The Amazing Magnolia

Our darling girl-grand is here and I think she is so very happy. Boppy picked her up and we've been busy ever since they got to Lloyd. As we walked through the guest room I asked her, "Do you want to sleep in here tonight?" and she said, "Uh. I just like to sleep with you."

Clean sheets for Magnolia! 

I bought some sparkling grape juice for her for a fancy drink and to use to make her purple cow and I swear- she and I spent twenty minutes trying to get that metal-encased cap off. Finally, Boppy came in from the garage where he'd been doing something with a car and it took him another five minutes to get the damn thing open. It was ridiculous! But the juice is delicious so all is well. 

I gave her her hoody with the unicorn horn and eye-lashes on it and the sequined Christmas decoration and she was so thrilled. "It's so cozy! It's so soft!" And it fit her and she had forgotten to bring a jacket so...perfect. 

And now I need to go make those cheesy noodles and fried fish. I do the fish in the air fryer and it is always delicious. One of our rituals is that I let her pick out what kind of pasta she wants to go with the cheesy sauce and tonight she wants a mixture of four different ones and so she shall have them. 

We had a rousing game of Battle and now she and her grandfather are watching Shaun The Sheep. 

Unfortunately, she did not bring her make-up. She said it was too messy to pack. Therefore I will not be getting a make-over. I have to tell you that I am somewhat disappointed. Perhaps tomorrow she will agree to substitute some of my make-up for her beloved Claire's brand which, of course, is the best. For those of you not in the know, Claire's is a store generally found in malls that carries everything a young girl could want from jewelry to make-up to hair accessories to bags to toys. In short- Tween Heaven. 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

I'm A Mess, But Here I Am

Levon's class went on a field trip today to go see the FSU Women's basketball team play. The game was at 11:00 a.m. and Jessie asked Mr. Moon if he wanted to go. Of course he did! To add to the fun, she was chaperoning. This morning before school, Jessie wrote her dad that Levon said he was SO excited to finally get to introduce his Boppy to his class! Now you know Glen loved that. I asked him later in the day whether or not Levon had indeed introduced him to his class and the answer was no. Both Jessie and Boppy reported that Levon was very serious throughout the entire game which Jessie thinks is probably his schoolboy persona. 
This could be true. We never really know exactly who our kids are at school, do we? 

So that was a very sweet thing.

Another pretty terrific thing that happened today was that when I was in Costco, I realized that they were NOT PLAYING CHRISTMAS MUSIC! I can remember that stuff being pumped into our ears every other Christmas so this was a completely lovely surprise. 
Being at Costco wasn't the greatest but it was, as I told a friend, sort of weirdly soothing because it was better than the crazy wacko thoughts I was having in my own alone head. And while I was there, I got four identical gifts for my kids and their sweethearts (not blenders) and three identical gifts for three of my grandsons. 

Don't tell them!

So at least I have started doing something. And I got to see Brenda and got one of her most fabulous hugs. And you know I love that. 

By this time it was around 2:00 and I was understandably hungry so I took myself to the Wharf where I enjoyed a delicious shrimp lunch. I'm sure it contained enough calories to sustain me for two or three days, the hushpuppies alone being substantial enough to make an entire meal of, but they were so good and I ate all three of them along with everything else on the plate. While I was eating, I was reading from the NYT's app on my phone and came across an article entitled, "Woman Who Threw Food at Chipotle Employee Sentenced to Work Fast-Food Job." Just then the server came up to ask if I needed anything and I said that I didn't but that I wanted to show her something that might make her laugh. 
She did laugh. 
Oh, that's me, just spreading joy everywhere by butting into people's lives and assuming I have something of worth to say to them. 

As you may be able to tell, I am not at my best today. I think that reading about Persistent Depressive Disorder has done something to me like setting off the pipes in a building to clanging. That's how I'd describe how it feels although it makes no sense at all. Just a general unpleasant, discordant alarm that something is wrong. Something that's been wrong for a long time but which has suddenly made itself known. I can't figure out why I really would want to know if that's what I have and now I'm second-guessing even writing about it. I mean...am I supposed to go BACK to talk therapy and support groups and possibly get on different meds and blah, blah, blah? 
Those things have kept me alive in the past and as I said yesterday, the meds still do. So does the knowledge I gleaned from therapy and the support group. And being kept kept alive is not to be spit at. But I suppose I'm wondering how in the world it would be possible to throw off the dark veil at this point in my life and expect that suddenly I'll want to travel and hang out with people and be all energized and if not actually happy, at least not so apt to cry at any random stranger's kindness or a loved one's...well, love.

