Disclaimer: This post has nothing to do with spices; I just like the word.
I think I'm getting the hang of this retirement thing at last. I'm starting to flash back to how life was when Bill was off farming and I was around the home place or just working part-time. It's like rummaging through the closet for a more comfortable pair of shoes and coming across that pair I loved twenty years ago - still comfy and just right for today.
I am a little disappointed, though, that when I reach for a real pair of jeans my choices ares still those soft ones (with a few stains), the thick warm ones (all ragged at the cuff and a dingy grey), or the one pair I swore I'd only wear for good (definitely pale at the knees). Why do I still not have a decent pair of pants?
Oh, yeah . . . I still hate to shop. Doesn't look like that's going to change anytime soon. Sigh.
Things I think about - as jumbled and unrelated as the contents of my garden cart at the end of a nice long day outside: lots of weeds, an empty coffee cup, some prunings, an interesting looking plantlet and a few handy tools.
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