A Look Back

During our family reunion in Texas this past October, many of us wondered; when was the last time all of us were together?
“I think it was when Pop died,” I said and of course we weren’t all together then because Pop was gone.
“I don’t think Charles was there,” someone said.
This past week I pulled out my external storage devices and spent many hours searching in all the nooks and crannies for all the places where my device saves pictures. I don’t know why they don’t have an easier filing system but they don’t.  The external hard drives are made to back up your whole computer and I’m only interested in saving my photos. I’ve since learned how to make it easier for me to find my photos but that doesn’t help with the first two hard drives that I’ve already filled up.
Some photos I’ve transferred from one system to another. On those, my computer only identifies it with the year I saved it. Take for instance the photo from when Pop died. It’s tagged with the date of 1-18-09 but he died 7-27-95. So I’m guessing 1-18-09 was when I was backing up the photo.
If you know the members of my family then you can see that Charles was indeed at Pop’s memorial service.

Some photos were scanned into my files and I don’t have any idea when they were taken. But these were both reunions and all of us are in them; Pop, Momma and all eleven kids.

I think this Thanksgiving reunion at my cute little red haired sister Diane’s house, was the last time we were all together. That was in 1989 I believe.

I can’t find any reunion pictures again until this one and I was the only one who wasn’t there.

This is the next family reunion picture I have. Pop is gone and my brother Charles didn’t attend.

We had at least one other family reunion, but maybe two, where we didn’t do any family group photos, then in 2010 we had a reunion and did one big family photo. All of my brothers and sisters were there except for my handsome youngest brother John; he had to work and couldn’t get out of it. And Michael wasn’t there either; he had died the year before.

Reunions are few and far between in my family. It is just hard with a family the size of mine (and all of us being so scattered) to find a time that works for everyone, which is what made this last reunion just that much more amazing.

And that is a look back on the Bowers Clan. 

Let's call this one done.

Quill Pig

Game night is one of my favorite nights. There’s nothing like sitting around the table with family and friends; laughing and telling stories, sometimes sharing our fears and worries. 

We normally start after the supper dishes are washed and play until eight o’clock-ish. That gives us time to play four rounds of Mexican Train dominoes and four rounds of Rummikub, which is what we normally play. That gives everyone a chance to go first. Sometimes I can talk the guys into playing a round of Skip-Bo with me, usually at the expense of a round or two of Rummikub. There are only so many hours in the evening and some people have to work in the morning and some of us are just old and go to bed around nine-ish. 

We had a game night planned.

“Are you ready or almost ready or what?” Mike asked. 

I was sitting in front of my computer and I glanced up at the clock. Fifteen minutes to go. “Almost ready. I have to walk the girls and scoop the litter boxes.” It would be too late when we got home and I wouldn’t feel like doing it then anyway and the litter boxes really needed to be done. 

I got up from my seat and got the first of three inside litter boxes, carried it through the living room and out onto the breezeway where the scoopin’ happens in this house. I scooped and returned the box and carried the second one out. On my way though, as Mike sat in front of his puter playing Solitaire, I said, “You could walk the girls while I finish this.” 

I was scooping the third one when Mike came through the breezeway carrying both girls, Itsy and Ginger. I finished the last inside box and carried my plastic bag lined pail to the garage to scoop the first of four outside boxes. 

Yeah, I know. It’s a lot of boxes to scoop and a lot of litter to use. Thank goodness for scoopable litter. But I’d rather have the cats use a litter box than a corner of the garage — and for the most part, they do.

I was on the second box when I hear the girls bark and Mike call to them. He never uses a leash because they always listen to him. Me? I tried to let them go out naked (with no leash on) but I’ve had to chase them down too many times as they took off after a cat or rabbit; a leaf or a bit of fluff or even something totally imaginary. It just takes one of them to start barking and running before they both go. They kind of feed off of each other that way, you know what I mean? And once they are on the run, they don’t stop. In conclusion, it’s been a long time since I’ve taken them out without leashes on.

I move to the third box, which lives in the cat room, and I hear Ginger barking and I think she’s running down the side of the mill, just outside the cat room door. 

Mike calls for them.

They bark.

I keep scooping.

Then I don’t hear anything.

A door opens and closes. 

“Peg! They ran off,” Mike says.

“Where did they go?” I asked putting my pooper scooper down and straightening up.