I think too much, obviously. And not always in a constructive or logical manner. Let's get through Christmas and see where we are. 

My sourdough starter did indeed come back and has risen like Christ on the third day. 

Look at those pretty bubbles. I've actually got a loaf of bread almost ready to go into the oven. It will look nothing like Rebecca's but it will be edible. 

I think that Magnolia June is coming for a sleepover tomorrow. I have her hoodie and I got some sparkling grape juice for a fancy drink and a purple cow. Jessie said that she might bring out the boys to play with her for a while after school and that would be fun. I bought some silly miniature Christmas decorated cupcakes for a snack treat, and for supper we will be having Maggie's favorite meal at Mer's house which is fish and cheesy noodles. I just love that one of my grands wants me to cook them fish and Mr. Moon likes that too, as he caught the fish himself. I feel quite certain that Maggie will insist once again on sleeping with me because by now, this is our ritual, and no one is as deeply invested in ritual as a child. Mr. Moon does not mind as he likes the bed in the guest room even more than our bed. So it all works out. As long as Maggie can stand my snoring, she can sleep with me although when she reaches her teens, she may want to sleep in the guest room herself. 

I guess that's it for today, sweeties. 

Love...Ms. Moon

 

Sometimes It Helps Just To Have A Name For Something

I am so close to getting that little bit of the yard cleared. I worked on it this afternoon and that part is almost all border grass which is really a bitch to pull. While I was on my knees, I looked up startled to see someone standing on the sidewalk right beside me- a neighbor I've seen around. He's a friendly guy and we talked for a minute. He told me that he pulls weeds and I took his name and number. His name is John Henry Johnson which I think is one of the finest names I've heard in a long time. I should call him for some help. I need it. I think I'm afraid that anyone I hire might inadvertently pull some of the plants I want to keep. It's not always as obvious as that bed in the picture above where I wanted it all cleared out. In some areas I have about four types of invasive plants and five types of wanted plants and although I know the difference, I know it's not as easy to define for some people. Mr. Moon never can tell what I want pulled and what I don't so he's tasked with things like mowing while I do the get-on-your-knees stuff. 

Harvey also walked by as I was working. He coughed so that he would not startle me and when I saw it was him and smiled, he told me that he'd done that on purpose. He's such a sweet soul. He said, "That's hard work!" and I said, "It's harder than it used to be."

All day it's felt like Sunday. I mean, I had to correct my thoughts on that matter at least twenty times. Days that feel like Sundays are not the best days. I don't seem to be having the horrendous Sundays I always used to have but I do not associate that particular day of the week with any sort of great joy. 
Yesterday I felt content, which in my world is tantamount to joy. I felt pretty okay about myself and my life and enjoyed the simple tasks I did. I also read an article in the NYT's that I've been thinking about ever since. The title of the piece was "That Lingering 'Meh' Feeling Has a Name." It was about something I'd never heard of but, as sometimes happens, I recognized myself in instantly. The subject of the article was persistent depressive disorder, also known as dysthymia.
Have YOU ever heard of that? I had not but as I read, it was like a light snapped on and I thought, "Whoa. That's me."
The symptoms of this disorder, as listed by the John's Hopkins website are these:

• Lasting sad, anxious, or “empty” mood
• Less ability to concentrate, think, and/or make decisions
• Less energy
• Fatigue
• Feeling hopeless
• Weight and/or appetite changes due to over- or under-eating
• Changes in sleep patterns, such as fitful sleep, inability to sleep, early morning awakening, or sleeping too much
• Low self-esteem
• And then this:

• To diagnose this condition, an adult must have a depressed mood for at least 2 years (or one year in children and adolescents), along with at least 2 of the above symptoms. The symptoms of this illness may look like other mental health conditions. Always talk with a healthcare provider for a diagnosis.
  
  Two years? Try sixty-nine years. Two of those symptoms? How about all? 
  One can have P.D.D. and still experience major clinical depression at the same time. One of the paragraphs in the NYT's article really caught my attention. A woman who had been diagnosed with it said, "Clinical depression 'knocks me out. I can't get out of bed, shower, eat, or walk my dog.' With dysthymia however, she can still function. She may not want to do the dishes, for example, but she 'won't feel obliterated' by the task."
  Later on, the article says, "Because P.D.D. can be long lasting- and does not always disrupt a patient's day-to-day life- those with the disorder may assume their their milder depressive symptoms are simply character traits."
  
