Greens, Greens, and Nothing But Greens . . .

Or, in the case of our garden: parsley, cilantro, basil, strawberries, radishes, carrots, chard, and (we hope) tomatoes.

I had no idea that planting a few square feet of food would make me so happy.

And have I mentioned the lettuce?

Because there isn't anything much nicer than heading out to your patio with a bowl and a pair of shears to snip, snip, snip your way to the gentlest, tenderest, most adorable salad you've ever eaten.

I mean, isn't that precious?

And then there's this action:

Our family is in thrall to a juicer. We feed it daily, stuffing it with what I can only term a professional amount of produce: spinach, cabbage, lettuce (green, red, and romaine), collards, chard (green, red, and rainbow), kale (curly and lacinato), parsley, celery, cucumber, lemon, carrots, ginger, coconut, apples, oranges, pineapple.

It's obscene, I admit it. I am a brazen hussy. But it feels so right.

I crave this stuff every morning. We're talking beyond coffee. The juice! I gotta have it! It's all Requium for a Dream up in here -- except, you know, healthy. My vegetable scrub brush and me: We've become besties.

Then I drink the green juice down and ZING!

Wow! Life! It's just! So much is possible!

All of a sudden!

Maybe you've got to be there.

You want to know the days I feel truly deviant? When we throw in wheat grass.

Yes, I've figured out how to grow it myself. Turns out it's a fairly straighforward process. I can remember, back when I was in college, doing the wild show Ruthless! while stricken with mononucleosis. I used to stumble blearily by the juice bar on the way to the theater and down a shot of wheat grass before every performance. The stuff is a little bit magical.