Thank you, tourists!

No, seriously!

Mr. Wonderful and I went out for a fun evening on the town over the weekend and landed at an establishment known for its views of the city from arrangements of couches and armchairs.

(Side note: for those familiar with the place, their recent redecoration involved swapping out the leather upholstered seating with, well, something that sure ain't leather. Mr. Wonderful and I had a fun time trying to place what it was and why it felt familiar. "It's like... fancy raincoat material. No, I've got it, it's a reincarnated backpack!" And so on. We surmised that they must have been going for a more *sleek* and *modern* atmosphere. Or something.)

Anyway, we were ensconced in the latest that fabric technology has to offer, apparently, when a group of fellow patrons asked if the remaining seats around our coffee table were free. They settled in, and, because they were quite friendly (and I'm nosy), we learned they were out of towners. Out of towners spending their tourist dollars in our fair city, and not, as far as I could tell, the kind of out of towners who would amble across a busy waterfront thoroughfare, oblivious to the traffic gathering on either side of their crosswalk. But I digress. They were lovely people, we chatted about the sporting event on the TV in the corner of the room, and their plans to attend a wedding the next day at a location the could describe only as "at a lighthouse." (Oh, how very Maine!) They laughed and joked that our next round was on them, and we laughed back, not only to be polite, but I think a little bit because we've become the type of people for whom more than a drink or two before heading home to the comforts of bed is in itself laughable.

So, our eyelids getting heavier than they should have been at 10:30 (oh, for shame! we are old...), we asked our server to bring us our check. Lo, the lovely out of towners were in fact not just being polite and making smalltalk, and had somehow, magically (telepathically? in any case, extremely slyly) added our bill to their tab. Mr. Wonderful and I stumbled all over ourselves with ineloquent gratitude, exited a bit embarassed by said ineloquence, and walked to our car with an extra spring in our collective steps.

Thank you, friendly folks from Maryland and New Jersey, wherever you may be today. I hope you enjoyed a wedding free of monsoon conditions, and that your travels home were safe. I'll stop cursing the out of state license plates on all the extra cars clogging up our roads from now on, as they may be filled with people as lovely as yourselves. At least until next summer.

If you were a plant...

...what kind of plant would you be?

This question brought to you courtesy of a conversation I had with My Favorite Man the other day over dinner. We were eating yummy but thoroughly inauthentic mexican food.

MFM: I think black beans might be my favorite kind of bean.
Me: *blink* Okayyy...
MFM (earnestly): Do you have a favorite kind of bean?
Me: *uncontrollable laughter* Thank you so much for not asking me that on our first date.

Honestly, it would've changed the entire trajectory of our relationship. Or, more specifically, there's the distinct possibility that it would have severely shortened the trajectory of our relationship. With this far superior timing, though, we ate dinner and had a fun conversation about bad first date questions.

"If you were a plant, what kind of plant would you be?" definitely qualifies. But, yes, I'll admit it, the thought occurred to me while I was watering the garden this morning that I'm becoming more like (am trying to be more like?) a watermelon plant. In some respects, anyway. In the wildly healthy, unapologetic, "oh, I'll take over the whole yard if you'll let me" sort of sense. Not as much in the "looks impressive but really has not much to show for it" sense, though.

But yes, I'm apparently feeling a yearning to take the world by storm these days. Or "by vine," if you will. This is new and different. But fun.

Best part? We didn't capsize!

This weekend was a whirlwind and a half. I'd tell you what we did Friday evening, but it feels so long ago that I don't even recall.

Saturday was canoeing day. Canoeing and fishing, specifically. I maintained my perfect record and still have not caught anything more than a lily pad to date. But it was a lovely day out in the rural part of the state, and I saw plenty of fishes jumping around near the surface of the water. That must count for something, yes?

Sunday morning (read: Sunday before the sweltering temperatures arrived), we did yard work. Irises were divided and tulip bulbs were planted. I'm antsy to see how they'll look in bloom where we placed them, but for now the vivid crimson dahlias will have to tide me over. They're gorgeous, but no, I didn't remember to take a picture.

And then... guess what we did? We kayaked in the OCEAN. For reals. Oh, it was so much fun. Even when we ventured a little ways away from the shore and encountered a bit of chop (after which we promptly turned around), it was exciting and relaxing (yes, both) and not as scary as I'd thought. We paddled around near some adorable little sailboats on moorings, and pointed and exclaimed at nearby waterfowl, and just generally enjoyed being on the surface of the Atlantic.

Off Season

Hi! Hi hi!

