Nope. Not Done With Flowers Yet

I just can't stop taking pictures of azaleas and wisteria. The azaleas are blanketing the landscape stealing the attention of all of us. I took a little walk around noon- my first in quite awhile and I really enjoyed it. Although it's getting up into the 80's now, it's still pleasant enough outside not to kill us. The humidity is still reasonable. That really does make such a difference. 
That gorgeous hedge of azaleas is in the yard of the old Lloyd Woman's Club which is just a few doors down from us. 

Another neighbor, who lives a few doors down from that, has a yard filled with different colored azaleas. 

Look at those coral beauties. 
This is where Miss Martha's mother-in-law lives, or used to live anyway. Miss Martha was our post mistress when we moved to Lloyd and she was pretty awesome. Every little village needs a Miss Martha. She was an excellent post mistress and not least because she knew everybody and everything that was going on. And she was not shy to share. She never spoke maliciously about anyone. She is one of the kindest people. She really does just love to talk. She would talk about herself and her family regularly too. She was the kind of postmistress who would call you on Christmas Eve day to let you know that a package had come in for you and she knew that if it wasn't picked up, someone would be sad on Christmas morning even though she is a Jehovah's Witness and they do not celebrate Christmas. 
And now Miss Martha is retired and her husband's mother is no longer living in the house with the beautiful azaleas in the yard, she is living with Martha and her husband as she can't take care of herself anymore. 

Speaking of postmistresses, did I mention that Keisha has moved on up to the big show in Tallahassee? I have missed her, but today there was a different woman behind the desk in back. I introduced myself and welcomed her to Lloyd. She seems very, very sweet. Her name is "T". Or is it "Tee"? Or perhaps "Tea". 

Who knows? But it is an easy name to remember. 

Here's one more picture from my walk. 

I post a picture of this wisteria every year. Impossible to get any sort of scale on that but the tree it's in is very tall. I would say that wisteria is a skyclimber. And may eventually take down the tree.

I had to run to town today to pick up a few things but I made it a very quick trip. Still, it ended up taking more time than I'd wished. So of course I did not get very many things checked off my to-do list but hey! I took a walk! 
And I have picked greens and am cooking them with turnips and onions. I think we still have some time with most of our greens. The mustard greens are starting to bolt but the collards look just as they have all winter. The purple cabbage is indeed heading up. Gosh but I would be so proud to have grown purple cabbage. The kale is looking great and the turnip greens are too and I have got to figure out something to do with turnips besides cutting them up to cook with greens. I do sometimes add them raw to salads and they're good that way too. 

Mr. Moon has been crazy busy lately. I don't know that he worked this hard when he was still working. Right now he's helping a friend sell an RV and a truck which means a lot of research on values and so forth. He's got at least five different irons in the fire as we speak and probably more. Right now he's at a Maggie softball game while I'm here at home, stirring the collard greens and checking on the pie in the oven. 
I am failing grandmotherhood today and can just hear Maggie in twenty years sobbing to her therapist, "And my mom's mom never came to my softball games!" 

Kidney stone being quiet and no call from the radiology place. I will call them on Monday if I haven't heard from them by then. I was afraid that walking might jiggle the thing into a more painful place but, in fact, I've barely felt it at all today so I have no idea what's going on. 
Who knows? Not me. 

Did you catch that mention of a pie? 
I've been wanting to make a strawberry pie ever since the fresh strawberries started coming in. I really wanted to make a strawberry rhubarb pie but I haven't been able to find any rhubarb. Anyway, a few days ago I bought a nice-sized basket of organic strawberries at Costco and I have made the pie. 

I know it looks like a pizza but it is not. It is a strawberry pie with an almond/oat crumble on top. 
I hope it sets up as it cools. If not, we shall have to drink it with a straw or use spoons, dipping them into the fruit as if it were a soup. 

Oh, oh! Look what else is blooming! 

