With Silver Bells and Cockle Shell...

Those are my zucchini plants.  Yay!

So far, so good.

How Does Your Garden Grow?

I know this little square of dirt doesn't look like much, but it has held a good portion of my attention for several days.  Every time I stand at my kitchen sink, I look out the window and see it.  I stand at the sliding door and stare at the dirt.

Six little tomato plants line the left and far sides, which I keep telling myself I will fertilize today.  Several handfuls of zucchini and peas have been planted, along with the rest of my fragrant wildflower seeds.  My daughter scattered the flower seeds towards the front, so when they come up, they'll be the thing I see out my window.

My father-in-law (bless his green thumb) came by and told me exactly what to do to make the food grow.  So, I'd really have to have a growing disability to screw this up.

Logically, I know I won't make the seeds grow faster by watching carefully, but I can't stop looking.  I'm afraid I'll miss something.  I'm afraid I'll kill something, which, considering my gardening history, is far more likely.

Killing Time

Last week was about the busiest I've ever been.  So much fun, but non-stop.

First off, we moved.  (And are still kind of moving.  Haven't cleaned the old place yet.) We are no longer shoved into a two bedroom sardine can.  Although, I'm impressed by how much we managed to squeeze into that sardine can.  Impressive amounts of food storage and junk.  Our new place is four bedrooms and even has a basement.  Sigh.  It's love.

Next, my daughter and I went to girls' camp.  Monday until Friday of 20 girls and women in a lodge.  Luckily, we had hot showers, so at least we didn't stink.  But we also didn't sleep.  At all.

One day at camp, we hiked a couple of miles down the mountain to a lake and got to paddle around it in canoes and paddle-boats.  The young woman I was with didn't want to go on the lake until a lovely sister missionary told us we should go look for the crocodile that lived on the far side of the lake by the trees.  We jumped into a paddle-boat and aimed right for where we though the critter might be.  More or less, we drove right to it.

"Oh!  Look at it!  It's so cute!"  About three feet long, floating quietly, and painted wood.

Our boat sailed right over the top.  "Blast!  Back up!"

We back peddled, but it was too late.  The croc had gotten its rope tangled in our paddles and every time we tried to move, we could hear the poor little guy thumping against the underside of our watercraft.  Then the rope got wound so tight we couldn't paddle at all.  We had to ask someone to row their boat back to shore to ask for a motorboat to tow us back to the dock.  We looked so pathetic.  It was the ultimate tow of shame.

When we got back to the dock, the lovely sister missionary said, "I told you to find the crocodile, not kill it!"  She said it with a smile, but I think she was sad anyway.

After a week of that sort of fun, we went home.  To a MESS.  My husband, in his generosity, had moved all the big things from our tiny place to our larger place, but hadn't cleaned up anything.  So, that's been my job.

To top it all off, I've been sick all week.  I have the kind of cough that gives me headaches from the force they require.  It's awesome.

Zoo Zoo Zoo

I had a deprived childhood, I guess, because I can't remember ever going to the zoo.  The first zoo I remember is the Wellington, New Zealand Zoological Gardens, which I took my kids to when we lived there, and I've heard that it's only mediocre on the zoo scale. (I'm trying to use the word zoo as often as possible.  I'm up to five.  But seriously, what other word is there for a zoo? Park?) So, over spring break when my children were perfecting their "I'm So Bored!" mantra, I decided to try out our local caged animal viewing site. (See? Zoo is easier.)

I was thrilled to go, and my children all complained.  Evidently, sitting in front of a screen, even when it's off and they're just waiting for the moment when they can turn it on, is more exciting than seeing real life animals.  Like any self-respecting mother, I forced them to come with me.

It was a perfect, sunny day, without being hot.  My kids saw all kinds of animal behavior that gave them good ideas for what to try out at home, but this is pretty much the only picture I got.  A peacock.  He made me work for it.  For every time he showed us his face, we saw his rear ten times.  My youngest child thought this was hilarious.

