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Language Log

Tuesday, Apr. 06, 2010 - 1:10 p.m.

Still in Memphis, till tomorrow. Making myself sick on chocolate on a daily basis. I have no willpower, in case you were wondering. White chocolate covered pretzels are the culprit this morning.

Spigotbottom has begun sleeping through the night in a major way-- we're talking 10 hour stretches, here. Plus maintaining her easy wake-up attitude-- hanging out and talking to herself for an hour or so before requesting breakfast. I can live with this. I credit the lovely stretches of sleep to the fact that she discovered her thumb just before we came down and has gotten better and better about locating it when necessary. It may come to be a pain in the ass bad habit, but for now, I'm an enthusiastic enabler.

What else...hmm...I brought all this stuff to work on while here, but haven't done much work at all.

Once again am tantalized and mystified by the plastic bags full of leaves that folks here put out by the curb to be hauled to the landfill. So weird. Bad enough that they're wasting their time raking it up and throwing it out, but in plastic bags? WTF? Between that and the almost physical regret I experience whenever I'm forced to pitch a banana peel or eggshell into the garbage, I've nearly had it. I am lobbying to establish a compost pile for the in-laws, but they haven't given in yet. I found the perfect out-of-the-way spot and everything. They probably just don't want their neighbors to see me making off with their bags of leaves...but it would make me so happy! And give me another project for when I'm here. That can only be a good thing.

You might guess that I'm dying to get back to my own yard about now, where the grass mowing is already behind schedule, the compost needs turned, and I have some pumpkin seeds to plant. You'd be very right.

Was going to authorize the engagement of a person with a power lawnmower to do our lawn this year, but am reading Elizabeth Perenyi's "Green Thoughts", including the essay on lawns in which she extolls the virtues of the reel mower. My determination is renewed (credit the essay and the thought of a guy on a mower killing my pumpkins).

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