My tung tree. Every year I forget it's there but when I'm driving down the interstate or on country roads, I see them blooming and I am reminded that mine is probably blooming too. It's in a place in the back yard that I can't easily see. 
While I was out there, taking its picture, I realized that if I don't kick bamboo tomorrow, things are really going to get out of hand. Or foot, as it were. 
I will be attending to this situation, I promise.

Love...Ms. Moon

Wait And See, Or Fuck Around And Find Out?

This is the view from my chair in the urologist's office. I didn't have to wait too long and the receptionist had been so wonderful that I felt a little less stressed by the time I'd checked in. Behind the glass, she and the receptionist next to her were singing an old call-and-response hymn. A very spirited hymn. They continued for a minute and then saw me and stopped and I said, "Oh no! Please. Carry on!" And they laughed and did and if that's not a cheerful thing I don't know what is. 
My efforts yesterday with getting my online form completed paid off as the receptionist/vocalist said, "You filled out everything already and I am SO proud of you!" Okay. That might sound a little condescending but I did not mind it one bit, feeling very proud of myself. 

When the urologist came into the room where I'd been called back, I told him what had been going on for the last month or so. The pain, the discomfort, the general malaise, etc. And he listened and looked at my records and saw that he'd ordered a scan last time I was in there but had never gotten it. I explained that was because the radiology place had never called me to set up an appointment. 
"Well that won't happen this time," he said. I was given one of their cards and instructed to call THEM if they didn't call me. This is the same facility that I had to call to finally schedule a mammogram. 
I'm not sure that the doctor believes that the discomfort I'm experiencing is a result of movement of the kidney stone. I assured him that it was, having gone through this before. He didn't deny it was possible but he seemed to have an alternative explanation for what I was feeling, up to and including a musculoskeletal cause for the pain I've been feeling in my back. 
Sigh. 
No. 
But overall, he was supportive and when I asked what my options would be for removing the stone he gave me a brief description of two and then said, "Well. Let's just wait until we find out what we're looking at."
Okay. Fine with me. 
And he's going to call me when he gets the results of the scan back to discuss them with me. 
All right. Whatever.
As he did last time I saw him, he asked if I was taking anything for the pain and I said that no, it was not that intense. He encouraged me to take Ibuprofen for it if it bothered me and I assured him I would. 

And then I met Lily and Jessie who had been at pottery class, for lunch at Chow Time. I really enjoyed my shrimp and hot and sour soup, zucchini, cabbage, green beans, and a few other things. I have never had better zucchini in my life than the zucchini I get at Chow Time. In fact, all of their vegetables are delicious. I don't know what their secret is but I suspect MSG and some sort of butter-flavored oil. They definitely don't overcook the vegetables so there is that. 

Jessie had a dermatologist appointment right after lunch but Lily and I went to an Asian market. She wanted a few things including a type of noodle that Owen really likes. You cannot have a bad time walking around an Asian market. 

Lily knows so much more than I do about Asian food and ingredients. She's also introduced her children to different foods and flavors and I think that is very, very cool. 

I am at the point with planning meals that I am feeling desperate enough to walk up to total strangers and say to them, "Could you please tell me what to cook for supper?"

I feel like I've cooked all the things. ALL of them. The fishes, the shellfishes, the salads, the vegetables, the pasta, the casseroles, the soups, and the breads. Last night we had a chicken soup with greens from the garden and celery and carrots and onion and garlic and leftover broccoli and lemon juice and orzo and it was very good but...NOW WHAT? 
I've had decided on venison tacos so that'll be it. I wanted to make some guacamole to go with them so I bought cilantro at the Asian market. Thus, one more night is taken care of. 

I guess I need to go back through my New York Times cooking app and review my recipes. Something will show up that sounds good, I'm sure, and I'll get some ideas. 

When I went out to the garden to pick lettuce for tonight's tacos, I had to take a picture of the Amazing Rattlesnake Beans. 

