A Lengthy Post About a Bunch of Crap With Some Complaining at the End
Well the weekend started off nicely as I was actually able to attend SnB for the first time in a long time on Saturday. And I got presents from some really nice generous people, presents I totally don’t deserve and still have to photograph and write thank you’s for, but made me feel so good! It was raining, which always ALWAYS makes me happy. Unless I have to work outside in it. But I didn’t. So it did. And then on my way home I noticed my throat was kind of sore again. The aspirin I took for it seemed to more or less take care of it so I’m chalking it up to yackyackyacking at SnB. And then that evening my husband managed to get enough done on the coop that moving the guineas was possible. We still have to put the battens up and he’s putting the shingles on as I type but at least they can fly around and perch and have room to breathe.
So then on Sunday I was maybe going to go over and visit my Mom, depending on how she was feeling. Last week was her scan for determining if the chemo and radiation have actually done anything. The radiation reduced what remained of the spinal tumor by 40%, but that’s neither here nor there since that was the one causing her so much agony and the pain-which was supposed to be drastically helped by the radiation-is still at a 9.5 out of 10. She’s on morphine for that, so now we all feel bad about how much suffering was brought about by the radiation only to have it not do what it was meant to do. And the chemo, which is for the lung and lymphnode tumors hasn’t done anything and it’s even spreading. (and her prognosis is declining) So they switched her chemo meds and now we’ve been waiting to see what the side effects of that are going to be. Ok so anyway depending how her chemo hangover was I was going over on Sunday, right? So I picked some okra and green beans (I hate okra but grew it for her as she had no room for it) and then I decided well I’ll pickle some of this extra for Jared while I’m in the kitchen and can it on up. Now I wasn’t going to tell you about this part because well, I complain enough and seriously it must be getting really old by now. Plus it’s embarassing and plus we’d end up having all kinds of discussions about the proper way to can things and bleh, ya know? But now I decided hey I might as well blog it and tell people not to freak out.
THIS IS THE PART WHERE YOU DON’T FREAK OUT: I was using a steam canner. (not a pressure steamer) Yes, yes, yes, I know steam canning is unacceptable but I was doing it anyway. Whatever. At one point I went to check it and it seemed as if there was no water in it and I thought “how is that possible??” So I lifted the lid to check it and a quart jar of boiling hot veggies exploded directly at my face. I was startled and kind of freaking out “My eyes! My eyes!” I thought, but my eyes were fine. Then I realized my left arm was red and burned and that the rest of my face might not have escaped unscathed. The mirror showed that the right lower side of my face and part of my neck were scalded. While in the bathroom rinsing it off, I heard another jar explode (inside the pot this time) I got Jared off the roof of the coop and he came and looked at me. No blisters or anything, just red and slightly swollen. He cleaned up some of the mess and got me some ice and offered to take me to the ER. And lamented his pickled veggies. Today it’s less red, still kind of swollen, there are one or two tiny blisters and I think it would be able to be covered by makeup if I were so inclined. I think I will heal. In cleaning up the aftermath, I discovered that the bottom of the pot had MELTED right to the eye of the stove.
Which answered the question of how the hell the pot could have been out of water. Jared asked me if I had the stove on “high” and I did, but I still insist that any pot made to go on a stove should be able to withstand the “high” setting-plus some-without MELTING. So instead of seeing Mom, I sat around with ice and one of Rabbitch’s hand knitted washcloths on my face and felt sorry for myself. Yes, I’m lucky, yes it sounds very dangerous. Yes, scary, I know. I HOPE YOU DIDN’T FREAK OUT, I’M REALLY OK.
Today I’m trying to write a resume so I can get some kind of job. As an exercise, here’s what I’d write if I was going to be up front about my cranky and apathetic attitude today. Former filmmaker seeks some kind of job that pays money. What kind of job is irrelevant. Skills include handing things to egomaniacs who need an entire staff to help them dress every day, knitting during breaks and wasting huge amounts of time on the internet. Career goals include having this job for only as long as it takes to get my fiber farm functional. I will need loads of time off to help care for my dying mother and my farm and to visit my husband on his location shoots as well as traveling to fiber festivals. Interests include making seeds into food, making hair into string, making string into clothing and exploding vegetables all over my kitchen. You’d hire me, wouldn’t you?
And finally, I’d like to just air a couple of quick complaints/Public Service Announcements:
1. You know that stick-thing that pokes out to the left of your steering wheel? The one that sometimes has your windshield wiper controls on it? Well, if you were to push that whole stick-thing either up or down it would activate a blinking light that would signal other drivers of your intention to change lanes or make a turn. They have these in every car. If everyone used these, it would be safer and less frustrating to share the road with one another.
2. This one is for women in GA, as I haven’t seen it elsewhere, but if appropriate it could apply to women everywhere. If you wear pantyhose, please for the love of Pete (and everyone else not named Pete) do not wear open-toed shoes. Especially sandals. Do you even know how stupid it looks to have that toe seam poking out of your shoes? Do you understand that the function of sandals is to keep your feet cool and you completely defeat that purpose by wearing pantyhose with them? Do you have any idea that because you chose the “suntan” shade for your pantyhose that is about 8 shades different from the rest of your skin that it stands out and makes us gawk at your feet with their crooked toe seam sticking out of your shoe? Stop it, please stop it. Do it for Pete. Thank you.
So small and so ugly. 
