Garden Hos Farm
Alright. I confess that I'm only updating this right now because Terry has kindly taken the kids with him to get the car washed and headlight changed. My mother-in-law is taking a much needed nap right now (she's often found wide awake until the wee hours watching QVC when she stays with us). And I am alone. And awake. It sucks how I always have the urge to write at the most inopportune times. I feel like I may be mad at myself if I don't take this opportunity to share nothing. But, it's a very happy peaceful nothing.
The garden is going well for the most part, feeding my family and the co-proprietor of Garden Hos Farm's family. Lots of squash, lots of zucchini, lots and lots and lots of cucumbers (mostly from this wonderful white heirloom variety called White Wonder), a few ears of corn here and there, a few green peppers (why won't they turn red and yellow already!?), and some green tomatoes that are mocking me with their big bulging juiciness (but lack of color).
The pole beans are finally making their appearance, but they're still only teeny tiny.
(These are dill flowers, which we're about to harvest and dry, in order to pickle our pickling cukes! Aren't the chartreuse blossoms and gray-green stems a beautiful color combo?)
Potatoes? Who knows? If anything actually gets pulled out of those dirt humps (my hump, my hump, my lovely potato hump), I'll be one pleased potato-eater. They're the most low-maintenance of all the veggies.
We got one beautiful cabbage head that my mom used for a yummy coleslaw for our Father's Day dinner, while all 10 other heads were (still are, actually) covered in slugs and cabbage worms on their undersides (their side, their side, their lovely undersides). Pretty gross.
Likewise, we have something of the buggy nature eating our pepper plants and sunflowers, while powdery mildew has (only as of last night) covered most of the squash leaves and a few cucumber leaves. Urgh.
(Terry's feet at 11 o'clock, through the beans and cukes.)
(our neighbor's pool house (which is bigger than our house-house) behind the sunflowers.)
Our onions and garlic were harvested a couple of weeks ago, and to our surprise, they were all the smallest heads you've ever seen. (But they taste good, so...) The carrots spent all their energy making some impressive carrot tops while neglecting the edible end, and the hopeful Little Beets That Could were too bitter to eat once pulled.
Lastly, something with big front teeth (probably a bunny) has eaten (and I mean eaten) a few squashes and zucchinis (also only as of last night). I'm pretty sure I've been bad about closing the garden gate every night after tucking them in, so I hope that Peter and his friends stay the hell out tonight. Otherwise it's bunny soup for dinner, Dad.*
To make myself feel better about the aforementioned garden diseases, I'd like to tell you all about my delightful day in the kitchen, thanks to our remaining survivors:
(Left to right: green zinnias, cosmos from Sarah's yard, Matt's Wild Cherry and a lone Reisenstraub tomato, White Wonder cucumber poking out of Ginger's eggs, and a Crostada zucchini- Sarah, I do plan on giving back your beautiful blue bowl/mug, but it just makes for such a pretty still-life!)
1. First, I made this zucchini, yellow squash, onion, and garlic sauce that I topped over penne. I sprinkled parmesan cheese on top, stuck it under the broiler for 5-10 minutes, and it created a crusty top. (This is a take on another great recipe that Sarah gave me that I will share another time.)
2. Then I made plum, sage, and mint iced tea. This "recipe" came from the latest Real Simple mag. The mint and sage came from the garden, and the plums were supposed to be used in a pie that I never got around to making. I used a combination of organic black teas and green teas. Add honey while it's hot, and then chill it for at least 2 hours. Strain, if that's the way you like it.
3. After that, I made a gazpacho/black bean dip that is sort of an amalgamation of flavors and recipes. Black beans (canned, folks. Homey can't get her act together enough to remember to soak things these days), a White Wonder cucumber, assortment of various-stages-of-ripeness-thank-you-for-your-harvesting-eagerness-children cherry tomatoes, Black Mexican heirloom corn (the sexiest sounding corn, no?), a diced teeny sweet green pepper, diced red onion, lime juice, honey, salt, cracked pepper, olive oil, and lots of cilantro (which scent-stains my hands for over a day after I pick it. I love it).
