Dear Dear Diary
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
 
OT/OOC

Some people cry over onions- I cry over strawberries.

In Florida, when I was really young, I'd raid the strawberry beds at home, and then later in the year, at Gram's garden. Mom always got cross because we were ruining our dinner and mashing berries on ourselves.

When we were older and "more responsible" (probably ought to be read as "less likely to eat everything we picked"), we were taken with Mom to the U-pick-em strawberry beds. Hours bent in the hot sun with no shade and no water, and ordered not to even taste the much larger berries. It was unbearable. I still shudder when I drive by these places. I'd rather stop at the stand and hand over a dollar more for the luxury of not bending over myself. My back hurts just thinking about it- and I reflexively reach for the sunscreen.

I knew I was considered adult when I could swap recipes with Mom and Gram. It's like my brother's reaction to his first powertool at Kissmoose- he announced with pride, "Now I know I'm a MAN." I still cannot taste strawberries and cream without Gram's wrinkled face drawn up to the side in her lopsided smile appearing to me. Or Mom's swearing about how we need to freeze these damn berries so we can have enough. We never canned fruit- we always froze it or made jam. I don't know why mom never canned things- it maybe due to Gram's necessary over-zealous canning.

I can't think of strawberries without thinking of Mom or Gram. I used Gram's bone handled paring knife and the mixing bowls from Mom to slice the quart of fresh berries and then cover them with sugar. My kitchen is a working museum. Grab a floating berry, cut off the bits of a different color and the top, slice, grab another one, leaving my mind to wander and my eyes fill with tears.

Strawberry flavoring is a different sort of hell for me though- We were given Strawberry Quick once, and it was new and different than plain milk (which none of us were really fond of). So it was decided by Mom that we kids would now drink nothing but Strawberry Quick mixed with instant milk. She reasoned it would not be likely to go bad, and we would not know it if it did. And it was a lot cheaper. We were forced to endure this for at least 8 years of my childhood. I still can't consider strawberry milk without gagging.

Dessert tonight will be strawberries and cream. I can't wait.
 
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This rather schizophrenic blog was started as a fictional blog, written by a character of a story. I've since taken it over for writing personal stuff I don't mind sharing with anyone who cares. I am also writing thoughts about writing and stories that move me.


Other places I go:
Georg's Research
Help local kitties
I have relatives. Be afraid
Blessed is the One True Tami
Tata the Bodacious
Obligatory Yarn Harlot
It is impossible not to love Sandi Wiseheart once you've met her
The Tsarina
Holiday Yarns
Habetrot
I like the name Twiggi
Who to blame for my sock addiction
Maybe the cleverest blog title
Romancing the Yarn
Why I read Romancing the Yarn
Get an ab work out with laughter
My Kitty Obsession
Kittehs
You meet the nicest people playing video games
I'm such a fanboi
Rabbitch
One of my stalker targets
The other stalkee
I just love Josh (the cat)
Josh the Cat and friends
Pet politics
Pet Care
If I were a sheep, I'd be Delores
I live here now
Not Your Mama's Crafters
Make a Lily Pad


Anything not marked might be just me, Georg, posting as myself.

It's just this blog, okay? Some of it is story. Some of it is animals. Some of it is knitting. It's a blog.

For story #1, I do recommend starting from the beginning of this blog if you haven't read this before. Please start at the beginning.

I did mean it to be for http://www.nanowrimo.org - but I never got quite got it done under the wire.

CAST:
Jeannie is the author/main character.
Frank is her husband. Poor man.
Tony is musician/singer.
Angie is a teenager, who was Jeannie's best friend. Now currently dead.
Honestly, there is no connection between Jeannie and me and Frank and my husband.

Story #2
Frank and Ether. This will be much weirder than Frank and Jeannie. I like the name Frank. No one expects a Frank to lie.

Story #3
A desert story. Anna is the main character. Currently there is only her little brother and an old servant, and a mysterious redhead.

Story #4
The necro story. A young necromancer heads off to the Hated Ones to find her trousseau.

Story X
Reserving this for one-offs, poems, etc.


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Marriage is love.

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