Do you see that sturdy line of green, marching along the fence with such purpose and determination? It won't be long until they start forming their tiny, thin little tendrils which will be reaching out to lasso themselves around the wire of the fence so that they climb and climb and climb and after that will come the miniature orchid-like flowers that miraculously and wonderfully turn into long, robust green pods that can be eaten steamed, on salads, pickled, or canned. 

And here's what the azalea in front of the fence that did not get trimmed last year looks like today.

I am never going to let that man trim an azalea again for as long as I live. I mean it! Some things are meant to be tamed and some things ARE NOT! 

Here's a little bouquet I made out of some of the blooming things in the yard. 

Two varieties of azalea, bridal wreath spirea, and wisteria. These will cheer and sustain me for the few days they live in my hallway. Spring's flowers are bright and they are colorful but their beauty is fleeting. 
I gather them as I may. I love them while they stay. 

Love...Ms. Moon

You Can Dress Me Up But You Can't Take Me Out

 

Today I attended to business or perhaps to be more accurate, busy-ness. 

First thing this morning I got an email from the urologist's office with a link to forms for me to fill out before my appointment tomorrow. All those things that used to be written down on paper using a clipboard with a cheap, lousy ball point pen chained to the clipboard, are dead and gone. Now you spend four times as much time selecting things from preset dropdown menus and taking pictures of your insurance card (front and back) and driver's license and posting them on the form. I felt like a technological genius when I figured that one out. It's really not that hard. 
But that was all a process and by the time I finished, it was lunch time so I ate some leftovers and then got dressed in an actual dress and went to town because I had shopping to do. 
I started at Costco because if I take my favorite backroads route to town, Costco is right there to turn into which is convenient. I didn't need a whole lot there today and nothing exciting happened at all and I did not see Brenda but it was okay. No one really annoyed me and I got to see a really tiny baby and that's always a sweet thing for me. 
And I may not ever have to buy Charmin Ultra Soft Toilet Paper again in my life. 

Then I went to a plant nursery. I have been desperately wanting to get a Mexican basil plant to go in the garden. Do y'all remember last year's Mexican basil I planted and it got so huge and the bees were thick on it at every hour of the day, even in the rain? I looked at one nursery a while back and they didn't have it and I called another nursery today and they didn't have any Mexican basil either. So then I looked it up because if I had to start it from seed, I definitely would, but lo and behold, I found out that Mexican basil is also called cinnamon basil and that name sounded way more familiar. So I went to the nursery I called, just to see if they had basil under the alias of cinnamon and they did! Just a few plants and I bought two. I also got two peppers and two eggplants and squash seeds. 
Now. Here's where the story gets weird. 
Sigh.
There was a beautiful couple at the nursery, choosing vegetable plants, discussing the varieties, what they needed, and so forth. I noticed them because seriously, they were gorgeous. Both of them. I'd say they were in their fifties or early sixties but perhaps they were older. They acted like a couple in retirement who were sweet to each other and paid attention to what the other said, and I was charmed by them. The man said to me something like, "It's that time of year, isn't it? Time to get plants in the ground!" and I responded with something inane. 
I can be so socially awkward. And weird.
Okay. On we go.
Have you ever found yourself doing or saying something that you know you probably shouldn't be doing or saying and you're silently screaming to yourself, Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop! Stop it now before they call whatever authorities it is you call to get someone taken to a facility?
Or is it just me? 
I had one of those experiences today. All right, two. I had two of those experiences today. 

