Plink! The first canning jar sealed.
How do I make time (find time?) for all these things that I do and things that surround me?
Storm clouds are gathering - if it rains, I won't have to water the cold hardy seedlings, but I missed the chance to hang laundry. I halted the decay of a half bushel of peach seconds by canning brandied peaches and making peach salsa, while the remaining batch of peaches sits in a brew of sugar - I will have to finish them tomorrow evening after my Tuesday class. I revived the Mercer C(Plink! Second can of peaches sealed properly)ounty Park NW wild grape sourdough starter and made a nice, moist loaf of whole wheat bread in a stoneware pan. I'm writing this (Plink! Third one.), so I am not fixing a hem in a hand me down silk jacket, framing a print for my parents (will see them in a couple hours), weeding, teethbrushingcombingshowering, looking at the newly germinated seeds (Plink! Done.) in the seedling tray, helping Jared with the greenhouse, reading, watching the warbler migration, building a new bird feeder, nor hiking to the Osmunda fern ox bow along Rock Brook.
What can I possibly do to simplify? What can I give up? I'd like to give up some things - items, that is. Stuff that needs attention: fixing, laundering, dusting, straightening, organizing, filing, propping, tying, sweeping. Surely, another magazine, bill, invitation, phone message, plastic bag will blow in the front door and occupy any empty space.
What about everything else? Ideas, places, friends, family. What happens when every slot is filled with an activity and a friend visits from far away. I'll see you after class and before I go food shopping and the library.
I couple weeks ago, I thought, "Prepared food. Prepared food is the answer. That will cut down on dishes and food preparation time."
1. I shop at a health food store. When I pick up a prepacked box of food, my arm shoots high in the air. I'm not high-fiving my husband. I'm not "Raising my hand because I'm Sure." I'm exerting what I believe to be the force needed to lift a package of food. "0.25 ounces. That's $50 per pound. Can you believe this?!" If I was blind I wouldn't even know there was a box of prepared food in my hand. By now Jared is drifting away to another aisle. He's heard this monologue before, and has probably determined that his time is better spent selecting cheeses and hurrying us to the check out line.
I've already spent a numerous hours of my life exclaiming, "A $50 bag of groceries. Fifty dollars. One grocery bag." I even drifted to sleep this weekend mumbling this to myself.
So, that's three problems - there's no food in the boxes, it's costly, and I don't have enough time to express my dismay that packaged food is costly.
2. Everytime we eat out there are as many dishes as there would be had we stayed home. I do not understand this phenomenon. I had pizza with one middle school and two high school science teachers last night. I should asked them if they have heard of any studies on this issue.
3. I dislike the taste of preservatives, especially those in bread. I just bought the Ohio stoneware baking pan, and I have to use it (they're digging up parts of Ohio to make these things so I can buy one on my vacation in Maine for god's sake). I can't let the native grape sourdough starter die - it's one year old.
How many reasons is that? Taste, environmental catastrophe, personal obligation.
4. My husband is a good cook, and he likes it. I'm better suited to canning projects and baking, which constantly occupy every moment of the practitioner. I drift onto other projects while cooking meals, often burning pans and food. So, I like eating the food Jared makes, and it could be assumed that I would burn even prepared foods.
It seems that I should give up sleeping instead of homemade food. I just heard a raven... gotta go!