Then, around the time when we'd seen most of the animals and we were gearing down to head to the exit, my son went missing.  One second he was there watching the seals, the next minute he was gone.  He must of have been paying special attention to the apes, who were playing least-in-sight when we passed their enclosure.  After searching the zoo for a half hour, I found him next to the peacock.  When he saw me coming, he stood up and pointed at me, like I was the one who had wandered off.

First he complains about going, and then he makes it so we can't leave.  Kids.



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If you're looking for a fun book, my friend just put one out called "The Library and the Lion".  Lots of great details about Cambridge. Check it out here.

Confessing My Tupperware Sins

The yard sale was inside an elementary school gym.  It HAD to be worth checking out, right?  I wandered in, disappointed by the mostly empty tables I passed.  Disappointed, until I got to the southeast corner.

My eyes gleamed happy little dollar signs as I took in box after box of brand name Tupperware that less discriminating yardies hadn't bothered with.  I dug in, fingers caressing the nearly indestructible bowls and lids that we'll probably still be using at our Golden wedding anniversary.  Eight big boxes of treasure that I looted alone.

As I loaded my arms, searched for corresponding lids, and dithered about tall and thin, or square versus round, the ladies in charge called out that since they were hoping to close up soon, the yard sale had just become my favorite kind of gluttony, the "Stuff a bag for a dollar" kind.  

I wanted so much of it!  Unfortunately, our kitchen is bitsy and would burst with indignation at being forced to house as much as I wanted to stuff into it.  I limited myself to things I could think of an immediate use for. Mostly.  There is that one green canister that I'm still looking at as it sits on my counter wondering how I can fill its timecard.

It must have a purpose, I just have to think of it.  I mean, it's green!  What could be more useful?

Little Bum

I was down, depressed, and ornery.  It was the kind of day better spent in bed with the door closed (preferably locked) and the kids being babysat by everyone's favorite babysitter, the television.  But, I couldn't stay in bed, I had dishes screaming at me from the sink, laundry crying for attention, errands clamoring for precedence, dinner to decide on, and children to pick up and drop off and pick up again.  To compensate for my lost bed time, I was annoyed at everything.

Late in the afternoon, after a hard day of internal griping and external sighs, I jumped in the car to race off on yet another taxi run.  As I careened around the corner, I saw my neighbor's two year-old daughter running down the sidewalk, in a too-short shirt, snow boots and underwear.  Her eyes were on her goal: escaping her mother's notice long enough to make it from her front door to the driveway and the bike waiting for her.  A girl on a mission.  Her bare legs pumped, hair streaming behind her.

For the first time all day, I cracked a smile.  I even laughed, effectively silencing my internal rant.  I haven't told my neighbor about her daughter, but I bless the moment that caught her unaware and led her daughter to brighten my day.

Famous Take Away 300 Years = Oh!

I'm the kind of reader that doesn't think overmuch about the things I read.  I rarely take the time to parse sentence structure, or understand the author's hidden motivations in writing a certain scene.  However, I don't want to be beaten over the head with bad grammar or causes either.  Just give me a good story.  But recently, I couldn't help noticing a connection.

I read this book:

And then this one:

And I couldn't help but compare them to books like this:

And any other book where a commoner falls for a noble and doesn't believe anything will or could ever come of it.

In our society, we've taken movie stars or rock stars and made them into the the nobility of Europe from centuries past.  Dating a star is every bit as impossible for the everyday Jane as it was for a maid to rise from her station to marry a Lord.  I would even guess that the odds are the same then as it is today.  And now, just as then, we have novels about it to tell us how wonderful it would be to marry a star.

Even the novels that point out the hardships of superstardom do it in such a way that make the stars themselves untouchable by the common person. Every common person except one.  It just makes me wonder.

And then I think, "Who cares!  It's a story I'll read over and over and over."