Slow-Starting Day

Ever have one of those days when you feel like you're trying to run in molasses?  That's how I feel today, even though I've made hefty inroads in my list.  (see photo at left: June 3 -- on my plate)  I used the photo theme of the day to illustrate how I tend to heap expectations on "my plate" or list or self which more often than not leads to frustration and self-loathing.  You'd think that by age 60 and a half I'd know better, but noooo, I merrily decide to do too much, too soon, too well.  Kind of like repeatedly running headlong into a brick wall, all you get is a headache and a goose egg on your forehead.  Like that.  It was a perfect morning for strolling down the aisles of plants and yard & garden doodads yesterday.  Mitch and I went up and down fondling plants and checking out all the latest and greatest in the gardening world.  Hydroponics, anyone?  (I know, I know, it's been around for ages, Durwood had a setup on our back porch when we were first married a hundred years ago, but evidently it's cycled back around for the home gardener)  I bought some locally produced honey, 3 different varieties of basil (lemon, sacred & spicy globe), a pot of sage with a single volunteer lemongrass plant in it (!!!), and the coolest recycled bag I have ever seen.  It's big enough to hold a small child or a weekend's worth of clothes etc. or a crapload of knitting projects.  (It won't be becoming my new Farmer's Market carrier because I have my Jamaican basket for that job.  The basket is more than cool, it's portion control.  I take a certain amount of money, usually $20, and have to stop when either the money's gone or the basket's full.)  I came home to plant the new herbs (& the red salvias I got at Steins) and then re-fenced and re-mulched the blueberries in between rain showers.  Time to go change the sheets and toss them into the washer.  Or figure out what to have for work lunches this week.  Or... what?  Better check the (too long) list.

June 3--Peru, Nasca, Drum.  Sheila could barely catch her breath.  She'd never really believed that there was less oxygen at higher elevations but she did now.  She trailed behind the guide and the rest of the tour group, most of whom were decades older than her, gasping and heaving and trying not to black out.

I get the distinct feeling that Sheila's not appropriately dressed either.  I promise to go to bed earlier tonight so I have time to find out before I lose consciousness.  (dammit, I broke a nail opening a bag of pretzels)  Happy Sunday, y'all!
--Barbara