Obsession, thy name is procrastinating writer
I've been blathering on about my tomatoes over at my personal blog but I had to share a photo of the four (even though you can only see 1.5) tomatoes that popped out on one of the deck plants. Apparently all it takes is even the hint of a blossom to turn me into a total back-to-nature girl. I am completely obsessed with my plants. You'd think they were made of cashmere or something, the way I fawn all over them. I mean, I dash outside first thing in the morning in PJs and clogs to see their dewy faces. I tuck them in at night. I'd sing them lullabys if I had even the slightest musical ability but they have enough obstacles what with the rabbits and deer and squirrels who frequent our back yard.
Of course I'll probably be singing (shrieking) a different tune the first time I find a bug. I am not a fan of bugs. My brain shuts down at the sight of anything with a stinger. I've often said I'd probably drive off a bridge if a bee ever got into the car with me. Something primitive takes over and drives rational thought from my brain and turns me into one giant mass of terror.
But then maybe we'll be lucky. Maybe the bugs will cut us some slack. (They'd better since I'm going pesticide-free.)
And yes, we're trying the Topsy Turvy. When it comes to tacky tv pitches, I'm an easy mark. I'll probably end up with Sham Wow and the pasta steamer. (I already have a Vidalia Chopper and love it.)
I have this romantic vision of summer evenings on the deck surrounded by daisies and marigolds, zucchini and eggplant and tomatoes and tarragon and basil and Greek oregano and fragrant basil and cucumbers and a sock that practically knits itself at the speed of light.
Hey, I can dream, can't I?