My mother's been getting a lot of waffle cones in her food box lately. The first time she got them, she of course passed them on to us because she's on a gluten-free diet. We, of course, tried to do justice to them and went out and bought ice cream. 

I figured it was a one time type of donation. What widow needs twenty waffle cones after all? We went through all but two or three of them. A couple weeks later, she got them again. 

We still had some left from the first time, which is similar to the age old dilemma of cereal and milk. You need to pour the right amount of milk over your cereal so that when you take the last bite, you have neither milk nor cereal left in the bowl. If there is milk left, you are obligated to pour more cereal. If the cereal gets a bit dry, you are obligated to pour more milk.

I felt the same way about the cones. We didn't finish three of them, but it wasn't enough to get more ice cream. Then we had twenty more and if we got the same amount of ice cream as the last time we'd end up with six to eight more cones.

How much ice cream would we need to buy to use up eight cones? Or should we wait to see if we get more in a couple weeks, then we'd end up with twelve extra or so and we could maybe buy the same amount of ice cream to use them up. But if we got even more cones, we'd start the cycle all over again. 

The dilemma sounded a lot like math to me, so I googled what I could do with leftover ice cream cones to use them all in one fell swoop. Banana cream pie came up. I had some bananas that needed to be used or put in the freezer. We had four loaves of banana bread already in the freezer. So I thought it would be worth trying.

However, the recipe used sugar cones, not waffle cones. So I followed the directions and used about half the cones. It's made into a crust similar to a graham cracker crust. Then I thought perhaps it was too much because waffle cones are bigger then sugar cones and I added more butter, maybe more salt or something. I kind of went into a waffle cone stupor by that point. 

I decided to make a second pie to use all the cones, but I was out of butter. I used coconut oil instead. Then I added other things; I think. I really am unclear as to what my thought process was by then; maybe because my youngest came in and exclaimed how much she like cream pies and it felt like a lot of pressure. 

After I assembled the pies and they sat in the fridge, I attempted to make the meringue and totally failed. I think I got some yolks in the egg whites and I've heard even a little bit of yolk will make the whites unwhippable. I had some leftover Cool Whip, so I just spread that on top. This turned out to work better because had I made meringue we would've been a couple hours away from being able to eat it. My daughter was circling so I was able to throw pie at here immediately. 

So here's the down low for me. I didn't care for it. It may have been my convoluted thought process or the coconut oil. The crust was way too salty. The butter one was better than the coconut one. I didn't like the texture of the crust, either. Instead of pulsing the cones, I should've just set it on grind and let it be a mushy texture.

And the bananas were too ripe for my taste. The kids liked it. Maybe it was just because it was cream pie and they were determined to enjoy it. I like the taste of a greener banana, which wouldn't really go too well in cream pie. But just not as ripe as the ones I had. I've looked up the health benefits of bananas. They have different benefits depending on their ripeness. Here's my favorite website on the topic: http://godfruits.tv/best-time-eat-banana-health-benifit/_.

Anyway, here's the recipe. If I end up with more waffle cones, I'll probably try it again without salt and only with butter, because I can do better. I'm just going bananas. 

Banana Cream Pie (from the Food Network)

Ingredients
For the Crust:

• 10 sugar cones
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1 tablespoon sugar
• 4 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted

For the Filling and Meringue:

• 2 cups plus 2 tablespoons whole milk
• 4 large eggs, separated
• 3/4 cup plus 1/3 cup sugar
• 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 1/4 cup cornstarch
• 2 tablespoons cold unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
• 3 ounces semisweet chocolate, finely chopped
• 2 bananas, sliced into 1/4-inch-thick rounds
• 1/4 teaspoon cream of tartar

