New horror in the hood: My potatoes are swamped with potato bugs. Why do all garden pests have to be so dang gross? Why must they all be so seemingly ripe and squishy and on the verge of oozing/ splitting through their gross bug skin? And I know Mort would be quick to point out that bugs don't have skin, but I don't care. Gross by any other name is what I'd say to that. And supposedly, save for a flame thrower, the best way to be rid of these little beasts is to hand pick them off and then squish them. That is not going to happen. (On a side note, I have a friend who has chickens and she said even the chickens won't touch them. that is how nasty these things are.) The World Wide Web claims that dusting them with wheat bran will cause them to explode when they eat it and then swell. I know it sounds like an Internet hoax, but I'm desperate. I have also been advised to litter the garden with ladybugs because they will eat them. I don't know what would keep the ladybugs from flying away and I can't imagine a ladybug taking down one of these suckers, but it's worth a try.

I can't even weed int hat area because they make me sick. How can I be an organic gardener and be so squeamish with the pests that go hand-in-hand with it?

In other garden news, I noticed the remains of a rabbit scattered amongst the corn. Either a very large cat jumped the fence with said rabbit , or perhaps a hawk? Owl? We have a lot of all of those. But dead bunny parts is not nearly as bad as bugs.

Also, I seem to have developed laryngitis. Day three. And I awoke at 4am. Good times.

I'm a wee bit obsessed with this Sookie Sackhouse series. Much more involved and out there than even True Blood. I'm averaging two books a day. Soon I will have devoured them all and will be forced to wait for the author to write more. Which, she at least is willing to do. (Yes, Stephenie Meyer, I'm looking at you.)

Although quite frankly, I re-read Eclipse to be on track for the movie's release, and I kind of hated Bella. I think it's because the actor who plays her has the contractual obligation to promote the movie and so I keep having the misfortune of seeing her twitching around with her extreme social disorder. She acts like an ass. C'mon now toots; you are an actor. At least act like giving interviews and waving to fans doesn't make you want to rip off your skin in horror. As far as jobs go, yours doesn't come across as one that would make the top 1000 of Worst Jobs in the World. Suck it up. You are getting paid for this, y'know. You aren't on Oprah out of the kindness of your stingy heart. Get a grip.

I had to get rid of the borage. It did its job well in that I haven't seen any tomato horn worms since I began planting it with the tomatoes, but this year it got a wee bit too big for its britches and it's not like I can eat it. Actually, maybe I can but I don't know how. It's listed as a herb, but it's very spiky. Hmm. Anyway, it was growing all over the place and crowding out the tomatoes and strawberries and cilantro and a pepper plant I couldn't identify because I couldn't see it. So, now I've dismissed the garden bodyguard. I feel like the tomato hornworms are Victoria from Twilight, just circling and waiting until there is a break int he defense so that they can strike.

I do realize that if you aren't a Twihard, that analogy will make little to no sense.

And speaking of Twilight...I have a bit of a bone to pick with Stephenie Meyer. I've been reading the Sookie Stackhouse series and although Stephanie claims all her ideas came to her in a dream, it's amazing how many of her ideas were written in books published four years prior to Twilight. Quite frankly, I can't believe Charlaine Harris hasn't sued. For instance, human female Sookie can read people's minds. Except for her boyfriend, Vampire Bill. Well, hey now, in Stephanie's dream, the vampire Edward can read minds, all except for his human girlfriend Bella's.

Additionally, Sookie is the object of desire and protection of both a werewolf and a vampire. Hey, now, so is Bella! The werewolves in Harris's tales run hotter in temperature than a human and throw off tons 'o heat. Um, yeah, Stephenie's dream had that too. Harris' vamps have a glowy sheen to their skin that identifies them as Not Human. And we've all seen how the skin of Meyer's vamps sparkle. And yes, there's more "coincidences," but I have a cold and I'm only 1/2 a cup of coffee into my day, so you'll have to read the books and figure out the rip-offs on your own.

Quite frankly, I like both series of books in different ways for different reasons, but give credit where credit is due. At the very least, Stepheine Meyer should be saying she was "inspired" by Charlaine Harris's series. Because she claim she's never read a vampire book until the cows come home, but unless she can touch a book and absorb its words without opening it, she read the Sookie Stackhouse series.

