Getting things done!
Sep. 1st, 2025 08:01 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
which_chickLast weekend, I did a bunch of things. This (holiday) weekend I also did a bunch of things. Let me tell you about them.
Last weekend I cut the grass at the playground (Friday night). I cut my own grass at my house. I split and stacked the rounds leftover from the last firewood effort. I had Waylie fell the big dead oak on the road in and saw it up, then I split most of that and loaded it on my truck and took it to my house and stacked it. I cleaned the chicken coop floor and moved hay for the boys for the following week. I did weekend yoga with Lala. I weeded all the stilt grass around the tomatoes and flowers, did the laundry, repotted several haworthia, got through activities of daily living, and spread new stone on the driveway.
Oh, and I also hiked up the hill with brother the elder and his son where we installed a SCREEN over the water intake in an effort to prevent future newt incidents. In, y'know, slow-moving projects.
This weekend I blew Saturday over at Mom's on a "chili sauce" effort with brother-the-younger. That went as expected, in that I expected Joe and Gwen (niece) to be ineffective and to bail halfway through leaving me to finish up with mom by myself even though it wasn't my project and I wasn't the one we were doing it for.
Chili sauce is not like it sounds. It's an end-of-summer relish containing vinegar and brown sugar and tomatoes and celery and bell peppers and onions and some spices like cinnamon and cloves. It has not got any actual chili in it. My paternal grandma used to make it and it's a family thing. We eat it alongside mac n cheese, with scrambled eggs, on top of baked potatoes, etc. It's a relish.
Anyway, Joe allegedly wanted to make "chili sauce" and he set this up some time ago with Mom. There was (unusual for Joe) scheduling. Mom called me earlier this summer to ask if I wanted to come do a family day to learn how to make chili sauce with her and Joe. I was I know how to make chili sauce because I do know how to make chili sauce. First off, there's an effing recipe with quantities. Second, I've done it before. And third, I first made it on the request of my mother and with her guidance, such as it was. The memory of that experience is a blade in my soul and yeah, I get that it's totally on me how I choose to remember the effort. I could be all Elsa, but I'm not Elsa. That is not my way. I'm definitely more blade-in-my-soul than let it go, let it go...
Back in the day, and this would have been the late 1990's or early 2000's, Mom came out in late summer to my house to make chili sauce. She'd suggested this as a "mother-daughter" activity that we could do together. I agreed because I like doing kitchen stuff and I don't mind spending time with my mother.
On the appointed morning, I'd headed to the market to get a box of canning tomatoes. I left her a note saying I'd gone to town to get tomatoes and to hang tight until I got there. Mom arrived when I was still up town getting the canning tomatoes. Despite being able to read, she stripped clean the vines of perfectly-ripe heirloom brandywines that were outside my front door that I was saving for lush tomato sandwiches of perfection. She dipped them in boiling water and stripped off their skins and plopped them in the pot. This was a done deal by the time I got back from town with the half-bushel of canning tomatoes.
There was nothing to be done. The beautifully-ripe brandywines were gone by the time I got home. No amount of yelling or sniping was going to put them back on the vine and allow them to be sun-warm tomatoes sliced for perfect tomato sandwiches. And so I didn't yell or snipe. Mom was proud:
Oh, you had so many ripe tomatoes here, I didn't understand why you went to buy some! And these peeled SO EASILY! They're perfectly suited to canning!
I bit back my responses, the first twelve or so, because they would not do any good, and I commenced to chopping the rest of the crap needed for the chili sauce. I set the stuff to boiling on the stove, where it needs your constant and pretty much undivided attention for the next four hours or so as it boils down from "soup" to "chili sauce" consistency.
And as soon as everything was in the pots and cooking, Mom turned to me and said, brightly, I told Edie I'd be over to go do *thing* with her, but you just keep cooking it like that until it's done and then boiling water bath the jars. It'll just be a couple of hours and you don't need me from here on out. And she bailed, leaving behind stripped brandywine vines in late summer, way too late in my chilly little valley to ripen any more fruits. So much for "mother-daughter activity". Meh.
