I had a dream in my head Saturday evening of spending Sunday sitting in the shade reading a book, with Miss Chef and Rosie nearby. I knew, however, that Miss Chef had ambitious plans of one sort or another: the weather was supposed to remain fantastic, and she had the gardening bug.
We didn't get started until 11:00, thanks to daylight stupid time starting so stupidly early this year. But by the end of the day, we had transplanted a small tree; planted the pea trellis Miss Chef made for me; finished her second cutting bed; moved three wheelbarrows of dirt (but saving lots of worms!); planted peas, carrots, beets, arugula, spinach, brussels sprouts and potatoes (and worms!); and made two trips to Home Depot. And the dog had, um...soaked up a lot of shade. She was a very good girl, coming everytime we lost sight of her around a corner and whistled for her. Poor thing hardly got a rest.
Monday, I headed creakily off to work. Actually, I didn't feel nearly as sore as I had expected; I think Sunday's workout helped to ease my soreness from Saturday. Miss Chef had the day off, and she started tomatoes and some other seeds inside. Her big project, though, was dinner: she'd gotten a hankering for a meatball sandwich, and why buy it from someone else, when she could make it better?
So, remember that grass-fed beef and local pork sausage we bought last week at the farmers' market? Yeah, they went in...as well as bread crumbs, milk, fresh parsley, oregano and basil, onions, garlic and grated parmesan. She simmered them in store-bought pasta sauce (it was on sale), and by the time I walked in the front door, the house smelled amazing.
We ate on the back patio, enjoying the cooling air and the absence of (most) bugs. I watched the birds come to the feeders as the sun sank, and we even had a bluebird land in our yard. It was lovely.
Oh, but it got even better. I was preparing to do the dishes--yeah, she cooked, so I had to pull my load--when Miss Chef walked up to me and said, "I'm gonna mow the front lawn." Now, it wouldn't be fair to say she never mows, but...well, you get the point.
So today, by comparison, was pretty dull. We both went to work in the morning, and both came home late, after seven. Rosie was delirious and starving. But we all settled down to dinner together and enjoyed each other's company.
As I type this, Miss Chef is crashed on the couch with a Dagoba milk chocolate bar, watching an Alton Brown DVD, and talking back to the tv. (He's doing a "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire" quiz about Waldorf salad, and she's purposely guessing the wrong ingredients--like popcorn, and potpourri.) So I hope you will excuse me if I cut this short in order to join her.