Sweet Pickles

Every time I can something... Ahem... Both times I've canned something I've felt like the first woman ever to try to manage the whole hot water bath thing (and all that entails) all the while keeping the children out of the kitchen and entertained. I love the whole process: the cooking, jar washing, filling, measuring, submerging... followed by the satisfying POP of a sealed jar. That's all awesome. But when babies start crying, toddlers whining, and kindergardeners making bubbles in the bathroom sink, things can feel a bit hairy. Mama starts to sweat. (Why do these damn veggies need to be canned in JULY!?). Steam clouds my vision. And things blow up. Things like a slightly over filled jar of pickles. Things like my temper. Yikes. 

Everything starts off well. Jars and lids are sanitized. The brine is made, everything is ready to go. I'm literally cool as a cucumber.

The children are all engaged and busy. I'm SURE I have time to do this before calamity strikes!

Oh crap. No Lola! Don't cry... Where is that binky???

Shoo. That was close. OK. Step one, fill the jars. Step two pour in the brine...Mmmm. This looks good. I love pickles. Hope these are good...

Wait a second... why is it so quiet? Well, at least they're playing nicely.

Ooo. I just love the smell of dill... wait a second what's that noise? Kids???

The kids are in the bathroom where they have turned the sink into a water table and are gleefully dumping cups full of bubbles all over the bathroom floor.

There may have been bubbles overflowing the sink and spilling on to the floor before I put a stop to the fun. But, Smoochy doesn't need to know that because it wouldn't be good for his stress levels.

Meanwhile, an ominus popping noise can be heard from the kitchen.

I dash upstairs.

 One jar down...

But, don't the survivors look pretty?

Seriously, how did my grandmothers and their mothers, and grandmothers do this? You know those ladies spent the summer putting up massive amounts of food with like six kids hanging from their apron strings. I've seen my grandmother's cold cellar where shelves full of nearly prehistoric peaches and tomatoes floated in jars covered with dust and cobwebs like some forgotten science experiment. Those shelves were packed to bursting in their glory. And me. I get all proud and take pictures of my three jars of pickles, as though it is some culinary feat preiviously unknown to womanhood. Sheesh. My great-grandmothers are laughing at me in heaven.

Handmade Love

I love presents. I know it is horribly materialistic, but I can't help myself. Really, who doesn't love presents? Perhaps it's an American thing with our focus on all-out spend-crazy Christmases and mountains of gifts for children on their birth days. Perhaps it's just bred into me as my parents certainly lavished us kids on those two events, but I really love presents.


But, it's not just presents for the sake of presents that I love now that I am an adult, but the thought behind the gift. And nothing says thought and preparation like a handmade gift. Not to be a snobbish (though of course it is), but I'd much prefer a small imperfect handmade present than something bought at the mall and made in China.  I shudder a bit when I think about the trade deficit between our two great nations. And dig this: Apple products have become a major static symbol in China with the iPhone retailing there for about a quarter of the average Chinese household's annual income.... and they MAKE them there. Doesn't that just scream wrong?


Anyway. One of Georgia's favorite playmates was turning four this week (I remember when she was an itty-bitty baby...) and I really wanted to make her a set of dolls. One to represent her, and one to represent Georgia. The dolls in my imagination would have had velcro on their hands so they could really stick together! Well, life got in the way and it took WAY longer to make these dolls than I had hoped. Plus, I wanted to honor to the oath I made Smoochy of NO NEW CRAFT SUPPLIES in 2001! (Otherwise I would have bought different yarn for the blonde birthday girl.) Yikes! I found myself the night before the party with only one doll completed and no doll clothes I was feeling pretty low. All I managed to slap together to cloth my little creation looked something like a sack made out of Georgia's old favorite tee-shirts. I seriously considered not giving the doll to the little girl because the stitching was just that bad.

In the end, I gifted the one completed doll, knowing the birthday girl's mom feels similar to me about stuff. Though, more than once I considered going to Target and buying something made in China.  The birthday girl seemed happy about the doll. And my friend, her mom, complimented it appreciatively as a good friend would. All and all it was just fine. I especially loved the pride with which Georgia announced, "My mom MADE this for you, [birthday girl]!" That was cool.

All was well until just after returning home from the party the door bell rang. It was the postman... delivering a box of handmade birthday gifts. One was for Normy and one for Lola who's Gemini birthdays have just passed. Suddenly my little doll felt... Well, let's just say she was blown out of the water.

Way to go Aunt Cathy. I bow before your righteous skills as a seamstress. You seriously rock.

Her Bad Day...

I was upstairs when I heard the loudest thump on our window yet. Though I jumped out of my skin, I knew exactly what it was a moment later. We rushed down to check for carnage and found this very stunned, but apparently OK little gal. We have quite the fondness for cardinals over here, so we enjoyed our up-close peek at her. She on the other hand, did not look amused. Luckily for her, she was able to fly off after a short rest. Others have not been so lucky. 

Note the condensation formed by her breath on the glass,  poor panting thing.

I wish the deer would bonk off the windows and decide to quit this place and leave my garden in peace. Well, maybe. I might miss them if they were really gone. When they get this close it almost feels like the loss of ALL my tomato plants is a small price to pay to see such coolness. 

Bees in the Flowers

Since I've given up hope of having a thriving hive of my own this year (more on that later), it seems I have mentally adopted every bee I see out in the world. If I don't already have my camera in hand, I rush to find it in order to capture photographic evidence of my encounter with one of God's bees. In New York (state) I saw bees everywhere I turned, much to my delight. But none were more gratifying to see than the honey bees in my Grandma's hollyhock bush. It was from this very bush she would pick my sister, cousin, and I flowers and transform them into dolls with bell-shaped skirts before our very eyes. What a joy to see the free-bees playing and working among them. 

No bee here, I just like the picture.

Lola, however was not as in to photographing bees. 

Hello Blog

This space has not been abandoned... It has been a transitional month filled with travel and new beginnings. I have so much to write about and so little time. Since returning home from what I've been thinking of as our "Remember where you come from, back to your roots summer tour" we have been carving out new rhythms and systems around here. Nothing like some time away from home, the grind, and even your most loved ones to get a little perspective and revamp priorities. So, I'm marinating on that. Anyway, I'll be back here soon. Hopefully this week. Till then, here is my favorite picture from my week away. My grandma's farm and garden at sunset. A cool July evening. The moment I took this picture I felt completely at peace with everything in the world... and I've been caring that feeling with me ever since. Cool, huh? 

 

I'll write more soon, and send picture DVDs to folks soon! Promise!

We're supposed to be on the road...

Today was supposed to mark the first leg of a journey that would eventually bring me to visit my Grandma. Along the way there is/was to be a stop in Kansas at my children's grandmother's house and a picnic in the prairie. But for now we are delayed. A low-grade fever has made my Georgia lethargic and sad. So we'll wait...