Slug Bait

The past few weeks here have been beautiful.  Sunny, crisp mornings that give way to comfortably warm weather in the mid 80's later in the day. 

But no rain. 

It's been really dry around here, so much so that the lawn hasn't needed mowing, the hydrangea I planted has needed daily bucketfuls of water tossed on it and the garden is in "freeze frame".

Now to encourage the rain to come, some folks might get out and wash the car.  That usually does the trick, but I don't need it.

I'm on vacation.  (Or a better description might be "stay-cation" as I'll be sticking around the house this week.) 

And like a compass spinning to true north, nothing will bring rain faster than a girl on "stay-cation" with a to-do list a mile long.

Now you might think I'm complaining here but actually I'm not.  I'm just looking at this forecast of 4 consecutive days of rain with a bit of irony.  It's a good thing I'm not paying to be somewhere right now...stuck in a hotel, carting around a wet umbrella, sightseeing plans kai-boshed because of rainy weather.

Nah.  I'm actually happy for it.  I've got inside and outside work to do on my list and one of the biggies is to "pull" the garden.  As in pull dead and dying plants.  And weeds.  Or more specifically the Bermuda grass.  And there is nothing more difficult to pull than "wire grass" in dry ground.  Ain't happening.

So I'll take this rain and be grateful that it will soften things up out there.  It'll be a nasty, muddy, mucky job, but that's nothing new.  Dead and decaying plants are lots of fun aren't they?

Anyhoo...Saturday morning arrives with the on again, off again sprinkles.  I head out to take out some trash to the bin and dump this weeks compostables in the garden. 

I'm heading back to the house when I notice more than a few landmines in the yard. 

You know, dog poo. 

Boom, booms. 

And then I notice something else.

Maybe it's because we haven't had rain in ages.  Maybe it's because it's only 7:30 in the morning.  But there are slugs out there.  Huge Lochness Monster Slugs.  Small snakes.  Some of these suckers are pretty impressive, I must say. 


 


But then I notice something interesting.  They're all hanging around the dog poo. 

Huh.

I stand there considering.  It's been a week since I've cleaned the yard.  Now I could let the rain take care of it.  But instead I decide to just go ahead and clean up the poo.

And while I'm at it I decide to "thin the herd" a bit.  Who knew dog poo was slug bait? 

I didn't.

But now I do and since I'm the designated Poo-Patrolman around here (SM runs the other way) I now know I can also pick up slugs and kill two birds with one stone.

So what interesting thing did you learn today?

(*I can't believe this is the post I'm blogging about.  Life is just TOO exciting around here isn't it?) 

We're Doomed I Tell Ya

"What are you doing?"  SM asks me the other morning as he sits at the kitchen table tying his shoe laces.

I'm at the kitchen counter, big ceramic mixing bowl and assorted bags of ingredients scattered around me.  "I'm making blueberry muffins."  I said, measuring and stirring.

"Why?"  SM asks, his voice rising to a panicked pitch.

"My toes were cold."  I shrugged, eyes on my work, thinking there's nothing better than a hot oven on a cold morning. 

"You said you didn't know what you wanted for breakfast..."  I continued  "And since it seems to me that I'm always making you the same ole thing day after day, I thought I'd mix it up and bake you up some muffins."  The logic here is perfectly clear to me, I'm thinking in my head.  I toss the blueberries in.

"But I've already got the pumpkin cookies you made yesterday..."  SM's voice is getting higher. 

"Yeah...So?"  I ask, failing to see the link.

"But I don't wanna be fat!!!" SM wailed.  I looked over at him and saw that desperate look a man gets on his face when he realizes his woman is out of control in the kitchen.  He knows he can't stop me.  Heck...I can't stop myself.

"Well..." I pause looking at him, sympathetically (After all it's not like I eat this stuff). 

"I can always take these in to the girls at work."  I offer.

"NO!" SM springs to his feet, coming over and peering at the batter.  "That's a lot of blueberries in there."  I nod in agreement. 

I'm starting to feel bad.  SM and I are not the skinniest people around.  We both could loose some weight.  I truly didn't think when I decided to turn the oven on.  Flat out impluse.  (I must have Muffin Tops on the brain this week.)

