Flowers, Flowers, Flowers

My weekend planting festival culminated in the addition of some impatiens and begonias to the pots on the front porch and the back deck.

Nichole will be happy to see that the flower pot in front of the rhododendron no longer needs to feel like an underachiever.

I've got New Guinea impatiens in hanging on the front porch.

And some more impatiens for the pots on the porch and the front porch table.

The back deck got some pink begonias.  Let's hope that Pesky keeps his hands off.

Now I feel like I'm ready for cool drinks and leisurely evenings on the back deck.  Bring it on, summer.

Garden Monday

Over the weekend, I finished planting my garden.  I've got the usual assortment of tomatoes, peppers, squash, cucumbers and 6 rows (!) of zinnias.  Basil, oregano, and rosemary are alongside the carrots and onions.  This year, I'm giving cantaloupe a try. 

I planted later than usual this spring, not by design but because of events out of my control.  Spring around here lingered cold and wet and only in the last two weeks has the growing season officially arrived.  I've been anxious to get plants in the ground and now the job is complete.  Though the garden is planted later than usual, I'm still confident that I'll have plenty of produce by August.

This is the fifteenth year that I've planted a garden in my backyard.  The ritual of tilling the soil, digging the holes, and marking the rows is always a reminder of the happiness of gardens past.  I vividly remember planting a garden the summer I was pregnant with JT.  That next summer, he lay on a blanket and gurgled as I planted the year's tomatoes.  By the following year, he was eager to "help."   This year, he came with me to pick out the plants and set them in place.  The two of us have had some nice talks about why I like my garden so much.

Things always seem more promising when my garden is in the ground.  Mother Nature must approve, because she sent a nice rain our way this morning.

I look forward to tending my plants and enjoying the fruits of my labors, to feeling the dirt  in my hands, and watching the progress of the plants.  Gardens are a lesson in joy from the unexpected.  They are a reminder that patience is inevitably rewarded.  I like the way my garden is a way of connecting my past with my present and my future.

Happy growing, little plants.

Home Sweet Home

It's been another hectic week at Sassafras House, with the usual assortment of homework, laundry, and mouse homicide plus a heaping serving of car trouble served alongside a little later-than-usual Little League game.   But every morning when we leave the house and every evening when we arrive home, we are greeted by the sight of our incredibly abundant rhododendron, which is celebrating spring and life in a way that I find very comforting.

 I'll take it.

Oh, Wednesday

A few weeks ago, I sat down to write-up my Wednesday woes.  The Universe apparently heard (but did not listen?) and yesterday morning offered up Wednesday Can Suck It, part II.

My car, which has been misbehaving in an undiagnosable way (as in mechanic was stumped) for several weeks now, had settled into a pattern of reliably hiccuping but never actually stopping.  No check engine lights were on.  No dreadful sounds were heard.  I figured I had time to: 1) watch for other troubling signs and get thee to a mechanic and/or 2) explore my replacement car options.

JT and I took to bringing along sneakers and a book for all of our travels.  Things were fine.  Or fine'ish.

Until yesterday morning, circa 7:10 am, as we were leaving the house early to score a bagel for breakfast.  The car refused to start, then started but wouldn't really go anywhere.  And suddenly two dashboard lights were flashing, as if to suggest something along the lines of "girl, you are so fucked now."  We grabbed a ride to school with a friend who lives in town.  Then we spent some time yesterday getting the car to the mechanic for what turned out to be the ultimate diagnosis of $600 spark plug coil/ignition blowout.

Ouch.

The repair is proceeding.  We weren't left stranded by the side of the road and instead spent an extra few minutes on the front porch on a beautiful May morning.   And once again, let me note that it's very nice to have friends who are so willing to help.  In fact, our blessings are too numerous to calculate and we know that well.  Add in a sense of humor and we're doing just fine.  

Very fine indeed.

He Has a Point

New York City has banned smoking in public parks, the continuation of a ban on smoking in restaurants that the city adopted a few years ago.  Like everything in NYC, there's plenty of disagreement about whether or not this is a good idea.  But my favorite element of the new policy is the announcement that New Yorkers are expected to police themselves.

Every time the my local public radio station reports that self-policing element, I stifle a laugh.  JT, also not one known for subtle diplomacy, just snorts.  Finally, this morning he said to me, "I'm 11 and I know that's stupid."

Y'all, we are totally heading to the city to light up and break some rules.

Sleeping with the National League

I do not intend this phrase as some sort of Jersey euphemism (a la "sleeping with the fishes"). And I'm not discussing any new tell-all sports confessional book. No, sleeping with the National League is exactly what JT does every night, thanks to his National League sheets. Personally, I'm not sure I would want to fall asleep calculating ERAs and batting average.

Obviously, I'm not an 11 year old boy.

Real Life Conversations with JT: Math Facts edition

The backstory: We were driving home from school, discussing the car and its pesky problem. I pointed out that our car is seven years old and therefore entitled to have some problems.  JT announced that we'd had the car forever, since he was "a little kid."

Mama: It's not been that long.

JT: I was four when we got this car.

Mama: No, you couldn't have been four when we got it.

JT: Mama, the car is 7 years old and I'm eleven (under his breath) and I'm the one who had to retake the math test?

As my 4th grade teacher could certainly testify, I was always a tad sketchy on my math facts.

Food Friday: Tortellini Soup and Primavera Risotto

It's been a while since I posted a Food Friday entry but I cooked a lot this week and it seems like a good time to post a couple of spring recipes.  First up is Tortellini Soup, with the steam wafting off the bowl and a side of warm bread and brie.

I found the recipe for the soup over at Tasty Kitchen.  I made the soup with vegetable broth and fresh cheese tortellini. 

Next up is a familiar favorite in my kitchen: risotto.

I adapted the Pioneer Woman recipe to my own needs, using crisp zucchini and carrots as my veggies and adding oregano and basil to the vegetable mixture.  I used vegetable broth for the rice; the chevre makes for great flavor and is a nice way to change-up a familiar favorite.

Happy cooking!

Gangsta Blues

JT has a pair of blue shorts that are too large.  I didn't return them for a smaller size because these days it won't be long before the shorts are too small.  Unfortunately, they have a tendency to sag at the waist line.  He knows how I feel about this look, so he generally tugs the shorts back up.  Earlier this week, in a review of which pairs of shorts were clean he revealed the nickname he has for the shorts.  Their name?  Gangsta Blues.  This is what happens when you are raised by me: you nickname your shorts.

Alarming

The other day, a salesman came by and invited me to install an alarm in Sassafras House.  His first line of sale was to invoke the name of a neighboring town where black people live.  When the race-baiting did not cause me to sign right up, he invoked the name of his alarm company's parent company and their responsible attitude toward finance: Goldman Sachs.

I stopped him before he moved on to some third Republican boogie man threatening my hearth and home, though I suspect he might have told me about the dangerous plots of the gays.  Or perhaps he would have warned me about the debt and how it's ruining our children's future?  Maybe he would have assured me that BP Oil owned his company and was at the ready to keep us secure.  Hard to say because I sent him on his way with the warning that we keep a rabid dog in the living room, just waiting to set upon thieves and liars.

Newt Gingrich, I'm talking to you.