It's good that I read the forecast before putting the hot whites in to soak. Thunderstorms are predicted for tomorrow, "mostly sunny" for Wednesday.
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For the record, I peeled three very small garlic cloves (wild garlic, and not the most-vigorous plant), then sliced three-fourths of a jalapeño (I'd eaten a quarter of it in a squash stew), one yellow mini-sweet pepper, half of an extra-small onion, and enough cucumbers to make half a gallon.
Tomorrow I pickle. This will use up the last of my pint jars, so I've got to go shopping. I think I'll get wide-mouth can-or-freeze. I'd like to buy wide-mouth can-or-freeze half pints as well because they would make nice bowls to serve pickles in, but I don't think there is such a thing.
(Froogled: Kerr makes them and Walmart sells them.)
Cucumber production is tapering off, and the plants don't look healthy.
One of my potato hills looks ready to dig, but I plan to wait until the plant dies back entirely. I don't think I'll plant potatoes next year.
I wish I'd bought a pound of the fingerling potatoes I saw at the courthouse farmers' market. I love those zapped and toasted.
I put up two pints and two half pints.
The hot whites are soaking. Three red shop towels are also soaking, in a separate bucket in case they bleed.
Yesterday we went to Yamamoto's Japanese Steakhouse for our anniversary. We both ate too much — I think I ate more; I saved my sushi for a bedtime snack and Dave left half his rice, which balanced out, then I finished the mushroom soup that had been on his shrimp. And I think my terryaki steak was heartier than his shrimp. But it was Dave who didn't feel well that evening. He was right as rain by morning.
For a street that was under construction for such a long time, Bell Drive/Rainbow Drive is in really rotten condition. It's not much better than when it was all torn up.
I've been needing new sandals ever since I discovered that my lace-up sandals are too thin to wear on the bike. I got fed up with wearing thick socks with my stretched-out sandals just before my latest Sprawlmart trip. Neither the shoe store nor Big R (which, despite the news release, is still Big R) had anything suitable.
A few days ago I picked up a four-ounce can-or-freeze jelly jar and wished that they made eight-ounce wide-mouth jars in that shape. Dave agreed, saying that it would be like a serving bowl.
A short Duck-Duck later, I discovered that Kerr makes them and Walmart sells them.
Today I set off on a "dump tour" (Owen's to dump damaged plastic bags, the emergency room to dump read magazines, and Goodwill to dump a package of socks and two bicycle hangers. Meijer is just across Anchorage from Goodwill, so I spent a couple of hours in there, finding a drainer tray to replace the old beat-up tray under our dish drainer, a box of Slim Jims, and a can of Dr. Pepper baked beans. I just *had* to buy that! I'm planning to bake it with kielbasa for supper tomorrow night.
I did not find half-pint wide-mouth can-or-freeze jars, but I did buy a box of four Ball wide-mouth half pints that looked like the top sliced off a quart jar; very cutsey and boutique. Dave likes them more than I do.
No sandals. I was about to try on one pair when I realized that it couldn't be adjusted at the toe; there's no point to wearing sandals if I can't wear them with different socks. So after that I checked the toes first, and rejected all.
An astounding percentage of "sandals" have high heels!
Also struck out on opaque knee socks.
Along about then it was time to eat. I didn't feel like going to one of the row of restaurants, so I cruised the deli. I lusted after some french-fried potato wedges, but they would have been stone cold by the time I checked out and packed my stuff on the bike, so I bought Siracha cheese dip and a package of Brownberry flat buns. I'd been headed for the artisan breads, but when I saw the buns, I was in the mood to grab and go.
And they had a bench to sit on while I ate it.
Then I planned to bip into Walmart for a minute and look at the canning jars, but I went up and down and down and up the grocery end without finding a clue, then hared across the store in search of housewares. Found them, but couldn't find the kitchenware. Finally asked a clerk and learned that I was only a few steps from the correct aisle. But if I'd looked down that aisle, I wouldn't have seen the canning jars.
And they had the Kerr jars. Then came the fun of fitting a box of one dozen half-pint jars onto a bike that was already carrying a drainer tray and a full pannier of groceries. (I'd managed to use the dip box to keep weight off the buns in my cooler.)
Then through Tippy River Downs to 400 N and Fox Farm. (300 N is rough gravel, and Silveus Crossing is one-way for old ladies on bicycles: steep hill, and on the north slope there is no place to walk.)
