On Food

Justice Bus 2027

More than once in the past, I have written about how Hope and Larry Ware of Under the Median strongly lecture viewers like me to inventory their freezer (well, all of their pantries) on a regular basis so you know what you have on hand before running out and buying more. We last inventoried ours in October, 2025, and I wrote then about how embarrassing it was to see how much FOOD we had tucked away that we just kept adding to rather than using up. 

As 2026 winds down, I had been telling myself it was time to get the downstairs freezer organized and, while I was at it, might at well inventory it too. What finally pushed me from "thinking I should" to actually doing it was the arrival of November and turkey sales beginning for Thanksgiving. As I have written about before, we buy frozen turkeys in November, then I roast them, shred them, freeze them in gallon bags, using them every month to make shredded onion/turkey sandwiches for our clients and volunteers at our monthly Justice Bus Clinic. 

So yesterday, after purchasing the first frozen turkey, I announced in a loud voice, "I am going to organize and inventory the freezer!" Otherwise, there would be no place to put the turkeys until I could get to them later this month. I then marched down to the basement and began emptying out every single item in the freezer, putting them in groups (chicken drumsticks here, quart bags of sliced zucchini there) on towels spread over the top of the washer and dryer.

Emptying the freezer was one thing. Facing up to what we had stuffed in it was another. 

Back in October, we spent an overnight visit with close family, Tom and Melody and their four children, in Washington Court House, Oho, attending a Senior Night football game at the local high school. Nathan is a senior and this was his last game with the marching band. His little brother Calvin is a freshman in the same band. It was a wonderful mix of family and community and laughter and hugs and marching bands (my favorite when I was in band). The next morning, having made a breakfast casserole, Melody was dishing up a hearty serving to everyone around the table. She paused before serving me and Warren, asking if perhaps we'd like a smaller serving. Absolutely. I added we had both noticed that as we are getting older, we ate less. Calvin, across the table from me, looked up with a stricken face. "That's sad," he said, and he meant it.

Calvin's sad face came back to me as I stared at the, ahem, bounty of the basement freezer. Let's just say there was a lot of food. 

A. LOT.

There was a considerable pile of wrapped portions of ground turkey. (When I freeze food, I wrap it in portions and label the package.) That one baffled me: what the heck? Then I remembered that way back when, I had made a hasty purchase of high-end ground turkey at Kroger. How way back when? Four years ago. Over time, those portions got shoved into the back of the freezer and lost behind newer items. 

There were considerable stacks of other items as well. Going back to my statement that as we age, we eat less, I realized we can eat for months (I am not exaggerating) from the freezer. 

Months. 

I reorganized the food and (gasp) drew up an inventory that is now on the front of freezer. How many packages of chicken thighs (2 per pack)? 10, that's how many. Quarts of zucchini? 19. (And as I type this, I suddenly realize that what I categorized as peppers, there were two quarts bags  that are, I believe, actually sliced yellow summer squash. Oops! No, I'm not redoing the inventory.)

On the strength of my basement discovery, I went into the kitchen and emptied out the freezer on the fridge. Not as staggering as the basement freezer (well, it's a lot smaller) but already there were items I had forgotten about, such as the tomatoes I roasted for winter pizzas.

Oh. Those. (Even more embarrassing to forget about them because I blogged about them even! Not to mention I put them on Instagram!) 

And yes, I did a much smaller typed inventory for the kitchen freezer, to try to keep better track. (No, I am not posting either of my inventories; it is embarrassing enough just writing about them!) 

It was a learning lesson in so many ways. I discovered far more chicken broth than I thought, and said to Warren, "I am NOT making any more chicken broth until we use this up!" (I will be making turkey broth as I prep the Bus turkey for 2027, but that's a different matter.) 

As I look at finishing 2026 and our tallying how much we spent on groceries for the whole year, the final quarter of 2026 looks a lot lighter. A. Lot. Yes, we will still be buying perishables. And yes, some of the pantry staples such as oatmeal will continue to pop up on the shopping list. I will be making sure we have the ingredients for December's biscotti; Warren will do the same for the peanut brittle he makes at Christmastime in the footsteps of his father. 

But I think we can go for a long, long time on the bounty of the freezer! For the record, I thawed two of the small bundles of 4-year-old ground turkey and we cooked it as part of supper. It was (a) fine and (b) tasty. 

Grateful? You bet I am. For all of this! 

