And Now I know What A Culm Is

I picked the last full camellia in the yard just now and put it in a vase. The shocking pink azaleas blossoms beside the porch have finally lost their joy and color and are turning brown as we speak. They certainly gave me a lot of pleasure, as did the camellias. 
I've seen the father cardinals feeding their young on the feeder which means that at least one whole generation of spring babies have hatched, feathered, and are so very close to living on their own. I love to watch the way the daddies pick up a seed and put it in the waiting beak of their young'un who is almost as big as the adult bird. I like that it is not just the mother who feeds the children but the father too. 
The bamboo still has perhaps two weeks more of showing up unannounced and unasked for. No matter how careful I am to try and find and kick each and every shoot, I always miss some and don't find them until they're too big to take out with a kick. As they grow upwards, they also grow in diameter and become less pliable and harder to kick.
Okay. That sentence is just nature and science so don't accuse me of anything.

But what happens is that I'll inevitably find four or five-foot tall bamboo growing someplace like the camellia bed or right beside the porch where it successfully camouflaged itself as part of the structure which means there's no way I'm taking that thing out without a saw. "How did I miss that?" I'll say to myself, gazing up at an almost mature stem which I just discovered is called a "culm". Now that I did not know. I am trying to prevent culms in the yard. 

I made a very nice discovery just a little while ago which is that the pot of giant begonias I'd left outside during winter's cold, protected only by a sheet, is not dead at all, but coming back beautifully. 

Having seen that, I checked out the pot where the split-leaf philodendron looked suspiciously dead, I dug around and found this.

Hello, my darling green things! 

Now if the banyon and tropical gardenia on the front porch start to show any signs of life, I will be most happy. And if they don't...aw well. 

I was looking for an empty pot when I found those two sweethearts this afternoon. Liz Sparks, whom I met for breakfast, gave me some rootlings of a plant known as horsemint and some other common names but its Latin name is the most fun of all and is Mornarda Punctata. I think it can be a bit invasive and we know where that could lead us so I think I'll try to grow it in a container. Liz says that it is a fabulous pollinator attractor. I'd seen the plant before as it is quite noticeable in bloom but did not know what it was. 

I made two appointments today. One for the kidney stone scan and one to get my shingles vaccine. The scan will be in a couple of weeks and I discovered that the order wasn't sent from my urologist's to the place I thought it had been sent to (and even given a card for by staff at the urology place) but the radiology department of the local hospital. 
Whatever. 
The shingles vaccine I know I need because I have heard that getting shingles is not an experience anyone would ask for and if it can be prevented...

I also made Glen an appointment to get one.
Our shingles vaccines are scheduled for tomorrow after we have had lunch with Ms. Magnolia June at her school as it is lunch with grandparents day there. We bring her lunch and join her in the school cafeteria. She wanted the same thing she wanted last year which is a ham and lettuce and tomato sandwich with mayonnaise, cheetos, and mini cupcakes. She called me herself several weeks ago to give me a heads-up about the date. This is the sort of thing that Maggie thrives on. And what elementary-aged child does not like being the special one every now and then?

I've heard the shingles vaccine can lay a person out for a day or two and I am such an over-reactor to vaccines I am expecting that. The damn thing is, is that I really don't feel that well now. Achy, tired (I took a nap!) and rather unexcited about life in general. And I see that Trump has managed to tank the world economy, starting right here in the good ol' USA by not having the slightest clue how tariffs work or what they are and although some good things are happening, especially as to people being stunned at his administration's stupidity, not one day goes by without a completely new low being hit.

Meanwhile, Barack Obama accidentally photobombed a little family taking family photos in Washington, DC.  

You know what I did when I saw that picture?

I cried. 

You know what I did just now when I looked at it again? 

I cried. I cried for what America was when we elected Barack Obama as our president and what it has become now. 

How in hell did this happen? 

Love...Ms. Moon

How We Learn To Love And A Possible Social Blunder

Those are the roses planted by Lily's front door. Aren't they electric? They greeted me when I went to pick her up to go to pottery class this morning. 

