Last year after experiencing the domestic bliss that is peach canning and spending several months hacking black crispy somethings off my stovetop, I told Dan I would never do it again. I believe I said something about Hell becoming very chilly or about how I’d rather pass away.
(On a side note about death wishes, Laylee and I had the following conversation in the car today:
Me — Poor Buddy is so sick today. I feel so sad for him.
Laylee — So, after we die we’ll never get sick again, right?
Me — Yep. That’s right.
Laylee — I can’t wait to die! That is gonna be SO! COOL!
I think it’s good not to fear death. I’m just not sure it’s healthy for a 5-year-old to look forward to it with such excitement.)
So after eating home-canned peaches all winter and scraping nearly all the charred fruit guts off my stovetop, I decided I’d better order a few more cases this summer and get down to bidness. Tonight I realized that it was time to can before every single peach rotted in its box and at 8:05pm PST I turned on the Olympics, put on my giant apron disguised as a bib and began to sort, scrub, chop and boil.
During the 5 hour process I periodically stopped and caught snippets of the Olympic action, mostly audio only. Here are my thoughts on what I witnessed:
1. If trampoline is an Olympic sport, why don’t they have juggling or competitive break dancing? I could handle me a sweet crew of Ukrainian b-boys every 4 years or so.
I was particularly delighted by the comments of one reporter during the event who said something like, “She’s got one minute before she must start flipping acrobatics.” And all I could think was, “For REAL! Could she just start the flipping acrobatics already?!”
2. Watching the totally wacky and unpredictable gymnastics scoring over the past few days, I couldn’t help but think that there has to be a more fair way of choosing a winner. I have 2 suggestions. A — Have an additional scoring category for aroma. The sweetest smelling girls should really have some sort of advantage. This is of course subjective as what might smell quite lovely to an American could be repulsive to a Romanian however I think it would fit in perfectly with the current scoring system. B — Shoot a couple hundred slugs out of a canon against a wall and use their splatter patterns to determine which country is most deserving. Then package up all the medals and send them home with the appropriate coach or coach’s wife.
Seriously. Am I the only one who sees a made-for-TV movie in the near future starring Tracey Gold as a Canadian gymnastics judge who uncovers a seedy bribery plot in the 2008 Beijing Olympics?
3. I wonder if Jenn Stuczynski would have decided to pursue pole vaulting 4 years ago if someone had told her then that a silver medal at the Olympics was a piece of hud for losers. Watching her coach tell her how poorly she’d done after she came in second to a woman who set the Olympic and world record during the event had me really steamed.
4. I’m inclined to believe anything Bela Karolyi says. I’m not sure if it’s the accent, the mustache or the number of Olympic medalists he’s glared at from the sidelines over the years.
5. Beach volley ball. The teeny tiny bikinis. The riding up. The why.
And now I think I deserve a medal for canning 26 quarts of peaches all by myself in record time with very little mess, minimal browning, zero breakage, perfect seals, and only half a cup of syrup left over when all was said and done. And it only cost me slightly more than if I’d bought the peaches factory-canned at the store.