And yet, just as Jack said to Enis in Brokeback Mountain, "I wish I knew how to quit you." There's something in my blood that just compels me to plant stuff when spring rolls around. It's in my DNA. They'll find a gene for it. Trust me.
But hell, although I've been gardening for over thirty-five years I've not figured out one damn thing except that you need a lot of sun and plenty of water and the right dirt. How's that? And don't ask me what the right dirt is, either.
Maybe I should change my motto from "I don't know shit" to "Fuck if I know," although I guess they're about equal in meaning. But hey- it's good to change things up now and then, isn't it?
Anyway, that's what I'm thinking about on this beautiful morning in Lloyd. It's supposed to get up to 80 degrees here today and then rain tomorrow which would make it a perfect day to plant. Do I have my seeds? No I do not. I do have some potatoes to plant. I could hustle in to town and buy my peas and maybe some onion sets.
Have I ever even SAID that word before?
What the hell?
In a completely unrelated topic, I think I have finally figured out how to make a good pie crust. After almost fifty years of baking I am now able to make pastry without weeping. I started using the recipe in my ancient "Young America Cooks" cookbook and by golly, it's a good recipe and it rolls out without tearing and is just a lovely thing.
And to further the not-connected-to-anything-else conversational segue, I decided last night that the best way to pick out a face cream is by smell because ain't none of 'em, no matter how much you pay, really going to do shit when it comes to wrinkles, either in prevention or elimination. So just pick the one that smells the best to you and be happy with that.
All right. I'm going to take my wrinkled up old face and crippled up old hips out for a walk in this glorious day. And then...well, fuck if I know.