RAAAAAAAAAN-dom

I just painted my fingernails a dark, elegant grey. My toenails are a sparkly dark red, except for the nail on the fourth toe on my right foot, which is grey. Tomorrow, when the polish is totally dry, I will decorate the nail on my left fourth finger with bright pink stripes.

This is all for Kevin's memorial service, which is Saturday in Arizona. I will be wearing, per his wishes, bright-colored comfortable clothing (ink blue baggy pants, grape-purple artist's smock with a green t-shirt underneath, Converse and a saffron-dyed scarf from India). There will be, if my Interwebs research is correct, pie available at the service. I am all about pie. Hence the baggy pants.

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The Boy and I are texting. I say he should check out Baker Seeds; he says I should check out Forestry Supply. Little does he know that I already have a wishlist from FS that's as long as your arm.

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Best salad ever: greens, including baby kale (NOM), bell peppers, tomatoes, cucumbers, corn, black-eyed peas, cheese, FRIED OKRA, little bits of carrot and olive. I'm kind of on a kale kick at the moment, which is good, as the hippies across the street have approximately eight gazillion tons of the stuff to give away. They're desperate. I eat the teeny new kale plants in salad, since it doesn't have to be cooked or massaged or whatever, and the older leaves chopped up for tabbouli.

The folks at Baker Seeds say that kale will grow whenever there's even a hint of warmth in the air or soil. That doesn't really express how kale will take over your garden, your yard, your life, if the air temperature isn't below thirty degrees. It was eighty degrees here today (what the fuck global warming stop it STOP IT) and, sure enough, there were bitty kale sprouts coming up from the ground.

Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice. I say the world will end in kale and cucumber vines.

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Speaking of cucumber vines, have I told you guys the story of Mom's killer melons and pumpkins?

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Or the time she planted luffa gourds and zucchini in the same garden, and they cross-polinated? I noticed that nine of ten blurbs for luffa gourds I saw in gardening catalogs this year noted that they would not cross-pollinate with other squashes. Technology: saving us from weird stir-fried squash.

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Don't tell The Boy, but I'm thinking of redecorating the bedroom, to make it more Boy-friendly.

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Attila made me do some weird new back exercise today. Given that I dealt with hemiparetic and tetraplegic patients last week, all weighing over three hundred pounds, I am sore as hell this evening.

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And that is all for this evening. I'm off to make stripes of Scotch tape and pink nail polish.