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Friday, July 31, 2009

I'll party by myself because I'm such a special guy

Balls*. I'm waiting for my manservant the dishwasher to finish cleaning the jars so I can bottle my jam and go to bed because I am tired. Look at this lovely big pot of jam:
It's very red and sweet-tart and I love it. I daresn't claim that it is as good as All8's, but it's close enough that it doesn't make me sad, and isn't that what home cooking is all about? Not making people sad? Except when what you've cooked elicits pangs of nostalgia, like I plan to have about squash pie someday in the hopefully far distant future when my grandma passes on. But maybe we'll have fixed the death problem before then, and I won't ever have to feel sad eating Hubbard squash or saying "fark." That would be great.

FINALLY. The dishwasher is done. Laters.

*Speaking of my grandma, "balls" is her favorite curse. We're not sure what it means. I think it's an abbreviation of "balls of fire." She's a cute and most rocking grandma.

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