Blood Orange Moon Thoughts for Monday

Blood Orange Moon . . . sounds like a song. Driving up the beach highway, I spotted a huge red-orange globe in the sky and it finally registered – “That’s the moon!” I had not ever seen it so large. Then, as the trees thinned along the shoreline, I was able to see the bay, the orange colors were dancing across the deep night water of the bay – and it was one of those moments so beautiful you want to fly….or cry…..or both.

Tonight I was feeling too lazy – I just went out to tell everyone goodbye. It had been raining hard all afternoon but just quit about an hour ago. It was beautiful – the grass was so soft and green and the garden looked glutted with wine, though it was only water, all of nature tonight looked satisfied. I am invigorated.

Not far from here in another bay, the dolphins cavort just after the sun comes up, I want to take coffee and sit, waiting.

The air is hanging heavy with humidity, smoothing and softening the skin. I walk around to the back of the house looking for the gardenias to be blooming in their heavy, soft scent and am rewarded with a handful – but I will not pick them – they deserve the night.

I love white flowers because there is something so incredibly sensuous, yet pure about them. I like to sit by the garden at night and think and enjoy the scents and the flowers. I hope at my funeral/memorial there will be extravagant white flowers all over the place. Haven't decided if I want to be buried or cremated and scattered to the Gulf.

To change the tone:

Back to every day stuff. No highly intellectual, esoteric posts here.

I am going in for another nerve block – Monday a.m. I pray for a bit easier time and even more success, though the back is much improved.

OK, the rest is for the girls:
Have lost more pounds, yay, and inherited my daughter’s underwear. Now, pray tell, who and why – invented thongs? Not the kind that fit between your toes to hold the summer sandals, but the kind that fit so uh, oddly, in private places, ah, bits as they say in England? 24/7, giving me a consciousness of parts that usually are taken quite for granted. I think women rarely think of those parts as we go about the day, and suddenly, with the invention of the thong, they are there – insolent and almost demanding of attention (like, get this blankety-blank noose off of me, won’t you?). Never thought my bits would be talking to me.

My bras have now become cell phone holders as a bit more room becomes available.

“H” is getting that look in his eyes. Hey, I’ve forgotten how – and besides, don’t treat me mean and expect desire. God somehow made me with the memory of an elephant, can’t help it. Yeh, that’s right, blame God for a personality defect.

I find the Victoria’s Secret sale catalog again, and browse the pages, looking for something that is, uh, well yes, sexy, but comfortable – the two can co-exist, right? Please say yes. My mother told me always to wear clean underwear in case of a car wreck - anyone ever hear that? I mean what self-respecting woman would not wear clean underwear anyway?

Well, what if I were in a car wreck and had no underwear on - or, worse yet, I had the inherited thongs on, and ended up hung by my bits?

I browse on in the catalog, and think - no I don't want to be in a car wreck in these either. I go to Walmart - the one closest to here has underwear for granny butts (I will NOT succumb) or teenagers. HOW does one dress to feel like a goddess and still be prepared for a car wreck? Mother? Where are you? Never mind, to all mothers, the word "Goddess" smacks of the word "Sexy" and your daughters are definitely NOT to be sexy. Just know, that you are never too old to be owned by a mother.

Ok, enough is enough. For those of you going "Huh?" I am feeling very funny tonight. My sister and I always thought it would be fun to do a comedy routine together. Also I am quite sober.

Ah, my grandchildren will, again, hack my computer and give me a hard time!

Ok, ok, ‘tis a very weird post, but, hey, who ever said I approach anything normal.

I am now going to go do my 3 miles on the elliptical, bathe my back in antiseptic, scrounge for some semblance of underwear that won't give my very humor-full doctor the giggles, (or something worse) (er, better?) and prepare for a 24 hour fast to accommodate the needle man’s instructions. I’ll be back, depending on my come-back from the “juice.”