Thursday, January 28

Whistle while you work

The older I get, the more I become like my mother.

Which in my case, is a good thing.
I will spare you all of the mushy details, but I love my momma, more than is probably healthy, but the woman amazes me.
We share a love of Martha Stewart, sleeping, reading, decorating... etc... etc...
Something that has stuck with me, that I never thought would, is gardening.
My parents maintained a particularly hideous sized garden as I was growing up. And when I got old enough to help, nothing irritated me more that being scraped out of my sleeping starfish pose, on a hot summer day at 5:30 in the morning, to weed.
But now I yearn for fresh herbs to cook with; tomatillos to make salsa and salad dressing with. For beautiful produce to have on hand so I can whip something together without having to stop off at Smith's on my way home from work. To have a garden encircled by an orange picket fence, with a tiny gate, and beautiful grape vines.
Which officially makes me even more like my mother, because now I fantasize about cake domes and perfect gardens, instead of Muppet skinned boys. (Now its bearded MEN.)

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