"How about I take half of the pumpkin cookies and freeze them."  I say, fork full of batter waving around.  "Then I can also freeze half of the muffins and that way you can just pull them out and eat them as you want to."

Marriage is all about compromise after all.

"That'll work."  SM agrees, happy with my solution.  He pats me on the butt and then heads out into the chilly morning to work on one of his trucks.

He comes back in a bit later and says  "Wow...It smells wonderful in here.  It smells like Fall!  Is that cinnamon?"  He asks, heading over to the oven to peer in at the muffins.  "Oooo...A crumble top!"

"That's where the cinnamon is.  In the crumbles."  I say.

I wasn't sure about the cinnamon top on a blueberry muffin but SM assures me that they are very good.  "Better than Panera."  (I also added a bit of vanilla to the muffin batter.) 

SM gives this recipe two thumbs up. 

Poor man.

There is no mercy in this kitchen when the weather gets cooler.  I can hardly stand to turn the stove on when it's Summer.  But once Fall and Winter hits it's Game On!

*Next week...My Annual Lasagna.  Baked in my big turkey roasting pan.  Homemade tomato sauce, Italian pork sausage, ricotta and mozzerella cheeses all melted together.  I bake one lasagana a year.  He eats what he wants, then I divey it all up into portioned freezer bags for later.

We're doomed I tell ya!  Doomed!

One Zero

Ten.



No, not her.





Ten pounds lighter, maybe?  (I wish.)





Ten years old?  Nope.  Multiply that by 5 actually.  (Five - Ohhhh my goodness...)





That's right, you heard me.  Ten freakin glorious days without having to be at work.  You know, that place where I hang out 12 hours a day and some how manage to get paid for doing it.






Vacation, all I ever wanted.  Vacation, have to get away. 

Starting tomorrow morning, the only thing I need to do is whatever I want to do.  Stay here.  Go away.  Sleep all day.  Dance all night.  Whatever. 

Yeah me!

Will there be a post everyday for ten days on the blog?  Stay tuned. 

I am famous for getting into all kinds of trouble when I have nothing but time on my hands.  (This is why SM insists I go to work everyday.  He keeps a wary eye on me when I have time off.  Plus I tend to spend more $$ on the projects I start @;)  And if I'm creating all kinds of trouble here that means I might have something to blog about.

Then again, it might mean ten days of nothing but crickets chirping.  Time will tell.  After all I do have 240 hours to fill. 

Or 14,400 minutes.

Or 864,000 seconds till I have to be back at work.

Sounds like a lot doesn't it?

Ha!  It'll be over too soon, it always is.

So I apologize now if I wake you up with my big "YIPPEE" tomorrow morning.  I'm sure the dogs will have me up by 5am.

Then again...maybe I'll sleep in.

Yeah right...

Spare Tire, Meet Jello Knee...

Like most women (and men) in their middle years, I too have developed the dreaded "middle-aged spread."  Commonly known as the Spare Tire.

It didn't happen overnight, but it sure felt like it did.  The pounds slowly crept up on me until I found myself uncomfortably chubby. 

Fluffy.

Not fat.  "Hell NO!"

Just pleasingly plump.  (That's what I like to tell myself anyway.) 

Only every time I sit down, my new little buddy likes to pop out over the top of my shorts and say Hello. I find that I like to grab it.  I want to stuff it back in like Poppin Fresh Dough.  But it won't go back in the tube.  It just lays there like freshly raised bread.

Muffin-top indeed. 





"I don't like you."  I say to Spare Tire.  "Go away.  See...I'll even help you out.  I"ll stop with the wine and the ice cream.  That should help."

Ha.  HA!  I say!  (Spare Tire is stubborn indeed.)

"Fine.  Be that way.  I know what will chase you away.  A light jog.  Not a run.  Somewhere between a fast walk and a trot.  Burn some calories.  Input vs Output.  Simple math."  I say to myself. 

Now that the weather has turned cooler and the morning sun sleeps in later, I've made the effort to get out and trot around the hood a bit.  No one can see me as I puff on by. 

Walk, trot, walk, trot....Slow and easy.  One day on.  One day off.  Build it up slowly since you're so out of shape.  (Visions of Skinny Tami dance in my head.)

