The photos that are uploaded from my iPhone are kind of suckish, so I'll be uploading them from my computer from now on NOW THAT I'M CLEARED TO WALK. I'll get back to that.
A few weeks ago I planted a tomatillo plant because I love white bean chili and wanted to grow my own white bean chili garden. Except the only other ingredient I planted was regular tomatoes, since I find dumping white beans out of a can much easier than shucking, and I also find it difficult to grow rotisserie chicken in Arizona. So anyway, my tomatillo plant was all gangly and spindly and not producing any fruit, just a million little yellowish flower blob things. I finally googled to see what was wrong and CRAP. It turns out that you must have both male and female plants for cross-pollination and I only have one lonely non-bisexual plant. I took a trip to the nursery today (because I am also cleared to drive as of today FINALLY) and tried to pick up a new tomatillo plant so mine can have an active sex life and instead came home with THIS:
Creepy? Yes.
Emma named him Henry and as I was cooking dinner tonight (because I can get up on two feet and cook again FINALLY) I turned around to find him sitting on the counter less than a foot away from me, staring with his giant scary eyes, and I actually shrieked. (Giggle fits for Emma. Haha, yes, you're very funny with your owl who may want to get his thyroid checked.) I also found Henry buckled into the back seat of my Explorer. He is now on the couch covered in a blanket with his head nestled comfortably on a throw pillow.
By the way I ripped out my lame-o asexual tomatillo. We don't want your kind here, plant.
So ANYway, I went back to my awesome foot surgeon yesterday and was lectured about how many adhesions I have already. He took hold of my already completely frozen foot and jacked it way over to the side, leading to much profanity, grimacing and sweating on my part. He kept insisting that I was "protecting" it still, by holding it up straight and not letting it relax. DUDE. IT DOESN'T MOVE ANYMORE. IT IS RELAXED. I left his office in a really bad mood. (I plan to take this all out on my physical therapist tomorrow.) But as I *may* have mentioned I am cleared to walk without my crutches (with the storm trooper boot on) and am now allowed to drive. (With the storm trooper boot off.) This means that I can also jump back into being able to do mundane things like dishes and cooking and housework, and you probably won't believe me but I am SO happy about that. No really, I am.
More photos:
This is the first year I've planted hollyhocks. Next time I'll plant them against a wall, since our "gustnado" or "dirtnado" or whatever it is the weatherman is calling that crazy weather we had last week knocked a bunch of them down, but overall I'm in love. They are covered in ruffly flowers.
Baby zuchinni.
And THIS, my civilian friends, is what an army man getting his brand-new uniforms ready to wear looks like. He burns off all the extra little threads with a blowtorch while his wife with the anxiety issues worries about him lighting the bed on fire. He doesn't know that I took this shot, and I don't know how often he even visits the blog, so....HI HONEY! I find this "new uniform ritual' of his fascinating.
Nighty nite.
