In the course of preparing for an upcoming workshop, I  encountered a link to a George Bush coloring book. It has illustrations for Bush's deathless words, including "I know the human being and fish can coexist peacefully."

Oh, here's the official government coloring page:

And the found poem which will, I think, be one of this president's lasting contributions to our culture, along with a deep sense of national shame about this decade:

MAKE THE PIE HIGHER
by George W. Bush

I think we all agree, the past is over.
This is still a dangerous world.
It's a world of madmen and uncertainty
and potential mental losses.

Rarely is the question asked
Is our children learning?
Will the highways of the Internet become more few?
How many hands have I shaked?

They misunderestimate me.
I am a pitbull on the pantleg of opportunity.
I know that the human being and the fish can coexist.
Families is where our nation finds hope, where our wings take dream.

Put food on your family!
Knock down the tollbooth!
Vulcanize society!
Make the pie higher! Make the pie higher!

This is composed entirely of public words from Mr. Bush, and I have seen the documentation.

The insurance company should foot the bill for the household catastrophe, though not for the enormous electric and water bills coming up. I am hoping that the restoration people will come today and we can be rid of the blowers, the smell, and the living room full of furniture from the bedrooms, though as you can see, the cat likes it.

Today is my day off, and I have Book Club (discussing Searching for Caleb) and a meeting with Janalisa about the summer youth choir before handbells and choir.

I had been planning to have a PSD (personal sewing day) in and around those things, but it seems unlikely at the moment, since my sewing machine is hidden in the welter of refugee furniture. It was on Memorial Day weekend last year that I started my SWAP with the goal of finishing it in a year. Here it is, a year later, and I finished that SWAP and am a quarter of the way through the SWAP Part II. If I had been able to keep to my timetable of one finished sewn object per week, I would have been going into the June workshops and conferences with a a good warm-weather wardrobe. Life has been too exciting for that. However, I do want to get back on schedule with my SWAP. If, over the course of this Memorial Day weekend (I'm working Saturday, so I guess today's day off counts as part of my personal 3-day weekend) I can put together a couple of pieces, I will be able to feel well-dressed while I distribute the George Bush coloring pages.

The little children in my state are supposed to be able to recognize Mr. Bush and remember his name. This comes under "Nationalism/Regionalism," a heading which I find bizarre in the context of school curriculum. They did not ask me.

They did ask me about "Recognize the place of [our state] in the global economy at the time of the Civil War," and I was able to remind them that our state did not have a place in the global economy at that time, being as how mail delivery still involved tying a horse to a tree and swimming across the river, so that teaching goal was removed from the list.

I did my part for rationality in the curriculum.

 I thought you might like to see some pictures of my flower garden, with the healthy crop of poison ivy.

Pretty, isn't it?

New Dawn produced the first full-blown rose.

That may be the last pleasant sentence in today's post.

Did I say there was a refrigerator leak? I was wrong. It was a broken water pipe.

 Having spent a great deal of time recently attempting to dry out carpets by various hopeless means as more and more water flowed through the carpets, we gave up and got in professionals. We now have carpets blown up like balloons. Smelly balloons. The enormous blowers will be running for 72 hours, after which we will probably have to have the carpet replaced. The carpet is older than any of our children, so it is probably high time, but still. We have already had to remove everything from the northwest quadrant of the house, and I suppose replacing the carpet would involve removing the remaining furniture, including the piano and the organ.

My husband made us move things in addition to what the restoration people wanted moved, and also wanted us to remain alert in case they needed something. I knitted in defiance of his wishes, because frankly his response to our catastrophes is getting on my nerves, but the kids stopped playing computer games and hovered around.

At one point I mentioned that I was thinking of taking my vacation in a hotel, all alone. #1 son was in favor of this. It is possible that my response to the catastrophes was getting on his nerves. My husband, however, smiled pleasantly and said that if I did that, he would cut his throat.

Among the various visitors to the house yesterday was one who congratulated us on the lovely healthy crop of poison ivy growing in the flower garden. This does explain why I am always getting horrible rashes during gardening season, and it gives us something else to do.

Today, the plumber will be coming, and the Roto-Rooter man, and the blowers will be blowing, as I work on preparing next month's workshops and keeping my links campaign going.

Let's think of something more pleasant.

