My little patch of daffs is growing. Last year, there were only two blooms. This year there are ten!
In yesterday’s post I asked:
If you could live anywhere in the world, where would that be?
I’m right where I want to be, thanks. Yes or no?
Do you feel the call of the move every few years?
Or… are you a settle into a community for 10-15-25+ years?
- I always thought living in a Nancy Meyers movie would be lovely. If not that, Tuscany.
- It will do for the moment, but no.
- I feel the call of an adventure every few years.
- On the other hand, being part of a we’ve-been-here-for-generations fam has its appeal. Probably, because it is so foreign to me.
Where are your answers?
In Other News ~
I eat in the spring like someone who’s preggers. The grass starts greening, the flora start pushing up through last year’s leaves and maple keys, and I get hungry. And not in a good way. I just downed some leftover pasta and marinara with a side of fish stick for lunch. I call any breaded, baked fish a fish stick… no matter what shape it is. This one looked like a square hockey puck. And now all I can think about is a Snickers bar. And I can’t even remember the last one I had.
It could be the two days of gardening. Not the fun kind, but the cleanup and the raking before you get to the good stuff. Could I get a Tylenol, please?
Of course, it could have been a week of eating salads and proteins, but I don’t think so. I think it’s spring.
It will wear off eventually, and then I’ll be right back to eating grilled fish and salad and roasted veggies and pulses and…
But right now — Anybody got a Snickers bar?
Somebody save me.
Truth. I didn’t eat any of those things when I was preggers. I ate coffee grounds. No judging.
Here be Hump Day.
Work week be going down.