From: poly@circuit-riders.net   
      
   The Earth shifts. The seasons change. Time appears to pass.   
      
   A Spring cold.   
   Taxes.   
   New nephews: twin boys!   
   A death.   
   A celebration.   
   Clients missing deadlines.   
   A Summer cold.   
   A trip to the high desert of the Colorado Plateau.   
      
   Still. Apologies for the long-delayed response...   
      
      
      
   On 4/23/2010 12:32 AM, Curious Gene wrote:   
   > He pulled up the scarf to protect his ears, and looked at the lights,   
   > not too distant. The Spring chill always made him think of Ireland,   
   > which made him want to find a bar.   
      
   The spring and early summer rains finally stopped, the sun came out, and   
   now it's time to do something about the weeds. The weeds and the tomato   
   plants are taller than Poly. (For that matter, so is the Queen Anne's Lace.)   
      
   --   
      
   It's early in the morning before the billable workday begins, and Poly   
   is out in the Rancho garden. The sun is just coming up, and everything   
   is covered in dew and sparkling like diamonds. Most of the tomatoes   
   (succulent, delicious Italian heirlooms!) are ripe, and the herbs have   
   all re-seeded themselves from last year and are growing out into the   
   meadow. Dill, cilantro, sage, chamomile, mint, oregano, thyme...   
      
   The pinto beans did really well again. They consistently yield about   
   1lb. per 4x4 foot area, and Poly planted plenty! They're starting to   
   dry, from speckled mauve and green to a light adobe tan. The Rancho will   
   have to have a bean-shelling party once the harvest is in. Poly has the   
   burlap sacks they use every year all clean and ready.   
      
   She fills a basket with ripe peppers: Anaheims, spicy Sweet Hungarians,   
   Cherry peppers, Chili peppers, and deep purple turning-deep-red Black   
   Hungarian peppers. She'll make Chilis Rellenos with some, and freeze the   
   rest for winter nachos, chili, and hot sauces.   
      
   The garden weed daemons are difficult to start, and Poly curses under   
   her breath at whoever thought it would be amusing to give them On/Off   
   switches like gas-powered mowers, with a pull-cord. After several tries   
   she gets them all started and put-put-putting on their way. They're low   
   and close to the ground, like Garden Rumbas, and soon they're hard at   
   work on the weeds. Anyone watching from the road would see a frenzy of   
   activity rustling through the kitchen garden behind the old house, as   
   weeds and dirt are tossed high through the air with energy and enthusiasm.   
      
   >   
   > There was a blossoming, a sudden renewal in the dark corners, and it   
   > had been a shock to see the people who still found time to tend the   
   > places that had once meant so much. Lots of talking. Stories to tell.   
   > Meatspace intervened. Jimmy died, the job had more and more work to   
   > do, and it seemed like less people to do it. The kids clamoring for   
   > attention. Fighting to balance the worlds. Just a trickle charge, a   
   > dribble of data, barely enough to stay relevant, consumed in those   
   > bare moments when not fixing someone else's machines or driving to   
   > another in an endless string of places with broken machines to fix.   
   >   
   > Lights on at the rancho. Poly's probably making tea.   
   >   
   > I can't yet. Soon, though.   
   >   
      
   There is always tea and coffee and lemonade and cold water, and   
   sometimes a pitcher of chilled sangria - wine with citrus fruit served   
   over ice with a spritzer of lemon-lime soda - late in the afternoon when   
   the work is done and something stronger than tea is necessary to recover   
   from the day. And there's *always* plenty to eat.   
      
   Right now we're eating our way through the ripe tomatoes, and every day   
   Poly and the kitchen daemons are peeling and stewing and canning.   
   Sourcerer makes a wonderful bruchetta with fresh tomatoes, garlic, and   
   basil from the garden, golden olive oil, and rich complex balsamic   
   vinegar. We make the crouttes from our own bread, top them with the   
   bruchetta and grated mozzarella, and broil until golden and bubbly   
   brown. This with a salad and a glass of wine is a meal fit for the gods.   
      
   The world is falling apart as usual, but here at the alt.cyberpunk   
   rancho deluxe, we live like civilized human beings.   
      
      
   --   
   A---T Sweet Poly   
   A---T   
     C--G "Make weapons of your imperfections.   
      G   Everything is grist for the mill."   
     G-C  - Sourcerer   
   G--C   
   T---A   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)