Our garden is growing fantastically this year.
I wish you all could see it and experience it in person.
It's only July 7th, and I'm already looking forward to gallons and gallons of squash soup. With freshly grated nutmeg on the top or a little fresh dill and whipped cream in a more savory style.
We were away visiting family this weekend. When we got home, the boys took a nap, and I just breathed in the silence for a while. I'm becoming more and more of a person who likes quiet. And daily rhythms. Both of which are not found in large family gatherings. On a given day here at home, I have about 2 hours of silence during the daytime. Just to think. And clean up baked potato off the floor. And to try to accomplish making our house into a simplistic piece of beauty.
Speaking of simple pieces of beauty, the chaos of the family weekend (in a good way...we enjoyed most of our time), has prompted me to do yet another house purge. I'm not planning on starting this week, but on next Monday, so if you feel like joining, I'll be getting rid of many more things next week.
This week, my goal is that by next Monday my first armchair project will be completely defrocked and prepped to get her new duds on. These chairs will be finished by the time I'll be eating squash soup, by hook or by crook...because I've already majorly botched up one self-imposed goal, and doing it a second time would be completely unacceptable. So if you were ever curious what the inside of an armchair looked like, come back here later on this week.
I got a new workout DVD in the mail while I was gone this weekend. I sat down to watch some of the moves last night (thought it would be wise to learn the moves before jumping in...) and I had to stop watching at the "water break" because eating pretzels while watching workouts focused on your bum and thighs just doesn't feel like a wholesome experience. Tonight I'm going to try the first fifteen minutes.
If I don't post anything until next Monday, please assume that either I am paralyzed from attempting to use my lackluster and woebegone muscles or that my wingback chair ate me in protest.