After she left, I finished making the chili sauce and I canned the jars, by myself, after my mom got bored with me and went off with her friend Edie to do whatever it was they were doing. And I gave her half of the jars that she "helped" make. She remembers this incident fondly. I, obviously, do not.
Anyway, this summer mom called to ask me to attend the Teach Joe To Make Chili Sauce effort. She was pitching it as a fun family activity, and I cut her off at the knees, as is my nature, by asking, Do you want me there to finish it for you when Joe inevitably gets bored and leaves after three hours? Because you know he will. Like, fucking cut to the chase, Mom. We both know what you're really asking me to do. Pretending that I don't really know what this is about is wasting my time and yours.
I won't even be mad. I'll come and I'll do the thing and I won't throw it in Joe's face that he's fucking useless and wanders off halfway through projects. It's easier for all of us if you just ask me what you actually want instead of pretending that this is something to benefit me.
Anyway. The chili sauce effort went about exactly as I had foretold. Joe and Gwen showed up thirty minutes late (but we did wait for them before we started), they did about a third of the prep work (I chop vegetables a lot faster than the pair of them do and my knives are way sharper), they left after about three and a half hours (halfway through the cooking part) due to "other engagements", and I stayed for the remainder of the cooking, decanting into jars, and boiling-water-bathing them. This was pretty much the way I figured it would play out and it did.
Sometimes it's not fun being right. Still fundamentally satisfying, though.
Wanna know the kicker? Joe was there to "learn about canning" and he didn't even fucking stay long enough for the canning part. LOL. Like, if all you wanted was to play with the "canning process" we could have been doing some sort of jelly and we'd be DONE IN AN HOUR, you fuckwit. DONE IN AN HOUR. But no, you wanted to do "chili sauce" which takes hours and hours. Ugh.
Plus also you can "learn about canning" using a youtube video or a booklet. It is not difficult and does not take my fucking Saturday plus also more than two hours of driving in commute time.
Sunday, I cleaned up the rest of the wood (split and stacked), picked all the cherry tomatoes, gathered up the paste tomatoes from Lala's cousin, canned those (20 pints of summer deliciousness lined up like soldiers of good taste on my dining room table, every single one sealed), did Sunday dinner with Lala of chips and salsa and excellent cantaloupe. Cleaned chicken coop, moved hay for the boys. Did yoga with Lala but only the stretchy restorative kind because I slipped getting off the top of the hay (oops -- it's six layers high) but landed on other, lower hay (about four layers down, so did not hit the solid-adjacent barn floor) but still, at 55, falls are not... great which is why the restorative stretchy yoga instead of regular yoga.
And now we're on Monday. I gotta head over to Lala's to do pie for late breakfast.
Last weekend I cut the grass at the playground (Friday night). I cut my own grass at my house. I split and stacked the rounds leftover from the last firewood effort. I had Waylie fell the big dead oak on the road in and saw it up, then I split most of that and loaded it on my truck and took it to my house and stacked it. I cleaned the chicken coop floor and moved hay for the boys for the following week. I did weekend yoga with Lala. I weeded all the stilt grass around the tomatoes and flowers, did the laundry, repotted several haworthia, got through activities of daily living, and spread new stone on the driveway.
Oh, and I also hiked up the hill with brother the elder and his son where we installed a SCREEN over the water intake in an effort to prevent future newt incidents. In, y'know, slow-moving projects.
This weekend I blew Saturday over at Mom's on a "chili sauce" effort with brother-the-younger. That went as expected, in that I expected Joe and Gwen (niece) to be ineffective and to bail halfway through leaving me to finish up with mom by myself even though it wasn't my project and I wasn't the one we were doing it for.
Chili sauce is not like it sounds. It's an end-of-summer relish containing vinegar and brown sugar and tomatoes and celery and bell peppers and onions and some spices like cinnamon and cloves. It has not got any actual chili in it. My paternal grandma used to make it and it's a family thing. We eat it alongside mac n cheese, with scrambled eggs, on top of baked potatoes, etc. It's a relish.