Fox Farm passes "The Farm" farm stand, which is still open under the new owners. By then I had no way to carry tomatoes, but I managed to fit a banana pepper and a jalapeño into my cooler.
Thence straight home. Google maps says it was a tad under twenty miles.
Yesterday afternoon I looked out the bedroom window, then dashed into the living room and asked Dave when the Cub had been parked in our back yard. He looked out the window and said "Sometime today."
Later Dave made a few trips to beach to look at it.
I'm booked this week: Pickles today (which involves washing dishes to make room to work, and also washing eight new canning jars), washing clothes tomorrow, tooth cleaning on Wednesday, and Al sees the vet on Friday. Which leaves Thursday for getting a little exercise. I hope I have my less-worn pair of knickers patched by then.
And I'd better get going if I want to be finished by nap time.
Six jars. One didn't seal and I put it in the fridge for current use. I was pleased to have an excuse to eat one, because I used a list of spices I found on the Web instead of Mom's list: ground coriander seed, mustard seed, whole cloves, black peppercorns, whole allspice, chili pepper, celery seed, ground ginger, ground cinnamon, bay leaves. I used only one bay leaf. Whole coriander seed would have been better, but I couldn't find any.
I meant to replace the chili pepper with a teaspoon of gengibre molido, but I chickened out because I'd bought a bright-red jalapeño at the same store where I got the gengibre. I think I'd like to try double ginger in the next batch; we have a year's supply of PBL pickles. There is, in fact, a half pint left of last summer's pickles.
Dave brought in a really-big cucumber today, and a small one.
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We got an unexpected invitation to supper this afternoon — Sherry and her family are in town. Until tomorrow morning. I don't envy them the drive.
I took along the unsealed jar of spiced pickles, and put some PBL pickles into one of the squat Ball jars Dave likes. I think more of the PBL pickles were eaten, but both jars went down a little.
For the curious: wlweather.net/PAGEJOY/COOKBOOK/PICKLES.HTM
I've found out why I haven't been able to buy a grease pencil. I've been looking at stationery, office supplies, and school supplies. I should have been looking in lumberyards.
I no longer have a need to write on hot canning jars, but I'll try to buy one for next year.
I miss dime stores. If you needed something trivial, they had it.
A long time ago, I wrote a poem that went:
I got up early this morning
to get a lot of work done
and oh, my accomplishments mounted up
before the setting sun.
I got out of bed and made it up,
I cooked a breakfast and ate it up,
I cleared the night's dust and dirt away
And that is what I did today.
That describes today. Thursday was my one un-booked day this week, and I've been half-way through patching my newer pair of bicycle knickers for a long time, and a shirt and a dress have been needing ironing about as long. So I got up, made the bed, cleared the decks . . . and it was time to cook lunch and take a nap.
I never get much done in the afternoon.
While waiting my turn at the dentist yesterday, I read the Weekend edition of the Times Union on the waiting-room computer. The web site is even stinkier on a Mac than it is on Firefox. I didn't think that was possible. If you enlarge the type, you can't see the left side of the page, and no, it DOESN'T have scroll bars.
Al is exhausted. He didn't even whine on the way home from the vet.
The vet thinks he might have thyroid problems; they will phone us with the results of the blood tests. Meanwhile, he's on kitty damitol ("Compose"). By good luck, we can just hand him the dose and he says "got another one?"
I'm planning to give him the extravagant treat tonight, the one that takes three washes to get it out of the package. I usually give him a quarter of a can, but the soup envelopes are all or nothing.
I've been forgetting that we have the soup packets; I must buy more, because he's lost a pound and a half.
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Headline in the TU: "'Boundless' Offers Substance-Free Fun". I like my fun with a little substance to it.
(Yes, I do know that "substance" is a euphemism for "recreational drug".)
You know you're a procrastinator when you forget to go to bed.
I spent over an hour in Owen's on my way back from the farmer's markets, and didn't finish lunch until after two. So I sat down with the on-line newspaper for a minute, and the next thing I knew, Dave was home and it was time to get up from a nap I hadn't yet taken.
By the time I woke up, Dave had arranged his own supper, so I made a sandwich of pre-cooked sausage patty, mini-horn colby, onion, and just-purchased tomato on a flat bun.
