And Now for a Rant

Dear School Admins,

Thank you for the wonderful high school scheduling night.  I can't tell you how overjoyed I am that I took time off my job in order to come be informed about the curriculum and scheduling options for my child.  First of all, it was so helpful to receive several automated calls reminding me of the event. especially since they came at such convenient times like early morning on my day off, or during dinner on one of the few nights I don't work late and the entire family was home.  Also, thanks for noting the incorrect location of the event during the calls.  It made it so much more interesting playing hide and seek as so many of us were trying to get in locked doors.  It was even better when we found the right building and STILL the doors were locked and we had to go looking for the one door that was open.  Logically, you chose an out of he way side door obscured by hedges and a stairwell as opposed to the row of well-lit double doors which led directly to the meeting hall.

I'd also like to commend you on the slick video you put together introducing each department head and allowing them to read the list of electives offered in each department.  Since you're all concerned about budgetary constraints I understand why you opted not to print out course catalogs. I'm sure the video was a far better use of resources than making sure the school website was updated with that information and directing us there.  Oh wait, that would mean the website actually had to be functional...Oh, and the choice of background music, the theme from Forrest Gump, what a great touch!  I guess stupid is as stupid does.

It was so thoughtful of you to remove the pesky need for parents to give any kind of input as to the classes our sons and daughters take. Thanks for telling us those decisions are best left to teacher recommendations and guidance counselor discretion.  Having to communicate with my kids about their future plans and classes that might apply or what might challenge their interests is just such a burden and I'm sure I'm just not smart enough to know what might be good choices.  Also, I couldn't possibly know my child any better than a guidance counselor who couldn't pick him out of a police line-up.  As for the teacher recommendations, I've been so impressed with some of the recommendations in the past...the ones you don't want me to challenge...you know like when my honor roll son is told he shouldn't attempt advanced classes or be allowed to take a foreign language.  Yeah, I really had no idea what I was doing when I waived him into Advanced English, Advanced History, German, and two science electives...where he still makes it onto the honor roll.  Boy, am I glad I have you to keep me from making that mistake twice!

I was really excited to hear about the next phase of the massive renovation project too.  I remember what a great job you did with the new construction a few years ago.  Calypso's education was really enhanced by having three classes with no desks and a school covered in drywall dust because of the incredible planning and execution of that whole project.  I'm reassured by the vaguely hopeful comments regarding next year's stages.  I'm sure tearing down half the school in January of next year will not be in the least bit disruptive to the kids  so...

That's why it's so great that you've already announced the standardized testing dates for next year.  I'm so relieved that all the uncertainty about everything else hasn't messed up the Spring testing schedule.  Life might REALLY come to a grinding halt if anything were to disrupt weeks of filling in bubble sheets with #2 pencils.

To sum up, the welcoming effect  of the substance over style presentation detailing how I shouldn't even bother offering an opinion to my son coupled with blatant obfuscation regarding plans to ameliorate the mess and disorder caused by the next phase of the demolition construction plan was so not worth an hour and a half's worth of my pay.

Scathingly,
Lime

Out of the Mouths of Patients

The overwhelming majority of patients at our office are lovely people.  These are people who are pleasant, cooperative, easy going, or even thoughtful.  I enjoy greeting them and engaging in some friendly chat to make them feel welcome.  Heck, I even enjoy doing the same for the ones who are either nondescript or who come in feeling blue or worn down by obvious pain. Then there are the underwhelming minority, the demanding, the surly, the oblivious, the energy suckers...Lord have mercy.

There is one family in particular who are basically oblivious, energy suckers prone to high drama.  At least they aren't surly, right?  Anyway, they are certain that every incident in their lives is of utmost importance and interest to everyone around them and they just wouldn't want to deprive anyone the joy of hearing all about it.  Of course, they also feel it's their duty to deprive others of the opportunity to add anything to a conversation.  They are also chronically late to appointments but always come with an excuse.  Allow me to recount the most recent excuse.

Setting: The front desk


(Mother, Father and Teen Daughter enter and immediately surround the desk as they lean in close.)

