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This evening, I made quinoa for dinner. No matter how delicious the wedding lasagna is–on Saturday, on Sunday, on Tuesday and Wednesday–at some point, one begins to think wistfully that there must be some other kind of food in the world.

Giving my husband* strict instructions to take the lid off the pot if he heard a horrible hissing sound, I ventured outside barefoot to harvest some fresh chives from our side yard. Nothing gives dinner that extra bite like some fresh herbs.

Little did I know that the project of ripping out our sidewalks had encroached even unto our front door. Like a somnambulant jarred from rest, I found myself walking slowly down the street, barefoot, with my hair shorn, holding a knife in my hand.

This just goes to show you that even in the best-regulated lives, basic mathematical principles still hold. Here, we see that


Descriptive children’s poetry (I highly recommend it.)



It’s for the herbs. Don’t look at me like that.



The Shadow of Death**

The picture in my mind was more like shadow cast by this picture, but I didn’t want to hijack someone’s flickr photo. Of note, I have probably ruined my search engine history by googling the images for this post without going incognito.


You’re welcome.


Postscript: My roommates point out that it’s probably a good thing that I was carrying the paring knife and not the actual chopping knife I was going to use to chop the herbs.

P.P.S. The more I proofread this, the creepier it sounds. I’m going to stop while I’m behind.


* Oh yes, I am going to work this into posts and conversations whenever I can. Because I can. And you’ll like it.

** Fun fact: When I was nine, three other students and I put on an [eight-man] play titled Shadow of Death. We were very into murder mysteries at that age. Not just mysteries. Murder mysteries. Unfortunately, WoW is occupying all of the SEO for “Shadow of Death”