Skip to main content

Sometimes i forget how good i have it.

I think i’ve seen my husband face to face a total of 2 hours since Saturday. This isn’t because we’ve been absent from home; much the opposite. I’ve been home – but i’ve been in the yard – so i’ve seen him waving to me from the back door. I spent most of Sunday afternoon outside doing yard work in either my yard or Mrs. B’s yard, and spent Monday and Tuesday afternoons after work in the yard as well. To be honest, i’ve kind of over-exerted myself, and that’s why tonight after work i will not do yard work. I’ve done all i can to my kitchen garden until the little babies in their peat pots start growing and need transplanting. My fingernails are shot. My lower back kind of hurts. But i’ve got tan lines!

So tonight i’ll spend some quality time with the husband, even if we’re just sitting there watching TV, because my brain has been too full of enriched soil and cow manure to pay a lick of attention to him.

People often tell me how nice it must be to have a husband who’s a chef, because i don’t have to cook. And he does cook a lot, although so do i. i don’t expect him to cook for me all the time, because it’s what he does for a living. Even though cooking is enjoyable for him, after a long ass day at “the office”, he just can’t face the stove. And sometimes after long days, neither of us can face the stove, and that’s when we log into and order a large pepperoni with a side of parmesan sticks.

My boy is good, and i appreciate him. and i want to say thanks to him for putting up with me this week as i was outside every waking moment; and when i wasn’t outside i’d wax poetic about my cucumber trellis and how big the rose out front is going to get, not paying much attention to his eyes glazing over when i spoke. Thank you honey.


He is pretty nice...when he wants to be! :)

Popular posts from this blog

potato, potah-to.

During my first few months living here, I played with a computer program to learn Vietnamese.  Unfortunately I didn’t learn much (I have serious trouble remembering vocabulary words, something that never happened to me before while learning another language).  But I couldn’t figure out why nobody understood a word I was saying.  It wasn’t until a Saigonese friend told me she didn’t like to visit Hue or Hoi An because she could not understand the locals before I realized that, like everywhere else in the world, Vietnam has different accents.  Complete ignorance and stupidity on my part.  After all, there are distinct accents in the US, and even amongst the Southern states there are subtle differences if you pay attention. When I lived in Savannah, Georgia in the late 1990s I noticed how the local drawl was vastly different than the Mississippi accent that my great aunts Ima Lee and Lula Mae had.   I’m not making this up; my Dad’s side of the family are as Southern as Southern can get.…


So I participated in Whole30.

And I’m not going to bore you with the details of what I ate every single day, which is why I didn’t post about it throughout the month.  At the end of December when I mentioned to a few people that I was going to do this cleanse, most of the responses were incredulous. “But why? Why deprive yourself?”, was the main feedback I got. Let me tell you why.

December, and let’s be frank, November, were full of holiday spirit, in all definitions of the word. My boss hosted various lunch and dinner parties, and I spent a lot of my free time imbibing and eating pretty much everything in sight. Hey, it’s Christmas, that’s what we’re supposed to do, right?  In the beginning of December, I noticed a few days of indigestion, but firmly pushed it out of my mind as I didn’t have time to think about it. I kept cooking, and that included a lot of baked things, chocolate, crazy Australian desserts I’d never heard of before (something called a White Christmas which is basi…


It’s raining in Saigon. Again. We’re supposed to be out of the rainy season, but I don’t mind it. December seems to be a few degrees cooler than the other months, and the rain brings the temperature down a bit more.

Tonight, while walking back from dinner through the streets of Đa Kao, it was pleasant enough for me to wear a sweater (not a heavy one, but at least something long sleeved), and the rain misted down gently as I circumnavigated some of the near-empty side streets and hẻms on my way home. In high school, one of my great friends was a kid named Andrew who lived with his mom on Quai de Bourbon on the Ile Saint Louis, in two rooms with uneven flooring, high ceilings and hand-painted support beams.  The stone stairs on the way up to the apartment were polished to a shine and worn down by the thousands of feet that scampered up and down them over the centuries. I never met Andrew’s mom; she seemed to be away on business trips a lot, so a few of us would gather at his place in th…