Family: (in rapid fire talking over each other) We know we're late!  It's a miracle!  It's Amazing!  We had a true miracle at the house today, that's why we're late! YOU JUST CAN'T BELIEVE IT!

Me: (Plastering a smile on my face while calculating how much interest I have to feign to be polite without encouraging the unabridged version) Oh, is that so?

Mother: (fanning herself lest she faint in amazement at the magnitude of the miracle)  Oh yes!  The septic system!

Teen Daughter: Oh Mommy, can you believe it?

Father: You just won't believe it.  We had all sorts of problems today...

Mother: We didn't have the septic tank pumped out for 5 years and we just had to.

(I chide myself internally for spending time mentally calculating the volume of human waste this large family could produce in five years.)

Father:  It was cheap last time.  This time I think they charged us double.

Mother: It's a real racket.

Father: (making dramatic motions indicating great space) Of course the lid of the system had lifted up because it was so full

Mother: But still they are just cheating us charging so much.

Father: And then they said there was something broken and it was going to cost even more.

(They blathered on at length regarding the inner workings of their septic system and plumbing during which I considered stabbing myself in the neck but nodded and uh-huhhed periodically as I found ANYTHING else I could do at the desk to convey the general notion that I had work to do and perhaps they should be moving along.  You can thank me later for editing the graphic details.)

Mother: (wiping the sweat from her brow as the story climax nears) So then they thought maybe it was only that...that....oh...the floaters.

Me: (arching my eyebrows, nodding, and thinking about mangled kittens so I don't guffaw at the notion of fixing the "septic floaters.")

Father: (waving his hand dismissively at his wife) The FLOAT, dear...the FLOAT!  So we tried that and it worked.  All we needed was a new float.

Teen Daughter: (nodding enthusiastically) It's a miracle!

Mother: (clutching the desk to keep from swooning) Oh thank God!

Me: (forcing myself not to make a crack about them finally getting their shit together) Well, that's quite a relief I'm sure.

(Finally, they move on from my desk to the waiting area so they can regale other patients with this astonishing story. I enter the billing department and slump.)

Biller: (snickering at how I had to endure that and she could bury herself in billing as a more interesting alternative) I'm impressed with your patience.

Me: (standing straight, assuming a serene air, folding my hands in prayerful repose) It's a true septic miracle.  (then whispering wickedly) It's just a wee tad ironic that their miracle would involved huge quantities of their own excrement.

Friday 55-Late February

 *image from here

Disoriented

by a break in the bitter cold,

only to be surprised by a sudden snow storm,

a songbird titters away confusedly

searching for her absent mate.

Disarmed and thawed

by a cessation in hostilities

before the cold war resumed,

a woman laughs nervously

when an acquaintance asks why
he hasn't seen her husband lately.

(Home)Slice of Lime-The Flyest Rednecks

I've mentioned in the past that we have fun in our office.   We have some wonderfully looney people working there.  Our office manager, who shall be henceforth referred to as HomeGirl, is born and bred in NYC.  She has lived here in comparatively rural Pennsylvania for just a couple of years.  It is not unusual for the city transplants to our area to not only find our "culture" (or lack thereof in their eyes) perplexing but frequently worthy of scorn and derision as being hopelessly backwards.  To them I say, "I-80 East to the George Washington Bridge. NYC is on the other side if you miss it so much."  Then there are the quieter subset of transplants who come with a willingness to learn, adapt, and share ideas.  Those I most heartily welcome and thank them for sharing the best parts of metropolitan life while learning about rural life.

HomeGirl is often perplexed. For example, during a staff meeting the boss said he was buying a cow and was willing to sell a side of it.  At that point I piped up and said I already had half a cow in my freezer and part of a deer.  Poor HomeGirl sat there with her eyes like saucers not knowing what was going on.  At lunch she asked me what on earth we meant.  She was astonished to learn you could buy an entire butchered bovine from people who raised them for slaughter.  When she asked about the deer and I told her how we hunt she was nearly as blown away as Bambi and remarked, "Damn, in the city all people do with guns is hunt each other.  I had no idea!"  To her credit, HomeGirl wants to understand the way things are done around here before forming an opinion on it.  I offered to take her target shooting.

