sueeeus

Happy Birthday to Me. Look. Snow. In March. I love cherry blossoms. They’re so pretty, yet they cause so much misery. That is, to those with pollen allergies. Like me. Claritin at night, Zyrtec in the morning. Oh joy. Plus fish oil and a handful of other things. My current prenatal vitamins have a DHA supplement that leaves a horrible aftertaste. I’ll be glad when they’re gone, and I can switch back to a different prenatal vitamin.

Yes, a very exciting 43rd birthday. Up at 4:30 a.m. to attend a 4-hour class in the city, that started at 6 a.m. What kind of people set hours like that? Excruciating. We did venture out to a Chinese restaurant for dinner that was very good! The busy body loved the fish tank, and wanted to get in. He makes dining out a challenge and an adventure. Needless to say, we don’t dine out often. We could work on our parenting skills and establish some discipline. Or put it off for another day when we have more patience and energy. I know, wrong answer. Meanwhile, the wild child grows wilder still. Seriously. I AM trying to teach him to be considerate. Three year old’s, I’ve discovered, haven’t much attention span with which to work.

Daffodils are such a happy sight in spring. So cheerful. Not as cheerful when snowflakes are falling on them.

My leeks survived my garden and winter, both! I ventured into the realm of gardening last year, planted too late, and didn’t make the wisest choices for my garden box. The broccoli overpowered everything, and got infested with some gross larvae stuff from what I originally thought were pretty white butterflies or moths. They left a horrible wake, and I ended up yanking all the broccoli up and throwing it in the compost. The snap peas, string beans, and tomatoes choked out the poor leeks, but when all was said and done, I pulled them all and left the leeks for the winter. They are surprisingly hardy. This season I may just stick to herbs. And leeks.

One pair red suede shoes.

Last seen Tuesday.

I am a creature of habit.  I take my shoes off, generally in the same place.  We have a shoe rack, also.  Which we use.  And my house, although cluttered, what with a young and very energetic boy on premise, is not that cluttered.  I mean, it could be worse.

So where are my red suede shoes?

Red, Red, Red Suede Shoes…

There is a certain young man in the house who likes to wear his mother’s shoes and stomp about the house.  He also likes to hide things.  I’m not saying that he has anything to do with it…

…but they are nowhere to be found.  Not in the closet.  Or the other closet.  Or any closet.  Not on the shoe rack.  Not in the washing machine (I just checked).  Not under the sofa.  Not under the bed.  Not in the dryer.  Not in the trash bin.  Not in the recycle bins.  Not under my desk.  Not under the table.  Not under the rocking chair.  Not in the cedar chest.  Not in the file cabinet.  Not in the laundry baskets.  Not in the toy box.  Not in the pantry.  Not in the oven.  Not in the armoire.  Not on the porch.  Not behind the sofa.  Not in the bathtub.  Not in the garage.  Not in the fridge (yes, I looked).  Not in the sand box.  Not in the garden box.

I LOOKED!  I can’t find them anywhere.

Not under the sink.  The place where I keep the little compost bin.  The one that I keep forgetting to diligently empty outside.  The one that is an impressive breeding ground for fruit flies and mold.  The one that is now in the garbage bin.  Because I can’t bring myself to wash it in all it’s ickiness, and recycle it properly (although I did first empty it in the outside compost bin).  And I’m tired of stalking fruit flies with my inhumane airborne insect electrocution device (compliments of Mr. Gadget).  It’s them or me, and I must prevail, humane or not.  War is waged.

But where are my shoes?  They are my favorite shoes.  It remains a mystery.

…fruits of the forest

…dangerously delicious

While on the phone with my sister, and forced outside to obtain a clear signal, I discovered some very odd looking mushrooms growing amongst the bark chips. I picked one and brought it in for some google research.

Lo and behold, the elusive, the mighty, the morel. Morchella elata, to be precise.

Brave Stupid All those warnings and red flags about lethal mushrooms mixed with memories of childhood tales of that most sought after specimen of culinary delight. I sauteed the first one in some butter. It was to die for (although I hoped not literally). I gathered my courage, collected the crop, and proceeded to make this.

I’m not a pasta aficionado, but the recipe sounded so good that I thought I’d give it a try. I followed the recipe completely, with the addition of shallots. After much toil –it takes quite a bit of effort to roll out pasta dough to the appropriately thin consistency, the result is was, indeed, divine.