After a few weeks of this, has anything changed?  Has Spare Tire started to wave bye-bye?

Well, no. 

I've discovered middle aged fat is kinda like super glue.  It's bonded with me.  I do feel like I have more energy though.  And I'm less moody.  But that might be just a coincidence.  (Everyday is an adventure in peri-menopause isn't it?)

I have developed a new friendship though.

"Spare Tire, I'd like you to meet Jello Knee."  (Spare Tire and Jello Knee shake hands like the old buddies they are. 

Jello Knee stopped by my house for a visit this week.  Unlike Spare Tire (who just lays around all day and appears to be here for the long haul), Jello Knee's surprise visit demands that I pay him a bit more attention.  Jello Knee likes to stretch and prefers a daily rub down.  Having Jello Knee around makes me groan like an old person when I stand up. 

Or sit down. 

Or go up the steps. 

Or back down the steps.

In fact, having Jello Knee around has completely distracted me from Spare Tire.  I swear I heard Spare Tire laughing at me the other day.  

Jello Knee has insisted that I stop my pathetic attempts at trotting around the block.  At least for a few days. 

He's right of course.  I shouldn't push it.

But could someone tell Spare Tire to stop snickering?

Happy Accident

Earlier this Spring, I planted strawberries for the first time. 

I had wanted to plant them directly into the ground because I was afraid the Summer heat would wipe them out if I planted them in the raised beds.

When I received the starts though, my "in-ground" beds weren't ready and I had no choice but to plant the berries in the raised beds.

Boy was THAT a "stupid-smart" moment.  I can't even BEGIN to imagine how frustrated I'd be trying the combat the wire grass along with the strawberries.

The berries look wonderful and are doing their level best to fill in the entire raised bed area.  Early on I kept pinching back the fruit to allow them to get estabilished, but now I'm letting the fruit mature.

These are "day-netural" Seascape.  I get a handful of small berries every couple of days.  Not much, but I'm hoping with maturity that I get more next year.

It is weird getting strawberries in the Fall though.

Any advice from those of you who grow strawberries on Fall/Winter prep?  Other than a shot of fertilizer when I planted them, I haven't done anything to them.

Nine Months

I started my "fun" plant back in January.  The Casabanana is HUGE now.  It's growing up into the trees like Kudzu.

It's putting out an occasional yellow flower that's kind of "thick" petaled. 

And just one itty bitty fruit so far. We're about 6 weeks from our first frost.  Since this sucker took 9 months to get this far, I'm not optimistic I'll get a mature fruit out of it. 

SM likes to ask me "How my Cannabis is doing."  (He can't seem to remember it's "casabanana.")

I laugh and tell him not to talk too loudly.  (I can just see the DEA come knocking on my door.)

"What's this thing supposed to produce anyway?"  He asks. 

"A tropical melon."  I reply.

"I'm about ready to tear it down."  SM says pointing at how high it's growing.

"It'll get cut back soon enough."  I say.

"You're not going to pull it?"

"No.  I've read that they need a really long season to put out fruit.  I think I'm going to cut it back this winter and "hoop it" and see if I can get it to survive.  If I can, I'm hoping we'll get mature fruit next year.  I just hope we'll like it."

"And if we don't?"  SM asks.

"THEN you can pull it out."  I say grinning.

CHOMP!

I just can't win for losing this year.  Something has been eating my fall veggies.

Before...

And after...

Lettuce, broccoli and cauliflower all got chomped.  The carrots are gone.  They've even taken a few bites out of my summer squash.

So what's been chewing on my garden besides bugs?

Well, we've seen the quick scurry and flash of mice as they zip along.  Plus the dogs are really into the garden fence line right now.  Sniffing and running, ears up as they see what we don't.

So I went ahead and laid out some glue traps and the next day I got me a mousie. 





"Sorry Dude.  I know how this goes.  Once the free "salad bar" is done with in the garden, you'll be heading into my house." 

KiKi can be relied on to patrol the house and yard but since he's blind I can't count on his usual precise attention.  And he is getting older and since I've got 3 dogs, I'd rather not have the excitement of introducing a new cat (or cats) to the mix. 

