This loner, this rebel hangs outside my garden fence, smoking cigarettes and talking about Society. Someday – someday! – he’ll meet his fate in a pickle, just like all the rest.
What Was It That Fell
Author Archives: Tata
One With the Fuzzy Hair
Jarring is like performance art: no one knows what you meant to do. This isn’t failed ground cherry jam; it’s ground cherry syrup!
Running Wild And Looking Pretty
I promised myself I’d work less on food and more on exercise this year, but I did not listen to me. Though I am getting more fit, I am aerobicizing next to the pressure canner. Where did July go?
I Guess I Never Will
These mysterious mini cucumbers were sitting all lonesome on the organic farmer girls’ table, so I adopted them as pets – pets that I will pickle and eat in salads and on sandwiches.
The Hypnotized Never Lie
An hour with Wednesday:
Whatcha doin’, Mama? Mama, whaddya doin’? What’s going on, Mama? Hey Mama! What’s up? Whatcha doin’? Mama, Mama, Mama, Mama, Mama! Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Swashbuckling really takes it out of our little pirate.
Guess It’s Just A Feeling
This is the first peaceful moment since Miss Sasha, Panky and Buckwheat arrived on Saturday. Bonus: I’m not sure what day it is, but I’ve probably aged five years.
Yesterday, Grandpa Pete and I took tiny, tiny Buckwheat to the university’s pool for family swim. Pete and I had not been to family swim so we had no idea what to expect. We also knew that Buckwheat, despite living in Florida, has not spent much time in water because Miss Sasha is not a big fan. No one understands this. Anyway, we suited up and went. The pool has a variable floor, which was set at 2’6″, which came up to an inch or so below Buckwheat’s chin. This was not threatening because the day before, she spent most of a day in a pool with my mother, who taught swim classes for most of my childhood. They blew bubbles, practiced kicking with a kickboard, jumped into the pool and were very brave about putting their feet on the bottom of the pool, so bouncing around with us was a cinch. The moral of the story is that my mother should teach all the children how to swim. I mean, obviously.
Where am I? I was hoping you knew, because I’m stumped.
Happy Make Me Feel Good
Time got away from me, but I’ve cuffed it to a radiator and fed it nothing but starch. Time’s going nowhere for a while.
The World Is The World
I have come to think of myself as a free-range knitter of artisanal cat blankets.
In Some Fresh Clean Air
Yesterday, we walked around town and through gardens. My reconstructed butt and I were on our mutual feet for more than 2.5 hours. It’s a freaking miracle!
Took Me Years To Write
In the tiny town, full of houses much too close together, a bunch of people garden in their tiny yards. A friend pushed me into the Facebook page, where I made the mistake of asking if anyone would like to walk around and look at other people’s gardens. Everyone did! No one had! Guess what I’m organizing!
As rain poured down, I looked up the smoke tree and found this cloud.
At first, I thought, ‘I cannot do this. I am small and covered with fur.’ Suddenly, I remembered I used to organize work stuff, art stuff and events, a radio show’s international distribution, households. I can do anything I set my mind to; I just have to decide to do it. So I did!
Poor Impulse Control 