Garden Extravaganza

Well, I realized after I posted yesterday's Musical Monday post that it was actually Tuesday. Ooops.

So it's finally time to put up the much anticipated garden post. I'd had such high hopes for this. I'd planned to post when we were building the garden boxes, and again when we mixed the soil and planted, and again when things started to bloom, and again when the plants started to put out fruit. All that has already happened, so I'm playing catch up now.

Back in March, we bought the lumber and materials to make our first 4'x4' raised garden box. And Scoob put together the frame.

Look! Scoob made a square!
But he only made one and we have no square to spare.
(And it was made with a minimal amount of cursing.)

The next steps were to locate some 4' wide weed cloth for the bottom, for some reason every place around here stocks the 3' size, and get the peat, compost, and vermiculite to mix for the soil. We had a difficult time finding vermiculite in bulk, both Lowe's and Home Depot carry it, but only in 2 quart bags at about $8 each, when you figure we needed a little over 2½ cubic feet of the stuff, that was going to get expensive and fast. We finally found a little seed-and-feed-type place right here in town that keeps 4-cubic-foot-sized bags in stock for around $20 and we jumped on it.

 After witnessing the deer destruction, we also knew we would need a way to keep the deer out of the garden box, so out we went again to shop for wood to make a frame and chicken wire to make a cage. We were pretty scratched up by the time we finished, but pleased with the results.

Top off.

Top on.

Once we had a way to keep the deer and bunnies (bunnies are everywhere!) out of the garden, we could  finally start planting. I'll admit, we probably didn't plan this out very well. We started a few things (cauliflower, broccoli, and bell peppers) from seed, but the weather turned warm so quickly I'm not sure the broccoli or cauliflower will do very well. I'm holding out hope for the bell peppers, though. And planted 4 tomato plants, 4 basil plants, and 9 spinach plants. Yes, 9. They only came in a 9-pack unless I wanted to start from seed. And I didn't. (Apparently I was too exhausted after planting to take pictures.)

Then—BAM!—we got a late freeze in early April and I was sure the basil and a couple of the tomato plants were not going to make it. Which prompted us to build a second garden box and cage. It went much more quickly the second time, of course it helped that we had enough left over materials from the first box and only needed to buy the additional lumber, but we were both still covered in scratches from the chicken wire by the time we finished.

By the end of April, we had planted 2 more tomato plants (although the 2 we thought we were going to lose recovered, and 1 of the original plants was already starting to bloom!), a 4-pack of jalapeño plants (I use them alot!), a 4-pack of kale (mmmm), an okra plant (why not, and Scoob loves the stuff), a zucchini squash (I may live to regret it), more basil plants (because only 1 of the original 4 survived the frost), and I separated some of the plants I had started from seed in the first box. I had planted 2 seeds each of cauliflower, broccoli, and bell pepper, and both seeds sprouted for the bell pepper and either the cauliflower or the broccoli (I dunno which because I did not write down what I planted where. I totally planned to. But didn't).

Garden box 1.

Garden box 2.

Two! Two garden boxes! Muuwah-ah-ah-ah-ah!
I'd like to point out the change in background foliage.
The backyard has turned into a lush forest.

The first tomato blooms!

Now we're closing in on the end of May and the tomato blooms have turned to fruits, the plants all have tons more blooms and are beginning to grow through the top of the chicken wire cages we built. I'm trying to train the main stalks back down to the tomato cage supports. I'm losing. The zucchini and jalapeño plants are blooming, and I've harvested the spinach and basil a few times already.

I've been restraining myself from trying to cook fried green tomatoes.

Zucchini squash blossoms.

Holy bloomin' jalapeños, Batman!

The spinach is about to peter out, so I'm plotting what to plant in it's place. Something that grows well in the heat and humidity and can withstand 6+ hours of direct sunlight. I'm pretty sure 1 zucchini plant will be more than plenty, so I don't want more of those. I am open to suggestions.

Musical Mondays—Poison

I've been listening to The Silent Comedy almost non-stop since my sister shared a couple of their songs on facebook. This one is definitely my favorite, and it's somewhat appropriate since I'm scratching at so many bug bites on my body! Not poison, but definitely irritating.

We're really hoping it isn't bed bugs because... *shudder* Although, with all the birds we have around here, it could be bird mites. Or fleas. Or oh my god I'm driving myself itchy crazy.

Anyhow, every morning Scoob and I seem to wake up with new bites and I'm perpetually polka dotted with calamine.