(My Vet has got two of the cutest little sisters.  Gray Tabby Kittens.  So adorable!  I'm such a sucker!  But no.  I'm not wanting to add to the menagerie I've already got.)

It's really no surprise that the mice have moved in though.  I knew it was only a matter of time with our compost heap and the fact that the house next door is unoccupied.  (It's supposedly SOLD but who knows how long it will take for the new owners to take possession as it's a foreclosure.  I'm sure the paperwork will take forever.)

It can't lay the blame completely at the mouses door either.  I think my "rabbit proof fence" ain't so much anymore.  Now I haven't seen rabbits in the garden lately but I don't think mice did all this damage on their own.

So I'll do what I can to control the damage.  The lettuce will come back, but the carrots are GONE.  (sob)  Who knows if the broc and cauli will bounce back.

Interestingly the mustard greens are just fine. 

And it seems that NOBODY likes turnips.  (Elbow to SM's ribs.)  They are growing gangbusters! 

Rainy Days and Sundays (Or Mondays) Means COOKING

Sunday turned out to offer up temperatures in the low 70's with on and off rain.  (We're forecast to have heavier rain on Monday and Tuesday too.  Thank Goodness!  We need it.)  SM had a job that he'd been working on all last week.  He took Saturday off (football) but decided that since Monday and Tuesday looked to be a wash-out for outside work, he would go and finish up what he could at the job site on Sunday.

Cleaning and laundry is a constant thing around here on the weekends since my job keeps me away from home 12 hrs a day Tues-Fri.  I rarely cook during the week.  (Who has the energy?) So I try and get busy cooking stuff up on the weekends.

When the weather gets cooler, I find that I'm more willing to cook things that take time in the oven.  Soups, roasts...stuff like that.  We haven't had meatloaf here since last winter.  And we LOVE meatloaf.

"You want loaf or balls?"  I hollered at SM as he was walking out the door.

"What?  Loaf?  He said laughing.  "Balls?  What are you going to make balls out of?" 

"You know...Meatballs that are actually "meatloaf balls."  I said.  "Mini meatloafs."

If I make a loaf, SM and I always fight over the end pieces.  There's just something about that crusty end that we both love.  If I make them into little balls, then each and every piece is kinda crusty all around.  Plus I drizzle a bit of ketchup on the top.  When it bakes it forms a gooey little blob.  (I know, we're weird, but we love em.)

Anyhoo...Since I had the day to myself, I figured I'd better get busy. 

I like to use a triple combination of pork sausage, ground turkey and ground beef for meatloaf.  I also like to make BIG batches so I can freeze most of them up and just pull them out as needed.  (I do that a lot since I'm married to "Mr Buffet".  SM likes variety so you can find enchiladas, mac and cheese, cookies and cakes in my freezer.  You want it?  You got it.  Stick it in the microwave and it's dinner.)

I'm using a couple of pounds of each meat today.  Did I mention a big bowl?  Add in 2 eggs, half a bottle of ketchup, and at least a 1/2 cup of Worcester Sauce.  (I use more cause I like the flavor and the zing it gives.) 

I'm gluten free so I use rice instead of bread crumbs but either will work.  Sprinkle in 2 pouches of Liptons Beefy Onion and squish it all together.  (I always pull all the cold stuff out and let it sit on the counter for a good 30 minutes so I don't freeze my hands off.)

I love them when they're bite sized, kind of like a popper, but you could really make them any size you want.  I cook the little ones at 375 for about a 1/2 hour.  Adjust the time as needed.

LOTS of grease.  But grease means flavor!  Just drain out the grease and wipe the foil off between batches.

I did half of them with just ketchup.  The other half I placed a little square of green pepper on them then the dabbeled the ketchup on top.  I think you could mix it up with bacon, Bar-B-Q sauce...Just about anything works.

After the plate cools to room temperature, I stick the whole thing in the freezer then seperate them and put them in baggies.  Simple but time consuming.  A perfect fit for a rainy afternoon.

Start to finish this huge batch of meat took several hours to cook up and created about 100 meatballs (not counting the ones that were sacrificed to the cook for taste testing @;)   Now I've got "lotsa little meatsa ballsa's" that will last us for quite some time.