Directions

1. Make the crust: Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Pulse the cones, salt and sugar in a food processor until coarsely ground. Add the melted butter and pulse until the mixture looks like coarse sand. Press on the bottom and up the sides of a 9-inch pie dish. Bake until golden, 10 to 12 minutes; let cool completely.
2. Make the filling: Bring 2 cups milk to a bare simmer in a saucepan over medium heat. Whisk the egg yolks, 3/4 cup sugar and the vanilla in a large bowl until smooth and pale. Whisk in the cornstarch. Slowly whisk the warm milk into the egg mixture, then pour into the saucepan and return to medium heat. Cook, whisking constantly, until the custard thickens and begins to bubble, about 2 minutes. Stir in the butter until melted. Strain the custard through a fine-mesh sieve into a large bowl; set aside to cool, stirring frequently.
3. Put the remaining 2 tablespoons milk and the chocolate in a microwave-safe bowl; microwave 1 minute. Stir until the chocolate melts, then let cool slightly.
4. Spread the chocolate over the bottom and up the sides of the crust. Press the bananas into the chocolate, then pour the custard over the bananas. Cover and chill until set, at least 1 hour.
5. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F. Make the meringue: Beat the egg whites in a large bowl with a mixer on medium-high speed until foamy. Add the cream of tartar and half of the remaining 1/3 cup sugar and beat until opaque. Add the remaining sugar and beat until stiff peaks form, about 5 more minutes.
6. Swirl the meringue on the pie with the back of a spoon. Bake until golden brown in spots, 5 to 8 minutes. Let sit at room temperature until set, about 1 hour, 30 minutes.

I never have conversations like this with other people. I'm beginning to think I'm the only one to get into these conundrums. 

Yesterday I decided to clean house. I scrubbed my bathroom down, whipped my oldest daughter into cleaning the hall bathroom and got out the vacuum cleaner. I was vacuuming the kitchen floor and feeling frustrated that the vacuum doesn't suck like it used to, plus having to dump the canister because NO ONE ELSE EVER DOES.

I hate bagless vacuums. My family claims to love them, but I've never been a fan. I bought the vacuum at Costco because it was a reasonable price and my kids advocated for a bagless one. I'd tried one before and hated it, but I acquiesced (I like to use words I can't spell without spellcheck). 

It's been okay. But as I was vacuuming over and over two inch square pieces of paper only to find them left behind, I wasn't convinced. We've had the vacuum a couple years by now. Whatever. It's fine. I can sweep those up.

Then the vacuum made a weird noise like something had gotten stuck in the suction. I turned it off, flipped it upside down thinking perhaps it was a piece of paper stuck in the entry. To my horror there was a person stuck in the beater bar. It was jammed full of hair. A rescue mission was in order. 

I got the scissors and started freeing the victim bit by bit, but I couldn't get to the hair under the cross sections of the plate. Now I've taken the plate off the bottom of a vacuum before to clean the beater bar, but they are usually just clipped on. This one had eight or nine screws. 

I was in it that far, I figured I was up for the challenge. I took all the screws out, took the little rollers off that hid two more screws, opened it up and the beater bar along with all the guts of the vacuum fell out. WTH?

When I finished cleaning the bar, I tried to put it back together. I couldn't get everything plugged in and lined up. So I decided to take it to the guy at Super Sew and Vac and see if he'd put it back together. 

The guy at Super Sew and Vac hates Shark, just so you know. He literally seethed resentment. He doesn't like companies that lie. Then he pointed to the front of the canister. It had a label stating, "Never loses suction." He removed the canister to show me another tag that said, "Loss of suction may occur."

Ahahahahahahaha! Hmm. 

I just wanted to vacuum my floor. "It'll cost you $39.95 for me to put it back together."

"I better have my husband try it first."

Before I left, I had him show me better models, which were, of course, expensive. He was also not a fan of bagless vacuums. I told him my family loved them. He said, "If you need an argument against them, tell them to go without a bag in the garbage can." 

It was a beautiful piece of machinery with a simple plate snapped on the bottom to clean the beater bar. The hose was probably six feet or more long. The belt was easily replaced; I could do it myself without spilling the guts of the thing all over the kitchen floor. Even the bristles on the bar were replaceable. The switch to disengage the beater bar is simple a switch and not electronically dependent. It was beautiful.

All the way home I kept thinking about the vacuum he showed me. That hose, the simplicity. I almost turned back about ten times, "I should invest in myself." I discussed it with my husband in my head, "You only buy cars you can work on yourself. It's just like that."

When I got home I told my oldest, who always claimed to love a bagless vacuum, the argument against bagless vacuum cleaners.

"But you probably don't care because you don't take out the garbage."

"Actually, that really grosses me out."

"You know in order to thoroughly dump the stuff out of the canister, you have to stick your hand in there and pull the wads of hair out."

"Gross."

"Should we go back and be partners in crime?"

"Yes."

We headed back. The guy's eyes sparkled when he showed us his favorite brand, Riccar. It's made in America. We checked out different models, then settled on what we are referring to as the Bat Mobile, because it's all black. He went through the warranty and features more thoroughly than when I've bought a car.