Man. I am getting good at this getting-up-early thing. I'm not saying I want to do it every day but it's not that hard and knowing that I will be doing something with two of my kids that I enjoy makes it all the easier. I have never not had a good time in pottery class except for the time I felt so defeated by my inability to create anything of use or even halfway interesting to look at. And I really still haven't although I do love my wavy bowl. Today I decided that I really wanted to sit back down at the wheel. I was terrible at throwing the first two classes I tried it and so gave it up and went on to slab building and pinch pots. 
But today was the day I wanted to try again. My teacher really did help me and the video I watched a few days ago on how to center the clay helped too. I felt more comfortable today even though my first try collapsed on me and the second try was so very far from perfect. BUT, I did it, I made a vessel (of sorts) and will trim and sand it next week. And I think I will try again. Funny how much I am starting to enjoy this stuff. And it is so very, very special having both Lily and Jessie with me in the class. As always when any of our family gets together, we laugh. 

So. Here's a funny story about something that happened today:
There was a piece that someone had done sitting by the edge of the sink and Lily and I were washing up something and we were a little concerned about how close it was to the edge. It was a cool piece and we both saw the same thing in it- a woman's nether parts. I mean, plain as day. And lovely! Someone else came up to the sink and we shared with the woman our admiration of this piece and Lily pointed out that there was definitely a vagina in there. 
Well. Turns out the woman herself had done that piece but the funny, awkward part was when she said, "I never thought of that as a vagina." 
Ooh boy. 
How could she not have? 
I hope we didn't ruin it for her. I mean, we sort of worship vaginas around here, having our home births and working in the birth field and all that other stuff. So to us, vaginas are as lovely as a flower's beautiful entryway for the bees. But I suppose that not everyone is of that mindset. 

We went to lunch after class which was very good. We ate at a noodle place and I got something called Jjajangmyeon. It looked like this. 

And underneath all that vegetable glory, there were noodles, beef, and mushrooms with a sauce. So, so good. 

And of course I did other things this afternoon, although NOT OUTSIDE. 

And that was in the shade on the porch. 
Here we go. Next thing up- HURRICANE SEASON! 
Why, why, why do we live here? 

But. In a complete segue, Levon got a card from his girlfriend today. It is absolutely and completely beautiful and the the girl asked him if he likes her, told him she loved him, and drew pictures of them together with butterflies and rainbows. There was even another little girl in one of the pictures who was hugging Levon and we are not sure about that one but we think that the girlfriend just loves her too and so why not? 
Oh, my heart. 
I was going to share the pictures but I can't. It is too pure and too much Levon's and not mine to share. I will tell you he made HER a card, declaring that yes, he liked her and that he loves her very much. Rainbows and hearts and a shining yellow sun are part of the accompanying artwork. 
I would never, ever make fun or make light of a romance between seven year-olds. That is plenty old enough for some children to start feeling the specialness of another child their age and the desire to form a bond of sorts with them. I never had a boy who liked me at that age but I can remember how deeply I felt I was in love with a boy at my school. He was two years older than me and I spent hours trying to figure out how we could somehow be in the same grade and classroom. I could skip a grade and he could be held back a grade but I knew he would never be held back. He was a smart boy. 
It was a doomed relationship. 
But all these years later I remember how handsome I thought he was, how kind, how smart. His mother was a teacher at our school and a good friend of my mother's and his father was our pastor so I saw him outside of school too and that only acted to make me think about him, admire him, fall a little in love with him, all the more. I will never forget the year I played Mary in the Christmas nativity play and he played...Joseph. My doll played the role of the Sweet Baby Jesus.

Oh my heart. 

So that's some of the things that have happened here today. As always, nothing earth-shattering, just small and simple things and I have been of a mind and mood to recognize and appreciate them more than I have been for awhile. 

Here's what the buckeye tree is looking like. 

I feel like a proud mama. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Life In Lloyd, Part Gozillion, And Blackdogitis

Oh, how I wish I could get a better picture of this wild azalea. There's a sort of bog around it though and although there is a dryer side, it's on someone's property right by their house and as you probably know by now, I am hyper-sensitive about encroaching on anyone's space. I think this is also a rural thing. Your home and property are yours and there's a certain feeling that if anyone wants to come onto that property by foot or by car, they should be invited. We look upon strangers pulling up into our yards with a certain amount of suspicion. If a politician or a Jehovah's Witness knocks at our door, we are already slightly annoyed. 

