I can't shop, and it's all Wendy's fault.

So, a couple of weeks ago I was standing around one of those awful airport bookstores, looking for something, anything, to read on the plane. We had already exhausted every gossip magazine [well, in English, but it's hard for me to care about Euro Celebrities. I'm sure they are interesting and all, but come on, if Perez doesn't care, neither to I.] and I had plowed through Armistead Maupin's "Michael Tolliver Lives", poolside.

I spotted a book that I knew my friend Wendy had recommended. "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle." by Barbara Kingsolver. I freely admit I haven't read anything else of hers - but this was a non-fiction worked about the year her family opted to become "loca-tarians". They only ate food that they grew, or raised themselves, or that someone grew or raised locally. And humanely. And organically. Good reading.

I think everyone who knows me knows that the best way to kill a plant is to give it to me and ask me to care for it. So gardening, while appealing on some level [well, not so much the worm and bug level], is out. However, I took much of this book to heart, realizing that eating locally and organically can only do good things for my family, and our footprint on environment. We've been working toward a smaller impact in our own little ways, and not choosing to buy food that is completely out of season and that was shipped in from thousands of miles away goes hand in hand.

My original point being that I can no longer shop. I stood in the produce department the other day holding a red pepper that had a sticker on it that said "Canada" and I blinked. Couldn't do it. I'm ruined for produce consumerism.

But the produce I picked up at the Farmers Market yesterday spoke to me. Did you all know that potatoes have dirt on them? And lettuce doesn't grow in a bag either. I know. I was surprised too.