As you can see, the Mrs. Darcy Cardigan is done! The pattern is here, and I also used the modifications outlined here.

I'm so very antsy to wear this for longer than it takes to snap a couple of self portraits. Alas, the forecast for alternating mugginess and just plain summer heat makes me think it'll be a while.

In the meantime, another photo, to give a better sense of the twisted rib waist section:

Knitting and gardening and day-trips, oh my!

Whoooo boy, that post on flowers apparently depleted all of my introspective wit and eloquence. Today, you'll have to deal with scattered randomness.

- The Mrs. Darcy cardigan is maddeningly close to being done. I mean, the ends are even woven in. It's blocking right now, so I have to wait for it to dry, then sew on the buttons. I'm so excited to wear it. (Fingers crossed for a stray cold day in the next few weeks.)

- Watermelon is the best ever. Have you noticed? Yum and a half. On a somewhat related note, the watermelon plants in the garden are doing well-ish. So far it looks like one of the dozens of flowers on the vines has an itty bitty watermelon growing under it. It's super cute, about a centimeter across, and already stripey. Who knows whether it'll ever be edible. Probably not if the summer continues in this cold and un-sunny fashion. (Err, strike that weather request above. I can wait to wear the new sweater.)

- Mr. Awesome was extra awesome this weekend. We set out for a bit of a picnic and hike (well, hike-ette) at the local wooded-island-reachable-via-causeway (why yes, we ARE super lucky to live where we live), and the gatekeeper staff person there was a bundle of negativity and inexplicable fury, directed specifically at me. We left and found another locale for lunch instead. On our way home, Mr. Awesome decided to take a detour back to the island to (calmly, rationally) talk to Ol' Crankypants about why he'd treated me so poorly. I don't think the message really, really got through, but I was pleased to've voiced our concerns rather than squelching them as would a doormat, and Mr. Awesome adamantly wanting to "fix" it for me was lovely to see.

No roses or orchids for now. Let's not push it.

Senor Wonderful and I have been engaged for just shy of four months now (wow! seriously? holy speeding passage of time, batman!), and I've noticed one unexpected way in which my outlook on a (slightly) related topic has shifted.

[Still value sustainability and conservation and frugality and being considerate to everyone around me. Still love food too much to eat less of it. Mmmm, food.]

Anyway, the new point of view relates to gardening, in which category my approach has thus far been almost exclusively utilitarian. If I'm going to put in the time and effort to plant and grow something, I've always thought, it'd better be for a purpose. Our vegetable garden is full of plants we like to eat frequently, with a focus on items that are difficult to find or are typically pricey at the grocery store. Voila, kohlrabi. Hello, leeks. What's up, baby spinach? I can't wait to have asparagus ready for harvesting (um, in about two years) in our backyard.

Flowers and landscaping have always been an afterthought for me. Several years ago, a balcony container garden of mine was adorned with delicate pink flowers only because I mistakenly thought the sweet pea plants I bought would produce, well, peas (lesson learned). Most of the perennials I've enjoyed have been holdovers from previous gardeners. The few I've planted have been gifts from family and friends. There was a small purchase of tulip bulbs last year, but, while I do love me some tulips, my motivation was partially to make my house look extra cute for future sale. For the most part the rule has been as follows: if the flowers are in place and they don't need any attention from me, they can stay.

In trying to figure out what role flowers will play in The Nuptials, there was a window of time during which I'd hoped to procure a wedding's worth of flowers (however many that is...) right from our very! own! yard! Or, because there's not a heck of a lot of floral beauteousness in season at the right time of year, from our very! own! house! in the form of forced tulips (Future Mister has adroitly steered us away from this particular plan). In trying to figure out what we could plant around the property and -- fingers crossed -- harvest the morning of our wedding, I looked at an awful lot of pictures of flowers. And ya know what? They're really, really pretty. Pretty enough, even, to perhaps justify some time and effort solely for the purpose of aesthetics.

I still want to focus on those that work well as cut flowers, though. Can't take the practicality out of the girl, I guess.

Sheepish

Apparently when one has a row of lush string bean plants, covered in flowers just waiting to become string beans, and those plants subsequently get decimated by four-legged suburban pests, one might still get some edible string beans out of the bargain.

How many, you ask? Oh, about this many:



Or, put another way, "more than can be comfortably carried in one hand," or "more than two veggie-loving adults needed for dinner," or "enough that I feel foolish for ranting so fiercely about the death of the string beans."

Right. Will remember to rant less fiercely in the future. Or not, and simply prepare myself to feel foolish at a later date. Either way.