Butter Luck Next Year

Two months ago I planted every winter squash and pumpkin seed I had on hand.  I'd hoped to avoid the worst of the SVB's and squash bugs by planting late. 

I even tried the tinfoil technique to try and protect the base of the plants. 

I'm not sure that I could say that it actually worked.  The pumpkins died back completely but the Tennessee Sweet Potato Squash hung in there.  The leaves close to the base of the plant died back.  The runners had a fair amount of flowers, mostly male.  I did however have 3 squashes that I decided to nurse along.

Since I've never grown this variety, I wasn't sure when the fruit was ready to pick.  The bugs figured it out before I did so one of the squashes bit the dust before I could check it out.  One down, two to go.

I picked the other squash this morning as it had turned a lighter color and it appeared the bugs had started to chew on it.

My fingernail could penetrate the skin easily.  (For some reason I thought this would have a tougher outer shell.)  Well... that explains the bugs chewing on it.

I brought it in washed it off and cut it open.

Well...I guess I won't be growing this squash next year.

It seems that the Butternut varieties are going to be my "Go To" winter squash next year.  SVB and squash bug resistant, tough outer shell to resist the other bugs.  Tasty too.

It's too bad none of mine germinated this year.  A squash-less year for 2012.

Oh well..."Butter" luck next year.

A Season In The Sun

Chuck has had a rough Summer.

No one thought to give the guy any UV protection so he's a bit faded. 

He's looking pretty skinny and his pants are about to fall off too.

Poor Chuck.  It's tough out there Dude...

The Day Is Coming...

I went out Monday and attacked the garden. 

I have never considered a weed wacker to be a gardening tool. 

It is now my dearest friend.

I tried...pulling the grass by hand that is.  I truly did. 

But the "wire-grass" (Bermuda Grass) was resistant to my profanity, filled tugs and pulls.  Even after the good soaking rain we had Saturday, this stuff was not letting go. 

So I broke out the big guns.

"Can you start this for me?"  I asked SM, pointing at the weed-wacker in the garage.

(Now I know how to start the weed-wacker but I like to play the "damsel in distress card" every now and then.  It's a good thing to remind a man that he's necessary from time to time.  Could I get along with out him?  Sure.  But he doesn't need to know that.)

"You sure you just don't want to take it slow and pull the grass out by hand?"  SM inquires.

"That stuffs so high I'm scared to stick my hand in it.  You never know what you might be grabbing."  We discovered to our dismay that we not only have a resident rabbit in the garden enclosure, but mice too.  And something dark.  A mole?  A rat?  Could be anything.  We just see it dashing along. 

It's our own fault.  If you've got something to eat and a nifty place to hide why wouldn't you park and camp?

So SM re-ved her up and (with my upper arm fat jiggling to the beat) I proceeded to the wack the shit out of the garden.  And the fence line along the garden.  And the fence line around our property.

An hour later, exhausted, arms trembling because I am after all an out of shape wimp, I pounded on the back door asking SM to get me some water.  I was covered head to toe in dirt, grass and sweat.  I wasn't about to walk in my nice clean house with all that crap on me.

SM peered closely at my face, "Did you cut yourself?!?...Oh!" He said, as he picked a piece of cherry tomato that had glomed on to my face.

"Geez...are you OK?"  He asked as I plunked my butt down on the porch swing.

"The day is coming..."  I said in between long gulps of water.

"Yeah?"  SM asked looking at me.

I gasped for air.  "The day is coming when I will put a For Sale sign on this house and walk away from all this crap."  I said with a wave of my hand. 

"It's funny how I always wanted a house out in the country with a bit of land, an orchard, some chickens and ducks."  I said shaking my head.  "Nice fairy tale isn't it?"

"A half acre lot with a house and garden and all the modern conveniences to tend it with and it's still kicking my butt."  I said with a long sigh.

Yep...One of these days. 

Until then, I'll try and keep it looking nice for you, Future Home Owner.

A Breath Of Fresh Air

Summer's back is finally broken. 

At last!  I can honestly say that the Summer of 2012 was a tough one to get through.

A strong cold front moved through Saturday night bringing much needed rain and much more welcome cool air.