So by the grace of Mort's grandparents(thanks Mom!!!), Duke and I were able to see not one, but two movies in the theater this weekend. May not sound like a wild weekend to you, but wait until you have kids and then you will recognize the exquisite thrill of going to see a movie that does not contain talking animals and/or fart jokes.

Prior to one of the movies, there was a trailer of some sort for a movie(?) video journey (?) just plain 'ol bad idea. A seemingly teenager (I've reached a point where a certain demographic has become the "I dunno, I think s/he's somewhere between 15 and 25?" age group.) has over 800 friends on facebook. Which, yes, I recognize is not a lot anymore. I think most of my somewhere between 15-25 year old cousins have at least double that amount. But this girl is making going to film herself flying around the country meeting these people to see if they can be friends in real life. Some immediate questions that arise may be: What the hell kind of allowance does this kid have that she can afford all these plane tickets? Why in the world would you waste money and time meeting people you don't know when you could spend that money and time visiting the people you know and love? Or perhaps the one that dominates my thoughts: So, is she hoping to get killed on film? Because I can't imagine this is going to end well.

First of all, I don't think it's very smart to be friends with people online that you don't know in real life. If you wouldn't go up to the creepiest person you can conjure up, yes, you know, the one who looks like a stereotypical serial killer, and invite them to spend the night in your home (just the two of you!), then don't allow people you don't know to have access to you online. Be paranoid. It's much, much smarter. Have the rule that if it's not someone you would be happy to see and interact with in real life, it's not someone you need to be friends with online. And even amongst those people, be very judicious in what kind of information you're allowing them to have access to. Just because you both know how to use a computer doesn't mean you are friends.

Which I gather is the whole point of her "movie." She's ambushing these virtual friends/strangers and seeing if they can be friends in real life. I can only hope that this will be a huge cautionary tale to all the 15-25 year olds out there and not a story of insrpiration. ("Dude! We should totally do that this summer!") And I also hope that off camera this girl is traveling with some armed guards. And men with white jackets and big nets. Because this sounds like a truly terrible idea. And if it weren't so worrisome, I would be very eager to throw around words like "heartbreaking" and "pathetic" and "Where the f*%# are this girl's parents?"

The other day Mort and I were eating lunch in a restaurant. I idly watched an elderly couple exiting, the shuffling husband opening the door for his wife before offering her the crook of his elbow, into which she slipped her knobby hand , looking for all the world to see like a dainty bride on her wedding day. They very slowly made their way to their waiting car in the parking lot, where the husband opened his wife's car door on the passenger side, ensuring she was settled before gently closing it and getting himself in the driver's side.

It was such a lovely scene because they weren't yet so incapacitated by their body's betrayals that they had to lean on each other for support, nor were they loudly making an obnoxious show with their actions, hoping those around them would notice their display of love. Instead it was quiet and real and small, obviously everyday practices of kindness toward one another. Sure, it was possible that they had only recently found one another in their 80s and so still were in the first heady rush of love. But it seemed more likely that they had been together for well over half their lifetimes, that they had defied all the odds and still held fast to their love for one another, that even though to the world at large his wife may appear interchangeable with any elderly woman with cotton floss hair, to him she would always be the beauty he had married.

Perhaps it is a bit of sad commentary on our society that I was so moved by a couple's kindness toward one another, but it was a beautiful sight to see. We should all be so lucky to be so loved and cherished. I only wish I had seen their quiet acts of affection toward one another prior to their leaving. I would have liked to have anonymously paid their lunch bill to celebrate them for holding true where so many fail.

So, I have successfully made my own strawberry jam. And it's really, really good. I need to think of a vehicle worthy of it. Peanut butter would only dilute it. Bread seems too mushy. Maybe an outstanding cracker. Or Duke suggested ice cream... And now that I have the canning supplies and have tackled that project, I can't help but turn an inquisitive eye toward my garden. At some point we begin to burst at the seams with tomatoes and peppers. This year may be more plentiful then years past as I was concerned a late frost had killed off many plants and so I replanted my favorites...and everything is flourishing. We easily go through a jar of jalapenos a week...maybe I can can them and have our own supply on hand? And we certainly love salsa and I just came across a seemingly easy recipe in my canning booklet...slap a bonnet on my head and call me Ma Ingalls!

