I’m still here. It’s just that I’ve been busy and a bit uninspired to sit down and write more than a few sentences. I have things to talk about and I will.
Just not today.
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We have lived in this house for almost 4 full years now and each summer I cross my fingers for the Fourth of July. You see, we are fortunate enough to live in a neighborhood that puts on an amazing fireworks display. It all happens in the park we can see from our yard and practically rivals the show put on downtown by the city. Seriously. And each year I cross my fingers there will be fireworks in the park on the fourth. It’s really a very cool story. According to the retired police officer that lives down the street, the fireworks have been an annual event in that park for over 20 years. A neighbor that lives nearby has always been the primary household that puts on the display. Some years ago, the man of the house passed away and left a trust to his boys. That trust was to be used to continue on with the Fourth of July tradition each summer for their mother that still lives in the house. And each year they try to honor that wish. That family gets what I consider to be the main stage in the park. It’s the huge concrete basketball court and it is there that they set off all of the fireworks. Along with this primary group are two additional groups setting off fireworks—each on a separate baseball diamond so that the three of them create this pyrotechnic triangle. Fireworks start around 10 o’clock, but people from all throughout the neighborhood start heading to the park with their lawn chairs hours before hand. The show usually begins with 100s of loud firecrackers exploding like an out of control Gatling gun and progresses into this massive display of color high above the treetops in park. And it goes on for well over an hour. When they are finished they point the headlights of their pick-ups towards the carnage and clean it all up with snow shovels and garbage bags. Sounds great, huh? It’s fantastic. Then what’s the problem? Well, every year that we have lived here the cops have also showed up for the festivities. Somebody didn’t get a permit, somebody complained, blah, blah, blah. It hasn’t actually deterred the show from happening but it has delayed them more than once. So every year I cross my fingers and hope that we get to see fireworks from the comfort of our backyard. And I keep them crossed until that first wick is lit. This year is no exception. I waited until the very last possible moment to go. I have a problem with that—decisiveness. This was no different. I just wasn’t really sure I wanted to go. It was at a wing restaurant/bar. Did I really want to pay $15 at the door for draft beer and boneless hot wings along with the company of people that (with the exception of a few) I hadn’t seen in 15 years? I wasn’t so sure I did. Which is why I didn’t decide to go until 6:00 on Saturday—when the reunion started. Two things pushed me into going—the fact that I had a few close friends also attending and waiting for me to caravan with them and that nagging feeling of not wanting to be left wondering, “What if?” I didn’t go to my 10 year class reunion and if it wasn’t for Facebook I probably wouldn’t have considered going to the 15 year. But Facebook had me “reconnected” with quite a few of my classmates and I think it was the status updates and pictures I’d see on Sunday that made me curious. I shit you not that at least 4 people that night said to me that I have the best status updates and they love reading all my stuff. Craziness. I felt like I was back in college with the plastic cup and the kegs of beer in the corner. Not exactly my current idea of a killer party, but I still managed to have a good time. We laughed a lot and it was nice to chat with old acquaintances. I think the fact that in high school I was never really part of a particular clique made it easy on me. If I had put myself in a social group category I would have fallen into the “smoker’s corner/metal chick/gritter category. I’m pretty sure that last one was a term generated in Maumee. The thing is, I was a smart girl in honors classes, I participated in the musicals, and was a member of the Outdoors Club and Select Choir. So I talked to everybody. The jocks, the nerds, the bandies, the preps. You name it and we got along. Which was awesome. That didn’t change 15 years later. I talked with almost everybody that night and got lots of hugs to go along with the pats on the back for my kick ass status updates. So yeah, it was fun. I’m not sure I would go to my 20th , but I’m glad I went to my 15th. I’m finally working out again. And I can honestly say I’ve missed it. What?! I know, it shocks me too. But the real shocker is how much I’ve missed it. Which is a lot. I actually