A Year Ago Today

A year ago today, Warren came to my room and said, "So, are you ready?"

A year ago today, Warren picked up the heavy soft bag, I picked up the very light soft bag, and we walked out the door.

A year ago today, we slowly walked down the hall and got on the elevator. 

A year ago today, I slid into the front seat of the car, Warren started the engine, and we looked at each other. "Ready?"

A year ago today, Warren drove slowly home, purposely taking the slower route up Franklin Street. "I thought you'd want to see the trees," Warren said. They were aflame—the golds, the reds—all brilliant. I was in tears, saying over and over as the leaves drifted down, "Oh, I didn't miss fall after all!" 

A year ago today, I slowly walked back into our home for the first time in nine weeks. I was weak and frail and still had months of recovery ahead of me, but I was home.

I am penning out these words Friday night to type out on Saturday. I will set this post to publish on Sunday the 27th, which is the one-year anniversary of my homecoming from the medical messes of 2023. By the time this post publishes, we will be well on our way to Rochester and Mayo Clinic. The sun will be rising as we head west on US 30 across Indiana. That route is lined with deciduous trees, and they should be in their October glory, just like they were a year ago today when Warren drove up Franklin to our home. 

A year ago today, I came home. Today, I am here to celebrate hitting that one-year mark, and for that I am grateful.

Famous Last Words

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Back in January, 2016, I wrote about finally (finally!) letting go of and donating all of my canning equipment, from the ancient (and heavy) pressure canner to the tongs, the canning funnels, the rack for the bottom of the canner, and a number of pint jars.

"I'll never can again," I announced firmly. 

And I haven't. Summers came and went without the least itch to can or regret that I was no longer canning. I meant what I said about canning: I was done.

Well, done right up until these past few days. With frost predicted last week, I started thinking about what was still outside on the plants. The weather prediction came true that night, with threats of a heavier frost following the next night. The tomato and pepper plants went limp just from the light frost; the basil had turned black. I hastily picked any remaining vegetables; the heavier frost that night completed finishing off the garden.

There were a lot of green tomatoes. 

A. Lot.

I have tried a few times in the past to ripen green tomatoes inside, always with poor results. So that didn't look like a route I wanted to take again. Fried green tomatoes? Never tried them, never made them, and these tomatoes were probably not the best candidates in size, shape, and consistency.

What else can you make from green tomatoes? Green tomato relish, it turns out. 

With a hot bath canning process.

Hmmn. I had the tomatoes. I had the right spices. I had sugar and vinegar. I had a large, deep pot that would work for the hot bath. I had some half pint and pint jars (even when you give them away, they still come into your house). Canning seals: got those at a quick stop on the way to Warren's rehearsal in Mansfield. 

What did I lack? A canning rack (glass jars cannot rest on the bottom of the hot bath pot without running the risk of shattering). Canning tongs, which have plasticized tong ends to grip the jars as you lift them in and out of the hot bath. A wide mouth funnel to fill the jars. These are essential items when canning. Period. 

There was no way I was going to go out and BUY canning equipment. So I did what any conscientious frugal person would do. I Googled workarounds for the rack, the tongs, and the funnel. After reading a few sources on each, and thinking about what I already had to work with, I was ready to try assembling the tools I needed.

For the canning rack? Some people create a rack from aluminum foil. Folded dishtowels also can be used, as my Aunt Gail told me when I called her the next day and we laughed about canning. Again, the point is to keep the jars from resting on the bottom of the pot. You know what also works well for a canning rack? Cookie cutters!

There are always cookie cutters in this house.

As for the tongs, we own a pair of long tongs. But, again, you need something on the end point that will grip hot glass. Such as...rubber bands! 

Repurposed tongs! 

The wide mouth funnel took me a minute to figure out and come up with a good solution. Some sites suggested methods of creating one that either did not make sense or looked too complicated. I looked at our kitchen funnels and sighed at the thought of having to cut the narrow mouth off the largest one. Then I looked over at our recycling tub and...a discarded gallon milk jug! 

Perfect wide mouth funnel! 

