A friend of mine sent me an unexpected package this week. It contained a book and a genuine handwritten note. She told me she was passing the book along because she thought I would enjoy the story and the woman who wrote it reminded her of me. The note was lovely and sweet. I was touched by her thoughtfulness and especially by the sentiment of the note.

The last time I physically saw my friend, Jill, was seven years ago when I still lived in Los Angeles and before either one of us had children.

Seven years? Could it really have been that long ago? Jill and I were good friends. We worked together in a department of people who were particular close and social for an office environment. I still consider her a good friend even though we have only talked on the phone a handful of times since I left the West Coast and we email only occasionally.

As I read her note, I was stunned to realize just how much I missed her and how little we actually know about each other's lives anymore. And yet, her note was achingly familiar, her voice ringing through it as if she was reading it directly to me. I remembered how much I enjoyed talking with her, her wicked sense of humor, her ability to talk about anything and our shared love of gardening, reading and P.F. Chang double pan-fried noodles. Back when we shared an office we were always swapping book recommendations and spending too much money on Amazon.com as we fed off each others discoveries.

All it took was one small, simple act from her to open up the relationship again and expand it into the richness it used to hold. It got me thinking about how I used to love to hand write letters, and how as email has become more and more prevalent, a letter in the mailbox from an old friend is that much sweeter. I think I'm going to try and write more letters and see if I can't brighten someone's day just like Jill did for me.

I love that even after seven years of sporadic contact, someone thought enough of me to send me a gift. She also sent me a book. How lucky am I?

So I know it doesn't look like much but these veggies have been three years in the making.

For the past three years, every spring I've bought myself little packages of hope. Each year I've dreamed of the bounty I'll provide my family, the pleasant hours spent out among the plants, weeding and watching the progress of my little sproutlets. Then reality sets in - the last frost is long gone; the non-existent spring has turned into 90+ degree sweltering hot days; the mosquitoes- don't even get me started on them and truthfully, my kids probably wouldn't eat 85% of what I want to grow.

But this year, things were different. We started tomatoes in egg cartons in the kitchen and eventually even got them in the ground- about three weeks later than the actual gardeners in our neighborhood, but still...I also managed to plant peppers, carrots, cukes and melons. I haven't exactly spent hours in the garden but I have spent some time there and enjoyed those stolen moments between making dinner, feeding dogs and bathing dirty little summer children (And I mean that in the best possible way). I've watched tiny little cukes sprout out of vines and watched the greens of my not-spaced-far-enough-apart carrots burst through the ground. Then surprisingly, I found these two full-sized cukes. I knew the carrots weren't ready, but I couldn't help myself. I'm tickled every time I pull one out and see the tiny bit of orange attached to the bottom.

It's a less auspicious beginning than I've been imagining, but I figure I have lots of years to refine the process. The fact that I actually grew vegetables this year counts for something in my book.

And, I'm already eyeing asparagus for next year.

I talked with my parents up in Maine today. My mother read my initial blog post but my father hadn't seen it yet.  He asked me if I would be talking about the same things every week. When I explained my blog explored the idea of living more simply, he asked me if I thought I lived a simple life. It's a good question (even though it was a thinly veiled attempt to get me to move his grandchildren up to the Pine Tree State again). The answer is yes...and no.