A longtime – like 30 years longtime – girlfriend of mine noted that she hadn’t seen a recent post from me. I was so elated that she actually read my posts and more so that she looked for them. She began naming all the reasons why I hadn’t and was indeed spot on. I told her that she should submit a post here and she smiled…hmm we shall see.
It has been a week since that conversation. And not a single post was posted in that time. Why, you ask? Why indeed. There are plenty of topics on which I have an opinion and tons of goings on. I could have updated you about the ‘wee one’ getting bronchitis or how I have had bronchitis and am still coughing. Or that we had 6 more inches of snow this week and yesterday was the first day of spring. I could have given you my outlandish completely baseless theories regarding the missing flight 370 and how I really want the plane to have been plane-napped so that the people on board have a better chance at survival. I could have told you all about my little plants, or the wood purchases for a garden box or about the challenge that is my hair. About how my heart broke or how it heals.
But I realized something. That more than anything, I was afraid. Scared that no one would want to read what I have written. That you would careless about my ideas or opinions or random statements delved in my own idiosyncrasies. This outlet, this social connection, this information station could simply be a nothing. A non-starter. A failure. I am afraid to fail. WOW!!! I hadn’t realized it now.
I learned that I am afraid to die. I wasn’t always. Before my 27th year, I would have been pleased to meet my maker. I adore Him and had no regrets. Then a gave birth to a perfect being and fell so much in love that I became afraid. Scared to miss something, scared to not see him as a young man, frightened to not meet his children. I feared not being able to balance nurture with the nature, not being able to teach him all he should know and instill in him love of God, family and country. Oh there were so many fears associated with being forced away from that boy too soon. But mostly, a fear that I would fail him.
I feared failing you. Not entertaining you to the best of my ability. Not educating or learning or creating or inspiring you enough. Not being enough, for you, the reader.
I am getting over it. I am enough. I am alive. I am growing.
I didn’t know there was such a thing not to mention, I didn’t know there was a cult-like following. Ikea Hacks. Wow. All the really cool things you can do with Ikea stuff. I love Ikea stuff. I don’t have much because everyone knows it is Ikea stuff and because their sofas are just too dang low to the ground to be of any real use to my family. Not that we are all tall, but my parents are tall. And I can’t bear the thought of them having to
sit on the ground so low to the ground. Random, I know.
I want to be an Ikea Hacker. I can’t for the life of me think of what to hack or even a good reason to hack it. But I wanna be a hacker. I tried. I went to Ikea yesterday looking for something to change into something else. I found a little greenhouse. I need a little green house that is cute for my seedlings so that ‘The Marine’ won’t complain as they take over all kitchen space near the windows. I could use like four of these cute little guys. Did I mention that they are a cool $20 each and that I am
That isn’t hacking, it is buying. Booo. I am not a hacker. Check out this awesomely cool hack and this one is my fave. Did you notice that they use the same shelving system. How freaking awesome is that? No really, how awesome is that? SUPER AWESOME! Oh, sorry, I got a bit excited.
I think I will have to stick to growing vegetables… at least until spring break. Muahahahaha. Then I am looking at a new foyer bench with cubbies!!! Ikea hacking away!
Til later lovelies.
UPDATE: I bought the last greenhouse that Ikea had in stock. It was the display and a little over-handled. As-Is = discount!!! 50% off made my inner frugalista very happy. No I only need three more.
Have you ever hacked and Ikea find? Or anything else for that matter?
I am a self purported urban farmer. Ok, yes. That would be delusions of grandeur. Is it grandeur to consider ones self a farmer? Does ‘ones’ in ones self require an apostrophe to be possessive? Does the English language require one to possess ones self? Rewind. I am a gardener and by that I mean that each year I plant seeds and plants into the ground, somewhat forget about them when it is mosquito season and then pray that they will actually produce fruits or vegetables before they freeze to death.