  Wow. Yeah. Character traits like not being able to travel? Like being obsessively worried about following a regular routine? Like feeling that one is merely a burden to loved ones? Like being (oh so slightly) agoraphobic?  Like crying at the drop of a hat? 
  
  So yes, I've been thinking about all of this and really though, what does it mean? 
  I really don't know. I do know I'm on two different medications for depression and anxiety and I am sure they help because I have not had a major clinical depression or bout of intense anxiety in a long time.

• I'm writing about this because I think that many people probably suffer from it and you might recognize yourself in here. If so, please know that you are not alone and that there can be steps to take to help people escape this feeling of always being sad which takes away so much of our joy, our quality of life. The woman quoted in the article, Amanda Stern, has a newsletter called How To Live and if you go HERE, you can find more information on the disorder and how to possibly deal with it on a more informed level. 

• Thankfully, I am still very much able to find some enjoyment and satisfaction in my life. Yesterday was an example of that. 
  I count my blessings, one of which is camellias. 

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  Love...Ms. Moon

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A Fine Day In Lloyd Land

Here we have an approximately eight-pound turkey potpie that I made today to use up the very last of the turkey. Don't worry. The meat was in the freezer part of the time. It has potatoes, onions, celery, mushrooms, broccoli, peas, and carrots in it along with the turkey. I will be baking it here shortly. 
And Thanksgiving will be officially over. 

I've had a very decent day. I have no idea why. It was Candie's day to come and clean but she now has the puke virus that her kids had so she didn't come. 
Kids. They are just here on earth to do the bidding of viruses and bacteria, as far as I can see. Wouldn't it be funny if viruses developed humans in order to have a way to replicate? Like flowers developing stamens and pistils. 
I swear to you, I sometimes think this is a possibility. But you know me and my theories. 

So since Candie did not come, I decided to unleash Ralph, my Roomba. Poor Ralph has been sorely underused since Candie entered my life but he cranked right up today and did fine until he mysteriously parked himself in his little port and shone his red light. He needed a check-up and a little work done so I got out my robot-doctoring stuff and gave him an exam and he had a few problems going on that I was able to diagnose and fix. This included a transplant of the three-armed little brushy thing that Roombas have which spin around. One of Ralph's brushes' arms had been completely ripped off by something. 
Anyway, after his surgery, he got right back to work and then this happened. 

The determined little robot dragged that size fifteen sneaker all the way from Glen's closet which is, in robot terms, about nine miles away. 
Okay. That's a bit of hyperbole but it is a seriously long distance. 

I unwrapped the sneaker's lace from one of the rollers, and once again, Ralph sprang right back to attention and finished up his work. 

So you know, I was busy all day making sure that Ralph was healthy and doing his job and I did some laundry and...what else did I do? It took me awhile to make that potpie because it involved vegetable chopping and steaming and sautéing and then making the pastry and all that stuff. I picked some arugula to make a nice salad with apples and craisins and sliced almonds. I generally use pecans in that salad but I used up every pecan in this house making the fruitcakes. 

I also fed my sourdough starter. I have not done that in a shamefully long time. So long that I think it's going to take a few more feedings before it's really up to the task of raising bread again. I just haven't been in the mood to bake sourdough. It makes me sad for various reasons, one of them being that my loaves are just not the things of wonder and beauty that they could be. 
I just checked the re-fed starter and there are two, TWO, tiny bubbles in it that are probably the signs of dying gasps. 

I had the most interesting dream last night. It was not like any dream I've ever had before. I was a young woman and had traveled to an island somewhere far, far away from everything where there was an indigenous culture who had been living there for eons. I was with my family- a group I did not recognize- and the father of the family was somehow working for the US government which was doing something on that island and there was a large number of other Americans also involved in this work. It was not unlike the colonialism of India by the British. Whatever the Americans were doing was polluting the ocean surrounding the island and the indigenous people had developed strange markings on their skin due to the poisons in the water. 
So that was going on and I was trying, as the oldest daughter in the family (which I am in real life) to get the living quarters arranged and set up and the food organized which was going well but then, I had an encounter with one of the native people and somehow, I inadvertently insulted him and the entire indigenous population. 
I was horrified that I had done this. There appeared to be many customs and rules involving the accepting of food and rituals that had to be observed and no one had educated me on these and I had offended them. 
I felt so horrible. There appeared to be no way at all that I could explain myself or make amends, much less ever be part of the community. And that was how the dream ended. 

