(by me; I was in denial, by that one desert and pyramids, though not affiliating myself with any kind of anti-American activity, I assure you)
information about off-season tomatoes the U.S. imports from southern neighbors, tomatoes that have been grown the "old-fashioned" DDT, etc. way and thus kill birds (not to mention reek of hypocrisy),
and now they tell me that my favorite food — indeed, something I hardly can live a week without (lycopene* junkie) — is all full of chicken-and-egg bacteria (though not necessarily from chickens; it could be anyone's fecal contamination.) They say those who became ill in a number of states ate restaurant or store tomatoes raw. I have one tomato plant, but it's only six inches tall. It seems hardy, but one never knows. The trees have that splotchy condition, again. Cilantro faring well. Oh, and there's this monstrosity of a "zucchini?"
It grew all winter long, compact but green and seemingly never frozen. I don't think I should eat the fruit of whatever this is. It seems out of hand. I can't find the bugs that are eating the holes in it, except for these little long-nosed beetles. It is almost five feet tall — won't the squashes bend the plant in all directions and break it? When I say I fear eating it, I mean that there are so many flowers or pods or whatevers forming that I'll be sick of eating what they become for sure. I tell you, the plant is obsessed or possessed or something. The same soil that rejected basil seeds, tomato seedlings, sunflowers, and a variety of peppers (but grows morbid pale broccoli sprouts in the horfrost compost holes I dug — sprouts that wither in the light like vampire plants) is nourishing this crazy thing.
The soil is only six inches deep, mind you. The base is a concrete foundation from a former garage, perhaps. A tree's roots run through it as well — two, actually; there's this walnut stump that is quite persistent with its musty sprouts, despite seasonal hacking.
Speaking of bedrock, our lawn is practically an aquifer during these storms. I went out during a hail and gale hiatus since it was light enough to see, to try to determine why the ceiling of the offshooting section of dining room(ish space) has cracks and odd dry rust-colored seepage. Darn it if we're in some silly cursed place. Are starlings good luck? A screechy family of them lives in the gutter between the sleeping chamber windows; their nest seems not to be actually in the gutters. They are not clogged but in fact all gush out into a swamp, as I said, along the south and west side of the house; the back yard has virtually no grade and is 70 percent concrete. I need one hell of a rain garden. I think we should put it in the basement and keep alligators or at least frogs and turtles under glowlights. I have had nightmares as such, 20 years ago.
Good news! I'm saved from having to excavate the back yard by the fact that the former owner laid one-inch green plastic mesh under all the miss-matched grass patches and sod. I can hardly dig out weeds. I become terribly frustrated and start to dislike dog owners all over again.
When I went to pick up the magazine today, some stupid pit bull jumped on me. After I had transacted with a rather indoors-ish-looking skinny fellow with long hair, I walked at my usual quick pace and upset the stupid dog again; s/he chased after me. "Don't run," man said. "Yeah, it means I stole something," I quipped lightheartedly. I even had pet the stupid dog and let it smell me. I hate dogs right now. Why do businesses in the Crossroads feel the need to have dogs? I would say that the one at Digital Labrador is a good dog. Complacent enough to be tolerable. I never like it when they dogs are at my place, though I used to want a certain newsdog to come to work sometimes. It never happened. The best we had were a couple of kittens in incubator status one week, a baby opossum, and a few dead rats.
Read all about salmonella tomatoes. (This refers to the title. : )
This writing strikes me as pretentious. Let's end with a nice untouched / non-shopped shot of "Never Rub Another Man's Rhubarb (Seed Stalk):"
*I don't have this book.
*What's a hyperbole for? To put your bionic vegetables in, silly!
It grew all winter long, compact but green and seemingly never frozen. I don't think I should eat the fruit of whatever this is. It seems out of hand. I can't find the bugs that are eating the holes in it, except for these little long-nosed beetles. It is almost five feet tall — won't the squashes bend the plant in all directions and break it? When I say I fear eating it, I mean that there are so many flowers or pods or whatevers forming that I'll be sick of eating what they become for sure. I tell you, the plant is obsessed or possessed or something. The same soil that rejected basil seeds, tomato seedlings, sunflowers, and a variety of peppers (but grows morbid pale broccoli sprouts in the horfrost compost holes I dug — sprouts that wither in the light like vampire plants) is nourishing this crazy thing.
The soil is only six inches deep, mind you. The base is a concrete foundation from a former garage, perhaps. A tree's roots run through it as well — two, actually; there's this walnut stump that is quite persistent with its musty sprouts, despite seasonal hacking.
Speaking of bedrock, our lawn is practically an aquifer during these storms. I went out during a hail and gale hiatus since it was light enough to see, to try to determine why the ceiling of the offshooting section of dining room(ish space) has cracks and odd dry rust-colored seepage. Darn it if we're in some silly cursed place. Are starlings good luck? A screechy family of them lives in the gutter between the sleeping chamber windows; their nest seems not to be actually in the gutters. They are not clogged but in fact all gush out into a swamp, as I said, along the south and west side of the house; the back yard has virtually no grade and is 70 percent concrete. I need one hell of a rain garden. I think we should put it in the basement and keep alligators or at least frogs and turtles under glowlights. I have had nightmares as such, 20 years ago.
Good news! I'm saved from having to excavate the back yard by the fact that the former owner laid one-inch green plastic mesh under all the miss-matched grass patches and sod. I can hardly dig out weeds. I become terribly frustrated and start to dislike dog owners all over again.
When I went to pick up the magazine today, some stupid pit bull jumped on me. After I had transacted with a rather indoors-ish-looking skinny fellow with long hair, I walked at my usual quick pace and upset the stupid dog again; s/he chased after me. "Don't run," man said. "Yeah, it means I stole something," I quipped lightheartedly. I even had pet the stupid dog and let it smell me. I hate dogs right now. Why do businesses in the Crossroads feel the need to have dogs? I would say that the one at Digital Labrador is a good dog. Complacent enough to be tolerable. I never like it when they dogs are at my place, though I used to want a certain newsdog to come to work sometimes. It never happened. The best we had were a couple of kittens in incubator status one week, a baby opossum, and a few dead rats.
Read all about salmonella tomatoes. (This refers to the title. : )
This writing strikes me as pretentious. Let's end with a nice untouched / non-shopped shot of "Never Rub Another Man's Rhubarb (Seed Stalk):"
*I don't have this book.*What's a hyperbole for? To put your bionic vegetables in, silly!
2 comments:
Beau, at Digital Labrador, is a wonderful, warm beastie who would never dream of hurting a human... especially if it meant getting off of the couch. I have always wanted him renamed "Digit" but it ain't gonna happen. I personally believe that all pit bulls should be rounded up and emailed to Prairie Village.
It's a sunflower.
.t.
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