That's what the sky in Lloyd has looked like all day. I took that picture of the post office when I went to check the mail. It's been gloomy and chilly and damp. It's even rained some. I had no desire to leave the house at all after I got back from that short errand.
I sent a friend this picture and asked, "Do I really want to mess with these?"
"God no," she said.
But then I thought about all the time Mr. Moon had taken to pick them and I decided to just make a few pints of pickled green ones and got out the canner and perused recipes and sterilized jars and made a pickling brine and stemmed and washed the tomatoes and before I put each one in the jars I stabbed the top with a sharp knife. The recipes online are a mishmash of different techniques, brines, and spices. So I just put in what I wanted including part of a brick of brown sugar that I've kept for some unknown reason. It fused itself together a long time ago so today I just got out some sort of serrated knife that looks like it was made to cut through bones (it may have been) and hacked off about an inch of the brick and threw that in with the vinegar and salt. I put a garlic clove and different pickling spices into the jars before I put the tomatoes in, then filled the jars with the brine before I put the lids on and put them back in the canning kettle for a nice little simmer.
This is what they looked like before they went into the water bath.
So. They may be good or they may taste like a vile experiment gone very wrong. The only thing I've wasted is some vinegar and spices and a hunk of brown sugar.
They've all sealed and I'll open a jar in a week or so to see what they taste like.
Besides that I wrapped a few presents. I can only do so many of those at a time before I lose my mind. I have such a mental block about giving presents. Some people seem to just be born to know how to give the best presents. My friend Lynn was one of those people. Her mama was good at it too. My mother frankly mostly sucked at it. Every Christmas we used to go to a party at a friend's house and it became a standing joke for the women to tell each other about the things their mothers had gotten them. I think I was the all-time champ of weird shit present-receiving from my maternal unit. Well, she tried. I'm not a whole lot better than she was. My kids still talk about the Christmas everyone got the choice of getting a corduroy shirt from J. Crew or a multi-tool. I am sure I must have given them all more than that. I mean- really. The youngest children are easy to buy for. Levon literally picked out his own present and I bought it. I got August a make-a-robot kit thing and Maggie a giant jewelry-making kit.
So anyway, I wrapped up all the kids' things except Gibson's which isn't here yet, and then remembered that I had presents for Mr. Moon to wrap and I just couldn't deal with it. I did get a fancy $1.99 shopping bag in Bass Pro World decor when I was there yesterday and his presents may all just end up being in there, unwrapped, with a layer of tissue paper over them. I remember how Kathleen used to get started early, early making beautiful pillowcases that she put her Christmas presents in. That woman DID Christmas. She loved it! She baked and bought and sewed and crocheted and planned and made soap, and then she cooked the seven fishes for Christmas Eve. Is it seven? Twelve? Whatever it was, she did it. She had the most amazingly generous soul.
I do not.
I do not.
One year she made me a shawl/wrap in my favorite color, a deep teal, and she put bells on it and ribbons and oh my god! It is such a work of love and knowing. I cherish it. And it must be six feet long. At least! I can wrap and wrap and wrap myself in it.
It's raining now. Mr. Moon is in town, trying to find me a Christmas present, I'm afraid. He asked me to please tell him what I'd like and I swear, I could not think of a thing. I need no more kitchen appliances or doo-dads or even beautiful knives. He gave me jewelry for our anniversary. I need nothing and I really don't WANT anything either. We are at that stage of life where if we want something, we buy it for ourselves and we have everything.
What I really want is for us to get these plants in and that must be done tomorrow. Truly. Neither one of us really wants to do it but unless I want my plants, some of which are twenty years old or older, to die, we have to.
I found a recipe online for fried green cherry tomatoes so it can be done. I think I'll try that for our supper tonight. I've already made the aging eggplant into a casserole and I'm going to roast a chicken which will feed us for days. And hey! We could also have a nice cherry tomato salad!
This many were ripe enough not to be considered green. Maurice is not impressed.
All right. This made me laugh today.