4. And then brownies. But I'm taking them to a neighbor. Boo.
And, don't forget about the prolific layer, Ginger! If it weren't for these beautiful and delicious eggs she lays daily for us, that bitch would be dinner tonight, Dad.* She's pecked the heels of Fiona, Neve, and Mike one too many times. And me and Sarah too, for that matter. (Although. I have a sadistic side that finds it very funny to see children running and screaming in fear from a chicken with big hips.)
* When I began this gardening endeavor last Fall, I sought my dad's advice on the matter of animal/insect control for the organic gardener.
His advice: "We all share this planet, Dera. The organic gardener over plants in order to yeild enough for your family and the garden guests." I was not pleased with this hippie answer.
A week ago, me and the girls were sitting in my grandparents' house when we saw a mama and baby deer playing in their backyard. It was incredible to watch them fearlessly interact so close to where we sitting. I rushed back to my parents' house (they live across the street from my grandparents) to tell them about this beautiful experience.
My Dad's response: "That deer and her *@#$ baby are eating my green beans! I should shoot those *@#$!s"
My Dad is Yosemite Sam.
The garden is going well for the most part, feeding my family and the co-proprietor of Garden Hos Farm's family. Lots of squash, lots of zucchini, lots and lots and lots of cucumbers (mostly from this wonderful white heirloom variety called White Wonder), a few ears of corn here and there, a few green peppers (why won't they turn red and yellow already!?), and some green tomatoes that are mocking me with their big bulging juiciness (but lack of color).
The pole beans are finally making their appearance, but they're still only teeny tiny.
(These are dill flowers, which we're about to harvest and dry, in order to pickle our pickling cukes! Aren't the chartreuse blossoms and gray-green stems a beautiful color combo?)Potatoes? Who knows? If anything actually gets pulled out of those dirt humps (my hump, my hump, my lovely potato hump), I'll be one pleased potato-eater. They're the most low-maintenance of all the veggies.
We got one beautiful cabbage head that my mom used for a yummy coleslaw for our Father's Day dinner, while all 10 other heads were (still are, actually) covered in slugs and cabbage worms on their undersides (their side, their side, their lovely undersides). Pretty gross.
Likewise, we have something of the buggy nature eating our pepper plants and sunflowers, while powdery mildew has (only as of last night) covered most of the squash leaves and a few cucumber leaves. Urgh.
(Terry's feet at 11 o'clock, through the beans and cukes.)
(our neighbor's pool house (which is bigger than our house-house) behind the sunflowers.)
Lastly, something with big front teeth (probably a bunny) has eaten (and I mean eaten) a few squashes and zucchinis (also only as of last night). I'm pretty sure I've been bad about closing the garden gate every night after tucking them in, so I hope that Peter and his friends stay the hell out tonight. Otherwise it's bunny soup for dinner, Dad.*
To make myself feel better about the aforementioned garden diseases, I'd like to tell you all about my delightful day in the kitchen, thanks to our remaining survivors:
(Left to right: green zinnias, cosmos from Sarah's yard, Matt's Wild Cherry and a lone Reisenstraub tomato, White Wonder cucumber poking out of Ginger's eggs, and a Crostada zucchini- Sarah, I do plan on giving back your beautiful blue bowl/mug, but it just makes for such a pretty still-life!)1. First, I made this zucchini, yellow squash, onion, and garlic sauce that I topped over penne. I sprinkled parmesan cheese on top, stuck it under the broiler for 5-10 minutes, and it created a crusty top. (This is a take on another great recipe that Sarah gave me that I will share another time.)
2. Then I made plum, sage, and mint iced tea. This "recipe" came from the latest Real Simple mag. The mint and sage came from the garden, and the plums were supposed to be used in a pie that I never got around to making. I used a combination of organic black teas and green teas. Add honey while it's hot, and then chill it for at least 2 hours. Strain, if that's the way you like it.
3. After that, I made a gazpacho/black bean dip that is sort of an amalgamation of flavors and recipes. Black beans (canned, folks. Homey can't get her act together enough to remember to soak things these days), a White Wonder cucumber, assortment of various-stages-of-ripeness-thank-you-for-your-harvesting-eagerness-children cherry tomatoes, Black Mexican heirloom corn (the sexiest sounding corn, no?), a diced teeny sweet green pepper, diced red onion, lime juice, honey, salt, cracked pepper, olive oil, and lots of cilantro (which scent-stains my hands for over a day after I pick it. I love it).
