I haven't canned by myself in a couple of years. The last two years I've canned with others, teaching them how to make Dilly Beans. For my efforts, I took a couple of jars of the finished product and we had a little treat for the coming winter. Tonight, I canned by myself.  Alone with the dogs. The rhubarb had stewed for about twenty four hours, perhaps a little more, releasing all it's liquid to the sugar.  The chunks of pie plant shrunk a little as the water left the plant fibers.

Erik had put the water bath onto the stove before I came home, so I had a jump start on preparing the jars. He had also thoughtfully taken out the case of wide mouth jars I bought last year with the thought of canning something that never materialized. I love the look of the jars as they come out of the plastic wrapped cardboard container. The glass catches the light and things seem brighter. The brass of the lids is shiny and glows under the kitchen lights.   After washing the jars, I put each of them in the water bath and waited as they came to a boil.  Fifteen minutes later, my face felt the warmth of the steam as I removed the lid. Working with my water bath is like hanging out with an old friend.  The canner with it's white speckled blue enamel is always up to what ever task I ask of it.

I must confess, I cheated with the rhubarb jam. The recipe calls for a bit of strawberry jello to bring the whole thing together. The light green rhubarb stalks light up like neon with the addition of the gelatin. I have seven pints of that mixture simmering away in the water bath. This is the only jam recipe for which I cheat with boxed gelatin. If I make any other jams this year- and I hope I do- I will go with fruit and sugar and perhaps some pectin. The jewel tones of the jam shine brightly through the glass. Soon the kitchen will ring out with the sounds of the lids pinging, sure sign of the vacuum process completed.

Once the processing is done, I place the full jars on a clean cotton dish towel. The one I choose tonight is white with blue trim. The jars will sit on the towel for twenty four hours. In the morning I'll be greeted by six pints of ruby colored glass jars, waiting in orderly rows of three for the time when they will be opened to remind us in winter of the coming sharp taste of spring.

I am content with my work. My hands are warm from the washing up of implements.  I am pleasantly tired and feel as if I have accomplished something worthwhile today, something not connected with work.

Blessings abound.

The reclamation of the garden space continues to take shape. Our neighbor let us borrow what is possibly the cutest little rototiller in the world and we were able to make more spaces. I ripped out a ton of oregano, rolled up sod that had grown through the mulching cloth. I now have a bed planted with cucumber seeds.  The soil was really rich and loose, an area I had used two years ago for carrots. The failed asparagus bed, overgrown with witch grass, is now planted with cucumbers, dill and purple bush beans. I'm a little concerned about how things will fare in that space.  There are a lot of chopped up root segments. Assiduous weeding should help the seedlings, but I think that soil will dry out more quickly than I want it to. In retrospect, I should have amended the soil with manure before planting. Ah, well, we'll see what develops, then, won't we?

The house is a cluttery mess.  Testimony to the time spent out of doors by both Erik and myself. Not to mention the fire calls he's had this week. The one that took the most time was directing traffic away from the site of a propane truck that rolled off the North Branch when the shoulder of the road gave way. The truck rolled down the slope about thirty feet before a friendly tree stopped it in it's tracks. The driver only had a head laceration and was able to walk away from the accident site.

So, more garden today. I have more seeds to plant and a lack of spaces in which to plant them. Erik is away at a haz mat course today and for most of the rest of the week.  I'm not sure I can use the little roto tiller. There seemed to be a Manly Ritual connected with starting it and I'm not much interested in the ritual. More beans and maybe some Patty Pan squash in the ground today. And of course, there's always a nice shovel available to turn the dirt and make the space.

Blessings abound

Mom's out of the hospital and back at home. I had two phone calls with her yesterday. I told her how I felt, that I am worried for her safety. We talked again about the assisted living. She is sure that "they" will not let her have a phone, will not let her see her friends. She was adamant that she is staying where she is. Neither one of us was very happy with how that call ended.   Last night I called her again, to make amends for the call.  That's when I found out she'd been discharged. I called her at home, told her I loved her and was glad she was able to go home. I could tell she was leary of me and what I might say. I left the whole placement thing alone. She told me how the house is a mess, how she can't keep up with it. I did not mention any other option, Just repeated that I was glad she was home and that I loved her. Both true.

Conversation with a friend yesterday gave me some insight into my mother's mind. She's been doing some reading about memory. Turns out that as memory goes and the brain reaches back in time, if there was any type of experience with institutionalization, the person identifies with that time and acts as if they are still institutionalized. My mother was a patient on a psych ward at Tripler Army Hospital in the late sixties for a time. I think this is from whence the talk of no friends, no phone originates.   So I get a little insight, but no other clue as to how to work with her. Just love her, I guess.

