Jacques Pepin's youngest fan

So, as G was saying, "Hace mucho que no friego.  Ay.  QuE desastre."  (I wonder where he learned to say that?)...

Notice the sponge: the base to the ring sorting game.

... BubU was saying, "Me gusta Renanah.  SI, me gusta Renanah.  Renanah.  Renanah.  Renanah.  Y, me gusta ?????? de la casa de Jessie."  I seriously couldn't understand what he was saying.  But, with Mita's help, I finally figured out that he was saying Julia.  He likes Julia too.

Then, G, snapping out of his dish-washing trance, said, "and Jacques!"  Yes, Girumy likes Jacques and Julia. 

What a trip!

I am definitely going through withdrawal and could use a hit of soil under the nails

Wendell Berry entitled his poem The Man Born to Farming, but I have renamed it The Woman Born to Fardening.

The grower of tree, the gardener, the man born to farming,
whose hands reach into the ground and sprout,
to him the soil is a divine drug.  He enters into death
yearly, and comes back rejoicing.  He has seen the light lie down
in the dung heap, and rise again in the corn.
...

Introducing... 3E! (Pronounced "Threeeeee".)

Girumy assigned instruments weeks ago and it has stuck: BubU on the keys, Mita on the strings and G, of course, holds down the beat.

He definitely "plays it like he means it."

At this point, Mita just let loose... foot loose!

Cold grey tunnels

Cold grey tunnels are for
Uncertain, cramping MRIs and
Stinking sewage.

Cold grey tunnels are for
Potatoes and cabbage.
Potatoes and cabbage.
Potatoes and cabbage.

Cold grey tunnels are
Not for me.

"On the balcony, MamA?" "Uh, no."

... but we all had a nice time anyways, on the indoor floor, picnic-style.

My Ethiopian Jumping Bean

The warm green light at the end of the freezing grey tunnel

We are proud members of LotFotL CSA.  Wahoo!  Bring on the greens!  Come on, May 9th!