I haven't bought Banquet in a long time because their dinners are *really* cheap. (But they do — or did — have good frozen corn in them.) Today, while I was shopping the frozen sandwiches, tall, narrow boxes reminiscent of Kroger's "Private Selection" brand caught my eye, and I took one labeled "Banquet MEGA sandwiches (2) /smoky/ BBQ seasoned PORK". I zapped one of the two stuffed buns for lunch, and put it into a small skillet to keep warm while I unpacked and changed my clothes. When the kitchen started to smell of hot bread, I turned it over.
It was nicely browned, and very good, particularly with PBL pickles.
Dave ate the other one for his supper, and agreed that it was good. I shall buy another package the next time I buy frozen food.
I almost bought a Boomerang pie, but couldn't decide which flavor. They contain the spice that Dave doesn't like and I can't identify, but they are single-serving and I like the form factor.
I bought three kinds of one-bite tomatoes at the markets, two at the fairgrounds and one at the courthouse. I should have looked at the bottom of the transparent package at the courthouse — the tomatoes on the bottom are green.
The one-bite tomatoes at the fairgrounds are in baskets that I empty into my tomato carriers. No surprises.
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I put a bag of chamomile tea into hot water at a quarter of eleven, and at five till I ladled a few teaspoons of the tea into Al's treat dish, but I still don't know whether he will drink tea.
Being out like a light suggests rather strongly that he didn't *need* chamomile tea.
It remains to be seen whether the rest of the cup will do anything for me.
I think the tea does help — if only for the ceremony of drinking it.
I put tea in his saucer Sunday night and again on Monday night. I don't think I'll bother tonight.
But I think I'll brew a cup for myself. And I might put in some of my lemon-spice-vinegar cough syrup.
I noticed scratchyness at the back of the throat yesterday evening, and this evening it has advanced to the snorting stage. This morning I remembered that I had a tablespoon or so of spiced vinegar syrup left over from pickling, and squeezed a lemon into it. To my surprise, it wasn't a bit sour, so I added some ascorbic acid.
Not much more coughing than usual so far, knock wood.
I was probably already contagious when I drove all over town yesterday. I went to Martin's, Aldi, and Owen's to stock up on various and sundry. I took two coolers along, one with black ice for frozen food and one for other perishables.
I'd been planning to make the three little eggplant I bought at the farmer's market into low-carb lasagna tonight, but as I was maundering about in the garage thinking that I didn't feel creative, I noticed tostadas among the chips I'd bought, so I brought a pound of ground beef in to thaw.
And an hour later checked to make sure I have a packet of taco seasoning.
Just got a voicemail from the vet: Al has to go on an old-cat diet.
I'd already been thinking of taking the soup treats that aren't marked "senior" to the animal shelter. I was thinking, when I bought them yesterday, that treats needn't be wholesome, but a packet of soup treat is a hearty meal. Only two flavors were marked "senior", and one of those was stew. I know there were more senior treats the last time I bought some.
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I always eat too much when we have taco meat on tostadas. I was plotting to let the bloating go down a bit before I sliced up cucumbers, then thought "What if I'm sicker in the morning and can't pickle?"
So I'll just veg out this evening. I'm brewing up a cup of chamomile tea, and plan to put a spoonful of spiced syrup and lemon in it.
My cold has advanced to dripping and occasional sneezes, but (so far) no gut-wrenching coughs.
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<Leghorn> Fauchunately, I stockpile paper handkerchiefs for just such an emergency. </Leghorn>
And I still haven't had to climb up on a stool to get more handkerchiefs off the shelf. But the bathroom wastebasket is two-thirds full.
While reading online funnies last night, I felt that it would be a good idea to lie down for five minutes at intervals, to avoid getting too tired.
I was cold, so I took my knife out of my pocket, took off my bra (planning to change into a softer one when I got up), and got under the covers.
At six in the morning, I got up, took off my clothes, and went to bed.
I think it was midnight or one when I noticed that my hands were no longer icy, but still cool enough to feel good on my face. They were quite warm the next time I woke up.
Dave says I didn't have a fever, but when you are shivering like a cartoon chihuahua and can feel goosebumps ebbing and flowing, and your ice-cold hands feel really good on your steaming eyeballs, you've got a fever and I don't care what the thermometer says.
I got up every hour or two: at nine to feed the cat (I think I forgot to rinse the plate to give him a second treat), at ten to take my suppertime pills (I'd had my breakfast pills with supper), at eleven to take my bedtime pill.
This morning, I took ninety milligrams of pseudoephedrine. My sinuses still hurt, but I have to check to notice. I expected a flow of snot when the sinuses drained, but nose-blowing has decreased.