I woke up Sunday morning to a crisp, humid 59 degrees.  (I swear I could hear Angels singing.)

The ground was still warm enough that we generated some fog early, but then it burned off to show puffy, white clouds and a spectacular blue sky.

I'll take it.  (Sending kisses to Heaven.)

I couldn't resist getting some yard work done.  It was just too tempting with the cooler breezes.  I have been "The High Priestess of Slugginess" these last few weeks of Summer.  Dynamite under my butt was no motivation to get out into the heat.  I was done...Deep Fried and crispy.  I couldn't take another hot breath.

It didn't matter that the garden was looking like an abandonded field.  Weeds are impossibly high everywhere right now.  The whole yard is a disaster area.

So since ya gotta start somewhere, SM and I decided to attack the trees, bushes and "landscaped" areas first.  We created quite the burn pile.

Tomorrow?  Since I have Mondays off, I hope to attack some of the foot high weeds and grass that is trying to reclaim my garden.

I expect you'll be doing the same.  Fun isn't it?

Soft Kitty...Yeah Right.

Kiki is 14 years old this month.  (That makes him 73 in human years.)

A little history first.  SM had stopped at a gas station to fill up the Jeep on our way home from a Labor Day beach weekend.  It was very late on a Sunday night.  When he went to pay for the gas, he found a "squished" kitten beside one of the pumps. 

Literally. 

The kitten had obviously been hit by a car.  His back end was flattened and he was laying in a pile of his own poo. 

SM brought the kitten to me and laid him on my lap.  He was no bigger than my 2 hands put together.  We took the kitten home and placed him in a box expecting him to die overnight.  He was still alive the next morning so I took him to the Vet on my way to work and signed the paperwork to have the poor "wee beastie" euthanized.

The Vet popped his head out and asked me if I wanted him to try and save the cat if he could.  I told him that it was OK to give him "the once over" but that I wasn't going to pay for surgery or anything like that. 

You see, I'm not a cat person.  I've never owned a cat, but was traumatized by an evil siamese cat when I was teenager.  The bastard came after me a ripped me a new one.  Needless to say, after that experience, cats were way down on my list of desirable critters.  But that didn't make me heartless.  I would save a life if I could.

So later that day when I called to check up on the kitten, I was told to swing by and pick him up.  He had a bruised bladder and the Vet couldn't say for sure if he'd regain the use of his legs but told me that "Kittens are like rubber bands.  They bounce back.  Give it a few days."  (He was right.  Kiki regained use of all his limbs.)

"Anybody want to adopt a kitten?"  I asked, laughing.  Little did I know that stray kittens are a dime a dozen.

So back home we went.  Over the next several days I tried to unload this little kitten on some poor, unsuspeting sucker but there were no takers. 

So, like most of the critters who live in this house, we kept him.

Kiki was likely born to a feral cat.  He had NO interest in becoming an inside, loveable, lap cat.   You know, the ones you see on TV that purr and purr and look so soft and loveable?  Oh, no.  Kiki made his escape early on, but knows where the food is, so he's home every night for dinner at least.

Love and scratches can only be dispensed on his terms and SM his clearly his favorite human most likely because there's always a dog on me.  But we get along as well as can be expected.

When he was younger, Kiki tangled with area cats and cost me a small fortune over the years with cat fight bites that would abcess.  The Vet's office had a bright red sticker on his file that said THIS CAT BITES and he was nicknamed "Evil Kitty" by the staff.

As Kiki has aged he's gotten more mellow.  (Haven't we all?)  He can't see me to pounce at me but that doesn't make him any less lethal. 

Just last night, as I sat watching TV at 2 am (freaking hormones) I heard a muffled, strangled sound. 

All the lights were off in the house. 

I sat there as I wasn't sure what I'd heard.  Then louder this time.  Now I knew it was the cat.  My first thought was that he was sick.  I flipped on the light and there's Kiki with a bird is his mouth.  He dropped it as I came up to him and sauntered away, tail up, clearly proud of his contribution.  He's done this over the years with birds, bunnies and the occasional mouse.  The bird was still flapping so I waved the dogs off, picked it up and took out outside to a nearby bush.