When I found the basil I was looking for I was so excited that I just wanted to share with someone that I had found the basil that is obviously the plant that draws the most bees in the entire world so I turned to the couple and I said, "Okay. I know this sounds crazy, but do y'all like bees?" 
They looked a bit confused. And then the woman said, "We need them!" 
And I said, "Yes! In the garden! We need them and this type of basil attracts more bees than any plant I've ever grown."
And I went on to proselytize as surely as any Mormon on a mission, giving my testimony as to the magical bee-drawing powers of the Cinnamon/Mexican basil and at one point I said, "I'm sorry. I don't get out much, obviously." And they were all like, "No, no!" and I was like, "No, really, I don't," but you know what? They put TWO of the basils in their basket. They may have gone back later and returned them to where they'd found them but they were so kind. 
And then- (oh yes, this gets worse) I just felt absolutely compelled to tell them about rattlesnake beans with as much fervor as a snake-oil salesman pitching his product, describing how prolific and hardy and productive and delicious they are. I also told them that you have to order them online because as far as I know, no one in Tallahassee sells them because they are heirlooms. Finally, I stopped talking except for making apologies for being such a jerk and thanked them for being so kind to listen to my obvious rantings and they assured me that no, they loved hearing about the basil and the beans. 
And then, when I was standing in line to pay, the woman came up with her phone and said, "Hey pretty lady! Are these the kind of beans you mean?" and showed me a site where yes, she could order rattlesnake beans and she said she orders seed from them often. 
So. I felt better about my mouth although they really may wonder if I was smoking crack in the restroom. They're probably having a glass of wine in their very tastefully decorated, and yet very warm and welcoming home, laughing and laughing about the woman who was so enthusiastic about Mexican basil and rattlesnake beans. 
There may be eye-rolling. 
Oh well. If I am only on this earth for entertainment purposes, that is good enough for me. 

So that's today's tale of my existence on this planet. Tomorrow will be very different. Once again I shall discuss this kidney stone with my urologist and try to figure out what to do. It is still bothering me. I can feel it every second. But is this enough reason to get a procedure done that I will have to be anesthetized for and which will result in possibly weeks of pain while my body tries to pass the grit of the stone after it's blasted? Because if it's anything like last time, that shit hurts. A very whole lot and I would use the word "motherfucker" but as we all know, I am a genteel woman of the south who would never, ever profane a blog post like that. 

Y'all take care. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Incompetence. The Reason For Treason?

Today was pot-swap day. Which reminds me of a sign on a little bitty old house that used to be near FSU. The hand-painted sign said, "Pot Plants".
There is no doubt in my mind that the whoever lived there sold potted plants but oh, we did laugh whenever we saw it. 

So, no, of course I wasn't swapping cannabis with cannabis enthusiasts but rather shifting and repotting plants from their too-small pots to larger ones. For instance- the plant on the right up there was in the pot to the left and it was really getting way too big for it. The blue pot it's in now is one that Mr. Moon gave me for Christmas. The Swiss cheese plant was in a rectangular pot but I decided to move it to the Talavera pot. I hope I do not regret this. That Swiss cheese plant seems to thrive on neglect and I'm not sure we even need to put the modifier "benign" in there. 

The rectangular pot now has some rooted Rex begonias in it.

I have that one in the laundry room so I can watch and tend to it. 

I let most of my Swedish ivy die over the winter (bad plant mama, BAD plant mama) but I have some I had rooted and a little piece that did not die but was cheerfully living it's nice green life. So they are all now repotted in their same-old pot. 

That too is in the laundry room baby plant nursery. I repotted a very small jade plant and I desperately want it to grow bigger but I am and am not holding my breath on that. I used to have a giant jade plant and then it died and I still feel like a murderess. 

I cleaned up the porch a little and swept it, and haven't done a whole lot else. I did call the urologist's office early this morning and did the whole dance where you press three if you want to make an appointment and then are told that you're going to be waiting a long time so you should leave a message and your date of birth and someone would call back within 24 business hours or, if you want to just stay on the line, press two...
Okay. So that went on quite awhile until I finally reached a human and in my interaction with her I was transferred to a number which gave me no choice but to leave a message and so I did and they called me back this afternoon and I will go see the doctor on Wednesday morning. 

Got that? 

The stone is still hanging out, taunting me with its presence but of course by Wednesday, it will have retreated into temporary surrender and my urine will be as "pristine" as it was last time I was there but I'll be damned if I don't walk out of there with an order for some sort of scan. 

