Ah, there is nothing quite like listening to Shostakovitch to bring out my inner proletarian. For me, this means gardening.
The old Renoite adage is to never plant a garden until the snows have melted off of Peavine Mountain. Generally this is a fair guideline, but there are the odd years. Well, who am I kidding, they're all odd years. Last year there wasn't enough snow, and it had cleared off the mountain quite early leaving me sunk when a late frost came 'round in May. In heavy years such as this it may linger well past the greater planting good.
As it stands now my kitchen counter is cluttered with little seedlings just itching to be put in the ground, and, frankly, I'm tired of having them in the house.
Springtime is always a crazy critter 'round hereabouts.
So now I have a post to offset my rants about nearly obscure historical references.
Next Up: Cardozaisms Related to a Letter to the RG-J Opinion Editor for March 26, 2008.
On Deck: Gimme a Mc C*A*I*N
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