Sprouting.

My baby herbs are growing! From L to R, in ABC order, there's basil, chives, dill, and parsley. Love plants, oh yes, but the attention span isn't long enough to care for them properly. When I was twelve, I fancied myself a little aromatherapist. I got a book on soap and candle-making and a gripload of baby plants from the nursery. Planted them and all that, crushed some leaves, inhaled deeply, and clear forgot about them. The lavender perished, peppermint and spearmint continue to go bananas and my dad discovered that Sweet Woodruff (when dried, smells like hay, how romantic I was at twelve!) makes lovely groundcover. Eleven years later I'm making a mess of potting soil and plant food on the kitchen floor, dumping a whole packet of seeds into a 4" terra cotta pot. I don't know any better? The rhododendron cuttings my mom sent me off to Iowa with are looking kind of dire, but the Wandering Jew (yo I didn't make up that Un-P.C. name, swear it) that she yoinked from my grandma is happy. I just can't believe they're growing. You can't see it but the basil has two tiny sprouts in there. I am so proud of my little herbs. They keep on keepin' on even though their mama is a blooming idiot who has no idea how often to water them.

One of my cousins had a baby boy (name's Adrian) yesterday. I bought the fabric for his (mostly lime green!) baby quilt in December, before we even moved, and I was just thinking this morning, "Dang, I ought to get cracking on that quilt so it reaches them before he begins kindergarten", and of course I check my e-mail and there it is, he came at 4pm yesterday and both baby and mommy are well. Glad to hear, but rats. I'm strip-piecing this mohunker, hopefully it will be done much more quickly than Elke's quilt was. OH, LE SIGH.

Tomorrow I'll show you my mostly-acrylic "garden" that could quite possibly survive the Apocalypse.