He's become a very vocal cat now too.  Man, can that cat yell when he wants something. 

"I'm hungry."  "Let me out."  "Let me back in."

"Scratch my butt." 

I never knew that there was a kitty hot spot, right at the base of his tail.  Scratch that and he goes right up on his tippy toes with delight.  (I suppose it's better than "sniff my butt" which seems to be the dogs favorite past-time.)

Well, here's to you Soft Kitty.  I'm so glad it worked out...

Pretty In Pink

"What did you do?"  I asked SM. 

I was looking out at our backyard shrubs which, for some reason, are in full bloom.

Pink blooms.

Everywhere you look.  It's pink.  It's never happened like this before.  We'd get a few blooms here and there but this is a plethora of pink!

"I just trimmed them back a couple of weeks ago.  Who knew they'd POP like that?"  SM said shrugging.

"Well, remember that trick next year.  I've never seen them with so many blooms."  I told him.  "You've got the touch, Baby!"

It's nice that they match my Knockout Roses too.

Schweaty

Ever since Isaac came in 2 weeks ago the Southeast has been under a heavy, hot, oppressive blanket of humidity.  Temperatures have hovered around 90 more or less, (which isn't bad) but there is absolutely no breeze and no break in the layer of moist air that surrounds you morning, noon, and night.

I've migrated back inside to the cool AC air that's swirling in my house, car and office.  The fans are on high generating a breeze. 

I've said it before but I'll say it again...Thank God for air conditioning.

SM and I were hoping to run down to the beach this weekend for a quick get-away, but neither one of us feels like going. 

Heat exhaustion, I guess.  We're so tired of it all.

It's funny...When it's Winter, all you want is Summer to get here and once you've had your fill of Summer, all you want is Fall. 

I'm tired of sweating. 

I'm tired of feeling like I can't draw a deep breath because of the heat and humidity.  I want fresh air and cool breezes.

Here at the house, the garden is an overgrown mess.  I keep hoping for a break in the weather.  A cooler day so I can wade in there and clean things up.  I have NO urge to get in there with all the bugs and weeds and sweat myself to death.

Yuck.

So I'm whining here to ya'll because it's sooooo close.  Fall that is.  Our break is coming.  Next week is forecast to be splendid.  Cooler temperatures and lower humidity.

I've lived here 14 years and it's always the same.  The weather "breaks" right around the middle of September and I swear you can hear everyone sigh. 

It's coming...Just a few more days, Tami.

You can suck it up.

(94 Today.)  Good thing I'll be inside all day. 

Owners Manual

I was dozing in the recliner last night, Scooter Boo beside me, a throw blanket across my legs, when I felt the heat start to rise.

I was asleep enough that I didn't open my eyes but as I sat forward, tossing the blanket off, leaning foward, raising my arms and lifting my shirt automatically, I heard...

"You poor thing."

I opened my eyes and saw SM in the other recliner observing me.  I think I smiled at him.  Not really sure because I flopped back into the chair and passed out again.  (Is it possible to live without R.E.M. sleep?)

I thought about SM's comment this morning though.  And of all the other comments he's made to me lately. 

"You look great." or "Come here, Beautiful." 

Now, I know he's said these words to me before throughout our marriage.  It's just that now...when I need it the most...I'm finally hearing it.

And I'm thankful for that. 

That I can wake up enough to notice that he's sympathetic to what I'm going through.  (Thanks, Baby...)

And that I can also apprecticate that, while I've certainly seen better days, he still thinks I'm beautiful.

When I say all this to him, letting him know that he's getting boo-coo points in my book, he just waves me off with a smile.

"Hey, I read the Owners Manual."

That's right you did!



Smart Man....@;)

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

As the Summer wraps up, I can't help but look back at this years garden and consider where I am NOW compared to where I was THEN.  There's been a LOT of changes in the garden over the past three years.

Little did I know that the garden would also change me.

What I didn't know when I started all this is that it would be SO challenging.  

I came from the "stick a seed in the ground and watch it grow" mentality.  Like many newbies I thought my garden would always look pretty.  That bugs would bother someone elses garden, not mine.  That the food that I grew would be abundant and flavorful and I'd hardly have to lift a finger to get it to that point. 