When my husband texted me about where we were, I answered, "We bought the Bat Mobile." He had no idea what we were talking about even though the Shark was in pieces in a cart in the middle of the kitchen floor. 

He didn't argue at all. He understands the right tool for the right job, after all. He did put the old one back together and I'll return it to Costco. Now, when my family makes a mess, I'm going to exclaim, "To the Bat Mobile, Robin!"

When I work outside a lot, the house suffers. Well, at least more than it does when I'm working inside. I'm not really much of a house keeper. If the kitchen is clean, that's really all that matters to me. 

But it's time to knuckle down and do some deep cleaning. I notice I haven't heard any complaints from the other residents of this house, though. They know if they were to complain I'd tell them what they could do about it. I'd even get out of my chair to introduce them to the cleaning supplies. 

I need to get some writing in this morning. At least I don't have to worry about dinner, because my middle daughter wants to have pho with some friends for her birthday celebration. Though her birthday was last week, it was too busy to pull it together until today. 

I can't believe it's almost May. That means it's only a month away from my daughters graduating. Ahhhhh! A feeling of panic comes over me when I think about it. The panic stems from a combination of not believing my youngest is old enough to be out of school to the coordination of the after-party. 

My youngest just put her announcements together last night with the name card and a picture. I'll address them and mail them because I'm the keeper of the addresses and some of the people I send them to is just me bragging. 

It's not that it's my accomplishment. I mean, I've already graduated from high school. But I'm still here. I successfully made it through the maze of my kids' school years. I deserve a party. 

It will be different this time around. With my middle daughter also graduating and my youngest not enjoying being the center of attention, it will be aunts, uncles, immediate cousins, my middle daughter and her family, and all their other friends who are graduating and their families.

Should be interesting. I have no idea how many people it will be. Hopefully I can get a head count closer to the event. 

I'm going to put it out of my head until May, then I'll face reality. Right now my biggest dilemma is whether I should clean house or work in the garden. House? Garden? Hmmm? 

As I mentioned yesterday, my oldest daughter's 21st birthday was last Sunday. At one point last year, she had told me she'd always wanted to see a drag queen show. I decided it would be a great 21st birthday venue and was pleasantly surprised to see minors were allowed in; meaning it could be a family affair with my two youngest who are 18 and 19.

I found "Julia's - Queen of the Brunch drag show" on Broadway in Seattle.

It was a little dive in an old building. The seats were wobbly and tiny, the tables only bar width - it was exactly what I'd pictured and it was perfect. 

When my mother found out where I was taking my daughter for her big birthday bash, she asked what the attraction was.

"Because they are fabulous. And she likes fabulous."

Although it is an R rated show and not for the prudish of heart, it was fabulous. If you took kids younger than mine or grandmothers, you'd probably spend the next several days explaining the facts of life to them. The costumes were fantastic, the dancing was awesome and skilled (they lip sync), and the show was funny. Again, though, not for the faint of heart.

My daughter got carded for the first time and had her first alcoholic drink. At $12 a pop, though, I don't think she'll be taking up drinking anytime soon. I can't even get her to buy her own clothes.

​I paid for her to be called out for her birthday and, in her words, "Now four drag queens and about forty normal people know I was a nudist as a child." When she was standing up there, with the fabulous Christie Champagne, she said to me, "Why would you do this to me?" But let's get real, there were at least 100 people in the room in addition to those four drag queens.

It was a lot of fun. Fortunately, for my husband we had him tucked away in a corner so he wasn't the target of audience interaction. He's probably had his fill now, but we got tickets for their new Thursday night show, so I think there is another outing in the girls' and my future. Maybe a high school graduation celebration.  

It was, Simply Fabulous, after all.

My oldest turned 21 yesterday and we birthdayed her up good. We took her to a drag queen show and she had her first alcoholic beverage. At $12.00 a pop, I don't think she'll be drinking much in the future. 

She had a great time, though, but more on that tomorrow because I promised the story of my rock garden today. 

As I mentioned last week, I sent my husband to work in my car and used his truck to get another load of soil. I told you I thought he was more nervous about me using his truck than me doing the work myself. I was feeling pretty good about things after I successfully bought the dirt, tied down my load, drove home, backed up into the driveway, and my daughter and I unloaded all the dirt ourselves. 