I'm thinking of starting a facebook group entitled : I remember when someone saying "You're so tan!" was a compliment, not an admonishment and/or I swear I wore SPF 70, a hat, some heavy duty-European sunblock that isn't even available in the States, and sat in the shade.

So, yes, a week later and I'm peeling. Big time. Like a snake shedding its skin. I would have said that was impossible considering all the precautions I took and the small fact that I didn't get burned, but I would do it all again in a heartbeat if it meant getting to have the vacation from which I've returned. Relax-o-rama and drinks served in coconuts.

And hey, what's a little more sun damage on someone who is already suffering the cosmetic decline of one who spent her youth frying in the sun? In for a penny, in for a pound. But truly, the irony of it all doesn't escape me as I know I ranted on this f

orum last year. Had I only

known the secret to a deep, dark, raging tan was sunblock reapplied every two hours, a hat and staying in the shade, just think of all the time I could have saved laying out...

I'd like to offer a big shout-out (is that still a relevant term? How about mad props? I'll have to check in with my significantly younger cousins who complain to me about how all the "old women" ruin the Twilight movies. I was able to reply with a straight face how those old women with their "Bite Me, Edward" t-shirts just ruin it for everyone. Thank goodness my friends and I don't do such silly things. None of us would ever take pictures of the Twilight dolls on our phones or have kids who point out Robert Pattison as "Mommy's boyfriend." Anyway! back to the shout-out) to Covergirl mascara for coming clean in their ads that the models WEAR FALSE EYELASHES.

Unless of course that whole truth in advertising thing caught up with them and they were somehow made to come clean. But seriously, to all the cosmetics companies, you have to knock that stuff off. I first noticed this trend several years ago and I was as outraged as a half-Italian girl with some of the most pitiful eyelashes in the world could be. Is it not bad enough that I fall prey to every claim of long, thick lashes and own about 724 mascaras? Is it not bad enough that for Christmas I asked Duke to buy me the Sephora mascaras sampler? And then you had to go ahead and put false eyelashes on women whose real eyelashes are like expensive sooty paintbrushes? It's not enough to make an undereyelashed girl drool over real eyelashes she'll never have?Have you no shame? So, yes, I just noticed that in their latest ad campaign, Covergirl copped to the fact that Drew Barrymore is wearing eyelash inserts. To which I say No duh. And thank-you for admitting that no, there is no way you the average woman can achieve this with our product. And please believe me when I say that your honesty will in no way stop me from trying every new mascara that hits the shelves.

So, my garden this year is really flourishing! Must be the mushroom mulch. I have big 'ol stalks of corn and jalapenos and green peppers and green tomatoes and oregano, basil, cilantro, lettuce, arugula, spent spinach,sugar snap peas, potatoes, more strawberries than we can eat, and I just replanted the edamame and added a peanut plant. Who knew you could grow peanuts? How awesome is that? Apparently in the fall I can dig that sucker up and its roots will be littered with peanuts! I am also venturing into crazy territory: I'm going to try my hand at making strawberry jam. Mort has eaten so many strawberries that he's fallen onto the "I hate them!" wagon and quite frankly, even I am getting a wee bit weary of them.I'm freezing some, but going for jam with the others. That's right, it's the big time around here.

It's amazing how much I don't hate rabbits when they aren't eating the fruits and vegetables of my labor. I've seen a couple bunnies lurking outside the garden fence, but they have been unable to breach the barrier to reach the goodies on the other side. And so I don't really care about them.

Stella, however, has a much less forgiving nature than I. And she remembers all too well how those rabbits decimated the garden last year and how deeply it pained me. She probably also recalls that the garden breaching often happened on her watch and how we all made fun of her and despaired over her laziness and lack of good terrier breeding.

So yesterday when she uncovered the warren of bunnies that some not-the-brightest rodent decided to bring into the world beside our deck, she showed no mercy. She killed four before Duke saw what she was up to and stopped her. Three remain. I hope that either a hawk or fox or jellyfish gets them or that they hop away into the world asap because Stella is quivering and salivating all over the place. It's causing some problems in our house as she is being pretty vocal about the scorn she feels for us for having gone all soft.

