Canning Season!

It’s difficult to believe that we are reaping such a harvest from our garden already, but there it is.  Several pounds of green beans, more onions than I can imagine what to do with, and peppers so numerous they nearly weigh the poor plants down.  So I spent a good portion of my weekend washing, blanching, boiling, and sending my son out with numerous bowls of compost to dump.

The first canning project was the absolute most important one:  dilly beans.  If you haven’t had them, you are seriously missing out on one of the best taste experiences ever.  Basically, they’re pickled green beans.  If you decide to make them (versus buying them for upwards of $7 a jar at the grocery store), do yourself a favor and don’t use the cheater mixes from the grocery store.  They’re too sweet and are actually harder to make.

Two hours and lots of sweat later, I had four pints of dilly beans in a stately row on a bath towel on the counter.  I admired them, wishing I could make another batch, and thinking about how much my feet hurt from standing in the kitchen.  Then I decided it was time to make relish…

A good start to canning this year.

A good start to canning this year.

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Father’s Day

Since it’s Father’s Day, it seems only appropriate to dedicate this week’s post to (surprise!) my dad.  I’m one of those lucky people that has a pretty good relationship with her parents, but what my dad and I have always had together is nothing short of an adventure.

We’ve ridden down muddy hillsides during foxhunts, kayaked through swamps, gone mushroom hunting, and even built a barn or two.  He’s seen me go through high times and low, and often has added a bit of humor to both.

So, thanks Dad.  And Happy Father’s Day.

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Call Me SpongeBob

While I can’t say I was ever a huge fan of the cartoon, I want to be like SpongeBob.  No, I don’t want to live in a pineapple or have a snail for a pet, but I love his attitude about work.

Every day that I went to my former job at a financial office I felt like Squidward.  I had this great creative urge that I was just dying to nurture, but it was often stomped flat by the gray office walls and exhaustive grindstone of the everyday.

Now, I’m doing what I love, and I really do feel like SpongeBob.  “I’m ready!  I’m ready!  To gooooo to work!”

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(Photo Credit)

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A Different Kind of Spa

Is there anything better than a day at the spa?  Well, if you get to do it all right from the comfort of your very own couch, and your five-year-old daughter is the one pampering you, then I think that’s about as good as it gets!

My youngest daughter, taking full advantage of the larger amount of Mommy-time available now that I work from home, wanted to get out the foot spa, nail polish, and all the accessories.  I thought she wanted me to do her nails, silly me!  She wanted to take care of me!

For the low low price of a hug and a kiss, I received a pedicure complete with being pumiced up to my knees and massaged with more lotion than my feet have seen in a really long time.  My toenails now have a, uh, beautiful coat of light purple on them, and my fingers are well coated in pink glitter.

She did finally relent and let me return the favor.

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Are those not cutest feet ever?

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And of course she couldn’t decide which color to use. Nothing better than time with the kids!

 

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Meet the Crazy Creative Lady!

It doesn’t seem to matter how much creative ‘stuff’ I do, I still crave more.  I enjoy scrapbooking (even though I can’t seem to keep up with it), writing (of course), cross-stitching, and making jewelry.  So I invite you check out my Etsy store, Athena’s Dream.  You can also use coupon code NEWPAGE1 through June 30th for $1 off any purchase.  While you’re at it, visit the Facebook page for Athena’s Dream, and throw a ‘like’ my way.  I’d love you for it!

In related news, I’m thinking about starting a craft blog (as if I don’t have enough on my plate).  It would be a great opportunity to share my projects with everyone.  Feel free to let me know what you think!

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He Doesn’t Bite

My adorable puggle Porkchop is a pretty awesome little dog.  He was abandoned at a foreclosed home by his previous family, and has been ever so grateful that I rescued him.  He plays with the kids and snuggles with us on the couch.  He lays so close to the fireplace in the wintertime that his harness gets hot.  He once curled up on my client’s feet and fell asleep, snoring and all.  And he is also very protective of his territory.

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Like most dogs, he barks when someone knocks on the door.  He also barks anytime a car drives down the street we live on, when the neighbor’s cat stalks the field on the other side of the street, and when a doorbell rings on TV.  (This always cracks me up a little since we don’t have a doorbell.)  But he absolutely loses his mind when the mailman comes.  Our mailbox is out by the street, so he usually gets to go ballistic through the window at the mail truck, but the other day we had a package that wouldn’t fit in the mailbox.  And so the mailman came to the door.

Porkchop was insane with benign fury when he saw the postal worker at the storm door.  I tried to open the door to get the package with one hand  and keep him inside with the other hand, but to no avail.  He escaped onto the porch and attacked the mailman…by ferociously sniffing his pantleg.  The mailman, who surely dealt with angry mutts on a daily basis, just laughed, but my immediate reaction was to say, “He doesn’t bite.”