“Over in the weeds someplace.”

Mike went back into the house and I went out the cat room door. I can hear Ginger bark in the weeds. 

“ITSY! GINGER! COME HERE!” I yell but they don’t come. Despite the fact that we never use corporal punishment on the girls, maybe they won’t come if they think I’m mad.

I hear the weeds rustle as they run through the dried stalks of winter flowers and bark. I change tactics and use an excited tone hoping to get them to obey me. 

“Itsy! Ginger! Come here girls!” It didn’t work, but then again, I didn’t really think it would. 

Yip-yip-yip! I hear a cry. I had visions in my mind’s eye of a whistle pig or coon biting Itsy. I thought it was Itsy crying. 

“COME HERE! RIGHT NOW!” I demanded, more scared than mad. I call again and again and I can hear them moving in my direction. Ginger was first out, emerging from the weeds, head down and sticking out of her face… porcupine quills! I didn’t even know I had any quill pigs! I picked Ginger up and plucked a quill from my poor little girl as I called for Itsy. I could hear her coming and while we waited I surveyed the damaged. Oh my gosh! There was one in her eye! Ginger had a porcupine quill sticking up out of her eye! I think it was in the flesh on the inside of the lower lid though and not the eyeball itself. I tried to keep her still. She was whimpering and kept trying to brush the quills from her face with her paw. It seems like it took Itsy a long time to come out of the weeds but it was probably only a few minutes and I could see she was quill-free. Thankfully but not really surprising. Ginger is faster and probably got a taste of the quill pig first and Itsy had sense enough to stay away.

I picked Itsy up and carried the girls into the house where Mike was sitting in front of his computer, passing the wait time with Solitaire. 

“Mike, Ginger got into a porcupine,” I said and put Itsy down. I carried Ginger to Mike. “I’ll hold her while you pull the quills out.” 

Mike tried to get a hold of a quill but every time he touched it Ginger cried and pulled away. “I’ll hold her, you pull the quills,” Mike said.

I handed Ginger over to his lap but I didn’t have any better luck getting a hold of one than he did. A picture of my little needle nose pliers flashes in my mind’s eye. I’d brought them in from my shop a week ago for… Oh my gosh! I don’t remember why I brought them in here now. Isn’t that strange? But they were right here beside my computer. I got up and got the pliers, came back, knelt down in front of Mike and Ginger, grabbed a quill and yanked. I didn’t screw around either. I figured quicker is better. With each quill came a cry from Ginger and when I pulled the one from her eye, bloody tears ran. 

I checked her over, looking for missed quills and near the top of her head I found one embedded so deep only a little piece of white was sticking out. 

Job done, I went to get a warm cloth when Mike called me back.

“Look,” he said.

I looked. 

It hurt Ginger so bad, she pooped all over his lap.

Can’t say as I blame her though.

Mike changed and I took Ginger with me to the Robinson’s for game night that night. She laid in my lap the whole time and never moved a muscle. 

My poor girl. Now, a week later, the white of her eye is still shot through with red, but other than that she seems fine. 

Speaking of game night…

The Luby’s hosted the first of what I hope to be many game nights with the Robinson’s and the Kipp’s. 

Like I said, I like being with family and friends. 

I made a huge pot of vegetable soup…

Okay, okay! That isn’t strictly true. I made two pots of vegetable soup, which if you combine them would make one huge pot.

“One pot is enough,” I said to Mike as we planned this get-together. “I’ll use the bigger of the two pots that I have.”

“What if it’s not?”

Well, there is no one in this house who wants anyone to go away hungry. “Okay,” I acquiesced. “I’ll make two pots.” It’s all good. Leftovers freeze well and it tis the season for soups and stews and chili after all.

I made the soup, deviled eggs, Kat’s homemade bread recipe, brownies and pumpkin roll. There were saltines and oyster crackers as well as a side of applesauce sprinkled with cinnamon and chia seeds. 

Lamar said a blessing over our food and we ate. Then we cleared the table and played games until the end of the evening.

The boys, Jon and Mike, neither one is crazy about Quiddler. I figured we’d let them sit out for a few rounds while Rosie, Lamar, Steph and I played, 

“I even bought a couple of dictionaries at the second hand store,” I told them. “And I found one in the library. So we have three dictionaries we can use.”

