This was a whirlwind weekend, and no matter what I did, I knew it was going to be this way. I missed out on a reunion at the campus newspaper where I worked, which was doubling as a farewell to three prominent journalism-school profs who all retired this semester, because two close friends planned trips to visit this weekend.
It was a toss-up — one I agonized over for months, no joke — but I chose correctly. If you’ve heard me complain over anything about living where I do, it’s that I have no girlfriends. So group time with girlfriends is about as good-for-my-soul as it comes.
There was much yummy food and beer and karaoke to be had, but the two firsts of the weekend were on Sunday, which the beau and I unofficially designated Vegetation Day (Friday and Saturday were some long-ass days).
The first first: I planted flowers! I know, bizarre, right? I’ve always considered getting some cute flower pots and decorating my balcony, but I tend to use it only when friends come over during the evenings, when we wouldn’t even be able to see the pretty flowers.
Sunday morning, the beau and I took my friend Amanda to breakfast (actually, she took us — thanks, Doll!) at our favorite breakfast nook in town. We said our goodbyes as she left for a day of copious amounts of travel, and I pointed to the pop-up garden store that calls a portion of the restaurant’s parking lot “home” every spring and summer.
“Should we get some flowers?” I asked, and we found ourselves with three colors of Celosia. After we bought them, we realized they essentially said on the “about” tag, “These are really hard to kill, so buy me if you don’t know what you’re doing.” Perfect!
Jeff’s two flower pots weren’t enough, so a trip to Wal-Mart gave us a few more, plus one more plant, caladiums. The red leaf is striking:
As I planted these and lined the front porch with the flower pots, Jeff smiled and said, “So this is what they mean by ‘a woman’s touch.'”
“What, making things pretty?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he responded. “Instead of, ‘Eh, I’ll just have a beer.'”
The second first: I ate cooked celery.
I know that sounds absurd, but I’ve hated cooked celery for as long as I can remember. It’s mushy and somehow simultaneously flavorless and disgusting.
So we went to the beau’s folks’ yesterday, and his mom had made some potato soup, chock full of potatoes, carrots and, yes, celery.
Yes, I admit that my two “firsts” are kind of silly. But after 29 years, isn’t it about time they occur??
What was your last “first”?