I'm not exactly a stickler for keeping up with this blog very regularly these days. Believe it or not, my plate's been more than a bit full as of late. In addition to some real-job proofing duties, I picked up a freelance gig knocking out a newspaper article on toenails—yes, toenails. The things I'll do to make a buck! If only it was a comedy piece, I could've gone on and on about my college dorm roommate who left piles of her clipped toenails in obvious places like on the nightstand between our beds or on the dresser that we shared; or I could've told stories about how my sister used to bite her toenails—she was a professional ballet dancer, so not only did she have some gnarly callouses to gnaw on, but she had the flexibility to effortlessly reach foot to mouth; or I could talk about how my husband's infrequent pedicures result in dagger toes that slash my ankles in the middle of the night.
Like Martha, I've also been quite thoroughly occupied with tending to the grounds. My home-started seedlings did remarkably well and Charles finally got the tiller up and running. I spent the better part of last week on my hands & knees up to my elbows in dirt getting everything in the ground in time for the much-needed rains that came over the weekend. In the meantime, my spring garden is not faring quite so well. The early onset of summer-hot temperatures prompted some stuff to bolt. I've had to harvest most of the arugula & I'm not holding out much hope for the radishes—the couple scrawny specimens I pulled up were all leaves & no root to speak of.
I've also been a bit preoccupied with assorted volunteer duties. I helped run a neighborhood yard sale a couple weeks back, and while I did unload a bunch of crap from around my own house, I somehow managed to come away from it with almost as much new (to me) crap! In the meantime, my hipster gardeners had a harvest & plant party. Their spring garden produced gorgeous golfball-sized radishes and great flouncy heads of arugula while rows of chard, carrots, kale, & cabbages are chugging along beautifully. We made a tasty salad & got busy gettin' all the summer seedlings in the ground and everything looks to be off to a great start!
It hasn't been all work though. While Martha attended the Matrix Awards Luncheon hosted by New York Women in Communications, I had an audience with a couple hundred queens at the Boybutante Ball, an annual charity drag show that is a 21 year-old, time-honored tradition here in Athens. This year's theme was "Fairy Tails," so I donned a sexy peignoir set, a few curlers, some fuzzy slippers, & a dollar store tiara, and pinned a snow pea pod to my chest to become the Princess & the Pea. I thought I looked damn cute 'til I got to the ball & realized I'd forgotten my wallet—I guess I resembled nothing more than a tired old fag hag 'cause the door guy didn't even ask for my ID! Not only did my sainted husband chauffeur me & my girlfriend Casey to & from the ball (& came back in-between to deliver my wallet), but when the night was done, he gingerly untangled the velcro curlers from my tresses and put me to bed with a strategically placed bedside trashcan. When I awoke the next morning still clad in my costume (appropriately since it was a nightie), there was no vomit in the trashcan, but somehow my bra ended up in it. This is par for the course post-Boyball—a few years back, Casey found her wig in the gutter outside her boyfriend's house the morning after the ball!
It did take me a couple days to fully recover. And when I did, I celebrated by making cheese! I'd only accidentally made cheese before (when I let my yogurt sit too long & came up with a creamy, spreadable concoction), but a pal in Durham, NC sent me an easy recipe that calls for caraway seeds, milk, & buttermilk to concoct a lovely white speckled wheel of firm & chewy tasty cheese. The only conundrum was what to do with the gallon or so of leftover whey? I packed it away in freezer containers & so far have used it to make yeast gravy & added it to pea soup.
Of course, no spring can pass without a ritual trip to the dump. Friday morning I borrowed a neighbor's pickup to take advantage of scrap tire amnesty week and unload a half dozen old tires that were still kicking around my property from the previous owners. I'd used a couple of them as planters for a while, but several more were living in the crawlspace and stashed away in the shed. Take that Martha! When was the last time your pampered ass hauled a load of shit to the dump? Though I did find a way to pretty up the chore—en route to the landfill, I swung by a friend's house to deliver armloads of hot pink azalea blossoms to be used in centerpieces at her brother's wedding the next day.
That afternoon, Charles managed to sneak out of work just a bit early & we took off to the next county for a hot date at our local pick-your-own strawberry farm. We came away with two gallons of plump fat berries and though a sun-warmed, fresh-picked berry is something akin to a taste of heaven, these aren't quite as sweet as the handful of scrawny strawberries I manage to coax out of my half-dozen frontyard plants, and nothing could ever come close to the tiny little underfoot fruits we picked along clifftop hikes during our Newfoundland honeymoon nearly two years ago. Charles tended to cleaning & freezing the booty while I retreated to the garden 'til dark installing the remaining veggie plants. Every day I wander around and survey the scene: a half-dozen freshly tilled beds newly planted with three varieties of beans, five varieties of tomatoes, two of cukes, two of squashes, four of peppers, eggplants, banana melons, three basils, sorrel, carrots, kale, and a bit of room left over for whatever else I might get my hands on in the near future. Now if I could just procure a trio or so of chickens & maybe a little nanny goat, I just might be set when the shit goes down!
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