The knitting book I was thinking of, Knit 2 Together, turned out to be selling at a serious discount at amazon, so I ordered it along with my tea.

I haven't knitted anything from it yet, what with its having arrived yesterday and all, but I will give you a quick impression of it.

It has some very bizarre items in it. A sweater for two people, with one sleeve for each? Knitted shorts with lace edgings? A knitted apron? Knee socks with open toes? If any of these items is on your to-do list, this book will see you through.

There are also some cute children's clothes, though, some pretty sweaters, a handsome suit, a couple of shrugs, a toy or two. I will make the doctor's bag (though I may make it in a smaller gauge, as it is an enormous satchel-like thing) and there are some slippers I'll probably try. There are items at all levels of difficulty, basic knitting info, and quite a few pretty pictures and cute stories, if you are more inclined to read your knitting books than to knit things from them. Nothing wrong with that.

The directions are in plain English ("Purl 1 row" rather than "p across") and there are schematic diagrams with measurements. Not many patterns are fitted, but those that are come in several sizes (with one exception that would be easy to adapt if you can do calculations) and generally range from 32" to 44." All in all, I'd say that this is not going to be your basic knitting book, but it probably has enough variety to be a useful addition to your shelves.

If you are in the mood for controversy today, there are some knitting controversies going on. Livejournal has a discussion about knitting groups only for women of color. Livejournal is a rough neighborhood and they can be not just mean but also persistent, way past any normal courteous conversation. This means that the discussion is taken past the parts we've all heard before, which makes it interesting. Rachelsent has a conversation going on about the effects of hobbyists on the market for the work of professional artisans. And I can't find her again, but someone out in blogland had an essay about the natural fibers vs. acrylic controversy which was really quite amusing. I guess I'm mentioning that just because people aren't usually amusing on that subject.

If you are not in the mood for controversy, you might still like to know that the summer reading challenge begins on June 1st. Click over there and sign up. You make up your own challenge, so it can be anything from finally getting all the way through The World is Flat to reading all of the Stephanie Plum books. Last year's original challenge was to read two books a week and blog about them all, and I found that just about right for my summer challenge needs, so I will go with that again.

Okay, that's enough maundering. Time to face the day. Shudder.

Here is the completed back of Cherry Bomb, disporting itself amid the roses.

Normally at this time of year said bushes would be covered with roses. However, we have only just entered the paradisical weather we usually get in May, so there are just a few tiny buds.

I hope this means that we will have amazing weather in June, too, and stave off the midsummer heat as long as possible, but I don't know if it works that way.

I also don't know if the back of Cherry Bomb is supposed to look like this at all, since the directions had that bizarre error, and there are no pictures of the back in the book. I guess we'll find out.

I went to church, did some housework, continued helping my husband with the various household catastrophes, read and knitted a bit, and then my husband decided to make lap.

I have also seen this spelled "larb," presumably by British writers, because it does not sound like our word "lard," but like "hop."

I am going to tell you how to make it, but you may not want to do the special preparation of the secret ingredients. The first secret ingredient is burnt rice. You take some raw sticky rice and cook it carefully in a dry skillet till it is brown. Then you grind it to a powder in a mortar and pestle.

The second secret ingredient is roasted peppers. I don't know exactly how these are done, because my husband has to do it outside, or the rest of us have to leave the house. One or the other.

It ends up being like a very fresh and delicious version of ground cayenne pepper, so you could just buy that.

Today, my husband wanted to cook it inside, so the rest of us left. We took the dogs and went for a walk to out local lake.

The lake is in a cemetery, which partly explains the presence of the flowers. I am not sure that anything can fully explain it, but it is a local custom, putting plastic flowers in the cemetery.

The dogs had a great time, though their fur coats were perhaps a little warm for the weather.

When we got home, we finished up dinner.

Lap is rather time-consuming, but perhaps it could be made in a food processor.

You bake a few chicken breasts and chop them very fine. You also chop the following things very fine: fresh mint, cilantro, and green onions. We use three cups of chicken and one cup of the herbs. Combine it all very well, and then add about 1 T of fish sauce and 1 t each of the secret ingredients if you plan to use them.

You eat it with the rice in the baskets. This is sticky rice, so you can pick a bit up like bread. You take that in your fingers and also pick up a bit of the lap.