So that's why I didn't get a very good picture of the native azalea I passed on my walk. I felt so shit this morning that I knew I had to give walking at least a shot. It is so pretty here right now, even if it is getting hot enough to require the clinical strength deodorant. What does that mean? Clinical strength? I have no idea but it sounds serious, doesn't it? "Oh, regular deodorant isn't strong enough for me. I need clinical strength!"
And please do not tell me that deodorant is going to kill me. I'm too old to worry about that. 
So yes, I walked a couple of miles and it was okay, despite the heat. The humidity is rising as summer approaches and it really is much less enjoyable to walk when the air is saturated with water. We should develop gills around here. I'm surprised we haven't. 

On Main Street, which is hardly what you'd think of as a Main Street, there's an old house that I've been taking pictures of for a long time. I don't know if you'll remember but it was owned by an old couple whom I think were probably hoarders and eventually had to move out into a mobile home on the back of the property. When they died, someone, possibly a relative, cleared out the house and did a lot of work on it. It was sort of a creepy house and honestly, the man of the couple who owned it was also creepy. I do not wish to define that, but just trust me.

It does appear now that the refurbishing/restoration has been completed, up to and including a porch swing and flowers planted. 

It certainly looks better than it did before but I hate the black-shingled roof. The house had a metal roof, as all of the older houses around here do and that just looks absurd to me. 

I don't know if someone is moving in to it or if it's going up for sale, or what but it still feels a little creepy to me, even with the fresh new paint, the blue door, the pots of flowers on the porch. 

Here's another picture taken on Main Street.

I love that tree so much. It is huge and obviously very old. Hundreds of years old, I am sure. It's on property owned by the Methodist Church which the guy at the dump tried to recruit me to last week and if those people had any sense, they'd be worshipping the tree, not White Jesus in their red brick church. 

Well, no one asked me.

When I got home, I took a little look around my front yard and saw to my surprise that my own native azalea, which I planted years ago, is starting to bloom.

When I planted it, I'm not sure I knew it was one of the orange-flowered ones but it is. I rarely ever see those and have never seen one growing on its own in the woods around here. And I just noticed the little anole on the fence post behind and below the not-quite-opened bud in the second picture. Can you see it?

Speaking of critters. I was watering my nursery plants in the laundry room today when suddenly, a little tree frog jumped out of a plant and on to another planter. 

A frog planter! 

Sweet little thing. I suppose I should have tried to catch it and take it outside but it has water and bugs, too, in that little group of plants in there. 

After lunch I walked to the back yard to see what the bamboo shoot situation was like. 
It was like, "Oh shit."

Can you see all the bamboo trying to convert even more of my yard to a jungle? And of course that's just one small part of it. So I kicked a lot of bamboo and then, in my camellia bed, I found these blooming. 

Do I remember planting blue flag irises there? 
No. I do not. In fact, I really don't think I did but there you go and here we are and I am glad to see them. 

Hell, I've probably written about them before. 

And I think that's all the pictures I took today and it would seem that I am feeling better and I suppose I am but it has not been an easy day. I woke up and cried and then cried later on and and then later on again and this is not unusual for me but it does indicate a level of, well, whatever we want to call it that is not comfortable, not really. 
I know that I have things I am not dealing with properly and that's not good. I'm not comfortable confronting problems head on. Whether this is just part of how I'm wired or if it's yet another dysfunctional method of coping that I learned growing up, I do not know. 
Keep your head down and your mouth shut. 
This may sound strange coming from me but you'd be surprised...

And then of course, there's the Current Situation which is ongoing, ever more deeply horrifying and unbelievable, and, well... you don't need Elon's team of accountants to add it all up and figure out that it's just an incredibly depressing and anxious time to be alive. 

But, as we speak, that pink azalea beside the porch is still very pink and very full of blooms, the cardinals are doing their evening routine of lining up in the magnolia tree and the camellia bushes to wait their turns at the feeder, and, uh- that's all good stuff, right? 