look forward to working out. It’s like a drug. A painful sweaty drug. A drug that gives you a kick-ass high. Yoga. Strength training. Cardio. Whatever you’re pushing I want it. So for the past 19 days (with the exception of 3 off days) I have worked out. Which is probably more than I had worked out collectively in the 6 months prior. If you do the math on that one you can imagine how sore I’ve been. But it hurts sooo good. The sore calves, the tight muscles in my thighs begging for mercy, the difficult descent down the basement steps after doing lunges—it all turns me on a little. It has to be the endorphins. Whatever it is I don’t want it to stop. I’ve lost 8 pounds since I started. I’m feeling good about myself. Sexy. Flirty. Strong. There may be days when my body wants to tell me to go screw myself but the overwhelming urge is to keep going. So I do. And I like it. Late Saturday afternoon—following a major weeding job and some heavy rain—I shot some new pictures of the garden. I still feel underwhelmed by my efforts this year and am convinced that I started the seeds too late. I just don’t have much luck starting seeds in the house. The seedlings are usually wimpy—with the exception of the cucumbers this year—and difficult to transplant. I know exactly why. They never get enough light to promote a strong and healthy plant. I won a grow light system from the Anderson’s several years ago but I’m not overly impressed with it. It’s too small for my needs. What I really need to do is build a big metal shelf system with hanging flourescent light fixtures. I kind of get off on the process of growing things from seed. Especially when it is something I can eat. Knowing that I played such a crucial part in the growth of that energy giving morsel I’m about to eat is awesome. I get off on growing things from plants I get at the nurseries too, it’s just not quite the same. So, I like growing things from seed and this year for many items I waited until the frost had passed so I could sow them directly into the ground. Then I waited like two weeks after that. So I’m a little behind schedule. I tried to start a few things inside and as I mentioned earlier I had good luck with the cucumbers. The carnival mix bell peppers? Not so much. The are currently about 2 inches tall and I don’t imagine they will bear fruit this season.
We are harvesting snap peas—one of my all time favorite things to grow from seed. Sugar snap peas are so yummy right out of the garden. You don’t need to do anything to them. Hell, most of the time I just eat them as I pull them off the vine. Brush off the dirt with my hand and munch away. I have another set of peas to grow in the early fall. I love that I can plant this one twice in one growing season. We are also getting lots of green onions. I pulled the second set yesterday and probably yielded twenty onions. I grow them in a long planter that I divided in two with a piece of milk carton plastic. I planted a set on one side, then a couple of weeks l planted a set in the other side. They only take 4 to 6 weeks to grow and as I pull them I plant another set. That way we have onions for the whole season. I also made a tiny salad last night from the romaine greens I thinned out. I grow lettuce in a way similar to that of the onions—in cycles. It is just an easy way to ensure certain veggies all season. When there are only three people eating what you grow, one seed packet goes a long way.
The broccoli is starting to get florets. The tomatoes are flowering and starting to bear fruit.—although my grape tomatoes are infested with aphids which I need to remedy sooner than later and the romas may not be in the best spot this year. What can I do? You can’t plant tomatoes in the same spot two years in a row. The cucumbers and jalepeños are also starting to show tiny fruit. Not much luck with the strawberries or the tiny carnival pepper plants. The carrots are growing but have a long way to go. So do the green beans which are providing a lovely meal for something as evidenced by all the holes in the leaves. We are also growing pumpkins from seeds but I had to plant them in another part of the yard. They are just breaking through the earth and I hope we get a couple of pumpkins by October. We planted both orange and white ones so that should be cool. Our cherry tree is full of red fruit but I’m not sure I have it in me to pick them all again this year. I canned rum soaked cherries last year and did absolutely nothing with the huge freezer bag of cherries I had left. Until I threw it away a couple of months ago. The rosemary is doing well and the cilantro is showing promise. Garlic chives are popping up but still look like blades of grass. I have yet to plant the parsley or the dill. I have no reason for the delay except that I’m lazy. But you probably already knew that.
