The Lazy Weekend that Wasn't

Last week was a seriously busy time for me, and so as I snatched an old Patricia Cornwell novel out of a sale bin at the drugstore on Friday evening, I envisioned myself piled up on the couch for the weekend, absorbed in the thriller.

It was not to be.

Standing before the open refrigerator on Saturday morning, I realized that I'd have to break down and go grocery shopping or we'd go hungry all weekend.  I showered and dressed and hit the road about 9 a.m.  As The Husband and I were putting away the groceries an hour later, he told me that The Grandson had called, wanting to come over.  Before we finished, the phone rang again.  The Husband answered it.  "Ok, we'll be down there in a little bit to get some of it," I heard him say.  He hung up the phone and turned to me:  "Mama's picked a bucket of tomatoes, a bucket of butterbeans, and a bunch of okra.  And somebody gave her a bucket of pears.  She said for us to come get some of it." 

Oh, boy...there goes my lazy Saturday, I thought, but I went across the road and relieved Nanny of the tomatoes and butterbeans.  While I was there, she told me that the squash plants in the garden were infested with bugs.  I went out and had a look and, sure enough, the squash plants were crawling with squash bugs of every size and description.  They'd already demolished some of the older plants and were working their way down the row.  Watching them, I remembered that a month ago a friend in Albuquerque had complained that squash bugs had arrived in his garden, and that he had given them $5 and my address.  Thanks, buddy.  I'd have to deal with them later. 

Back at home, when The Grandson saw me assembling the tomato squeezer, he made a bee-line to the kitchen, volunteering his help.  Letting him help seemed like a good idea.  I clamped the contraption to the kitchen table, showed Caleb how to turn the crank, and began slicing the tomatoes into the hopper.  We'd only ground a few tomatoes when he leaned into the juicer too hard and knocked the whole business, bowls and all, onto the kitchen floor.  He needed no encouragement to go play with his trains when he saw the mess he'd made.  I cleaned it up and finished the job without his assistance.

It was early evening by the time I'd canned the tomatoes and shelled and blanched the butterbeans. My feet were aching, but I knew that if I sat down to rest them, I'd never get up again, and there were still squash bugs to be dispatched.  I went across the road, mixed up a few gallons of insecticide, and went out to greet the squash bugs.  Truth be told, the squash plants weren't worth saving, but I knew those rotten bugs would multiply, or over-winter in the soil, or something; getting rid of them this year might save me some headache next year.  I let 'em have it with the bug spray and didn't even feel bad about it.

Sunday was far less hectic, even though Caleb was still with us.  We had a semi-lazy day loitering around in our pajamas, reading books, watching cartoons, and watching the writing spider catch bugs in her web outside our living room window.  Between all that, I managed to wash four loads of laundry, change the bed sheets, and put meals on the table - all in all a productive weekend, despite the non-productive plans I'd made. 

Tiling the Shower (The Finale)

I was reminded this week that I never wrote the rest of the story of the shower tiling project. 

There is a reason for this - the not writing, that is.

You see, ten years ago, we undertook another do-it-(partly)-yourself project, a bedroom/bathroom addition.  In fact, that project involved the very bathroom that has been the subject of these posts.  Now, we didn't do much of this project, only simple things like painting and trim work.  As of this writing, that project still is not quite finished after all these years.  The Husband cut and painted the baseboards for the bathroom, set them in place against the walls, but never nailed them to the wall.  Why this occurred (or, rather, didn't occur) is still a mystery.  As we started the tiling project, I said to him, "When we finish tiling, we need to nail those (#!@ baseboards to the walls."  Having spoken the words that added that step to the process, in my mind the shower project won't officially be finished until the (#!@ baseboards are nailed to the walls.

Nevertheless, we are showering in it.  Here it is:

The Husband took over the final stages of the project.  He did the grouting and sealing and installed the final trim pieces.  There is still a place or two where I think we should add some trim work, just to spiff it up a bit, but that may never happen. 

