What to Do Now that Canning Is Through

I’ve had two; count them, two full week days that I haven’t had to help can ANYTHING. My weekend was still busy, but Monday and Tuesday there were no errands, no chauffeuring, and no appointments to deal with. I did catch up on laundry and did two loads.

The grand total of canned items that a friend, her sister, and I did was staggering. The produce from two large gardens was washed, peeled, cut sliced, processed, then either cold packed or pressure canned. We did the canning at the friend’s house. She bore the brunt of the overtime seeing that the food was canned for the proper time after we left. Once the jars were in the hot water baths, there was nothing left for me to do. My friend also simmer the tomatoes and soups overnight until they thickened, then we filled the canning jars and set them into canners to seal. I’m feeling tired just looking through the list of canned goods.

Although all the canning was done at her house, the food was divided among families and into their larders. There were 76 quarts and 2 pints of green beans, 27 pints of Dilly green beans. Fifteen canned pints and 56 pints of frozen corn, 32 pints of carrots, and 30 pints of strawberry jam were tucked away. The tomato products were plentiful with104 quarts and 6 pints of sauce, 113 quarts and 2 pints of salsa, whole tomatoes 16 quarts, stewed tomatoes, 23 quarts, 13 quarts of tomato soup, and 8 quarts of tomato juice. Peppers were abundant this year as well, a mixture of hot and mild. They ended up in 12 quarts and 40 pints of Marie’s ketchup pepper mix and 19 pints and 8 ½ pints of hot pepper mustard. Canned were 21 quarts and 2 pints of pickled beets and 27 pints, 2 half pints, and 4 4ounce jars of pumpkin butter. Sauerkraut filled 14 quarts and 1 pint and we made 23 quart of beef vegetable soup. Rounding out the garden repertoire were 30 quarts and 12 pints of applesauce and 34 quarts and 4 pints of the sweetest pears I’ve ever eaten.

It was great to know that several families will have quality food in their larders this winter. Homegrown products always taste better than food in cans from grocery store. What’s even better, no more long days helping to can. It’s that time of the year when grocery stores sell tomatoes taste like cardboard.

 

 

Va-va-va-voom

My mind is still reeling from the weekend wedding at the Russian Orthodox Catholic Church. I’ve never had to deal with anything like it before and pray that I never will again. I described the inside of the sanctuary of yellow brick before. It was perched on the side of a steep hill, after all it is Pittsburgh. The parking was limited and I parked in the priest’s driveway at the rectory. After all, he was going to be busy for awhile. The bridesmaid’s dresses varied a bit, but all wore black with slits up the side showing thighs. The groomsmen wore black, some with black neck ties and some with red bowties. The priest wore a silver patterned robe. The bride wore a lovely form-fitting white lace gown. Although there was no music, all seemed normal until the priest began the litany describing the viral biblical men and the fertileness of biblical women. I’m sure he would have mentioned the name of Mary’s mother if he’d known her name. The cantor (not Eddie Cantor) continued in the same vein with his off key chant. Each time the priest said “Amen,” I prayed it was the end and each time he mentioned “Mercy,” ending the litany would have been merciful. But no, he droned on.

There was one young lady in the audience who was wearing a bright red, form-fitting soft material dress. The most remarkable thing about her was she was tall. Her long straight dark hair only accentuated her height. The hem of the skirt swept up into a V slightly higher than mid thigh. I commented to my friend, “Who’s the girl wearing the red glove” it was that tight.

The videographer had his case beside me and I teasingly said, “Did you bring enough batteries.” He said that he is a non-practicing Russian Orthodox and the ceremony is a condensed version. When the priest retreated behind the saloon doors, I teased my friend that he was upset that we clapped and was getting into the sacramental wines.

There was about two hours between the ceremony and the reception. We visited with my friend friend’s house. At the reception I couldn’t help but notice that the girl with the red glove dress had changed into a dark green dress that shimmered like satin. It was again form-fitting, accentuating her height and shape. Only one other person drew as much attention that she did. A man wore a bright orange and black suit with jacko’lanterns emblazoned on it.

I’ve described that the food was plenteous, but needed to be warmer. The vegetable spring roll hors d’oeuvres were cold and greasy. My friend thought so too.

Poke Out My Eyes with a Fork

Saturday I was asked to drive an older friend to her grandson’s wedding in Pittsburgh. I did so several years ago for another of her grandson’s wedding. It was no big deal and the food was great, so I accepted. But there was a big difference. This grandson’s wife-to-be was Russian Orthodox not Roman Catholic. I was in for a big surprise. The ceremony was held in the bride’s church and being in Pittsburgh it was on a steep hill. My friend had difficulty going up hills and steps. Parking was virtually non-existent, so I parked in priest’s rectory driveway. He wasn’t going anywhere anyway.

The inside of the church was decorated with gold gilding covering the pillars and framing the iconic figures of the saints, Mary, and Jesus. Stained glass windows lined the sanctuary. Gold-clad grape clusters in bas-relief were scattered across the altar. A small antechamber housed a golden star flickering in the light from oil lamps and candles.