Oh. My. Goodness. As an old friend would say, budgasmic. But I don’t speak like that. Of course, anything that’s cooked in butter and cream can hardly help but taste incredible. Especially if there’s garlic and shallot involved. I happily indulged, all the while wondering in the back of my mind how much of an idiot I am for eating something so questionable. I’d feel so much more comfortable had I found the mushrooms at the local grocer, rather than in the wild. My pioneer spirit won (after considerable reading and comparison of photos, dissection and inspection). And I did live to tell.

Mr. Gadget wanted no part in this, and of course I wouldn’t try to extend such an experiment to my loved ones. I fashioned a nice red sauce for them. Safe. Fresh roma tomatoes, basil, garlic, onion, and beef.

Dinner at 9 p.m. isn’t the best of ideas, though. If ever I’m fool enough to attempt pasta from scratch again, I should start by 3.

And speaking of fools, today marks four happy years with the Gadget man. Four years ago today, we stood together in a little chapel on the Vegas strip, and said I do. I picked April 1st. My quirky sense of humor. It’s a date that’s easy to remember. Isn’t our wedding announcement fun We went to a photo booth and inserted our faces on a magazine cover (I always wanted to be a dancing girl, deep down inside).  We got the license plate as a souvenir from the chapel, and I merged it all together (covering the scantily clad parts so as to make the announcement more office appropriate).  People at work thought it was a joke — they didn’t believe that I really did run off and get married.  It was a fun reveal.  Four years later, and all is well.  Four fleeting years.  My, how swiftly they’ve passed.

I don’t wonder where the birdies is, because they’ze right heyah. I wish I had pictures! Walking down my street there is a small pond that is a designated wetland habitat. These ponds are scattered throughout suburbia as a means to abate some of the drainage problems that occur in overdeveloped areas that get excessive rainfall. Anyhoo, a great blue heron took wing as I walked past. I’m not sure that it was a great blue heron, but it was a heron, it was blue, and it was huge. Therefore, I shall call it a great blue heron. He flapped his wings in an awkward but graceful way and as he flew by the house the perspective was such that he appeared to be as wide as the house! Of course, a great blue heron with wings spread might very well be nearly as wide as a house, if one’s house was of the single-wide variety. What a sight to see. I think of pteradactyls whenever I see these giant timid birds. Sharing the pond was a family of ducks. It makes me smile, when an awful piece of suburbia can be transformed into something pleasant by the presence of wildlife. Later in the summer it will be a cacophany of chirps from frogs or crickets or who knows what wiggly squiggly slimy hoppy sorts of things. Even so, it will make me smile.

Chickies of unknown origin abound as well. The trees are full of tiny finch-like creatures, flitting and chirping and tweeting from branch to branch. Oh, what a joyful sound! I can’t help but smile.

At the office, there is a river and a trail behind my building.

They pulled a body from that river, right by my office, around the time I began working there. I suppose it’s not such a stretch that sinister things would happen in places like this. It is, after all, industrial and seedy in general. Not a bit upscale urban, except for my shiny new office building, which is hardly shiny and new any more. We do have a nice walking trail. There’s a bridge that crosses the river, and carved boulders along the path.

I sometimes see herons there, in the shallows, and the ducks and geese are plenteous, as are the seagulls. Bald eagles, however, are not my normal sighting, but yesterday as I ventured forth on my afternoon walk, a pair of giant birds swooshed by, just over my head, and the white heads and tails were unmistakeable. I was still considering my fortune for witnessing such regality at so close a vantage (ignoring the fact that they are actually scavengers/predators, and perhaps not quite so majestic as one is led to imagine), when I realized that the sky was practically full of bald eagles! I counted eight. Eight bald eagles, soaring in the sky. Higher and higher and round and round. It was quite something. It must be an amazing thing, to soar above the clouds.

As such, I lift my face to the sky, and if by chance it’s blue and filled with fluffy white clouds, I am stricken with joy and delight.

Ahhh. It’s the best of all possible worlds.

Isn’t the heavenly bamboo heavenly I think it’s so pretty, and now that it’s peeking out from a snow drift, even more so.

