Family

Salty Frog Sympathy

As the pool pump made a couple of those sounds that could not escape my well trained ears, I had to take a peek into the pool skimmer. The skimmer was full of leaves, so it appears the telltale noises could not escape the surprise-adverse ears I have been wearing for a few years.

When I returned the skimmer basket from the leaf burial ground, a little frog was sitting along side the pool. I could only guess he had fallen into the pool and been sucked into the skimmer overnight. (Now that the pool is winterized, this is not likely to happen again this year. A couple of wind storms have given the pool skimmer and the vacuum more than they could clean up in a couple of days. Now, that the temperatures are dropping, the pool blanket has come out to keep the pool warm as far into fall as possible AND the leaf netting has come out to provide a more manageable way to remove all of the leaves once they start dropping from the well placed tree right beside the pool…) I yelled at my daughters to show them my little friend. He did not seem to be doing so well. It was my believe he took a big drink of a liquid (salt water). As the liquid worked its way through his system, his outlook was not good.

My daughters, however, were not going to give up easily. They tried to give him a big drink of tap water. They tried to scrounge up a bug or two so he could have an easy snack. They really loved on him beyond his ability to appreciate it. His movements were present, but very slow when I found him. And, as he spent time with my daughters, it appeared his reflexes continued to slow—so slow in fact, he expired before they had time to implement all of their revival plans. (The final part of their plan was to take him to school to let their favorite science teacher prove she was capable of saving the life of an amphibian….she had already saved a reptile (turtle) and a few fish this school year.)

Despite his brief time as a Gruenbaum, I was so glad to see how his life was not dismissed by my girls. They dove in despite the high probability of failure. They likely accepted the worst case scenario from the moment they met “froggie”. Despite the downside, they chose to be optimistic and move forward with a plan. I enjoyed watching their ultimate fruitless efforts and commitment to extending his life.

I couldn’t help but think of the difficulty they had accepting the death of their hamster a couple of years ago. (They also lost a guinea pig that was very small and very lonely; he just seemed like he didn’t want to live w/o a roommate.) They cried and asked “why?” so many times. As painful as it was for me to see them so upset, they emerged from this pain with a greater understanding of how life can be so fleeting. And, it was likely some of those lessons that were helpful to them as they threw their hearts into trying to solve the frog’s dilemma. As I admired their efforts, I couldn’t help but ask, “Where did my little girls go?” As a frog begins as a tadpole and grow into adulthood, I see my girls swimming/hopping along life’s path gradually becoming the young ladies they were born to become.

Homesick Exchangelings

We have had two great months with our exchange students. We were warned that their emotions may have a cyclical nature. These cycles combined with being away from home combined with a birthday away from their family seems to have them moving into a slightly less social zone.

They still cook for us on a voluntary basis. They still will play some games if homework is not too heavy. And, they are still very courteous and polite. Both my wife and I are/have sensing their need for a little more space. Their normal habit after diner is to go up to their homework room (previously known as the man cave, but due to college, the men are no longer interested in frequenting their previously claimed domicile). My wife has diligently worked to have the school make “accommodations” to keep them from having to do double homework by translating from English prior to doing the actual homework. One of our students has had a wide variety of issues with her credit card and getting money off of it. (This has included forgotten PINs, working at some locations and not at others [it does have one of those new chips], and the most recent problem has been a possible case of fraud on her card) We have tried to be flexible with their needs, but we are just feeling they are clinging a little too tightly to each other and the relationship with their “roomie” rather than the family relationships.

In a past life, we did foster care. Kids in those circumstance were in a very confused state. They were “homesick” for their parent(s), but they realized they were clean and fed with us. They liked the opportunities we had for them, but I believe they also resented those same things because their relative/family/parent was not able to provide them those things. Unfortunately, foster kids often did not have the means to deal with their anger in very constructive ways. This provides challenges far more difficult than dealing with our homesick exchange students.

Homesickness (I think) comes when the “honeymoon” and the newness wears off. As the host family, we can recharge a little when the exchange students “cling” to each other and maintain their solitude. (As much as we enjoy them, they still have changed the family dynamics.) Regardless, we will continue on this journey together. We both (our family and the exchange students) have lots to offer each other. We have trips planned, birthdays to celebrate, and meals to share together. And, as our 10 month adventure continues together, we become more and more convinced that although “near” family can be good, family-family is best!

