In Texas, allergy season never ends. There’s spring pollen season. When that ends, grass pollen season begins. When that ends, ragweed season starts. When ragweed season ends, cedar pollen season begins. It’s brutal.

So I finally tried something I’ve been selling as an allergy aid for the last few summers.

Bee pollen. I had hesitated to try it because I was afraid it would taste like dust. Because pollen is dust, right?

It doesn’t taste like dust. It tastes like honey and dried flowers. Who knew?


Container Gardening

I decided to grow some things in containers this year. It was extremely discouraging to have little to no help last year, and it was beyond disheartening to have my garden plowed under (while producing food) not once but three times.

We have managed to get some onions, potatoes, beans, squash, pickling cucumbers, and corn in the ground. Yesterday, Sunshine helped me get some things planted in containers.

JalapeƱos, serranos, Tabasco peppers, multi colored bell peppers, lavender, sage, dill, cilantro, some kind of radishes that say they’re perfect for containers, Roma tomatoes, chives, and some chocolate mint.

I’m even more excited for the container gardening than I am for the big one.

Me and my bright ideas

Yesterday, when I got ready to do some yogas and shit, I decided I’d put on some music. Music can be so calming. They say it even tames the Savage beast.

I busted out my laptop and an external speaker and opened up iTunes. 

What do you good folks think I picked to listen to? Maybe some classical, or new age; or even some Mercan December, who is global traveller DJ known for his Sufi inspired music?


Metallica. The “Load” CD.

What can I say? Metallica has so many songs that haunt me. Their S&M cd set was fucking brilliant; they pimped out an entire symphony orchestra FFS. I chose “Load” because there’s some good shit on there that somehow haunts me just as much as the S&M experiment, perhaps because it’s just so raw without all those strings and woodwinds added in: The Outlaw Torn, Mama Said, Until it Sleeps…

Side note: it’s actually pretty brilliant, that whole idea of yoga to Metallica.  It’s a great use of conflicting styles, rather like a very violent scene in a movie being played out to soothing classical music. It’s also very unexpected, kind of like that flower toilet brush I ordered recently. 

So there is was, on my yoga mat in my living room floor, stretching my way into a few simple yoga poses. Before too long, I had decided I was enjoying the music so much that I’d just yoga my way through the entire CD. Because I’m smart like that.

I got up this morning feeling achy in muscles I forgot I fucking had. Turns out, Metallica might be better suited for workouts once I’m in better shape, rather than as motivation to push to far in the beginning stages of getting fit and healthy. Somebody please find me some professional help, because I obviously need something to save me from myself.

Final note: the upside of this whole bizarre experiment that ended in so much muscle ache? I decided it would be a great idea to ask Santa for a Samsung gear fit 2 or a fitbit to help me stay motivated. In my book, that makes the entire Metallica-yoga experiment a smashing success.

Our next experiment

We’ve gotten it in our heads that our next experiment is going to be growing  pumpkins and gourds.

Hell, we already have a fairly rich stock of seeds, with more arriving every week thanks to my job. The downside to this is that much of that seed stock was buried in the muckheap of our compost pile. Our compost heap is filled with rotty pumpkins and gourds and fruits and shit, which gives it the unfortunate distinction of smelling like the runny tequila shits that spew forth from Satan’s bunghole the morning after a night of too many margaritas.

This morning, I suited up in some clothes I won’t cry over (much) if I have to burn them to rid them of the scent of Satan’s shithole and waded in. I wish I had gotten some pictures, but there’s no fucking way I’m risking dropping my phone or tablet in Satan’s tequila shits, so you’ll just have to use your imagination to get an image of me knee deep in rotty pumpkin juice and elbow deep in a giant pumpkin collecting the seeds.

While I was in there, smelling the insides of Satan’s colon, I took the opportunity to stabilize the fence panels that keep scavengers (mostly) out of our compost and condense the pile as much as I could with half a shovel and a hip injury that will never fully heal.

Of course, the minute I got done with all of that and closed the newly stabilized fence, Mr B came driving up on his big orange dirt mover machine (I mean tractor with bucket on it). I wasn’t turning down free tractor time just because I was calling myself done with the compost heap, and I opened it back up and let him smoosh and turn the pile. Some of the rotty pumpkins kept rolling away from his tractor bucket, so I had him back out for a minute while I jumped in and tossed them back on the pile to get smooshed. With no gloves on. Which would have been okay except for the damned maggot I felt crawling on my hand after I stepped back to safety.

Mr B got a good whiff of Satan’s morning-after tequila shits and filled his tractor bucket with some spare cellulose left over after his last E.P.I.C. experiment. He was on to something- -part of the aroma wafting forth from that muck hole was rotty pumpkins (which nothing can fix), but part of it was from having too much greens and not enough browns in the heap.

I still haven’t finished collecting all of the seeds. There are some gourds and mini pumpkins that I still need to split open and clean out. I’ll be damned if I was doing that without coming inside to get something to drink and whine to you guys about how awful I fucking smell right now. Besides, I need to do some quick research on how to properly prep these seeds to be stored until next spring.

Someone please send an emergency care package from Bath & Body Works, mmmkay?