It snowed a little the other night, and it was just the right amount. The roads were clear and the snow was nicely decorative. Today is another story. The heavens have opened up and dumped their contents on the suburbs. Driving is treacherous. Mr. Gadget took the Boo Boy to daycare, which is only 3 miles away, and it took him 3 hours, with 4-wheel drive AND chains. I opted to work from home today. It’s nice to have the option. Now that MG has made it home, we’re thinking we should have just kept Boo home. And today is supposed to be my first prenatal appointment. I’m not sure if the doctor is even in.

The snow capped tree outside our front door is festive, but the ornaments are hardly visible under their coat of snow. I love the way the night time colors turned out in the picture of the ornaments. By day, they look entirely different. The multicolored lights and a little photo processing made it so gorgeous!

These are the best pictures, though! My little guy loves to wear my shoes! He is so proud of himself when he puts them on and stomps about. He’s learning to put his coat on as well, but he hasn’t quite gotten the hang of it. In this picture, he is just about to jump. He loves to jump! He has such great balance and dexterity. He jumps and shrieks with glee. There’s nothing like the boisterous unbridled joy of a child. It’s contagious. The best!

This is classic. I love it. A little boy with crayons scattered everywhere, intent upon his art. He switches between left and right hands, but seems to prefer his right. He is very serious about his colors, he is.

I was going to entitle this entry, from moustache to boobs, the transformation of my front, but thought better of it, what with google searches and all.

Slight attempts at improved curb appeal have been made of late. There was the moustache removal. Although a definite improvement, the satisfaction quickly waned, but the wildly successful median transformation project ignited sufficient inspiration to take action and further spruce up the front. However, and I should have already known this (yes, all right, I did know this, but chose to be blissfully optomistic about the prospects, as I am wont to be), things don’t always go as one would hope.  Nevertheless, a little action was taken, and this is the end result.  I can live with it.  I am living with it.  I do very much like the new maple tree and the burning bushes.  Perhaps next year we will work on the lawn.

There has been a flurry of activity of late around these parts.  Family members have converged at chez moi, to my extreme pleasure.  But the shame of it.  Gardening is not my thing.  My fantasy, but not my reality.  “You have a nice home, Sissy, but your currrrrrb appeal…”  She drifted off with a tsk tsk tsk, for the shame of it.

To my defense, I have a full day from the time I rise, without enough sleep, I might add.  Ever.  I commute, I work, I collect my child from his able caregiver, whisk him home and prepare the evening meal, clean him up, get him ready for bed, play a little, take him to bed and stay with him until he’s sleeping.  At which point, it is me time.  Or, generally, my own bed time.  When do I have opportunity for gardening

I am remiss.

Today I tried something different.  I let my rambunctious child play outside while I surveyed the situation and attempted to do a little damage control.  It turned out to be too hot and too difficult to get anything accomplished besides keeping him from running away or falling off the steps and skinning his knees.  When Mr. Gadget finally returned from work, we fed the munchkin his dinner, got him ready for bed, and both went with him to settle him down.  Only I made my stealthy exit and got down to business.  Me, a shovel, and a spade. 

There are definite improvements.  I recycled the moustache fringe of whathaveyous and transplanted them in all the nice pots that were previously empty, or growing weeds.  I don’t know what they are, but they certainly proliferate, because I swear I dug them up last year after deciding I didn’t particularly like them after all.  They may well die, now that they are in pots, but I won’t be heartbroken if they do.  And if they survive   They look quite nice in pots.

Before and after.  There is much room for improvement, but I surprisingly enough had a very nice time doing what little I did.

Before.  The moustache.

After the shave.

It’s a sad state of affairs.

But a little more welcoming now.

The lonely peach. Last year we had so many peaches that the branches broke from the tree. It was very sad. I’m surprised that there are any peaches at all this year.
The apricot tree suffered a similar woe, and there are no apricots this year. There were hundreds and hundreds last year, but not a one this year. The tree has to get its oomph back. We have plums though! Two kinds!
I love bamboo. I have four kinds. I love the sound the leaves make when there’s a little breeze. They rustle so peacefully.


I have a box of lavender. See the bee ! It’s a bedraggled box of lavender, but I love it just the same.

Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin: And yet I say unto you, That even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. –Matt 6:28-29

I love lilies!!

I could have sworn I planted Casablanca’s though. I wonder if soil ph affects lily color in a similar manner as it affects the hydrangea’s color