The other night Mike and I were cleaning up after supper. I had a bag of compostable garbage--the kind that has to go to the transfer station because it is heat treated to turn it into compost…NOT the kind that goes into my garden compost bin. Any way, as I was filling a dish pan, Mike holds up the now empty bag and asks if I wanted to rinse it out or just throw it into the household trash. “OMG, no! You tossed that stuff into my garden compost??” I was horrified, horrified. Mike looked at me with an “I was trying to be helpful here” look and said, “I hope you are not going to mention this your blog. I don’t want my compost incompetence exposed to the world.” Silly man. First of all, I’m pretty sure the entire world does not read my blog. Second of all, it was mildly distressing, yes, but I pulled myself together. I’m not crazy. I can get past these little upsets. And third of all, why would I even write about what he did with the garbage and how I can’t believe that he has lived with ...
"A grandma is just an antique little girl"...unknown