All 10 of our painted lady butterflies successfully emerged from their cocoons, however. So it's a real cycle of life here. Unless, y'know, Stella kills the butterflies too.

I've seen quite a few movies as of late, but I don't have time to review them all in depth. I can mention however, that I can't believe that there are two men who go check out a movie together in this day and age that STILL make certain to leave one empty seat in between them so that no one will suspect that they're gay. Really? Has anyone ever seen two people sitting together in a movie theater and even had a thought about those two people cross their mind at all? I mean, it's one thing if it's someone who has lugged a wee child to watch a movie that is inappropriate for children. Because then I am all about judging them.

But any other match-up of folks just doesn't interest me. Unless they do something ridiculous like leave an empty seat between them, thus making it obvious that they are terrified that someone will think they don't like girls. Because they do! See! That empty seat vouches for them! Now as a girl type person, I can assure them that any female worth her salt (is that an expression?) will absolutely see that empty seat and never ever give them the time of day. Because who the heck would want to interact with someone that grotesquely insecure with a faint whiff of homophobia?

So: Date Night is terrible. I know, I know, it seems like you can't lose with a Tina Fey/Steve Carrell match-up. Trust me. You lose big time bad.

An Education: Slow. Boring. Duke likened it to Vision Quest without the thematic music.

How to Train Your Dragon: really really good--until it's way too harsh and cruel for the age set they are looking to attract (and their moms who may have sobbed uncontrollably).

Where the Wild Things Are: I had to turn it off after approximately four minutes. I saw two scenes. Both were disturbing to the point that I couldn't do it. I don't like suffering in my entertainment! I don't like animals to suffer or children or animated dragons. And y'know what else: I know everyone makes a big ta do about this book but I never liked it! So there!

Afghan Star: Really, really good. With the added bonus of making me better appreciate how fortunate I am to have been born in this country.Sometimes with all the other stuff that makes me crazy, I forget that there are rights that I have that I take for granted. Like dancing. Or showing my hair. Or getting an education. Also, the song lyrics in the movie are outstanding. Such as: The curve of your eyebrow stings like a scorpion. As Duke pointed out, however, it's no: She's got dumps like a truck (The Thong Song).

Generally, I no longer read the big glossy magazines that have very little in the way of articles but quite a bit in the way of fashion. I used to read them because at one point, I felt that I really really really needed to know what was in and what was out. I wanted to remain abreast of these things for when I was grown-up and had a life that might necessitate me wearing a t-shirt that cost $1000 instead of buying the $11 Target knock-off. And then I turned 20.(And no , we didn't really have Target back then. Nor did we have the Internet, hence my dependence on actual periodicals for my connection to the world beyond my town.)

And then at some point I realized it was fine to like what I like when I like it, regardless of whether it was in style. Last year I was desperate for a jumpsuit. Desperate. I made several trips to Big Cities in search of one. I contemplated buying one that was a truly indecent sum of money just because I couldn't imagine living another minute without one. I finally found one at a brand-names-for-less store that cost but a song. And I've worn it once. Who knew that a jumpsuit would not be exactly what I needed to run errands and go to the gym and volunteer at kindergarten and work from home? It seemed so all-purpose at the time.

And fast-forward one year later, jumpsuits and their cousin the romper are in every store, including my favorite staple for all things: Target. And I live in a pair of yoga pants and sports bra/tank-top not-cute sneakers combo just like every other mom who drives her child to school. We are fashion forward, you see. My look is totally ironic. It's a social commentary on the state of the nation.Wait until Anna Wintour catches on to the tongue-in-cheek suburban mommy look! I'm just ahead of the curve. Although I could really use a Diane Von Furstenberg wrap dress for my gardening purposes.

I did have a point. An almost related one. So, I wanted to look at the pretty pictures of the pretty people and I checked out a slew of fat, non reading magazines from the library. And discovered that the latest way to wear a purse is apparently to be naked in bed, save for jewelry or perhaps a fur and to languidly brandish your pocketbook. I'm so behind the times! Kate Moss and Julianne Moore are all glamour in bed with their bags. But I am going to have to guess that their purses do not contain crayons and old lists and Purell and child-friendly snacks and weigh as much as a small dog. They probably don't toss their purse into a gross gym locker or set it down on the floor or grass or classroom desk. In other words, I am not the target market for these designer bags. Because I look at those ads and I don't even see the bags in question. I see instead how silly it looks to be naked in bed with your purse. And how potentially unsanitary.

