Jammin'

Okay, friends. I thought I should update you about having made my first forray into the wild world of food preservation.

When I recently became obsessed with localvorism, I vowed that I would learn to can. "I'm going to can EVERYTHING," I told anyone who would listen. "I'll probably never go to the grocery store again," I self-righteously proclaimed.

I should note, for the sake of honesty, that upon hearing this my friend LW burst out laughing and screamed, "But why? They have CANS of stuff at the store."
"But this is BETTER," I said. "And FRESHER. And probably CHEAPER." I was right on the middle count, wrong on the others as it were. She was not the only one who was skeptical, however. My mother (helpfully) wondered where I was going to PUT the cans, given that our apartment is smaller than most average-sized SUVs. This is not to mention where I was going to put the canning equipment (which apparently includes a 200 gallon pot that, in retrospect, may not have fit on our 3/4 sized stove.)

So after waking up to reality and doing a bit of research, I decided that first I would try freezing. There are tons of recipes online for Freezer Jam, which you can make in smaller batches and store in the freezer until ready to use.

So I set out, bought some local raspberries and some type of crazy hippy pectin from the local co-op, went home and set about preserving.

Now, I must admit that this first attempt may not have been "worth it" in the traditional sense. Especially given the fact that it took several hours and my kitchen ended up looking like this:

However, ultimately, I did end up with a jam-like product that I had made myself, which was pretty thrilling (I was concerned that what I was actually making was frozen-fruit-mush, but it did set up overnight and turned very jam-ish.).

On the price front, however, I did not triumph. Total cost? $17. Which, as you might guess, is slightly more than even gourmet store-bought jam.

So the final count, as I see it, is as follows:
Me: 1
My friend LW: 1
Global Warming: 0

Can't wait until the next round!

I'm a PILOT!

So, I'd like to officially nominate my husband for "Best Spouse on the Planet." (And no, I'm not biased.)

His nomination is based on many qualities and incidents (some of which have been reported here, some not), but mostly right now because for my birthday this year, he gave me the best gift ever.....WINGS!!

Well, actually, he gave me a day trip to Martha's Vineyard (which is paradise by the way, if you ever have the chance to visit). The most exciting and luxurious part of the day however was the fact that we flew there!
Typically, to get to Martha's Vineyard, one drives from Cambridge to Woods Hole, MA at the Southern base of Cape Cod (about a 2 hour drive with no traffic which is, well, never), after which one would park and make one's way to the ferry which would (in about an hour) take you to Martha's Vineyard. But, if you are REALLY cool, or your husband is SUPER amazing, you can FLY from Boston Logan in a tiny 10-seat Cesna across the coast to MV in just 37 minutes.
And, as if this special treatment weren't enough, I got to sit COPILOT on our way down. (This was not a part of the birthday plan, in fact, just a fluke of weight balance needs and the fact that we were at the front of the line.) It was INCREDIBLE! The dials were whirring and buzzing and the engines were LOUD as we bounced through the puffy clouds and watched the central coast of Massachusetts float by. The low altitude meant we could see EVERYTHING as we passed by: buildings we recognized and all the tiny inlets and moored boats as we approached the Cape.

We landed smoothly around 9:15 a.m. and spent the day touring around the island, eating crab cakes on the Marina, visiting light houses and swimming in the ocean. It was amazing.

Upon arriving back at the airport an hour before our flight, the woman at the counter asked "Boston?" (It's not that big of an airport.) When we said "yes," she said, "Great, we've been waiting for you." and quickly escorted us through security and in a few minutes onto the runway. We were apparently the only passengers on the return flight and flew in private style back to Boston at sunset.

What a day! Needless to say at this moment I am seriously considering getting my pilot's license and also winning the lottery. But, until I can work on that stuff, let me just say, "Thanks, Mr.LIOLI..you're the BEST!"

Hallmark Hell

Father's Day is coming up this Sunday, which means that I recently spent a significant amount of time in Target's card aisle searching for the perfect card.

Now, I happen to share many traits with my father, including a general ability to get worked up about things that don't really matter in the grand scheme of things. Those of you who know me personally can attest to this: I can get worked up about almost anything. My father would call it "allowing myself to get annoyed." I like to think of it as "Poignant and Passionate Observations about the State of Things."

So it was not a huge surprise that there in the card aisle I got worked into a lather about the state of the greeting card industry. Mostly I was annoyed that I could not find anything that I felt would appropriately express my affection. Most cards seemed to simply reinforce antiquated gender stereotypes, which is fine, except that none of them apply to my father.

Here is representative sample of what I did find:
Hey, Dad! You're fat and love golf. Happy Father's Day!
It's Father's Day. You deserve time to sit on your ass, watch TV and let mom cook and clean.
Dad, you didn't really parent me that much. But what'd'ya say we drink 25 beers together, watch sports and fart at will to celebrate? Happy Father's Day.
Dad, I love that you fix things with your manly tools. Happy Father's Day.
Dad, thanks for all the hard-earned money you spent to get me this far in life. Happy Father's Day.

