This banged up armadillo walks into a bar...
I just found my home here on Substack a few weeks ago. I’m pretty much unpacked, and the curtains are up.
Since moving in, I’ve been writing about some pretty heavy stuff. And if you’ve subscribed or ventured over to my About page here on Substack, you already know, I’m nothing if not eclectic. I process everything with words. Sometimes it’s not even so much a processing as an observing, ie no discernible life lesson…just here’s what I saw today.
One day my words may carry the weight of losing my son or dealing with breast cancer.
Today, they simply convey my observations about farro, spinach, squishy beets, and an armadillo. So now you know how I roll.
If you haven’t yet discovered the bliss of ordering groceries online and picking up curbside…you’re welcome. Or maybe I’m just way late to the game. It serves several purposes. Prevents me from spending extra money on sale items I don’t need (though who doesn’t actually need five more cans of low-sodium garbanzo beans). Saves me time…I’m an ambler and a label reader. Allows me to avoid one of my top three least favorite things on earth — being COLD. It’s not like they’re curing meat on the aisles. Why the arctic temperatures?
On the whole, I’m as obsessed with curbside pickup as I am with my fashion-forward Oofos recovery flip flops. Occasionally, I’ve felt the momentary sting of the “out-of-stock” item. But last pickup yielded a level of disappointment that sent me on a dating spree. I’m not giving up on curbside pickup love. Just finding a new partner.
Happy as a lark in my PJs and slippers, I unloaded my bags. All was well until I spotted a bag of dried farro. Don’t get me wrong. I cook farro occasionally. I’m not averse to farro. I just hadn’t ordered it. Continuing to lift items out of the bag, I landed on a produce bag of beets. I’d never encountered beets quite this texture. I don’t claim to be a beets expert, but beets should be firm, right? I had to ask my boyfriend Claude if it’s ok to make juice with mushy beets. He assured me it would be fine. But still. Mushy beets?
With all groceries put away, I realized I was missing one thing from my list. Spinach. Then it dawned on me. Of course! They were out of spinach. And naturally, the best substitute for spinach is, you guessed it…
Dried farro.
In a related, yet unrelated, turn of events today…
My husband went to the store for me (I’m not quite ready for the curbside dating pool) which left me free to go for a run. Actually, a walk with intervals of running involved. Or maybe closer to short spurts of jogging with lots of walking.
Anyway, as I walked up the sidewalk after my outdoor movement session, I noticed a banged up armadillo sitting on our ledge. That armadillo had been living beside our driveway its whole life. Not any more.
And that’s all my husband’s fault.
He has a fondness for metal yard animals. With a straight face, he recently asked how I felt about putting a collection of metal farm animals out front.
When he bought the armadillo, a nod to my Texas roots, he placed it in a bed beside the driveway. Right near where I back out every day. If it were anyone else backing out, not a problem. But it’s me. He knows my history. So that banged up armadillo? That’s on him. I didn’t just graze it. I ran right over it.
So today when I spotted the crumpled armadillo, I thought, “Oh, that’ll be a fun thing to post on my Instagram story.” Here’s the message thread that ensued.
Messenger: WTH (with the yuck imogi)
Lisa: Chip has a fondness for metal southwest animals. He just put this one too close to where I back out.
Messenger: That’s hilarious!! My feelings are back inside me now, cause I thought it was real!!
The ASPCA has not shown up yet, so I’m assuming folks are sorting out that it’s a fake armadillo.
So that’s it. No profound life lesson. Just a Sunday afternoon contemplating dried farro, spinach, squishy beets and an armadillo.