We added some cucumbers and carrots, and some fruit salad to go with the last slices of the lemon cake.

My husband said I should tell you that lap is served with soup and a large platter of raw vegetables, and that is true, but only in the way that it is true that spaghetti is served with antipasti and a nice veal dish -- if you are just fixing a quick dinner, you can have whatever you like in it. I think it would be great in a pita, or baked in a crust of some kind -- maybe in half-moons of cream cheese pastry for an appetizer.

While doing these various things, I had time to consider my current big decision.

I have a vacation coming up. I am working on Saturday, June 2, and then have a week off. The only other family member who also has this week off is #2 son, who is 15 and probably not going to want to go camping with me. What I would really like to do for this vacation is go to a large city and stay all alone in a hotel. I would go to the parks and museums and restaurants every day and read and knit in a silent hotel room with people bringing me cups of tea. This is not actually in my budget.

Camping would also be good, but I cannot actually go camping by myself because I cannot light a fire to save my life, and I obviously have to have tea, which requires boiling water.

Both my daughters have invited me and #2 son to visit them for the vacation. My husband thinks it would be a great time to clean the garage. He points out that staying home for the week and cleaning house would also save money.

I could enjoy staying home and sewing and knitting and reading and not having to do anything, but at-home vacations tend, for moms, to turn into marathon cooking and cleaning -- oh, yeah, that was my husband's idea.

For the past few years, I've divided my vacation into sections, having a long weekend in the city, a few days of relaxing at home, and a few days of wilderness adventure. That has been fun. Perhaps I'll take #2 son with me to visit #2 daughter, and then do some hiking. One of the many beautiful trails in the county where I live is about 16 miles long, so people often hike out to the end of it, camp for the night, and then hike back the next day. I've never yet done that.

In between, I could clean the garage.

We survived Graduation Day.

One of the high points of the day was when, in the course of our plumbing adventures, my husband blew out the pilot light of the water heater. He did this by remote control, so to speak, from outside the house, while fooling around with anything that might be a pipe, so we didn't realize it until #1 son had to shower in cold water for his graduation. It took a mere hour for us to isolate and solve that problem.

My call to the gas company was a low point.

Another high point was the celebratory lunch, just a little family party with #1 son's favorite foods.

The local bakery (not the French bakery, but the one where the handsomest man in town works) made funny little cakes with the high school mascot, so we had one of those in addition to a homemade lemon pound cake.

Let's see... what other high points were there in the day? Grocery shopping, cleaning the kitchen, a lecture from my husband on how I should have been cleaning, #2 son's gymnastics, picking up a few patterns at the Simplicity 99 cent pattern sale... No high points there.

Possibly the time involved in helping #1 son tie a half-Windsor, with the aid of an online guide.

I have been told to quit bragging about my kids, but I am allowed to mention how handsome and grown-up he looked, right?

And there were new security measures at the graduation. Only one entrance was open, and there were tables there where people checked our bags for handguns. It is still a little shocking to me to encounter things like that.

But of course the real high point of the day was the graduation. Seeing the kids whom we have know since they were tiny walk up for their diplomas, sharing the happiness with old friends, the caps in the air -- definitely the real high point.

#1 son went after dinner to the annual graduation lock-in, so he hasn't returned yet, but we can feel confident that he will. I am glad that they do this. They lock the kids in at the university gym, with games and dancing and sports and stuff, and give them breakfast in the morning before sending them home. It has cut down severely on the post-graduation party drunk driving accidents in our town.

Knitting pictures tomorrow. I'll just say very quickly that, should you want to knit "Cherry Bomb" from Big Girl Knits, you should think twice about the part right after the underarm shaping where it says "Knit 42 rows stockinette." I don't know what they meant to say, but that was not it.

#1 son is graduating from high school today, and I have made almost no preparations for any celebration of this accomplishment. I am actually not sure what time the ceremony is.

Since this is our third weekend in a row of celebration (we had #1 daughter here last weekend and #2 daughter the weekend before that) and next week I will begin working Saturdays for the summer, I am seriously behind on housework and errands. I am also still dealing with the household catastrophes I mentioned before. Yesterday I spent the day at the store moving furniture around and climbing up and down a ten-foot ladder, an undertaking which has combined with my new 1-hour Pilates classes at the gym to render me stiff and sore.

