Too Many Tiny Tomatoes

One of my weaknesses as a gardener is extreme resistance to pulling up perfectly healthy plants, even if they are crowding others. This aversion extends to volunteers, too. If I recognize a little sprout as a bean, squash, or tomato, I either try to transplant it or, more often, let it grow. How can I not admire the pluck of a plant that has taken root against the odds? 

My frequent co-gardener, Treat, sympathizes with my attitude. Still, he has an easier time, both pruning back plants (even when they have blossoms or fruit!) and discarding volunteers, all in pursuit of a healthier, more productive plant and garden. Earlier this season, he cast a kindly but skeptical eye on all the extra little tomato plants I was nurturing. "You know they're probably going to be tough little cherry tomatoes," he warned me. "Unless they are heirlooms. No hybrid ever re-seeds as itself."

Of course, he was right, and I have spent considerable time this summer harvesting those tiny tomatoes: painstakingly plucking those plucky little pearls one at a time. (Because, of course I can't just leave them there!) There has been a yield of over ten pounds, but I know I'll never get them all. Maybe next spring, when the ones I missed germinate and start to sprout, I'll have an easier time nipping them in the bud.

Appetizers

Some friends took us out last night to belatedly celebrate my birthday. They know I enjoy "experiences," and so they planned an evening of axe throwing and Ethiopian food. To start, they booked an hour and a half at the axe place, which included some light coaching. The instruction was pretty good, and I was pleased to stick my axe on the first try. It was literally hit or miss after that, but I felt good that I had considerably more hits than misses, including a few bullseyes. We rounded out our time competing in a version of twenty-one that our coach taught us. We played four games, and each of us won one, which was a perfect outcome for the group.

It's been years since I last had Ethiopian food. Back in the late 80s, when we first moved up here to Northern Virginia, the only place to get that cuisine was Adams Morgan, and we used to go down there every month or so. In fact, we once took my young cousin, Jennifer. She was 8 or 9 at the time, and we were childless twenty-somethings who enjoyed hanging out with a kid and doing fun things. 

On this particular occasion, I had to stop at an ATM because the place was cash-only. As we stood on the dark urban street surrounded by the usual collection of city denizens, she grabbed the money as it came out of the slot, waved it overhead, and skipped away shouting, "I'm rich! I'm rich!" Fortunately, we were able to corral her and recover the money without incident. It's hilarious in retrospect, but my heart was thumping as we made our way to the restaurant.

A little excitement is good for the appetite, though, and I enjoyed my meal then and relished it last night, too.

Not the Walk I Planned

I was feeling restless this afternoon, and since Heidi was feeling a bit drained after her first week back at school, I decided to take Lucy for a long walk on this beautiful day. Temperatures in the low 80s and a light breeze were ideal for our outing, but since it was pretty sunny and my companion wears a fur coat year-round, I put some ice in a water bottle and clipped a collapsible bowl to my fanny pack. 

Then I walked out of the house without the water, an oversight I did not realize until we were nearly to the dog park, which was the planned first stop on our route. I knew there was water there, and I was hopeful that if she hydrated well and we stuck to the shady side of the road, Lucy could make it the rest of the loop. But she is infamously persnickety when it comes to public water, and she refused to drink from the basin or fountain. She was happy when I filled her bowl, but when another dog ran over, shouldered her out of the way, and slobbered in there, she was done with that, too. 

I felt like I had no other choice but to revise my plan, and we turned toward home, although we did meander a bit. Our new path took us through a local shopping district, where we stopped at a drugstore that welcomed dogs. I grabbed a bottle of water to see us through the last part of our walk, and Lucy and I stood patiently in line for the self-checkout. 

There was only one customer ahead of us, a young woman with a baby. I was distracted as she juggled the child and her items, but turned back when I heard the register beep. She collected her coupons and a five-dollar bill from the cash slot, put the baby on her hip, took her bag, and left the store. 

When I stepped up to the monitor, the option to put my number in was not available, but I shrugged it off, considering it was only a two-dollar bottle of water. Then I noticed the screen was directing me to put all my items in the bagging area, even though I hadn't scanned anything yet. It took a minute, but I realized that there was an unpaid balance of 17+ dollars for a package of diapers on the register. 