4. And then brownies. But I'm taking them to a neighbor. Boo.
And, don't forget about the prolific layer, Ginger! If it weren't for these beautiful and delicious eggs she lays daily for us, that bitch would be dinner tonight, Dad.* She's pecked the heels of Fiona, Neve, and Mike one too many times. And me and Sarah too, for that matter. (Although. I have a sadistic side that finds it very funny to see children running and screaming in fear from a chicken with big hips.)
•••
* When I began this gardening endeavor last Fall, I sought my dad's advice on the matter of animal/insect control for the organic gardener.
His advice: "We all share this planet, Dera. The organic gardener over plants in order to yeild enough for your family and the garden guests." I was not pleased with this hippie answer.
A week ago, me and the girls were sitting in my grandparents' house when we saw a mama and baby deer playing in their backyard. It was incredible to watch them fearlessly interact so close to where we sitting. I rushed back to my parents' house (they live across the street from my grandparents) to tell them about this beautiful experience.
My Dad's response: "That deer and her *@#$ baby are eating my green beans! I should shoot those *@#$!s"
My Dad is Yosemite Sam.
A Good Song Part 2: The Test of Time
In an attempt to keep it short and sweet and posting only a song that I love, not the history of music and my fascinating parallel autobiography yesterday, I failed. So, this is part 2.
The song that spurred this epic blog post is My Bloody Valentine's When You Sleep.
I was a sophmore in highschool when I first heard this. Up until that day, my collection of cds, vinyl, and mixed tapes consisted of 80's bubblegum pop (think Tiffany, Debbie Gibson, and the Go Gos), NKOTB (a category unto itself when I was 8-10), classic rock (from Lynard Skynard to Steve Miller- it was like a middle aged bikini clad boozehound lived inside my 12 year old body), and everything Beatles (still deserving it's own category, in my opinion). And that was it. I was too proud of myself for not dying on the Pearl Jam cross with every other kid in highschool to realize that there actually was amazing music being made elsewhere.
I befriended a girl who was 2 years younger than me when I was in 10th grade. She went to the mega-private school near me that bred many ivy league cocaine addicts. (Joking. Sort of.) She knew everything I didn't. She knew about boys and, ahem, what they liked. She knew about drugs, and which ones were ok to take when simultaneously getting drunk. She knew which restaurants in the city served the most authentic french food (seriously- in 8th grade!). She knew how to tell her parents the most convincing lies. She knew how to transform her boring school uniform into a parent's worst nightmare (in the school bathroom with the help of safety pins and rolling waistbands). And she knew about music. She schooled me in everything I wanted to know and everything I didn't know I wanted to know.
She played this track on her cd player in the basement of her house (also known as the love den at certain parties she threw), while showing me the vampire-teeth-marked-tattoo she had done on her upper inner thigh. (Did I mention that she was only in 8th grade?) I was preparing myself to listen to some Industrial Goth music or something, judging by the name of the band. But I was pleased to hear this instead. Very pleased. I'm embarrassed to admit that she was also responsible for introducing me to the Smiths, Elvis Costello, and the Cure. (She swore that she would name her child Bob Smith insert-married-name-here, regardless of the baby's gender. She would also force me to stare at the poster of Robert over her bed, saying, "Gawd, don't you just want to die, he's so sexy!?" I would agree and then silently pray that God would wash his filthy face from my nightmares.)
We were different, but I kinda needed her. I was the Molly Ringwald to her Ally Sheedy. M.B.V.'s Loveless would always resonant as the soundtrack to discovery and teenage thrills. (Even if my mentor was still considered a "tween".)
Fast forward 3 or 4 years, and I meet Terry. I'll spare you the details of that journey of love (I'm learning that it's not as terribly interesting to those who were not doing the loving). But needless to say, some songs will sound sweeter because of some memories, while others spark less sweet memories. I remember listening to When You Sleep in my dorm room on my lunch break, hoping and praying that I'd run into him on the way to my Art History class. At 18, it was the sound excitement, adrenaline, and starry-eyed happiness.
