Another Jam Failure: The Grown-Up Blues

I'm pretty sure the peach jam didn't set properly either, and this time, I was far more careful about the directions.  The only thing that I can even think of is having used a less refined sugar.  It had a lot more molasses in it than I thought it would, the jam is brown... and it's still quite liquidy.  The peach of 09 never set fully either, but it wasn't this thin.  I think I could rescue it, though, and make a baked brie and walnut filo dough appetizer with it.  Damn, though...  all this work, and I'm getting nothing like what I planned.

I was quite industrious, though, and made sure I used a good deal of  stuff.  I added to the stash of green things in the freezer too, and after a batch of chili, will go through more than a few tomatoes, peppers and chilis.

We have plans to hit up a kid's consignment fair this weekend.   We need a third car seat... we were given one, but it's just not working out, and Grams needs a way to get around when she has the baby while we work.  We should buy more used baby gear than we do.

I  wish I had gone to the beach today instead of being responsible and running all the errands.  It was, effectively, the end of my summer break, and Hurricane Irene is supposed to hit this weekend anyway.  I'm glad I got things done, but sometimes, this grown up thing stinks.

Peaches

I ended up composting so much good stuff last week.  Pretty depressing.  I had the most dreadful lunch-- Swiss chard, just sauteed, then a bit of salt, but it was almost gone, and for three weeks now, I haven't eaten the chard.  I don't mind it.  I kind of like it.  But, cooking greens never really occurs to me.  However, as a meal, all by itself like that, it's somewhat lacking.

I did use most of the tomatoes, but some of those were lost as well-- probably about two pounds of seven.  The rest, I roasted, and filled a large mouth Ball jar with.  And, I think I just may try to seal it. Fruits seal just fine with the canner I've got-- mom's. Tomorrow I positively must make peach jam-- and the canner will be out anyway.  I need to hone in on whatever it was that made the universe send me exactly what I asked for, but after ten weeks of the supplementary fruit share I purchase along with our share in the farm working out to be only trucked in organic fruit (Washington state, Mexico... huge mileage!), rather than focusing on local orhards, as they originally said they would  when I first signed us into the farm last year, today, they gave us 19 peaches-- or seven pounds!    I was seriously planning on signing out of the fruit share-- especially given that the fruit has been little other than lemons, plums, and apples.  And, apples in summer are just about the worst things, given that they've been kept around since last year.  Plums are not a favorite of mine either, and they make dreadful baby food, going spectacularly sour when cooked.  The apples have had that redeeming grace, at least.  In a crock pot, ignored for several hours, peeled apples, with a little help from a blender, turns into a gallon-sized bag full of little baby food cubes that then get thawed a cube or a few at a time.  Easy.  And, apples make all sorts of more objectionable foods edible to my daughter, even turnips.

But, this week was particularly bad.  A cucumber, two heads of lettuce, a head of escarole, a bag of arugula, and a bunch of plums went to the compost, simply because I got too busy to deal with eating them. 

Tomorrow is one of the only days I've got left of my summer break, and tomorrow I make the jam I've been thinking I might have been too late to be able.  The peaches have come to me, and they shall be sealed, golden gems will be set in crystal, little bits of sun to set on the shelf and keep, and maybe to wonder over when I'm  baking some Brie deep into winter.... the stuff is so wonderful with Brie, too.  I'm honestly half making it only for that delicious fact.

I also need to make sure that green beans from last Tuesday, as well as daikon, some squash and eggplant, aren't lost either.

Birthdays and Diaper Dilemmas

We never did get in that run last night.  D. must have forgotten; he went on one of his after work trips to the woods for a beer with the guys.  I don't begrudge him doing this a few times a month, but he just did it last week, and we had planned this run when he wouldn't go with me Tuesday night.  I didn't mean to start a post solely about bitching about my husband though, and in the end, running is my responsibility.  And, he mentioned my birthday gift yesterday, so he's not completely in the dog house.  I know it's shallow to be this happy about it, but we're going to Pandora and adding to my bracelet.  My in-laws also gave me  birthday money, and I'll be spending that there too.

Updating on my double green issues.  I made two purchases today, but I don't feel I went psycho with either one. I bought the stock up of tights I'm going to need for back to work (I  can work with my closet, but I do need tights to do so), and spent about $50 on  8 pairs.  Totally reasonable.  I also bought a yoga bolster identical to the ones I've been practicing with since I started going to semi-weekly yoga early in my second trimester. I wanted a bolster but they're never very cheap, and often quite expensive, and it's hardly like you can do a bunch of supported back  bends over one to decide it works, or  doesn't, before buying, and because what's comfortable with regard to height and firmness of those things is so individually variable, I've been kind of paralyzed about what to do about getting one.  So, cool new bolster coming  my way, in a green- grounded elephant print, for $85.  My yoga budget is a separate thing.  I stopped dying my hair to have yoga money, and D. can't complain.  I firmly believe purchases like my running shoes or a yoga bolster are entirely different.   They are investiments in my long term mental and physical health.