"Excuse me," I said to an employee behind the counter. "I don't think the lady ahead of me paid for her stuff." 

"Are you saying she left without paying?" he asked angrily. 

Now there was a line of several people waiting behind me, and I rethought what I actually knew. "I'm saying there are items on this register that aren't mine," I shrugged. "I don't know how they got here, but all I have is this bottle of water." 

He shook his head, then scanned his card and entered a passcode to clear the order, but he was still upset. I paid for my water and left, feeling conflicted. I felt bad for the employee if he were held responsible, and I felt bad for the woman if she couldn't afford diapers. I also wondered if I should have just paid the tab myself and moved on.

But I didn't.

Cleanup Crew

As Lucy and I came around a bend in the trail, there was a couple stopped a few dozen yards ahead, pointing their cameras at something in the trees. Rather than spook whatever it was and risk ruining their photo op, we stopped where we were and waited. 

A putrid odor wafted on the breeze as we waited, and I wrinkled my nose in disgust. "Something dead is around here," I said to Lucy, as if she didn't have fifty times the olfactory sensors that I do and a bigger part of her brain dedicated to smell, too. 

Fortunately, our fellow walkers moved on, and so we did too. As we passed the spot where they had paused, I spotted an enormous turkey vulture sitting on the lowest branch, just a few feet over our heads. It all made sense to me.

The vulture started fussing when we got too close, fluffing its feathers, and shaking its wings. It fixed us with a look of suspicion, but I was having none of it. "Get to work!" I told it. "It's back there!"

BOY Jitters

Heidi's been understandably anxious about starting a new job at a new school, and I've done what I can to help. Her room is ready, custom posters made and printed, emails polished, and ideas bounced tirelessly around. We're even trading in the Honda for a Jeep since she has to drive herself to work and the commute is double her old one. 

I wanted her to feel prepared, because today was the open house for students all over the county. All of her kids, along with their parents, showed up to meet her and see what plans she has in store for the year ahead. Fortunately, they reassured her in ways I could not. "It's going to be fine," she told me when she got home.

"I know it is!" I agreed. "You always feel better when you meet the kids."

It's a Look

I bought my first pair of sunglasses when I was ten. We were visiting some friends who had moved from New Jersey (where we lived) to Huntington Beach, CA. Their house had a pool in the backyard and was just a mile from the beach, and I thought the blue lens aviator shades I got for two bucks at the Sav-on were a perfect look for that vibe.

Sadly, the first time I wore them to the beach, a wave washed them right off my face, and I never saw them again. I thought of those sunglasses a few years ago when aviators flew back in style, but by then I was committed to another retro model, Ray-Ban Wayfarers. Even so, when I saw Jamie Lee Curtis as a teen trapped in a grandma's body, ironically rocking aviator eyeglasses in Freakier Friday, I wondered if my reading glasses could use an update.

Heidi laughed when the three pairs I ordered were delivered yesterday, and scoffed when I offered her a pair. "But how do they look on me?"I asked, and she diplomatically told me that although she wouldn't choose them for me, they didn't look bad. 

If only they had blue lenses, I'm sure she'd love them!

Let’s Go Hachiko

Heidi had a first-week-back workshop at a community center a little less than a mile from our house, and when they informed the attendees that they would have to order lunch on their own to be delivered, she texted me. 

"I'll bring you lunch," I replied. "What time?"

So, a little after 11:30, Lucy and I set out on a walk and a quest to deliver Heidi's homemade lunch. We met her outside the center, grabbed a picnic table on the grounds, and visited as Heidi enjoyed her veggie wrap and watermelon cubes. When it was time for her to return, we walked around to the front entrance to see her inside. As Heidi disappeared through the heavy double doors, Lucy was rather alarmed, and when we turned to go? She put on the brakes. 

Unfortunately, no amount of reassurance could change her mind, and that stubborn dog clung to her conviction that we had left an essential member of our pack behind as I literally dragged her all the way home.

I won't make that mistake again!