HomeGirl does, however have an opinion on my fashion sense.  She's not critical, mind you.  She just can't get over that I don't dye my hair or wear make-up. She says I look fine but could look even better.  I have made her aware of my thoughts on hair dye.  She suggested a haircut at which point I agreed I was well overdue. But I have this mild phobia about hairdressers and my last haircut 3 years ago did nothing to help me overcome that.  See, I am at peace with having curly hair but the lady hacked my curls into oblivion and broke their spirit so they laid dejectedly upon my head.  HomeGirl very excitedly informed me I need a Dominican hairdresser because they know how to handle curls.  I asked her where the heck I am supposed to find a Dominican hairdresser around here.  She offered to take me to the city to HER Dominican.  Then she asked if she could do a total makeover on me.  I said if she was really willing to come shooting and promised not to dye my hair we'd do it.

And thus the exchange of culture began.  We haven't been able to make it work out yet due to various health issues in each of our respective families but we have an understanding.

One day, Mr. Lime came to the office sporting one of his 6 fluorescent orange hunting hats.  HomeGirl fell in love immediately....with the hat.  She never knew anyone who actually wore that color in public before and she said she wants a hat like that.  Now understand HomeGirl is ALWAYS stylishly dressed.  She is gorgeous.  She is fashionable.  She wants a fluorescent orange knit hat.  It was my turn to be perplexed and the incongruity nearly blew my circuits.

This week Mr. Lime presented her with her very own orange hat. I can't even describe how excited she was as she pulled it on and dragged Mr. Lime into a picture with her. So here they are sporting the season's most stylin' orange hats and throwing gang signs....they flyest rednecks around...Mr. Lime and HomeGirl.

Literary Criticism

Isaac is "enjoying" his first high school English class this year.  He's actually in the honors section.  I made sure he'd be in that section because the teacher is so excellent. She's quirky, intense, and demands the best effort from her students.  In return she gives her students an excellent foundation.  Both Diana and Calypso had the same teacher for the same class and it served them well although at the time they thought the experience was a thing to be endured. Over the course of this school year it's been amusing to hear the three kids comparing notes about their experiences in this class.

D: Whaddya think of the lit circles?

I: I noticed if I can connect something in the passage to death she loves it.

C: Yeah, always go for death.  It makes her very happy.  She's totally fixated on death.

D: You reading Poe yet?

I: Yeah,  Fall of the House of Usher was pretty cool.  Right now though we are beating The Bells to death.

M: That poem has my favorite word in it.  Tintinabulation.

D, C, & I: (blank stares from all three)  Mom, you are so weird.

Me: What?  It's a fun word.

I: Yeah it is kind of a fun word.  I think I'd enjoy Poe more if we didn't pour over a single story for 2 weeks at a time though.  Just draws it out and makes it boring.  But there is NOTHING that's going to make me like the Puritan writers.  Reading them just makes me want to stab myself in the neck.


Well, maybe if he merely dramatized the effect the Puritans have on him the teacher might be impressed with the suggestion of death.

Life Is Too Short...

Secret Agent Woman decided life is too short to wear ugly underwear as well as a few other things.  I liked reading her list so I thought I'd generate my own (though there may be some crossover).

LIFE IS TOO SHORT...

1. To wear uncomfortable underwear:  There was some debate as to what constituted ugly underwear with a great many folks opining in favor of thongs.  I floss my teeth, not my rear-end.  I think thongs are miserably uncomfortable and feel like a perpetual wedgie.  I wear undies that cover my butt or I go commando.

2. To eat crappy chocolate:  Some folks turn up their noses at Hershey's.  I'm not that big of a snob but the nasty, waxy, no name, super sweet, cheapo chocolate that is sold at about $1 a half ton in appropriate seasonal wrappers for various holidays is just not worth it.


