Suburban agriculture

I’ve dabbled with growing herbs on the deck and planted an herb garden in the front, and was rewarded with tasty additions to our meals for many months. So I’ve decided to expand my repertoire to include a few vegetables in containers: a cherry tomato, a jalapeño pepper, a purple bell pepper, and a golden yellow bell pepper. After all, when the kids were younger, I had a decent sized vegetable garden in the yard for a couple of years running. In the interests of economics, I’m starting small, but if it works out, who knows?

Jim refers to this as my “farmette.” The box on the railing contains two kinds of basil and some cilantro.

We need more what?

You know you're seriously into gardening when you call in your order for compost and the voice at the other end of the line says: "Good morning Mr. Groble. You ordered 3 yards of sweet peet and one yard of topsoil last week. What would you like this weekend?" . . . and you proceed to order more.

Up to my neck in sweet peet . . .

How could I live anywhere else?

During the past seven years, we have continued to be pleasantly surprised with the great things to do/see/eat in the Cleveland area. But it took the possibility of moving again (after I posted for a job opening in the Home Office) to realize how much we had grown to love this area, and how many great friends we would miss. During the past three weeks, our lives seemed to be on hold, held hostage to the corporate application process. And no matter where I went, around the house or around the area, I realized how deep our roots were. We thought that it might be harder to leave Cleveland than it was to leave Chicago. I started planning one last run to Newell WV to stock up on Fiestaware, and tried to figure out how to dig up and move cuttings from all that hosta and ligularia. When the word finally came that I did not make the next cut, I was a little disappointed. After all, no one likes to hear: sorry, you’re not a good fit for us. But truth be told, I could barely contain my glee when I finally hung up the phone! I could plan which room to repaint next, put my rabbit collection out in the garden, we could go ahead and install the rain barrels, and yes, order those 3 yards of Sweet Peet!

So, could I live anywhere else and be happy? Probably. But not for a long while. I love our house and garden, and yes, I love Cleveland.

The Perfect Color

What a difference color makes! The living room/dining room painting project turned out even better than I expected (and I have high expectations, since my personal painter is such an expert). Although you can’t really tell from the picture, the new color not only coordinates perfectly with the carpeting, it also makes the rest of the furniture and fabrics look good! All that agonizing over paint color was well worth it.

Three cheers for the Iron Chef!

For the last couple of years, we have celebrated Mother’s Day by going out for dinner the evening before. It’s a nice alternative to crowded restaurants full of families with screaming kids you just know have never been in a restaurant before. This year, we decided to go to Lolita’s, one of the two Cleveland restaurants owned by Iron Chef Michael Symon. Lolita’s is in an up-and-coming neighborhood called Tremont. It has chic boutiques, hip art galleries and trendy restaurants. We had been to Lolita’s once before, right after we moved out here. It was the first indication that we had not moved into a culinary wasteland. But for some reason, I don’t remember much of that first visit, other than we sat at a window table and I kept thinking “this doesn’t look like Chicago.”

Tonight’s meal was wonderful. We ate way more than we should have. Between the two of us, we had three drinks, three appetizers (we took half of one home), two entrees, two desserts and coffee. Our waiter actaully "coordinated" our appetizers with our entrees, and his recommendations were perfect. Everything was so good, I don’t think I can pick out a favorite of anything we had (although the roasted dates appetizer does stand out as an oh-my-god moment). My dessert was called chocolate pot de le crème. It was basically a glass of chocolate ganosh, topped with cream. Can you ask for anything more? We have decided that we will not wait another 7 years to go back – we will just exercise a little more self-control.

Their to-go boxes are pretty classy, too.

My new office

Yes, I know I was supposed to turn Sarah’s old room into my office/sewing room/whatever. But I have discovered that I would rather set up the laptop in the family room. I think it’s partly a matter of convenience. I’m on the first floor most of the time. When I go upstairs to turn on the computer to check email or do a blog post I feel like I have to stay up there until its done. And I feel isolated (not that there are a lot of people roaming through the house these days). I think I have to come to grips with the fact that I don’t need a place to get away from the kids – that ship has sailed. We have the house to ourselves. Jim has his space downstairs and I have pretty much the rest of the house to choose from. When we moved the desk into this corner and I sat at it the first time, it felt right. It actually reminds me of our first apartment, with this very desk tucked into a corner, surrounded by shelves full of law school textbooks, where I studied for the bar exam. I guess home décor is as much emotion based as anything.

The things I learn from my job . . .

Why do people think Sunday Blue Laws are okay?

It is an actual crime in the state of New Jersey to sell a motor vehicle on a Sunday (NJSA 2C:33-26), for which you could possibly do real jail time. The statute uses the language “engages in the business of buying, selling or exchanging” motor vehicles which seems to make it apply only to businesses, but there are enhanced penalties for licensed dealers, which makes me wonder if it also could be applied to ordinary folks. So, if I wanted to sell my old clunker to my next door neighbor for cash, and the deal was consummated on a Sunday, and someone reported us (that being the key in these things) am I in trouble? Just asking . . .