Wholly Tomato!

Okay, forget what I said about not having enough for a photo. During the canning process, I went out to the garden and picked this in about 15 minutes. (Large white onion shown for scale.)


Wholly Tomato!

This is not counting the dozen or so that I threw down as part of our caring and sharing with insects program here at the MRT-stead. This also does not include the leftovers from the cooking process (below), which are about equivalent to the bowl above.


Feelin' Saucy

I could probably make another batch of sauce for canning, but do I look like a masochist? Well, maybe, but for my self-torture, I'm going to do homework instead. Sure wish I was saying to hell with it all and going to see Batman. Maybe tomorrow though.

P.S. Nac neighbors, come by our house to get some tomatoes!

We like lycopene!

Well it's tomato season here in ETX, or nearly the end of it actually, which means MRT and I had to make a decision about what to do with our smillion tomatoes. The last month or so we've eaten ratatouille, curries, spaghetti with homemade sauce, sandwiches piled high with our vine-ripened romas in a concerted effort to consume from our modest garden. But Lord have mercy, there are still 92767398476836483648687 tomatoes left. Or were until a few hours ago. (It always occur to me after I have gone and destroyed something that I should have taken a picture of it. For further evidence, photos of our bathroom re-model, in progress the past two weeks, soon to come.)

I have been hard at work making the most fantabulous, yet simple tomato sauce, made almost entirely from the fruits of MRT labor, including our bountiful tomato crop as mentioned and our garden-fresh herbs. The sauce I will either present to a few of you lucky ones for Christmas or other such occasion or devour in a moment of weakness shortly after the tomatoes have faded. Whichever. In a moment, when I get feeling back in my tired old legs, I shall begin the canning process. Chopping 23498230984209348209 tomatoes, basil, onions, garlic, marjoram, and so on really takes it out of you. But it shall all be worth it!

I regret not blogging much earlier in the summer before it turned so ungodly hot. So much has occurred since then, like summer turning to high and a fair amount of slipping and sliding, that I did not take the opportunity to say much about my schoolin', Matt's adventures in the forest, or those precious moments when summer was still potential energy. But alas, the fireflies are out at night now and the mornings are just bearable for those who insist on drinking coffee out of doors year-round. Ah yes, the dog days are here and who knows what wacky adventure that means is in store.

Stay tuned for more friends; I've missed you.

In summer we trust,
MaryT

Planning to Get Pre-Pre-Engaged

Doesn't anyone date anymore?

I have seriously encountered like five peops under age 22 who keep going on and on about their fiance/fiancee. First of all, they're too young to get married and I hope their parents, or a drunken relative will tell them as much before it's too late. And secondly: when are they planning on getting married? "Oh, you know, eventually--we haven't set a date, but we were pre-engaged since high school."

People, I'd like to point out that there's no such freaking thing as pre-engaged. I'm sorry (not that sorry, though); it doesn't exist. An engagement is a contract for marriage and you're either on or you're not. You're not on to probably be on at some nebulous date in the future. Is anyone familiar with the term "seriously dating" anymore? That's what we used to do in the olden days. Although now, I hear that young people these days like to use the term "talking" as a non-committal reference to casually dating. (I am aware that is an ultra-old post, so saying "these days" is somewhat relative.) So since peops don't want to commit to dating, they skip straight to getting engaged? Hmm. That makes sense.

Actually, in an odd way, I am being serious. I cut out a lot of the middle parts, myself. I didn't really do much talking or fancy dating anyone seriously. Mostly I either broke up with peops pretty fast or behaved really badly (could not be helped due to hatred) until I forced them to break up with me.

Yes, in fact, when I didn't hate Matt right away and in fact, loved him, I knew we should become pre-engaged...

Okay, obviously MRT and I never got pre-engaged because that is 1) absurd and 2) non-existent. He pretty much went from being my boyfriend to being my husband, due in no small part to my hatred of the word fiance. And that is all I have to say on the matter except for this:

Bonus: Do you think JayZ got some serious mileage out of having Beyonce as his fiancee? I know I would have.