As you can see, we haven't installed a shower door yet, and we probably never will.  (I'm thinking it'll be a lot easier to periodically replace a slimy shower curtain than to keep a glass door free of soap scum.) 

Am I 100% satisfied with our work?  No, just 99%.  The tile job is not perfect, but it ain't bad for amateurs.  We had to replace a small strip of sheetrock near the ceiling, and we still haven't painted it, but I hereby vow (and you are my witness!) that we will do it.

And we might even nail the baseboards to the walls while we're at it.  ;)

* * * * * * * *

In the garden, the tomatoes continue to ripen.  Nanny canned a load of them earlier in the week.  I should go to the garden this morning to see if more are ready, for I haven't put up nearly enough spaghetti sauce and salsa.  The okra continues to churn out pods at an astonishing rate.  The cucumbers, squash, and blackeyed peas have about pooped out.  I planted more squash seeds a few weeks ago, and those plants have begun to bloom and produce squash, but they are only making a half-hearted effort.  Who could blame them in all this heat?  Some time in the next couple of weeks, I am going to pull up the pea vines and plow those rows for greens.  The corn plants have small ears on them.  So far, the stalks are still standing, but I know in my heart that the raccoons are watching, waiting to harvest the ears one day before I do. 

 

Tomatoes! (and Gadgetry)

I went to the garden when I got off work, thinking that there might be enough ripe tomatoes on the vines to make a batch of spaghetti sauce, and was delighted to find that there were LOTS of ripe tomatoes - two plastic grocery bags near-to-bust full.  I brought them home, washed them, and fed them to my new kitchen gadget.

It's a "Sauce Master" sauce strainer.  Clamps to the table, cranks like a meat grinder.  It comes with one strainer attachment, its mesh small enough to hold back a tomato seed.  You set a funnel bowl on top of it, drop quartered tomatoes into the funnel (belly buttons and all), and commence cranking.  It has a plastic auger inside that smushes the tomatoes against the mesh.  You don't even have to peel the tomatoes; the juice and pulp run out one spout, and the seeds, skin, and cores run out another.

I also bought a salsa attachment that has bigger holes, like a round box grater instead of a mesh.  With this attachment, you get juice, pulp, and little bits of tomato.  The seeds - and sometimes even little bits of skin - will come through the holes of this attachment (I don't care).  When I finished squeezing all of the tomatoes with the salsa attachment, I changed back to the original strainer, squeezed the skins again, and got more pulp and juice.  This is a good gizmo.  It drastically cut down on the tomato prep time.

There are now three pans of tomatoes simmering on my stove, altogether about 12 quarts of raw tomatoes and juice.  I've added garlic powder, salt, and pepper to the tomatoes and will cook them down until they've made a nice, thick sauce. 

Cucumber Pigs

My grandson, Caleb, came to spend the evening with me yesterday.  About 30 minutes after his arrival, he announced, "I have a great idea.  Let's go to Nanny and Pop-Pop's."  It so happened that I had already planned a trip to Nanny and Pop-Pop's to deliver some things I'd picked up earlier in the day, but I was shelling butterpeas at that moment, and needed to start the supper cooking, so I put him off for a while.  When his Poppy had come home, and we'd all eaten dinner, we headed across the road to Nanny's.

While we were there, I made a quick sashay through the garden to check on things.  On my way past the cucumbers, I found two big yellow ones.  Finding them gave me a flashback to my childhood, when my grandfather showed me how to make a pig out of a big yellow cucumber and a few spent kitchen matches.  I told The Husband, "I'm going to show Caleb how to make a cucumber pig."

Caleb was at that moment zooming around the yard in his Power Wheels Jeep.  I snapped a branch off of a cherry tree, and when Caleb zoomed past me, I hollered, "Caleb, come watch; I'm going to turn this cucumber into a pig!" 

He stopped and gave me a disbelieving look.  "Pigs are not made out of cucumbers," he said.  "They're made out of meat."

"This one's going to be made out of cucumber," I told him.  "Come look." 

