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These days are quite strange. They always have been, I guess. But we have mostly always woken up to greet the shining of the sun through the lush green leaves in our yard or in the yard next door or in the park across the street. When there are no leaves, we simply cherish our moments with leafless blue skies and sunshine. And greet our mornings with as much joy as we can muster without greenery.

When we wake up to dark skies, wind, rain and thunder, we ask God, “Why and how the hell did I end up with Dorothy in Kansas?” It could be worse. Some of us wake up with nothing but dark and stormy skies. Even on sunny days.

Lately, I think, we are mostly all asking ourselves, “What the hell is going on? Where the hell I am going? What or who will guide me? What will take me to that place where I need to be, and how the hell will I know when I arrive there? My God, when will the sun filled storms just go away?”

I don’t want those questions answered. Not yet. When I go to my grave, I want to go there with unanswered ones. That, I think, will prove to God that I tried my damnedest until my last breath. Even through the stormy days.

But what do we do until death? Do we accept the sun filled gray and stormy skies everyday? Or do we try our damnedest to break free of self doubt and despair? That’s a tough question. And the fulfillment of the correct answers is even tougher. To be sure.

I have been out of circulation lately. Human contact has been drastically reduced for the past eleven months. Strangers I meet are never able to see my smile, these days. And theirs are invisible as well. Even when our eyes show each of our smiles, accurate verbal communication is close to impossible.

Many longtime friends are somewhat sequestered. Others have been so focused on simply surviving that even phone contact with them has been impossible. My best friend is one of those. I hate that. My sun filled days are darker than they have ever been. And I have had many dark ones in my long life. I think y’all understand.

But, you know what? It’s up to each of us to somehow sift through the darkness and find the sunshine. Even on dark days, the sun is shining in our hearts. That’s where leaves are green and skies are blue. It’s up to each of us to find and cherish those peaceful and joyful images, thoughts and beliefs. And to reject the notions of self doubt and despair.

It’s tough. But if we one day want to find ourselves where we need to be, well…it will happen.

Greeting God’s sunshine, blue skies and green leaves.

Even through dark, leafless and stormy skies. It will happen.

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I don’t know where to begin. I really don’t. These days, beginnings are as mysterious as is the ultimate endings. And, apparently, remembering our beginnings and our past while living today is totally baffling to many of us. It always has been, I guess. But it doesn’t need to be.

I grew up in a rather skeptical environment. When someone would say something like, “Wow, what a beautiful day,” someone would almost always respond with, “Ah… it’s too damned hot.” There were many times when I was excited as a youth when my favorite college basketball team barely won a game. Invariably, someone would say, “They should have won by twenty!” I long for the days when good stuff was just acknowledged – even if it was only with pathetic and alternate responses.

I understand that almost all of us are living through some stuff right now that, until now, has been unimaginable. Good stuff is no longer even acknowledged. In most cases, anyway. These days, I hear, “Oh great. Just what we need. A 99-degree day.” Or, “Damn! The the game has been canceled due to COVID-19.”

Communicating with friends these days are mostly through social media, texts and phone calls. I appreciate the connections. It’s really the best we can do these days. I am one of those “vulnerable” old guys whose human contact has been limited for the past few months. But the stuff I am reading and hearing these days are worse than a Carolina basketball loss or game cancellation.

Too many of my friends, and even family members, are apparently just giving up. The posts and messages I am reading are quite understandable but disturbing nonetheless. Of course, they express their despair with the deadly virus. Almost constantly. But just as constantly are the words of distress about our government and its direction. Just tonight, a good friend of mine texted me, “America, the not so beautiful, is tanking right now.” If I can somehow solve a bit of the mystery here, I would suggest that 2020’s greatest accomplishment has been to create for friends and other folks the notion that we are and will always be doomed. Good job, 2020!

