Salad Days

Vines Entwine the World

Scented leaves like soft green hands
stroke my legs, my stomache, my face
Dirt and lemon, greens and sweet
herbed Gardens where sage does
not have to wait for thyme

Lo, how the fruit of long waits
and slow suns grows ripe and plump on
careful waters during carefree days

Life is breathed into the Earth and the Earth
breathes life back into me and it sustains me.


In other words, look at this big fucking zucchini!

We grew that shit. In our garden. Organically.*

Here are some pics for perspective:

Next to an actual tomato

Compared to an actual ear of corn**

Won't fit in this Frying pan.

Next to the cat.

 And a couple of before and afters of the vegetable garden.

Ayuh. Might be a haad season heah.

 

And Demeter doth smile upon us and provide us with stuffed zucchini boats.

We especially did something right with this box.

This one probably got splashed with the lion's share of the virgin blood.

Along with the zucchini and summer squash, we've done multiple pea harvests, the herbs have been giving all summer, and it looks like the broccoli is getting close. The kids have been eating everything as fast as we can harvest it. It is so cool (and such a relief) to be able to type the word harvest without having to add the words "illegal" and "organs" next to it.

Bonus Pic:

The PMan escapes back into the forest from whence he came.

That's it for now. Tomorrow, we're off for Storyland. It's our first trip there. It's a small but vital city located halfway between Dictionopolis and Digitopolis. Everyone is hella excited. And by hella I mean wicked.

*As far as we know. No telling what was added from the local environment. These gardens could be purely the result of a mix of diesel fuel and the smoke from a tire fire.

**Not an actual ear of corn.

HM

Where I'm From

I am from a 3ft tall Godzilla with a fist that shoots and a tongue painted in fire.  I am from losing that fist early on. I am from A Chorus Line and West Side Story. I am from jazz clubs and dinner theaters. I am from Dungeons and Dragons, Buddy Rich Drumsticks, the flicker of a television screen, and the back of another friend's truck.

I am from a Beverly Hills flop house where old ladies who may once have been actresses reinvent themselves as grand dames with grand gestures and grand accents I just now realize were fake. I am from a store around the corner that sold three scoops of Mint Chocolate chip for 75 cents. I am from rocky New England beaches below old wooden bridges where the game of chance was to dare to stick your finger into the snapping, clattering, cream colored undulations of the shell of an angry scallop.

I am from Ireland and Wales. I am from Mic Mac Indians, and French Canadians, and all manner of Taciturn stony faced New England Stock.

I am from Moses and Elie Wiesel. I am from 6000 years of culture, pride, struggle, and humor. I am from the funniest People on the planet.

I am from opportunities lost and found luck. I am from smoking too soon and drinking too late. I am from 30 towns and 3 states.  I am from bad decisions and murky intentions. I am from fingers on strings and lines in a mirror. 

I am from just arriving and always wanting to go home.  I am from the new guy, the first time, and learning my away around. I am from never quite figuring it out.

I am from too loud, no self-control, and inappropriate laughter.  I am from trouble. I am from fun. I am from making you squirt the liquid of your choice out of your nose.

I am from A Wrinkle in Time. I am from Miles Davis, The Beatles, Stevie Wonder and Dizzy Gillespie. I am from Bugs Bunny and Eddie Murphy. Judy Blume and JRR Tolkien. I am from Fighting For Your Right to Party.

I am from rhythm's tattoo. I am from crashing cymbals, the sizzling pop of the snare, and the thump of hands on a conga.

I am from a twisting turning maelstrom of memories half glimpsed and partially guessed at. I am from my heart in the city and my soul in the country. I am from new friends and old patterns.

I am from change is good. I am from pillars of happiness built upon the bottomless green eyes of a woman who has yet to realize her mistake. I am from tiny hands and belly laughs and the meaning of life. I am from normal sucks.

This is a meme I first discovered over at SeattleDad's place and then again at Two Busy's. Each of them puts my attempt to shame, but it was still fun. There is a  template for it. Much like my assignments in school, I mostly ignored it. 

Face-On! And off. And On!

Face-Off. A movie from the nineties starring John Travolta and Nick Cage. Long story short, they have a medical procedure that allows them to switch faces. Then they fight each other. As well as starring Travolta and Cage, this flick was pretty much the end of John Woo's U.S. invasion.

It was dumb. Impossible. Just plain bad sci-fi. Until recently.

Recently at Brigham and Women's hospital, right down the street from here, a man who had lost his face in an accident--that's right, his face-- was given an entire new face. The first full face transplant ** in history. Said the man, "I just can't wait to kiss my [3 year old] daughter."

A great story and a great reason to go through a difficult operation.

More importantly, a great step forward for me. Why, when the technology exists, should my wife and kids be forced to continue kissing this odd mug:

Endearing in an "awww, he tries so hard" kind of way.

They shouldn't. I'm not being vain or selfish here. I'm just using common sense. We have the technology. We can make me more handsome, more kissable.

And so we did. It took a lot of cajoling on my part. I had to promise the surgeon a shout out on the blog (Thanks Doc Pomahac!) but you are about to feast your eyes on the first ever cosmetic full face transplant recipient.

Behold, the New Homemaker Man:

If you look into my eyes, you can still see it's me. Right . . . there!

The original operation took 15 hours and 30 medical professionals. But with my easily manipulated features, in and out in 45 minutes. Glue had to dry.

Here's a sideways view:

Ciao, baby.

Even better, as the technology improves, so do my options.

For days when I'm feeling weird:

Notice the little arrows.  That's where they put in his crazy.

For sunny days:

All I can see in these things are my own eyes

For days when I don't feel like being found until I'm almost dead:

Our favorite kid's game for years: Where's Whitey? Where's Whitey? Where is he?
Whoops! There he is!

So there it is everyone. God Bless Science.

That concludes our Independence Weekend programming. Have a great holiday and remember, if you happen to hold that Roman candle to close to your face this year, no biggee!

*Not including that scene from Silence Of The Lambs when Hopkins scrapes off that dude's face and wears it as a disguise. Which doesn't count because the face wasn't actually attached. According to Doc Pomahac.

*Creepy note: After completing the surgery succesfully, the hospital was awarded a grant of 3.4 million dollars by the Dept. of Defense in order to perform 5 more transplants. They claimed it was because they wanted better techniques to help injured soldiers, but you know someone high up caught Face-Off on cable and was like, "A-Ha! The perfect spies!" There's probably 5 soldiers running around right now looking vaguely like Al-Zawahiri. Which could've been accomplished by simply growing a beard and tanning.

Author's even creepier Note: Had these pics prepared for a week.  The kids would get into them and then you could here me wandering around the house wailing, "Where's my Brad Pitt face? WHERE'S MY BRAD PITT FAAACE?!"

HM