Mr. E has brought us a pile of ramps. Do you know ramps? they taste the way that onion grass smells -- with a little sweetness. Sauteed in olive oil and a little butter, over pasta with some fleur de sel, they are amazing -- and only available for a few weeks a year.
Thank you Mr. E.
K is very pleased that we now have baby grass all over the front yard.
Man make grass. Said he.
Its got a lot of rocks in it, said I.
That's okay he said grass cover rock.
And lo, a new form of rock/scissors/paper was born.
Mower (Middle miming the starting of a pull cord mower) cuts grass
Grass covers rock (Youngest makes his fingers stand up and squiggle for grass growing)
Rock blocks mower.
How cute are we? HOW EFFIN CUTE ARE WE, PEOPLE?
Drinking now as I have total airplane-crazy-scared-anxiety. Which I mention to my mother, in a moment of weakness, and SHE SAYS
WELL, AT LEAST YOU WILL ALL BE TOGETHER.
Am intending to attempt to write during the week, you know, from Joe's Tropical Internet Cafe where I can, hopefully, get smashed on island rum, update, and then drive the mini moke back to the house.