My first year was a bit of dud, mostly of my own making.  I underestimated the importance of soil preparation.

The second year was MUCH better soil wise.  I experimented with more varieties of plants and had a bumper tomato harvest.  I was pretty happy with my 2011 garden.

This past year was a bit like a skipping stone.  The weather, bugs and seed germination were among some of my biggest problems.  Plus I got greedy. 

I expanded the garden but made the same soil prep mistakes I made my first year out.  So the tomatoes suffered trying to grow in a raw, barely amended soil.  Bugs came a-knocking and with my organic mindset, settled in and called it home.  I became allergic to the heat (with my hot-flashes) and discovered the lazy joy of freezing any abundance I had rather than stand over a canner and preserve it that way.  Plus frozen peas sure feel good on the neck don't they?

Along the way, I feel like my hopes for the garden are starting to change.

My original motivation to start fruit and veggie gardening was largely because I hoped to help cut the cost of my grocery bill by being able to provide some of this stuff myself.  SM and I, like many others, are going to be faced with a "tight" financial retirement in the near future and anything I could do now to learn this "grow your own thing" might help us out later when our cash cushion is gone.  

The other reason was that I was looking for a hobby.   I admit it.   I was bored.  There's only so much 9-5 work a girl can do.  The work week was a "rinse-repeat" of habit and routine.  Same ol, same ol.  Gardening, on the other hand is fun.  Yes, it is!  It's also frustrating, (pull your hair out frustrating) but one thing it isn't is boring.

So while I do still get a thrill with a successful harvest...(Yeah Me!)...I've also gotten to the point where I've learned that some things are just NOT worth growing.  And not worth crying over. 

I've come to the realization that I can't grow everything I want. 

That I'll still be relying on the market for the foods that SM and I can't grow. 

That I need to respect the Summer heat MUCH more than I have been.  The
garden goes into a heat coma right around August.  Nothing much happens out there but watch the weeds grow.

That my garden can offer me beauty in the form of flowers.  That I'd like to add more birdhouses and humor to the garden. 

So is my garden changing to reflect the changes in me?  I'd like to think so.

I want it easy.  (Who doesn't)?

I want it pretty.  (Well, duh...)

But I still want it.  The garden that is. 

I'm not ready yet to throw in the towel.  Not even after having a bad year like this one was. 

Back It Up

I've been getting a lot of headaches lately.  They come on in the late afternoon and last all night.  Tylenol doesn't help.  I've wondered if it's a new kind of menopausal migraine but it always seems to start in my neck, like a tension headache.

"Maybe you just need your back re-aligned."  SM suggested after hearing me complain about it these past few weeks.

I've never been one for back or neck massages.  Can't tell you "why" really, it's just not my thing.  

Unlike SM.

SM loves any kind of massage.  Scalp, hand, foot, neck...you name it, he likes it.  (He's a "dog", you see.  In Chinese astrology that is.)  And dogs like to be petted.  I swear his feet are always in my lap begging to be rubbed. 

But ultimately it's all about his back.  He says that's he'll never divorce me because there's no one else that can straighten his back like I can.  And it's almost a daily thing.  He'll lay down on the floor and I'll start on his low back working my way up pushing and pressing and shifting and listening to his back pop and crack.  I've asked him to go to a chiropractor but he doesn't want to spend the money and says I do a great job anyway, so why bother?

But back to me. 

I'm personally scared to death of chiropractors.  I don't think I could relax enough to let them do their thing.  I have a coworker who goes to one and she says it does take some getting used to.

Anyhoo...I was willing to let SM "rub" my back.  So I laid down across the ottoman so my knees were on the floor and my head and arms could dangle.

SM gently rubbed and pushed ever so slightly and suddenly I felt a couple of pops and a shift.  WOW!  (He barely touched me and my back shifted that quick!)  I could feel the muscles spasm, so I leaned back and stretched them for a few minutes.

"That's it."  I told SM.

"You don't want me to do more?"  SM asked skeptical.  Like I said, he barely touched me.

"Nope.  I can tell something shifted.  Lets see what happens." 

The headache slowly faded as the evening went along.

And I haven't had one since.

Huh.