Life In A Time Of Corona...and Also Screaming Suns and stuff about Wedgies...

So. Loads of time has gone by since Mom could galvanise herself to tell more of my stuff to you. And Loads of Stuff has happened, too. Some of it just made my Mom sad. She got so sad that she said she couldn’t write my stuff for me. Every time she tried it just Looked Like So Much Whining, she said.

Me, Moyo. Looking at Mom Whining.

Actually?

She was SINGING. Which is the same thing.

And that, Moyo, said Mom, would not do. We are here in this world to make people feel as good as its possible to make them feel, we are all supposed to make each other laugh and see the funnier side of life, but these days I’m being Too Much of a Bloody Misery, Moyo. And when I am Too much of a Bloody Misery, I’m Not Funny, Moyo.

What could I say to that? Not a whole lot. Because it’s True. Mom as a Bloody Misery is a Big Fat Monster Pain in The Arse so all one can do it let her work through it as best as possible. There’s nothing to do, really, but wait for Mom to come back to being plain old Just A Pain In The Arse.

So, I just did my Moyo Things for my Mom. I lolloped about when we went for Long Walks. I sat by her when she perched on rocks and Contemplated her Navel. I chased sticks she threw for me. I even brough them back so that she could throw them again. I leaned up against her. I just Loved my Mom as Hard as a Moyo can Love. And that’s Magnificently Hard.

Me, Moyo, taking time out to Recuperate from Mom's Singing and / or Whining.

(There's a Story coming about Where we are that let's me have this

old trailer to recuperate beneath)

Last time Mom wrote for me she told you all about the Dead Red Leather Sofa. Maybe it was that that made her Sad Cup Run Over. I get that. I loved that red leather sofa, too. But it’s ok now. Mom has said Goodbye to that sofa. And to the pieces of her art that had got Too Wet to Save. Mom spent quite some time Quite Unable to Find her Big Girl Panties, never mind trying to Pull Them Up.

It Was Not A Pretty Sight!

But as with all things, it was to be endured... and now?

Mom has weathered the storm.

Actually, Moyo said Mom. I’ve decided to give myself a Mega-Wedgie with my Big Girl Panties. And that will give me enough distraction to stop thinking about sad stuff like sofas and lost art, and missed friends, and that Brilliant African Sun.

Here's a TRUE FACT!

(Also, if you need a tutorial / refresher on How Best To Give a Wedgie,

you can pop on over here...)

https://www.wikihow-fun.com/Give-a-Wedgie

It's AWESOME!

Mom said Moyo? Do you know that the sunshine in Africa smells different on your skin? Also? It’s just not a Politically Correct Sun. It burns and it blisters and it screams out YELLOW YELLOW ORANGE HOT BRIGHT YELLOW RED RED RED.

This is a painting Mom did of Africa's Sun. She did a Whole Lot of Them.

These days? She's painting MOONS...on everything!

This sun here, Moyo? It’s Very PC. It shines but it Minds its Manners and does not Scream. It’s taking some getting used to, Moyo, but I’m working on it.

So. Given that my Mom has been So Silent as she Contemplates Stuff like Screaming Suns and Soggy Sofas, she’s also had the time to get busy with Other Stuff, even though she didn’t even know she was actually doing that. She's done LOADS of paintings. Also? She has been Exploring her Domestic-Godessness. With some alarming results. (She's never been a sterling baker,so why she should think it should be any different now, I can't begin to imagine.)

Dad pointed out last week as they sat down for supper that she had paint in her hair AND inside one ear – and then he said And that’s just one of the reasons why I love you, Mom.

And because there is so much that I need Mom to tell you that has happened, I’ve asked Mom to put the brakes on her Verbosity. Also, I suggested that she write it out in a few posts so that anyone who reads it can actually breathe in between. Maybe go for a long walk to get over the Onslaught of Mom on Writing Steroids.

Suffice it then that this post is a HELLO AGAIN post – from me, Moyo.

P.S. There’s a whole lot of Moyo Stories coming at you – belt up, gird your loins, we have so very much to bring you up to speed on.

Mom has been keeping a notebook. She’s called it Life In A Time Of Corona (with apology to Gabriel Garcia Marquez, she says) – and she’s jotted down all manner or ruminations, observations and informations about our travels, lives and the world in general and specific.

One thing I want to tell you now, though, is how Mom has figured out how to put a perspective on Life: In General. One of the Things she had been doing is she was weeping and wailing, and gnashing her teeth about getting old, and feeling fat and having wrinkles, and OhGodMySoddingKneesHurt, and the indignity of WTF IS THIS BLACK WIRE-LIKE HAIR DOING ON MY FUCKING CHIN?!!!!????

Then? One day she sat up and Shut Up. She’d finally figured come to a Big Realisation.

Moyo, said Mom, do you want to know something Terrifically Sobering? (This as she smeared tears from her eyes and gave a last whinge Man! I really NEED to stop crying, it does Seriously Horrid Things to my eyes. They just don’t snap back into pretty place the way they used to. And I need Super-Glue, Moyo. I need to hold these Puffy Eyelids off my eyes so I can see. FFS…. what ever happened to looking cute when I cried?!)

I looked at her. I’ve learned to Be Patient Moyo with my Mom. She gets to the point even if she has to take the Camp-fire Story Route.

Yes, said Mom. The truth is this, Moyo. In Dog Years? I’d be dead.

Best I Get Cracking On then…

This is my Mom. Her Kid introduced her to Snapchat. And Mom LOVES it cos it has these fabulous filters...she was able to give herself a Rainbow Head!

It Cheered her Right Up.

And a Cheered-Up Mom is just what the Doctor Ordered for me, Moyo.