Bye, Bye Flintstones

My daughter is nearing the end of her first year on the High School cross country team. She has PRed (Personal Record) a few times and continues to show improvement nearly every week. Even though she has had to get up terribly early almost every day since school started, she is still committed to doing her best. “Best” includes doing a 4 mile run on her day off of school when no practice was scheduled. (Columbus Day)

During track season in the spring, the coach noticed she had a breathing issue. We went to the pediatrician and got an inhaler for her to use before she runs. (Their was cross fit training or running nearly every weekday this summer.) When cross country started, she was given the advice to use the inhaler twice within a couple of minutes. This was to be done 30 minutes before the beginning of her race. As the season wore on, this seemed to address most of the breathing issues she was having. Unfortunately, during a couple of windy days, the coach became convinced that her breathing problems were more allergy related than asthma. We thought getting her tested could wait until after the season.

As I went to pick my daughter up on Thursday afternoon after she completed a 3 mile run, the coach had some additional advice for me. “The State meets are in just over two weeks. If the weather is really windy, I don’t know if the inhaler will be enough. She should start taking a Claratin every day until after the state meet.” This brings us to today. It took us a couple of days to get the Claratin picked up. And, it was not chewable, so we would have to do a swallowing tutorial….

Right after dinner the past couple of nights, we have played a “game”. We had purchased a big bag of bulk, mini, peanut butter cups at Sprouts. Last night and again tonight, I threw a number of pb cups into the air near my kids heads where many were caught in the mouth and quickly swallowed. Most of them arched pretty well, and many (not all) of the pb cups were caught. Cheeks, noses, and tongues got in the way of some of the catches. (There is an art to throwing well arced food items [M&Ms, peanuts, popcorn, etc], but it will have to wait for a later time.) Sometimes the pb cup nearly went straight down the throat without chewing or anything. I mentioned to my daughter, “Maybe, you can try to catch the Claratin in your mouth so you won’t have to think about swallowing.” (My wife has always been a little softer when it came to the art of swallowing. My near adult son still has trouble swallowing, so she will give him liquids whenever she can. I come from the other school that says, “Grow up! It needs swallowed, so swallow it!”) Of course, dads are more likely to be soft on their daughters (I did check when buying the Claratin. There did not appear to be a chewable variety….) Since the “catching” of pb cups by my daughter was a little sketchy at times AND because she needed to learn to swallow anyway, we filled a glass of water, and I tried to go to work!

I have been a member of the “Good Swallower” club for a number of years. I take a few vitamins daily. They are stored in plastic container with the days of the week on it. The days of the week don’t matter to me–it is the same mix every day. (Yes, these are identical to what is used by our senior citizens.) Usually, I dump the contents of the “Monday” (or whichever) compartment in my mouth; I carefully arrange them on my tongue; I drink the water slowly; I let the pills float up into the water (maybe swishing the water in my mouth a little) and try to get them to all be approximately in the center of my mouth, and then I swallow. Usually they (Okay, their are 8 total–I am getting old) are gone in one swallowing, and at most two. This is the technique (if technique can be accurately applied to the sketchy details provided) I tried to convey to my daughter. She decided to practice on something small. She suggested peanuts. I suggested something a little smaller. Since the Claratin is really only about the size of a baby aspirin, I was very hopeful the “lesson” would be a short one. After swallowing a small piece of granola a couple of times, she was ready to take her pill. I watched her center the pill on her tongue, and practically before the water was in her mouth, the pill was swallowed. She enjoyed it so much she cleared out the box and took all 30 of the Claratin in one evening. (not really, but she did enjoy the accomplishment)

I think she realized what swallowing the pill would mean. Another part of her childhood was slipping away. No longer could she eagerly look forward to another morning of chomping on the Flintstones (or other chewable) vitamin. (Chewable in my youth was a chalky like thing–it wasn’t a gummy bear!) She had to accept the bottle of vitamins in the cupboard was the end of an era in her life. No more “candy” with the vitamin chaser. She was going to have to take her vitamins the (almost) old fashion way–by water. (The real old fashion way was just eating well–she does that pretty well, too.)

I know some kids achieve this “milestone” earlier in life. I know my kids are not perfect, and are not “100th” percentile on everything. I know we probably could have found a solution that involved the preservation of her “no swallow” policy. And, I also know she didn’t do something she didn’t really want to do because it was the only option presented to her. I am pretty sure it is okay to “secretly” celebrate a milestone if it means your child is daily winning the war against their negative thoughts and the “I can’ts”. I know she is going to be a great adult–I am just hoping she doesn’t figure it out before I am willing to tell her!