I was getting kind of cocky about it, writing this blog in my head. The beginning line was going to be, "No husband's trucks were harmed in the creating of this rock garden."

Then I had three doors to choose: Door #1: I could leave the truck where it was and let my husband pull it back out. Door #2: I could have my daughter come watch and make sure I didn't hit the trailer on the passenger's side. Door #3 I could just pull it out on my own. 

After a quick look to see what my span on the passenger's side was, I thought, "Lots of room. I got this."

I chose the wrong door and you guessed it, I hit the flat bed trailer and gouged my husband's new truck. First scratch. First time he let the wife out on her own with his truck. It just goes to show you, it's not over 'til it's over. 

My husband is a very kind man and it takes a lot to make him angry. Fortunately, he didn't look at that side of the truck when he got home and I had to humbly tell him of my mistake. He is so nice, he kind of blamed it on himself, "I should've warned you that it's harder to pull out than to back in." 

I don't deserve him sometimes. I truly have the greatest respect for that man and I'd never want to damage the first brand new vehicle he's ever had for himself. I was pretty crushed by it, but his reaction just made me love him all the more. 

Anyway, a husband's truck was harmed in the making of my rock garden and for that I'm so sorry. Though I chose the wrong door and got the booby prize, he was so nonchalant about it, I won't spend the rest of my life looking at my rock garden and thinking how I damaged his truck. 

As for the rock garden. He walked out to look at it and said, "Oh, that's what you were doing. If I'd known that, I'd have told you that you needed another yard of dirt."

"What do you mean? I showed you a picture." 

"It just didn't register."

Whatever. Here are before pictures:

I'm very proud of myself for this accomplishment and of my daughter, too. She was such a trooper shoveling the dirt out of the truck for me and helping me place all the rocks. 

​On to the next project. If I have to use my husband's truck in the future, I think I'll go with Door #1. 

I finished my rock garden! I need to plant stuff in it now. But you'll have to wait until Monday for pictures and the full story, because today is not only Good Food Friday, it's my middle daughter's birthday.

So in honor of her, I'll meander through a few food thoughts. I haven't cooked anything "new" this week, but I did make something a little different last night. Because I labored away building my rock garden yesterday, I needed to cook something easy for dinner. 

My middle daughter can whip up a real meal in the kitchen, but my own biological daughters are hard pressed to even understand they are capable of making raw ingredients into a meal. Anytime I make a simple dinner, I like to offer it up as a teachable moment as we sit around the dinner table and eat. 

I had petite sirloin steaks thawing yesterday, then I cubed them into bite-sized pieces. I also had purchased a huge bag of "Power Greens" from Costco when I was there last week. It's kale, chard, and spinach, triple washed. 

As I cooked up the beef, I also boiled four packages of ramen noodles. After the beef was cooked through, I added the bag of power greens half at a time. It was a extra large bag and I wouldn't have been able to fit the whole thing in at once. After the first batch cooked down I added the other half. I also added two of the ramen seasoning packets for each round of power greens (four in all).

After everything was cooked, I drained the noodles and stirred them into the pan. 

Tada! A healthy dinner for a hungry family and easy on the mama who labored in the yard all day. A meal even my daughters could figure out. 

The real tada I have today, though is about a salad I made earlier in the week. This is in honor of my middle daughter's birthday, because she is the one who turned me around. Often when we are out at a restaurant she orders a wedge salad. I didn't raise her, so I had no hand in her love of that seemingly banal "salad." It is simply a wedge of iceberg lettuce with dressing and maybe a few sprinkles of bacon bits or blue cheese. 

I usually buy the spring mix they have at Costco. My entire family recently informed me they don't like it. They think it tastes like they are eating weeds. I really like it because it tastes like I'm eating weeds; which feels rather healthy to me. 

Anyway, I've been oddly fascinated by the display of this wedge salad. Not only because I've been warned about the evils of iceberg lettuce and the lack of its nutritional quality, but because it looks so good while she's eating it. 

So when my husband was out of town earlier this month, the girls and I went to Applebee's. It's his least favorite restaurant, but we like it, so we always take the opportunity to go when he's not around. My middle daughter ordered her wedge salad and I decided it was a good time to set her straight. 

I Googled it while we were waiting for our food. Turns out it's not the lame choice of the lettuce kingdom after all. I was pleasantly surprised and my daughters breathed a sigh of relief when I told them I would start buying iceberg lettuce. 