My mom was one the most kind, generous and warm hearted women I have ever known. She lived through the Great Depression and through World War II with a military husband and new born child. She had a strong faith in God and the Bible. But somehow, she became a “doomsdayer.” When I was in college, she read my horoscope everyday. Often, according to her, she would read that I should stay away from a trouble maker. She met my best friend one day. He was a bit of a trouble maker, to be sure. But a great friend. Still, she warned me to stay away from him. Today, my best friend and I are still alive and even better friends.

Mama was a worrier. About more things than my horoscope or friends. But when push came to shove, Mama rediscovered her faith, encouraged positive outcomes and quoted bible verses to back up her devotion to God, family, others and the outcomes.

Thanks to Mama, everyday I thank God for life, health and her. That simple prayer seems to resolve all of my mysterious notions of current life and death.

2020 is all about faith. In God, in you, in us all. Reject doomsday. Smile again, y’all. Laugh for a while. Expect the great things that will happen. This is our present.

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2020 is good. It always has been.

Beginning back in June of 1978, every Tuesday night, I would say, “Sweet! 20-20 is on TV tonight.”

As a kid, my optometrist would always say at the end of my appointment, “Kid, you don’t need to be here. You have 20-20!”

Look, I know the year 2020 is disturbing to most folks. I also know that when 2019 left, we all breathed a sigh of relief! So, y’all. Treasure what you wished against last December. And be careful what you wish for in the future.

In my eyes, though, 2020 has been a damned good year.

Look, y’all know that above all else – family, love, friends, money, everything – the most important thing to me is University of North Carolina Basketball. We stunk in 2019. We were even worse in the first quarter of 2020. But before we would be certainly eliminated from the NCAA Championship, the year 2020, eliminated the entire tournament and every team. That was sweet. But the sweetest thing was, we won one more ACC Tournament game than did Dook! Dook has been my team’s bitter rival for close to two centuries! And they weren’t allowed to play even one game in that tournament. No other year has even come close to producing that outcome!

But college hoops are just the beginning. Ever since puberty, the fear of going out in public with nose hairs showing, pretty much created the Dave Moon introvert. For decades, I would spend my spare time trying to groom nose hairs rather than leaving home to spend fun times with friends in public. The freakin’ 2020 masks solved that problem! Those hairs are secondary these days. I am now a social butterfly! It’s hard to breath, but still….

One of my life long dreams was to produce and direct an Academy Award winning motion picture, and driving to Hollywood and to the red carpet in my 1971 pea green Pinto to accept my award. Well, some damned awful years took the Pinto out of the equation. Those same awful years also destroyed that dream. But during most of 2020, I think I have watched every film presented by Netflix and Roku. After all those decades of disappointment, I can seriously declare that I would have kicked ass over every moment of the crap I have been watching!

Enough of the past. Thanksgiving, 2020, is coming up soon. I’ll be honest with you. As a kid, I always hated being delegated to the “kid’s table” during Thanksgiving meals. As an adult, many times, in deference to the lonely kids excluded from the adult table, I chose to be a child again and eat with the children there. Well, 2020 is the kids’ year! This year there will be “old folks’ card tables” with plexiglass dividers. If the old folks in attendance bring the total number of guests to over ten, this year’s card tables will be on the porch. This sounds absurd, I know, but I would love the change. Kids deserve 2020 big table privileges!

Look, there really are some wonderful and beautiful moments that only 2020 could have caused. Families being together. Kids playing with other kids in the street. Couples and families walking and smiling and meeting other couples and families. Strangers helping strangers.

Honestly, I pray that when 2021 comes around, we will abandon all sighs. We will welcome kids at grown up tables. And we will cherish all that we learned and loved in 2020.

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As a parent, you always seem to panic about nonsense. Even when your child is an adult. You worry about stuff. Is your kid happy? Is your kid well fed? Why is the kid coughing? What troubles the kid? You know. Just stupid stuff parents worry about.

Look, I really don’t care for Hallmark created “days.” Like Grandparent’s Day, Sister’s and Brother’s days, Deaf Dog’s Days and Incontinent Cat’s Days. A few Sunday’s ago, I fell for it. I sort of wished my only son, on social media, a happy National Son’s Day – a day early.

