In Which I Leave the House

Husband's legs and blueberries.

There are all sorts of activities in this world that, in theory, sound like they would be just oodles of wholesome fun. I have compiled a whole imaginary bucket list of such activities: Making my own mozzarella. Tap-dancing. Learning to play the accordion. Hiking the Appalachian Trail. Etc., etc.

I have said to myself about each and every one of these things in the bucketful of activities, "Hey! I'd love to do that! Imagine pizza with homemade mozzarella. Yum! And I have pretty good rhythm--tapping should be easy." Etc., etc.

But in the pursuit of truthiness, I admit that I have not done any of these things. Instead, when tempted by a wholesome activity I have almost invariably sat down in my easy chair with my knitting and turned on the television. First to allow the Portuguese to break my heart, then to recover with Masterpiece Mystery (and may I just say that if you missed The Escape Artist you missed SOMETHING! Holy cow.). Given my druthers, I'd probably never leave the house.

Saturday, though, I finally completed an activity on my imaginary list, and it was oodles of wholesome fun: Husband and I went blueberry picking.

I know! Who IS this woman, up at an ungodly hour on a Saturday morning, when there was sleep to be slept and yarn to be knit? That would be this woman:

On the descriptive tag the nice blueberry man wrote to show which bags of fruit were ours, he wrote "Pink shirt. Hot." At least that's what Husband told me, and yup, that is one hot chick. What he had actually written, though, was "Pink shirt. Hat." to signify that I had completely sweat through my canvas Puravida Costa Rica hat. Or maybe just to signify that I had one on, as opposed to the younger and fitter pickers that day, who had not reached the age in which comfort trumps vanity and you DO NOT CARE that you look like a dork in that hat. A sweating, red-faced dork. A sweating, red-faced dork who has had a ton of fun and has four gallons of blueberries to show for it.

There were things I loved, loved, loved about picking blueberries, and things that I was not so crazy about during the morning, so I'm going to split this experience up into a couple of posts. But of all the items on my wholesome activity bucket list, this is without a doubt the sweetest bucket.

It was worth leaving the house for.

To be continued.