The Silent Comedy was playing in Chapel Hill Sunday night and we almost went. It looked like they were opening for another band (that I just don't care for) and I learned that their harmonicist (is that a word?) had left the group, and the harmonica is one of the things that really makes this song work for me. Actually, I thought we were going to go in spite of all that, but then Scoob and I both took an afternoon nap and after that we just didn't feel like heading out.

A little bummed we didn't go. But still okay that we didn't go. Kapish?

And this is the first time I've really looked at the lyrics; I have no idea what that's all about, but the song still rocks.

Poison
Silent Comedy

Your body went black with the bitters drained
Satin got strapped to a wooden base
Hammer heads clap for the liquid lace
Battery brat and a wicked fade

But if the ladle gets licked, then the suspect’s headed for hell to pay

Scissor-cut slacks and a broken vase
A little high fashion and summer steak
Hanging my hat where the stumbles stray
Lift a gate latch and you’re giving way

But in a fifty-ounce fish, there’s a full shot stiff of the Everglades

This is the best live version of the song I've found.

Or you can try the studio version.

Here Comes the Rain

We're having a wild and stormy week here. And what can I say? I love it!

I saw the black clouds coming in and grabbed my camera to get pictures of the blooms on my squash plant before they could get pummeled by the rain and hail and I decided to play with some storm cloud pictures too.

Big, heavy-bottomed, black clouds moving fast!

Swirly, twirly

Makes me think of how food coloring disperses when you add drops to water.
Or creamer in a cup of really dark coffee.

The steam that rises off the asphalt after a storm is always kinda cool.
(Well, no. It's warm—it's steam!)

And we're back to blue skies!

Pictures of the garden soon. I promise.

Musical Mondays—Queen of California

Well, Saturday's luau went off without a hitch and I've realized I'm starting to remember people by name, not just face, and we met lots of new people including a relatively new couple from Beaverton, OR. I had noticed the Oregon plates on their pick-up and just had to go say hi. Turns out they've also lived in Fremont, CA (where we moved from) and near where Scoob grew up in Hawaii. Very strange coincidence.

I've also realized something else—it seems to take some folks from around here forever to say what they've got to say because they speak so slowly. And when you find that quality in someone who is particularly chatty and whose thought process seems to get derailed easily... Well, it's enough to drive a girl batshit crazy. I found myself repeatedly dodging one of these most of the luau evening. She's a sweet, sweet lady, I just knew I couldn't take much more without my ears bleeding or an eyeball popping out of a socket.

Anyhow, after doing set-up and decorating on Friday and then cooking until late to get the chicken done, luau until your feet say "oo-ow" from 4 to 11 on Saturday, and heading back on Sunday for a few hours of clean up, I slept like the dead last night. Even after I'd passed out on the couch with my head in Scoob's lap for a couple hours!

I got my very first North Carolina State tax refund in today's mail—a whole $40—but it's $40 more than I had yesterday. And I swear I just paid all those bills that came in the mail along with the refund. Sometimes I swear the month goes round way to fast.

Our garden is just speeding along. I brought in my second spinach harvest last night for dinner and we've got actual tomatoes on a couple of the tomato plants already! I'm really looking forward to those ripening up! Waiting to see how the peppers and okra will do.

Last week, it must have been Friday, I stumbled across free streaming of John Mayer's new Born and Raised album (are they still called albums?). I'm not normally a big John Mayer fan, but for the most part I did like this. It's got a low-key Southern Rock–hippy-dippy-60s vibe. I would say, though, that a couple of songs (especially Queen of California, below) are more than a little similar to songs that already exist. They so closely resembled other songs with style, tempo, key, harmony, I actually thought the song was going to be a cover. I can't for the life of me put my finger on the name of the song it sounds like, but I'm thinking Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young.

Anyhow, there's nothing particularly splashy or flashy on the album, but I liked it and thought it made good getting-work-done or book reading background music—mellow, feel-good, tapping your toes kind of music, but nothing that's going to distract me from work because I can't control the urge to dance and sing along.

