Countdown To The Farmer's Market Closing Is Coming. I Hate Mondays at Big Y. I Prefer Local Vegetables.

Every Monday throughout the summer, I stop at the Farmer's Market in Stratford and get my week's vegetables. Due to this sabbatical shenanigan, I now have the fortune to walk to the Farmer's Market to get my vegetables. Glamis was debuted there yesterday, and licked every child under 5 she could find (then returned home to squeak the #$#@ out of her Tiger toy - I tell you, she and that animal will destroy the house. She runs everywhere with it).

I planted my own garden this summer, and only got one vegetable. It was a dud-vegetable and it looks like an albino Minion. I am saving it for as a gourde. Connecticut soil is rough...rocky, sandy, and very, very dry.

Ah, but the vegetables at the Market. Perfect. Fresh. Delicious. And a wonderful ritual. Now, if I could only hire someone to cook them for me every night, that would be ideal, especially as I get into my writing and look at the clock at 9 p.m. and say, "Oh, Snap. Forgot to eat."

I think the older I get, the more I hate to purchase processed-food. Boxed or jarred items in a store bother me, because I don't know what was added. Ah, but while in Rome...

eat TV-dinners and Triscuits.

It's not that bad. I like to cook. But now I need to get back to editing and writing.