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Pastimes : Don't Ask Rambi -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: Rambi who wrote (9675)	4/13/1998 11:18:00 AM
From: jhild	Respond to of 71178

some cute flowered gloves Image of course is important, so maybe use those gloves as a decorative element to let the world know that you garden. I have used some effective inexpensive cloth gloves that have been thorn hardened by dipping in rubber. Perhaps a little hot and sweaty down at the finger tips in your climate, but most efficient at keeping delicate skin youthfully fresh. I always have a sense of satisfaction in seeing things that I have planted, sprout and develop, but don't ever seem to have enough time. Now if I could get a remote hook up and a voice response control system, why I could manage to post and weed at the same time. Though perhaps your Catarino is a more appealing means to an end.

To: Rambi who wrote (9675)	4/13/1998 11:43:00 AM
From: Gauguin	Read Replies (2) \| Respond to of 71178

Penni, it's "fardening". (Fui the cat just made a VERY weird noise; a loud cry note timbre-d with slicing a warm garbage sack; and then she hunched forward and threw up three times on the floor with stomach-crunches what could dislodge an arrowhead, whilst pivoting counterclockwise, pile here, pile here, pile here, right next to my new stack of antique books ~ and I kept saying, it's OK honey, it's OK, it's OK, ~ and she growled at me, pushed up with an eff-you tail flick and stepped over the barf to Keeter's bowl, and is still filling up. I'm starting to think commuting to work could be good. Just get the heck out of here, everyday.

To: Rambi who wrote (9675)	4/13/1998 12:50:00 PM
From: Jacques Chitte	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 71178

Our Tiny Little Easter Story We dressed up our tiny little easter girl up, loaded the Accord and boldly headed north. We made it to the Strybing Arboretum in Golden Gate Park. A favorite location. Spring is at its peak - the California garden was a riot of color, the proteas (Cape province) are just on the edge of flowering, and the succulent garden (my favorite place in the entire city) was sporting all manner of spikes and whorls of vegetative promiscuity. I walked by a fallen waxy flower spike, and a hummingbird landed four feet away and ultrasonically declared "I saw it first, Bunghole!" When I went to the rest room, Loving Spouse tended the carriage. from my tiled lair, I could see through the grate that some fellow with a guitar and really bad hair had accosted her. They spoke a coupla sentences, then he moved on. When I came out, Bad Hair Dude was talking to the next in line, who tried to somehow politely ignore him. I asked Spouse - who and what? She said, Some old guy who likes to talk. (Little gesture with the eyes suggesting a harmless chemical imbalance.) He'd commented on the cuteness of Helen. Spouse (in a fit of playfulness) had said "Yes, I hatched her from an egg." Spouse turns to me and says that the fellow replied, in all seriousness: "Of course. We all come from eggs. From space." Spouse is very perceptive of other realities.