Lamar picked up one of the dictionaries and was flipping through it, chatting with Mike while I sat chatting with Rosie. Lamar, being a runner, looked up the definition of run.

“Guess how many definitions there are for the word run in this one?” Mike asked me indicating the American College Dictionary. 

“I don’t know. How many?”

“One hundred four. Guess how many in the other one?” which is a Funk & Wagnalls. 

“I don’t know.”

“Thirty four.”

“I think those two are school dictionaries,” I mused.

Lamar knew something I didn’t know. “Peg has two dictionaries here,” he said.

“Two! Lamar there’s three there!”

“Na, there’s two.”

“Turn around and look!” I could see three books stacked up there.

Lamar is unflappable. He touched the bottom two. “These two are just one.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. This one is A thru Lobar and this one is Lobate thru Z.”

“Really! I guess it’s a good thing I picked up both of them then.” Really, honestly, truly, I thought I was buying two dictionaries and I wanted two for Quiddler night. Had I only bought one I’d only have half a dictionary.

We ended up just playing dominos and one round of Rummikub that night so we didn’t need them anyway. But one of these days — it’ll be Quiddler night!

<<<<<>>>>>

My friend and neighbor Stephanie Robinson invited me to a girls night out paint class. We used acrylic paint on canvas and made these sunflowers with You are my Sun Shine written on it.

During the course of the evening we chatted as we created our masterpieces and one of the gals made a comment that made me wonder. She lost her husband and father within a short span of time and our girls night out paint class fell close to the one year anniversary. 

“I’m not on speaking terms with God right now. I’m mad at Him.”

What would you say to someone who says that?

>>>>><<<<<

In a world where writing longhand and cursive are becoming a lost art, don’t you think this is very beautiful?

Mike had to call the company that sent us this bid and while he had the secretary on the phone, he complimented her on her penmanship and she was pleased.

<<<<<>>>>>

On a shopping trip to Athens Mike and I were driving around and spotted this interesting building. 

“Stop and let me take some pictures,” I said to Mike and Mike is such a good sport and used to these wacky requests from me, that he pulled right over. I walked around and took a few pictures then I got back in the Jeep. 

“What was this place?” I asked Mike. 

“A coal company. See the tracks going into the building?”

“Yeah. Can we drive down that way?” I asked. 

Mike turned into the parking lot. “Coal came in on those tracks, up into the building,” he said pointing. “Then they opened valves in the bottom of the train cars and the coal went down chutes where the trucks waited at the bottom,” he explained.  

I snapped pictures then spotted something further down a dirt road. “What is that?” I asked.

Mike looked. “I don’t know.”

“Can we drive down that way?” 

Mike put the Jeep into gear and we made our way down to where an old train car sat rusting on a dead-end piece of track. I was taking pictures when a car comes up behind us and stops beside our Jeep. Mike’s window was already down, and we waited as the window opened in the other car. A gentleman leaned towards us.

“Can I help you?” he asks and before we can reply, he spots the camera I held in my hands. “Oh. You’re just looking at my junk.” He waved. “Okay. Have a good day.” Up goes his window and he drives on through, across the intersecting road and up to a big, beautiful stone house. I’ll tell you what. Pennsylvania has some of the most beautiful stone houses!

>>>>><<<<<

Has anyone experimented with making their own laundry soap?

“I have,” I can hear my handsome son Kevin say.

“How did it work?” I asked him.

“It works just as good as the store bought stuff does,” he told me. “And it’s a lot cheaper.”

I’d been wanting to make my own soap. The only thing holding me back was it seemed like a pain to make since you had to boil it and mix it in a five gallon bucket and let it sit overnight. I bought the stuff and this past week I researched it online. The cost of homemade soap compared to store bought was three cents per load compared to eighteen cents, depending on the brand you buy. And all the websites said it worked every bit as well as commercially made soap and in some cases even better. It works in high efficiency washers too, not that I have one of those. And by making your own you avoid the harsh chemicals, fragrances, colors and other additives in many regular detergents.

Then I found a recipe that made powdered soap and not liquid. Actually, it’s the same recipe, you just don’t liquefy it. And it dissolves easily in the washing machine, the website said. It seemed so much easier and didn’t require the huge amount of storage space a five gallon bucket takes up not to mention the mess I would make transferring it to smaller containers (you are advised to save a few laundry soap containers before you start this project). 