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And he didn’t.  But I found myself thinking about it later.  What an idiot I would make of myself if as those words left my lips just as Porkchop wrapped his around someone’s ankle?  I can’t even imagine what the series of events might be.  Would it be just like on the Wizard of Oz?  “I’ll get you my pretty, and your little dog, too!”  I can promise you I would gladly run off to Oz to save one of my pets, but I realized that at the very least I need to rephrase my repertoire of oh-crap-the-dog-got-out phrases:

“He hasn’t bitten anybody, yet.”

“He only bites people that are a threat.”

“He won’t bite…unless I tell him to.”

I jest, but seriously I’ve put so much trust in my four-legged friend who has no knowledge of how the American legal system works or what could happen to him if he decided to become the guard dog he thinks he is in his head.  So it’s just a little food for thought for my fellow dog lovers out there.

 

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The Kindness of Strangers

Mother’s Day, 2009.  I’m sitting in an out-of-town IHOP.  My only breakfast companions are my three-year-old and my very pregnant belly.  An elderly couple leaving the restaurant stops at my table and wishes me a Happy Mother’s Day, and they were just the first ones.  At least five random strangers took a couple seconds out of their day to give me a smile and some kind words.

None of them had any idea of the very rough times I was going through, but even without knowing they helped me through it.  So thank you and Happy Mother’s Day to all the strangers out there.

 

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Photo Credit, David Niblack, Imagebase.net.

 

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The Joys of Customer Service

I spent the last ten years working in customer service.  It’s taught me a lot, like how to be nice to people when I don’t really feel like it.  It has also taught me that sometimes complete strangers will say things that I wouldn’t say to my best friend.  Here is a conversation I had recently with a customer.  We’ll call him Bill, but if names are going to be changed to protect the innocent, can’t I change mine?  Anyway…

Bill:  (Seeing that I have a McDonald’s bag on my desk)  You aren’t really going to eat that crap are you?

Me:  Like you can talk.  I saw you walking out of there when I was leaving the drive-thru.

Bill:  Oh, I just went there to poop.  I don’t eat that stuff anymore, since I’m going to start entering body building contests.  I’ve dropped 70 pounds already.

Me:  Oh, really?  That’s great.

Bill:  What, you didn’t notice?  You couldn’t tell that I wasn’t waddling my fat ass around in here like a pregnant woman anymore?  Why are you making that face?  Did you fart?

Me:  Um, no.

Bill:  Yeah, I bet you farted.  It’s one of those church pew creepers, isn’t it?  It’s okay.  If you have to poop just go poop.  You don’t have to try to hold it in.

Me:  (losing a little bit of my customer service façade) The next time I see you coming in, I think I’ll be on break.  Have a nice day!

 

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A “Review” of An Echo in the Bone

So I had this genius idea to write a book review.  I had just finished Diana Gabaldon’s An Echo in the Bone, and of course I loved it.  A funny thing happened when I started to write the review:  I couldn’t do it.

I guess I felt like a review involved a certain degree of criticism; more than just jumping on Goodreads and deciding how many stars to give it.  And I can’t possibly criticize someone who has written all these gargantuan, historically-accurate, entertaining, addictive tomes.  I just can’t.  I consider myself a decent writer, but I will never have the patience to do what she does.

So, five stars for you, Diana.  That is all.

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Things that make my Uterus Giggle

I have three children.  Two are mine from my previous marriage, and one is my boyfriend’s son.  Three should be enough, right?  But every now and then I see some adorable baby, or hear about someone being pregnant, and my uterus jumps up and down, clapping its ovaries and saying, “Oh, yes!  Let’s do that again!”

Really, Uterus?  Don’t you remember the last time?  Oh, don’t get me wrong, my first pregnancy was amazing.   Sure I had a little bit of morning sickness, and I was a little tired here and there, but everything was perfect.  I was so happy.  Even my labor and delivery went ridiculously smooth, and my sweet little bundle of joy was the best baby ever.  Ever.

Round 2 didn’t go quite so well.  I had horrible aches and pains the whole time (which I was assured was not a big deal).  I went through some awful stuff in my marriage that I won’t bore you with here, and my baby was born with a cancerous tumor that resulted in an emergency C-section.  Oh, and did I mention the nightmares?

Don’t get me wrong:  I wouldn’t trade any of my children for anything in the world.  Not even for a unicorn, and I really want a unicorn.  But it was tough, and I don’t know how well things would really go this time around.  We haven’t made any concrete decisions, and if you ask me whether or not I want a baby my answer will depend on how my current children are behaving that day.  But then I see something like this…

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…and my uterus starts giggling again.

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Photo courtesy of Artistic Photography by Sydney

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