Nothing cements my commitment to relaxing like the shedding of my bra. The donning of my pajamas whispers of intention to get there, but sadly, outdoor wear in the form of pajamas is still relatively acceptable in my neck of Canada. Hence, pajamas are not a deterrent to being seen in public.
I know many ladies who go braless into public spaces, but if you are an amply-bosomed woman battling the forces of gravity with the addition of a major modesty complex, going braless from the house, let alone answering the door, just will not happen.
There is something about making the decision and then following through that feels as refreshing as a sip of cold beer on a hot day. With it comes a feeling of abandon and aeration causing me to make impulsive decisions like, “Calories be damned. Yes, I will have a piece of that chocolate cake.”
So here I am, another night with the choice of a promising book or a brainless movie, releasing the hostages from their imprisonment. With that carefree attitude, I declare unashamed, “This mama ain’t going anywhere tonight.”
And of equal importance…
“Where’s my cake?!”
Inquiring Minds Want To Know
What is your signal for some serious relax time?Share in the comments if you feel so inclined.
No, they are not the latest purchase from the local produce store. They are mine. Homegrown in our backyard on our hill which has previously only been good for bramble.
I would like to say that I embrace gardening like the people on my local Facebook gardening group do, but alas, I do not. I was brought into it kicking and screaming by my mother who wanted to use our backyard to expand her gardening empire. Citing lack of time and already a challenge to fit creative pursuits into my schedule of snacking on tortilla chips, all my excuses were blown out of the water by a little something called COVID. Suddenly, I had an abundance of time with my work reducing to 50%. Gardening then seemed like a logical prepper activity to indulge in to stock my bunker.
Now, I would like to say that these little potato gems were the result of countless hours of sweat equity, but aside from digging the garden, I garden like I parent…I assume a little neglect goes a long way. Darwin would be proud.
Mom Helped A Little
Thankfully due to my mom’s weekly forays over to weed (I did help…I fed her lunch), the garden did not go too wild except for the lettuce. I admired the beautiful leaves until it flowered, and then I continued to admire its floral glory until my husband requested to cut it as it impeded his lawn cutting efforts. As an aside, I found his request to cut the lettuce endearing as there are many an interaction on my Facebook gardening page unequivocally encouraging divorce to those whose spouse dare prune anything they “thought was a weed.” Tough crowd, gardeners. I wonder if a statistical study would find higher rates of single status or criminal convictions among gardeners. Probably not the latter, they know how to hide the evidence.
A Little Neglect Goes A Long Way
Anyway due to neglect and some intermittent watering, I have come away with a beautiful bounty of potatoes. I have found my plant. Lettuce I just could not keep up. With kale, my timing was always off, and I did not get it before it became a tough big leaf. Beans and radishes…not my favorite vegetables so no incentive there. Green onions lovely and delicious, but so unstorably abundant. The jury is out on the zucchini and squash still; however, potatoes are my kind of gardening. Little effort for wonderful yield.
Seriously though, thanks, mom. I attribute the slightly green hue on my thumb to you. It is barely perceptible, but it is there.
When life gives you shit, grow a garden – Unknown (Sorry, mom)