Well, I don’t know when the National Parent’s Day is. But I hope like hell that when it happens, no one acknowledges me on that day. I don’t deserve it. I screwed up big time. Several days after Son’s Day. That was National Daughter’s Day. I was with my only daughter. And I said nothing about the day.

Old time and traditional notions would dictate to me that the woman I am speaking of is nothing more than a “daughter-in-law.” I am old time, to be sure. But when it comes to her, I throw tradition to the wind. If there were a way to gauge this old man’s pride, you would easily recognize that I am talking about my only daughter.

A few days ago, on National Daughter’s Day, I went to the birthday party of her nine year old nephew. There were good friends of her sisters there, as well as nieces and other nephews. There were great nieces and nephews there, too. Younger folks. Even toddlers and infants. She brought to the gathering her mom, three of her own older children and an autistic teen kid she takes such great care of every day. It was a good and fun crowd. But she spent most of her time, taking care of her autistic kid while holding, coddling and feeding the two infants and one toddler.

I often overuse words like “beautiful,” “love” and “amazing.” When I think of or talk to her, I try to tamper down my emotional verbal enthusiasm a bit. I fail every time. It cannot be helped. She is the most beautiful woman I have ever known. In every way. That includes love and amazement.

These days, I don’t panic so much. My only son’s guardian angel is my only daughter. And hers is my only son. When my two favorite people have each other, why the hell should I worry?

Forgive me, daughter, for neglecting your day. You are a beautiful and amazing angel. Every day and always.

I love you, Sherri.

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Damn, ya’ll. The last Lunar I posted was almost two years ago – in October of 2018. I guess jobs and lack of absolute security kept me more focused on steady work and rest.

Honestly, though, I am pathetic. It took me six months of being cooped up like a chicken on its way to slaughter to realize I had time to write again. I pretty much waisted a half year, worrying about diseases, masks, government payouts and dictates. Even end of the world notions.

But just like those of you reading this, and unlike the couple of hundred thousand folks who will never read again, so far we have survived.

It wasn’t a total waste of time. I lived with my son and his family in their neighborhood until recently. Feeling love every moment of your day is anything but wasteful. And the love didn’t come from just sons, daughters and grandchildren. It came from the other twelve or so kids who lived in the neighborhood.

One beautiful and warm Sunday afternoon, I chose to just chill on the front porch, resting my legs on the banister, drinking Bud Light from a bottle. An older kid, Beckham, showed up just to talk. The kid is somewhere on the autism spectrum. My son coached him on a rec league basketball team.

Beckham walked to the steps of the porch and asked, “Why are you and Coach Moon such big Carolina fans?” I tried to explain it to him, but he interrupted me to spout out one statistic after another about Tar Heel players from the ’60s and ’70s who played in the pros. The kid is a pretty good player. He’s a Duke fan as well. Yet he knew more about Carolina players than I did.

It was a great talk. One that I will remember forever. I will also remember my son playing hoops with him in the driveway and teaching him every basketball move the kid wanted to perfect.

Later on that Sunday afternoon, my grandsons were in the driveway with Beckham. I heard the kid say, “Man, you’re granddad is one of the coolest guys I have ever known.” Here I was, feeling like such a slug, drinking beer and doing nothing whatsoever productive. And the troubled kid brought even brighter sunshine to my pathetic life. The kid even insisted that I quit smoking. And he came back to the house many times to make sure I was giving up cigarettes.

I let the kid down with the smoking thing. But he never let me down. And Beckham is just one kid who made a difference in that neighborhood. Watching, everyday, a dozen or so kids, playing in the street, down by the creek and every other possible place on the block, brought back the very best memories from my childhood.

There were disagreements and fights just like in my Jacksonville, Florida neighborhood decades ago. But these kids always brought to my son’s house smiles, laughter and wonderfully nonsensical comments and engagements.