So I made it. In fact, since I was making, I made a double batch. I grated the soap and mixed it with the washing soda and borax. It didn’t take very long and only takes two tablespoons per load. I’ve washed two loads with it so far and it does seem to work just fine. It doesn’t suds up but the clothes came out clean and fresh smelling. I think I like it!

<<<<<>>>>>

That cat!

That darn cat!

Yeah, Smudge.

He tore the tissues out of the box again this week. 

And he knocked a roll of paper towels onto the floor and tore them up too.

Smudge knocked over the dog food box and climbed inside. 

And he wrestled with Ginger, pinning her down. 

Smudge knows he’s not allowed on the table when we are eating… does it stop him?

NO! 

Despite the fact that I threw him off the table three times, he still came creeping back. 

Smudge is the wildest cat we’ve ever owned. He often times gets so wound up he bites anything — like the corner of my computer — and everyone — me when I’m tying to comb him —  and he won’t settle down. 

But I did catch him settling down in what seems like is a new routine for him. He’ll hold the blanket in his mouth while kneading with his front paws before he lays down for a nap. Even Mike has seen him do this and commented on it. 

Let’s end this week with a few snow pictures I took just this morning! 

My clothesline and the barn on the hill.

One of the little girls followed along on my walkabout this morning. I can’t tell if it’s Feisty or Cleo from this distance since they are almost twins, but she didn’t keep up. She’s on the far side of the pond.

And lastly, the cattails with snow on them. 

Let’s call this one done!

Slipping Away

Sometimes, like now - like this week, I start composing my letter blog in my head even before I’ve written a single word.
I spent Monday evening sorting photos for my new letter blog, making stories to go with the ones that are just pretty and picking out the photos I took especially to use in my letter blog.
Like this one.

Sigh.
Too bad I didn’t remember I’d taken a photo of the chip in the windshield when I talked about it last week.
Mike has since had the chip filled and during the filling process, a crack developed.
“But it won’t go any farther,” the guy told Mike.
And if, by chance, our windshield won’t pass inspection, and if, by chance, Mike takes it back to the same place for a replacement, they will apply the cost of the fill to the new windshield.
So I’m sorting pictures and writing in my head…
While I was busy writing the adventures of my family reunion for the past three weeks, life kept happening around me, the opening sentence would go. Then I would show you some of the pretty fall foliage photos I had picked out. Since I’d been taking photos for the past month, the color kept getting prettier and prettier and before long I’d picked out more than a dozen fall photos to show you.

Is that too many? I wonder. Oh, well. I’ll just put them all in the folder and delete what ever I don’t use. Then I begin to think I’ll do a letter blog with just photos and title it Just Photos… No, I’ve used that one before. It can be kind of tough coming up with a new, appropriate title every week, don’t you know. Maybe I’ll call it Fall Foliage…
Although there would be quite a few fall foliage photos in this letter blog, I had some stories I wanted to share too, and a sunset photo I took back at the beginning of October and never got around to showing you, even though it graced my desktop for a while too.
The river in the photo is the Susquehanna. The big building with lights all over it in the middle left side is the new power plant near the small town of Wysox, which is to the right in the photo.

And here’s a picture of my new rural route mailbox.

“It’s a little tall, isn’t it Peg?” you ask.
Yeah. Mike wanted to make sure it was planted good and deep so he used an eight foot six by six and cut off enough for the  brace. Then we loaded it onto the golf cart along with the digging bar and a shovel and went to pick out the spot where my mailbox would live.
Digging, in the rocky soil of our Mountain Home, was a job. I was helping Mike the best I could, but I have to tell you — I was so thankful when the Kipp’s came down the road on their daily walk. Lamar, oh my gosh, we have such fabulous neighbors! Lamar jumped right in and helped Mike for a while.
“You should have picked a different day to do this,” Lamar told him. “I can’t help for very long today. I have to get ready for an appointment.”

Lamar helped a lot! In the end though, Mike opted to get the chainsaw and shorten the post as the digging became too difficult. Besides, the hole was plenty deep anyway. The rock standing behind the mailbox was one Lamar helped Mike dig out of the hole. Mike suggested standing it up behind the post and I thought it was a great idea. I love it.