Soon I had a a pot of green tomato relish bubbling away (20 minutes) as I prepared my "new" canning tools. And soon after that (10 minutes), I was lifting the first jars of canned relish out of the pot.

Green tomato relish bubbling away

After Warren and I talked about my making relish, and how I put together a way to can, he got a look on his face. A faraway, remembering something look.

"I always liked that pepper/onion relish we used to make." 

I still had the recipe in my recipe folder (a paper folder, folks, not one on my computer). I pulled it out, read it through, and, yep, a hot bath recipe.

Guess what's up next?

Ready for their close-up 

"I'll never can again."

Ha. 

And Here We Are After All

Ramona 2018

Last week we hosted the Dalí Quartet, the featured guest artists for the Symphony's season debut concert, with two of them staying in our home and the other two next door. Our living room became their rehearsal space for the week. My study was serving as a bedroom during that time, so I spent my days (and some evenings) at the kitchen table, reading, writing, baking, and much of the time being serenaded by Chamber Music America's 2024 Ensemble of the Year. (Yes, they are phenomenal.) 

With the quartet rehearsing in our living room daily and my study unavailable, I had to plan what I needed to lay out (books, files, pads to write on) each morning before they started. We had moved the coffee table into the next room, usually our downstairs study but currently an instrument holding pit for Hyer Percussion, but sometimes I came up short on my planning. The musicians would not have minded my walking into the living room to grab something, but I did not want to do that. I could coast and shift gears when needed.

One of the things I found myself doing in odd moments was reading back over old, old blog posts. What did I write about ten years ago? How about 15 years ago, when I started blogging? (15 years ago? Dang.)

In rereading, I came across a post from September, 2018, written after a trip out to Portland and time with Ramona, who was then six. In it, I reference the (still) in-progress MS novel I was writing, which features a 12-year-old Ramona, and then describe to Warren how on that day with Ramona I "met" my granddaughter—the one who was 12 and the one I would never live to see.

That sentiment about never living to see that future Ramona was not me being overly dramatic. In looking at old blog posts, I am more than a bit taken aback at how ever-present the myeloma was, the toll it was taking on me, and the growing sense of time slipping through my fingers. So when I wrote "I will never know Ramona at 12," that was a realistic projection.

After rereading that post this weekend, I shared my thoughts with Warren and read him the lines towards the end about meeting my future Ramona. My voice broke again, just as it did in 2018. When I finished, we both sat quietly for a moment.

Ramona 2024

Ramona turned 12 on September 1. My granddaughter: 12. Like my speculations in 2018, she is amazing and wonderful. And I am here to see that.

What a gift. An absolutely unexpected, marvelous gift.

Regaining Rhythm

My work station earlier today

Rhythm.

What an appropriate word, let alone concept, for me to use. After all, I am married to a percussionist. Trust me, percussionists are all about rhythm. It makes me smile just writing that word.

Rhythm.

My rhythm? I am still regaining it.

As I have shared, we had a long siege getting Dad's house ready for market. That finally got done in late September. So we are not out there every day clearing, cleaning, hauling, groaning, or any combination thereof. But because I am the lawyer in the family, and the child living only seven blocks away, all of the real estate matters related to the sale of the house are in my lap. They are not onerous. Dad has a superb realtor and the title company that will hold the closing is excellent. All the same, it falls to me to review documents, answer Dad's questions, provide information for closing, and so on. I will be present when Dad does his side of the closing, about a week before the Buyer closes (because I am out of town that week). None of this is overwhelming (unlike the 25 cubic yards of trash that we had removed by the dumpster company), but it is nonetheless something that is still on my calendar and in my head.

So, back to rhythms. 

As I write this (By hand! I'm actually using a pen and paper!), I think of ways I am regaining the rhythm that works for me for my life.

Apparently, baking is a part of my rhythm. Two weekends ago, I made an apple pie (Jaime had a recital at Miami University (Ohio), where teaches) and sourdough peanut butter chocolate chip cookies, last weekend I baked an apple-bread pudding to take next door to a shared meal, the pumpkin cardamon muffins were yesterday, and, right now, a loaf of rustic no-knead bread is baking. And, with the Symphony season opening this weekend, there will be more cookies and another pie. 