Anyway, Joe allegedly wanted to make "chili sauce" and he set this up some time ago with Mom. There was (unusual for Joe) scheduling. Mom called me earlier this summer to ask if I wanted to come do a family day to learn how to make chili sauce with her and Joe. I was I know how to make chili sauce because I do know how to make chili sauce. First off, there's an effing recipe with quantities. Second, I've done it before. And third, I first made it on the request of my mother and with her guidance, such as it was. The memory of that experience is a blade in my soul and yeah, I get that it's totally on me how I choose to remember the effort. I could be all Elsa, but I'm not Elsa. That is not my way. I'm definitely more blade-in-my-soul than let it go, let it go...
Back in the day, and this would have been the late 1990's or early 2000's, Mom came out in late summer to my house to make chili sauce. She'd suggested this as a "mother-daughter" activity that we could do together. I agreed because I like doing kitchen stuff and I don't mind spending time with my mother.
On the appointed morning, I'd headed to the market to get a box of canning tomatoes. I left her a note saying I'd gone to town to get tomatoes and to hang tight until I got there. Mom arrived when I was still up town getting the canning tomatoes. Despite being able to read, she stripped clean the vines of perfectly-ripe heirloom brandywines that were outside my front door that I was saving for lush tomato sandwiches of perfection. She dipped them in boiling water and stripped off their skins and plopped them in the pot. This was a done deal by the time I got back from town with the half-bushel of canning tomatoes.
There was nothing to be done. The beautifully-ripe brandywines were gone by the time I got home. No amount of yelling or sniping was going to put them back on the vine and allow them to be sun-warm tomatoes sliced for perfect tomato sandwiches. And so I didn't yell or snipe. Mom was proud:
Oh, you had so many ripe tomatoes here, I didn't understand why you went to buy some! And these peeled SO EASILY! They're perfectly suited to canning!
I bit back my responses, the first twelve or so, because they would not do any good, and I commenced to chopping the rest of the crap needed for the chili sauce. I set the stuff to boiling on the stove, where it needs your constant and pretty much undivided attention for the next four hours or so as it boils down from "soup" to "chili sauce" consistency.
And as soon as everything was in the pots and cooking, Mom turned to me and said, brightly, I told Edie I'd be over to go do *thing* with her, but you just keep cooking it like that until it's done and then boiling water bath the jars. It'll just be a couple of hours and you don't need me from here on out. And she bailed, leaving behind stripped brandywine vines in late summer, way too late in my chilly little valley to ripen any more fruits. So much for "mother-daughter activity". Meh.
After she left, I finished making the chili sauce and I canned the jars, by myself, after my mom got bored with me and went off with her friend Edie to do whatever it was they were doing. And I gave her half of the jars that she "helped" make. She remembers this incident fondly. I, obviously, do not.
Anyway, this summer mom called to ask me to attend the Teach Joe To Make Chili Sauce effort. She was pitching it as a fun family activity, and I cut her off at the knees, as is my nature, by asking, Do you want me there to finish it for you when Joe inevitably gets bored and leaves after three hours? Because you know he will. Like, fucking cut to the chase, Mom. We both know what you're really asking me to do. Pretending that I don't really know what this is about is wasting my time and yours.
I won't even be mad. I'll come and I'll do the thing and I won't throw it in Joe's face that he's fucking useless and wanders off halfway through projects. It's easier for all of us if you just ask me what you actually want instead of pretending that this is something to benefit me.
Anyway. The chili sauce effort went about exactly as I had foretold. Joe and Gwen showed up thirty minutes late (but we did wait for them before we started), they did about a third of the prep work (I chop vegetables a lot faster than the pair of them do and my knives are way sharper), they left after about three and a half hours (halfway through the cooking part) due to "other engagements", and I stayed for the remainder of the cooking, decanting into jars, and boiling-water-bathing them. This was pretty much the way I figured it would play out and it did.