The sun came out at noon yesterday. We attended a picnic with neighbors up the road from us. There was babies and barbecue. It is a bit odd to be an older couple where young families are gathered. Seems as though we should still be the young family.  At any rate, we had fun, ate, smelled the lilacs, conversed. Played horseshoes. Time did not insert itself into awareness until we got home and found that four hours had passed. Today promises to be another gorgeous day.  I'm going to drive into town and get some fixings for a cookout and we'll enjoy that this afternoon. And maybe a little time can be found for the garden.

Blessings abound

I think I've convinced Erik that it behooves us to buy a lawn mower now rather than wait for one low cost mower to magically appear at the local resale shop. The mosquitoes are loving our luscious lawn. They didn't mind feasting on LoraBoraLabraDora and myself yesterday when I was working outside.

The sky is threatening to open up and pour down at some point today. It's dark and overcast and cool. We do need the rain. It will probably coincide with the neighbor's barbecue at noon today. C'est la vie.

I cleared the weeds around the lupines yesterday as part of my reclamation project for the garden. I have memories of the lupines at my grandmother's house. A large oval of them in the middle of the yard just off the kitchen porch. Whites and purples were the predominant hues. I have my own little mound of lupines in the garden. White and a rusty red.  I've parked the garden bench between the lupines and the bee balm that is vigorously thrusting it's way sky ward. Sitting on the bench, smelling bergamot and cool green grass is very soothing to me. Plants with pleasant memories.   The lilacs are out now, and they smell sweet the air I breathe. My garden, my oasis. I had forgotten, in the last few years of surgery and sickness, how much I love to work in the garden, work with the green things and the green things to be.

Erik is home and cooking breakfast. Also happy making. Blessings abound

A few hours spent in the garden pulling up sod and fertilizing the plants that have already been commended to the soil and I am feeling much calmer, if still a little sad. It occured to me, as I was working my angst out on the weeds, that I have to learn to let my mother go with love. I can't bull my way into making her accept me. I can't throw myself at her problems and expect her to think that I have the solution.  I can't force her to "see" reason when she can't remember ideas.  I have to let her go with love. Yes, sometimes I don't like her much. But I do love her, as a child loves a parent when they're both young. I have to find it in my heart to love her and let her go the way that she is choosing, even as she choose what I think is wrong.

I'm praying that somehow someone will get through to her. God knows I can't and I'm afraid of what would happen if I tried again. She makes me so mad sometimes that I need to stay away for both our sakes.  If my sister asks me to come home to help figure things out, I will. I have told her that and she has stated that for now she does not think that will be necessary.   My mother will slip through cracks because she will not allow me to advocate for her and my sister is taking a hands off approach to our mother for now.

And when things get too much for me, I will go outside and play in the dirt, claw at the weeds and find a soft spot in my heart for a woman who's choices I don't much like right now.

Blessings abound

Family trauma-drama is always the hardest to deal with. In the last three days my brother-in-law has been picked up for his third DUI with a few other offenses. Now he's looking at doing some honest to God real jail time- not just a week and then out for good behavior. My sister's dealing with him and his new found status as a felon. Because he is an alcoholic and cannot seem to seek help for himself, my sister is doing the leg work for him and in doing so is helping him stay stuck in the patterns wrought by his disease. In the meantime, my mother is back in the hospital. She won't listen to me, she won't consider going into assisted living, even though she has the insurance policy to pay for it. My sister also gets to deal with mom more because not only does my mother usually cooperate better with my sister, my sister is also DPOA for mom. But Sandy is tired of dealing with the mother Dementia distorted and is letting her sit in the hospital.  Meanwhile, I am resisting driving to Maine for some exercise in futility. My mother and I do not mix well together. And even though I can talk the language that would get her into a nursing home for a small stint of rehab, she does not want that help.

It's not like she's a child and I can put her in time out until she promises to behave herself. So I stay at home and do nothing but let nature take it's course. It is frustrating to me. I can't help her within her home.  She will not allow anyone to pick up or try to make safer an environment she keeps littered with newspapers and junk with which she surrounds herself. Papers pile in a growing mound on the kitchen table. Her bed is covered with more newspapers and stuffed animals and magazines. She doesn't sleep in her bed. She sleeps on the couch. And I'd bet a month's paycheck that she's screwed up her medications again and that's why she's landed in the hospital again with vomiting and dizziness.

There is nothing that I can do. I do not like this.

Blessings abound

Ahh, lunch!  A break from the demands of the every day. I've had Day Three of Green Drink. It's going well and I'm drinking plenty of water. What I need is some endurance, a vision for the long haul even as I squirm through the short term where there are desserts in the kitchen at work and no one to see me indulge in them.  I did eat outside in the glorious out of doors. The wind was a little too brisk, so I'm taking the time to catch up with my blogging.