Queen of California
John Mayer

Goodbye cold, goodbye rain
Goodbye sorrow, goodbye shame
I'm headed out west with my headphones on
Boarded a flight with a song in the back of my soul
And no one knows

I just found out her ghost left town
The Queen of California is stepping down, down

Hello beauty, hello strange
Hello wonder, what's your name?
Looking for the sun that Neil Young hung
After the gold rush of 1971

I just found out her ghost left town
The Queen of California is stepping down, down

[INSTRUMENTAL]

If you see her say, "Hello"
Just don't tell me, "I told you so"
Joni wrote Blue in her house by the sea
I gotta believe there's another color waiting on me
To set me free

I just found out her ghost left town
The Queen of California is stepping down, down

[INSTRUMENTAL]

And since the album hasn't been released yet, they're being a little bitchy about DRM on the video, but there's a live version of John Mayer performing Queen of California here.

Aloha!

No, we're not going to Hawai'i. (Though I wish we were!) We're having a luau. Well, the community we live in is having a luau.

 In other words, we're bracing ourselves for a Saturday filled to the brim with Hawaiian cultural appropriation and stereotypes. But I'm sure it will be fun, as long as we try to have fun with it, too. (I think we'll make a game of counting all the shaka being thrown around.)

That'd be "Hang Loose" to the mainlanders

In an effort to get involved and bring at least one authenticly Hawaiian thing (other than himself) to the luau, Scoob offered to make up some mixtapes of slack key, ukulele, and other Hawaiian tunage we have.

And somehow, in that exchange, I ended up cooking chicken for 160+ people. What, WHAT?

Of course, it's not even real luau food, just some breaded and fried chicken with a cloyingly sweet sauce with chunks of pineapple in it. You know, just toss in some pineapple and call it Hawaiian.

Yum!

I think I'll need to whip together some lomi lomi and see if I can't finally master the fine art of the Hawaiian macaroni salad. (The fine art is to add a ton of Best Foods and leave it the hell alone. But I never can—I always try to sneak in some mustard, or pickles, or celery.)

Lenses

If you've been with me long enough in this blogging experiment, you'll know I love me some Ze Frank. I looked forward to his daily vlogs when he was creating the show, and I was super excited back in early April when I realized Ze was back, this time with a show.

I rewatched his An Invocation for Beginnings video again today, and while I appreciated what he was saying when I first viewed it in April, watching it through the lens of all the personal and family stuff that has come to a head this past couple weeks, I appreciate it even more.





Some of my favorite parts, in no particular order:

Let me think about the people who I care about the most; and how when they fail or disappoint me I still love them, I still give them chances, and I still see the best in them—let me extend that generosity to myself

And god let me enjoy this. Life isn’t just a sequence of waiting for things to be [over]

Let me thank the parts of me that I don’t understand or are outside of my rational control, like my creativity and my courage. Let me remember that my courage is a wild dog, it won’t just come when I call it. I have to chase it down and hold on as tight as I can.

There’s no need to sharpen my pencils anymore, my pencils are sharp enough—even the dull ones will make a mark.

Let me realize that my past failures at follow-through are no indication of my future performance, they're just healthy little fires that are gonna’ warm up my ass

My cheese monster will never be satisfied with cheddar, only the cheese of accomplishment

Let me not think of my work only as a stepping stone to something else, and if it is, let me become fascinated with the shape of the stone

Musical Mondays—Rain

It has been raining like crazy here today, and will probably continue pouring down buckets for a few days. I've been kicking around the idea of installing rain barrels to use for watering the garden. I'm pretty sure it's against the HOA rules here, though.

And a big part of me says "I don't care. My land—my rules. Thpppt!" Actually, I'm thinking more along the lines of what they don't know won't hurt them (or me). I've been casually looking for some 55-gallon, food-grade drums, preferably green (many are bright, bright blue). As long as they're not neon green, they shouldn't be too difficult to blend into the greenery around the house.

Anyhow, I'm watching it pour outside and a little stream is running through the front yard at the culvert and there's just so much water that the sprinkler system relief/overflow valve is spewing water and the system isn't even turned on!

So yeah, we're in for a wet one this week. It's making me wish we had gone to the grocery store yesterday instead of taking a lazy day. In our defense, we had planned to go to the zoo and pick up groceries on the way home, but it was forecast to rain buckets yesterday, so we stayed home. Unfortunately/fortunately, the rain didn't show up until today.

Rain
Creed

Can you help me out?
Can you let me a hand?
It's safe to say that
I'm stuck again

Trapped between this life and the light
I just can't figure out
How to make it right

A thousand times before
I've wondered if there's something more
Something more...

I feel it's gonna rain like this for days
So let it rain down and wash everything away
I hope that tomorrow the sun will shine
With every tomorrow comes another life

I feel it's gonna rain
For days and days
I feel it's gonna rain

I've tried to figure out
I can't understand
What it means to be whole again

Trapped between the truth and the consequence
Nothings real
Nothings making sense

A thousand times before
I've wondered if there's something more
Something more...