Happy Father’s Day to ALL the fathers in my my life. Near or far we love you very much. Even the ones we don’t have many pictures of. Have an amazing day. You deserve it.
You know those commercials for soap where the chick is washing her face and she leans over the sink and splashes water on her face to rinse off the soap? She’s all smiley and carefree. The water blasting the germs off her face in one quick splash. Who the hell does that? Seriously. Because when I try to wash my face like that I end up soaking wet. Water dripping off my face and onto my shirt. My hairline matted down from the wayward splashing. And don’t even get me started on the condition of the actual bathroom when I’m done. How do you get water on both the mirror high above the surface of your intended splash zone and on every possible surface of the vanity below? I don’t know but it happens every time I try to wash my face like the graceful bitches in those commercials. Plus, am I really washing it all away? My face never really feels clean if I just delicately rinse away the soap with a handful of water. So I’m not buying this as an effective method of cleansing. Give me a washcloth and let me scrub away my skin. Damn you Twitter. You too Facebook. You’re killing this blog. I can’t focus on writing a decent post with the two of you around. Facebook with your stupid addicting Mafia Wars. What the hell is up with that anyway? How can something so unbelievably simple and mundane be so enthralling? All I’m doing is pressing a freakin’ button. So dumb. But I just can’t stop. It has become a ridiculous time suck. Everything about Facebook is a time suck. I need to just stay away. And then there is Twitter. I am in love with you Twitter. I must be. I can’t stop looking at you. Or touching you. You make it so easy. I don’t have to think to hard or flesh out a fleeting thought. Hell, you are a fleeting thought’s wet dream. 140 characters is all your asking for. No strings attached. Instant gratification. Your siren song is just too hard to resist. And with every delicious tweet you are killing this blog. Damn you. Friday night I took the Wii Fit Body Test. It told me I was fat and old. It was 11:30 p.m. and I had eaten a handful of potato chips moments before taking the test. And I was wearing jeans. That can’t be the best way to start a test do determine your fitness level. But that’s how I started and the results were a little humbling. Being mocked by a little fat animated version of myself didn’t help either. Do they really need to morph your Mii body so you look like your height/weight combination suggests? I just want to punt that little sausage version of me when she waddle-runs across the screen. Screw you Wii Fit and your little fat avatar. Anyway. I took the test. Not only did it tell me that my BMI puts me at a borderline obese level but it also suggested that my Wii Fit age is 44. Forty-four? That’s 12 years older than my actual age. Screw you Wii Fit and your little fat aging avatar. So that sucked. But I took the Body Test again today and while my BMI hasn’t changed dramatically in two days—what can I say, I like cheese—my Wii Fit Age has. I went from 44 at 11:36 on a Friday night to a youthful 29 this afternoon. That’s right. Twenty-nine. Which is younger than my actual age by three glorious years. Take that you little fat avatar. I made G-tot lunch, plopped him down in his highchair and turned to clean up the disaster area known as our living room. Folding blankets, picking up toys, and putting things away so I could walk safely across the floor without impaling the tender arch of my foot on some hazardous plastic swashbuckling pirate with a sword. I told G-tot, “Mommy is going to clean up for a few minutes, be a good boy and eat your lunch.” Which he did as I cleaned up and took a moment to check my email/facebook/twitter. It was at that moment that I thought, man it is AWFULLY quiet out there. Much too quiet for a two year old to NOT be doing something he shouldn’t . Although, he was in his highchair, how much mischief could he really be getting into? Oh no, he has a toothpick to eat his peas with, I hope he isn’t jabbing it into the fleshy part of his leg. Nah, that would cause him to yelp out in pain. But…I knew it was something so I rushed out to the kitchen to find him with a swab of peanut butter on his finger. “Look Mommy, I have it on my finger!” I ran and got the camera.
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