Attack of the awesome tomato.

I just had the most delicious tomato sandwich of my life. Twas a tomato from my own garden. My garden, this year, is absolutely pathetic. For 3 months, may-august, the critical months for a garden, I was too sick to tend to it. Now there's big empty patches, dwarfed little pea pods, sickly beet leaves and bitter overgrown carrots. The dill has gone to seed, and the lettuce is cramped and anemic. But the tomatoes! Oh my yes, the tomatoes are delicious. Meaty and sweet. I really should have taken a photo of the first one.

Also, I must say, to my surprise, the pumpkin patch is insanely flourishing. I want the pumpkins to grow as big as well fed raccoons. Like one I saw loping past the window the other night at 4am when I couldn't sleep. Big, fat, fuzzy raccoon, sauntering it's bulk around with his little robber mask on.

T is currently distracting me by singing an improvisational song about going to get coffee that ended with a tap dance.

Back to the tomato. I'd been eyeing it for days, waiting for it to be perfectly ripe. This morning I woke up knowing it was time. I went out in the early morning rain (must download some Gordon Lightfoot), in my pajamas to pick it and broke breakfast tradition slightly by having a sandwich. A perfect, delicious tomato sandwich that I really did consider photo worthy and nearly immortalized it for posterity's sake. Instead, I decided that actually eating it was too pressing and there was no time for dilly-dallying. I totally ate that sandwich. Delightful. R.I.P. in my stomach tomato. You served me well.

I think I might need to get out more.