The Banner seems to have turned into an organ recital, but I don't feel well enough do do anything but write.
I think I'll take a shower and go back to bed.
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With this, that, and the other, it was my regular nap time before I got back into bed.
I didn't sleep — not surprising after twelve hours of sleep, and with three pseudoephidrine in me.
Meanwhile, I Wikipedia'd. It's called pseudoephedrine because it was the second drug found in a plant named ephedra, and is somewhat similar to the first.
I'm feeling much better than I did at this time yesterday, and hope to be well in time for the Tomato Festival. Handkerchief consumption is down, but sneezing and coughing are up.
Dave just heard from his heart doctor. He's going to have to get a new heart valve, presumably owing to rheumatic fever. The doctor assures him that the operation is nothing; they do them by the dozen these days.
But I doubt that they can do it with tranquilizers — I was quite cool with getting poked in the eye, but surely opening a chest (even with modern methods) would take more than that, and anesthesia is hard on old people.
He has to go to Fort Wayne for both the surgery and the preliminary tests, and I have to drive him home both times. I'd better practice my driving.
The advancing year: I had to close the curtains before I could type. That means that the sun is now low enough to shine into my eyes.
My cough is better, but the tomato festival is right out. There is some sort of festival here in the village tomorrow, going to that wouldn't be much strain, and if I run out of energy, it won't be far to go home. But I'm almost certain there won't be any fried green tomatoes.
I considered slicing vegetables this morning and pickling in the evening, but I have decided to assemble an eggplant lasagna instead. That needs only to be stuck into the oven, so it won't commit me to strenuous effort when I might not feel up to it.
Replacing one layer of noodle with a layer of sliced and fried eggplant makes lasagna lower in carbs. One needs really-small eggplants.
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I don't expect anyone will think that that is the best lasagna I ever made. Mainly because I bought only three eggplants and the dish needed at least six. (They are *really* small!)
I'll sprinkle some mexican-style shredded cheese over it just before I put it into the oven. That should cover a multitude of sins.
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I also forgot to put peppers in, but it wasn't bad.
I waited until the last fifteen minutes, and put on both mexican cheese and shredded swiss, then turned the thermostat up so the element would glow for a while.
My coughing muscles are sore, but I took only one nap today, and I've resumed sewing.
Dave is at the stage I was in on Tuesday. With luck, tomorrow will be his worst day.
I went to church today. I hope I was as anti-social as I should have been. I didn't cough much.
I went to the farmers' markets yesterday, but came back the shorter way and have no clue as to what sort of festival was in the village.
I sliced vegetables this evening, and plan to pickle tomorrow. Having a year's supply of good pickles, I decided to experiment with very garlicky pickles, and then decided that as long as I was making them strong, I'd put in both of the remaining jalapeños. I didn't have any small onions; now is a fine time to realize that I could have peeled off a couple of layers and put them aside for chopped onions.
It's about time I updated the pickle entry in the cookbook.
False alarm: I was coughing, Dave was coughing, then I heard a sneeze-like noise from about where I'd last seen Al.
He had just executed a four-paw landing on the quilt on the treadle sewing machine.
Not a false alarm: I'm about to call Hollar's office with respect to a tooth that broke Friday night. I was eating raisins and thought a grape seed had somehow gotten in until I'd cut the third piece of floss trying to get the rest of the seed out of my teeth. So I went to the garbage plate to see whether the seed fragment was a tooth fragment, but I couldn't find it.
Good news: Dr. Hollar polished off the broken edges, and nothing more need be done — until it breaks again. While he had the buffer in there, he shined up a rough filling that had been bugging me.
It was a crown that was broken. Some of the porcelain cracked off the gold.
I had lunch at the Peking, as I'd planned, but I was halfway through my soup before I remembered that on my last trip there, I'd decided that next time I should order my food to go and eat it in a park. With any luck, it will be too cold to eat in a park on my next trip.
Bad news: the appointment, eating out, and buying groceries used up all my spoons for the day; I'm not over this cold yet.
Dave says he feels tired too, but at his stage of the infection, that's normal. And he's taking it harder than I did. I didn't have to get any extra prescriptions.
Speaking of which, I'd better brew some chamomile tea and put some honey, lemon, and ascorbic acid in it.
I've been thinking of buying some jalapeños and pickling them without sugar, but half a gallon of jalapeños is a *lot* of jalapeños, Dave doesn't eat sour pickles, and I don't eat a lot of hot pepper.