3. To fail to tell people you love them: Really, it is.  Not to be macabre, but you don't know when you say goodbye to someone if it will be the last time you speak or not.  If you love someone tell them and show them...often.


4. To spend time watching "Reality TV": Seriously, go out and live your own life rather than watching a bunch of spray tanned bimbos and jerks jumping in and out of bed in drunken hazes.

5. To be a meticulous housekeeper:  I like my mom's motto.  "Clean enough to live in, dirty enough to be happy."  I can't live in filth and complete disorder but I'm not going to drive myself insane making sure the place is clean enough for surgery and looks ready for a House Beautiful photo shoot.


6. To wear uncomfortable shoes:  Sorry, I don't care how great a pair of heels make my calves look.  If they make my lower back feel like I'm 85 years old the calf effect ain't worth it.  And if they squeeze my feet or slop around on my feet I'm not interested in them even if they are flats.

7. To plod through a book I hate: It used to be all but impossible for me to not finish a book I started but wasn't enjoying.  I felt guilty.  Not any more.  There are too many books I really want to read and if the one I am in the middle of truly stinks, forget it...I'm putting it down and moving on.


8. To not play:  Yes, we have to work.  We have to be responsible.  We also need to cultivate some exuberance and joy.  We need it to recharge our batteries.  Keep crayons and a coloring book or doodle pad at your desk.  Play shadow tag on a walk with the kids in your life.  Start a snowball fight.  Play on the swingset.  Skip.  Have you veer seen an unhappy person skip?  I bet not.  The two states are incongruous.  I think the next time I get in a bad mood I may try skipping just to see if it works as a cure.  I bet it will.


9. To worry about whether or not people think I'm nuts for skipping around:  See above.  It's also too short to worry about the opinions of others in general where it concerns matters of personal taste.  If it causes no harm then why get uptight about it.  See also, posts on whether or not I should dye my hair.


10. To stop learning:  There's so much out there to know.  Aren't you curious about it all?  It's sort of amazing.  I always want to know more.  The one massage therapist at work says I'm her only patient who consistently wants to know the names of the muscles she is poking on.  (She doesn't have to know it's so I can more accurately poke the voodoo doll...just kidding...sort of).  I like non-fiction books.  I like trivia.  I like seeing how it all fits together.  the world is endlessly fascinating.

So now I want to know, what do YOU think life is too short for?

Cook Me Up a Meme

I went digging around looking for blog fodder.  Found this old meme at Bloggingham Palace.

1. If you could put thyme in a bottle, what is the first thing that you'd like to do?
Probably ask Jim Croce to put it away between the tarragon and the turmeric.

2. Do eggs really crack or do they merely have a nervous breakdown?
The hard-boiled ones just get twitchy but the soft-boiled ones crack up, the scrambled ones need to be committed involuntarily.


3. Why are you whipping the butter? What did it ever do to you?
If you'd seen what was going on in the fridge after I closed the door and the light went off you'd understand completely.  Besides, the butter likes it.  It begs for it.  Don't worry, it has a safe word.

4. Do your spoons spoon in the drawer? Have you ever noticed? And more importantly, if wooden spoons spoon do they get splinters?
I dunno what the fork they do in there.

5. You hear: "Dumpling, my Dumpling, come hither." The candles are lit, the fondue is dipping, the Godiva is pouring, the scallions are steaming and the music is playing.....but wait, the windows are open. Why did you close them?
I'm sorry I can't get over the bit about the Godiva pouring.  Is the chocolate melted completely?  Where is it being poured?  On Hugh Jackman?  If so, the windows are not even under consideration.

6. Do you need a recipe to cook or are you a bohemian chef? Show us your reckless and wild side in the kitchen. Don't have one? Here's a recipe I made just for you: You will need a spatula, a whisk, a gallon of Chardonnay, a banana and a rump roast. What is the name of your dish?
Bohemian.  Freddie Mercury's Delight.

