Seeds

It's been a helluva week, the kind that seems to run from one day to the next in a homogenous blur.  My boss in town (= more meetings, every day), Himself out of town for a project (= no one to trade camp drop off and pick up with) and all the day-to-day that goes with life in general.

And suddenly there it is - Friday. And with it, the weeks' mail all on the kitchen table to sort, bills here, trash there, things to take away to a quiet corner to read set aside.  Going to my office to pay the bills and what do I spy? The fantastic bargain book I snagged at B&N last weekend, Sunset's 365 Days of Garden Color (Keeping Your Garden in Bloom) and on it the scribbled notes from a rainy Sunday past of perennials I think I might like to start cultivating.  Since bills are no fun, and garden planning is, I may have made record time finishing the former so I could move on to the latter.  All my scribbled notes into a spreadsheet (if you're reading this, and you know me, you aren't surprised at that.  So I'm a little OCD...so shoot me), notes on uses and habit and cultivation needs, notes on varietals of particular interest.

This of course, led to the next logical indulgence...the ordering of seed catalogs.  Johnny's and Jung and Park and Burpee, all destined to appear in my mailbox for future fantasizing planning.  Himself may come to regret his passing comment, no doubt dropped without a hint of sincerity, that I would soon need a greenhouse.  I've stayed up too late nights this week, looking at kits and calculating how many 12" pavers would be needed for a nice heat-absorbing floor.

In other news, I decided it had been far too long since I'd indulged in a pomegranate martini*, so I did my part to make room in the bar for the new bottle of Johnny Walker Double Black Himself got from his boss by finishing off the last of the 3 Olives Pomegranate vodka as well as the last of the Pama liqueur. 
*the term martini being used loosely where I mean "ingredients that should go into a shaker of ice and then served in a fancy triangular glass, but which I will instead pour into a pint glass and be damned."

The debate rages in my brain as to whether or not I have missed the best part of the evening on the porch by indulging my gardening fetish in front of the computer, and justifying not venturing out by convincing myself it's much too buggy at this point.

Himself called to check in from St. Louis, during which call I find out that his mother took a fall and injured her shoulder. So now there's the waiting to hear if they were able to re-seat (Re-seat? What does one do to a dislocated shoulder when putting it back? Relocate? That sounds like it is to be moved to a new location on her body, it can't be right) her shoulder and hope nothing was broken.

I suppose at this point, I'll just continue to sip my pseudo-martini and keeping surfing the web for plants and seeds and greenhouses...someone hide my wallet, would you please?