Dear little Ev and her Mama are here in Louisville, visiting for a week. I’m so happy. More later.
Cabbage, pickling cukes, romaine and snap peas . . . edible Heaven.
I hope the afterlife’s kinder than we were.
Rocky’s Critter Collection:
5 pollywogs, tadpoles to you Southerners, as yet unnamed. Down from 6 – where DID that little bugger go?
2 slugs, named Slimy and Gooey, down from 4 – never mind, I don’t want to think about it.
Gerbil brothers, Creamy and Fluffy, and of course Bob and Sunny, who does NOT have cancer! Yay! I guess I have to stop calling her Lumpy.
Meanwhile, Prickly the Eastern Tent Caterpillar was successfully nurtured and housed, built a lovely little white cocoon around herself, became Prickly the Eastern Tent Moth, and was released to go destroy the neighbor’s pear tree.
And in the garden:
6 huge heads of broccoli, threatening to yellow if we don’t take them in soon. An army of red and green romaine, so plentiful I’m afraid the roots are going to lift our house from the foundation. The carrots are still small, but I keep telling them someday, it will be their time. Fat sugar snap peas are leaping in joy from the vines. The dill, waiting in vain for the pickling cukes to come in, finally gave up and went to seed. The parsley is a towering, flowering green monster, reminding the neighboring cabbage who’s boss of the row. The potted tomatoes are growing impatient, and keep trying to convince me to just eat the fruit green, already! The brazen hardneck garlic displays its curly phallic bulbil high in the air, unmindful of the embarrassed violets below, turning their faces away.
My night landscape is crackling with fireflies. Standing out on the back deck, I watch lightning bugs sparkling all over the darkness, and over in Ry’s window, I see the responding flash from her first-ever jarful. Magic is never truly lost, only lost from sight.
Since I have eaten enough fast food in the past six months to fill a barge, I’ve gained a bit more poundage than can probably be deemed healthy for my frame. After the shock on the doctor’s scale, I decided to hop on America’s Chronic Diet train for a little while. My psyche nurse had given me the contact info for a wellness program that helps People Like Me achieve wellness through diet and exercise, so I gave them a call. The Wellness People were very supportive in my efforts to achieve wellness. They set me up with an eating plan, measured out down to the last little crumb of Slim Fast Snack Bar, and sent me some recipe cards for dinners that were “so quick, so low-cal, SO delicious!”
Apparently, “achieving wellness” translates into “poisoning yourself dead”.
I am not the sort of girl who makes things out of Hamburger Helper. But these are desperate times, and the Wellness People told me to eat Hamburger Helper. Hey, this doesn’t smell too bad, I thought, squinting over the bubbling cauldron of beige-colored goodness. Yeah, this is going to be great! Maybe I’ve been too hard on Hamburger Helper, all these years. I tried a bite. It tasted like dogfood with puke mixed in.
Luckily, when you’re as ravenous as I am after dieting for three days, kibble vomit is like water in the desert. That must be their trick. Try it: eat 1500 calories a day for three days. Come back to this blog, and then look again at the above photo of regurgitated Purina. You’ll see. Suddenly, the Barf Chow is looking mighty tasty. Hamburger Helper is now your manna from Heaven.
Nighthawks! There are nighthawks in Louisville! And the other day I heard my absolute favorite birdsong of all time: wood thrush. Oh, this IS Heaven.