I'm Just Saying

What on earth is that?” I asked Paul, who, coming in from the garden, was carrying what looked to be an enormous, curved yellow club.

“It’s an Armenian cucumber,” he said, depositing it with a thud on the kitchen island.

Sometimes it’s difficult to bring the funny to a weekly column when the life surrounding you isn’t always funny.

And sometimes it’s possible to mine the funny in the not-so-funny and absurd.

A dear friend, in a fit of giggles, was relaying to me the account of seeing her doctor for her annual physical, completely forgetting she had added a fourth tattoo to her subtle collection of cartoon characters and meaningful symbols.

I’m a little jealous of Jena.

This is the time of year when Paul’s carefully tended vegetable garden begins to explode with tomatoes.

Paul knows, by threat of a cold shoulder that becomes positively glacial, that he is to drive very slowly if I’m on a young, or green, horse in the arena which lies adjacent to our long driveway.

Paul and I purposely planted conifers of various colors and sizes around the sides of our ‘I-Hop’ years ago as it backs onto vast woodland with twin fields separated by a rather long driveway to the front.

I had fancied the idea of having our home look like it was emerging from the woods with a sort of ‘tree house’ charm to it.

What a gift it was to be delightfully surprised by the words of a child, especially when it’s far too easy to jump on the bandwagon of ‘these kids today…’

And it wasn’t as if he was being philosophical or waxing lyrical, but simply remarking from points of reference from his three and a half short years on the planet.