That’s the sound of my loud laughter over this piece.
Oh to have a job where you can declare success so easily with absolutely no proof.
That’s not to say that there isn’t a ton to make fun of in my world. Writing policy? Not always…as practical as it should be.
I have recently become concerned that I lack in the “practical skills” department. I therefore asked my mother how to make preserves. It’s very, very difficult, she assures me. Requires scientific accuracy, very, very clean jars, lots of sugar, but not too much sugar and the seal–the seal is critical. If you don’t have the right amount of suction when you put those jars on the shelf, you’ll have a winter of mouldy preserves.
Why do you ask? ask my parents, after a discussion of the percentage of bad preserves my grandmothers encountered on their shelves (2 of 12 jars, approximately). In case, I tell them, the economy gets really, really bad, and nothing is available. No food, like communist Poland.
Indeed, even my parents were looking at me like I have issues at this point. What did we do wrong? they think, looking at each other and shaking their heads.
OK–my dad consoles me–were it to come to communist times in Ontario–we’d be up the creek anyway. Because back in “the day,” city folks would take wheelbarrows of cash into the country just for a jar of sauerkraut. They recommend my purchasing jams and preserves from the local grocery store. Much more cost efficient.
But what I got from this discussion is that I need my very own farm. To grow the fruit before I preserve it.
Difficult, yes. But not totally impossible. I think I can do it so long as my farm has a good high speed internet connection.
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