I am behind on my goals for the year, too close to the writing contest deadline for comfort (Pokey? We have to get on that!), and have four church things and twelve work things to prepare for coming up in the month of June. I need to plan my vacation, which is facing some obstacles. I must also pay bills and make some kind of special breakfast for this special day.

I obviously cannot think seriously about any of this till I have had a second cup of tea, so instead I will follow Knitsteel and Kali Mama and show you my shoes.

These are my gym shoes. I wear them to the gym.

These are the shoes I wear most often for work and daily life.

This is a surprising pair of shoes my daughter persuaded me to buy last summer. I have surprised myself by wearing them all the time. They are showing signs of wear and perhaps I should replace them.

These are my pointy witch toe shoes. I am also surprised that I wear these very frequently, for church and work and social events.

These are my high heels. They get a group shot. I bought them all together at the Christmas-colors shoe sale in December and totalled the cost of one pair of shoes. I believe that each pair has been worn to one party, and the burgundy pair has gotten to go to church once or twice.

They are comfortable for the first 30 minutes of wearing, or if there is no walking or standing involved, which doesn't describe any occasions in my real life.

Compared with the others who have done this exercise, I do not have many pairs of shoes. Actually, I have a couple of other pairs, but when I went to photograph them I realized that they were so ancient and disreputable that I threw them away. However, I have rarely owned more than two pairs of shoes at one time, so this is a lot for me.

I had to buy them a house to live in, in fact. They clearly need to get with those sweaters and do a little tidying in there. 

I see in this picture the pair of asparagus-green sneakers which I now think I will rescue for gardening, since I ought not to do the gardening in sliver pumps.

There are also some hiking boots (they have separate bedrooms) which I bought at a yard sale about a decade ago, and which can't really be worn for hiking any more, since there is now very little sole left. And yet I am thinking that they might need rescuing, too, because otherwise what will I hike in?

And my black performance shoes. I bought them at a yard sale, too, and they are about two sizes too large. However, I have to have black shoes to wear for performances.

The clogs will stay in the trash, but I may have to go get those other ancient, disreputable shoes. They do not, however, get their portraits made.

Who will be next? Who else will show us her shoes (or his, that would be okay too). You may be thinking "Okay, Fibermom, if Knitsteel and Kali Mama jumped off a cliff, would you go jump off a cliff too?" And I have to answer, if they blogged about it, I might. Go ahead! Show us your shoes!

Our speaker on civil disobedience last night was Medea Benjamin, an activist for fair trade and nowadays a leader of Codepink women for peace. She began by reminding us that the majority of the American people are opposed to the war in Iraq and that the Iraquis themselves would like us to leave, and that our elected government is largely ignoring our views on this matter.

She then went on to tell us very entertainingly of her adventures in making mischief for peace.

The Chemist, The Librarian, a friend of The Librarian's who had just been at a demonstration against Karl Rove, and I enjoyed the lecture. There was an hour's break for supper and then a workshop on "How to Go to Jail."

We strolled over to the local Greek restaurant and had gyros and Greek Salads and a lively debate on why, if we opponents of the war are the majority, we are unable to make much headway with the government.

One said that we were making headway, and that Mr. Bush is simply caught in a psychotic episode that doesn't allow him to admit to the horrible thing that he has done. Another said the general refusal to vote or even to keep informed of events is the problem. I reported my mother's belief that the right wing is willing to do the boring slog, while the left wing will only do the fun stuff. We considered whether pestering people was really an effective way to accomplish political objectives.

Then we returned for the workshop (sans the friend who had been at the Rove demonstration). There Benjamin led us in planning a sit-in in our Senator's office.

She is a professional rabble-rouser, and has been arrested all over the world, and did a very good job on the workshop. There were people around us taking notes, earnestly debating the definition of nonviolence, asking about suitable clothing.

I was actually able to be helpful at one point. Benjamin had asked how we planned to alert the media -- the whole point of the thing -- and people were stymied by the negatives both of calling the press ahead of time and of waiting until they had already breached the office.

"Call a confederate," I suggested. "Have someone ready at the fax machine, and call them on your cell phone as soon as it seems likely that you will succeed." I then mentioned the importance of getting a good photo while you're doing this, as it has always been my experience that a good photo will do wonders at getting your press release printed. I felt that I had done my part.