So I’m sitting here, in front of my puter, sorting photographs, thinking about the stories and photos I want to catch you up on and I’m thinking the title of this letter blog needs to reflect the variety of subjects I want to cover. But, it’s early in the week. I’ll just let it rattle around in my head and hopefully by the time it’s ready to post, a title will come to me.
And it came to me.
Tuesday morning, as I was waking up, it popped right in my head and I could see it as plain as if the words were written on crisp white paper.
Slipping Away.
Time.
It’s slipping away from me.
While I was busy writing the adventures of my family reunion for the past three weeks, life kept happening around me, and now I’m behind on photos and stories.
The disappearing rock walls of Pennsylvania and fall color.

A barn on Marsh Road.

The train depot…

And pond at Dushore.

Then a barn and lots of color on the other side of Dushore.

A fence row…

and bright reds dotting the hillside.

That cat!
That darn cat!
Yeah. Smudge.
Mike and I needed to return a few things to the store and I pulled the receipt shoebox down off the shelf and started sorting through them.
Smudge helped.

Smudge also helps  me write my letter blogs. The pads of his little paws work on my touch screen as well as my fingers do.

And Smudge helps Mike get dressed in the mornings; often times climbing Mike’s leg as he chases the belt Mike is threading through the loops of his jeans.
And hiding in the castoff jeans at the end of the day.

Smudge.
Goes everywhere he wants to.
Gets into everything he wants to.
He knows no boundaries.

Smudge pulled half the tissues out of an almost new, full box before I stopped him and unwound a whole roll of paper towels from it’s holder by the sink before I could get out of my chair and stop him.
And Smudge won’t stay out from under my feet. I’ve stepped on him so many times I decided to put a bell on him.

Sigh.
I still step on him.
Smudge plays hard! And continues to annoy everyone in the house to no end. The older cats get so mad at him! There is nothing quite like the hissing, spitting and growling of an angry cat. Smudge don’t care.

And they’re not the only ones who get aggravated at him either.
The house would be dark and quiet. We would all be tucked snug into bed. Smudge wouldn’t be ready to settle down for the night and he’d try to get us to play with him. After tossing him to the end of the bed a couple of times he’d then try to get the girls to play with him which ended up with them growling at him and everyone getting yelled at.
“SMUDGE! KNOCK IT OFF!” Mike would sternly tell Smudge.
Smudge moved on. To the dresser top.
Clang, rattle, roll, thump.
“What was that?” Mike asked.
“He’s knocking stuff off the dresser.”
Rattle… rattle, rattle…rattle.
Mike was starting to get frustrated. “Now what’s that?”
I knew what it was. I recognized the sound of metal on glass. “I have some necklaces hanging on a suction cup on the mirror and he’s batting them around.”
I got up, stepping on a tube of deodorant, and took the necklaces down.
After a couple of nights of this, we have decided to kennel Smudge at night again. He doesn’t seem to mind though.

How about a few more fall foliage photographs?
Crossing the Susquehanna.

These photos were all taken on a recent (three weeks ago now) shopping trip. Except the first photo of crossing the Susquehanna. That one was taken the week before but it’s so pretty I wanted to include it.
This is Towanda.

And speaking of Towanda, the local high school kids painted the windows along the main street with a theme that combined Halloween with the upcoming (at the time) election.
Hmm. I wonder who these two are supposed to be.

Broc Obama. LOL.

Although there was plenty of controversy, I think the kids did a great job.
The color is mostly gone from the trees now, along with the leaves. The mornings are crisp and frosty on the winter flowers but…

…the delicate crystals of ice don’t stand a chance when the first rays of the sun hit them.

Steel gray clouds are harbingers of the snow that is sure to fly in these beautiful mountains.

Enough of waxing poetic.
When we lived in Missouri we had a big box store called Menard’s. It’s similar to a Lowe’s or Home Depot in that they are a home improvement store, but Menard’s carries a bigger line of home goods, like pet supplies, clothing and groceries. They even carry a small amount of furniture like recliners and couches.
When we lived in Missouri we had a couple of little URL’s.
“Peg, what does a web address have to do with that?” you ask.
You’re right. URL does mean Uniform Resource Locator or a web address in computer lingo, but in my world, a URL is an Unspecified Roof Leak.
LOL.
Menard’s sells a product called Duck that has worked just fantastically for us. It is highly elastic and withstands expansion and contraction. That is great if you have a big sign on your roof that works back and forth with the wind and creates little leaks. You can put it on a wet surface and in temps as low as 35 degrees and it won’t wash off even if it rains while you are putting it on.