I can see that probably some of the dream came from my visits to Cozumel, which is an island where many, many Americans now live. But I have never felt as if I had offended any of the Mayan people who live there and have always tried my hardest to be respectful of everyone I've come across in any sort of interaction. 

This may be an incredibly easy dream to interpret but my awake brain is not really making the connections. 

Here are two pictures of what the Japanese maple tree looked like today against the sky which was so blue it looked impossible. These photos are completely undoctored. 

They almost hurt your eyes, don't they? 

But in such a very, very good way. 

Love...Ms. Moon

It's The Hap, Happiest Time Of The Year! Yeah. If You're Five Years Old

Jessie and I met in town today and went to a Goodwill. She was looking for some clothes for August who I guess is outgrowing everything although not in width. That child only grows up, not out. Also, the boys have some sort of dress-up day for the next two weeks at school. One of the days is Christmas pajama day and Goodwill had about two long racks of just Christmas pajamas so she found some that should do for August. 
I found that pillow which I adore. It is beaded and sequined and stitched and embroidered and I felt guilty paying only $4.99 for it. 

It has a backing of pink velvet. It is exquisite. And funky. And very cheerful. 

I also found a Christmas hoody that I hope will do for Ms. Magnolia June. 

Fun AND sophisticated, right? And it is very, very soft. 

The only other thing I got was a pale pink cotton sweater that will go nicely under overalls. 

I'm struggling right now. I know many of us are and I'm sure much of it is related to Christmas. For me, it's the overwhelming expectations that our culture tells us are appropriate for the season when I absolutely detest Christmas and yet, do not want to disappoint my grandchildren or even, really, my children although they know me well and don't expect too much from me in the way of cute gifts. 
Money. Money is easy. The flat gift, as our family calls it. 
I am a horrible gift giver. I have some sort of block when it comes to buying gifts. Is it because I want things to perfectly represent my love for people through the gifts I give them? If so, that ain't possible. I have known some very, very good gift givers who seem to find the perfect object that charms and delights the receiver. I envy those people. I am in awe of them. And mostly it's not something of great monetary value and yet, somehow perfect. Gifts that say, "I know who you are. I love who you are," unlike my gifts which say, "It was three days before Christmas and I was in Costco and so you all get blenders this year!"

And I hate shopping. Even being in a very uncrowded Goodwill today was more than enough. Yes, I can shop online. And I will. 
But every day that passes in December leaves me feeling more and more distraught and frantic and it will be this way until the holy-baby-jesus-in-a-manger-day is over. Since I'm as close to being an atheist as you get until a real one walks in the door, the magic of Christmas has long since disappeared for me. I can remember it, how it felt when I was a child. The anticipation of Santa Claus and special treats and being a part of the Christmas pageant at church and even the way my first grown-up Christmas tree made me feel when I was freshly married and pregnant with Hank. Christmas, however, did not always end up being a happy day when I was little, despite my anticipations and belief in magic. There are too many reasons to list but shall we say that at some point I became jaded? I did everything I could to make magic for my own kids and I think I did okay with that. 

I just can't do it anymore. 

There's so much I feel I can't do anymore. Not just physically, although that is part of it, but mostly I can't seem to do much of anything and I suspect there is some depression going on here. 
Whatever, it is not uncommon for me this time of year. I am not surprised. I suppose that in feeling like I can't do everything, I am feeling like I can't do anything. 
Does that make sense? 
Is there such a thing as Christmas paralysis? 
If so, I have it. 

Hell. 

I just finished listening to a book that probably did not help. "I'm Glad My Mom Died" by Jennette McCurdy. I thought for sure that the title was a bold hook to get people to read it but (spoiler alert!) nope. 
Quite frankly, McCurdy had every right to be glad her mom died. 
But it wasn't exactly an uplifting book. I think that many of us could relate to her story though, and we should all be so honest...

Well, this post is just a big ol' Santa's bag of Holiday Cheer, right? 

Tom is home. I do not know whether he just put on his clothes and walked out or whether he was discharged. And that is the way it is and I do not blame him. Home is where we sometimes have to be, no matter what home is like. 

