A Post So Well Behaved, Your Grandma Would Be Proud

I picked me some razzberries this morning from my razzberry bush. (It's growing next to the schnozzberries, which, I've heard, taste just like schnozzberries.)

I do believe the amount could be described as a "shit ton", if the phrase "shit ton" translates into three pounds.













I had intended to can a lot this year. I had intended to garden and can and be all swingin' like Christmas.

I had intended to have my head on straight and my life on track by now too.

I can only handle one thing at a time and that thing isn't even cleaning my house. I'm still working on the purging. I'm like a bulimic after a trip to Old Country Buffet.

So the canning and the gardening thing has been an expedition to the unfortunate, except for this morning that is.

I had a shit ton of raspberries and I knew how to use them. I washed up the canning equipment and I proceeded to can some straight up raspberry jam and then some strawberry/raspberry jam. (My daughter asked if I could make raspberry jam minus the raspberries. Schnozzberry jelly next week my dear.)

I ended up with eleven jars. I also learned a valuable lesson in pot size.

Always choose wisely when you pick out the pot to cook the jam in cuz it's rather inconvenient to bring it all to a rolling boil and discover that when jam overflows, it has a tendency to hit the burner and catch on fire.

I feel that any home economics experiment is augmented by the application of at least six inches of open flame.

I also recalled how canning is another one of those activities that, having a complete lack of depth perception, can be painful. There is nothing like using canning tongs to lower the jar into the boiling water bath and then dunking not only the tongs but your entire hand into the water because you have misjudged where the surface of the water is.

Have I ever told you that when I was in high school, I seriously toyed with the idea of becoming a brain surgeon? I read books on the anatomy and physiology of the brain and I found it absolutely riveting. Then I took drivers training and learned all about depth perception and how there was a reason why I always ran into walls and tripped down stairs.

So, instead of becoming a brain surgeon, I went into the merchant marines and learned to park boats. Then I became a paramedic and learned to drive an ambulance.

Did I point out that I'm not doing either of these activities anymore?

Now I want to become a quality control supervisor for Smucker's Jelly.

Have you ever really met a masochist?

Allow me to introduce myself.