Okay, so maybe that wasn't a related point exactly.

Although yesterday a stranger behind me in line at the grocery store noticed I was buying a product for which she had a coupon and she insisted I use it. How nice is that?

You would think I'd have a lot to say. Obviously at least some part of my subconscious has a lot on its mind because my sleep is averaging out to one night of sleep per every three or four nights without, but I just don't. I wish I did, but I wish I was getting a good night's sleep every night even more. Soon I will be making soap and thinking I'm in cahoots with Tyler Durden.

I seem to be talking about television shows an awful lot lately. Having dvr has really changed my life. I can watch whatever I want whenever I want during those hours between 2 and 6 when I don't sleep. (Which is pretty great seeing as how Roseanne reruns no longer dominate during those hours.)I can find out who won Shear Genius (a totally travesty!), or who is going to be showing at Mercedes Benz Fashion Week. However, I'm afraid that Real Housewives of New York will no longer be making my insomnia cut. They are just too mean this year and it gives me too much anxiety.

So in closing, I'd like to do a little wrap-up of each woman. Seeing as how they are my close personal friends and all.

Ramona is bat-shit crazy. Clearly she has a mental disorder and should be on medication. My guess would be manic depressive? Or whatever the kids are calling it nowadays. Or just manic?. Also, she has no barrier between her thoughts and her words and under this guise of honesty, she says very cruel things. Plus, her husband is so freaking sleazy he's like a caricature. I know he's going to be arrested for something really bad at some point. However, I don't really mind her, because she is obviously a bit off her rocker and would probably be a very nice person with some of "mommy's little helpers." (the tranquilizer kinds)

Hate is still probably too strong a word for how I feel about the countess. But I do think she is a giant ass and truly horrible person. Who, as a side note and unrelated to my disgust at her behaviors, may have a penis. She is really stomach turning.

I am thankful that I've never actually met anyone who is as dumb as Kelly. I mean, have they checked her IQ to see if she should be allowed out in public without a helper?How in the world is she trusted to be a mother? I hope she has a really good nanny. She is seriously painful to watch as she tries to navigate the world of the thinking. Again, it makes my stomach hurt.

Who knew Alex would emerge as the reasonable one? Kudos to you, Alex. You act like a person who cares about others.

Oh, Jill and Bethenny. What a travesty. I can't believe they haven't made-up. Bethenny obviously knew she was wrong for not reaching out more when Bobby was sick and is defensive about her shortcomings in that area. Jill is nursing that wound too much. Especially as it becomes more apparent all the time that Bethenny is truly sorry and wants to make amends and Jill wants to accept her apology but can't swallow her pride. I can't watch this as entertainment. it's just sad.

Bring on The Jersey Housewives. There is no one to feel sorry for on that show. Cause they'll shank you. That's just pure voyeuristic enjoyment!

And in an unrelated note, my garden is really coming along! Peas, strawberries, arugula, lettuce, potatoes, edamame and oregano are all planted. Just waiting for it to warm-up before getting the rest in the ground. And two flowers on the magnolia tree defied all logic and bloomed. They've been waiting to do this for four years. Well-done Magnolia tree. Well-done.

Tonight is Survivor. I'm not sure how the rest of this season is going to go as everyone I liked has now been voted off the island. Are the kids still using that catch phrase or am I just showing that I am perpetually stuck in the 90s? I still really cannot believe that Boston Rob was double-crossed by his team. I hope everyone feels like big dummies when they see how they were manipulated by Russell! Do you hear that, Team Villain? You are dummies! And from now on you will be known not as the Heroes and Villains, but as the Heroes and Zeros. Goodness, I am clever.

I have decided that in addition to the pregnancy parking spaces and spaces reserved for patrons with small children, I would like stores to add "I feel lazy" parking spots. Because that would be funny. And that would make me want to shop there just so I could park in that spot.