Here's a strange thing that happened today- I was on the back porch and heard a cat making the "I have killed game" call and I thought it was Maurice but no, she was right there beside me. So a few minutes later I heard the flap-flap sound of a vulture's wings and looked out into the yard and there was the other orange cat, Maurice's almost-doppleganger with a least a dozen buzzards all facing her/him. I think that she/he did kill some very small animal and the buzzards wanted it. They got it too. I saw one of them run in and snatch something and the cat ran away. Brave cat though, to face down a wake of buzzards. The birds stuck around for awhile, roosting in trees and then I guess they decided that was going to be it and took off with those distinctive wing sounds they have. 

I see that some of D.T.'s top officials accidentally texted secret war plans to the editor of the Atlantic. This is not a joke. This is not a test. This is the actual and factual truth and for this and this alone I think that the orange one should be tried for treason. 
Oh, you can go ahead and throw in a lot of other treasonous stuff he and his Trumpettes have done. I wouldn't mind that. But at the very least this is a perfect example of how absolutely unqualified officials can screw up things so badly that they are literally threatening the lives of thousands. Or more. 

There is no excuse for this. None. 

I guess I've had my say. I need to go cook our supper. Spicy mustard shrimp and rice. And other things. 

Love...Ms. Moon

P.S. Jessie told me that last night Levon made up his bed with his new blanket and was so proud he went and got her to come see. 
I could not be happier about that. I really could not.

Sundays Can Be Weird

The roses are at it again. That's a bush that grows in my garden. It never takes a break unless I prune it all the way back which I did a few months ago. And oh, how wonderful those soft, fat roses smell in that old, heirloom rose way. 

I am still at home. I slept well last night and the pain today has been constant but not at all unmanageable. My goal in all of this is for it NOT to become unmanageable. Really, right now it's just continuously making its presence known in a rather achy fashion. I have been inordinately tired, though, and that's another reason to get this taken care of. I want this stone out of my body. 
Yesterfuckingday as a beloved and very ladylike friend of mine sometimes says. I will be calling the urologist tomorrow and I will be assertive in my insistence that I need an appointment as soon as humanly possible. 

But in one way this has been a tremendous day for me. I finally finished Levon's blanket and coincidentally, Vergil and the boys came over to watch Duke play basketball and I literally finished the last stitch just as they pulled up. 
I carried it to the door to greet them and August said, "Is that Levon's blanket?" "It is!" I said. And then Levon saw it and I gave it to him and he hugged it to him. "It's soft," he said. 

Look at those eyes. I think he really likes it. I told him that whenever he uses that blanket, it can be like a hug from me. And he said, "Yes," in the sweetest little boy way possible. 
So yeah, I cried. 

"Glad I got it made just as summer is coming!" I said. 
"I'm a little cold right now," he said. "I can put it on me while we're watching TV." 

A little while later this was happening. 

I guess they were all a little cold. 

Not to be morbid but things like making a name blanket for my last grandchild have become more deeply emotional. My tears come more quickly and easily than ever. It takes very little to make my eyes well up. Let's face it- the older we get, the more apt we are to be doing things for the last time. And we generally have no idea that it'll be the last time. But in this case I am fairly certain that no more grandchildren will be coming and so yes, Levon's blanket is the last. 
But I will admit to wondering about other things in the perspective of...is this the last time?
I don't think I'm going to die anytime soon unless this damn kidney stone gets me but honestly- we never know. This is as true for an eighteen year old as it is for an eighty year old but, the older we get, the higher the odds are that death is packing its scythe and heading our way. I think I accept this inevitability but do I? Is my casual musing over whether this will be the last garden I'll ever plant or if I am now driving the last car I'll ever need, a coping mechanism to help me truly understand the divine truth of mortality? That one of these days I will indeed have my last dental appointment, buy my last jar of face cream, have a last listen to the Rolling Stones, slice my last onion, kiss my loved ones...

