I mentioned in my last post about the tragedy at the air show in late June. But what I didn’t mention was just how much we loved seeing the Blue Angels the day prior. We’d been to a family reunion earlier in the day so when we arrived at the air show, we weren’t sure where they were in the day’s schedule. There was some acrobatic flying going on, which was fun to watch, but we figured the Blue Angels show was over. I called my parents to try and get them to look up the schedule either online or in the paper, but that was just one nightmare after another, so eventually we decided it was probably soon over and got ready to go. Then the Blue Angels’ support plane took off and O said, “Something’s about to happen.” Soon after, the jets came out of nowhere and roared just over our right shoulders. My response? “Holy Sh*t!”. They flew for almost 40 minutes and we loved every moment. As much as I enjoyed the flying, I think I actually had more fun watching O and listening to his ooing and aahing. It was one of those perfect afternoons – hot and sweaty and steamy, but perfect.
As I mentioned, we’d been at my mom’s family reunion earlier in the day. HER mom, my grandmother, died when I was in 6th grade but I adored her and still miss her, so it’s nice to get together with her brothers and sisters and their families once a year. One of the most wonderful things about it was getting to see a photo of my grandmother as a young girl – one I’d never seen. I immediately whipped out my camera and took several shots of the photo, and they came out good enough to enlarge once I got home. It's a treasure. (She's the one standing on the far left.)
We had our dear friend K visit from New Or*leans over the holiday weekend. The morning of the 4th, we went to an old–fashioned walking parade in a nearby small town. Think elderly gentlemen holding the color guard and leading the parade, followed by 30-40 children with decorated bikes and painted faces. It was such a short parade that my friends K and I jumped in the car and drove ahead of it to watch it again. Twice. At the end of the parade, there was lemonade and watermelon for all the marchers. It was the perfect patriotic way to start the day.
The evening of the 4th, we had a cookout with several friends. As usually happens, the “boys” ended up chatting either at the grill or in the den, and the women were in the kitchen talking and laughing up a storm. I just love evenings like that, where the conversation just clicks and time flies by. My husband even made his very first batch of homemade vanilla ice cream for the festivities. Not to be outdone, I tried my hand at homemade lemonade. We used my MIL's recipes, so both turned out delish!
Oh, and I only caught the stove on fire once the entire weekend. Apple pie residue in the bottom of the stove + 350 degrees = smoke and 6” flames. Neat! It’s kind of a tradition, though. When K and another one of our friends were visiting about three years ago, the stove’s heating element caught on fire. The actual heating element. So really, it wouldn’t be a visit to our home without at least the possibility of using the fire extinguisher.
In the last few weeks, I’ve done something that I’ve always wanted to do – can things. Stop laughing! I don’t know what it is about Southern girls, but most of us either can things or want to can things. I’ve been staunchly in the “want to can things” group, or rather the “want to can things but have seen/read too many things about botu*lism and is too scared to do it” group for a long time. But for some reason I got brave and decided to go for it. I am now the proud owner of a steam bath canner, a canning funnel, canning tongs, and more canning jars than you can shake a stick at. Oh, and a few blisters.
My first attempt was apple butter and I have to say, mmmmmmmm mmmmmmmm good. I’ve done several batches since then, and also made green tomato relish. (O & I grow tomatoes. We have to – another requirement of being Southern. Yet we don’t actually EAT tomatoes. Thus, the need for green tomato relish.) I have big plans for strawberry jam, spiced pear preserves with pears from our tree, and some fresh tomato sauce. Not today though. Today I’m working on my FIL’s family history.
Our gardens are going gangbusters with tomatoes, squash, peppers, corn, and green beans. We’re so grateful for the rain we got in May and June. That really helped. It won’t be long till it’s pumpkin planting time!
O had to meet one of his technicians a ways away yesterday morning so I drove down with him on Monday. The town we stayed was tiny with nothing to do and I spent about 14 hours riding in a cargo van, but we had such a good time. On our way home, we were listening to ES*PN radio and they were talking about traditional male and female roles, about men being “men”, and how rare that is anymore. The conversation came up because an NFL football player, Tony Gonzalez, saved a man’s life last month. He was in a restaurant and a man started choking on steak. Apparently no one did anything until Gonzalez stepped up and successfully performed the Heimlich.
It started me thinking about how much things have changed. On the way down to meet his technician, we passed a young girl sprawled out on the side of the road, trying to change her car tire. Hundreds of people must have passed her while she was there – trucks driven by men too busy or too apathetic to stop and help a young lady. Our fathers would never have done that. Heck, my nearly-80-year-old FIL would still stop! And of course, without missing a beat, my wonderful husband whipped the van around and went back to help. I so love that about him. It just wouldn’t occur to him NOT to stop and help her. That’s just who he is. He believes that women are meant to be taken care of, not in a demeaning or suffocating way, but in a loving gentlemanly way. I’m a lucky lucky girl.