Seemingly, the only alternative to these more "humorous" options are the overly sappy poetic expressions of an unbelievably perfect father-child relationship that doesn't actually exist anywhere. Something that goes like this:

Dad, when you used to bounce me on your knee as a child, I always felt warm and protected by your manly father-ness. I knew you would always provide for me as was your genetic duty. Thanks for all the fishing trips and bike-rides and ball tosses and afternoons in the workshop building toys and laughing together that made me the (wo/man) I am today. Happy Father's Day to the best man who exists IN THE UNIVERSE and probably all nearby galaxies. You change my life.

I mean, this is great and all, and I do love my dad and think he is the best ever, but I'm not sure this is what I want to say to him on Father's Day in large script on a pastel background with abstract but manly swirls of silver overlay. (BTW, Dad, did you ever really bounce me on your knee?)

(Note: This problem is not one that only happens on Father's Day, but really on all holidays. Last year, for instance, I had a devil of a time trying to find a Mother's Day card for my grandmother that didn't make reference to the many cookies she had baked for me as a child. My grandmother is quite an incredible woman and an important part of my life. Unfortunately, though, I don't think she ever baked me any cookies and is therefore left out of the greeting card industry's idea of good grandmotherhood.)

So, I've decided that once I have saved the church, started my pizza joint, bought and managed an organic farm and vineyard, and finished saving for retirement, I will use what's left of my days to start my own greeting card company which will only print on recycled paper and express more straightforward sentiments such as:

Dad, you're an absolutely great guy. I'm glad you're my father. I love you. Happy Father's Day.

But until that day comes, I'll give a shout-out to my own dad here in the blogosphere:
Dad, you're an absolutely great guy. I'm glad you're my father. I love you. Happy Father's Day.
Love, Me


p.s. Dad-In case you're worried, I did send you an actual card, which I hope arrives on time. :)

Makeover!

What's Up, Jesus? has got a new look! What'd'ya'think?

I'm a Farmer!

When I recently decided I was ready to become a farmer, Mr. LIOLI suggested I combine this commitment with a desire to spruce up our building for summer (Redirection: the sign of a true enabler!). So, after 28 years of DESPISING gardening of any kind (Sorry, Mom!), I finally did it. And guess what? It worked! (Oh, and those little tags that tell you things grow to a certain height, those things are for real. Lesson learned.)
Here are the outdoor pots when I planted them about 2 months ago:

And here they are today:
We've got daisies and snapdragons, pansies and a ton of other things I don't know the name of:

Amazing what a little sun and rain will do! And we're beautifying the neighborhood, too:

That Mel Gibson's Got Passion

I recently realized that I don't really have a passion. Now don't get me wrong, I'm passionate about many things, but I just don't have a passion, something I feel completely and utterly dedicated to as a single issue. Like Bob Barker and neutering pets or Mel Gibson and Jesus (or being crazy depending on how you look at it.)

The way I arrived at this realization was that someone asked me what my passion was and I just stared goofily at them and had nothing to say. (Note: This is something that happens frequently in the ministry. People will ask you what your passion is. This usually confuses me as I thought being a minister was my passion but apparently not. I've often thought that I should develop some witty and sarcastic response such as "Saving the World" after which all other passions listed by those present will seem silly and trivial. Either that or I'll look idealistic and vague.) Anyhow, the long and the short of it is, I don't have a passion.

The tough thing is that many of the people around me have passions. For instance, my co-w0rker RM has a passion: ecology. He lives and breathes and preaches and thinks about and reads about and travels to conferences on the earth. It informs who he is and what he's doing, and it is one of the things I admire the most about him. (Though I often tease him about some of his more over-the-top ideas about how to save the environment....No, RM, we're still not going to use the wood from the old pew backs to build bookshelves and garden boxes.)

But I've realized that I'm just not that good at having passions. I am more of a passion polygamist. Or maybe we can call it serial monogamy. I like to have one thing at a time that I am worked up about and then move onto the next thing before long. At different points in my life, I have been fixated on:Water Polo
Civic Education and Political Participation among young people in the US
Kickboxing
Health Care Access in Latin America
Pi Beta Phi International Fraternity
Spanish Literature
Dave Matthews Band
The Oregon State Legislature
Evolutionary BiologyDog Agility Competition
Canning
Djembe Drumming
Dietrich Bonhoeffer
Localvorism/Food Culture

Unfortunately for our small living space and limited storage capabilities, each one of these passions has come with a variety of "must-have" items that the Beloved has sometimes provided sometimes tolerated, such as about 500 books, a djembe drum, and the following "energy-saving" purchase from the Cambridge Antique mall that came during a bout of passion about eco-stewardship:

What is it, you ask? It's a hand-operated coffee-grinder from West Germany. So I can grind my own coffee without having to waste precious coal-powered electricity. It took searching about 25 antique shops to find it. Now you see.......this is the problem. This is the silliness that happens when I have a passion. (By the way, to LW and AH whose response to this was "You know you only buzz the coffee grinder for, like, 3 seconds, right?" I say: "I'm doing the best I can.")

Do you think I should leave the passion to Christ?

The Price Always Seems to be Right

What is it with "The Price is Right"? I have ALWAYS loved this show and I think I will always love it. Even though I understand it is simply an extended paid advertisement for household goods that I don't care about, interrupted by more paid advertisements for Medicare Supplement coverage and Hoverround motorized chairs. (Which makes me wonder, am I THE only person under 70 years old watching this?)

I guess there is just something really awesome about people in homemade t-shirts playing ridiculous games like Plinko in order to get lots of free stuff they don't need and money.