I'm thinking of these things today because I gave Levon his blanket, I guess. The day has certainly been beautiful. Mr. Moon mowed the yard which means he mowed down the weeds and some of the invasives and it looks beautiful. We don't really have grass. The shockingly hot pink azalea is still bringing all the bees to her nectar and the wisteria has its share of bees sipping away too. 

I do believe I am seeing more bees this year than I have in a very long time and that is a good thing. Right now I'm sitting on my porch and can hear a woodpecker having its way with a buggy piece of an old tree, its rat-a-tat-tat a swift vibration of beak against wood, a pause, a repeat. I hear other birds whistling and chirping and chipping and calling, according to their own family songs. There's a little breeze that comes and goes, drifting through the wind chimes and rustling the waxy magnolia leaves. 

Keith Richards says that silence is the musician's canvas. And the artist we know as nature has all the notes, all the rhythms, all the instruments, all the dramatics, all the seductive and soothing and stimulating sounds so that if we just stop and listen, if we are in a place where we can hear all of this glory, it becomes a symphony for our souls that no one on earth is hearing exactly as you are. 

And now I feel like the Bob Ross of blogging. Do we need a happy little tree here? 

Maybe. Maybe that's what we all need right now. A happy little tree for our hearts to climb up into to be sheltered and rocked gently in its branches. 

Oh god. I need to stop now. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Really?

 

Hmmm. Well. As these things sometimes do go, the kidney stone has chosen to make its move. Or something. 

It's been dancing around for the past few days but just the same old stuff. Nothing too painful or alarming. Actually, as you know, it's been making its presence known for weeks. But again- nothing alarming. 

Today I was looking for something in a closet, leaned over, and I guess the damn thing slipped into another spot. This stone is too large to ever pass, according to the urologist, and it's just been a wait-and-see situation for a long time. But I've been waiting and now I'm seeing and unless I'm forced to go to an ER before the weekend is over, I will be discussing all of this with the urologist on Monday. It hurts. Not horribly so but it's a different kind of pain and feels like it may mean business. I just slept for almost three hours and that is certainly not normal. 

But I'm not having bleeding, that I can see, I'm not running a fever, I'm not vomiting, etc. If any of those things happen, off to the ER I will go.

Thank god Mr. Moon is home. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Do Not Ask Me To Church At The Dump

That is exactly what my precious darling Maurice (aka, Scratch) looked like this morning when I got out of bed. In my experience, cats don't usually like to sleep underneath the covers and I've never seen Maurice do it willingly but there she is. It was chilly this morning. I had to ask her to let me get the sheets off the bed later in order to wash them and she was fairly polite about it, stretching and hesitating a minute or two to see if I was going to change my mind but when she saw I was serious, she jumped off the bed. 

Today has mostly been about catching up on some chores. For some reason I had a lot of laundry to do and most of it mine. I had a large load of whites to go into a bleach load and those are the ones I hung on the line. I didn't get them out until early afternoon but by 4:30 they'd all dried. The sun was all by itself in the sky today, no clouds to block its glory, it's been breezy, and the humidity is low. The clean sheets are on the bed, the laundry that was on the line has been gathered in, folded, and put away, and one other load of wash that I did has also been dried, folded, and returned to its home of origin. 

I also took the trash this morning and something happened that I had never experienced before. At our trash place, there are two huge containers that trash gets dumped into and the attendant runs the giant compactors when he deems it time. Then the big trucks come and empty the containers and take it all away to the landfill. The attendant also helps people who may need assistance in unloading their trash and getting it into the container. Some of them are rather lackadaisical about this, others are right there when you pull up, asking if you need help. I never do because I only take the manageable trash and let Mr. Moon haul things down there that might require the use of the truck or are very heavy. 