My Semi-Lucid Camera

No this is NOT a selfie!

As I continue to explore the new paths in our neighborhood, I like to have my camera on my hip. I don’t have a fancy camera, but I have had it for over 4 years. I have used this camera for SO many things:

I have taken pictures of the kids at so many different sporting events, fairs, and other activities.
It has gone on many vacations with the family. It was fastened to my hip for most of our trip to China last year.
I have taken lots of videos of the kids blowing out candles, cooking food, doing quirky human tricks, and a variety of other oddball things that only I would consider entertaining.
I have taken work pictures for eBay, blogs, and whatever other place I needed. I probably through in quite a few videos as well!

As my camera has aged, our affection (I like to think it is shared, but I know he just thinks of me as the annoying guy who pushes his buttons and yanks out his guts [the SD card and the rechargeable battery]) has grown. I have relied on him for all of those special moments that words just would not be able to do justice to. This was how our relationship went for the past few years until last week. He started letting me down more often then not. I missed a few key shots:

The chickens wandering in the front yard along my walk route. There was no fence or anything. Even telling you now, you are going, “Really? There were chickens wandering without a fence. If you had a picture, I might believe you!”
At the cross country meet, I went to snap a few pictures, but the camera still needed to take a nap or something….

Well, I am not stupid. I thought to myself, “I have never bought a new battery for this camera. Certainly that is the problem.” Two days later, I was able to test this theory when the new battery arrived. Initially, I thought it was more than the battery. After I charged the battery, I popped it into the camera and grew to expect this type of result when I wanted to take a picture:

I turned the camera on and prepared to take my picture.
After waiting for the camera to come to life, I aimed it at my intended target.
I was usually greeted by the lense being sucked back into the camera with no desire to help me capture any memories.

Starting this morning (the day after I bought a new camera online w/ an expected delivery tomorrow), the camera seemed to be embarrassed by its recent behavior. It was cooperating about 50% of the time. (As an example, it only took 3 tries to take my first picture.) By the time I got to my 2nd and 3rd desired picture, the camera was “almost” reliable. At my 4th picture, it did make me try twice, but it took the picture without complaining again and it seemed to be ready for more. (It was not easy, but I kind of pictured a dog who was trying to please—his tongue was hanging out and all of his body language was saying, “Let me help. I want to play.”)

At this point, this camera, at best, will be my backup. I am not sure if it is rethinking the whole “death” idea, or if the internal battery needed extra time to recharge off of the newly acquired battery. Whatever the problem was or is, now that the camera has broken my trust, this camera will….soon be in the trash heap. (I completed the last few words after the recent adventure at the state fair.)

At the Texas State Fair, the camera was on my hip, but the camera was barely lucid. He acted like he just left a sanitarium and had no idea what he was supposed to do. He would stick his tongue out at me, and quickly pull it back in. (The lense would quickly suck back in as I tried to take the pictures.) He would pretend to take pictures and leave me disappointed later when I could not find the pictures I was certain he had committed to memory. He was not reliable, and without a good camera, I am better enjoying the moment then fooling around with an electronic device that has made different career plans.

The camera, when acting according to its DNA, takes pictures. Not being an artist, my brain needs a good image to remember all of the subtle details of the camera captured event. A good picture can add color to an otherwise boring description provided by a somewhat overburdened brain. While my active memories only seem available in black and white images, a camera captured image from MY camera can provide my brain the adrenaline boost it needs to propel my descriptions into a color palette that make the events seem like it just occurred.

Fortunately, the new camera awaited me on the front porch when I got home from the fair. It is a little bulkier, and it only came with a manual in Japanese. In its first outing (daughter’s cross country meet), it appears to know what it was designed to do. If it gives me a few years of mostly lucid service, I am eager to trust it with helping me preserve some amount of the past…regardless of how lucid I am when the pictures are reviewed.

Monster Mashed Potatoes

As we were sitting around the table Sunday night enjoying my daughters birthday meal, one of our guest commented to our Korean exchange student, “Have you ever done the “mashed potato” dance?”

After looking at him rather strangely due to our inability to make a connections with where his brain got that one from, the only thing we could puzzle out is he was thinking of “The Monster Mash”. (The meal did in fact consist of mashed potatoes, so we did figure that part of it out.)

