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The project to convert the homestead Master Suite into a grow/distillation room is coming along nicely. Hubs and I have taken to calling it, "The Sand Box."
Herstorically, hubs and I have not played well together. He has played well with others for his entire life. He got through college on athletic scholarships. Is it fair to call that a textbook definition of playing well with others? I started life with a severe speech defect in a mobile kiddie whorehouse. At 61 I'm still not fully housebroken, much less pedigreed. Playing well with others is simply not part of my birthright. My therapy acquired social skills are only second-nature. Not too many of my first-nature social skills are socially acceptable. The 36 years hubs and I have been partnered have been more about the hard work of raising family than romantic interludes. We have each kept our toys and dreams in separate rooms for most of those 36 years. Trying to share toys and dreams has been. . . volatile.
But. . . So far so good in the new sandbox. Far from done, but the progress is holding steady. Spring is busting out all over Central Texas. New candidates for the distillation toys are blooming daily. Hubs has been fixated on rosemary. He has even struck oil. Essential Oil, that is. This week I am fixated on the local strain of wild mustard which is the sworn enemy of all the local Weed Warriors. It is my personal favorite mustard strain. Good flavor with almost no burn. It is not winning any awards in the air freshener camp, though. Hub's rosemary is winning the air freshener contest so far, but just so far. Spring has barely sprung. Mustard is not the only wild candidate on my radar.
In the growing half of the sandbox, the experiment of the week is juicing grasses. Wheat grass is, of course, the current celebrity from that plant family, but Grass is a BIG family. There are many juiceable sprouts, as well.
Just an update. . .
Herstorically, hubs and I have not played well together. He has played well with others for his entire life. He got through college on athletic scholarships. Is it fair to call that a textbook definition of playing well with others? I started life with a severe speech defect in a mobile kiddie whorehouse. At 61 I'm still not fully housebroken, much less pedigreed. Playing well with others is simply not part of my birthright. My therapy acquired social skills are only second-nature. Not too many of my first-nature social skills are socially acceptable. The 36 years hubs and I have been partnered have been more about the hard work of raising family than romantic interludes. We have each kept our toys and dreams in separate rooms for most of those 36 years. Trying to share toys and dreams has been. . . volatile.
But. . . So far so good in the new sandbox. Far from done, but the progress is holding steady. Spring is busting out all over Central Texas. New candidates for the distillation toys are blooming daily. Hubs has been fixated on rosemary. He has even struck oil. Essential Oil, that is. This week I am fixated on the local strain of wild mustard which is the sworn enemy of all the local Weed Warriors. It is my personal favorite mustard strain. Good flavor with almost no burn. It is not winning any awards in the air freshener camp, though. Hub's rosemary is winning the air freshener contest so far, but just so far. Spring has barely sprung. Mustard is not the only wild candidate on my radar.
In the growing half of the sandbox, the experiment of the week is juicing grasses. Wheat grass is, of course, the current celebrity from that plant family, but Grass is a BIG family. There are many juiceable sprouts, as well.
Just an update. . .
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I don't really know how to label this but I having a rough week and I can't say it's one thing.... I have a lot on my plate which is nothing new and I try to cope in many positive ways and do but I still have my moments.My kids more so my daughters talk to me about everything which I know it's cause of comfort and we are close.... however I really struggle with the venting about their dad which...
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I did the dumbest thing today. I charged my earbuds, unplugged the block and put the block in my little bag instead of the earbuds. I wasn't happy about that when I got to the gym. What a dummy!
Spring's starting to try itself here, too early, and I'm already primed for my usual wild-grazing faves to appear (or not).
Sometimes, athletes *don't* play well with others, btw. My dad was a great example of it. He wasn't playing with the others; he was trying to outplay them, as well as the opposing team. It's made me leery of saying athletics fosters cooperation.
But you and he seem tohave a rhythm, and that's good. Also, rosemary oil. *sigh of envy*
Growing pains? Stress spot?
I have to do that sometimes. I was raised in the construction biz, and get stuck in "This Is How It Is To Be Done" mode. It was great when I managed projects, including my own home's renovation, but in general? Not so much.
Converting a traditional 20th century U.S. suburban Master Suite to a grow (incl. hydroponics)/distillation room is a few gadgets shy of standard operating procedure.
Putting on my site superintendent cap and staying close enough to answer questions and far enough to let the contractors do their thing in the style to which they are accustomed. It is Spring here in the sub-tropics. Plenty to do in the garden. Winter crops are ready for harvest. Got enough peas to feed a vegan meet.