2006-01-20 - 3:38 p.m.
For some reason I've been feeling a strange combination of bored, restless and nervous. I'm not entirely sure what that is about. The weather here has been insanely warm (almost 60 degrees today), and maybe I'm just itchy to get out in the garden. But I can't really plant anything in the middle of January, because (supposedly) winter will be back in a couple weeks. Still, I have exotic and lush fantasies involving basil and lemons.
In other garden news, we have pumpkin sprouts growing in the worm bin. I'm trying to decide the best way to nourish them through the winter so that we can grow pumpkins for next fall. I think I might transplant them to some seedling pots in the next couple weeks and them keep them on the window sill in the kitchen until March or so. Clearly I have some internet research to do.
In more other garden news, we will be extending our fence out to our property line, thereby almost doubling the size of our (admittedly minuscle) backyard. R claims to possess the skill, knowledge, talent and raw manliness to handle this project on his own, aided solely by our neighbor and yours truly. Since that would save us about a thousand smackers, I am disinclined to object to this plan. My one stipulation is that said extension must occur before I start planting. R has said this will only take a weekend, so I can translate that into 2-3 weekends, start to finish. R has also offered, with a rather dreamy look in his eyes, to till a couple rows for vegetables, which sounds delightful. And now that I think about it, I may ask him to set the fence back from the property line about six inches so that I can train some sweet peas up the fence. How glorious would that look! Or maybe some morning glories.
Plans for the weekend include cleaning the kitchen, cooking some meals for next week, and a totally justified trip to the knitting store for some yarn to make some items for my choir's auction. Also, perhaps some exercise in furtherance of my very own Operation Hottie. I have successfully dropped a few pounds, but would like to get all trim and svelte for my ten-year reunion in August, in which I drag Prince R around like the trophy husband he is and shout inappropriate things, such as "HA HA! You all thought I was too intellectual to ever get married. I was married when I was 23! MEN FIND ME ATTRACTIVE! HAR! HAR! HAR!" Then I shall make a desperate run for the bar. As much as I look forward to seeing my old classmates (and I do, really), there had better freaking be a bar at this shindig. Mmmm, alcohol. Prince R (like the trophy husband he is) will make all the ladies want him and all the fellows want to be him when he relates how, in between bouts of intense intellectual studliness re: disseration, he performs feats of intense masculinity, such as redoing our fence.
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