All I've Got

Dear Note, thanks for the heads up on the plants. I did as you instructed and planted them in the terra cotta bowl out front. I think they'll be happy there in the sun. Good call.
In the meantime, I've ducktaped my checkcard to prevent any further unauthorized purchases without my prior approval...although not before you went out and bought 2 packets containing seeds for carrots and green beans. I'm not sure where you planned on growing them, seeing as the dirt around here is as hard as baked clay and not conducive to vegetable gardening.
My instinct tells me you had somehow delusionally planned to grow them in raised beds. How you planned on achieving this is beyond me as I have just told you I drastically cut my hours at work, to which you replied, "How wonderful." My impression is that you were sincere. If so, I would greatly appreciate your cooperation by not sabotaging any efforts on my part to save money.

There's no need to remind me of your joy for playing in the dirt. Need I remind you I share your enthusiasm for plants? For the record, I'm not traumatized by the horrific death of my zuchinis, pumpkin, cucumber, corn, or greenbeans. I'm just reluctant to invest the time and money into another garden until I have the adequate resources to provide for it (time and money-wise). Sharing your vision of a winter garden was thoughtful, but highly ambitious and impractical. You'll have to forgive me if I don't jump on board. I've barely begun my time at home and already you're planning away my days. What gives?

Dear Self, how wonderful that you have decided to cut back on work to spend more time at home. I know, I know. You're stressed about money. Who, in this world, isn't stressing about something? Might as well be stressed and enjoy your children and husband than to be working all the time and never having time for them or your homework, right?
I'm glad you think so. In the meantime, I've got a little project that's been turning 'round and 'round in my head and I've been anxiously awaiting to share with you...I want you to plant a winter garden! The thought hit me quite randomly the other day as I was pouting about the fact that I don't get to play in the dirt anymore. So today, in honor of being broke and while you weren't paying attention, I bought a small cherry tomato plant and a strawberry plant.
You're going to plant them in the terra cotta container out front that used to house the basil that you so unecessarily let die. (Remember, the basil you stopped watering for no reason right after the damn plants started to grow - something you had complained they weren't doing all summer - remember that?)
Don't give me that crap about being traumatized by your expereince with the zuccini's.
That was exactly 14 months and 5 days ago. I'm over it and you're over it too. You just don't know it yet. Just because your garden was unexplainably devastated by a mysterious disease does not mean you should never attempt to garden again. I see you're half hearted attempts. You planted jasmine and sweetbroom. Those were two very successful choices and I'm happy that you're happy about that. But please, can we go back to the basics? There is something so very satisfying about the idea of a productive garden giving back to the family. Besides, I miss playing in the dirt.
Here. i found this list on Suite101.com. (just in case you wanted some reference on what to plant:)

A list of wonderful winter / cool season vegetables
Snap peas and snow peas -Frost-hardy peas may be planted whenever the soil temperature is at least 45°F or plant heat-tolerant varieties in midsummer to late summer for a fall crop. Plant peas at least 1 to 1-1/2 inches deep and one inch apart. Approximately 60 days to harvest.

Cole crops: broccoli, cabbage, collards (frost hardy- can tolerate more cold weather in the late fall than other cole crops - 60-75 days to harvest), cauliflower, brussels sprouts, bok choy...

Carrots - Hardy, cool season biennial. Plant about 1/2 deep (no more than two or three seeds per inch). Takes 2 weeks to germinate and approximately 60+ days to mature.

Parsnips - Plant seeds 1/2 to 3/4 " deep. They are slow germinating. You can keep them in the ground over winter and harvest in spring for what most consider to be the best flavor!

Beets - Fairly frost hardy. Thin seedlings to 1-3 inches apart. Start successive plantings at 3 to 4 week intervals until midsummer. Takes approximately 60 days to maturity.

Onions - Winter onions are planted from sets formed at the tops of the plant in place of flowers. You must get a winter variety such as walking onion/Egyptian onion, and these are perennials so give them a permanent home. In August, plant the sets 1 inch deep. Space sets 4 inches apart.

Lettuce - Can be planted early spring or late summer. You may want to start lettuce seedlings in the shade and transplant when temperatures cool. Plant 1/2 inch deep, 12 inches apart.

Mesclun - A mixture of young, leafy greens including lettuce.

