're home now, Mr. Moon and I, and it's so hard to believe that only two nights ago we were fixing supper for the family in that North Carolina house which was so sweetly held in the peace and quiet of the green of the trees and the plants. It was a mighty fine vacation. 
Somehow we got up early enough on Tuesday morning to get the whole house cleaned out and everything packed up and loaded into our cars by ten. Jessie and I had done a great deal of the preliminary organizing the night before and packing of some of the things we wouldn't need the next morning. I am always amazed at how quickly and efficiently Jessie can do this whereas I am generally standing around holding an almost empty box of crackers wondering what in hell I should do with them. 
And then, finally, we were pretty sure we'd gotten everything but of course you always feel as if you've forgotten something and chances are good that you have. In this case, I haven't discovered one thing that Glen and I left behind. 
Now one of the most stressful parts of these NC trips for me is deciding where we're going to stay on the way there and on the way back. We could do the trip all in one day but that's just too long and neither one of us is good at sitting for that long so we split it up, mainly because we can. Glen had chosen the place we stayed on the way up, the somehow, somewhat haunted inn in Abbeville. And on Sunday night (I think) I was freaking out and Glen had chosen a route to drive home where it would be good timing to stay in Macon for a night. Now we have stayed in Macon before and that's a whole other story but the choices always seem to either be the Quality Inn by the interstate or one of the many restored mansions-undoubtably-built-by-recently-freed-enslaved people and they are generally B&B's which mean you HAVE TO TALK TO STRANGERS AT BREAKFAST which is not ideal. At all. These mansions are incredibly impressive with columns as big around as school busses and the more columns the merrier. We've stayed at one twice and it's pretty nice but I wasn't overwhelmingly desirous of staying there again. 
So while I was in my state of saying that I hated doing this, I couldn't do this, I just couldn't, Jessie took control, as she so often does, being the boss of me, and with the help of Chat GP and who knows what else, she found several places, one of which made us laugh so hard because the website really stressed their pool and how relaxing it was to hang out by it and the picture of it showed an above ground thing like you'd buy at Walmart and every time we looked at it again, we'd go into another bout of hysterical laughter. 
She found a place in Macon she insisted was the one we wanted. I was totally against it as it was another mansion. In fact, it was called The Burke Mansion. 
Sigh. 
"No," I said. "I just can't." 
Plus it cost an arm and a leg. 
She wasn't having it. "You can afford it, come on! Just enjoy it!" 
Finally I caved because she told me to although I was none too happy about it. 
We had a pretty rough drive on the way there. Although Glen had plugged in "avoid highways" to the map quest, we ended up on a major highway that circles Atlanta and that was stressful and traffic kept backing up and honestly, it was a sort of hell. We shall never do that again. 
But we got to the Burke Mansion and it was impressive although it had normal sized columns, relatively, and yes, the place was filled with antiques and paintings and chandeliers like a miniature Biltmore mansion but the woman who checked us in was sort of a hoot and our room was downstairs. Also, there was a room for the imbibing of cocktails with a bottle of bourbon, a bottle of vodka, thick crystal glasses and an ice bucket. Help yourself! 
But the best thing was how the woman brought up her seven month old son and I swear, she is so in love with that baby that when she talked about him, she became a completely different person and of course I loved that. Turns out the baby stays with her at work. She and her boyfriend are virtually the only employees at the place and she does all the front of house stuff including taking reservations, paying bills, checking people in, dealing with problems, cooking the breakfasts AND doing the cleaning. 
Good Lord. 
All with the baby right there. They live on site. So I got to meet the baby and he was the cutest dang baby you can imagine and as I said, this mama was convinced that she has the best, most amazing, wonderful, terrific baby in the world and my thoughts on the matter are that every baby deserves to have someone love them like that. 
So of course I loved that. 

We got into our room and I was so tired, so ready to weep and order pizza and go to bed but Mr. Moon wanted us to go out to dinner and so we found a place close by that sounded okay. After a little bit of the house vodka and soda I felt somewhat better and even applied make-up to my old and weary face and we made our way to the restaurant. It was in downtown Macon, very plain in that cool way, not overdecorated at all but comfortable and giving the impression of letting the food be the star of the show. They were very close to closing time and I know how eye-rollingly unhappy the employees of a restaurant can be when someone shows up right before closing time. They just want to get the side work done, clean up, and get the hell out of there but we called beforehand and they graciously said for us to come on, it had been a slow night, and so we took them at their word. 
I am so glad we did. 
I'm not going to tell you the name of the restaurant because I want to tell you that when we walked in, there were no other customers besides a few guys at the bar who appeared to be friends with the bartender and server, and the smell of what I am quite sure was legal weed was quite strong. 
Obviously, the closing process had begun. 
The server and bartender were lovely and assured us that we were quite welcome and we ordered martinis because we were throwing caution and money to the wind. We split a caprese salad which was about the most perfect thing I'd ever eaten. Plenty of mozzarella, split cherry tomatoes, basil leaves, and a balsamic reduction. 
Shut up. God it was good.
And then because we were in the mood for some red meat cooked by someone who knows how to do it, we split a small filet with mashed potatoes and some sort of seriously delicious sauce and it was the absolute perfect amount of the absolutely perfect foods we wanted. 
By the time we were finished, which was not very long after 9:00, the chef, possible owner, bartender and server were having glasses of wine at the bar and we felt completely satisfied and happy and we didn't feel as if we'd pissed anyone off too badly. 
Gosh. It really was a fine meal. One to remember. 