It feels good to be baking again. 

Walking is definitely part of my rhythm. And that one took a huge hit even before the job of emptying out the house, starting with Dad's hospitalization and lengthy rehab from early June until late July. Other than walking to and from Dad's place, there was not a lot of time or energy for more. I am not yet back to where I can walk as far or as often as I want, but I am getting there. (And how come no one ever told me about compression socks?! Talk about a game changer for someone with neuropathy!)

Even my reading, which disappeared only during the worst times of last year's medical mayhem, has picked up as I work on regaining my rhythm.

All the same, I'm not there yet, whatever "there" may mean. There are some skipped beats, some unexpected jumps and cuts, and sometimes I wonder whether I am ever going to feel I am in rhythm with myself again.

Warren and close friends gently remind me that this summer's events and the weight they placed on me need to be seen in the broader context. A year ago today I was still in the hospital and still over a week (a week!) away from being released to rehab to build enough strength to go home. Once I got home in late October, I was confined to the first floor for several more weeks while I worked on gaining enough strength to climb the stairs to our bedroom, the bathroom with the shower, and my study. Add the shattered wrist in the winter, a major (planned) surgery on its heels, some more medical issues in the spring and, well, yeah. 

When I stand back and look at what not just the last four months have held, but the last 14, small wonder I am out of rhythm.

One of the books I have is been rereading is Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times by Katherine May. It is a powerful, moving account of May's own difficult time and an examination of regrouping when at a low point (medical, emotional, physical, familial), not feeling put upon to "make the best of it!" or "soldier on!" but instead recognizing there is a space in that low place to restore oneself in an authentic and meaningful way.

Reading Wintering is a reminder to myself that finding my rhythm is a journey to be taken at a pace that fits me.  

One step at a time.

The 2024 Gardens: Part 8

 After weeks of very dry weather, we got some of the spinoff from Hurricane Helene late last week. Not the horrific damage done much further south, especially in the mountains of North Carolina, and not even the hard winds and rains a few hours south in Portsmouth (OH) and the Greenup (KY) area, but enough rain and wind to both refresh and smack the gardens around.

On the heels of that event, and aware that October is now here, I knew that it was time to wade into the kitchen garden and do some harvesting. 

I again grew Trail of Tears black beans, a heritage bean. Warren built two structures for the beans to climb; those were great. We did not think about their placement, tucked in the back on the garden (one against the garage wall), with the agastache on one side and the cosmos blocking much of the way on the other. The agastache and the beans tangled together, not good for either of them. I planted fewer beans this year to boot. The beans grew, but the results were significantly less: about 12 ounces versus almost 3 pounds last year. Next year, I think, next year: different placement, different other things. 

The beans

The peppers got banged around by the weather, with some of the branches breaking off. So I picked a lot of peppers (albeit not a peck) and then spent this morning dicing most of them to freeze and cook with over the winter. We will enjoy the large yellow bells now in salads and as snacks.

The peppers (with some stray tomatoes hanging around)

The basil loved the rain and I may get a small third cutting of it, depending on how October unfolds. That made me smile when I saw it springing back yesterday.

The hardest loss was the cherry tomatoes. Oh, all of the tomato plants did fine for the most part with very little breakage. But the all-but-ripe cherries, which I have been eating happily for weeks, got waterlogged and split open. Not quite but almost a total loss. I know, I know, it's nature. There's always next year. But unlike my dear friend (and co-gardener) Amanda, who told me a few weeks ago that she is "tomatoed out," and unlike another dear friend Tani, who wrote me that she had just torn out her tomato plants for the year (she lives in Minneapolis and their season is different), I hang on until the last tomato. The. Very. Last. Tomato. We're not there yet, but even without the loss, I know that time is growing short on my tomato season. With luck, the green cherries will ripen, or ripen enough that I can finish them inside, and there are still some larger ones on the vine. But, dang, I all but wept seeing those broken cherry tomatoes. 