I've done pretty well with my food so far today. There are three types of dessert in the kitchen from our celebration yesterday of May birthdays. That and coffee.  I feel  better with one cup of coffee and the rest Green Drink for the morning. My energy feels better. But still, I'm tasting sweet where ever I can except in the Green Drink where the spiciness of ginger and the tang of lemon take care of cravings. Maybe I should bring lemon to work and suck on the lemon when cravings occur. That would make a pretty picture.

I think I'll go back outside. Blessings abound

Once again I make the decision to eat better, to lose weight. This time I'm using Mom with A Chainsaw's Green Drink. For the few little things in it, there is an incredible amount of volume once all that green good fiber is reduced to a puree. Two celery sticks, a bunch of spinach, about a cup raw I think. One apple, the juice and pulp of one lemon. A chunk of ginger. A large cucumber. And enough water to make it sing through the food processor. I tried to do this in the blender, but it wasn't up to the task. It's a giant green milkshake-without the milk.

The asparagus bed is producing. I can tell that LoraBoraLabradora has consumed five of the fresh tender verdant stalks. I found the five stumps. Which means I can't harvest off those plants anymore because the remaining stalks will need to stay to feed the root stock for next year.   I harvested seven stalks, as thick as my thumbs. We'll have them tonight with hamburgers. Pretty straight forward meal.

I went grocery shopping with Erik today. We spent a total of two hundred dollars on food. " I only spend one hundred twenty five a week, " he protested. I bought fresh green stuff from the Co-op, which always costs more but is of a better quality than most of the stuff the local supermarkets carry. He glowered at me as I piled spinach, celery and mesclun mix into the shopping cart. "You'd better eat all that green stuff," he growled . " I will, " I promised. Now I'm not so sure I can.

The Green Drink tastes good. My taste buds are protesting, however, because there is no sugary tast to it.  I have a problem with sugar. I crave it. It's been a while since my diet was clean enough to not crave the stuff. So I make the commitment again. Green drink in addition to coffee in the morning. Who knows, maybe I'll even get to the point where it will be Green drink instead of coffee in the morning. One step at a time, baby, one step at a time.

Friday afternoon we travelled to Plattsburgh to see Boy Wonder receive an academic acheivement award in Technical Theater. I was able to leave work a little after noon. We drove to Charlotte and took the ferry across the lake to Essex, New York. It was a lovely day for that sort of drive and we enjoyed the scenery. North of Essex there were acres of apple trees with billowing branches of white flowers. So fragrant, too. We met up at Boy Wonder's house where his father and step mother were already there. The Boy looked good, all dressed in black. I noticed his father has lost more weight. The older we get the thinner he gets and the fatter I've become. Something akin to our true natures, I thought. But now I reflect that he's been scrupulous with his diet and with walking. He's denied himself things I've refused to give up. It's always interesting for me to meet up with my children's father. There's always this feeling of being on guard. He still has the capability to push my buttons. This time, though, he pushed an entirely different set of buttons. He complimented me and we reminisced a little about when we were first together. He didn't remember teaching me to drive a school bus. He says there's a lot he doesn't remember. The face he presented me friday was the one that remembers the good things about us. It made me wistful for the times when we did work together. I did find myself offering gratitude for the two fine sons we have had. He had as much to do with how they are turning out as I did, just in different ways. We are united in the pride we feel about our children. They are making their way into the world.  And even though I missed the youngsters they were, I am proud and happy with the people they are.

The garden is a little soggy to work today. Tomorrow evening I'll get the hoe out and weed the citizens of the garden. Today, I'll let the cool wet soil alone. The sun is coming out. It will warm the violets and lily of the valley.  I love this time of year at my home. Greens, purple and white violets. Lilacs budded up and waiting for a little more warmth in which to unfurl. I love where I live. I feel an upswing in the air. Hooray!

Blessings abound

Not much time in the garden this week. Too much wet from the sky or too long a day at work.  Stymied from doing much more than walk out and look over the green things. Even with the cold dampness that has descended upon us, I can see things progressing. The lupines are sending out their sturdy palm like leaves, two clumps of them beside each other. The monardia is looking strong and healthy at the top of the garden, fuzzed green triangles with just a touch of the red that will crown them in a couple of months.

And still with the oregano! It steadily marches on. If I were to do anything in this wet weather it would be to rip at those mats of woody stem while the moisture makes it easy to tear the stems from the earth.  Instead, I stay inside where it is warm and cozy.   Outside, the lilacs are budding up and the rhubarb is unfurling elephant ears close to the ground. These roots definitely need to be replanted with plenty of manure under them to see them through another decade of growth. I've had these in for almost as long as I have lived here- twenty year old root stock!

We have asparagus spears thrusting their phallic tips through the violets and lilies of the valley invading into their bed.  I'll try to remember their presence tomorrow and have them fresh in the morning with some of Ceredwyn's free range eggs with their rich orange yolks.  

