Excuse me while I wax poetic for a minute:
Spring has sprung in the heart of winter
deep into the soil I feel alive
Terra firma on my linen shirt with frills
fills this heart with contentment
My thoughts ring round in British accents
as I am a royal heir to this
sweet earth
I hope you didn't just throw up a little in your mouth. I put Maggie down for a nap and decided to pot some herbs I bought yesterday. The next thing I know, I was transformed into one of these ladies they interview for the cover of English Garden. "Oh Ms. Caroline (I'm sure if I had been born English, my parents would have named me Caroline and pronounced it car-oh-line not care-uh-lyn), please tell us- how does your garden grows." To which I would reply "I stroll down each isle of my lovely garden singing arias like a spring robin as Alfred follows behind with a Harrods watering pot."
Anyway, I had to come right inside and write that non-sense down before that business took up residence in my head. Because you know exactly what would happen next. My Chef would come home to the children saying "momma's been ignoring us unless we call her Mummy."
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