Winding Down the Garden Some More

Clippings from the garden

Several days ago, I wrote that I was starting to wind down the 2026 garden. There were some more light frosts after that initial one. I did not cover the tomatoes, which mostly came through. The basil, however, pretty much bit the dust. (Hmm, can plants rooted in the dirt bite the dust? Well, sure, if you think of the idiom itself; the basil is done for the year. But given that vegetables and herbs bite the dust so they can grow all growing season long, it makes me think I need a better way to express the end of the season!) And the flowers and miscellaneous "stuff" (no other word fits it) growing at the rear of the garden are also looking done done done for the season.

In response, I have been wading into the garden the last two afternoons to start cutting down and pulling up the weeds, the flower stalks, the everything. Well, not the milkweed; it is tough. I can cut it down substantially, but it will take a shovel to uproot it. Once everything else is out of the way, the remaining milkweed stubs will be obvious. 

Making progress 

I will wade back in this afternoon and, I hope, bring the bulk of the remaining things down down down. We have had a string of bright autumn days with sunshine and warm temperatures, so while I definitely am not making hay while the sun shines, I am clearing the garden while the weather holds. I am salvaging the few small zinnias that are still blooming and a small vase of them is brightening our table. There was even a cosmos or two for the gathering. 

I am not trying to overthink the question of next year's gardens. Friends who garden, one aggressively, one more like my style (casual at best), have been sharing some of their thoughts in recent letters. We all are kicking around ideas. My aunt Gail, who gardens all year long given her location (southern southern California) has recently started yet another round of sweet peas and turnips (and probably other things as well; those are just the two that stick in my mind). But even she is noticing effects of climate change on her gardening, which at this location has been for some 50+ years. Not just in the storms sweeping the California coast (she lives eight miles inland) but in her plants blooming or withering out of season. So while she continues to garden fiercely, she admits that she is not sure how things will turn out. 

As I cut and cleaned yesterday, I came across our Mayo star. You can see it is the above photo as I worked towards it. It was made to be staked in a flower bed or garden. Warren and I bought this early on when we started at Mayo. There was a downtown street fair/arts festival right by the Clinic (and the Clinic dominates downtown Rochester) on one of our very early visits and we bought it with love and hope for the future. 11 years later, we still have love and hope.

And the star.

Winding Down the Garden

From the garden: basil, tomatoes, and peppers

 

Our first frost came early Sunday morning. I had been watching the alerts from Saturday morning forward, so I intentionally spent an hour outside Saturday afternoon picking every last pepper and then pulling this year's pepper plants up to go into the yard waste. 

That hour in the garden revealed in no uncertain terms just how much I have neglected the garden this year. The chickweed was everywhere, and that is not me being careless with my words. It truly was everywhere. As I uprooted the peppers, I pulled lots of it too. 

There is still a lot of chickweed plants thriving. A. Lot. Frankly, the chickweed looks better than the pretty beat up looking flowers in the back of the garden. Somewhere in that mess are the remains of one last head of cabbage that got chewed up by bugs before I picked it. And to add insult to injury, for the first time ever, the marigold border is ragged with many marigolds dead. Warren has always taken care of the marigolds, so their neglect speaks to how overloaded his schedule is too. 

Despite the wreckage, I brought in enough peppers to store four quarts of cut peppers in the freezer, besides the additional cup or so for a dish I made last night for supper. 

I clipped back the tomatoes some more, gauging what I may still pick. A few of the larger ones; a few dozen of the cherries. If the weather holds to be fairly mild, if the sun shines, that is. 

I made the decision several weeks ago to let the basil go to flower for the bees. All the same, I handpicked a large bowl of leaves and made one last batch of pesto for 2026. (No surprise, the chickweed surrounded the basil patch, although for the most part the basil easily topped the chickweed in height.)

Sigh.

I am truly on the fence as to how much gardening to do next year. On the one hand, I love fresh tomatoes and peppers. The flowers (cosmos, zinnias, others) cheer me and make our pollinators and birds happy. On the other hand, I need more energy—physical and emotional—to make it viable. 

Sigh.

In another week or so, I will take both a hoe and a rake to the chickweed and remove as much as possible. Chickweed seeds rapaciously, so you cannot just till it under. But we can and will put compost on the garden and till that under afterwards.

