Weed saver.

I feel as though I’ve lost a month. It slipped through a gaping flu, withered on either side of the holidays, and then got swallowed up by days on a train, stroller-ing around “Bisneyland” and days back.

With winter break over after today, tomorrow we’ll drop from 4 to 3. Friday will be the first real day of just 2 as the little one and I embark on stay-at-home-ness. And then it’s the weekend.

I’ve been sliding into this new realm. The days of the week can become meaningless easily. My calendar that overlapped with color-coded priority for ages routinely has “No Events Today.” Which leads to me missing the single event I do have and no showing my haircut…

I’m learning how deeply I’ve relied on routine and ritual to allow myself to layer on “too much” for “so long.” It created the ability for a highly-functional auto-pilot life. One that I am looking forward to discovering. I want to be present and aware in ways I didn’t have space for. I’m choosing to slow down and see and feel.

Here’s to trying new things.

Two weeks under.

Flu is such a short word. Flu. Small. Simple.

Influenza sounding more flora. More weighty. Simply more.

I’m not sure I’ve ever been so under the weather. I lost days to it before losing track of what day it was.

The rain timed itself as keenly as it can this time of year.

Which did nothing to mature the palates of my pests from pea shoots and brassicae greens toward henbit or this star-shaped mystery.

Perhaps next year.

Crispy

I found my way to the garden on a frosty morning for a quick look about and weed.

The soil was crunchy past 1/4″ down. The stirrup hoe pulling sheets of earth along. Occasionally, a saucer of soil dragging an onion from its slumber.

The weeds in the pathways look a lace pattern, their name “henbit” sounding a fit.

They, as their dandy lion neighbor, not minding the season’s change as does the persistent potatoes I was hoping to harvest for Christmas.

Munch crunch.

I’m glad my peas are delicious. Normally, I like to sauté the shoots in some butter or oil, add salt and garlic, and eat them warm.

A gardening fellow, perhaps with floppy ears or a skin-like tail, is continuously insisting they are best eaten fresh, crisp, and raw.

I’m looking at two weeks of utter free days with usual evenings before the holidays are here. Then daycare will be over and I’ll be starting a brand new use of my energies: stay at home parent.

All and any tips, guides, or suggestions very much welcome, especially if they’re for a parent who needs a balance of space and quiet, avoids shopping, and can’t eat most of the things that baking most days would create. (I’m missing baking, homemade bread, pie, and holiday cookies a lot these days, can you tell?)

Well that’s settled then.

The potatoes have returned from their freeze a month past.

And I’ve admitted that my current work is not healthy for me, aligned with me as a person, or necessary.

I don’t have much practice at quitting things. I hear that sticking up for yourself gets easier with practice. And practice takes starting.

On the fence.

Another freeze is expected tomorrow night. High 20s. Do I cover the green beans again?

Last time the got some burn. They are flowering now. They’ll likely burn, covered, again. And need a bit of time to try and fruit, again.

I got called a softy, again, today. He wasn’t wrong 😉

So I’ll likely cover them, again. And hope, again, for a long enough stretch of warm sunshine for a green bean bite, or three.

At least until the onions arrive and the brassicae transplants demand more space and the green beans surrender.