Although a “monster mashed potato” dance does not exist, I could not help but wonder what it WOULD look like. Just a couple of thoughts on the subject…

Is the potato so huge it would be called a monster potato OR is it a monster smashing the potatoes? The answer to this question would greatly influence the dance. Is it a monster smashing to potatoes or is it an all out scramble to smash this many-eyed, starch laden wonder into digestible form?
What appendages are available? The “monster” option is either the hands smashing with a madness or the feet being used to stomp with reckless abandon. If an imaginary massive tuber is a part of the dance, it would seem teamwork might be an effective way to reduce the potato to a smooth, semi-creamy consistency.

The older I get, the more memories I seem to have available for all of the random paths a dinner conversation may take. I love it when some comment, noise, or random thought can serve as a catalyst for a completely different trajectory to an otherwise “normal” communication. I love it that I don’t have to take full responsibility for providing these catalyst. My kids (and exchange kids) are confident enough in themselves and comfortable enough in their environment that they can be willing to throw out the obscure quote/fact/observation. If it takes the conversation no where today, it may reappear in a future conversation.

Some of our best standing jokes have been over dinner conversations. And, some of our best laughs have been while eating dinner. Whatever mistakes we have made as parents, one of them was not failing to eat and dine around the table on a very regular basis. The quality of the food has improved over the years and the dialogue has matured. The kids have brought various friends to the the table to share meals with us. When they left/leave the table, we hope their hunger is an ancient memory and their only real thought is “Did we eat dinner, too?”

When I Do Dishes….

As the whole family has watched the dishes mound up, it has caused all of us to feel some level of guilt. A brave family member (usually my wife) dives in and often washes all of them or causes the onslaught of the dirty dishes to temporary be abated. The most recent attack of the dirty dishes (in the spirit of Halloween, maybe someone should dress up as dirty dishes. Although it doesn’t scare everyone, a pile of dirty dishes seems to make homework remarkably attractive and interesting.) had not receded over the past few days, so something needed to be done. I washed a few dishes last night, but after letting a few things soak, I did not get back to the sink before the water was cold. To redeem myself, I promised to finish the remaining dishes in the morning. It was after this weak attempt that I was provided with the necessary ingredients: the cookie sheets and the drying rack (my wife baked cookies so my daughter could take them for a friends birthday). Without these key components, it would have just been just another unsightly pile of clean things.

As the clean dishes flew out of the sink this morning, I was not sure if there was a stable structure in there. Fortunately, I didn’t let my dish washer hands ruin my latent engineering skills. I don’t do dishes often, but when I do, I build something.

My Daughters Embarrassing Parents

At this Saturday’s cross country meet, it was one of those “close” meets. It was less than 15 minutes from the house, so we got to sleep a little more than most Saturdays. And, this may have been part of the problem with our excessive energy levels and the need to “share” it with the unsuspecting masses. (The above picture is of both my daughters at the sidewalk running the perimeter of the course. It appears someone with limited mental capacities took two big steps through the wet concrete while nobody was looking. And, nobody looked again until after it dried. The secondary theory is some super hero living among us stepped on the sidewalk without “turning down” his super powers. He inadvertently burnt a “hole” into the concrete before he realized what he had done. As you can see from my daughters footwork, the steps weren’t baby steps…)

Having sat in the intermittent sun for over 2 hours, having endured nearly 3-4 races already of primarily 2 miles each (The HS boys run 3 miles) and with it getting on toward lunch time even though our commute home was short, we were excited to have my youngest daughter run her race. As all of the girls lined up on one end of the field, there is always some narrowing of the course that takes place by design. They know not all of the kids will maintain that line for very long as they work their way down the course. So, by the time the course goes a couple of hundred yards, the width of the course is probably 1/2 the width it was originally. On Saturday’s run, my wife hops out to take pictures of the runners (specifically my daughter and teammates as they line up). As she looked to the left and saw all of the parents encroaching on the course, she could not help but put her I-want-to-help-people hat on. Even though she did not have any event related paraphernalia on, she started pushing and/or strongly requesting the crowd back up so the cross country runners would have a little more space to jockey for position before the course “officially” narrowed. Her words did not fall on deaf ears. They people backed up without much hesitation. She acted like she had authority, and I suppose most of them pulled out the GPSes on their phones and realized the course went right through where they were standing. Regardless, the athletes got a little more space to shuffle into the position where they would run/walk the better part of their race.