7. After dinner, the dishes are so dirty that the dishwasher refuses to wash them. What did they say to get in hot water?
I'm confused.  Is the dishwasher in hot water or are the dishes? If it's the dishes is this the remake of the Disney version of Beauty and the Beast because those are the only talking dishes I've heard of.


8. Is your pot black?
It prefers the term "pigment enhanced."


9. What is the sexiest spice or condiment in your cabinet? What makes it so?
Cinnamon.  Just say it and let it roll off your tongue and lips.


10. How much crock is really in your crock pot?
At least a potful.

A Friend in Need

 Dear Calypso,

Your last many months have not been especially pleasant.  You've spent a lot of time feeling sick, having no energy, wondering when you will feel well again.  You've persevered through it all and managed to keep up in school for the most part.  Even if the report card doesn't say so you've got straight A's for effort alone in my book.  I know the effort required to get through school depletes most of your energy. You've missed out on a lot of socializing simply because of how rotten you feel so frequently.  For an out-going girl like you that's a hard thing, especially for your senior year.

To add insult to injury you've had a couple of long-time friends turn their backs on you.  They've been people to whom you've given yourself repeatedly when they had times of trial in their lives.  You've listened and consoled when they needed it.  Sadly, they have chosen not to reciprocate in your time of trial.  While that's disappointing enough the insensitivity toward you and downright ugliness has been the bitterest of pills.  I know it's painful for you.  It's been painful for me to watch.  Unfortunately, this is how life is sometimes.  It's not always fair and people can disappoint.

After you've dried the tears it's time to move on.  If someone is consistently cruel at a time when your greatest need is kindness and they ultimately tell you they don't want to be around you, you're better off without them.  Truly.  Let them go.  It's making room in your life for people who are kinder and more faithful.  You haven't lost anything of value because in reality you didn't have it to begin with.  The difficult circumstances in life merely revealed true character and the quality (or lack thereof) of a relationship.

Likewise, this time in your life is revealing your character and the character of others.  Just as the fair weather friends are flying away on the gusts of wind, the true ones (few though they may be) are showing how deep their roots are and how immovable their affection and concern are.  Those are the relationships to nurture. Those are the friends to treasure.  Hold them close in your heart and let it make you glad rather than holding the pain caused by false friends.  Count yourself blessed to know the friends who remain are proved true.

Love always,
Mom

Something for Everyone on Valentine's Day

 Part of Mr. Lime's Christmas gift was that after 7 years in this house I finally put pictures on the walls.  For Valentine's Day I will put away the Christmas decorations that have been sitting on the dining room table for over a month.  I am the last of the true romantics.

Here's something from Etsy.com for the deranged among us.  It's a skeleton Cupid!  I dunno if it's a euphemistic way of saying, "Hey Valentine, you give me a boner!" or "I wish you were dead!"  Maybe for the truly unwell it means both. *shudders*

Here's something for the more jaded among us...or just those with a wicked sense of observational humor.

And here's something for the less jaded. Even though I dearly love Mama Cass, I think this is a very sweet rendition of my favorite song. (Don't mind the weird intro.)

Da Count in Friday 55-A Hug

I was fine 

until someone asked.

Cracks formed in the dam,

threatening a torrent of tears.

I reinforced the walls.

I was fine

until the next person asked.

I tried to wave her off,

but she drew me in,

closed the door,

held me close.

The flood of tears

was no match for her shoulder.

Slice of Lime-It's So Tasty Too!

I have begun a 10-day nutritional detoxification program that is being offered at work. It's a well put together system with good nutrition and research behind it, not just some over the counter thing.  There's a nutritional drink powder to make sure you're still getting all the vitamins, minerals, and proper balance of fats, proteins, and carbs that you need as you eliminate certain foods which may be causing problems due to sensitivities.  The dietary plan seems manageable and not unpleasant.  It just requires some careful planning.  Tuesday was the first time I used the shake.  Lord have mercy...

When my children were young I taught them not to say they hate the food they are given.  They were allowed to say, "It's not my favorite."  I would like to emphatically state this vile swill which seems barely fit for human consumption and which I like to refer to as powdered sewage is most assuredly NOT my favorite.

