Take sewing for example. I stink. Any minor repairs that need to be done by hand, pretty much guarantees that I will require a blood transfusion afterwards. As mentioned in a previous entry, my one attempt at making a shirt resulted in a three-armed shapeless mess that my mom and home-economics teacher had no idea how I accomplished it. There have been one or two exceptions to this, but they are few and far between.
With cooking I can mostly hold my own on. Unfortunately most the things I cook my family tends to turn their nose up at. Due to that I have developed something of a discouraged attitude with regards to almost any cooking. I find myself begrudgingly making dinners. I don’t mind BBQing, as the kids and Hubby almost always like anything that comes off the grill. But then, Hubby does the BBQing, unless he is out of town and at that point I take over the task.
This attitude I have towards cooking has left me feeling surprised that I am eager to try canning various foodstuffs this summer. I fully acknowledge that the likelihood of my kids not wanting to try, much less like the things I would put up does not hinder me. I’m doing this for myself. I remember enjoying all the foods my mom canned when I was younger, and I would like to re-experience those foods again. The kids be damned, I want homemade jam and pickles! Of course, having only watched my mom, aunt and neighbor do these things as a child about the age of #3, and never having done it myself, leaves me with a feeling of trepidation.
While ignoring that feeling, I started going through the Ball Blue Book last night that my SIL generously let me borrow. Since she is off her feet following surgery for bone spurs, she will not be using it any time soon, so it was no imposition for me to have possession of it for a short time. So, last night, while tunelessly humming Diamonds Are a Girls Best Friend (Marilyn’s version, not Nicole’s) I leafed through the book to discover what goodies I wanted to try my hand at. This is where I ran into trouble. I want to make EVERYTHING. Even the things I’ve never heard of before! I felt like a kid on Christmas morning, discovering more goodies with every turn of the page. Take Fig Pickles for example. Who gives a fig if I don’t like figs? I want to make ‘em! Prickly Pear Marmalade? Not a clue where to get a prickly pear, but I want to make it! Chutney? Never heard of it, but sure do want to make it!
Hubby came home for a run earlier to find me, eyes glazed over, leafing through the book and still tunelessly humming, interrupted only occasionally by murmuring unintelligible things. I think I overheard him say something about obsessive/compulsive disorder.
I’m not obsessed.
Oh! Ambrosia Conserve! I’m not sure what it is, but I’m adding it to my list!
I’m NOT obsessed!