Fast forward to yesterday, and I'm childless. The kids are in summer camp for the week, and I'm driving through the city with the windows rolled down and clutching an especially delicious iced coffee. I realize how ridiculous it is that I'm as giddy as I am, but I don't care. I go searching for the perfect musical accompaniment to my mood, and BEEDOW- Loveless. As sure as the kids are gluing fruity cereal O's to paper crowns, I find myself excited as track 3 is ending and I know track 4 (When You Sleep) is about to begin. At 28 (almost 29), it's the sound of freedom, entitlement, and solitude.
This is one of the few bands in my repertoire that has stood the test of time. I wonder if when I'm 80, sitting in my rocker, knitting Terry a terry-cloth diaper, I'll dust off my trusty My Bloody Valentine's Loveless cd for some throwback.
The song that spurred this epic blog post is My Bloody Valentine's When You Sleep.
I was a sophmore in highschool when I first heard this. Up until that day, my collection of cds, vinyl, and mixed tapes consisted of 80's bubblegum pop (think Tiffany, Debbie Gibson, and the Go Gos), NKOTB (a category unto itself when I was 8-10), classic rock (from Lynard Skynard to Steve Miller- it was like a middle aged bikini clad boozehound lived inside my 12 year old body), and everything Beatles (still deserving it's own category, in my opinion). And that was it. I was too proud of myself for not dying on the Pearl Jam cross with every other kid in highschool to realize that there actually was amazing music being made elsewhere.
I befriended a girl who was 2 years younger than me when I was in 10th grade. She went to the mega-private school near me that bred many ivy league cocaine addicts. (Joking. Sort of.) She knew everything I didn't. She knew about boys and, ahem, what they liked. She knew about drugs, and which ones were ok to take when simultaneously getting drunk. She knew which restaurants in the city served the most authentic french food (seriously- in 8th grade!). She knew how to tell her parents the most convincing lies. She knew how to transform her boring school uniform into a parent's worst nightmare (in the school bathroom with the help of safety pins and rolling waistbands). And she knew about music. She schooled me in everything I wanted to know and everything I didn't know I wanted to know.
She played this track on her cd player in the basement of her house (also known as the love den at certain parties she threw), while showing me the vampire-teeth-marked-tattoo she had done on her upper inner thigh. (Did I mention that she was only in 8th grade?) I was preparing myself to listen to some Industrial Goth music or something, judging by the name of the band. But I was pleased to hear this instead. Very pleased. I'm embarrassed to admit that she was also responsible for introducing me to the Smiths, Elvis Costello, and the Cure. (She swore that she would name her child Bob Smith insert-married-name-here, regardless of the baby's gender. She would also force me to stare at the poster of Robert over her bed, saying, "Gawd, don't you just want to die, he's so sexy!?" I would agree and then silently pray that God would wash his filthy face from my nightmares.)
We were different, but I kinda needed her. I was the Molly Ringwald to her Ally Sheedy. M.B.V.'s Loveless would always resonant as the soundtrack to discovery and teenage thrills. (Even if my mentor was still considered a "tween".)***
Fast forward 3 or 4 years, and I meet Terry. I'll spare you the details of that journey of love (I'm learning that it's not as terribly interesting to those who were not doing the loving). But needless to say, some songs will sound sweeter because of some memories, while others spark less sweet memories. I remember listening to When You Sleep in my dorm room on my lunch break, hoping and praying that I'd run into him on the way to my Art History class. At 18, it was the sound excitement, adrenaline, and starry-eyed happiness.
***
Fast forward to yesterday, and I'm childless. The kids are in summer camp for the week, and I'm driving through the city with the windows rolled down and clutching an especially delicious iced coffee. I realize how ridiculous it is that I'm as giddy as I am, but I don't care. I go searching for the perfect musical accompaniment to my mood, and BEEDOW- Loveless. As sure as the kids are gluing fruity cereal O's to paper crowns, I find myself excited as track 3 is ending and I know track 4 (When You Sleep) is about to begin. At 28 (almost 29), it's the sound of freedom, entitlement, and solitude.
This is one of the few bands in my repertoire that has stood the test of time. I wonder if when I'm 80, sitting in my rocker, knitting Terry a terry-cloth diaper, I'll dust off my trusty My Bloody Valentine's Loveless cd for some throwback.
