Thursday, July 24, 2008

I don't think tonight's dinner could have been any more southern, and while I don't often lay claim to my southern heritage, I think Granny would be proud. James whipped up his delicious grilled chicken while I fried squash and zucchini. Add some sliced homegrown tomatoes to the meal, and it's a sight to behold. Tasted pretty good, too.
The hydrangeas (in the glass pitcher, above) around the house are in full bloom and actually threatening to take over the yard in the narrow strip between the porch and the retaining wall. There's a woman who lives in the same tiny village that we do who keeps popping by unexpectedly to cut my hydrangeas when she's having company. The first time was last summer. She was very friendly, even though I thought it somewhat odd that she'd go up to a complete stranger's door and ask to cut flowers. As I said, we have skillions of them, so I told her she could.

Fast forward to this spring, and she's back with her hubby and a couple of kids to dig some up, because apparently I told her she could do that too(I say weird things when I'm caught off guard). So they did, and I kind of thought that would be the end of it. Hah! She's been back 2 or 3 times to cut more flowers, most recently yesterday, and before that, one day last week while Andrew and I were both taking naps. She brought banana bread for us one time, and last week she tried to bring us some freshly butchered beef from one of their steers, but we were napping.

I won't get into too many details, but she has enough kids (and another one on the way) that they drive one of those huge passenger vans, she home-schools her kids (I don't know why, other than her mentioning that her school experiences were not good), and I'm very curious about her lifestyle. She's not someone I would seek out for a friend or have much in common with, most likely, although we've had a few pleasant, if superficial, conversations over the flower cutting. And instead of me being judgmental about her lifestyle (even though I DON'T get it), I find myself being more worried about what she thinks of us, with our one child who watches plenty of t.v. , the fact that I work outside the home and send Andrew to a babysitter, and what she would think if she knew of our fondness for a beer or two (or six) on the porch and my propensity for dropping the "f-bomb".

When she came by yesterday, Andrew went running to the door bare-assed, "wee" flapping in the wind, because he had just peed his pants and I hadn't had a chance to get new ones back on him. On a few occasions when she's shown up, I haven't even managed to get out of my pajamas or brush my teeth, and I just KNOW they've been up since the roosters crowed, with all the kids out doing wholesome chores like collecting eggs or birthing lambs or something. I can't keep one kid's pants on, and she's managing a baseball team. So, I comfort myself in the face of my inadequacies and our dependence on material goods and cable t.v. by raising my eyebrows and privately speculating about what kind of weirdness (cult, hippie commune, etc.) they have going on over there. I'm okay with whatever it is, as long as she doesn't try to convert me to anything :-) ---T

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