So, I am guessing this post won't have much cohesion to it since I am writing this entirely on the fly. I will just flop along with a few random thoughts. First, my darling daughters were very kind to me last night. I came home from tomato hell around 6. Jo, my 19 year old, had dinner ready for me. That has to be heaven on earth. A meal on the table, and I didn't even have to stand in the grocery store looking forlorn and confused as I tried to figure out what I could do with a couple of pork chops or a chicken breast.
|Eating just one of these makes a person feel very noble.|
After dinner, my youngest, Maia, decided that Mom needed ice cream. And she was right. The two daughters ambled off, promising to bring me a treat after they finished working out at the YMCA. Thankfully I had done my arm curls with those giant beef steaks, so I could skip the gym thing.
I was dozing in bed around 10 PM when they appeared with one of those itty-bitty individual tubs of ice cream. The kind that hold the amount of ice cream you are actually suppose to consume at one sitting--5.5 fluid ounces. With it, they had three spoons. "We didn't have enough money, so we just got this and thought we would share." What? 5.5 fluid ounces? Why that is like a teaspoon each. I would have given them cash, a credit card, my half of the Prairie Grlz business empire. (OH NO YOU WOULDN'T!!!) Even in my dazed state, I got a bit panicky. It was at that point that they pulled 10 of those little tubs out of a grocery bag and lined them up on my bedside table for me to choose. Have I mentioned that I have really good kids? (I have to say that Prairie Sherry has AWESOME daughters!)
I should probably confess that I ate two of these tonight, inhaling a satisfying 11 ounces of creamy pleasure. (Geez Sharon. Why don't you try some self-control?) So much for nobility. What I would really like are some cookies to go along with that ice cream, but I'm still not quite right with my cookie sheet (see "The Art of Surviving a Dump", July 10). Sigh. (Hugs.)
Tomorrow Eydie and I have our last day sorting tomatoes. I suppose that this might cause us to venture into another of our photojournalism forays. We will need pictures. The last slicer placed into a case. The final pint of cherries tucked into a box. The closing trip to the compost heap. Eydie is expecting that the crew is going to hold a big surprise farewell party for us. (Don't ruin the surprise for me! I am still planning what I should wear.) Eydie is the type who often thinks there is going to be a big surprise party. I am guessing that she may even dress for the event--a darling sundress instead of her usual stretched T and tattered shorts. (Don't forget my tie-dye Bon Jovi head band!) I'm thinking that a party probably won't happen. Then she will be disappointed, and I will have to let her listen to Allen Stone all the way home.
We did have our final working lunch of August this afternoon. Here are the last portraits of the summer.
|You can see that I am working on the|
head tilt. (You look absolutely lovely!)