There was no music. The bridal party entered. The bride’s attendants wore black. The only sound was the rustling of clothing and the whining of one flower girl. The priest in an ornate silver robe began chanting. He extolled the virility of biblical men and the virtue and fertility of biblical women, seeming to spare no name. He wished the same for the couple. The repetition of the word “mercy” peppered the entire ceremony to the point I thought of the biblical passage in Matthew, “But when ye pray, use not vain repetitions, as the heathen do: for they think that they shall be heard for their much speaking.” This priest must have liked much speaking. The cantor joined and he was MUCH off key. When the “You may kiss the bride” was announced, the audience clapped. The priest seemed upset with the clapping and retreated into the antechamber, closing grape-cluster saloon doors. There were slender dowel rods with white ribbons and jingle bells that should have been used.

The reception theme was a masquerade party with a photographer and props to in one corner for those who forgot masks. When my friend invited me, she asked “Do you have a mask.” I thought at first she meant a face mask, then she explained why. The food was plentiful and edible, but not the greatest. I was chastised for trying to snatch a few cookies when the bride’s mother said it wasn’t time yet. The drive home was uneventful, but I was glad to be home in my quiet house. So if I hear the words wedding and Russian Orthodox together, PLEASE poke out my eyes and break my legs.

 

Masquerades

There was a time as I was growing up that Halloween was little more than dressing up and taking on the persona of a scarecrow, a hobo, a princess, a cowboy, a bride, an Indian, or even a clown. I’m not talking about the scary live-in-a-storm-drain, but the classic ones like seen in a circus. One of the easiest costumes of all was the ghost; using an old sheet with holes cut out for the eyes.

The decorations for Halloween were mostly dried corn stalks arranged and tied into shocks, with pumpkins, and maybe some old clothing stuffed with newspapers sitting in a lawn chair on the front porch. But today, the decorations have expanded to the point that many people have spent more to decorate than at Christmas. So, what’s the problem? Halloween is just another holiday, right? It’s a celebration of the dark things in the world: a celebration of the evil things that go bump in the night; demons, skeletons, monsters, ghosts, vampires, witches, and Satan himself. Costumes have gone from spooky to overly bloody and gory. Homes have light displays; mechanical blow up decorations, and front yards filled with Styrofoam tombstone cemeteries. Skeletons clamber over cobweb covered porches and on rooftops. Skeleton horses pull horse-drawn coach hearses. I’ve seen plastic cat skeletons for sale at Wal-Mart. I can hardly wait for skeleton dogs to grace the shelves.

Even trick-or-treat has a sinister past. Druid priests would go door to door to collect tribute and if the homeowner refused, they would refuse to bless the house and not chase away unwelcome spirits. The Celts believed that the dead returned to earth at the festival of Samhain, which was celebrated on the night of October 31^st. Bonfires and sacrifices to the dead were offered. The Celts would disguise themselves in costumes of animal skins to drive away phantom visitors. Later people began to dress as ghosts, demons, or other malevolent beings. They would perform antics in exchange for food and drink. This custom is considered the precursor of trick-or-treating.

Too often the celebration of this season overshadows and swallows up the next holiday, Thanksgiving. The blessings of God are lost in the evils of Halloween. Our gratefulness is deflected by the rush toward the Christmas holiday. Christmas celebrates the birth of the Christ child; the Light of the world and our gratefulness and the birth of a Savior should outshine the darkness of Halloween.

 

 

What is Your Talent

Coach John Wooden once said, “Talent is God-given; be thankful, fame is man-given; be humble, and conceit is self-given, be careful.” We all have some type of talent, whether it is something great or small. Some people like my great-aunt Ruth Rugg could grow anything. She had a knack of transforming just a clipping from one plant and growing another. She could handle honey-bee swarms with her bare hands. My grandmother Rebecca Miner sewed her kids clothing, quilts, and fashioned many of her children’s gifts. My grandmother Anna Kalp Beck was a prayer warrior although she was small in stature; she stood tall in God’s eyes. Many people have a talent to grow wonderful gardens. I’ve helped friends with canning and freezing their harvest. I have a niece whose talent is her imagination. As a child she would sing and dance her way to stardom in her mom’s kitchen bow window as Sherry Osmond.

My brother Ken has a knack for hunting. Hopefully I’ll be able to harvest some venison as well. I have a multitude of minor talents, none exceptional, but they keep me from being bored with myself. I’ve tried to paint and found watercolors are the hardest, unable to cover mistakes with another coat of paint. I like to write poetry, but I‘m too finicky with syllable count and rhyming. Verses are often too stiff. I did find my niche writing stories from my past or sharing my thoughts, to amuse myself. I don’t say that I’m a good writer, but I enjoy being a wordsmith.

My wife used to say that I was “mechanically retarded.” I would tell her I prefer to be called “Mechanically dyslexic.” Electrical issues and plumbing problems are difficult for me. High school geometry was a bane for me. The teacher said, “Geometry is common sense,” but it made no sense to me. I couldn’t figure out which rule to use when and apply it to find an answer. That may be why my father-in-law Bud Morrison said about his son David Morrison and me, “Give them two boards and some nails and they’re dangerous.”

Those words may be close to true. I built an addition onto my mobile home and had one spot that leaked water between the trailer and the add-on. Try as I might I couldn’t stop it with the normal remedies. I put on my thinking cap and used some heavy denim material from a pair of old jeans, I stuffed it into a bucket of gasoline-thinned roof tar. After several hours, I took the tar impregnated material and spread it over the leak, then coated it with another layer of tar. Voila, no more leak.