Right! 

Carry on. 

Love...Ms. Moon

P.S. Bless Cory Booker. A patriot, a hero, a man of strength, intelligence, and great heart. 

It's All Right

Y'all, I am tired. And for what may be the first time in however many years I've been writing here, I just don't feel like doing it. 
I am not only not inspired, I'm filled with who cares? and what's the point? 

Nothing's wrong in any specific way, and in fact, the entire family except for Rachel who was not feeling well, met up for supper for a Gibson birthday celebration since everyone was sick on his birthday. It was a good time, although overwhelming with noise and stimulation as these things go, but when we all said goodbye and there were so very many hugs (if there are fifteen people and each one of them gives fourteen hugs, how many hugs were given?) I was happy. 

I didn't get a picture of Owen but he has grown another inch, at least. 

And that's it for me tonight. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Trigger Warning- Childhood Sexual Abuse

I had so many pictures yesterday and today, this is all I have and to tell you the truth, I took that one yesterday too. I found the plate when I asked Mr. Moon to please reach up and get a box off the very top shelf of a kitchen cabinet that I knew held some vintage snack sets that someone had given me years and years ago. 

Okay. I took a picture. I did not, however, clean the plate or the cup. I'm not in the mood. 
They are sweet little plates and cups though. I am imagining the refreshments at a bridge club being served on them. There are four plates, four cups. Can't you just see little egg salad and cucumber and pimento cheese sandwiches on thin white bread with the crusts cut off? Perhaps a few radishes on the side. Definitely a cookie or two. And a nice cup of tea or, instead, punch. 

Something fancy. Something ladylike, something demur. 

Despite their sweetness however, I knew for a fact that I was never going to use them and so I reckoned I'd give them a wash and put them in the laundry basket where I collect things to take to the hospice re-sale place. They've been around here long enough. 
But I had forgotten the three little plates on top of the box holding the glassware. As soon as I saw them I thought, Damn! How did I ever let those get out of my sight? 

There are no markings on them and I couldn't find an exact replica on Google search but they are very similar to other types of mid-century hand-painted ceramics from Japan. And not worth a whole lot. They were sold as souvenirs. Those I have washed and are in the cabinet where I can reach them because I want to use them. I won't be putting any teacups in the little saucer depressions but as far as I know, there ain't no dish etiquette police around here. 
Yet.

It's been gray and gloomy all day long. It spat a bit of rain for about ten minutes but that was it. I don't mind gray days at all if we're getting rain. Otherwise, it's just heavy and depressing. 
As Sunday's can be anyway, no matter what the weather. 

I'm going to keep this short today. I will tell you a story about when I first started shaving my legs. I was reminded of it because I did shave my legs today and don't ask me why but it had been ages. So what? Anyway, I think of this story every time I shave my legs. 
Every time. Each and every of the hundreds (at least) of times I have shaved my legs, I have thought about it and this is a good illustration of how ridiculously ignorant it is when someone asks a victim of childhood sexual abuse why they can't just let it go. 

All right.

So when I was probably in the seventh or eighth grade, I noticed that all the girls were shaving their legs. I don't know about these days but shaving your legs was a rite of passage for girls. It was a signal to the world that we were no longer children. Perhaps not women yet, but definitely not a child anymore.
So I asked my mother if I could shave mine. I asked with great trepidation because I knew she was going to say no and she did. But the thing was- the person who really did not want me to start shaving my legs was my stepfather. 
My abuser.
He had quit visiting me at night by then but his psychological abuse was just as bad and just as frightening. He hated it that I was growing up, growing older. He later insisted that I could not date until I was sixteen, and he made me try on my bathing suits to make sure that they fit his definition of modest. 
He was not religious, people. At all. So it wasn't that. 
So me shaving my legs was another thing that he fought.
Finally, I suppose my mother talked him into "letting me". Why the fuck did he even have any right to say when I could or could not shave my legs? Why did my mother think this was normal? 
But. I got permission. He even gave me a razor...

It was a sort of bronze color and it looked a lot like this. I look at that picture and I can feel the way the handle, made for a grown man's hand, felt in my hand. 