For lots of reasons, from the late start in this year's gardens (not making that mistake next year) to family events (Dad's move and the emptying of the house) to other external needs that intruded into my time and concentration,  I can safely say without fear of contradiction how I "thought" the gardens would go this year, including how much effort I would put into them, was nowhere close to reality. Nope. Still, we have eaten out of it and shared out of it and that is all well and good. And, optimist that I am, I have made notes and have some thoughts and ideas looking ahead to 2025. 

Why not? 

At the End of Three: Looking at Groceries 2024

Photo by micheile henderson on Unsplash

As we wrap up the 3rd quarter of 2024, I have again tallied up our grocery spending to see where we are for the quarter, where we are for the year, and what I think the last quarter of 2024 will hold.

Spoiler alert: the last topic takes up the most space. Not to mention the most thought on my part. 

In the 3rd quarter, we spent on groceries (food and and household staples) the sum of $731.78, an average of $243.93 a month. Of that amount, $699.76 was spent on food, 96% of the overall amount.

There were some stock up moments: chicken leg quarters at 59¢ a pound, sold in 10-pound bags: we bought two for a total of $11.90. There were a few splurges: frozen mini spanakopita from Aldi ($4.99), a gallon of apple cider ($5.99) now that fall is settling in. And there were some victories. I brought home unused items from the clearing out of my dad's house: open and partially full bottles of laundry detergent, dish soap (the same), an unopened box of Raisin Bran, and 2 unopened sleeves of saltines. Thanks to CVS Bonus dollars (both dad and I fill our prescriptions there), I picked up three laundry detergents (100 fluid ounces each) and one massive bleach (121 fluid ounces, just shy of a gallon) for a combined total of $3.77. 

What else do I do? I shop with a list. I scan the weekly flyers. Aldi is our primary store; Kroger our secondary. I use Kroger coupons if they are for something on my list. I have no problem buying marked-down food (the bratwurst at Aldi was marked down $1.00 per pound package because the sell-by date was the next day). Still, the dollar amounts were higher for the quarter than I had hoped.  

So where do we stand for the year? YTD, we have spent $1907.41 on groceries. That comes out to a monthly average of $211.93. That is $15.99 higher than where we were at the end of June, when we were at $195.94 per month. To get our annual average monthly spending to come in at $200.00 per month, we would have to finish 4th quarter at $493.00 total, which would come to $164.00 a month. 

But, and here is the prelude to my lengthy observations, I think we can do it. After you pick yourself up off the floor from laughing, keep reading. 

I have been following Hope and Larry Ware, the Under the Median couple, on YouTube for a few years. One of their hard and fast rules is that to keep food costs under control is to REGULARLY inventory your pantry and cabinets, refrigerator, and freezer (not just the one with your fridge; inventory the deep freeze if you own one, which we do). Know what you have in those places, know (in the case of the refrigerator) what is perishable so it doesn't go to waste, and use that knowledge to keep your grocery purchases in line.

Okay, okay. I tell myself I know what is in our pantry/cabinets. I know what is in the fridge (food spoilage is about zip in this household). When I prepare a shopping list for a Big Shopping, I check those places against the list. 

But the downstairs freezer? I was confident I knew what that freezer held. Sure, Warren and I hadn't reorganized it for quite some time, but I knew.

Ha.

As it turns out, I was clueless (CLUELESS) about what both our deep freezer AND our small top-of-the-fridge one held. And two comparisons—one from recent real life, the other from a beloved book—came to mind.

As I have recently written, we have been emptying out my father's house and outbuildings to get his property ready to go on the real estate market. (Update: we finished, it went on the market last Thursday at about 5:00 p.m., there were numerous showings, and it went into contract Monday afternoon.) As part of the ordeal of getting it market ready, we collected all the hazardous waste products for proper disposal. These ranged from latex paints to different cleaners to compounds used in the garage to insecticides to...you get the idea. So how many total pounds of hazardous wastes did we collect and turn in on the last two hazardous waste drop days of 2024? 246 pounds. Yes, you read that right. 246 pounds. Every single time one of us thought we had collected it all (from the garages, from the basement, from the house, from the wood shop), another bottle or can or tube or tub would appear.

