Under there that I'm a Crunchy Crustacean or whatever, that at The Truth Laid Bear Ecosystem I'm ranked like 17,800th + in their blogroll.
Suddenly I'm popular!
Okay, *fishing in my hatband for my speech* I'd like to thank all the little people that helped me get here, including the entire population of my home town Houma, who are, in alphabetical order, Aanderson, Alfred L. Anders, William Q. Azore, Bulimic M.
Can you tell I'm off base a little bit? It's been such a strange week, sort of truncated and fast-forwarded and busy as an armless man with the crotch crickets. Things have moved along in sort of a mild blur, not unlike that blur you get when you've drank just a few too many vodka martinis but not so many that you're forgetting your own name or ready to start projectile vomiting those olives you've been gulping down all night like M&Ms. Just enough that you're perfectly okay with hugging men whom you've just met that evening and every girl in the place is prettier than when you first came in. Except that one.
And the rain hasn't arrived yet, either. I swear, someone has errected (heh heh, I said "errected) this giant invisible weather-barrier around the parish. Watch The Weather Channel or the 'Bug or whatever your favourite weather news feed is, I'm telling you, there can be these huge purple storms, surrounded by neon red trapezoids marked "Certain Death" tearing their demoniac way across Eastern Texas and the moment they reach the outer border of our parish they sort of dissipate, turn into light mist and burn off in the 98 degree heat, then miraculously reform one parish over and begin blasting off huge chunks of the state with force majeur lightning strikes and hail the size of Golden Retrievers.
So right now, nothing. Which has been nice, mind you, because I've had an amazing length of time in which to be riding Betty. What makes me a little sad is that I hadn't realised how little I had been enjoying riding--I've taken to making extra-long trips home now, finding one way or the other to make my usual 4 mile commute home into a fourteen hour exodus. Okay, so the best I've managed to do so far is to stretch it into 6 and a half miles, but you get the picture. It's tough when there's only two road options between your office and home. I suffer through.
The garden is doing nicely, better than I had any right to hope for. The beans are up, tomatoes going well, carrots and beets growing to beat the band, and the cukes and squash are growing like there's no tomorrow. Even the catnip we had feared dead has returned to life, and the basil is reaching fragrant new heights. The drawback is that I've become That Farmer Guy. You know the sort, the guy who is always trying to foist vegetables wrapped in plain brown grocery bags onto his friends and coworkers. I swear, there are times when I feel like an Amish drug dealer. "Haya there goodman, wouldn't thee like some lovely cucumbers? Or per'aps thy youthful head is turned by yellow squash? Thy first one 'tis free."
I think it's the lack of rain--it's making my brain all crispy and dry. My stars and garters, we need some rain here people.
Just a tetch?