It used a double-edged razor blade which required unscrewing the head from the handle and then handling the old blade, taking it out, and then the new, putting it in. 
Here's the thing:

This had been his razor when he was serving in the army. It was army issued. 
How could anything be more fucked up than that?

Well, for a fifteen-year old girl, anyway.

I cut myself every time I used that heavy, dangerous thing. And I didn't have shaving cream. Shaving cream was for men. I only had soap. Zest soap. 
(You're not fully clean unless you're ZESTFULLY clean.)

So every time I shave my legs now with my light-as-a-feather Venus disposable-head razor, I think of how creepy and strange and scary it was to shave with my stepfather's brass army razor. Even though I did not understand the concept of "inappropriate behavior" by an adult in those days, I knew that something was very, very wrong, despite the fact that in my house, it was just the water we swam in. 
And always, for a moment, that feeling comes back, or at least the memory of it. 

And that is why I cannot "let it go." It would take a lobotomy. 

Well, that was cheerful. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Many Pictures

Tung tree. 

Early, early this morning I woke up to the smell of sausage cooking which is honestly one of the best possible smells to wake up to. Unless you're a vegetarian, of course. As good as it smelled, I stayed in my bed, knowing that the house beyond my room was probably in chaos with everyone running around trying to get ready for a day on the water with fishing gear and the proper attire and sunscreen and sandwiches and drinks and life jackets and all the things that a slow, leisurely trip down a river with kids requires. I did not even poke my nose out of my bedroom door. By the time I got up, all was quiet and the kitchen was clean as a bean so I poured a cup of coffee, still hot, and read the love note that had been left beside the coffeemaker, signed by one and all. 
A good way to start a day. 

Last night when the Jessie-Vergil family got here, the boys ran in, both holding nothing but their name blankets while their mom and dad struggled behind them with their sleeping mats and clothes and some ice chests and toothbrushes and Slothie and possibly a kitchen sink. The boys were pumped up from having just left their cousins' house but you could tell it was one of those tired wired states. Jessie and I made up their beds and here's Levon, cocooned in his blanket and trying desperately to keep his eyes open. 

And here's what he looked like on the boat today. 

Jessie sent me that picture. 

August landed a bass! His grandfather hooked it and gave the pole to August to pull it in. 

I think a good time was had by all. 

I roused myself enough to get a few things done around here. I cleaned sinks and toilets and swept the swing porch and watered the plants on the front porch. 
Here's my Ashe magnolia that I planted right by the buckeye in front of the swing porch. 

This is one of my favorite plants. It resembles the Magnolia Grandiflora, mainly in the size of its leaves and its blossom but both of those on the Ashe are less patently waxy and sturdy. But oh, the flower of the Ashe is every bit as deliciously fragrant as the one on the Grandiflora. 

I did some weeding in the garden and then I planted my zinnias. 

I am late getting those in but they will bloom until late fall most likely. I can't wait to see them. 

The garden is in its pre-destroyed-by-bugs-and-heat condition and looks good and filled with promise although much of what is growing is still from fall's plantings.

I told Mr. Moon that he needs to fix that trellis over there to the left because that's where the beans will do their climbing tricks and they'll probably be ready to pick by next week. 
That's a bit of an exaggeration but they will be making beans before we know it. 

The family returned from the river and they all looked exhausted. 
Well, except for the kids. Mr. Moon, Jessie, and Vergil stayed up until late watching Auburn play basketball on TV and then of course they got up before daylight. I sat in the Glen Den with them for a little while last night, mostly making semi-rude comments about basketball and life in general. I was still in that mood. 

So no one was horribly upset when I went to bed, I'm sure. 

It did me good today to be outside. At one point when I was in the garden, I looked up to discover that I was seeing a shade of green that I don't even begin to have words for. 

That picture doesn't do justice to it. Not even close. I wish you could see it in real life because I am certain it would make your heart soar for a moment, at least. 

And as usual, Maurice was my companion in everything I did. 

Walking under the wisteria arbor.