As adults, I guess it’s easy and justified to detest the year of 2020 and the slugs we have become. But, damn. It’s the perfect time to embrace, once again, the youthful exuberance we once knew. And the rediscovery of the unconditional joy that surrounds us all. No matter what.

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Just as is the word, “love,” the word, “friend” seems to often be superficial and overused. I have doubted my own sincerity when using so often those two worn out words. But I am a fool. So I forgive myself.

Look, I have made no bones about this. With the problems my age seems to present, I need to be gardening. I need to be sunning myself on a Boca beach or golfing on an inland course. That’s what old men do, right?

The beautiful things are, I have discovered no plant or flower that I wish to plant. I have no access to Boca or any other beaches right now. And I really do suck at golf. What I have discovered lately are things that are truly a great deal more beautiful than any plant, beach or golf course.

Friends seem to be coming out of the woodwork these days – like cock roaches. They are family. They are old friends. They are new ones. They are the most beautiful roaches God has ever created.

They call. We talk. They email. We write. We text and we screw up but move on. And when each verbal and written conversation ends, they each end the very same ways these days.

Maybe we don’t always actually use those two words. But when the conversations end, it is is clear what we each mean to the other. They are the thoughts and sounds of the simple and beautiful words that even a fool can comprehend.

“I love you, my friend.”

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Maybe I’m just a confused old man. Maybe my confusion has lead me to just this side of a Silver Alert. I really don’t know exactly what’s going on within each moment I live these days. But I know some things.

It puzzles me, too, why it is that I know what I know. “Why the hell did this happen to me?” I ask. “I’m not special. I don’t deserve this.”

We all have troubles of one sort or another. I am no different. And when it happens, like all of us, I question my very own worth. And I somehow find comfort in rumbling around in my own misery. For a while, anyway. Then it grows old, like me, and all I want is something younger and fresh.

I know folks like me who are basically loners at heart. I have heard some say that they don’t want or need friends. Honestly, I used to sort of feel that way as well. Mostly all I wanted was to be left alone. On a farm somewhere. A place where just my dog and I could live our seemingly happy and lonely lives in peace.

One thing I know, I have known for quite some time. There are some twisted folks out there who actually care about me and my well being. What’s really twisted is that they care about many folks who are not me. “What the hell is wrong with them?” I have asked.

Look, I really have been confused about life in general these days. None of it dangers my physical well being. It’s just external stuff that somehow disturbs an old man. Being the loner that I am, I have internalized most of it. “I am smart enough to figure this out on my own,” I tell myself. Eventually, I call myself a liar and ask God to take me where I need to be. He always delivers.

He has taken me to some old and dear friends, one of which is my only child. They have each tried their damnedest to put to rest, in simple and honest and compassionate words and ways, the confusions. They have mostly succeeded.

They made differences.

It’s very easy to argue religion and God and what’s right and what’s wrong with it all. It’s even easier to dismiss the value of friendships. But, damn it, when old friends come out of the woodwork to calm our fears and confusion, and when God leads them to simply make a difference in our lives, well….

Here’s what I really know. Making a difference, even a small one to a simple and confused old man, is what God and the universe demand. I am still confused and puzzled about why I seem to know such things, but not so much that I cannot say that’s absolutely why we are here on earth.

To simply make a difference.

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As we grow older, I suppose, we grow accustomed to our own patterns of life. We choose or not to follow some principled path of promise. If we don’t follow whatever trail we choose, we allow the prevailing winds to carry us to wherever we need to be. Even in the face of promise, winds often prevail for us all.

My hair was a mess. My skin was burning. The damned windy days and nights did that to me.

It happens.

Lately, I have found myself in a bit of turmoil. Things just don’t seem right. I have a good life. My health is good. My family is incredible. My closest and dearest friends are still in contact with me. New friends bless my life everyday. Still, I want something different. That single strong breeze has left me breathless. If I cannot have what I want and believe that I need, then what is wrong with me? What am I not doing right? These are windy questions. Very windy ones.

