Lots of things, lots of things!
We are in the midst of planning a trip to Victoria, British Columbia in early July, and because a) I am a flaming idiot -or- b) I was simply too busy to notice, our preparations have recently become more complicated.
You see, as of June 1st, you need a passport to go ANEEE-WHERE beyond the United States. We were bopping along with our birth certificates and photo IDs, blissfully unaware that the requirements had just changed...when I finally discovered this teeny obstacle last Friday, I kicked into worry-overdrive.
So we're going to Chicago on Tuesday to apply for expedited passports in person. Last night my sister called at my mother's insistence to relate a horror story about a relative attempting to get an expedited passport in Chicago (ending? Thwarted. Had to go to Chicago three times. Didn't get the passport.).
Cue additional needless worrying!
Tonight we had our passport photos taken, and a woman in line at Walgreens felt SHE had to share a passport horror story with us, urging us to clear our photos with the post office. Because a government agency that loses billions of dollars annually is your go-to source for travel clearance in and out of the country.
(No offense to the post office...I like you all very much. Especially when you bring me checks or garden porn.)
We have begun to knit together a back-up plan if everything goes to hell and we are denied passports in time. Seattle? Why, yes please! We can do a week in Seattle.
But if we make it to Victoria, I would like to publicly declare that I will try not to add to the sewage dumping problem.
Things I am loving lately: Tom Yum Soup, Mojitos, and my CSA (Our boxes will include fresh, hand-made ciabatta bread tomorrow!)
Also, my very first alpine strawberry, tucked between some daylilies and lavender in one of my flowerbeds:
A petunia started from a teeny seed this March, when it was just a dream no bigger than a grain of salt:
Planted these dears bare-root three years ago. They were so forlorn and stick-like I wanted to name them Pip, Cosette, and Oliver Twist. Now when I walk to the end of my porch to retrieve my garden and food porn magazines (okay, and junk mail and bills. I mostly get those, actually.) my nose does a tiny happy-dance.