Unexpected visitors

I am determined to do some gardening for the fun of it this year, not just for the food of it. Even so, I was out weeding the future asparagus bed (bed for asparagus next year, not some futuristic Star Trek asparagus that bends you to its will with a gigantic butt-shaped head [seriously, they looked like butts, did they not?]). The first spring we were here I decided it was the perfect location for a permanent bed of some sort, and decided that strawberries are easy enough to come by, but asparagus, ahh... that's not so easy. Fresh asparagus kicks the stih out of anything you get at the store and even sometimes the farmers market, which I boycott anyway ('nother story for another day).

So. Hauled a ginormous tree out of the bed with the help of good old Hal (that lift gate can sustain a surprising load) and hopped in to commence the weeding. Cut out popple seedlings/young trees. Cut out whatever-the-hell-else is in there that isn't grass. Nip over to fill the wheelbarrow (bliss!) with wood chips and notice ... can it be? Am I seeing things? No! NO! Asparagus! I see a nearly-ferned out asparagus stem! OMIGOD, I SEE FIVE!

I put them in that first spring, then saw no signs of life (you know, how you put them in and cover them as they grow until the soil is all level about them?. I figured they were shot. So I didn't weed the bed for four years. Or fertilize them. Or mulch them.

But there they are, all the same. Five glorious stalks of the wily asparagus, once and again lending credence to my stance that if it can't take neglect it gots no business in my garden.

Happy dance!

Of course, it's too late in the season to eat them, and I didn't notice one of them before I hauled the tip off, so I cut that one back and I'll hope for the best. It seems to me that if it made it this far, it will pop back up in no time. Right? OF course it will. And next year I'll put in more. Or maybe it's still early enough to do it this year. Next weekend, perhaps. Mmmmm. Asparagus. Stinky pee.


Update: I cut them back just for the hell of it. Maybe they'll produce a few more stalks before I stop for the season. And maybe harvesting will stimulate them into thinking they should produce more, which would be nice since each crown currently only seems to have one measly stalk.

Cross your phalanges!*






*I know that isn't correct. I don't care.

Left Bank Cheese Pie

Make this. You will like it.

9-inch pie crust
2 c. cottage cheese (the large-curd is creamier; do not use icky
low-fat cottage cheese)
2/3 c. sour cream
2 c. mashed potatoes
2 eggs, well beaten
1.5 tsp. kosher salt
3 Tbs. chopped oniion
3 Tbs. pimiento, chopped
1.5 Tbs. butter

Blend cottage cheese and sour cream. Beat in potatoes and all other
ingredients except the butter.

Dot the top of the pie with the butter.

Bake at 350 degrees for 1 to 1.25 hours, until filling has set.

This is terrific cold or at room temperature, so it's a wonderful dish
for eating outdoors at a picnic.

Day on the edge of forever

Did you ever trot off to the bathroom to go to poo and it seems like it takes f o r e v e r for the damn thing to come out, then you look in the pot and damned if it isn't only 2-3" long? That's how my day is going.

We leave for a child-free weekend in Las Vegas early this afternoon and if you will pardon me for saying so, I CAN'T FUCKING WAIT! Yes, I will miss the babies. Yes, I will be glad to come home and see them again (though I wouldn't mind a slightly longer trip), but damn do I need this. I'm snappy, on edge, even less patient than usual, and just all-around knackered.

Perp is already having a break imposed on her, Dude freaks out the second his feet hit the floor because that means I'm not holding him (my chiropractor loves that; keeps him in business), and I honestly think that my head is going to explode. I am fairly sure I do not have the cleaning products to deal with that. Also? I seem to have either stabbed myself under a fingernail or I have a seriously painful bruise. I hit it when I type. Fun!

So. Barring free access this weekend, I'm outy. I hope to return in a better frame of mind. Cross your phalanges, eh?

Further cementing her place as "animal least likely to live until spring."

The pig? She ate one of my ducklings. It is official: I will feel no remorse when she gets offed. But I will feel sated when I eat a large portion of her ass.

Four years ago

today we were ensconsed at Caesars Palace, primping ourselves before we ran downstairs to get hitched. I was still waitng for my dress to come back from the cleaners. And waiting. Aaaand waiting. It finally arrived (uncleaned and unpressed) 15 minutes before the ceremony so we hustled downstairs and did 'er up right. And? Get this: I didn't freak out over the dress. Not even a little. I think the wedding coordinator wanted to cry. What the hell, if I bought into that "this is the most important/best/most memorable day of my life" crap, I was going to be in for a sorry sad life afterward. So I was all zen & shit and if the dress didn't come, I had a skirt.

But the dress came, and we skittered on down to the wee garden and had a lovely wedding. Then we traipsed off to dinner and watched our friends and family get loaded.

Hooray!

Happy anniversary, baby. I loves you the most.