I used the term athletes above somewhat loosely. I am truly confident some of the girls found out the day before they were running a race the next day. I believe many of them were walking before they were 100 yards into the race. One whole team of girls provided the entire tail for this beast that weaved its way through the course. After my daughter and her teammates worked their way through the course, my opportunity to embarrass “my ladies” presented itself.

The last 100 yards of the course was a straight away right behind the teams tent. I was impressed by many of the girls who hit this last stretch. They seemed to be able to pour it on and pass 3 or 5 or 10 people in that last stretch. It made me wonder how many of these “2 Milers” were really sprinters masquerading as 2 milers. When the sprinters stopped appearing, we had a huge quantity of the “participant” class. I started walking down the line yelling out words of “encouragement” to the runners. Things like, “You aren’t allowed to walk once you turn the corner.”, “Don’t be last. I can walk faster than you are running.”, “I don’t tolerate any walkers back here–get moving!”, “You can rest all weekend. Right now, you need to finish your race strong.”, and “You may have walked most of the rest of the race. Right now, you need to finish for yourself and your team.” I probably did get a little more colorful at times. If I said anything else, it was quotes like these that provided my inspiration. Although my lips may not have always obeyed my self-imposed rule, sometimes, in the moment, the creative “encouraging” phrases just can’t be held in! 😉

I was mostly relieved of my duties as the last few girls struggled in. Faster fellow teammates were running/jogging alongside their slower counterparts in matching jerseys. Everyone at the race-participants and parents-realizes someone has to be last. If done correctly, you can be in last place with class. I am not a proponent of the the fluffy, “Everyone is a winner.” Everyone who tries and tries to always be there best, is a winner in my book. Bad days excluded, not all girls who ran this race were winners. (More accurately stated, they probably don’t have a winner’s attitude. Without the proper foundation, they don’t have anything to build on.) I am not blaming coaches or any of the other parents who were there this weekend. If parents make kids their priority, maybe kids will find the inner winner. As middle schoolers or older who don’t already have a winning attitude, there is likely to be lots of losing in life before they find their inner winner–if they ever do.

Now, back to those embarrassing parents….it is our job to take pictures when they don’t want to pose. It is our job to give hugs and tell them we love them and are proud of them no matter who is around. And, if the coach says something inappropriate to them and makes them want to be done with cross country forever, it is our job to tell them not to quit and to get up on Monday at 5:00 AM so they can go through another week of fun. Behind every “winner” is a parent (or an adopted “parent”) who is willing to be whatever needs done to best prepare their kids for life….or the next meet. I love my winners!

Da Do-Rag Rag

My daughters (exchange and bio) went to a birthday party today (as I post this it was almost a week ago) for a daughter of one of my wife’s work friends. With the party being for a 4 year old, the theme being pirates, with my wife providing decorated pirate cupcakes & cookies and with almost no RSVPs to the party, there was some concern what percentage of the attendees our bus of 5 would provide. (My two daughters and the two exchange students did allow the party to be an international as well as domestic success!)

When they came home, they had all participated in all the many planned activities. Besides the art project above (notice the do-rag incorporated into the art – this is the Wikipedia approved spelling of do-rag), there was a less than delightful boy there who is soon to become a big brother to, as unfortunate as it may be, twins. All of the girls complained of how this boy stepped through and NOT around people playing games or eating food or just talking. Our exchange students did not deny that there are also bad kids in their native countries, but this kid was certainly on the wrong end of the behavioral spectrum.

With so much art work bearing do-rags and so much talk of pirates, a synapses was some how bridged in my intermittently creative brain. I am sure I don’t view Shaun Cassidy as a pirate (although his hair is long and as Joe Hardy in the Hardy Boys show there may easily have been an episode with a pirate mystery of some type. His brother, David, got in some trouble lately.), his song came to mind. The full pirate-version lyrics have not come to me, but the simple change in title seems to be a no-brainer.

Beyond “Pirates of the Caribbean”, (I have also read another series of fantasy books lately that has flavored my thoughts on pirates – The Liveship Trilogy. Good at times; slow at others. Very good character development.) my knowledge of pirate romance is not well researched. Some thoughts….

Eye could make some reference to eye patches.
“Walking” should mention “walking the plank” at least once
Someone the pirate needs to be at port and not on the pirate ship. And, with pirates having a less than good reputation with women and vices in general, it would seem the pirate should have a huge conscience.
Or, maybe the whole song could still be “Da Do Rag Rag”. But, it would be a pirate looking back on his life as a pirate now that he is a family man. He still wears his do-rag and thinks of the special bonding that took place when he was united as a team with a bunch of scalawags despite the activities being done as the “male bonding” took place.