I am grateful, so grateful, for my home. It is mostly where I want to be and it is comfortable and I feel safe here, and not only do I have hot water (which I think I already said that Tom does not), I have a kitchen where I can cook anything I want to cook. I have internet so I can speak to you. I have an incredibly comfortable bed, two cats who amuse and comfort me, and of course, a husband who would pretty much do anything for me and who appreciates what I do for him. 

And so much more. 

This too, shall pass. Perhaps like a big old honking kidney stone and pain will be involved, but it will pass. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Quite A Sunday

So to continue the theme of me feeling like I'm walking around with a big old "L" on my forehead, I missed Owen at work today. 
Seriously. 
How did this happen? you may ask. 
Well, it was a combination of factors. I'd gotten a message from an old friend a few days ago saying she was going to be in Tallahassee this weekend and she'd like to stop by and say hey to me on her way out in the early afternoon. Now this is a very interesting woman. We are not nor have ever been that close, but I like her and she's unique and funny and I do enjoy it when I see her. So I told her about Owen and how I wanted to go see him but a short visit would be lovely. 
I figured that if he was going to work at 10:45 this morning, he'd work at least four hours, and so I'd be safe leaving here around 1:30 which I did. As I left, I texted him to tell him we were on our way (Mr. Moon was in his own car so that he could go see Tom after we saw Owen) and he answered, "I'm so sorry. I just got off work."
Well, hell. Damn, damn, double damn, triple damn, hell. 

And no, he got no pictures of his first day of work. 

So yes, I feel like a loser and a terrible Mermer although he said it was fine and I told him to tell me when he'd be working next and I know I'll get to see him at work soon. 
And I had a good time talking to Michelle. Not more than five minutes after we sat down on the porch we were discussing politics, sexual abuse of children, non-protecting mothers, patriotism, religion, and her granny whom she adored. I think that's why she likes me. I probably remind her a little of her granny who half raised her on a farm and who was full of wisdom and love and experience and recipes and an excellent work ethic. It just occurred to me that I share very few of those attributes but I am old. Michelle is who she is because of her granny. When she died, Michelle did a thing on FB of 101 Days of Granny where every day for a hundred and one days she posted a little thing about her grandmother and the things she'd taught her and her memories of her from childhood and adulthood when she'd bring Granny to her place and take care of her for awhile. It was a beautiful relationship. 
So that was all good but I'm still very upset I didn't get to see Owen on his first day of work. I continued on to Publix, though, and did my shopping. 

Mr. Moon says that Tom is convinced he's going home tomorrow. I am not sure how this is going to work. I'm almost certain he'll have to sign himself out against medical advice. He wants his friend who lives in town to come pick him up and drive him to where he parked his car near the hospital when he drove himself to the ER so that he can drive himself home. Glen talked to the friend about this who said, "I didn't know anything about this," AND "Is that even legal?"
I take it that it's very hard for Tom to communicate but I guess he and Glen are working it out. 

Have y'all seen the documentary "American Symphony" on Netflix about Jon Batiste? 
Batiste came into my consciousness a few years ago. He was the band leader for Stephen Colbert's Late Show for many years but I think he was just part of a zeitgeist that I somehow picked up on. This video started making the rounds on social media and I fell more than a little in love with him.

 

Then I saw a few more videos of him and then he got 11 Grammy nominations in 2021 and now there's a documentary about him, his life, and the woman he loves. 

I can only watch it in segments because it is too powerfully emotional to take in at once. I don't want to spoil anything but I will say that he is a very, very special human being with tremendous talent and faith and perseverance. And his heart is as big and as beautiful as his smile which may be the best smile ever given to a human on this earth. My god, but he is a gorgeous human being in all regards. Jessie recently saw the doc too and we were texting about it this evening and she said, "He's definitely something special. He's a very positive being, and it seems like that was just pushed upon him in this life."

Yes. 
Here's the trailer. 

Perhaps Mr. Moon and I will finish it tonight. There will be tears.
From both of us.

Okay. I need to go make our supper.

Same recipe I used forty years ago when I made Mr. Moon the first meal he ever ate at my table. Tonight, as I did then, I will alter it in my own way, and use turkey instead of chicken. I've had this recipe so long that the first time I made it was in the trailer that my ex and I lived in right after May was born so...1978. 

