Earlier this week, I was sowing my fall garden when the eyes and nose of my childhood friend and current neighbor Sherwood Day appeared over the fence.
I'm nervous. Like when I place an order at a restaurant. I'm nervous that I'm doing the wrong thing. And not only that, I'm worried I'm doing the wrong thing wrong.
As you're well aware, my thoughts are typically focused on the task at hand: delivering tailored information about product development and formulation.
I have very few compelling characteristics. I know this. It has always been the case. My sense of humor is thin, my cooking skills could be described as mild and I do not play a musical instrument.