Bring On Lemons

My mom complains about the language in some books. Then again, I'm sure she would complain about my language if we spent more time together. This post isn't actually about language at all - it just seemed like a catchy way to start things. Today's post is about real dirt ... the kind that lodges itself under your finger nails, the kind you have to dig out of your nose, and the kind that comes with all sorts of nasty smells. I could go on and on. If you've been tuned-in for quite some time, you'll know that I went from a very clean profession to a farmer/writer/mother/wife. Instead of wearing stockings and Manolo Blanhnik's to the office, I typically wear patched jeans and a pair of rubbery boots that make my feet sweat. My hands are dry and cracked and instead of finding a few bobby pins in my hair at the end of the day, I find things I can't identify that were possibly at one time part of a plant. I am not in any way complaining, but I do get asked a lo...