My sage is blooming. I need to take a picture to show y’all but I just want to say, for the record, that I cut that plant down to the ground last fall with nothing but some dried up stubs of twigs left to show for itself. And now? Now it’s blooming. Amazing, really.
And the jalapeño is blooming. I know Saraclark said to pluck these first blooms, but I just can’t bear to. Maybe next year, when I know what I’m doing, I can stand the thought of forgoing fruit right now for more fruit later, but I want to see tiny peppers growing on my plant.
I trust the neighborhood bugs will do their part and fertilize it, right? Otherwise, I’m going to have to use the cat and he’s not going to stand for me to put bumblebee wings on him, I can almost bet you.
You recall the other day I was remarking about 15th century Spaniards and their love of boobs, frilly collars, and painting of food products made to look like people? Well, that’s because I was looking for a picture of a 15th century Spaniard, which we might photoshop into having a nose ring. Cervantes, specifically, not that it matters.
Today, I’m walking the dog and, I swear on the dog that this is the truth, my neighbor comes out of his house dressed like…
No, I am not shitting you.
A Spanish conquistador.
I about crapped my pants.
And, might I just add that I would really like to own a little house with a couple of bedrooms and central air and a fenced in back yard and a porch with no major problems, maybe over in East Nashville? Soon? Bought with money that magically came to me through means that caused no one else pain?