Sometimes it's not fun being right. Still fundamentally satisfying, though.
Wanna know the kicker? Joe was there to "learn about canning" and he didn't even fucking stay long enough for the canning part. LOL. Like, if all you wanted was to play with the "canning process" we could have been doing some sort of jelly and we'd be DONE IN AN HOUR, you fuckwit. DONE IN AN HOUR. But no, you wanted to do "chili sauce" which takes hours and hours. Ugh.
Plus also you can "learn about canning" using a youtube video or a booklet. It is not difficult and does not take my fucking Saturday plus also more than two hours of driving in commute time.
Sunday, I cleaned up the rest of the wood (split and stacked), picked all the cherry tomatoes, gathered up the paste tomatoes from Lala's cousin, canned those (20 pints of summer deliciousness lined up like soldiers of good taste on my dining room table, every single one sealed), did Sunday dinner with Lala of chips and salsa and excellent cantaloupe. Cleaned chicken coop, moved hay for the boys. Did yoga with Lala but only the stretchy restorative kind because I slipped getting off the top of the hay (oops -- it's six layers high) but landed on other, lower hay (about four layers down, so did not hit the solid-adjacent barn floor) but still, at 55, falls are not... great which is why the restorative stretchy yoga instead of regular yoga.
And now we're on Monday. I gotta head over to Lala's to do pie for late breakfast.
no subject
Date: 2025-09-04 12:34 pm (UTC)This Is Just To Say
I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox
and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast
Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold
The important part being Forgive me. Also, sometimes the injuries one receives, no matter how sharply felt, are not actually INTENDED by the dealer of damage. Like, they didn't mean to do that and had no idea that what they did would come off as hurtful.
It's very likely that my (easily distracted, super ADD, somewhat hyperactive) mother did not stop to consider that maybe I had seen the perfectly ripe brandywines right next to the front door of my house. My note did not say DO NOT PICK OR EAT THE RIPE TOMATOES JUST BESIDE THE FRONT DOOR THEY ARE BEING SAVED FOR OTHER PURPOSES. It did not say that. It probably should have. *sigh* It's probable that she figured I did not notice or had not realized that they were ripe and so, stupidly, I went to PURCHASE tomatoes when there were perfectly good tomatoes sitting right there, ready to use. She probably thought she was being helpful and proactive, so that she'd be well underway on the chili sauce before I got there (because, after all, she had Other Shit To Do later). This is the most reasonable scenario for what took place.
The alternative is that she scheduled this effort, drove out from Harrisburg of a weekend morning looking for an opportunity to do ill unto me. On arrival, she saw the ripe brandywine tomatoes which she willfully plucked ON PURPOSE to hurt me. Then, she waited for me to get home with a half bushel of canning tomatoes in a box from the farmer's market so that she could announce, with pride in her voice and a smile upon her lips that she'd just picked the tomatoes from the garden and they were so easy to peel and perfect for canning and wasn't she just the cleverest, most helpful mom ever, secure in the knowledge that idiot me would figure she wasn't up to that level of planning and forethought and glorying in watching me swallow my emotions and pretend to be OK about it all. That is an appealing narrative that totally lines up with my level of resentment, but unfortunately it doesn't resemble the woman I've known for my entire life. She just isn't that organized. It's too well-executed, too well-planned, and demonstrates a far better understanding of me as a person than she has ever previously exhibited. That's not her. She was honestly trying to be helpful and proactive. *sigh*
no subject
Date: 2025-09-06 02:47 am (UTC)It's certainly much healthier NOT to assume that every frustrating misfortune is the result of a targeted, planned, coordinated attempt to ruin your life. Even when, as you say, the amount of resentment felt really *does* make it feel plausible.
(I know people who DO decide that even minor inconveniences are deliberate attempts by those around them to sabotage them or cause them pain, and they are not happy people.)
It still sucks that generally well-meaning people can screw things up and not even know it. It's frustrating to have to swallow it down because bringing it up isn't going to help or change the situation. But disappointment is one of the worst emotions to experience, imo.