So today I pull up and there's the attendant, standing by the first container and I'm about to unload there but I see another guy standing at the one further away and he motions me down to where he's standing. I am unsure of what's going on because he does not look like any of our regular attendants. He had on a pair of khaki slacks with a green polo type shirt and a name tag pin. Which I could not read because I didn't want to stare at his chest. I got out of my car and went to the back to open it up and take out the two bags I had to throw into the dumpster but he stops me and says, "No, no! That's what I'm here for!" And he took the bags of trash out of my car and threw them in and asked me if I live nearby. Yes, I told him, I do. Right down the road. So then, as I was closing the hatch, he says, "Well, I'd like to invite you to come and visit our church sometime. It's the one right there." And he pointed to the big Methodist Church where the white people go which is across the road and up a little way. "Only if you want to!" he added.
Shit. Really? Proselytizing at the dump? Give me a fucking break. 
"Thanks," I said, "But I'm not a believer." 
"Well the Lord believes in you!" he merrily proclaimed. God damn. Just goddammit. 
But I was not rude, I did not say anything offensive or profane or obscene. I just said, "I'm seventy years old and I've thought about this for a long time and I just don't buy it." 
I think he may have been unsure of what to say next so he said, "And I'm 72!" which...come on. What does that have to do with anything? He's had two more years to think about it?

I got in my car and left and went to the post office where I made sure there was no Christian literature on the counter again. 
There was not. 

Why, WHY, do Christians feel as if their purpose on this earth is to convince other people that their brand of a Christ Worship Cult is the one and only true word of god and that unless you buy into their plan,  you will be going to hell and why would you risk that? 
As I've always thought, if you don't believe in heaven or hell, the whole Christ-died-for-our-sins thing is pretty lame and please- don't include me in there. I would never ask anyone to die for my perceived sins. 
No thank you. 

Wow. I haven't gone into one of those soapbox speeches in a long time. I suppose I am mellowing with age but that guy at the dump just pissed me off. I swear to you, one of these days when someone does something like that to me I'm going to ask them if they've ever considered joining me in the worship of Keith Richards whose miracles have been observed, photographed, recorded and written about in our own lifetime. He's still alive! It's a miracle! AND he's written some of the greatest riffs of all times including the ones that begin "Satisfaction" (which he wrote in his sleep), "Start Me Up," and "Jumping Jack Flash."

Oh wait. What? He didn't turn water into wine? HE DIDN'T HAVE TO! HE'S KEITH RICHARDS! Besides, he would have turned water into Jack Daniels. And let us not forget that he had his own band for awhile called The Expensive Winos. I admit that this may not be enough to base a religion on but I think it's at least as good as Scientology. 

I watered the porch plants, I did more embroidering, I watered the garden. I admired the Buckeye blooms.

They are coming right along. 

I also admired the Rattlesnake beans.

I actually took that picture yesterday so that's how much they grew in one week and one day. I'll probably be picking beans next week. 

Mr. Moon just got home. I am happy to have him here and safe. He made us our martinis and now he's unpacking and putting things away. He, like everyone else I've seen this week, did not notice my new glasses. 
I mean, not one soul. 

I guess we old women really do become invisible. 
When I was at Publix the other day, I bought vermouth and the very young cashier asked what I used it for. 

"Oh, you can't make a martini without vermouth," I said. 
The blue cheese olives I was buying went through next. 
"And these go in the martinis?" she asked. 
"They do," I said. 

"So do you have other ladies over for a book club and drink martinis?" she asked. 

"Uh, no." I said. "I don't. But my husband and I enjoy our martinis together on Friday nights."

"Oh," she said, in a way that made me think that the very idea of two old people drinking martinis on a Friday night was not something she wanted to really think about. I mean- who knows what THAT could lead to and surely I was way too old for any of that. 

La-di-dah. With any luck, she'll be as old as me too one day and if she has a sweetheart to drink martinis with, she may be quite happy if one thing leads to another which does not include a book discussion. 

For example- we just went and took a golden hour tour of the garden and the yard. We held hands. It was lovely.

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon