Gentle reader, I’ve been racking my brain trying to come up with an entertaining and fascinating post but all I have are random bits of this and that. Which, of course, means that it’s time for one of our stream of conscious chats.
In my mind’s eye, we are sitting under an umbrella at a frozen yogurt shop. You are wearing the cutest spring jacket with matching rain-boots which makes me slightly jealous, since my enormous feet couldn’t possibly fit inside something that precious.
We’re sitting outside, because I am determined to create the illusion that spring is here, despite all evidence to the contrary.
Seriously, what is up with the weather? It is almost April and there are still large piles of snow out in my yard. I have gardening needs, Mother Nature, and three cubic yards of compost being delivered today. Let’s get with the program, okay?
(Reminder to self: pull car out of garage before landscaping company dumps three cubic yards of compost in the driveway.)
Speaking of gardening, I have big plans for ours this year. I convinced my husband to build me another garden box in the back yard for the eleventy-million asparagus plants I ordered. (There may or may not have been nudity involved in my “convincing.” I’m a firm believer in using the tools you are blessed with.)
My lovely plumber of a husband also built me second garden box on the side of the house for the blueberry bushes he ordered me for Valentine’s Day. (Because nothing says love like homegrown fruit, in my opinion.)
My husband built these additions last weekend during the only fifteen hours of sunshine we’ve gotten this past month. Then he came inside and said, quite firmly, that these were the last ones. I took particular care to not point out that those were the exact words he said last year, when he built me another garden box.
All in all, I now have eight garden boxes to fill with delicious and lovely plants to feed my family with. I also have big plans for some gung-ho container planting on my front porch. Deep in my heart there is this insane goal of producing 300 pounds of produce this year, from my own yard.
Which reminds me that I need to pick up batteries for my digital kitchen scale, so that I can keep track of how much food I grow this year.
Speaking of insane goals, my efforts at preventing any more kidney stones from growing inside my worn-out body seem to be going well. It’s been two weeks since I have drastically cut my sodium intake. I no longer cry as I go down the canned pasta aisle at the grocery store. But inside I’m still grieving for Chef Boyardee (which I learned from a commercial used to be pronounced Chef Boy-ARD-ee, instead of how we say it today: Chef Boy-ard-DEE. I don’t care what you say, television is educational.)
In better news, I haven’t contracted diabetes yet, despite my discovery that jelly beans are a low sodium food. This is mostly because my family members keep stealing my jellybeans and eating them. However, I have partaken of enough different kinds of this delicious Easter candy to speak with authority when I say that Hawaiian Punch jellybeans are the best around.
Seriously, don’t try to argue with me about this.
Last night on Netflix, I watched this documentary called Forks Over Knives. I’m still reeling from all the information I heard and I have this recurring thought in my brain: I’ve got to eat more vegetables. Which means I have to actually start liking more vegetables. And then I have the herculean task of convincing my offspring to do the same.
So you could say that I am filled with all kinds of vegetative pressure to grow and eat better food. (And now I’m singing Pressure from Billy Joel in my head. “One, two, three, four, PRESSURE!) Oh Billy Joel, how I <heart> you)
Here’s my friendly warning: don’t watch this show if you’re not prepared to do some serious thinking about what you eat.
Well, gentle reader, these are all the random thoughts I’ve got percolating inside my head lately. Thanks for letting me get them out.
And now I’m off to make pumpkin pancakes for three starving children, because some idiot (me) decided to no longer buy processed commercial cereal.