I feel it's gonna rain like this for days
So let it rain down and wash everything away
I hope that tomorrow the sun will shine
I feel it's gonna rain like this
Rain like this
Rain like this

Fall down
Wash away my yesterdays
Fall down
So let the rain fall down on me

I feel it's gonna rain like this for days
Let it rain down and wash everything away
I hope that tomorrow the sun will shine
I feel it's gonna rain like this
Rain like this
Rain like this
(So let the rain fall down)

I feel it's gonna rain like this
Rain like this
(So let the rain fall down)

I feel it's gonna rain like this
I feel it's gonna rain...

Avian Harassment

First the important stuff—my bestie's husband came out of surgery for his heart transplant this morning. So relieved to know the surgery went smoothly and that by afternoon he was awake and his breathing tube was removed, and he was talking. It's just amazing and awesome and… well… AWESOME!!!

I am still amazed at how quickly his new heart was found—1 month! I've known people who have had to wait months and years for a transplant. I'll be giving thanks in my prayers tonight when I ask the Creator to continue watching over them.

Following up from Wednesday's post: I'm learning more and more about Adult Children of Alcoholics syndrome, and I'm just floored at how much what I am learning is resonating. Also learning that it applies to any sort of dysfunctional family situation—not just alcohol-related.

Mom still isn't communicating with me. I tried calling her Tuesday night when I caught wind of a news story in her town that sounded like it might involve her, also tried emailing her when I got a busy signal (she tends to take the phone off the hook when she's avoiding us). Saw a follow-up news story on Wednesday morning, so I knew it wasn't her (whew!), but tried to call Wednesday night to talk with her about para-alcoholism. Again, busy signal.

I've emailed to keep her posted on the heart transplant but have gotten no response. Not entirely unexpected, but still… I don't know if you're still reading, mom, but if you are, I want you to know I don't blame you and you shouldn't feel like my pain is your fault or that you're responsible for it AT ALL. But I am going to try to set right this thing that is off, and I do think that process will be painful for you if you're not also getting some help.

In addition to the Adult Children of Alcoholics Syndrome book, I'm also picking up a copy of The Complete ACoA Sourcebook: Adult Children of Alcoholics at Home, at Work and in Love. I was going to get the latter in ebook format, but I think I'll be highlighting the shizzle out of it and writing in the margins like crazy.

Aaaaand… onto the less-heavy stuff. I've blogged about our bluebirds before. I mentioned it on facebook, but didn't say anything here—something (we're thinking it was a raccoon) pulled the bluebird nest out of the newspaper box and ate all the babies. But bluebirds are supposed to have more than one clutch each year, so we got them a proper home.

They've certainly been interested in it, and we've even seen them gathering nesting materials, but I don't think they've officially taken up residence yet.

But today they did something entirely new—they started bullying me! And I have photographic evidence to prove it! But I don't think it will hold up in court.

I was sitting here, at my desk in the office, working as usual and minding my own business. Today was mild and I had the small window near my desk open (the window you see behind the bluebird house is the big window in the office, the small window is on the side of the house) to catch the breeze and listen to the birds.

Then there was a commotion at the window and when I looked up a bluebird was latched onto the window screen, beating his wings on the screen, and jabbering up a storm. Drove the cats CAH-RAY-ZEE for sure! But this went on all day!

I wish I could stitch the whole sequence together like a sketch flipbook.

I'm pretty sure this bluebird is giving me the stink-eye, too!
"Yeah, and what are you gonna do about it?"

Heart-Felt Prayers

My bestie and her husband received the call for his heart transplant today! It has been a long, and at times turbulent, journey for them and their families.

I ask that all of you say a prayer, light a candle, burn some sage, or do whatever it is you do when you talk to the Creator, for them, for their children, for the doctors, for the donor, and for the donor's family.

Vocabulary Lessons

I learned a new word today, para-alcoholic—those who grew up at the side of an alcoholic.

I learned my new word while looking at the Adult Children of Alcoholics website. (I had started out looking at the Al-Anon website, but it seems more geared toward partners, spouses, and younger children of alcoholics.)

I'd never seen that word, para-alcoholic, before today and it's like a light bulb went on in my head. I didn't know exactly what it meant when I read it, but I know what para means as a prefix so I started digging deeper. If a light bulb came on when I first read the word, then a search light came on when I read this description of the problem.

