Preserved

I dealt with that pail of cherries today.  I hauled up a bunch of jars, lids, and rings and the grinder attachment for the Kitchen Aid, ground up the whole cherries (and only found one pit), 


 


then cooked them, some sugar, and a few boxes of Sure Gel to make 19-1/2 assorted sized jars of cherry preserves.

All that cooking made a pile of dirty dishes.  I will confess that I stuffed the big pots, big Tupperware bowls, and big measuring cups into the empty dishwasher and ran a "pots and pans" cycle.  Yes, I could have stood there and washed it all by hand, thereby earning a star in my heavenly crown (or so my Grandma Angermeier told me I would) but instead I positioned the outflow from the (portable) dishwasher to spill into the biggest pot that was full of sticky cherry leavings so that the dishwasher water loosened all the gunk and washed it away so I could plop the non-dishwasher-able gadgets into that big pot of hot soapy water and wash the remainder.  By hand, Grandma, by hand.


After naptime DS came over with his able assistants to do a couple things for me.  He lifted

the bikes down from the rafter hooks, put the cooler back up on the shelf, and got the bike rack off the shelf for me.  He also fixed the metal bale on my glass coffee canister so it doesn't fall apart when I lock it shut. There was some playing outside but then it started raining.  At first it was raining like crazy in the front yard and merely drizzling in back but in not too many minutes the backyard rain caught up with the front yard rain.  My new rug got soaked so once it stopped I laid the patio chairs down and lifted the rug ends onto them so that the rain can drip out.  Evidently washing your car isn't the only way to make it rain, putting a rug on your patio works too. (btw, the previous rug owner evidently had a dog; guess what the wet rug smells like; right, wet dog; charming)  I remembered how to mount the rack on the car so I could take Durwood's never-ridden bike to Goodwill.  He wouldn't let me donate it, not even when I found out about a guy who refurbished them to give away to kids without bikes.  Guess it meant something that it hung out there, just in case he could ever be well enough to ride it.




Before the rain I picked the first three Sweet 100 cherry tomatoes from the garden and managed not to eat them until supper.  Oh, they were soooo good.  I always gave Durwood the first few tomatoes because he loved them so but, mm, those three tiny tomatoes sure were tasty.






A Bluejay came to visit the feeders today.  So did a Flicker but I wasn't fast enough to take its picture.







This was the view from the tiny porch of our condo in Door County last weekend.  Very relaxing to gaze at while doing my morning yoga.





And here's Lake Michigan as seen from Baileys Harbor.  Now you see why people clamor to go to Door County.  It's absolutely beautiful, so beautiful that I'm going back tomorrow to have lunch and spend the afternoon knitting with my friend KS. I'm so lucky to live so close that I can zip up there for the day.




03 August--Barbara Malcolm, Horizon. 

Abel still hadn't told me where we were going and I didn't trust my voice right then.  I picked up my purse, checked to make sure I had my house key, and we left.

He held the car door for me and handed me in like a gentleman.  I could see that he'd had the car washed and the inside smelled like a bag of lemons had been squashed in it.

I was surprised when he turned onto the highway into Simpson and got on the bridge to cross the river.  Then he took the exit as if we were going to Door County, but turned into a very nice restaurant, Tarragon, overlooking the bay and the sunset.

We had both been silent on the half-hour ride and as we entered the place all I could say was, “Oh.”

It was beautiful--dark wood, Oriental carpets over gleaming hardwood floors, and prints of the French countryside on glowing gold walls.  I stood looking around while Abel spoke to the host.  I had stepped closer to the walls to check out the paintings when Abel took my elbow and we followed the host to our table.  It was in the center of the wall of windows that looked west.  By then it was nearly eight o'clock and I could see that the sunset would be breathtaking.

“I know how you like sunsets, Gail, so I reserved this table special for you.”

“Thank you, Abel, it's perfect.”

             He held my chair and then seated himself next to me.  Our waiter brought menus and asked what we'd like to drink.  When I said I preferred wine to liquor, Abel launched into a discussion with him about the provenance of the wines and settled on one from Chile, of all places.  It was an excellent wine; just the way I like it, dry and a little sweet. Does the man know about everything?  After a few sips of wine I turned back to the menu and discovered that there weren't any prices.

“Abel,” I said, “does your menu have prices?”

“Yes, of course it does.  I'm the host.  You're the guest, so yours doesn't.”

I looked at him in exasperation.  “Well, then how am I supposed to know what to order?”

He laughed.  “Gail, you order whatever you'd like.”

“But...” I leaned toward him so no one would overhear.  “But, Abel, what if what I order is too expensive?”

He reached over and covered my hand with his.  “Don't you worry, I've been saving up.”

“Oh, okay.”  I had the sneaking hunch he was laughing at me but I found I didn't mind.  It was relaxing to not have to worry about the cost of things.

We placed our orders and there were a few minutes of awkward silence, then we started talking.  The food, exquisitely prepared and presented, came at a nice slow pace with plenty of time for us to enjoy it.  I let Abel talk me into having a second glass of wine but I drew the line at cognac after dinner.

“I don't have much of a head for alcohol and if I drink any more I can't be responsible for my actions,” I said. 

He looked at me over his wine glass and said, “That might be interesting.”  The deep timbre of his voice and the smile in his blue eyes went right through me.

             We were lingering over our coffee when Abel said, “Are you about ready to leave?  I think they want to close.”

I looked around and realized that the conversations and music that had been in the background all night had gone silent.  Ours was the only table occupied.

“Oh, my heavens.  What time is it?”

“Nearly eleven.”

“So late?  We'd better go so these nice people can close up.”

I took Abel's arm as we walked out and he paused just outside the door.

“Look at the stars, Gail.  Aren't they beautiful?”

I looked up at the black sky pierced by hundreds, millions of stars.  “Mmm, yes, they are.”

He leaned close and whispered, “But still not as beautiful as you are.”

My breath stopped in my throat and I couldn't think of a thing to say.  For once in my life, I didn't deny the compliment.  “Thank you, Abel,” I said.  Just like a real lady. 

The drive home was very different than the drive to the restaurant.  We talked about art and books and gardening.  I was surprised at how quickly the time had passed when we pulled into my lane.  When he parked the car and came around to open my door, my mind started racing.  Should I kiss him?  I wanted to.  Should I invite him in?  I wanted to do that too.  But would he think I was being forward, inviting him in for more than coffee and conversation? 

             He walked me to the front door and turned me to face him.  “I had a wonderful evening, Gail.  I hope you did.”

            “Oh, I did, Abel.  It was wonderful for me too.”

He took both my hands in his and leaned forward to kiss my cheek.  As his lips neared, I turned my head and our lips met.  I could feel his hesitation but then he leaned into me and the kiss deepened.  As I reached to touch his face, he pulled back.

“Would you like to come in?” I asked.

“I, uh, I don't think I'd better.  Thank you again for a lovely evening.  May I have your key?”

I handed him my house key, he opened the door, handed the key back.  He kissed me once again, on the cheek, and said, “Good night, Gail.  I'll see you soon.”  And turned and left.

I stayed on the porch and waved as he drove away and then went indoors.  As I locked the door behind me I looked at the key in my hand and said, “Just like in the movies.”  It had been a night to remember.

And I couldn't wait to see him again.

I knitted a bit in between preserves making and the assistant invasion and after supper but don't really have anything to show for it.  Better wrap this up so I can get on the road tomorrow at a decent time.
--Barbara