I also would like to propose an idea for gym motivation: Someone needs to figure out a way that just when you think you're done with your workout, or feel like you can't do another rep or keep running on the treadmill at that incline, you could try on all the clothes in your closet. Because I'm pretty sure it would be great incentive to keep going. At least for me it would.

Despite the fact that I've been going to the gym pretty religiously, I have yet to lose any weight.(The Easter candy is obviously not being negated by an extra 10 minutes tacked onto my workout) I have gotten stronger, but it doesn't make my clothes fit any better. Today it took me 23 minutes to find a pair of shorts I would wear out of the house. And so I went to a local chain store in the hopes of finding a pair of shorts that transformed me into being ten pounds thinner and four inches taller. Now I think every woman in the world is well-aware that the mirrors and lighting in the dressing rooms outside your home are rigged. Hence the phenomenon of loving something in the store and hating it when you put it on at home. So having lovely lighting and tricksy mirrors is smart business for a store. But today, today their trickery failed them!

I had a slew of shorts in hand, closed the door to the dressing room and caught a glimpse of myself from behind in one of the mirrored walls. And I was shocked to see that I did not look as horrible in my current shorts as I had thought. Or at least I did not look as squat and wide in the kind lighting and elongating mirror as I did in my more honest mirror at home. This is not to say I look good, but rather that I did not look as bad as I had originally feared. I think I may have even caught the briefest glimpse of a possible muscle on the back of my leg. And so I didn't even try on any shorts because I don't need another pair of transition shorts until that wonderful day arrives when I am able to fit into my "real" clothes. My current transition shorts will do just fine. Thank-you fun-house mirrors!

I think I am a gym addict. Because I have not been to the gym since this whole spring break thing began and I had to resume life as a stay at home mom and I have yet to sleep through the night. From 2:30 to 5 or 6, you can find me clicking through the free movies on On Demand. Where the heck has my beloved Roseanne gone? Last night Duke joined me and we watched Chelsea Lately and laughed and laughed. Because she is damn funny.

Now it's not like I haven't been working out. In fact, I can barely type because my forearms feel as useless as if I was a Tyrannosaurus. Because it's gardening time, y'all. And I am in it to win it this year. I tend to always talk a big game, but this year I have the backing of a friend who actually follows through. And she is lending that talent to me.

Me: "Yeah, I need to order some good soil this year."

My friend, "I just ordered my soil and it's being delivered tomorrow. You should call now before they close." And I did! And then to top it all off, I was forced to weed and de-rock my garden so that said soil could be placed on it. Which took about 36 trips with the wheelbarrow by Duke and 3 trips with a bucket whilst wearing bunny ears by Mort. Granted we still have another two tons on our driveway, but that is not the point.

Me: "I think I need to rent a rototiller."

My friend: " Let's both go in on it and get both our gardens done. How about Thursday?"

And then she was so charming to the rototiller rental men that they got big goofy grins on their faces and they gave us a discount. And free gas. And free ramps to get it in and out of the car because it weighed 742 pounds. Between two moms and three children, two proper shovels, two snow shovels, one child's shovel and a rake, my garden is ready to plant!

And I know you will all be excited to hear that my back doesn't even hurt. So I think I'm on the right track at the gym with building this back of steel to keep all the discs where God put 'em. Because I have never before gardened without back pain. This is my year. Do you hear me rabbits and tomato hornworms and grossy bugs being milked by ants? This is my year! I will not have you ruining this for me.

Today I'm planting spinach and sunflowers. And potato. It's not a word that starts with "s" so it doesn't really flow as smoothly. But that's what's going down.

So, I finished The Help and am now reading The Happiness Project. I'm barely three chapters in and I already love the author as she has admitted that she hates to shower long and that she postpones going to bed because getting ready with all the face washing and teeth brushing is so much bother. And I really couldn't agree more.

Another item that made me feel I may secretly be normal is that I wrote an e-mail to a friend noting a seemingly mundane thing I'm doing. I'm trying to be less negative (although if I was succeeding, I probably would have phrased that as trying to be more positive), so I didn't state any of the things that were bothering me about said thing. But darn if she didn't write back with her hackles raised over the very same things that ticked me off me but that I didn't put into writing lest I infect her day with my ire. I love my friends. They are really really really worth the wait it took me to find them.

