Pick of the day

The Home Office. This is where I work. Italy has a much better attitude towards public buildings and what they should look like, landscaping, courtyards, etc. I remember when we planted the spruce tree in front: it was about 7 feet high. My friend Dan planted it, after digging it up from the then-director's front yard. When I contemplate it I think I should plant a tree like that at my house so I can mark the passage of time by its growth. We planted 25 spruce trees, Jamie and I, along the edge of my property. There are 3 left now. They were 6" high then--about 11 years ago. They are now 3' high. Maybe I don't want to mark the passage of time this way after all. Or else get faster-growing trees.

Still cold, still snow on the ground at my house, but it's melting and has settled. Someone with big male feet walked up to my house yesterday. I hate that, really hate that. He parked at the end of my driveway and walked right up to my house--I could see the tracks in the snow. Then he walked partway around the bottom of the circle of the driveway. I have no idea who it was or why he was poking around my house. Not the electric co. meter reader, that's computerized now. I always think I should put a sign up at the end of my driveway, No Trespassing, or Private, but then I think a) that is unfriendly and b) it just calls attention to the fact that there's a house there.

Dinner with Ken last night. I tried to explain what a euro was. I spelled it out for him but he has trouble picturing things, he needs to see them written down. He kept calling it a "zero." I decided maybe that was a better word for it anyway. E-U is just a complicated combination for Amerians to grasp.

Last night I stopped at Lowes to buy Ken some drill bits (so he could take off the walls of his wood shed: a sign of spring that has been delayed "until this cold front goes through"). While I was there I bought what I really wanted to get: planting supplies so I can plant my seeds, which came from Burpee yesterday. Can't wait, can't wait. I got special tomatoes for Ken this year, a variety that should yield bigger tomatoes. I've always supplied him with plants I get at the nursery that yield early but smaller fruit. He never complains and is grateful, but when his brother-in-law gives him the huge tomatoes from his garden I can tell Ken wishes he could compete. This year I scoured the Burpee catalog for just the right kind and ordered Steak Sandwich, which is determinate (doesn't vine) and yields big tomatoes in a relatively short period of time. Now let's hope I can get the little buggers to grow fast enough but not too fast.

I love the way a dog will let you know of her dissatisfaction with her lot in life. When I got home last night, right smack in the middle of the rug in front of the door was the demolished can of yummy fish food I had ordered online (you're supposed to give your fish a variety of food because "Just like you, fish like variety in their diet!"). Apparently Chances liked it as much as the fish did. The fish were thrilled by it and gobbled it right up when I gave it to them, but I didn't hide the can well enough and Chances found it on the counter. Whenever she's bad like that, she leaves the detritis right in front of the door. The day before it was the empty bag of Russel Stover chocolate Easter eggs (my she has good taste, doesn't she). Last night I told her I wasn't speaking to her (I've read several times you're supposed to banish bad dogs for half an hour--as if they can tell time), then greeted Tess profusely while Chances suffered incredibly on the couch. Finally, about 7 minutes later I told Chances I was again speaking to her. I never saw a more grateful dog. My god she's a sensitive thing. So easily wounded emotionally. She clung to me the rest of the night--love me, please love me, don't you love me? you do love me, don't you? Even positioning herself between Tess and me in bed, which she never does. Yikes. Don't punish that dog again, she'll have a nervous breakdown.