Before I totally launch into this week's insanity, I wanted to take this moment to wish my “colleague” Roseanne a very happy birthday. (I've always wanted to use the word “colleague” so that's the real purpose of the birthday wish. Simmer down! Have you forgotten my sarcastic nature already?)
I have known this woman since seventh grade and have shared many interesting times with her, especially back in our wild youth. She attended some slumber parties that were held at my house decades ago and we always had a lot of good silly fun. Not to mention the goofy times we had together at the Crawford County Fair.
The sleep-outs, in what later morphed into the pool house, were good times for certain and I'm glad to have those memories sealed in the dark recesses of my mind. This is mainly the case because I think it's great to be able to remember anything these days. The short-term is getting bad but not the long-term, yet. Leave it to me to digress during a birthday salute.
I could go on and fill the page with reflections of the way life used to be but I won't. (Is there a song in there somewhere?)
This is your gift Roseanne and I spared no expense to give it to you, as is my nature. Have a great day—make that a month. At our age we should milk these things for as long as humanly possible.
Tomatoes, carrots, and chard—Oh My!
This week I am returning to the scene of the crime in order to provide something clever and charming for your reading pleasure, or pain. I best ease back into this by imparting some delightful story of household shenanigans rather than discussing the various “gnews” items that are bombarding most of the public on a daily basis.
I am exempt from said bombardment to a point as I refuse to partake in the corporate media. However, it is unfortunate but true that even those of us who try to garner info from independent outlets are generally subjected to hearing about all the hideous lies being pushed by the corporate media. In other words, it's upsetting that we cannot escape this jazz. The tone is set by the overlords who own the “news” outlets and our government simultaneously.
A lot of time is spent by the alternative/independent media unpacking the propaganda being pushed by the other outlets is my point and I'm not happy about it.
Sorry I did veer off there a bit or digressed if you will and even if you won't. I shall now give an overview of what I did on my summer vacation.
I can really sum this up in several words, thereby cutting down on my now infamous super long introductory paragraphs. (I typed this before typing the other stuff so that is out the door at this point.) I have spent a good chunk of time carrying out canning and chopping veggies during this “vacation” time.
This canning scenario began years ago actually when Aunt Liz (AL) was a part of the scenery. Perpetual would bring home tomatoes and other vegetation and she would spring into action. (Aunt Liz wasn't much of a “springer” but she slowly and methodically got the job done.)
This was back in the day when I was able to go camping every weekend so I didn't really see the up-close and personal process that goes into such undertakings. Not to mention, the garden wasn't quite as large back then so it seemed to unfold with speed and agility. Maybe I just didn't notice the INSANE operation as I was always on my way OUT the door back then.
The smaller garden is not the case in this day and age as Perpetual (life partner) has lovingly cultivated a 10 foot by 44 foot garden for several years now. By the by, the location of this wonder of nature is.... at the trailer!
For those late to this game, the trailer is rather famous, or infamous, due to the fact that one can find most anything within the confines of the structure. If you need a pizza cutter from 1854 no worries as it can be found at the trailer. That is just one small example of the treasures located in that particular office/storeroom/dwelling. (Actually Perpetual has a cat named Isabelle guarding the place these days. More about that another time or maybe here, who knows at this point?)
Last year was the first time that I took part in this festivity (?) and it is quite an endeavor, to say the least. Believe it or not, I enjoy the actual canning part and especially the tomatoes, even if it does look like the Manson Gang paid us a visit during the process. However, this takes place late in the day for me so I'm forced to be up past 10 pm, which is never a good scene.
Every night around 8 pm “Perpetch” arrives with produce O plenty. Being the wonderful woman that I am I never complain about this and greet him with enthusiasm, love, a lot of clandestine eye-rolling and secret sighs thrown in for good measure.
One night he landed with “yuge” feed sacks of corn in tow. I don't remember the exact number but it was borderline ridiculous, I can tell you that much. He oft' schleps five-gallon buckets filled to the rim with tomatoes to the door as well.
Keep in mind that we live in a shoe box which has ONE official closet. The room formerly known as the child's has morphed into a combination of a storeroom, “Lounging with Lisa” (YouTube show) production office, spare bedroom (if one can locate the actual bed) and woman cave for keeping-my-sanity purposes. (I don't think it's fulfilling that job description currently.)
As I perch upon my beat up couch, aka the cat scratching post, and gaze across the room, I spy approximately 30 jars of tomatoes in the sun room, several empty canning jars located in cardboard boxes and a gigantic stew pot—oh a few cats are lounging about as well, of course. Mind you, this says nothing of the things that cannot be viewed from my current vantage point like the HUNDREDS of other jars which are tucked here and there around the home. One might get a shock if he reaches for the toilet paper in this house.
If we need to seize a ladle or other larger utensil we must head to the bedroom for this. I'm NOT making this up ladies and gentlemen. An ironing board now doubles as an extra counter-top in the kitchen and an 87 gallon, give or take, pressure cooker graces the stove-top.
I don't know the exact count of the quarts and/or pints which are bursting from corners and walk-ways and I don't feel like counting them. It was enough for me to decipher the difference between a quart and a pint. Sorry, but math has never been a friend of mine.
I have never in my life been a participant in such a wild venture as canning. I realize many of you grew up with this happening in your homes but I did not. Mother didn't have the time as she owned a business in my youth. I think Jill and Blaine both got to reap the rewards of Grandma Houserman's canning prowess but alas I did not. (They were SPOILED by G. Houserman by the way. However, I was spoiled by Mother's mother so there!)
Well I find myself having to end this piece abruptly due to an urgent issue that has arisen. Perpetual evidently rented a dump truck and is currently backing it into the driveway right now. Tomatoes, carrots and chard—Oh my—are falling over the sides. Quick—come rescue me!
THE END
(Interstate Crosscheck, War is a Racket by General Smedley Butler, Erasing the Liberty by Phillip Tourney and AIPAC)