A Good Song Part 1: The History Of Liking
After years of being told by parents, teachers, doctors, optometrists, friends, and diary entries from the days of yore that don't lie (and should be burned) that I am over-emotional and sensitive, I decided to turn a new leaf in college. I would try my darndest to remove the emotional tendencies from my artistic vocabulary.
Was that beautiful? No, it was sentimental.
Was that ugly? No, it was an accurate portrayal of the reality of life.
Am I a good artist? (Or, will I get my BFA when all is said and done?) Good is too subjective. But here's your degree.
It has been ingrained in me that loving something for nostalgic purposes, or sentimentality, or for the sheer fact that it stirs emotions within you is a form of weakness. The farther I move from the days of college and wanting to believe that I have the omniscient ability to remain objective in all things, I'm realizing that I am still emotional and sensitive. And not an art robot.
Although, in the case of music especially, I find that I have a hard time liking something upon first listen. Or even more so, I hate that unless I can connect a song to a memory, or a feeling, or a particular experience (pleasurable, mind you), I probably won't like it. Time, space, memory, and all of those other humanly sensations factor into my loves and my dislikes.
I wish I could be more like those whose range in tastes and genres seem to be influenced more by their ear than their id. I don't know this to be true in every case (ahem, Josh?), but I'm reminded that some people* love mediums in art for just that: the love of the medium. The stirring of emotions seems to be a byproduct of their initial interest.
In my case, I do not like most kinds of jazz (for example) because it makes me nervous. It never really stood a chance. And I hate that. I want to go to a night club with Mr. and Mrs. Huxtable and I want to like free jazz, so-help-me. So stop making me nervous, with your beeda-bahdo-dop-DEE-DEEEE-DEEEEE!
I remember sitting in my experimental sound class listening to Steve Reich's Come Out
(which I do love), and thinking,
"Now do I really like this, or do I just get it, therefore liking it?"
(as I would later discover that Reich was one of the easier artists to listen to in a cold, dark, screening room at 9:00am, unlike some of his other Minimalist or Fluxus buds.)
And the bigger answer:
"Dera, you're over-analytical. Stop thinking so much and just enjoy."
Or as a professor once said to me, "You're too self-correcting." How does one correct that problem?
So, when I'm not over-analyzing, over-correcting, and over-emotionalizing everything, I am over-delighting... sifting through the photo-albums and home videos in my mind that accompany the precipitating sounds.
Now, I have to admit something. This was not the post I set out to write. I wanted to write a 2 sentence blurb about one of my favorite songs. I should know better. Every thought has a precursor, every interest has a story. Hopefully Part 2 to this post won't need any more forwards or introductions.
John Cage
George Brecht
Steve Reich
Phillip Corner
My favorite ivory tickler, Schroder.
* Magical Metal Playground is a shared blog of some friends, some family, and some people that I may have to wait to meet in Blogger Glory. I was flattered to be asked to write on there, as most of the other writers are either amazing musicians/artists or just have amazing musical/visual lovelies to recommend.
Was that beautiful? No, it was sentimental.
Was that ugly? No, it was an accurate portrayal of the reality of life.
Am I a good artist? (Or, will I get my BFA when all is said and done?) Good is too subjective. But here's your degree.
It has been ingrained in me that loving something for nostalgic purposes, or sentimentality, or for the sheer fact that it stirs emotions within you is a form of weakness. The farther I move from the days of college and wanting to believe that I have the omniscient ability to remain objective in all things, I'm realizing that I am still emotional and sensitive. And not an art robot.
Although, in the case of music especially, I find that I have a hard time liking something upon first listen. Or even more so, I hate that unless I can connect a song to a memory, or a feeling, or a particular experience (pleasurable, mind you), I probably won't like it. Time, space, memory, and all of those other humanly sensations factor into my loves and my dislikes.
I wish I could be more like those whose range in tastes and genres seem to be influenced more by their ear than their id. I don't know this to be true in every case (ahem, Josh?), but I'm reminded that some people* love mediums in art for just that: the love of the medium. The stirring of emotions seems to be a byproduct of their initial interest.
In my case, I do not like most kinds of jazz (for example) because it makes me nervous. It never really stood a chance. And I hate that. I want to go to a night club with Mr. and Mrs. Huxtable and I want to like free jazz, so-help-me. So stop making me nervous, with your beeda-bahdo-dop-DEE-DEEEE-DEEEEE!