Following the workshop, the three of us had an hours' worth of talk in the parking garage. I wondered why they didn't ever think of calling the Senator's mama. The Chemist knows his uncle and speaks with him regularly anyway. The Librarian wondered why they weren't going after people who actually disagreed with them. Why persecute Democrats?

All three of us are fair trade activists, using the method of developing simple ways to make a difference and then politely chatting with people about it. It is hard for us to believe that storming a guy's office and papering the walls with portraits of those who have died in Iraq (put the tape on them ahead of time, Benjamin told us) is the way to win him over.

Civil disobedience certainly has a long tradition of success, and I now have a good idea of how to plan a sit-in with hopes of being arrested, should that come up in my future.

It was an entertaining evening.

More churches yesterday.

I like this angel, though it requires skill to photograph glass, and I do not have those skills. This little church was built in 1865, though clearly this window is newer than that.

It is in a "church on every corner" relationship with the church in the next picture, and both are called St. James. The only other "St." churches in town are the Catholic and Episcopal Churches, but on this block you find both St. James Baptist and St. James Methodist.

I imagine it can get confusing.

I have sung in the church with that window.

This church, however, was new to me.

The door to the sanctuary was unlocked, so I pushed it open and went in. There was a little bit of a foyer and then the sanctuary, with a sheet of plastic bisecting it. There were people talking on the other side of the plastic.

They were talking about hammers.

"Hello?" I said. There was a silence.
"Yes?" came after a bit.

It seemed to me that the voices might not be the pastor or the church secretary. However, I could not remember the pastor's name, so I couldn't just say "Pastor Dan?" or whatever it might be.

"Umm, are you church staff?"
More silence.
"I was looking for the office."
Rustling.

I felt stupid explaining my errand to unseen people, possibly construction workers, through layers of plastic. Still, they were not giving me any help, so I identified myself and started in.

"We're the folks you buy your bulletin board stuff from, and we've closed the store in this town, so I wanted to..."

At this point a workman came in through the door and directed me to the parsonage. In fact, he unlocked the door for me and let me put a catalog on the pastor's desk.

I just think it was a good thing that I wasn't there for spiritual care. What if I had been saying that I was a sinner and wanted to come to Jesus? What would they have done then? What would their plastic have availed them?

This was the next church, a couple of blocks over. It was built in 1852 to be the college of the town. It gave the first college degree in the state, and later grew into the local university.

I don't know when this particular building was built, or what parts of it used to be the college, or when it became a church, though I expect it was around the end of the Civil War, since that is when the university as we now know it was built.

The first church in our town was built in 1823. I had gone there on the previous day.

The church with the construction going on consisted of just the sanctuary and the foyer, with a basement which probably houses the Sunday School classes and what have you.

This church has three buildings and a rabbit warren of rooms.

Later on I went to the giant church, which takes up an entire city block.

It sometimes seems unreasonable to me that we have so many churches -- 164, according to the internet, for a town of just over 60,000 -- but this way I guess you can pick your architecture and music and go to the size of church you prefer, an old one or a new one as you prefer.

Today I continue my church visits.

I also have continued strife with the household problems (wet carpet and clogged drains). Yesterday involved baking soda, fans, ironing the floor through towels, plungers.... Today I may call in the professionals.

There is also computer work, driving #2 son to and fro (#1 son is going to the lake with some other newly-liberated seniors), and a lecture on civil disobedience.

Last night, we said goodbye to #1 Daughter and Son-in-Law and headed off to the high school scholarship awards ceremony. You would think that an evening involving the giving away of $4 million would be more interesting than that.

Part of the problem, of course, is the lack of suspense. At the bingo night, they would hold up a mixing bowl set and everyone had a chance of winning it. At scholarship night, you already know if your kid has gotten the appointment to Annapolis or the Elks Foundation Grant.

There were some surprises, actually. I didn't know that some of those scholarships even existed -- the Saudi Embassy Scholarship? Pom Squad Scholarships? And a fellow grabbed my kid at the end of the night (he received the Freshman Award from the Horticulture Department) and told him that he had also received the State Flower and Garden Show Award. I looked that one up, and found that it is given on the basis of "dedication to horticulture."