Spinach - Seed spinach in late summer for fall and winter harvest. Chill your spinach seeds in the refrigerator for 1-2 weeks before planting.

Rutabagas/Turnips - A rutabaga is a cross between a cabbage and turnip. Turnips grow wild in Siberia. Turnips mature in two months and may be planted either in the spring, late summer or fall. You can eat the roots or leaves. Rutabagas mature in 3 months.

Chard - Plant seeds 1/2 to 3/4 inches deepRead more: http://vegetablegardens.suite101.com/article.cfm/plant_a_fall_and_winter_garden#ixzz0RFJYzbOp



I do so miss playing in the dirt. It'll be therapuetic. C'mon!
I'll check back with you in a week and see what you have to say.

these days are filled with
living
that flows between
the nonexistent points
of good or bad

this movement is continuous,
constant in its certainty
deliberate
in its spontaneity
and fixed for no one

the illusion
is that we are
what we feel
we are
instead of what lies
beneath the ebb and flow
of this fluid dream
of"me"

Writing the five page essay last class was an unexpected but enjoyable assignment. I can’t remember what led me to write about God, but it felt like a topic worthy of introspection and seemed challenging enough. If I’m going to write five paragraphs about something, the last thing I want to do is bore myself writing about something of relative unimportance. That’s one thing that I recognize about myself – the compulsive need to do everything perfectly. It’s not always a good thing. There are just some tasks in life that aren’t worth the additional time that I spend on them. Like laundry, for example. Do the shirts really need to be hung according to color? Do the hangers really need to be spaced two finger widths apart? No. But I’m aware of this and have the rational capacity to maintain a measurement of embarrassment over admitting such things, whereas a truly neurotic person does not. At least, that’s what I tell myself in consolation. So as a compromise, I only take the time to perform such detail oriented tasks if I’m aware that I’m choosing to perform them and never perform them out of compulsiveness. This is an important distinction in my book. And since I have a need to manage myself in such ways, making “rules” and such, it ends up being a pretty big book. Sigh.
You can only escape your insanity for so long; it always finds you in the end.

I walk along the moist wedge of sand where the edge of the ocean rests.
Leaving footprints behind like a trail of breadcrumbs, I turn to look in my wake.
The water glides along the sand in thin sheets, smoothing over every mark that bore witness to my being there. The shoreline stretches endlessly in either direction, with no point of reference or indication that where I’m going is any different than where I’ve been. Rocks lay glistening in the sun, little pieces of the earth that serve as silent witnesses of my passing. They carry within them stories older than the ages, as old as the grains of sand and the salt in the sea. Their smooth curves and restful nature appeal to me and I stoop down to pick one up before water rushes to bury it beneath another fine layer of sand. It is sparkling white and about the size of an egg; and I marvel at how it fits perfectly into the palm of my hand. I look at the grey veins that are spread across its pitted surface and am convinced of its perfection. Uncertainty suddenly finds me – do I replace the rock where I found it, move it to a place where it can be admired by all, or take it home? Something similar to guilt forces me to remove it from my pocket and return it to its place in the sand. Everything in this life has its place, I suppose. Who am I to interfere with the journey that rock was on? My husband, who looks at me from afar, sees nothing but his wife silhouetted against the setting sun. She stands there with her head tilted slightly to one side and pulls something out of her pocket to place it in the sand. I turn and begin my walk back towards him. He knows better than to ask what I was doing. My explanations are usually met with raised eyebrows. “It’s a rock,” he would say, and I would quietly smile.

I'm living reclusively these days where it's safe and quiet.
There's something inherantly stressful about family and holidays.
Me and stress are old buddies, but we usually don't get along.

Oh yeah, did I mention that we're moving cross country in less than 10 days and the Navy hasn't given us any money to do it?
I'm sure that can't be helping my emotional state at the moment.

My rattie has a tumor that's grown to the size of an orange. Truthfully, I thought she would die before it got this big. Apparently it's not cancer, so it's not a quick death. This would be one of those rare occasions that anyone would be dissapointed to discover it's not cancer.
I called the vet and since she doesn't appear to be in any pain they said to let her die naturally.
If dying of a large benign preventable tumor is "natural" then I guess that's what they meant. I'm not particularly favoring the idea of dragging Daisy AND two ratties in a cage cross-country.

Ugh.
Getting nauseous just thinking about it.