Eight days of wash came close to all fitting into one load — just two shirts, one pair of shorts, and a pair of socks left for the second load.
It's lucky that I shopped instead of washing last Monday, so I don't have nine days of clothes.
They say that they can put the stent in through a vein in his leg. Perhaps he won't have to go very far under for that.
On the eighteenth of September, I'll be spending the entire day in Fort Wayne while they do the preliminary tests — in a hospital that isn't within walking distance of anything but other hospitals. Dave thinks I can drive to the shopping district and buy a dress, but navigating utterly unfamiliar, extremely-crowded streets isn't my idea of a good way to rest up for the drive home.
False alarm: studying the map, I noticed that Apple Glen Crossing is on Jefferson Street, about three miles from the hospital, which is also on Jefferson Street. Closer inspection showed that Apple Glen Crossing is a Walmart. And the satellites are also stores that I can visit on North Detroit.
But a really-close look at the route to Apple Glen shows that there is a Goodwill on Jefferson Street, and the next store is a "Fresh Market" grocery store.
And there are other strip malls between Goodwill and the hospital, all right turns on the way back.
So I can't buy a dress, but I can go shopping.
In aerial view, a housing development looks like a very complicated circuit board.
I'm not sure I want to hang clothes out in a fifteen-mile-per-hour wind, but Weather Underground says that it isn't going to get any worse, and that it isn't blowing a rainstorm in.
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The clothes were dry when it was time to lie down for my nap, so I got to bed late.
Several days ago, Agent got into a mode where the arrow keys moved the page instead of the cursor. That was fine and dandy for reading posts, but in the composition box, it was like trying to type while someone batted my hands at frequent random intervals. I poked every key that looked as though it might have gotten me into this, and read every help topic I could think of — no clue.
Today, while I was composing my mind to write a request to alt.usenet.offline-reader.forte-agent, I noticed a light on a button marked "scroll lock". I poked it, the light went out, and I was back to normal.
I've always wondered what "scroll lock" does. Most of my programs ignore or re-purpose it. In my writing program, it toggles overtype.
Dave says the nurse says that the tests will take at least six hours. Which means that I will have to take my nap in the car.
So I tried the trunk on for size. There is plenty of room, but the odds are that the hospital is prepared for tired drivers.
The good news about being old: when a cold comes along, you've already had it. The bad news: when a new cold comes along, you can't fight it off. I'll have had this one two weeks, come Monday night, and I'm still coughing vigorously.
And I have little ambition. I went to both farmers' markets this morning, and stopped at the emergency room and Owen's on the way back, but I slept for an hour and a half after lunch and woke up feeling not very rested.
I did perk up enough to lay two hamburger patties out to thaw, and fry up a fairly decent supper. I bought a big juicy tomato and some onions at the fairgrounds market.
Also an eggplant and two jalapeños, which I plan to incorporate into a mess of lasagna tomorrow or Monday.
Dave brought in some fat cucumbers this morning, so one of the jalapeños will go into a batch of pickles.
Tonight we're having warmed-over black bean soup.
I hope the yeast cornbread I stirred up rather late rises. I put in enough yeast for five times as much flour. If it doesn't, we have tostadas.
I wasn't sure I wouldn't get rained on, so I wore jeans to church today. I looked at the blouse that goes with my spectacular black paisley skirt, didn't want to wear it again, remembered that I have a red-paisley shirt — and found a church bulletin from March the fifth, 2018 in the pocket!
It's a nice shirt; I should wear it more often.
I'm planning to drive to Rentown, partly for cheese and nut butter and partly for practice. I got out of the habit of driving when my rotator cuff was sore, and haven't been farther than to the grocery stores since. Monday I wash clothes, Tuesday Dave is taking the Corrola for a check-up (and I need to pickle the cucumbers he picked today), so I said I'd go on Wednesday. He reminded me that we are seeing our tax man on Wednesday. Thursday will be sunny and neither hot nor humid, and not much wind. Pity I'm not planning a bike trip!
Speaking of sunny, I'll be going west in the morning, and east in the afternoon. Isn't there some sort of law against that?
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The cornbread rose, but wasn't cooked all the way through. I should have followed my first instinct to put it into a cold skillet over very low heat half an hour before suppertime.
We ate more than half of it anyway. Dave had cornbread with butter and maple syrup for dessert.