Deadbeat Blogger

Well this is just the saddest thing. My blog just turned 6 years old and I couldn't even be bothered to post. I am a deadbeat blogger these days and one day, this blog will come looking for me to pay child support or take it to the circus. And if there's a camera crew, things could get ugly and chairs might get thrown. "You used to take me everywhere! Why did you leave me behind?"

Because I am a deadbeat. Happy birthday, blog. Now let's go to Shoney's and don't tell your mother I let you order all desserts.

Let the romance begin!

Thanks to Jeff for sending me this link that completely prevented Jo and me from being productive at work this morning (not that we were not totally suggestible to this).

So without further ado , San Francisco's most eligible bachelor: Dmitri! By the way, there's *nothing* wrong with him.

BONUS! This is Jo's own description of her work self today and I second that.
SNL-mike myers/nicole kidman

Remember the Ladies

This is a great video and entertaining, too. It's a shout out to all my favorite SAH Moms out there.

Ain't No Sunshine When He's Gone

Tomorrow is the last day of field station and Matt will be coming home. Hallelujah!

For those that didn't know, my husband has been away the last six weeks at intense forestry boot camp. When I do get to see him on weekends, which is typically for fewer than 48 hours at a time, he is a shell of the husby I am used to, sleeping about half the time, while spending the rest removing caked mud from all his clothes. Not that I am complaining about our weekends together. I have been so happy to see him, he could have been unconscious most of the time and I would have just been glad he was here.

But enough is enough. Last weekend I saw a glimmer of old huzz, when he decided, somewhat spontaneously to fell a tree in our backyard. "It was rotten and we needed more sun back there," he said. I ached when his truck pulled out of the drive, even knowing full well I'd see him in less than a week (and that night, as it turned out, in Etoile* where I had to meet him to bring him his forgotten boots and Tuesday night when he spontaneously drove home to see me because he missed me!).

I know I haven't blogged tons since I started a new job, but part of the reason I haven't blogged tons in the last six weeks is because I, too, have been a shell of myself. It's like the life I usually live in technicolor has been in black and white for six weeks. I don't see my friends as much or work on hobbies as much or laugh as much. I don't enjoy some of my favorite domestic goddess habits like cooking or even cleaning--my favorite. Maybe it's because without the huzz here, the house stays clean all the time. But instead of feeling clean all the time, thereby bringing me joy, it just feels stagnant and dull.

It's amazing how a man who has perfected the art of the grimy credit card (no kidding) and the lint and paper debris sculpture can, by his presence, turn our house into a home and my heart into 100,000 fireflies.

MRT insists that when he comes home, it'll be beer drinkin' time in a big way, but husby, as the song goes--I could drink a case of you. Can't wait to see you tomorrow, huzz! Come home soon, else I'm liable to quote every cheesy love song I have in heavy rotation on iTunes...

*Sometime when I am not waxing sentimental about number one best huzz, remind me to talk about the hilarity that is Etoile, TX.

P.S. Should it bother me (or Matt) that I wrote a post with pretty much this exact title one time when Molly was boarded at the kennel?

There's No "U" in READING

What do people have against reading? It's easy and fun and helps you to not only discover the magical world of Harry Potter but also to get out of my piece and stop asking every question five million times that I ALREADY ANSWERED 105 TIMES IN RESPONSES TO ALL OF YOUR EMAILS THAT YOU ARE TOO LAZY TO READ, BUT KEEP REPLYING TO ANYWAY.

I feel a lot better.

Did anybody read this far? Just checking.

P.S. I think it might be time to return to Job Rants--not because of the job, but because of the world.

Free Advice

If your last name (or your first name, especially!) is one letter away from or rhymes with words like moron and bitch, you should probably work extra hard to be nice to people. Otherwise, you KNOW what nickname they're giving you, and it's going to be necessarily cruel and unforgiving.