Tried and true. My friend Cindy gave me the recipe. I was at one of her births and WE TOOK BELLY-DANCING CLASSES TOGETHER! 
Dang. We were so cute. You should have seen me in the belly-dancing costume I made with it's coin-jingly bra. I can't believe I did that. 

Now watch that documentary. If you can. If you want to. 

Love...Ms. Moon

P.S. The roses in the photo at the top of the page were picked today. Yes. I still have roses blooming. I'm going to have to prune them soon anyway. 

Updates And No Dates Or Golden Raisins Either

First off, thank you so much for all of the beautiful comments you left yesterday. I almost turned comments off because I really did not want to feel that I wrote about what happened yesterday just to get unearned sympathy and reassurance. But so many of you know exactly what I was going through and hearing your voices tell me of your experiences helped tremendously. There are so many things about getting older that no one even really hints at. Sure we hear about what's going to happen to our knees and our hearing and our poor little minds but no one ever told me that at some point I'd be this disinclined to go visit an old friend in the hospital. 
Shit. 
I suppose I was just having a very hard and odd day yesterday and then adding in knowing that I really should go and see Tom pushed me over the breaking point.

Glen decided to wait until today to go see Tom. He'd been driving for hours and hours, it was raining, he was exhausted in every way. So this morning after he ate his breakfast he went and delivered the two boats he was retrieving and then went to the hospital. He said when he walked into the room Tom said, "Oh. Hey," and that was that. No mention was made of yesterday's outburst. Tom has had more strokes and he has lost much of his ability to find the words to speak with. Glen says that his memory seems fine, it's just the communication part that is hard. 
He said that the doctors are talking about some sort of long-term care for Tom but Tom has said, Oh no. That's not going to happen." He figures he'll just get some speech therapy and then go home. 
And his home...well. Probably over forty years ago Tom bought a chunk of land not far from here and either he had a trailer moved there to live in or else one was already there. I am certain it was not new.
He still lives in that trailer which you can only imagine is falling apart. I don't think he's had hot water for a year. There are serious problems with the structure that I won't even go into and the idea that he will be going back there is at once frightening and ridiculous. 
But it is his home. 
Tom is not poor. He could well afford to buy a new modular home. He's even built a wood-working shop and an art studio on the property. I've never seen either but I hear they are fine, sturdy structures. Glen has tried and tried to get him to put a little kitchen and a bathroom in the studio and move into that but no, that's not what he wants to do. And no he hasn't and no he won't and although we despair over that, we know full well that it is up to him where and how he wants to live. 
He is...complicated. 
And aren't we all? Some of us are more complicated in traditional ways, some of us are complicated in ways that are more difficult to understand. And sometimes the least complicated thing to do is simply accept. 

So yes, my man is home. Maurice has given him a small wound which is to be expected. She absolutely has to let him know how she feels when he abandons here. Jack, on the other hand, was delighted to have his other human in the bed last night and allowed Glen to kiss the top of his head which is what he does. I am attempting to gracefully re-adapt to having someone else in the house again. I do have a lot of practice in this regard, though. And it's nice getting the hugs and kisses that I've been missing. I've cooked us some pinto beans and collard greens for our supper. I'll make some cornbread to go with. 

It has been raining for about 24 hours here now but it's coming down in a drizzle instead of the steady drumming we were getting. There are puddles all over the yard. 

I wrapped my fruitcakes in their rum-soaked cheesecloth shrouds and then two layers of aluminum foil this afternoon. 

My shiny, fruity mummies. 

I took what Liz at Field and Fen calls something like, "cook's slice."

I don't think that's it exactly but it's descriptive. 
I am happy to report that the fruitcake is, as Lis would say, fit. As in fit to eat. I confess that I was so out of my mind yesterday that I made so many mistakes making those cakes. First of all, my food processor has a broken something-something that triggers the on function and although I have come up with a fine work-around which involves the handle of a wooden spoon, it's not as easy to control the pulse function and I processed a great many candied cherries almost into mush. AND, I forgot to put in the dates and golden raisins I'd gotten to use, AND I misread the oven temperature and instead of setting it at 250° I set it at 200° and wondered why in hell it was taking SO LONG for the cakes to bake. 
I figured that out about halfway through and I think they turned out fine despite my mental fucked-uppedness. 

Lord, Lord. 

Tomorrow we will go see Owen at work. I am really having a hard time believing that he's old enough to have a job. I will try my hardest not to embarrass the boy. I can make no guarantees though. 

Ay-yi-yi. 

Love...Ms. Moon