If the lyrics roll off of someones keyboard, I would like to see what they look like. (It is International Talk Like a Pirate Day. Writing a song and singing one about pirates would certainly help you meet your quota!) Until then, I will try to sever all relationships with any brain cells holding onto songs from past teen idols.

DA DOO RON RON
Shaun Cassidy

I met her on a Monday and my heart stood still
Da doo ron ron ron, da doo ron ron ron
Someboy told me that her name was Jill
Da doo ron ron ron, da doo ron ron ron

Yes, my heart stood still
Yes, her name was Jill
And when I walked her home
da doo ron ron ron, da doo ron ron ron

I knew what she was thinkin’ when she caught my eye
Da doo ron ron ron, da doo ron ron ron
I looked so quiet but my oh my
Da doo ron ron ron, da doo ron ron ron

Yes, she caught my eye
Yes, but my oh my
And when I walked her home
da doo ron ron ron, da doo ron ron ron

Well, I picked her up at seven and she looked so fine
Da doo ron ron ron, da doo ron ron ron
Someday soon I’m gonna make her mine
Da doo ron ron ron, da doo ron ron ron

Yes, he looked so fine
Yes, I’ll make her mine
And when I walked her home
da doo ron ron ron, da doo ron ron ron
Yeah, yeah, yeah
da doo ron ron ron, da doo ron ron ron
(repeat & fade)

Read more: http://artists.letssingit.com/shaun-cassidy-lyrics-da-doo-ron-ron-q1r8vct#ixzz3DKkTs7um
LetsSingIt – Your favorite Music Community

Grilled Cheese With Waffle Iron Included

Another one to clear out of the “draft” folder….

After last weeks cruise, the emphasis this week was on improving our diets. (Although cruises are infamous for throwing a few pounds on the hips and any other place they will stick, a combination of exercise and minimal additional meals [the always available pizza and hamburgers does seem to make our decisions more like fish stories, but they are true!!] allowed us to not get to far off of the scale.) We had two meals using spinach tortillas. Chicken and lots of those green leafy, onioney, and peppery things with a touch of salad dressing made these pretty healthy choices. The girls made a new batch of red roasted pepper hummus. They invited me to join them for their carrot/celery/pretzel dipping feast. As a reward and because it just does not seem right to let a week go by without serving our taste buds something new, my daughters fulfilled their wish to re-purpose the waffle iron.

Without much guidance but a pressing need to use a non-stick spray, we treated the waffle-grilled cheese just like how we would have treated it if on a griddle. The waffle timer was mostly irrelevant. And, our waffle iron “likes” to have everything squashed together pretty tight before it will allow the waffle iron to do a half flip. The first couple sandwiches were not fully embracing their waffleness. We were reluctant to force everything into the very tight space demanded by the waffle iron. As the successes continued, we took more risk. By the 5th one (my oldest son ate two), we were pretty confident in the latitude allowed us.

This was not a diet meal, but it was fun and not too bad for us. (We did use wheat bread!) With the carbohydrates being watched (breakfast food tends to be heavy in the carbs and the grease – pancakes and sausage or french toast and bacon or donuts.), it is good to take one of the those appliances that has to compete for shelf space a chance to shine. And, shine it did! Although we were tempted to fill the waffle dimples with syrup, we were very content to consume our sandwich with a side of chips and salsa.

Maybe the waffle quesadilla will be our next attempt to give the waffle iron a little higher place on the appliance shelf. (I don’t know if there is a pecking order with appliances, but I am sure the non-electric ones [manual can opener] are constantly dealing with self-esteem issues.) Regardless of the appliance or ingredients, lunch is better with my girls and the enthusiasm they bring to nearly everything.

Blanchity Blanchity Peaches

This was started originally a couple of months ago….trying to clean out my drafts….

Blanching peaches is a pretty simple process. The peel of the peach needs to be removed from the peach. Since the goal is to maximize and preserve the greatest amount of the fruit, my wife insisted I engage in this ingenious process while my she visited her family out of state. (She also insisted in me picking them after driving over an hour one way. I will admit to under-thinking my “Yes, Dears.”, but it would seem I should have spent a little more time reflecting on what exactly I was signing up for.) The tools for blanching: boiling water, ice bath, cutting board with knife, discerning eye to see worms, bruises and all other phenomenon considered unappealing to the eye and the taste, and a place for the “good” stuff. (The trash can was left off of the list. I believe it is implied unless you live in a household that actively invites insects and other vermin to dine at their leisure.)