Here are some websites explaining the nutritional value of iceberg lettuce:
​http://www.livestrong.com/article/420531-does-iceburg-lettuce-have-any-nutritional-value/_
​http://www.raw-food-health.net/Iceberg-Lettuce-Nutrition.html_

Then the other night when my husband was working overtime and I needed a vegetable to go with our dinner, I grabbed the iceberg to make a quick salad. Suddenly, I remembered the wedge salad. I cut the head into four wedges (because my husband wasn't home and I knew he wouldn't care about vegetables), set them on the girls' and my plates and said to them in a monotone, flippant voice, "salad, tada." 

They laughed. From now on, it will be forever known as tada salad.

Then my middle daughter who knows her way around the kitchen said, "I'll just cut up some avocado to go with that," because she's big on presentation, too. 

So Happy Birthday! young lady. May there be many more tada salads in your future.

Today is the day for the rest of the dirt. The rest of the dirt for my rock garden that is. 

I had my husband take my car to work so I could use his truck. Quite honestly, I'm pretty sure he's more worried about me driving and backing up into the driveway with his truck than me doing the work by myself.

It's not that I don't usually do most of the work anyway, because I've claimed the project as my own. I'm trying not to work my husband out too much over it. Less work for him means less arguing over the right (quickest for him) way to do it. I want to do this garden right and I want it to fit my vision. He wants me to get half a yard of soil, I want a whole yard.

If it doesn't fit my vision, I'll always look at it and think, "shoulda, woulda, coulda."

Without him here, he has no control over how much dirt I get and I don't have to argue about it. It's cheaper to get a whole yard at one time than to end up having to get two half yards. Plus, one can never have too much dirt. If it's too much for my rock garden, I can reseed my lawn and spread the rest over to keep the birds from eating it. 

Although the main reason I'm doing it today while he's at work is because it's not going to rain today and it's supposed to rain the rest of the weekend. But I'm at the point where I look at a yard of dirt and think, "pfft, no sweat," because this will be the seventh yard of dirt I've bought and dealt with, not to mention the yard or so I excavated and replaced.

My problem with managing it alone is I'm not really able climb in the truck and shovel out, because my balance and perception are skewed. Even the height of the truck bed too high for hard labor.

However, my oldest daughter is not working today. Heh, heh, heh. It's a really slow time at her work right now, plus they've hired six new people. Kind of a too many cars and not enough pavement situation. It will pick up soon, but in the meantime, heh, heh, heh. 

If you come calling, you know where I'll be today. There is no shoulda, woulda, coulda happening here.

I forgot I had promised on Monday to tell you about the rocks. Not the rocks in my head, although those can get pretty loud rattling around. I mean the rocks in our neighborhood. 

Apparently I'm the only neighbor who doesn't have a pile of rocks in my yard - well I do now, but I'll get to that. I think not having my own personal pile of rocks means I haven't been working hard enough. This is an old neighborhood, established in the sixties and seventies when they built things the old fashion way. 

Rather than pulling out all the land and then backfilling it with peat soil or whatever those new neighborhoods have that makes their rainy yards sponge-like, the builders left the natural rock deposits in our yards. We are part of several small towns on a big hill. My understanding is it was a glacial push that left the rocks behind.

It makes for a very porous yard, which is great. But if anyone does any digging of any kind, they are bound to unearth a mound of rocks of all shapes and sizes. And though I was aware of the issue, I did not realize the stockpile all the neighbors surrounding me had. 

It was a sad day, indeed, when new people moved in across the street and ordered a truckload of rocks delivered. They didn't know about the piles of rocks they could have gotten for free.

So as I planned to build my rock garden, I was wondering where I could buy rocks; remember, not realizing the neighbors had stashes. The neighbor to the left of me is a prolific builder of rocks walls as he dug a crawl space next to the side of his house right after he moved in twenty-something years ago. I was running my idea of a rock garden by him when he said, "I have rocks."

I went over to his house to observe his rock pile and was pleased to find he had some rather large specimens for me to choose from. He had one of his daughters pick the rocks, put them in his utility trailer and then we all unloaded them in my yard. Now I too have a pile of rocks.

I thought he was doing me a favor giving me his rocks and even having his daughter do most of the work. Turns out I was doing him a favor and he was anxious to get rid of the rocks. Then I mentioned rocks to the neighbor on the other side of me and she took me to her pile, which was covered by grass. Then I mentioned it to the neighbor behind me and he mentioned he had a huge pile in the back of his two and a half acre lot. 

