hey, it's hot now!And suddenly, it's June!
So yes, apologies for the long hiatus between posts. Of course I could give you any number of excuses, like the fact that I am BUSY and that I am on CARDIAC (arguably one of the most taxing rotations of the residency--though I don't think anyone would care to argue it, really) and I am finishing the BOOK and drawing the rest of the COMICS and by the way, did I mention that we're MOVING in, like, three weeks? But that is all a bore, so let's not dwell.
I did have a funny story that I was going to put up here last weekend, about how I woke up Sunday morning and decided that I absolutely
had to have blueberry Eggo toaster waffles, and in fact ran out to two separate supermarkets in my scrubs before Joe and Cal woke up in order to obtain my quarry. (The first supermarket did have blueberry waffles, but not only were they fat-free, they were also VEGAN. Honestly, people, why bother?) And then I was going to talk about how I was skulking around my neighborhood on a beautiful Sunday morning in scrubs, looking utterly disheveled, like I had just rolled out of bed because, in fact,
I had, while all around me all these glamorous people looking fresh from the Hamptons strolled about carrying their coffee and fresh bagels and Sunday Times-es and bouquets (BOUQUETS!) like something out of a damn Woody Allen movie. And then on my way to the second supermarket I passed by a couple of residents post-call from the hospital in my neighborhood (not the one at which I work, just some other hospital close by), and they saw me in my scrubs looking like I spent the night in a dumpster, and gave me that chin-lift of acknowledgment, like,
"hey, 'sup fellow slave, I too am post-call." And I didn't have the heart to tell them that I was not actually post-call, I had in fact spent the entire night in my own bed, that I just manage to look this disheveled all on my own.
But then I didn't finish writing that entry.
Then I was going to write this other entry about how
this is the finest chocolate milk in all the land (and maybe even in adjacent lands) more chocolate-y and creamy than anything that Nestle has ever managed to come up with, and how even more miraculous it is that you can order it bulk on Amazon. And how the other day, after we ran out of chocolate milk, I just took some regular milk and mixed half a teaspoon of Ovaltine into it (beloved by European children, I am told), effectively turning regular milk into chocolate milk, and Cal looked at me like I was some kind of Magic Person.
But then I thought that was a stupid story.
So instead I will tell you that we went to pick strawberries this weekend.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsgs14K07xnLotC7wK6U9Gird637IwEeilRF7sPeunOXuTHiHHmeWFkC1xDUcZajWpnkV2IzDazlWLY9cfJxc4mmJGfbqMlE0h-5OLwMgEDOnoVd3GpKdtVrNUsawXM3G9YKsf/s400/DSC_0028+%28small%29.jpg)
We love
this farm, by the way. I know I've talked about it before, but it's only an hour from Manhattan, and it's just incredibly fun, even if you don't have kids. I mean, unless you hate the emotion of HUMAN JOY, in which case you may want to avoid it. Unfortunately, it marginally detracts from the fun when you choose to go on the hottest day of the year to date (95 degrees! Fahrenheit, that is, not, like, Kelvin), but it was still fun. I had never picked strawberries before, but I have to tell you, there's nothing better than those fresh strawberries in the sun. I am probably romanticizing it all to some degree, but there is no comparing eating these fresh berries to the ones at the store. So sweet, so warm, so fragrant, like a mouthful of jam. (Actually, what I believe I said was, "this tastes like a Fruit Roll-Up!")
The strawberry festival continues into next weekend, so if you like strawberries--or ponyrides--you should think about making a trip. I still have yet to find a good pick-your-own fruit place in Atlanta (any good suggestions are appreciated, as every single one I have managed to look up has GONE OUT OF BUSINESS), but I have hopes that we may be able to find a good place for peach picking later this summer. You can't tell me that there's no pick your own peach orchard in Georgia. Isn't that like saying New York is fresh out of...whatever it is that we are famous for in New York?
(Bagels? Pizza? Souvlaki? Being in a big fat hurry? I don't know, you tell me.)
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5KT0KXNzJcOKCHlQioG0Rx1DdFOAf-XdHK4w3ubw92yeU5ywyBF2oeeLj3ZJi32vBiLyWyg3_vdsb59KkDqQ0EfPxe1HRnKW_BYoG_iTKAW6QUgLRKRcvtuWbdDY2jHhvV1_w/s400/DSC_0033+%28small%29.jpg)
(Full picture set
here.)