I am assured that on days 5-7 of this program I will be craving this shake just to fill me up and stave off hunger.  I think I'm going to have to be hungrier than I've ever been before in my life to experience that particular craving.  If Hugh Jackman presented himself to me naked save for a layer of this stuff I'd likely turn down the opportunity to lick him clean.

Please excuse me.  I need to go shave my tongue.

Two Ringy Dingies

A big part of my job is answering phone calls, answering questions, and scheduling patients.  Most of the calls are reasonably straight forward.  A few are from people who think I may be the person who will direct their treatment and they feel the need to give their entire medical history in one phone call before I can schedule them.  Of course, that's generally when the front desk is already at its busiest with folks trying to check in and out for their visits.  I also get to field the sales calls, which are highly annoying.  Then there are the calls that are just memorable in terms of the gross misunderstanding of what we are willing to do.  Here are some top examples from recent history.

Me:  Good morning. XYZ Chiropractic and Wellness  Center.  This is Michelle. How may I help you?

Caller: I need to have my aura cleansed.

Me: I beg your pardon.

Caller: My aura needs to be cleansed.  I see your wellness program includes meditation.

Me:  Well, yes it does but more from the standpoint of relaxation and stress reduction, not so much in terms of an overtly spiritual practice.

Caller: What a sad excuse for wellness.  *click*


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Me: Good morning. XYZ Chiropractic and Wellness  Center.  This is Michelle. How may I help you?

Caller: I'd like to schedule a high colonic.

Me: (not entirely sure I heard correctly) A high colonic?

Caller: Yes.  When can I come in?

Me: I'm sorry that's not a service we offer.

Caller: (indignantly) You ARE a wellness center aren't you?

Me: (working  hard to stifle the urge to say yes, but we aren't plumbers)  We are indeed, but as I said, that's not a service we offer.

Caller: *click*


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Me: Good Morning, XYZ Chiropractic and Wellness Center.  This is Michelle.  How may I help you?

Caller:  I'd like to schedule a naked massage from a gay man.

Me:  (trying to figure out which smart alec must be pranking me then realizing the caller is serious) Uh...I'm sorry that's not a service we offer.

Caller: *click*

Sloth Fail

*image from nationalgeographic.com

So the plan for the weekend was to thoroughly indulge myself in utter slothfulness....minus the parted belly hair and growth of algae on my person.  I merely intended to loaf around the house in my new penguin footie pajamas and accomplishing nothing other than feeding myself, watching movies, reading books, and sleeping late.  It seemed a realistic goal since Mr. Lime, Isaac, and Calypso were to be out of town for the weekend thus relieving me of my taxi duties.  Lending further to the plan's successful completion was a forecast for ice and snow on Saturday.

However, there were some glitches.  Although I didn't get out of bed until 11:30 AM on Saturday, over the weekend I did 6 loads of laundry, changed the sheets, payed the bills, did the grocery shopping, and cooked for the next 3 days.  Diana came home to visit too and we also went out for Greek food and a movie, which required I attend to some personal hygiene and get out of my jammies.  I'd say Operation Sloth was a bit of a failure.  The Greek food, movie, and visit with my kid were good though.

And just to make sure at I covered some of the deadly sins I engaged in gluttony at the restaurant and a touch of lust when we came home and popped a Hugh Jackman movie in the DVD player.

Friday 55-A Day Off?

FRIDAY 55

Mr. Lime had to go to work.

Calypso had to see a specialist in another city.

Then she had to go to school.

I had several errands.

Isaac had track workouts.

Calypso had a voice lesson...

and needed a new P.E. uniform.

We all had to see the chiropractor.

180 miles on the mom taxi.

 

Lordy, this being the only licensed driver in the house is kind of wearying.  I've got another day of running around and then I hope to have 2 days of just staying put and letting dust collect on me as my butt widens.  I'm thankful to have a running car and a license though.