The first wave of the blanching (We did this in 3 waves. There were advantages and disadvantages associated with each wave. I am no expert, but I felt the disadvantages outweighed the advantages in almost all cases. The largest redeeming factor was the quality family time it encouraged.) The first wave was mostly an exercise in getting the proper pans in their proper places. (My wife chose this day to “pretend” she wasn’t getting my text. My request was simple, “Please call me and tell me what to do with these peaches, or they will go down the disposal.” Her continued lack of response brought even greater text threats, “The peaches are screaming as I warm up the disposal.” Also to no avail was my, “We have sacrificed the first. It is entirely on your conscience.” ) Since threats were getting me no where, we went where the world goes for all of the DIY projects, Youtube. My son was responsible for the details of the first wave. (The pictures above are of the third wave, but the work space was laid out approximately the same for the first two.)

The first step was drowning the peaches in the boiling water after an “X” was cut into their base. The boil time was supposed to be a minute or so. However, we must have overloaded the water so the “boil” was lost. We ended up putting the lid on the pan for most of the rest of the first wave. With the peaches only having been in our possession a few hours, the peaches were not very familiar with the word “ripe”. They were more familiar with the idea of “ripening”. Although the first wave yielding almost a 1 gallon freezer bag of peaches, it was not without some struggles. As the peels started to hint they were ready to be removed while enjoying the hot tub, we found, in many cases, the entire peel was not in agreement with this. The ice bath that followed was meant to convince the peach any further resistance was entirely futile. Some of the peaches were knuckleheads-they insisted on the life slicing off nearly their entire peel.

The peels were not the entire process. Once the peach was liberated of its peel, the pits needed to be evacuated. Ideally, if the peach freely gave up its peel, the peach was cut open, and the pit quickly removed. The peach halves were placed in the proper tub, and the next challenger stepped onto the cutting board. Due to the peels having a deep affinity for the peaches (they are family really. I realize it is practically like removing a skin from an animal. Although no leather is made of the peel, it is almost exactly the same, isn’t it?) and the peaches having to be boiled excessively to defeat the peels in one-on-one combat, the peach fruit was VERY warm. In fact, warm does not accurately describe it. It was somewhere between a state of liquid and solid. It could be grasped if you didn’t grab too tightly. The longer the peach was in the boiling water, the worst the peach dweller fared. The worms were not everywhere, but when they were, every brown spot their slimy little bodies touched was severed from the “good” fruit.

Wave Two looked much like the first wave. The two big difference were I did it alone, and some of the fruit was not aging well. All of the peaches were resting on newspaper as they attempted to gracefully go through the aging process. At the time of the 2nd Wave of blanching, only a few of the peaches had mold tendrils reaching out to the newspaper or fellow peach captives. The worms seemed better fed in this round. While the boiling process was still not as smooth as I or the peels would have liked – I knew I would ultimately win. The peels would come gracefully or they would embrace their inner pit, and fight me with every inch of their fruitiness. A few of the peaches were spared the boiling due to their accelerated aging process. Whether it was mold or the worms within or the unbalanced maturing of the peach, some of the peaches went into the trash with their bodies intact.

The 3rd wave was highlighted because my daughters were able to help. They were part of last years “team”, and their experience showed. As the third wave took place almost 4 days after the picking, the more senior peaches were again ready to skip the water and head directly to their eternal homes. My daughters were more deliberate in making these “yes” or “no” decision. We were still able to fill a couple of freezer bags. The “rejects” would have made more than a bag were they not so intent on maturing so rapidly. (Or, maybe I was intent on leaving them sit on the counter to receive pity from the portion of my family that had been traveling while I participated in both sides of the adventure – the picking and the blanching.)

Now, “mom” has 4 bags of peaches awaiting her jam and/or syrup attention. Her original request to pick peaches and “keep” the tradition alive has turned into an excessive amount of freezer space dedicated to preserving peaches we may or may not enjoy yet this year. As with many things, it is not what you do, but who you do it with. This was one of those times when teenage enthusiasm trumped the redundancy of the activity.

Walking Down Life's Road With Andy