I remember sitting in my experimental sound class listening to Steve Reich's Come Out
(which I do love), and thinking,
"Now do I really like this, or do I just get it, therefore liking it?"
(as I would later discover that Reich was one of the easier artists to listen to in a cold, dark, screening room at 9:00am, unlike some of his other Minimalist or Fluxus buds.)
And the bigger answer:
"Dera, you're over-analytical. Stop thinking so much and just enjoy."
Or as a professor once said to me, "You're too self-correcting." How does one correct that problem?
So, when I'm not over-analyzing, over-correcting, and over-emotionalizing everything, I am over-delighting... sifting through the photo-albums and home videos in my mind that accompany the precipitating sounds.
Now, I have to admit something. This was not the post I set out to write. I wanted to write a 2 sentence blurb about one of my favorite songs. I should know better. Every thought has a precursor, every interest has a story. Hopefully Part 2 to this post won't need any more forwards or introductions.
John CageGeorge BrechtSteve ReichPhillip CornerMy favorite ivory tickler, Schroder.* Magical Metal Playground is a shared blog of some friends, some family, and some people that I may have to wait to meet in Blogger Glory. I was flattered to be asked to write on there, as most of the other writers are either amazing musicians/artists or just have amazing musical/visual lovelies to recommend.
How To Make A Baby
Facebook friend, Stacy Mosbey, shared this with me (and her other FB friends) the other day. I love it. (Check her out. She's super cute.)
Oijoy Vision
I know I already wrote about friends Janet, John, Henry, and Dorothy and their visit in May, but I'm a sucker for showing off cute (somewhat unrealistically idealistic) pictures of our offspring.
If life really felt like how Janet makes it appear in her photography, I'd be skipping all the time. I'd be humming all the time. In her photo-reality, I definitely wouldn't have cut any Barbie heads off in a fit of rage. (I've been meaning to write that ditty for a while.) Her and her husband have a knack for making the everyday beautiful, warm, and inviting, no matter the medium they choose.
Take a look.
If life really felt like how Janet makes it appear in her photography, I'd be skipping all the time. I'd be humming all the time. In her photo-reality, I definitely wouldn't have cut any Barbie heads off in a fit of rage. (I've been meaning to write that ditty for a while.) Her and her husband have a knack for making the everyday beautiful, warm, and inviting, no matter the medium they choose.
Take a look.
An Update and Explanation
Dear Friends,
I'm in over my head at the moment.
•Summer is in full swing, and the children are restless.
•The garden is actually feeding our family (which yields one of life's most satisfying moments- sitting down to dinner with a plate full of food you just picked from your backyard), but needing a great deal of attention right now.
•We've been working hard on house projects (also a wonderful and long overdue feeling), but coming to terms with the fact that there's only so much you can do with a budget of $0.
•My mother-in-law is staying with us for a couple of weeks, but our 900 sq. ft. home is not as accommodating as I'd like for it be (visions of a guest "wing", bedside bouquets of flowers, chocolates on her pillow, and a bathroom that locks).
•And it's hot. Very hot.
These are all good things, in and of themselves (minus the 95ยบ weather), but when all of these things are all happening at once, piled on top of each other like a big hot family sandwich, it's easy to get full after only a few bites.
Anyway, all that to say, I'm busy but I miss you. I do plan to return, either when I have a free (alone) day, or when the kids go to college. Whichever comes first. Until then, please endure the erratic postings of whatever thoughts, ideas, images, or curse words that I throw your way. You are, after all, a therapist disguised as a weblog. Right?
I'm off to make everyone B.L.T's and iced coffees now. Have a great week!
I'm in over my head at the moment.
•Summer is in full swing, and the children are restless.
•The garden is actually feeding our family (which yields one of life's most satisfying moments- sitting down to dinner with a plate full of food you just picked from your backyard), but needing a great deal of attention right now.
•We've been working hard on house projects (also a wonderful and long overdue feeling), but coming to terms with the fact that there's only so much you can do with a budget of $0.