I hope the gym doesn't again show Little Miss Sunshine during the time frame I am there. It's very difficult to work out at an optimum level and cry at the same time. Sure, sure I could have looked away and watched Fox News (although it's hard to work out at an optimum level while you're vomiting ) and/or just turned up the volume on "Head Like a Hole", but it was the pagaent scene. Where that poor little girl is being booed off the stage and her up-to-that-point crappy dad and her suicidal uncle and her brother all jump on stage with her and refuse to let them kick her out. Good golly, I'm crying just writing about it.

Goodness. Well, I'll chalk it up to getting old. Remember when you could do anything and never think about it because nothing hurt the next day?No, no, not just because you were whooping it up the night before, but rather because you were engaging in feats of physical strength like lifting weights. Or walking to the mailbox.

I'd finally stopped hurting after going to the gym for a couple of weeks. I think it was a couple of weeks. (It felt like longer, but I suspect it was shorter.) And then we went away for a bit. Now while visiting family out of town, I did go to the gym twice. And then I resumed my usual workout yesterday. And today I feel like a little old lady. Even my elbows hurt. But not as much as my triceps and my chest and my thighs and my calves. I even doubled my amount of time stretching before and after, knowing it was my first day back. I remember a time, long long ago, when I could just open the door and run for a while and never consider stretching. Not that that was smart, but it was something I could do. Youth! Youth is wasted on the young! I am so original this morning! Except not really!

I was stretching while a woman one mat over was working with a personal trainer. He was helping her keep good form and encouraging her while she did something on an exercise ball. Suddenly, she got up and returned the ball to its spot against the wall. "Hey," the trainer called, smiling and puzzled, "We're not done."

"Oh yes we are!" snapped the woman and she walked away. And then I think she went out to her car and ate a Twinkie that she had shoved under the front seat. But really, if you are paying someone to help you make your body strong and efficient, doesn't it seem logical that you would, I don't know, listen to what they're saying? Or at the very least, if you have to quit, can't you be polite and say Sorry, this isn't going to work for me. Thanks for your time. ? Also, I know starting an excercise program sucks. It really truly does. Sometimes I just close my eyes and pretend I'm not really attempting to lift weight over my head and concentrate on the melodic sounds of Will Smith gettin jiggy with it. But the hard part is actually getting started. Once you're there, it seems like you owe it to yourself to do something, anything, even if it isn't the workout you anticipated you would be able to do. And let's just say that this woman had not yet even broken a sweat.

Huh. Who knew twinkie was spelled with a capital T? Thanks Spellcheck.

So, as it turns out, Florida has an impressive amount of wildlife. I also saw but was unable to document: a bald eagle, various raccoons, and an armadillo. And no, I would still not want to live there. Ever. Under any circumstances.

Dear Rabbits,
Well, it's spring again, when a young rodent's thoughts turn to eating gardens and knocking boots(yes, that was me last night imploring you to turn down Barry White's Greatest Hits. It was 3 am for the love of Pete!). I know things were rocky between us last year, but I'd like to think we can begin anew and put all that behind us. Sure, you destroyed my garden, my fence and negated all my back-breaking hours of hard work. But to be fair, my dog killed off your entire family. So, I think we're even. Let's have a fresh start.

In that spirit of wiping the slate clean, I'm going to have to remind you that it is NOT a good idea to build your nest in the fenced-in part of the yard. That is the part of the yard in which Stella roams free. That is the part of the yard in which eight of your brethren met with their demise. If you insist on making your home near my home, please do it beyond the unmistakable DogLivesHere part. Like maybe in a neighbor's yard. Because Stella has got the blood lust. She's a terrier. She must follow her heart. And her heart wants to kill you with a sharp shake of her head and a quick snap of your neck.

And I must confess that if you disregard the whole dog territory thing and build your nest here anyway, then I have to question whether or not you really have the type of genes that are worth passing on. Because clearly they are a bit on the... how shall I say...less than smart side of things. (No offense.)

Best of luck to you in your endeavors this year. Please keep in mind that there are many other gardens in the area other than mine, should you get hungry. And to answer your question,no, of course those aren't rabbit skulls littering my garden! No, no. Those are...eggshells! Yes, eggshells. They're for the soil. Okay, then. Cheers!