But mostly it was dull. Someone would stand at the podium and say "I represent Altrusa" or whatever, "and we ar proud to give the So and So Memorial Scholarship Award to So and So." So and So would go up, be hugged if a girl, and take away a bit of paper, and we would all clap. Then the next one would come up.

It takes quite a while to give out $4 million in this way.

When I got home, the excitement began. First, The Empress and That Man had given #1 son a little refrigerator, and it leaked. Not a small leak, but a soaking-the-carpet leak. We now have a sodden carpet in his bedroom, his bed is out in the hall, and he is sleeping on the sofa bed. All the guys tried to do something about the carpet with the ShopVac, but to no avail. I said to aim a fan at it all night, but they disagreed with me. It is still soaking wet this morning.

While they coped with that, I dealt with the sinks. Our laundry room and kitchen are hooked up together with their plumbing somehow. I know this because the kitchen sink seemed stopped up, and then the laundry room sink had standing water in it. When I cleared both and started a load of laundry, the aforementioned sinks had water backing up in them.

So today will include plumbers and efforts at drying out the carpet, and I suppose at battling mildew. Any advice will be warmly welcomed.

Today will also include church visits. Professional visits, that is.

I started off on that yesterday pleasantly enough. We live in the Bible belt, and it is almost literally true that you can find a church on every corner. Here I am standing in the playground of one and you can see the next one across the street.

So I walked into each one with my catalog of Christian Education materials and identified myself, if I didn't already know the person I found there, and said "You buy your bulletin board stuff from us, but we have closed the store in this town and I wanted to make sure you knew where we were now. You can find us online, too, or order by phone or fax, and we deliver." Sometimes there would be a bit of chat, but that was the thrust of the thing.

Hardly a tough job.

However, not all churches have someone there on a Tuesday morning, and when there is someone there, they may not be easily found. Church visits involve a lot of wandering about, upstairs and along walkways, into prayer gardens and little parlors, in search of the offices, or alternatively, the place where there are actually some people.

Pleasant as this is, it takes time.

And we had heavy thunderstorms. So after the first half-dozen churches, I looked like a drowned rat. Wandering into the rector's study or the second-floor office, having taken in the sanctuary or the kitchen on the way, I felt that I was perhaps not making the best possible impression.

So I returned to my computer.

I am getting ready for next month's workshops and doing the daily lesson plans at one spot and product reviews at another, and continuing the links campaign and so forth. In the course of this, I found a contest for a lesson plan, with a cash prize. I was flabbergasted. It was not quite as surprising as the State Flower and Garden Show Award or the Saudi Embassy Scholarship, but then I would not be eligible for either of those. I may try my hand at the lesson plan contest. #2 daughter and I also must finish up our entry for the writing contest.

Today, however, if the rain holds off, I will try to finish up the church visiting.

I wanted to share with you this nice pole I encountered over at the Episcopal Church. It has a prayer for peace in different languages on each side.

Serendipitous pleasant discoveries await us everywhere, I am persuaded, if we keep our eyes open.

The new Knitpicks catalog arrived yesterday,  and it had some interesting points to make about summer knitting.

I knit in the summer, though I don't quilt. I knit small things that don't end up sitting in my lap. Socks are perfect for summer, even though of course Socktober sounds better than Sockgust. Dishcloths. Mittens.

But Knitpicks had more to say than the obvious. They pointed out the usefulness in the wardrobe of knitted tanks. I've been questioning that, myself, as I knit the first tank I have knitted this century. I knitted a really pretty cotton tank in my youth, a peach cotton thing in a nice texture stitch. But overall, it seems to me that handknitted things are heavier and warmer than what you want  in tank weather.

I do own one tank, and it is certainly a nice layering piece for the summer. I am too old to walk around just wearing a tank top, but it is great under a shirt. I may sew more. Will a knitted one have the same effect? We'll see. Knitpiks thinks so.

They also suggest that summer knitting is the perfect arena for practicing new techniques. A couple of skeins of cotton is cheaper than a sweater's worth of wool, so you can branch out without worry. Make that lace cap, they say, try that unusual method of decreasing on a bag, without feeling that there is much investment at stake.

I really like this bag that they showed on their back cover. The shape, the color, the stitch... It is from the book Knit Two Together, a book in which I have had no interest at all.