At some point I'd told the first neighbor that I'd take whatever he was willing to give. I felt obligated to take his rocks first, seeing as he was the first person I asked. He said, "You don't know what you're saying." I thought I knew. I wanted to build this rock garden correctly and I also wanted a layer of small rocks under the whole pile. He was only giving me the big rocks. 

He showed up at my door Saturday morning, I thought to bring more rocks, but he was just concerned a stray dog in the neighborhood was mine. I asked if I was getting more rocks, as if they were bars of gold I deserved. He said, "Later this afternoon."

But I needed small rocks right then and went armed with my wheelbarrow to procure them myself. Umm. The man has multiple piles of rocks; not only has he rocked in with cement mortar all his flower beds, but he's got a low wall of small rocks piled up against his fence, like a fort protecting them against really small vikings. I really didn't know what I was asking. Then I wondered if I was too late to plug the dam. I took three wheelbarrows full of small rocks for the base of my rock garden and I didn't make a dent. 

My husband followed me around in a panic. 

"Did you tell him we couldn't take them all? His daughter's over there loading rocks."

"It will be fine. She's only loading large rocks."

They brought the rest of the rocks over. I had unearthed some cement blocks and red bricks from that corner (did they propagate on their own?) that my neighbor wanted. It was a good trade, rock for a brick, rock for a block. 

Rather than out and out saying, "I overestimated my desire for all your rocks" I was graceful and skirted around the mass hysteria of neighbors finding a stooge to take their rocks and said, "I guess I better not get anymore until I place the ones I got." 

I have to admit that I had noticed the rocks my neighbor was gathering for me were getting smaller and I was thinking since there was such a plethora at my disposal, maybe there are better rocks than his. I could afford to be picky. The neighbor behind me claimed he had boulders and I owe it to myself to check it out. 

Then somehow, my wheelbarrow ended up against the fence between the first neighbor and they were gathering more rocks and putting them on my side of the fence. Which then reminded me of when his daughter was little and she'd throw rocks over the fence for our dog to chase. 

I'd ask her not to do it because the rocks would get in the lawn and we'd mow over them shooting them across the yard, even denting our house once. At five years old and a shy little thing, she'd scurry away and just do it when we weren't around. Now she's over twenty-five and I kind of gave her my permission. I think I need to move the wheelbarrow.

Sigh, rock goes around rock comes around. 

Take that! hot weather. It's not windy today, but it was yesterday and ALL my laundry is washed folded and put away.,

Today it's just going to be hot. But there is time for me to sit on the back patio and enjoy the cooler morning air after my walk this morning. I love WiFi because I'm on the patio blogging right now. Soon the heat will chase me in; though it is April in the Pacific Northwest, so this is just a random week of heat.

I'm posting this picture from my walk on all my media sites, because it's cute and my mom isn't on Facebook and Pip is technically her dog. Who would get tired of seeing this cute little face anyway?

I'm also sitting here observing the corner of the yard that is just beckoning me to finish it. "Have patience corner, I'm coming soon."

Surprisingly with all the work I've done these last couple weeks, I haven't really had residual soreness. My back's a little fatigued, but seems to have snapped back. However, my feet were killing me yesterday. It was like I was shoveling dirt with my feet or was completely barefoot when I was working. They were aching like crazy. Maybe I was sleep gardening with bare feet.

I've been wearing my old rubber garden shoes that are kind of worn out. Perhaps it's time for a new pair. I usually wear old Keen sandals when I work outside in the nice weather, but I've been enjoying having clean feet when I'm finished for the day. 

The sandals get so grimy that my feet just get dirty putting them on. I'm not a person who enjoys socks either. I have to wear them when I wear my rubber shoes. Once my feet get garden-dirty, it takes a pedicure to get them clean again. 

I'll have to make a major decision about my footwear for the final phase of my rock garden. The struggle is real.

Today I have a day free of duties except for dinner. I have so many choices of projects, I hope I choose well. I'll start with finishing my column, which will probably lead to either more writing or updating my columns on this website. I made it through 2014, it would be great to get 2015 up and reading. 

I'm obviously all over the board today, so I'll close and leave you with cool thoughts. 

Today is one of those WOW! days for me. It's going to be hot. If you follow me at all, you know I don't do hot, but it's also windy and laundry day. I can hang my laundry outside and because of the heat and wind it will probably be dry by the time my family gets home.

It's way more exciting for me than it ought to be; my heart just goes pitter patter over the joy the phenomenon is bringing me. There is nothing better than an unexpected, windy, hot, spring day on a laundry day.

However, it's supposed to be unnaturally warm the rest of the week and I'm not happy about that. Remember I have gardening goals and I can't garden in the heat. The normal Pacific Northwest spring weather will return next week and I can resume my efforts.

Last week was an extremely productive week for me out in the garden and I was reluctant to give in to the weather yesterday. As I mentioned last Thursday, I cleaned out the far corner of my backyard of all the junk my husband had thrown there. In the olden days, before we had kids even, it was our yard waste receptacle area.

A year after we were married, my biological clock was ticking loudly, so we got a dog. We named her Sadie and she kept that back corner churned with her constant digging.

It was her spot. I'm not sure why she kept to only that area, but the dirt was beautiful and rich from all her work. People came from all around to use the soil in that corner; it was so wonderful. Not really, just the neighbor from next door. Anyway, after she passed away (the dog, not the neighbor - well the first neighbor did, not the one who used the dirt though), we discovered the other neighbor, whose lot backs up to ours, planted Japanese Knotweed years before. 

On a lovely outing with his daughters to the gravel pit to play, they spotted it and thought it was pretty. They convinced their dad to bring it home and plant it in their yard so they could enjoy it, too.

Sadie had deterred the knotweed from propagating in our yard. A couple years after she died it took over that corner and we've been fighting it ever since. Whenever I'  out there fighting the good fight, I wish I could turn back time: they wouldn't have transferred it to their yard or at least not planted it behind my fence. They have two and a half acres; there were plenty of other places they could have put it.

That corner in our yard has run the gamut of uses. One summer it was a stand of sunflowers among the knotweed. I also transferred plants from my front garden to the area. Sometimes they made it, sometimes they didn't. Now the only thing left is my oldest daughter's native rose she got from Defenders of the Plant club when she was in elementary school. 

It's pretty much a tree now. Most recently that back corner was full of old roofing from the shed my husband rebuilt last year. He put it there to try and kill the noxious weed, but it only slowed it down, and it popped through the roofing material and out in front of the area. It's sneaky.

Our yard is fairly large for a residential area, so that corner is removed from our main living space. But it's also in direct eye contact anywhere you are in the yard, when sitting on the patio or when I look out my bedroom window. I decided it was TIME. Time to make it into something beautiful. I want to make a rock garden out there. I want to look at something pretty. I want to create something huge on my own.

So last Wednesday I cleared all the debris out and sent my husband to the dump. Friday I excavated. I'm not sure I meant to excavate, but once I started chasing the web of roots from the Japanese Knotweed, I ended up digging the area down about a foot. I Googled instructions on how to make a rock garden and it did say to dig up the area. I wanted to do it right. 

Sometimes when I create stuff, I try to take shortcuts and I'm often sorry I did. So I dug up the whole area, except for the rose bush (tree?). The dirt I took out was still beautiful and rich from all those years our dog turned it. I set it aside. Then I garnered smaller rocks from our next door neighbor (tomorrow I will tell you about rocks) for a base drainage. Then, in spite of my husband's protests that we didn't need it, I bought and spread some coarse sand as the next layer for drainage. 

Then I returned all the dirt I'd removed on top of that. However, it's not high enough to suit the vision I have in my head; plus the instructions were specific about the kind of soil I should use for the top layer. I think I want another yard, but my husband doesn't want me to get that much.

Though he's been right several times this week; once about bringing dirt in to level our yard rather than digging it up and also about only getting one yard of soil at a time so it wasn't overwhelming, I have a vision. And that vision is a lot taller than it is now.

As I was returning the dirt I'd excavated, I wanted my husband to go to the dirt company and get some primo garden soil so I could get up early Sunday and put it in before it got hot. My mind said "YES!" I'm going to finish the foundation before the week starts, my back said "#&*@ YOU!"  My husband said, "You should wait, you're going to be really tired after working this hard for two days in a row."

I was pretty whupped by the time I was done Saturday evening. I was really glad I didn't have a truck load of dirt waiting for me to unload Sunday morning. My husband was right again. That's three times in a week. 

And though I'm sure I didn't kill the Japanese Knotweed for good, because it's a noxious, obnoxious weed, after all, maybe I gave it something to think about.