He climbed out of the Jeep and followed me onto Nanny's back porch.  I sat down at the table and broke off four equal lengths of the cherry branch to use as legs, another length for a tail, and some short pieces for eyes.  Caleb stood at my knees, watching as I poked the sticks into the cucumber.  "He needs a nose," Caleb said.  I broke off another piece of the branch to make the nose. 

"There!" I said, setting the pig onto the table.  It immediatly collapsed onto its belly, with all four legs splayed out to its sides.  My sticks were too thin to hold its weight. 

"It looks like an insect," Caleb observed. 

I broke off two more pieces of stick and jabbed them in.  "Ok, now it's an insect," I said.

Caleb looked skeptical.  "What kind of insect has a tail?"

He had me there. 

Fortunately, Poppy had witnessed the pig's collapse and had already gone for sturdier sticks.  With them and the second yellow cucumber, we fashioned a fine (if slightly disproportioned and rather startled-looking) pig that could hold its own weight.

Rain!

It rained Monday night.  The garden needed it, but I wish it would've waited one day, for I'd sprayed for tomato worms a few hours earlier.  I don't know whether to spray again or wait and see if the little green devils ate enough supper that night to kill them.  I'll probably wait, since (1) I hate using pesticides, and (2) I'm lazy.

Temperatures are cooler this week - low 90s instead of high 90s.  Yesterday was wonderful, with sunshine and a nice breeze.  As soon as I came home from work, I went to the garden.  The butterpeas - rather, some of the butterpeas - were ready for picking.  I haven't shelled them, yet, but I'm guessing this picking will make enough for a 2-person supper.  The plants still have loads of pods on them, and plenty more blooms, so we should get another picking or two.

The purple-hull peas have about "done their do," as my mother says.  One day soon, I'm going to pull up the vines, till the rows, and find something else to plant in their place.

Something has eaten most of the leaves off of the green beans.  They may put back on after this rain.  I'll give them a few days before I yank them up.

Still waiting on tomatoes.

Pssssst...Bugs!

Note to self:  I sprayed the tomatoes for bugs and blight this evening.  We've had a good rain since the last time I sprayed, and tomato worms are beginning to trim up the plants.  Pssssst!  Take THAT, horned worm. 

Tonight on the local TV gardening show, the questions were about why the tomato plants haven't borne fruit as they should have.  Apparently, I'm not the only gardener with green, bushy plants and not many ripe tomatoes to show for it.  The experts said that we can blame it on the excessive heat of the past couple of months, and that if we persevere (and water regularly), the situation should improve when the weather cools a bit.  They said, "Be patient."

I jumped the gun last week and bought a case of tomatoes from a road-side stand.  (How THEY're getting ripe tomatoes is anybody's guess.)  On Tuesday, the ripest of them went into a batch of salsa.  It tasted good, but wasn't spicy/hot enough to suit me.  By Sunday, the rest had ripened, and I made a second batch of salsa.  I threw the hot peppers to it, and shook in a few dried red pepper flakes for good measure.  This batch is hotter than a firecracker, just the way I like it.

Note to Self re. Watering

I watered the butterbeans, squash, tomatoes, peppers, and corn today.  Didn't make it to the cucumbers, green beans, and peas.  While the water was running, The Husband and I picked squash, cucumbers, peppers, and okra.  The okra is really going to town.  Heh...must be all that swagglin'.  Anyway...finish the watering tomorrow.

We had a garden supper tonight - fried eggplant, butterbeans, and frozen ravioli with fresh tomato/basil sauce.  That sauce was good on the eggplant, too; with a little parmesan cheese grated on top, it was a like a quickie Eggplant Parmigiana.  The butter beans were good.  I chopped and fried one piece of bacon until it was about halfway done, then I dumped the raw butterbeans (about 2 cups) into the skillet, swooshed them around with the bacon, and let them heat for a couple of minutes.  Then I poured enough water on the beans to cover them, simmered the water out, then watered/simmered them again.  What little liquid remained was like gravy.  Next time I do it, I'll add a little finely-chopped onion - and/or a little roasted red pepper - in with the bacon.