•My mother-in-law is staying with us for a couple of weeks, but our 900 sq. ft. home is not as accommodating as I'd like for it be (visions of a guest "wing", bedside bouquets of flowers, chocolates on her pillow, and a bathroom that locks).
•And it's hot. Very hot.
These are all good things, in and of themselves (minus the 95ยบ weather), but when all of these things are all happening at once, piled on top of each other like a big hot family sandwich, it's easy to get full after only a few bites.
Anyway, all that to say, I'm busy but I miss you. I do plan to return, either when I have a free (alone) day, or when the kids go to college. Whichever comes first. Until then, please endure the erratic postings of whatever thoughts, ideas, images, or curse words that I throw your way. You are, after all, a therapist disguised as a weblog. Right?
I'm off to make everyone B.L.T's and iced coffees now. Have a great week!
Gardenias Are In Bloom
...and they are making my weekend.
(Neve is wearing "Mina Ro Original" pants.)*I Hope He Always Has His Vision
Terry told me he wanted the camera on Sunday to go up and down a few specific streets and avenues in a neighboring neighborhood, affectionately known as my-least-favorite-neighborhood-in-the-entire-world by me. But, once again he proved to see beauty in the most unexpected places.
*... because I don't want to be the photographer in the 'hood.
Calico Critters
My mother-in-law bought the entire line of Calico Critters at Christmas for Fiona and Neve. Unlike many of the gifts they say they want (but only play with for a few hours on Christmas morn), these toys are actually played with on a daily basis by my girls. Mom, they adore these little fuzzy families. (And truthfully, I personally love them so much I've been caught decorating their house and changing their clothes after the girls go to sleep. Look at the little buttons on their outfits!)
{this is my favorite- it looks like a little polygamist-compound homeschool group or something.}
{and I can't pretend like i found this before taking the picture. it was my own little juvenile toy photo shoot. but neve laughed!}
Dot, Alice, other baby girls (and I guess boys too?) out there, tell your moms that you need some Critters now! Check out the rediculously cute collection here.
{this is my favorite- it looks like a little polygamist-compound homeschool group or something.}
{and I can't pretend like i found this before taking the picture. it was my own little juvenile toy photo shoot. but neve laughed!}Dot, Alice, other baby girls (and I guess boys too?) out there, tell your moms that you need some Critters now! Check out the rediculously cute collection here.
The Timeless Wit Of An Ass Ah-Choo
Fiona cut a gross fart tonight as Terry was getting the girls ready for bed. From the living room I hear:
Terry: "Who did that?! Ugh..."
Fiona, completely serious: "Me, but it's not my fault. My bum has allergies."
Terry: "Who did that?! Ugh..."
Fiona, completely serious: "Me, but it's not my fault. My bum has allergies."
No Need To Leave
The sugar snap peas and Amish peas are nearing the end of their life. Fiona and Neve are in denial though, as they flip leaves and lift vines, hoping to find the last of the hidden sweet treasures.
Clever Fiona discovered that there was a trove in the places their short arms couldn't reach. The coop doubled this weekend as a snap pea ladder.
Somehow Neve did the least amount of work (picking snap peas, that is), but managed to eat as much or more than her sister.
And now, time for show-and-tell. I've been wanting to show you the garden at it's peak, but everyday things get larger and new blossoms appear. Apparently, it's still "peaking".
{zucchini blossoms}
{baby straight-neck squash}
{look at the size of these zucchini leaves!}
{parsley}
{can anyone identify these young leaves? this is why martha stewart makes such a big deal about labeling and organization in her gardening how-to's.}
{i think we may just get a successful beet harvest this season. we saw beet shoulders yesterday!}
{can anyone guess what made up this unusual bouquet, compliments of the youngest white girls? take a guess! p.s. the lovely white vase was made by my dad.}
{as the sun began to set, the girls saw their first firefly of the year! this is where fiona's eyes were.}
{fiona playing fetch with her sister. she's nicer to the dog than she is with neve.}
{what you don't see: my beer cozy, terry in the hammock next to me, and banjo in his lap. it was seiously a nice weekend.}
{getting sleepy}
We ended our weekend with sparklers and very itchy limbs. (Darn mosquitos, always trying to ruin the fun.) Early summer days are wonderful, but early summer evenings are the best.Hope you all had an equally nice weekend. xoxo/D
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