As Saturday wore on, the air chilled even more. Warren, an hour away for the dress rehearsal and concert in Mansfield, called to see if I had seen the moon: a silvery waxing half moon. Yes, I replied, adding that I had just put sheets over the tomatoes given the frost warnings. 

Ready for the frost

As always, once the garden is officially down for the year, not only in production but also in cleanup, I will think about what 2027 might hold. I feel I can do better and that is something I need to seriously contemplate. The oncoming winter is a perfect time to look back at the 2026 garden and wonder what I might try in 2027.

And the moon can look over my shoulder all winter long to keep me on track.

Saturday night's moon

A Margin of Time

Rehearsal; Warren is the musician on the very far left

I am penning this out on a pad balanced on my lap, waiting for the Friday night rehearsal of the Mansfield Symphony to begin. My phone is on silent; if it weren't for my elderly father, I wouldn't even carry it. I have a book with me (the one with "sexual content"); I'm not quite at the halfway point in it, so I anticipate getting past that point tonight (the rehearsal runs until 10 p.m.).

I am grateful beyond grateful to be an hour from home, no "tasks" (define that however you wish), no immediate demands on my time, and a long evening ahead.

The last several weeks in our household have been on overload for both of us. Family matters, rehearsals and concerts (Warren is playing in two separate ones this weekend—one up here in Mansfield, one down there in Westerville), classes, doctor appointments (all mine), Warren's booming percussion business, legal clinic matters, and on and on and on. Not all bad, mind you. But not all good either. Not very many of these intersect for us, so I am often heading one way, figuratively or literally, and Warren another, adding stress to stay connected beyond looking at the calendar.

Matters have to be attended to; tasks have to get done. They are what they are; it is what it is.

Through this all, I have to remember to give myself some grace. In whatever size, shape, or form that may be. As we traveled the hour north to the rehearsal, I marveled at the colors in the leaves. The skies and the trees and the temperatures make it clear that summer is over. Those were moments of mindfulness for me; those were moments of grace. 

The conductor has just taken the podium, so that is enough for now.

Saturday Morning Postscript

Last night I read, I listened, I watched the musicians (mostly Warren and the other percussionists; it was a percussion-intensive concert). I got up and walked around from time to time; the hall was cold and the lobby was slightly less chilled. During one of my walks to the lobby and back, I looked outside and saw the rain pounding down, enough that an announcement that some of the water had breached the cargo doors in the back and musicians would want to make sure their cases were not wet. 

Just little bits of a long evening.

Warren has already left this morning for the rehearsal in Westerville (that concert is late afternoon tomorrow) and will head straight to Mansfield from there. He will get home tonight, if lucky, by 11:00, putting in a 14+ hour day.

And yes, I have a lot of tasks today. 

Aging

My friend Tani and I, as part of our long running correspondence by snail mail, often write about the issues of aging: physical, mental, emotional, energy levels, overall health. 

Tani just turned 70; I just turned 70 1/2.

Yes, there are impacts of aging: joint issues, hearing loss, arthritis, other. I get that. But an aging impact hit me yesterday from a most unexpected source: my son Ben.

Ben and I sometimes exchange book titles and he recently raved about Too Like The Lightning by Ada Palmer. He noted that "the book is written in an 18th century novel style and set in the 25th century. Very enjoyable so far." So on the strength of that, I reserved it through our library system. When it arrived and I had it back home, I sent him the above shot to let him know I had it.

Ben replied: "very cool. hope you enjoy. there is some sexual content towards the end of the book, it is very much related to the narrative, just giving you a head's up." 

"[J]ust giving you a head's up"—WHAT??

I stared at that. Ben felt he needed to warn me about sexual content? Good lord. I read Valley of the Dolls in 6TH GRADE!

I texted back: "Trust me, I've read novels with sexual content before, dear one. Thank you for looking after your elderly mother on that regard." 

Last summer we went west and visited Ben and Sam and their/our families. While out with Sam and Georgia, I had what I will delicately refer to as an "accident," not quite able to make the bathroom in time. After I cleaned up, including borrowing running shorts from Sam to make it back to the hotel, I apologized profusely. Sam grinned and said, "Not a problem, Mom. Besides, now I know what my mom is like as an old lady."

Okay, that one I'll concede. But this?

So what's the truest test of aging? When your almost 41-year-old son makes sure his aging mother is forewarned about "sexual content" in the book he raved about.

I'm still laughing.

Watching the Groceries: Wrapping Up the Third Quarter of 2026!