I do not need any more handbags, and I don't need any new knitting projects, knitting books, or yarn. It is probably too big to be practical, too.

Still, there is a knitting book (Poetry in Stitches) that I have been wanting for a couple of years now. I have been telling myself that I do not need it, but I still want it. I do not want it any less now than when I first decided to be strong and not buy it.

 How much is too much?

Here is my collection of Simple Additions dishes. I use them all the time, for everything from prep bowls to sauces to centerpieces. But don't you think I have enough?

Yet, when the nice Pampered Chef lady told me I could have $60 worth of free stuff, I ordered a few more. I don't have any pink ones, or black ones. I don't have triangular ones.

That doesn't really mean that I needed them. But in a couple of weeks here, I will have them. What are the chances that this will fill an unrealized need in my life?

I am working my way up to 40 pieces of clothing -- a SWAP for each season, basically. At the point at which I realized that most women owned more than six garments and decided to build a wardrobe, I came up with that number as a normal amount of clothing. I haven't reached that number yet, after a year or two of effort. Yet I own nearly a dozen bags now.

And am seriously contemplating making another. Obviously, it isn't about needs.

The acquisitiveness of a collector?

The woman I co-teach Sunday School with tells me that she has a rule for herself: when she buys a new article of clothing, she gives away one of the old pieces she owns. She is very well dressed. When she told the kids this rule, she looked over at me for confirmation. I couldn't offer it. I don't shop, as you know, so too much of stuff doesn't become an issue for me most of the time. We have one towel per family member, one set of sheets per bed (I do laundry daily), one guitar per kid. We have no furniture that wasn't secondhand or inherited, few luxuries that we don't make for ourselves.

But the desire of the collector is a different thing entirely. No, I don't need another square dish -- but I don't have one in that color. No, I don't need another handbag -- but I haven't made one in quite that shape. No, I don't need another knitting book -- but I don't have that one.

You know what I mean, you knitters with stashes, you women with 18 pairs of shoes, you men with wrenches of every size including the metric ones...

  Yesterday was a day of good conversation and good food, including this Key Lime Pie.

There was also more gardening.

There are three seasons of gardening. If you agreed with that right off, you are probably thinking of planting, care of the plants, and harvest. Those are the objective three seasons of gardening.

The subjective three seasons of gardening are not the same.

First, there is yearning. That is the season of reading seed catalogs and gardening books, gazing longingly at plants in the garden center, and wishing it were time to plant.

You can get your soil ready at that time, but you must resist the temptation to plant things. It is during this time that I think of all sorts of new and special plants that I could add to my shade garden. I think that Good King Henry and brussels sprouts would go well in my vegetable garden.  If Formerprincess had suggested bleeding hearts to me at that stage, I would have been off like a shot looking for some.

However, we are now in the stage of garden love. This is more realistic than the stage of garden longing. The garden can be planted now, and therefore it becomes obvious that there is a limit to the number of plants that will fit.  In the pictured vegetable garden, the mop-like bushes are lavender and thyme and lemon balm and mint at the feet of the roses, and they form a natural border. I snuck in some lemon verbena and a new variety of lavender this season, but those baby vegetables need their space.

But now we cannot keep our hands off the garden.

When I got to church and found that the kids in my Sunday School class were practicing for Youth Sunday during the Sunday School hour, I dashed home to put in some zucchini and lemon verbena. When the guests left, I went and pulled some weeds and watered. As soon as the sun comes up, I will be tucking a few beans into the extreme edge of the vegetable garden and planting a couple of pots.

This is a good time in the garden. It is, admittedly, a time when I am usually speckled with dirt and often have some little rash or reaction to some plant I have incautiously touched, but it is a time when we can spend many hours inhaling the lush scents of the gardens and pottering happily among the plants.

It is followed all too soon by the season of trying to keep up. The mint marches across the bed. The lavender scents every room with an open window. The zucchini gets away from us and we find enormous boat-like specimens where we thought there was nothing at all. Not to mention zucchini bread in the freezer.

 The weeds fill in all the empty spaces, the roses lose their petals before we have a chance to pick them, the peppers go from green to red to purple while I try to find time to can them, and the woodland glade becomes a little jungle.

Right now, though, the gardens are freshly planted and full of promise.  I had better go plant those beans.