Today, I had what I would characterize as an eight-hour text conversation. It was with someone very dear to me. One of her texts read, “people can be so hurtful.” She is right. Lately, the most tumultuous parts of my days arose from my own thoughts of hurt. Hurt from not getting what I want and what I think I need. The thoughts were wind blown ones with no real foundation. Still. My hair was twisted and my skin hurt.

She encouraged me to share with her exactly how I deal with hurt. The moment I agreed, well… that was the moment found. Again.

I immediately returned to my path of promise, a path that was blown away somehow until our conversation. I told her that people are people. That we all screw up from time to time. But if we do what is right – the things that help create God’s heaven here on earth – then we should have no worries.

I told her about a time I was at a good friend’s house. We had just finished eating the breakfast he prepared, and he was cleaning up the mess we all left behind. I walked to the kitchen sink and began to wash the dishes. My friend yelled at me and said, “Don’t wash those dishes! There are others here just sitting around, doing nothing. They should be helping.” I just looked at him, smiled and said, “If they don’t feel the need to help, well… that’s their problem.” I cannot express the incredible reaction my friend had to that moment. He was kind of amazed.

I then continued with my text to tell my friend that as long as I feel I am doing the right thing, no one can harm me. No one can hurt my feelings. If I am doing what God expects of me, then how can I possibly be offended? I hope she understood.

And I hope she understands this. For what seems like the longest time lately, I have found ways to feel neglected and hurt. I have tried to place blame on others.  I have tried and failed at things that might make the hurt go away. I have told myself how ridiculous I am being. I have tried my best to simply forget what I imagine to be hurting me.  It has been an incredibly strong wind.

My hair has since settled back into place.  My skin feels cool and comfortable again. The blustering wind led me to a found moment – that single conversation that settled the air and that took my worries away. It brought back the calming breeze. And the windy path of hurtfulness disappeared…

once again, into one of nothing but promise.

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I call my higher power, “God.” And, until today, I did not totally trust Him. Or any higher power for that matter.

I think there are many of us going through such things. Folks of all ages. It just seems bizarre for someone my age to go through any of this. But, honestly, I kind of cherish the challenge.

I am one of those who believe that things happen for a reason – or for reasons. And that a higher power is out there somewhere, trying their best to make me understand what is or could be real. That power is challenging us – each of us – to make important decisions correctly. To somehow please that higher power.

Crunch time is when my higher power takes me to unfamiliar but beautiful places. He shows me things that bend and twist my thoughts enough to truly believe He is leading me to the beauty that awaits me somewhere. To the place I need to be.

Often, I am sure He is right. Just as often, I doubt my higher power. I fear making decisions in favor of the beautiful places His will seems to bring to my heart. I fear that my enamored thoughts of where I need to be are simply unachievable fantasies.

I learned something today. For the first time in sixty four years. I have no idea where this conclusion came from. It just happened. Unexpectedly.

Recently, God has presented many wonderful and vastly different opportunities. The vastness of it all has truly confused me. But each day, I ask God to take me where I need to be. And each day, He leads me to places that once seemed impossible. Still, the confusion lives on.

So, like us all, I suppose, I ask myself, “Is this really what God wants for me?” I say to myself, “This seems way too damned risky and impossible.” And then I ask, “So why is God leading me here? And what if this new life fails? And why is He doing this to me?” I have failed to trust Him. I have failed miserably.

Something came over me today.

If God is showing us opportunities to live, to love, to make differences in the lives of others and those we love the most, why shouldn’t we embrace all of that? And totally discount the notion of failure?

If we misread what God has in store for us, so what? We experienced some beautiful moments in His name. And we learned. We learned a great deal about ourselves, about others and about God’s ultimate plan for our futures.

If we know and love God and rediscover our faith in Him, surely we must find comfort in understanding that, should we fail, He has our back. And that there may be greater reasons for current failures.

God, forgive me for doubting you and your plans. And thanks for giving me the guts to simply follow your lead.

And for always having our backs.