 

With the start of the fourth and final quarter of 2026 just begun (how did that happen?), I have looked at our grocery spending to see where we stand for the year.

And the short version is? Better than I had hoped, given the prices of food and some of the splurges I made. I keep a running spreadsheet on my computer and will sometimes make editorial comments as I go, some of which make me laugh and some of which make me wince when hit the end of a quarter.

So numbers first. In the third quarter, we spent $628.19 on groceries, which for purposes of tracking means food items and common household items such as detergent and toilet paper. Of that, only $23.33 was spent on household items, just under 4% The monthly average for third quarter? $209.40. 

Okay.

Year to date, we have spent $1854.61, which comes to an average of $206.07. 

I can live with that!

Looking back at my second quarter post, I see that I called attention to the price of milk, which was on an upward trend. Three months later, the price of milk has come down substantially. (Good, because I love milk.) Probably the biggest "splurge" was when we were recently at Mayo Clinic I picked out some items at Trader Joe's (and note that the one in Rochester, MN is the only TJ we shop at, period) to help shove more complex carbohydrates into my diet as my doctor and I work with my diabetes. So yes to the wild rice and the penne pasta made from brown rice. 

We will have a large stock-up at Aldi in the coming days as we have been eating out of our pantry and garden much of the summer. I know what we don't need: we have A LOT of frozen chicken in our freezer from some walloping sales at Kroger. But I will grab my Aldi list and check on our supplies of staples so I can fill in the gaps.

There has been a lot (A. Lot.) going on in this household, much of it good, much of it complex (even the good stuff), and a chunk of it in the "just get through it" category. My health is stable, but there are some issues that my personal physician and I are watching. Will that impact our grocery spending? Maybe. Who knows?

It is what it is.

There is one very recent development that takes the first place blue ribbon (our county fair just ended) and has nothing to do with grocery spending, but is too good not to share. Last Friday, Warren's daughter Elizabeth gave birth to Gideon, the first child for Elizabeth and her husband Justin, and the first grandchild for both immediate sides. 

Yes, Warren is over the moon. (As we all are.) 

Let's see how we finish 2026 on the grocery front! 

Autumn Arrives in the Garden

By my own admission back in August, I have not paid much attention to gardening this summer. My energy and attention have been spent on other fronts.

It shows.

The weather while we were recently out of town at Mayo didn't help. It rained a lot—not the torrential rains that hit other parts of Ohio and the Midwest, but enough. Ripe tomatoes split open, others dropped to the mud. The large pots on our deck (which we have spent too little time on this season) are full of tall grasses, courtesy (I assume) of the birds; those grasses are outperforming any of the flowers we planted. The flower seeds I sowed (casually) in the back of the garden came up and have spent weeks shoving one another out of the way. It is hard for zinnias to look beat to pieces, but mine do.

This week, which didn't start until we got a little bit of sleep after arriving home at about 1:15 a.m. Tuesday morning, has been full of all kinds of "must tend to" things—catching up on mail, catching up on email, dropping in to see my dad, a series of appointments and other obligations. But I hit a lull, a space, on Friday afternoon where I took clippers in hand, along with a large bowl, lugged the yard waste container around to the garden, and set to work.

Better late than never?

I clipped a lot of tomato vines, both those done with whatever they had produced or those sending out late blooms that clearly would not mature. I picked up and tossed the rotted, split open tomatoes into the container, some of them splitting even further as they landed. I was grateful to see that there are still a few (very few, but a few!) of the larger tomatoes (Best Girls, maybe) still green on the vine, so I hope yet for a few big tomatoes this season. ("Big" compared to cherry tomatoes, which are still coming on, small compared to beefsteak varieties.) I picked peppers—a peck of them? If not literally, certainly figuratively. Those will head to the freezer for meals all winter.

And then I sat down and took a long break. Blue sky, thin wispy clouds. Crowded flowers. Bees in and out. 

Butterflies in and out.

In the past, I have referred to this time as "bee therapy." As I travel through Buddhist realms each day with Thich Nhat Hanh, with his focus on mindful breathing, I wonder if I shouldn't call it bee meditation?

Whatever I call it, I need it. 

I'm penning this out Friday night, to type out Saturday morning. We have an almost full moon and the thin clouds are illuminated from behind. The daylight has changed as the sun moves south. My favorite season is on our doorstep. In a few more weeks, the changing times will bring the 2026 garden to a close.

And that is enough for now.