My garden has sprawled to almost the front yard. Mostly because I have a lot of shade and dappled sunlight in what is considered a more appropriate veggie area, the backyard. I am perfectly fine with the concept of gardening in the front yard but “The Marine” on the other hand. Well suffice it to say that he complains and scowls at the current growing arrangements because they are not neat, tidy, and similarly arranged. You know, like barracks or boots lined up against a wall. No, the mishegas that takes place in my garden beds cannot be contained by military regime nor will said regime allow such a disarray in the front yard. I digress.
I love spinach. But more than spinach, we as a family love sweet potatoes. I grow sweet potatoes. The free way, which entails getting a tuber
making letting it sprout. Throwing the slips out into the dirt. Harvesting sweets hopefully before the first frost (if I can remember). I love growing sweet potatoes. They are by far the easiest and most interesting thing to grow and subsequently make into pie. I don’t have any fancy ‘sweet duds’ (you know, a fancy place to grow sweets). I use a deep, plastic, under-bed storage box. Got it from Big Lots for dirt cheap, drilled some holes in the bottom, added some Mel’s Mix and voila. Taters. It works really well.
Last years sweet potato box. Broken already.
Original sweet potato box. Broken at two years old.
I have long envisioned a larger place for tater growing. Basic ground dirt is just not gonna happen. To tough to dig. I need light weight soil for ease of harvest. I really want a fancy new raised garden but that is mostly a conversation non-starter. But I do have to get something as my trusty box didn’t survive this winter and well, winter isn’t even over yet. So here I am, scheming and conniving to get a new growing area. I think I will build it. I can build it. Don’t look at the screen that way, I really can. I have built other boxes and they have survived for years… about 5 in fact. Just gotta convince “The Marine” that this is really needed and will be neat and tidy. HA!
Til later lovelies.
Is your green thumb-sense tingling?
Last year this time I was on bed rest. In fact, last February, I was on bed rest in the hospital. Eh. Outside of keeping my legs crossed to hold the babe in, I felt a powerful urge. No, not to push. To grow. Yes, I was growing wider with child. Yes, I was growing a little human being, which by the way is a lot of work. But an even greater urge took root within me, to grow something and then eat it. I even wrote about it.
I don’t like bugs. The Man and The Girl pick with me about my sheer disdain for creepy crawlies. I don’t like dirt. I don’t like to water things. I don’t talk to plants. I don’t even like eating most vegetables.
But I love, absolutely & positively love to grow vegetables. I love going out to the yard and bringing in my produce. I love knowing what is on it, what it was grown in and how it was grown. I love that my garden is completely PC, green, sustainable, helper bug friendly, child accessible, chemical free, (insert buzz word here ) and delicious. I really love that it positively impacts my pocketbook. I love bringing the sweet potatoes in and using them for dinner. The excitement from the kiddos about what our crop looks like. I love that my kids can go out an pick a salad or strawberries whenever they want rinse and eat it. I love that they get excited about eating vegetables!
I have learned what it means to have the faith of a mustard seed or any seed for that matter. That you must believe & trust God even when you don’t know when the rain will fall or if the sun will shine or if that plague of bugs will pass you by. I have learned that nature will always find a way. Last year I didn’t plant a single tomato since the year before my heirlooms didn’t do so well. I also didn’t plant any Marigolds since they did exceptionally well. Last year, I gave away more than a hundred heirloom tomato plants and about 50 Marigolds. Nature comes in abundance. I grew one watermelon and on green pepper and both rotted on the vine. Life requires patience and vigilance. A bit of know how is always helpful too. If you don’t feed it, it won’t grow. That applies to beans and brains alike.
I am a gardener. My family members call me a farmer. I am very urban. I must grow. It humbles me. It brings me closer to God. It reassures my faith. It feeds me.
It is that time of year again. Time to plant something. I always promise not to go overboard but that never happens. So, I have assembled the list of veggies I want and am gathering indoor supplies. Yes, I know it is a bit early. I don’t care. I must grow.
Til later Lovelies.
Are you growing something this year? When will you start?