Yeah, you really don’t want to get it on your clothes or hands either.
Mike looked for a Menard’s store here and the closest one was in Ohio. A little far to go. But the internet is great because you can order online and they will ship it right to your house!
With our order confirmation we received a tracking number and everyday we looked to see where our (almost) five gallon bucket of Duck was. I say almost because they don’t sell a five gallon bucket. It’s a four point seven five gallon bucket. They don’t sell it by the one gallon either; it’s a point nine gallon.
Our Duck was almost here when a note appeared on our tracking order.
Container damaged. Returned to manufacturer.  
“Well, I guess that’s better than having it delivered here and finding out it’s damaged,” Mike said looking on the bright side. “What happens now?”
  “I don’t know. I would guess they will send you another one.”
Mike waited and waited. When we didn’t get another tracking number in the next few days Mike called. The order was resubmitted and the next day we got a new tracking number. The day came and our order was delivered. We hadn’t seen the UPS truck pull into our driveway, but we found the box on our patio. When we opened it…
It was damaged.  

“Are you going to send it back?” I asked Mike.
“No. Not that much of it leaked out and we need to use it while it’s nice enough to get up there and do it. Besides, I’m tired of waiting for it.”
At least he was honest. Patience isn’t Mike’s strong suit but he strives, everyday, to do better.
Mike spent a sunny and fairly warm afternoon applying Duck to areas he thought might be giving us some URL’s then we did what we always do with wet brushes we are intending to use again. We wrapped it in a plastic bag and put it in the freezer. You don’t have to clean your brush that way and it won’t dry out on you. You just have to remember to get it out of the freezer a few hours before you want to use it again.
Game night at the Robinson’s and I made a walnut pie.
“Walnut pie?” you ask.
Yes. It’s a lot like a pecan pie only made with walnuts and walnuts are my most favorite nut. Warm pie, vanilla ice cream…need I say more?
I brought the leftovers home and put them in the fridge. The next day I get the pie out with the intention of sending a couple of pieces home with the Kipp’s when they stopped by on their daily walk. I scooped a couple pieces into a takeout container and ate a bite of the one left on the pie plate.
Spit…splutter, splutter… YUCK!
What is that! It tastes like… I took another bite.
Yep. It tastes like chemicals! 
It was nasty.
I had no idea of how or where I had gotten something into or onto the pie. I hadn’t been doing any cleaning before I dished out a share for the Kipp’s, and it didn’t taste like that the day before.
It was a mystery.
Needless to say, the Kipp’s didn’t get any of my walnut pie.
That afternoon, making…what? I don’t know. Something or another. I’d gotten the butter out of the fridge and the first bite brought that chemical taste back, fresh to my mouth.
Yuck, yuck, double yuck!
What in the world… I wondered, put my something or another down and went to the fridge. I opened the door and surveyed the contents. Nothing suspicious jumps out at me. I closed it and opened the freezer only to be assaulted, full in the face, with a monstrous cloud of obnoxious chemical smell.  
And what do you suppose was laying there, front and center?
Mike’s paint brush.
I took the brush out of the freezer but the damage was done.
“That shouldn’t affect the stuff in the fridge,” Mike says.
“Obviously it does though.”
I now have a pound and a half of chemical tasting butter. What am I going to do with that?
“Feed it to the chickens,” I can hear my cute little red-haired brother say. “That’s what I do with a lot of stuff.”
But I don’t have chickens.
“Throw it away,” Momma says.
Can I feed it to the cats or maybe make it into a suet type food for the birds this winter. Do you guys have any ideas for me?
Besides the butter, the rye bread in the freezer has a vaguely chemical taste to it but not enough that it bothers Mike. The frozen blueberries that I put in my morning oatmeal have a slight taste to them too. Everything else was sealed well enough it prevented any transfer of odor.
“What did you do about the smell?” you ask.
Well, I didn’t have much baking soda on hand, which is what immediately sprang to my mind. But what I did have was charcoal. I grabbed a couple of pans and put a few charcoal briquettes in them and put one in the fridge and one in the freezer. It seems to work well enough.
More stories — okay, just one more — but we will save it for seed.
Let’s call this one done.
And don’t forget.
You are all in my heart.