Comparison? We had the very same experience as we emptied out the freezer, both the one in the basement (a joint project) and the one on the fridge (I tackled that one). Every time I thought we had uncovered all of the this or that, another that or this would turn up underneath the first one. 

As for the literary reference, all that kept coming to mind was the scene from An Old-Fashioned Girl (which I now think of as Louisa May Alcott's greatest juvenile work) when Polly does a thrifty makeover of Fan's wardrobe: Fanny brought out her "rags" and was astonished to see how many she had, for chair, sofa, bed, and bureau were covered, and still Maude, who was burrowing in the closets, kept crying, "Here's another!" 

Yes, that was definitely my freezer experience. I was both Fanny (astonished) and Maude ("Here's another!") as we worked and emptied. 

I kept some notes as we went along. In the upstairs above-the-fridge freezer, the one I was "sure" I knew what it contained, I noted the following: 2 bags of Aldi potstickers (I thought we had 1), the 3-pound bag of Kroger tortellini, still half full, 3 small containers of pasta sauces (we freeze them so they don't spoil in the fridge) that I had forgotten about, 3 brats and 4 large buns, several desserts, including 2—2! Count 'em! 2!—containers holding brownies I froze after July 4th, 6 hot dogs frozen in twos (buns in the downstairs freezer, don't ask me why I separated them). I kinda sorta knew we had some (most?) of that stuff, but I wasn't spot on. 

Downstairs? LOTS of frozen stock (ham, turkey, chicken) as well as ham bones and one lamb leg bone to make more stock with, so much stock that I decided not to make any more until we use these up, including those bones. Bean soups: several quart containers. 2 smoked hams (those I knew we had). 10 packs of chicken leg quarters (2 per pack; these are the ones I mentioned above), chicken thighs bought earlier at 89¢ a pound, also frozen in sets of two, ham slices, oh, still some lamb, oh, and diced pork from...way back. (It cooked up great.) Quart bags of frozen, sliced zucchini from both 2023 AND 2024, the same with corn cut off the cob (both years), hot dog and hamburger buns (all frozen in packs of 2), and more pesto from 2023 than I thought we still had. There were some other items as well, but just pulling out another and then another bag of corn made me realize just how much food we really did have. And how much food we just let accumulate, in part because we were not paying attention to what we already had. 

As long as I am in a confessional mode, let me add that I also thought I had a pretty good idea of the food in the cupboards, as well as our pantry, until I looked at the shelves on which I keep cooking spices and realize that there are containers last opened in...2020? Earlier? (I plan to open those in the next coming days, smell/taste to see if there is any life left in them, and act accordingly.) Ask me about tossing the ancient can of pickling spices, also way beyond redemption, and then deciding to make candied dills, which I last made in maybe 2017 (or earlier) and shelling out $4.49 for a fresh can. (Trust me, that beat trying to assemble the spices that make up pickling spices; that outlay would have been hefty. And yes, I will use them up!) 

So now back to grocery spending for the 4th quarter and how to keep it in check. Hmmn. For starters, we now have an amount ($164.00 a month) that we know we have to stick very close to if we want to try to hit that $200/month average. (I track our grocery spending on a spreadsheet, so that part—tracking—will be easy.) Looking at the bigger issue, Warren and I have shared some thoughts. Prepare and eat more of what we already have in stock, frozen or on the shelf, instead of buying this or that item because neither of us stopped to assess what we already have. Continue to experiment with ways to make dishes more filling, as well as come up with different ways and workarounds to make the same or similar dishes we often eat using less expensive but still flavorful ingredients. (Side note: I do much of the meal prep and cooking, by choice. So I will be taking the lead here.) 

Not that there aren't challenges. The Symphony season launches October 12 and we have two guest artists staying with us. We may have two more artists staying with us in November for that concert. None of them (I know 3 of the 4 possible) are fussy or demanding, but we need to make sure our guests are fed! And there is biscotti AND peanut brittle in December. Even so, I think we can hit our mark.

Stay tuned!