An over developed sense of responsibility? Check. People-pleaser? Check. Isolated and uneasy with other people? Oh, yeah. Choosing insecure relationships? Yup. Letting others take the initiative? Uh-huh.

If reading The Problem was a search light, then reading this article about para-alcoholism set off fireworks. I've also learned today that this compartmentalizing behavior I've been trying to describe and change in myself is more commonly referred to as "stuffing"; learning to keep your feelings down and bury them.

While I'm shocked to learn all this and to only just be connecting to the dots now, I'm also hopeful. What a relief to know I'm not alone. What a relief to have words to describe what I feel. That what I'm feeling isn't the result of some physiological or chemical defect in my brain. That all these years that I've seen myself as being weak, or paralyzed, or inferior, to know that these dysfunctional feelings and behaviors were learned, and can therefore be unlearned.

I am hopeful that I'll know what it feels like to be whole. To be genuine. To be authentic. To not just be a mirror, reflecting back to people what I think they want to see.

I think I've made some major steps in this direction beginning with when I decided to move to North Carolina—it was a conscious decision that I knew would upset some people, but it was also what I felt to be best for me. Family members have commented on how I seemed happier, more vocal, and less guarded. I was even allowing myself to be photographed and I was present, not blending into the background. (It's pretty clear in the pictures, though, that I'm stiff and not sure how to just be in my own skin.)

Up until this past week, I'd never even considered that my mother may have been an alcoholic while I was growing up.  I rarely remember her drinking, and can only recall a handful of times when she may have drank to excess. But as I've been trying to sort through my own feelings and issues, I'm recognizing that the patterns, for me, do actually go back that far.

Even though I recognize patterns going back that far, I still wouldn't label my mother an alcoholic back then. The alcoholism as an addiction and disease is something more recent—definitely within the last 3–4 years, but I suspect it's more like 8–9 years.

What I'm now thinking is that my mom was a para-alcoholic before she became an alcoholic. That given all the issues she has with her father and what I know about him, he was probably the alcoholic she grew up with. I would never say I had a terrible childhood, or that my home was abusive growing up, but I would say something was "off," and I feel like I've finally begun to recognize how, who, what, and why.

According to this review of The Adult Children of Alcoholics Syndrome, there are 4 types of alcoholic families. As I'm currently seeing things, my family would be a Type 3—there hasn’t been active, alcoholic drinking for a generation, or more. But your parents have inherited the emotional characteristics and behavioral handicaps from previous generations. I think I'll be ordering this book. Right. Now. Pronto!

And I shouldn't place all of this at my mother's feet, it's only that her recent struggles with alcohol are forcing me to face and discover these things. My dad grew up with an abusive, alcoholic father, and my step-mom's father was also an alcoholic. I'm sure I've learned some of their survival mechanisms, too, but I didn't grow up in my dad and step-mom's home, so I'm not sure I would recognize them.

I am so thankful for Scoob. He has been amazing. And I'm thankful that I can talk to him about all of this, but I know I need to get additional help if I want to change; Scoob cannot bear that burden for me and neither can you, though I'm likely to blog about it anyhow as I work through things.

I've found an Adult Children of Alcoholics group that meets Wednesday evenings about 30 miles from here. I would have gone tonight except I discovered the group around 5:30 and they meet at 7:00—I didn't have enough time to screw up my courage.

Musical Mondays—Keep Your Head Up

Well, as expected, in an attempt to express myself, last Monday's post triggered a maelstrom. I don't think I was being harsh in my post; just trying to convey some the conflict I feel inside. As a result, my mother has decided she doesn't want to speak with me for about 40 years.

Yea.

I fully expected to be shut out for at least a few weeks, not completely disowned. I talked with her earlier last week thinking I'd better call and get what I've got coming to me, only everything was fine. She actually sounded really good. It didn't occur to me she hadn't read the post yet. So, finding her brief email in my inbox yesterday morning was a surprise.

And I'm angry, more than I'm hurt. Because this is the kind of emotional roller coaster I've ridden with her most of my life (granted, it's only become this volatile in recent years), and to avoid setting her off, or to cope with the aftermath, I became really good at compartmentalizing and detaching myself. Only I've been working so hard to stop doing that and my mind won't stop whirling around this whole situation. I want to put it in a box to deal with later.

