With the Latvian kids back in their motherland and the domestic child vacationing at her grandma’s, the wild rumpus has officially begun.
Also note that thousands of dollars in private school tuition have funded the spelling of “Whipples Dam” in Special Things, item 1.
Thus far, Joe’s and my kidless debauchery has included:
- Late-night walks with the dogs.
- An impromptu trip to Ikea, including numerous unauthorized market-item purchases.
- Dinners served brazenly afront the Olympics.
And what’s up with Ken’s abandoned, possibly drunken mail-order bride in the background?
Despite my best efforts, all kinds of stuff happens under the radar in this apartment.
In other news, my urban homesteading endeavor is officially underway: shortly before hosting ended, Nastja helped me plant a little balcony garden.
(“Balcony” is a generous term here. In real life, it’s a tray of seedlings on our 1’x3′ pseudo window box, half of which is hogged by the air conditioner. Granted, to those the size of Skin Cancer Ken and his iffy mail order bride, it’s practically the Bahamas. Life is what you make of it, I suppose.)
I have traditionally had a black thumb powerful enough to kill plastic dandelions. But I keep telling myself, gardening’s not a *talent*. Is it?
Thus far, I seem to be capable of keeping alive only things that begin with C: cucumbers, chives, cilantro. This category includes “children” and “chihuahuas”, fortunately for them.
I’m thinking this little garden is somehow (and semi-irritatingly) metaphorical.
- It was planted in a wonderful moment, in good company, under complicated circumstances.
- The stuff that’s supposed to flourish hasn’t. Basil grows like a weed? Don’t be knocking on my door for pesto anytime soon.
- Until our super comes with a special un-installation tool, I have to jam my hand through a freaking baby gate to water it. Despite the barrier, I’m still probably over-soggifying the soil.
- I initially panicked that the pigeons were eating it, but it turned out that the cucumber leaves were just shaped that way.
- This thing is going to take a long time to really take root and grow.
- The harvest may/will probably yield less than expected.
- I’ll probably have to move stuff around and figure out new sources of light.
The cool back-end detail: My gardening supplies originally belonged to my father-in-law, who was a prolific gardener before he died a little over a year ago. Upon discovering that our tray of little peat pods were way too dry to plant with, Nastja and I dumped some water on them, got busy with something else, and forgot about them entirely. The kids left, and the pods sat for days on my windowsill, covered by another tray of seedlings. But when I lifted the lid, I discovered that some of them sported mystery shoots of greenage. My father-in-law must have sprinkled a few errant seeds. I’ll do my best to find out what he intended to grow.