Thanks for stopping by. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Seeing Things I've Never Noticed Before

 This is a very interesting photo to me. I took it last night as I was about to get ready for bed. What you are looking at is mostly the reflection of the wall to the left of our bed (my side, as you can probably tell) from the mirror on Glen's dresser. And as such, you are seeing things in front of or on the mirror as well as things that are across the room and to me, it is difficult to determine which is which. 

Here's another view from a different angle. 

House of mirrors, I guess. 

I have not been in the best of moods today. Nothing truly dire. It's just one of those days. We all have them. I wonder if the Dalai Lama has them? Days where he wakes up and thinks, "Really? Do they not make robes in any color but saffron?" (Note: I do realize that sometimes he wears other colored robes but just pretend with me for the sake of the joke. Thank you.)

I started out okay. I was having a typical dream when I woke up which involved all the usual totems. A falling-apart house with many washing machines and more laundry than I could ever do in all of them, many people I need to feed with not nearly enough food in the house, a child I need to take care of which brings me happiness and great nervousness because I am always losing the child, possibly a beach that sometimes features giant waves, sometimes features different marine animals, and is always rather threatening. 
These are some of the things I dream about regularly. I think even my brain is getting tired of trying to come up with anything new. 
So that wasn't anything out of the ordinary and I had all these plans to work in the garden and be all happy-hippie with life and I did get the laundry hung on the line and I kicked bamboo. Maurice helped me with both of these things. 

Yes. I kick bamboo in my flip flops. 

Here's an interesting photo of bamboo with a vine wrapped around it. 

Probably wisteria. More on that later. 

But then I just didn't want to do anything. Glen had already been to town to run some errands and was working on taxes and things like that and I asked him if he wanted to go to the Hilltop for lunch and he said he did so we drove over there. 

I just did not receive that same amount of joy I usually do, eating my chicken salad. This did not stop me from eating finishing every molecule of it. 
When we got home I still didn't feel like doing anything so I made a loaf of bread because I can always make a loaf of bread. It's like being productive without having to expend much energy. I am trying to explain my ennui on the pollen or perhaps the kidney stone although it's not really bothering me today. My eyes do burn a little which I feel certain every person in the North Florida/South Georgia area could say right now. 

I got the laundry off the line, made up the bed with the clean sheets. These things usually make me happy but today they just wore me out. 
It's been a day where everything annoys the hell out of me except for MY things and I don't mean like my jewelry or my potato masher or my clothesline although no, those things aren't bothering me. 

Perhaps I mean anything that isn't my specific problem or my specific interest or my...life? 
Could I be having a narcissism attack? Like a gall bladder attack except with narcissism? 

Two things that have made me happy today and made me smile and made me laugh were two voice message texts from Billy. 
I'll tell you something- Billy is the funniest person I know. Also, definitely one of the most loving, intelligent, and honest people I know.  He had taken his son, Waylon to a bull-riding event because Waylon really wanted to go and besides all that other stuff, Billy is the man I text every Father's Day to say the same thing which is that I wish that I had had a father just like him. And I mean this to my guts. So the descriptions he wrote of going to that event were as good or far better than anything I've ever heard on a Netflix special. 

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

We're sipping our martinis here and I'm going to heat up the soup from a few days ago to go with the bread I made for supper.

Oat bran and molasses. 

And the Jessie/Vergil family is coming over after they have supper at Lily's to watch "the" basketball game and don't ask me what that is. Also, they're all going to get up early and go bass fishing together so they'll be spending the night. 
I, of course, will neither be watching the game or going bass fishing but I do know that besides fishing, they will see many beautiful birds and probably a lot of native plants and trees in spring bloom on the river. I'm sure it will be a good time for all. Just as I feel so compelled to pass on to the grandchildren the things I have learned in my seventy years of life here, Mr. Moon has a deep desire to instill a love of the outdoors and fishing to them. 

I understand that. 

Forgive me if this post is a bit scattered. Let us blame it on the pollen. 

And hey- look at this:

Even as I was in wonder yesterday about how high the wisteria had climbed a neighbor's tree, this was happening in my own yard. That is so far up. Obviously, I am not being very good at looking up. I vow to do better. 
That tree is in the bamboo jungle and I have no idea whether the wisteria killed the tree or is just taking advantage of its branches while it still stands. 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon