So after seeing Julie & Julia twice in a week at the darling independent movie house down the street, I'm officially inspired. I am no less interesting than that Julie Powell! So here goes somethin'.
Yesterday was A's birthday, and after spending several (also Julia Child inspired) hours preparing boeuf bourguignon for the big 18th, I needed a break. So, discarding the apron and hot-pads in favor of gardening gloves and a healthy dose of sweat and dirt, I tackled The Weeds.
The Weeds have been celebrating their 1st Amendment right to assemble in my courtyard like it's their job. Then again...they're weeds. Maybe it IS their job. Maybe. Although I heard once that any plant qualifies as a weed if it's in the wrong place at the wrong time. And let's just say, IT'S THE WRONG TIME.
So while the boeuf minded its business in the oven for a few hours, I took great pleasure in ripping them up, tender little weedy roots and all, and leaving them, wilting and confused, on a pile of their brethren. It was a beautiful thing.
Well, it wasn't actually. It looked like a tornado and come for tea and forgotten to wipe its feet on the way in. I had to stop halfway through the job, right at the point where I stop weeding and start hauling the weeds away, to carpe cake-yuuum. So, while we serenely ate Julia Child's delicious recipe, cheerfully sang happy birthday, heartily wished good wishes, festively offered toasts and relishingly ate HC's delightful Boston Cream Cake, the scenes of destruction and root-shed were only feet away, easily visible through any one of our over-sized windows. Heartless, we were.
This morning I hauled them away to a more dignified location. May they rest in peace.