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Last week, I decided I was going to become a gardener. When I make decisions like that, they must be put into place AT THIS VERY MINUTE. I wanted to go out and buy soil and flowers and ferns and pots immediately. Unfortunately, when I made this Grand Decision I was at work. (It was capitalized like that in my head, too.)
So I did the next best thing: I turned to the Internet to learn everything I could about indoor gardening. I read pages and pages of material about the appropriate plants and pots and watering schedules and sunlight. I made a list of some plants to buy when I went to Home Depot. I had a plan. Sadly, my plan forgot that it was August, which is generally recognized as pretty darn close to the end of gardening season. So the pickings were slim, but I did the best I could.
I got home and planted my window box. And my plans be damned, that thing looked stupid.
So I did what any self-sufficient, 19.97 year old girl does when she runs into a problem with her plants: I called my mommy. And she inspired me to try again. This time, I went to a real nursery. I went during "Happy Hour," 5-7 pm on a Friday night, where all purchases are 20% off. That was cool. But then. BUT THEN. I was at the checkout and saw a sign up for their loyalty card program. Sweet, dude. I started signing up, and the guy ringing me up says, for signing up you get to pick out a plant from that wagon over there to take for free.
What? Free? I'm so there.
So I go over to the wagon to check it all out, and OH MY GOODNESS. Some of the most glorious plants were sitting on that wagon. Big things, with bright pink flowers ALL OVER. And I knew that they were plants that were not good for my apartment, and I think I saw some plants that would have been good, but it was like being caught in a tractor beam. I picked up that giant plant and walked out.
I got home and snapped out of my trance and realized there is no possible way I could keep that gorgeous plant alive in my dark corner apartment. (A Celosia, for all you garden-minded people out there. I prefer to just call it Beautiful.) So I took a picture for posterity and gave it to my wonderful friend Christin who is moving far away to a real house with a yard and everything. But Beautiful and I had an unforgettable weekend together in my apartment. I will never forget her.
People. She was free. A twenty dollar plant, COMPLETELY FREE. Does it get any better than that?
One of the cool things that's happened to me since I moved out of the dorms into an apartment is I've developed a sense of home, of permanence. Over the last two months, my perception of Denton has gradually morphed from "this is where I go to school" to "this is where I live." I sort of feel a little guilty about it, like I'm being disloyal to my family and to where I grew up, but I know this is part of growing up and becoming independent, so I'm rolling with it.
Accompanying this weirdly grown-up (I'm not a grown-up! I'm not a grown-up!) feeling is a growing appreciation of Denton as a town. I love the small town feel of it so much. And while I often hate the fact that in order to do any sort of real shopping, we have to drive down to the horribly congested and perennially under construction Loop 288, I'm glad the chain stores and strip malls haven't made their way up the highway to yet.
Right now I am sitting in Art Six, my absolute favorite coffee house in Denton, taking advantage of the free wireless, the old, comfy couches and the delicious and cheap mango apricot iced tea. I love this place so much. My favorite place to get ice cream is Beth Marie's on the square, and the best Mexican food in town is at La Mexicana. You've never heard of any of those places. And that is why I love Denton.
The results are in: today is a good day.
I spent several hours this morning running errands, and across the board, everyone I encountered was in a good mood. Everyone! Smiles and how are yous and have a great days and happiness all around.
Makes my heart happy.
There are many things I like about living in an apartment. Compared to the dorms, there's almost nothing that's not an improvement. For example, I now can safely go barefoot in my shower. My desk is no longer under my bed. My makeup table and kitchen counter aren't the same surface.
Compared to my "real" home in Georgia, there's a lot to be desired: a fully-stocked refrigerator, Robby the Roomba, a porch. But the thing I miss most from my parents' house in Georgia is my dog.
My beloved Ollie has some good qualities. They're often very hard to find, but I promise, they exist. He's grumpy and kind of dumb and contrary, but he's my doggie and I love him.
Lately I've been missing him a lot, for one particular reason: he's got mad skills in the big-nasty-bug hunting area. To him, the only thing more exciting than roach hunting is getting two treats in one day. He has been known to reenact a particularly exciting killing twice, once for my mom and once for my dad. I'm not exaggerating. He literally reenacted the battle. (It was epic. You have no idea.)
Luckily, I don't have a roach problem in my apartment. If I did, I would cry. A lot. What I do have are ginormous crickets. (Ginormous is a real word now, did you hear?) Not cute little brown hopping crickets. These are giant, leap-over-tall-buildings-in-a-single-bound crickets. They're disgusting. And for some reason, I've been seeing a lot of them lately. I know it's silly, but I am terrified of crickets. They make my heart speed up and all I can think is Panic! Panic! Panic!
I have been extremely lucky in the last few days because every time I've seen one, someone manly has been around to squash it for me and only make fun of me a little bit. However, I am terrified of finding one while I'm alone. I hate those giant crickets, but I almost hate squashing them more. When you walk up to them, THEY JUMP. They might jump on me. And then when you throw the shoe at them, sometimes you miss. And they jump again.
But. If sweet little Ollie was here with me, I wouldn't have to worry. I would say "Ollie! A roach! A cricket! Ollie! A bug! Get it!" and boy howdy, would he get it. He would attack it and it would jump away and he would lose it and I would point him at it and he would attack it and it would DIE. And I would just pick up the nasty pieces and throw it away and say "Ollie you are such a good dog! Such a ferocious warrior!" and he would sleep in my bed and life would be perfect.
I'm Leah. I love making pretty things with fabric, paper, and sometimes, pixels and fonts. These days, though, it's mostly fabric. I also love tv on dvd and sometimes I talk about my cats too much. I live in Alexandria, VA, with my husband Chris and our son Joey, who was born on Christmas Eve last year. Chris is a musician in The US Army Band "Pershing's Own", and I make quilts and sell them in a little shop.