Spring is busting out all over. Blessings abound

As I work more in the garden, my body shows me the consequences of no commitment to exercise, no movement much save the journey to couch to bed to work to couch. I haven't made myself  work at strengthening my body. At strengthening me.

The soil is brown and warm as I sink my bare feet into the light,loamy feel of it. Streaks of witch grass are tangled where Erik has moved the soil.  Reclaiming the garden is this year's second biggest task. Without Erik to turn the soil over, to help break up the clods of sod, we probably wouldn't be planting much of anything. Without Erik poking me verbally after dinner to get up and out to walk I wouldn't have much of a physical recovery.

I take the hoe in hand.  I need to cultivate alongside the row of peas I planted last week. I don't remember to tighten my abdominals until I have been at it a few minutes. I set my shoulders to the task, suck my belly up and in and keep moving my arms forward, drag the soil, tease out that straggly dandelion hoping to take hold. The potatoes are sleeping in their deep trenches, planted perhaps a little bit too closely together than they ought to be, but planted none the less. I turn my attention to the parts of the garden turned over but not raked, only a little way ready to receive seeds and onion sets. The rake and I smooth the surface, stumbling upon the upside down pieces of sod just waiting to get a grassy toe hold in the dirt. I pull it out, shake loose dirt and fling the  limp but live sod strips over the fence and to the base of a leafy poplar.  Eventually, a bed two feet wide is revealed and the pile of sod outside the fence is a little deeper. There is also a pile of rocks that has been piled as I've moved dirt through my fingers and with the rake.   There are never too few rocks in this Vermont soil. 

I turn my attention to the red onion sets . They are a little deflated, not as healthy looking as their yellow Stuttagarter cousins. I squat and feel my leg muscles set to the task.  I smooth the bed with my hand, seek out the soft place in the soil and plunge my index finger into the looseness of it. I place the onion set into it's new space and tap a little soil around it.  A little flash of the onion's purpley skin peeks at me through the granules of soil.  I keep tapping, move along, squat some more, plant some more. My legs are letting me know that I haven't asked them to do this in quite a while and that at this weight it is work to maintain the pose. Eventuallly one hundred sets are in the ground. Twenty more wait for today's planting session. After about twenty minutes my legs cried, " Time out!" and I found myself stumbling a little as I tried to get to the side of the garden bed to rest and view what I had done.

Sitting at the side of the onion bed, I tilted my head up. A profusion of leaves topping out the trees met my eye against a light blue evening sky with just a streak of gold laced through. The light green of new leaves, half unfurled to the world. Sit and gaze, take in the structure of branches now adorned with tender leaves.  Look to the left and see purple and white violets. Mounds of them, the size of soft balls. Daffodils and narcissus. Chives and every where I look, Mexican oregano. It loves our land and creeps everywhere, the woody stems creating a mat over the once loose soil. One has to work down a couple of inches to rip the mat up. It has spread through the garden, spread through the lawn. It's every where, especially where the soil is still lacking in nutrients. It permeates the irises and tries to strangle out the day lillies. It is determined, this oregano. While tasty, there is too much of it. Eliminating it is part of reclaiming the body of the garden.

The mint is coming up now, straight erect stalks in a circle around the old apple tree.  I pinch off the first inch or so of the fragrant, verdant plants and add them to our salads. We can supplement the store bought lettuce with it. It perks up a plain romaine salad and makes the iceberg my spouse prefers palatable. Tonight we will feast on all the herbs and greens and violets to boot. Food that is alive still as it enters the body, food with life. There'll be dandelions to dig soon from the lawn, a spring tonic that will clean house faster than one can imagine, the strong upward energy of the plant sweeping like a broom through the alimentary canal. Some cleaning for liver energy.

As I've been writing this, and reading blogs, and sipping coffee, I feel myself waking up. Not just the sleepy out of bed two hours ago waking, but the fun creative person who is hiding out somewhere in this fat suit. I notice the soft gray feather sticking to the brown shell of the chicken egg I am about to boil for my breakfast. The gleam of the clean dishes in the dish drainer. I start to feel something lifting in myself and I feel that it is as much spring as it is me coming out of a wave of depression. Once again I have bought into the theory that I am not enough. Based on the evidence of my job and the things I can't do to please people and not on the things that I do accomplish. Once again back to doing and not being. Counting the things I lack, not the things that I have. And by things I mean a man I love who loves me back. A canine companion who gladly goes where I go, who cuddles up with me when the man is off on a fire call for a few hours, as he was last night. I have friends, I have a garden. Life is good when I pull myself away from the narrow focus of me.

I used to derive a lot of joy from writing here. Lately, over the last few months, not so much. I haven't been feeling the joy of my life so much.  I feel the weight of what I lack in myself more than the joy at what I am. Perhaps as I cultivate my garden, get back to the things I used to love to do, and Still Can Do, I will cultivate a garden of joy, too.

Blessings abound