And then I feel guilty because I'm angry with my mother. Which is really the point, isn't it? The guilt. I mean hell, she's still holding onto (and I'm still apologizing for) something I said to her when I was in the 1st grade—30+ years ago. She's still holding onto the hurt for something her mother said to her when she was 15 or 16. She's still holding onto the feelings of inadequacy her father instilled in her.

And now I mad again. And I don't want to be part of this pattern anymore.

Scoob and I tackled unpacking some of the remaining boxes in the garage last night. Coming across my baby blanket pretty much put an end to that, though. And sending out Mother's Day cards in this morning's mail felt like a farce.

Scoob has suggested I seek therapy. And I think he's right—I can't do this anymore.

(And can I just say…I really, really want to ride the slip-n-slide in this video!)

Keep Your Head Up
Ben Howard

I spent my time watchin'
the spaces that have grown between us.
And I cut my mind on second best
or the scars that come with the greenness.
And I gave my eyes to the boredom,
still the seabed wouldn't let me in.
And I tried my best to
embrace the darkness in which I swim.

Now walkin' back down this mountain
with the strength of a turnin' tide.
Oh the wind's so soft on my skin,
the sun so hard upon my side.
Oh lookin' out at this happiness,
I search for between the sheets.
Oh feelin' blind and realize,
All I was searchin' for was me.
Ooh ooh all I was searchin' for was me.

Keep your head up, keep your heart strong.
No, no, no, no.
Keep your mind set, keep your hair long.
Oh my my darlin' keep your head up, keep your heart strong.
No, no, no, no.
Keep your mind set in your ways, keep your heart strong.

I saw a friend of mine the other day,
and he told me that my eyes were gleamin'.
Oh I said I had been away, and he knew,
oh he knew the depths I was meanin'.
And it felt so good to see his face
or the comfort invested in my soul.
Oh to feel the warmth of a smile,
when he said "I'm happy to have you home.
Ooh ooh I'm happy to have you home."

Yeah, keep your head up, keep your heart strong.
No, no, no, no.
Keep your mind set, keep you hair long.
Oh my my darlin', keep your head up, keep you heart strong.
No, no, no, no.
Keep your mind set in your ways, keep your heart strong.
'Cause I'll always remember you the same.
Oh eyes like wild flowers within demons of change.

May you find happiness there,
May all your hopes all turn out right.

Keep your head up, keep your heart strong.
No, no, no, no.
Keep your mind set, keep you hair long.
Oh my my darlin', keep your head up, keep you heart strong.
No, no, no, no.
Keep your mind set in your ways, keep your heart strong.
'Cause I'll always remember you the same.
Oh eyes like wild flowers within demons of change.

A Tale of Two Sockies

Once upon a time, there were two sockies. Sockie One was black with a little white on the toes, well-padded, and crew style. So was Sockie Two.

You could call them a pair.

One day, about 2 months ago, I noticed the sockies lying on the floor, more or less on my side of the closet. Now, I don't own any black sockies—it's not a race thing; I just don't.

Heck, I rarely wear socks at all. Or underoos for that matter. But that's probably more than you needed to know.

(See what working from home is doing to me? I run around the house with no underoos on and have no shame at all in letting y'all know this.)

Ahem.

So, anyhow, since I don't own any black sockies, I assumed they were Scoob's and pushed the sockies over to his side of the closet.

A few days later I noticed the sockies back on my side. Odd. And I pushed them back to his side. And a few days later, guess what? Yup. They were back on my side. Hmmmm.

Well, they weren't folded. Maybe that meant they'd been worn and needed to be washed. So I tossed them in the laundry and put them away in Scoob's drawer.

About a week later, the folded sockies appeared in my drawer. I put them back in Scoob's drawer. And they somehow ended up in my drawer again.

This has been going on for awhile now, me putting the socks away and them showing up where they don't belong.

This Saturday Scoob walked into the bedroom just as I was putting the socks in his drawer.

"What are you doing?"

"Putting away your socks. They keep ending up in my drawer."

"That's because I put them there."

"Why would you do that?"

"Because they're not my socks."

"But they're not my socks, either."

"Well, they're not mine."

"Well, who-the-hell's are they? There are only two of us in this house."

"Well, they're not mine."

"Yes, I think we've established that. Unless…"

And that's when it hit me—they must be Mom's socks and got mixed in with our laundry and left behind from when she was here.

We got a pretty good laugh out of the fact we've been passing them back and forth for over 2 months. Poor little orphan sockies. I think I'll keep them.

Sockie One and Sockie Two