Sweets and Salts

I think I may have been hanging around Suldog too long because the re-post bug has bitten me.  Heck, it seems to work well for him so maybe it will for me.  February 2 is my grandfather's birthday.  Although I first posted this story 3 years ago it just seems a fitting remembrance of him on a cold day.

*image taken from http://www.all-about-dessert-sauces.com/jamsandpreserves.html

I'm back in my grandparent's tiny kitchen. It was just big enough to hold the refrigerator, sink, a small cabinet, and stove on one wall. There was no dining room so the table and four chairs were squeezed next to the opposite wall. Once the table was pulled out and everyone sat they stayed put. One had their back against the wall, one against the cabinet opposite the stove, one against the sink, and one with their back to the doorway. Only the one in the doorway could make an escape but no one wanted to. This was Mom-mom and Pop-pop's kitchen.

Tiny as it was, countless meals, baked goods, preserves and canned goods were made there. Mom-mom and Pop-pop both cooked. After his mother died and his stepmother kicked him out of his father's house he bounced around between other family members and eventually lived with his grandmother who was a cook at a local mansion. He learned cooking and sewing from her and whether he was producing something in the kitchen or by needle his end results were as fine or finer than that of many women.

The foods my grandparents made were very unlike what my mother served. Mom-mom made chicken potpie the Pennsylvania German way. This was no pastry covered pie dish with chicken and vegetables floating underneath. What heresy! Any Dutchie (local term for those of PA German heritage because they are often called PA Dutch) knows Chicken Pot Pie has big, square, homemade egg noodles, potato chunks, corn, and the chicken, all together and swimming in a sea of gravy. It's really more of a stew. Other dishes were fresh peas cooked in milk, apie cakes, rice pudding, a pickled bean and vegetable dish called Chow-chow, and endless jams and jellies.

The canned goods alone were astonishing. My grandparents' basement, which was clean enough for surgery, had row upon row of canned goods they had put up themselves. Everything was lined up and labeled in the most orderly fashion, a library of cans and jars indexed by date and contents. That's the meticulous Pennsylvania German way. There was an array of jams, jellies, and preserves. You could easily find the obvious and expected flavors like grape, strawberry, and peach. Amongst those fruits you'd also find crab apple jelly, elderberry jam, and whatever other interesting things they could find. I'd seen many canning sessions when Mom-mom boiled the fruits and pectins and then watched as Pop-pop squeezed it all through many layers of cheese cloth, warm juices running down his forearms, sweet aromas taunting my nose. If there was a fruit to be harvested locally it was turned into something you'd want to spread on a slice of bread. And as far as a Dutchie is concerned, dinner has not been proper unless there is buttered bread at the table and something else to smear on top of it. It's also important to keep a balance between sweet flavors and salty flavors. Seven sweets and seven salts is the official rule though some things like chow-chow pull double duty since they are both sweet and salty.

In their final years my grandparents did much less canning as Mom-mom's heart weakened and she could spend less and less time on her feet. Pop-pop also slipped into deep depression. They let a couple seasons pass by as they struggled. Mom-mom left us during the summer Diana was a baby. Pop-pop was never good for sitting still and without her to take care of he suddenly had much more time on his hands and needed activity to keep his mind off missing his wife. He decided to put up a batch of preserves by himself. One weekend at the end of summer when I came for a visit he loaded me up with jars of strawberry and peach preserves. We sat at the little table enjoying buttered bread and preserves. He smiled a smile I hadn't seen in a long time and it sweetened my soul like the jam on the bread. In November he was gone too.

It was February and my husband and I had gone through all but one last half-pint jar of peach preserves. He was at work, the baby was sleeping, and I was hungry. I toasted some bread. I reached for the final jar and found just the last remains of preserves clinging to the sides and bottom. I scraped out every last molecule, spread it slowly over the surface as if it were some ancient ritual. I think it took about 15 minutes to eat that one piece of toast. Each mouthful felt sacred. I had a hard time getting the last bite over the lump in my throat. The sweetness went to my belly as tears ran down my cheek to my lips. I half cried and half laughed because a proper Pennsylvania German meal has to have its bread and it has to taste of both sweets and salts.