Macon at night.

I would really love to spend a few days in Macon. It's a very cool town with a lot of history, and not all of it the history of insanely rich white people. 
One of these days. 

We got back to our room before 9:30. 
It was a very charming room. 

The bed was so high that it came with steps. 

I ended up not using them but hoisting myself up on my tiptoes and throwing myself onto the bed. Getting out of bed was fun. I sort of slid down it like a ride at the fair. Or, a slide at a playground. Something like that. 

We were probably asleep by 10:30 and woke up just in time for our scheduled 9:00 breakfast. 
Okay. Now here comes the part about having to talk to strangers in B&B's at breakfast. 
The couple sitting with us was from Chicago originally, but now live near Tampa because they're retired. So, not unlike people who have perhaps had a little too much to drink, some people you meet in such situations feel the need to tell you, if not their life stories, than at least far more than you need to know or want to know about themselves. 
I felt immediately that these were not my people and that I had no real desire to know a damn thing about them. Is that rude and mean?
Yes. Yes it is. 
The man of the couple started in on how much he loves to fish in the Gulf and gave Glen a short tutorial on how to go about doing that. "I've been learning about the salt now for quite awhile!" he announced.
The salt? What the fuck? 
"Fishing and golf are my life!" he said. 
Glen, being the sweet and patient man he is did not even try to tell the guy that yes, he too knew how to fish "the salt."
The woman of the couple was one of those people who felt the need to add details to whatever her husband was saying while also giving us the story of her entire family and his, too. He was one of nine children. I'm thinking Catholic which is neither here nor there but does inform my actions a few moments later in our conversation. 
I was almost rudely silent, nodding here and there, as the sweet mama woman served us the delicious breakfasts she had made. But I did nod and say things like, "Oh wow!" occasionally.
Finally when the conversation had stalled, I asked her, "So. Do you live in, like a community?" 
"Oh yes! A gated community! It's really nice. Lots of flora!" 
Yeah. I knew it. 
Then she proceeded to tell me about how their next door neighbor was also from Chicago so they were great friends and shopping buddies but that they spent most of their shopping time at Hobby Lobby. 
I told myself, "Mary, just let it be. Just. Let. It. Be."
But I could not. I said, "I've never been to Hobby Lobby. I do not support the politics of the owners."
Ooh boy. She gave me the whole, "I don't care about politics. This is America and what makes it great is that everyone can feel the way they want to and that should not get in the way of our enjoyment and I just treat everyone I meet in the nicest way possible..." 
Etc. 
I just sat and nodded some more. I didn't say another word. Aren't you proud of me? 
I was going to mention how the company refused to give insurance to women employees that would cover birth control but my tiny brain computed the fact that they were probably Catholics. I mean- once again- nine kids? 
That pretty much ended the conversation and off they went but not until the man had had announced that he'd set the AC on in their Tampa home via his phone so that it would be cool when they got home. 
Okay. I did say, "So. You're one of the people who actually does that?"
I should not be taken out in public. 

But then the best, best thing happened. 
You know how I am always threatening to steal a baby? How I'd take a bad baby that no one wanted? 
Well, Rihanna, the woman who does it ALL at the Burke, came out with baby Christopher on her hip and I shyly asked her if I could hold him. 
"Yes! Of course!" she said. 
Y'all. 
I died and went to heaven. 

And while I was holding that sweet, solid baby, his mama told us all about his birth and showed us pictures of that child she adored so at different ages and described what her days and nights are like, doing the work she does while taking care of her baby boy. Not in a complaining way at all. Just in a this-is-my-life-and-how-I-do-it-way.
And then, I cleared the table and took the dirty dishes to the kitchen because at that point, I had fallen a little bit in love and I wanted to do what a granny woman would do. 
What a strong and amazing woman. 

I will not forget that stay in a very long time. 

The stained glass in our room that made me feel as if perhaps the deities approved our activities when the sun suddenly came bursting through it. 

Well, so yes. There is more. Our drive home and our soul-food lunch, somewhere in Georgia. 

Praise the lord and pass the hot sauce. 

And the fact that I finished reading "The Yearling" about ten minutes before we got to our house. I was crying so hard on the last few paragraphs that I could barely choke out the words. I had to keep stopping to try and get control of myself. 
Dear Lord, I love that book. 

Mark. 
Bless him. He not only left the house in a perfectly clean and tidy manner, he left us treats.

And flowers. 

I cried some more. 

I have everything unpacked and put away except my suitcase and that's just clothes so no problem. I can do that tomorrow. 

A quick tour of the garden resulted in this.

There are about four inches of field peas below those vegetables. 

More field peas. 

And a cucumber the size of...well. Go ahead. Let your imaginations run wild. 
Or don't. 

Queen Maurice seems to be happy we have returned although she's going to be very pissed when she realizes that I do not deliver the treats the way Mark does. 

La-di-dah. 
La-di-dah.

We are home. 

Love...Ms. Moon