I also didn't get any cooking done yesterday either, because it turned out my aunt was up from R.I. visiting my Grams, so I spent a lot of the afternoon there. 

Last night the baby slept horribly, waking up at around 20 past each hour, at one, at two, at three, again at four.... so she's only just now down for a "morning" nap and it's already noon.  Today, I really do have to do some cooking since we're out at a wedding tomorrow, on my birthday, plus I've got three loads worth of laundry I washed last weekend that got rained on repeatedly and now smell like damp yuck  and need to be rewashed, plus the fact that that laundry's been taking up my whole clothesline (plus drying racks and the railings) means I haven't washed any of the baby's diapers, and we're on day two of landfill bound diapers...  They're Seventh Generation ones, but still.  I have made my promise to myself not to use the dryer, but right now, it's so tempting.  There are probably, at minimum, seven loads backed up in my house right now, and at maximum, three can be dried at a time right now.  It's such a pain when I end up having to rewash and double hang things too-- and this load will have been hung three times, because I did go out in the rain and bring half of it in to attempt to dry it inside, only to get musty stink.  I'm also not looking forward to what happens to me when I'm back at school, commuting and hour and half a day, and still needing to do at minimum two loads of laundry (one of our stuff  to clean the neighbors b.s. detergent out of the machine, and one  of the baby's to keep up with the diapers) every other day, so that the baby has enough diapers.  At times, if it weren't for the financial  investment in our cloth diaper supply, I might cave and go disposable full time, instead of just for overnights and laudry emergencies.  It really isn't easy being green.

A Hot Green Mess: Or, what I wrote as I planned to set up this blog

Entry 1/Intro

There are a few things I know well enough, or wish to explore in order to know better, that would be “worthy” of blogging about.  I have begun a quest over the last few years to live in as green a manner as possible.  In particular, I’m working really hard on becoming as much as possible a locavore.  There are certain items I’d never attempt to give up that will prevent me from being any sort of purist locavore (one who consumes nothing not produced in a 100-mile radius)—like chocolate, coffee, citrus, olives (and their oil!), nuts, sugar, vanilla, cinnamon…. Perhaps others, but those are big ones.  The rest is becoming a matter of connections—our C.S.A in Hamilton, source of abundant vegetables, berries, and local eggs, also hooks us up with area farms that produce meat that keeps an omnivore undilemma-ed.   Just last week, I ate some grass fed, grass  finished steak from Loudon, NH.   We live in Gloucester, and at our weekly farmer’s market, we can get fish caught that day off our coast, supporting local fishermen.  A winery that I walked and jogged by four days a week at least all through high school sells their bottles.  It takes a determination (my freezer is a game of Tetris!) and the acquiring of some new skills (I’m stretching my preserving and canning abilities, too, with a goal of expanding past delicious jam soon).  But, it’s possible to live at least 50% of the year over 90% local, even in an apartment.    A big thing we need is more freezer space—something I’m looking into pretty seriously.   I believe the extra electricity is off-set by other benefits, like cutting out all those shipping miles and all that packaging (I try to buy things like flour, beans, and grains in bulk to reduce packaging—and save money—too, but to do so means a lengthy drive to Swampscott and Whole Foods).   The best is when we’re able to get ultimately local: currently, we grow for ourselves an abundance of herbs, many of them perennial, five varieties of tomatoes, strawberries (with a yield of one berry per year for the last two, I’m not sure  I should mention them….), three varieties of peppers, and chives.  Three years of experimenting have taught us what we can do well in our small little apartment dwelling guerilla style container and raised bed (two small ones—new for us this year) gardening, and what we can’t (failures: spinach, chard, beets, lettuce, sunflowers, eggplant, squash).   I have had a solar dehydrator since last year that I ought to bust out:  much of what we grow next to the driveway can be preserved in that manner.

                                Other green goals: we started composting this year, keeping all the kitchen scraps, egg shells, coffee grounds and such in a pile under the leaves in the woods past the fence behind our building.  Not much yield yet, but while I’d love to have a source to enrich the growing soil for our raised beds and containers and our house plants, the fact that we keep the stuff out of the landfill makes me content.  I drive by an old landfill on my way home from work every day—in Peabody next to route 128—and you’d swear you were driving by a dairy farm.  Methane is peculiar, in that it has the same smell no matter its source.  And, vegetable matter that rots anaerobically because it was underground in a landfill makes the lovely stuff, a far more damaging greenhouse gas than CO2.

                We’ve been putting out our recycling curbside for seven or so years now—however long we’ve lived here.  We knew full well that because we don’t have city trash pick-up (apartment dwellers, remember?) we technically weren’t eligible to put out a bin every Thursday, or Friday in a week with a holiday, but we did it anyway.  The truck was stopping at the houses on either side of us, and recycling actually generates a profit, so, why not?  This summer though we received a cease and desist letter.  The city has caught on to us somehow.  I feel lucky that we have other recourse: the recycling will now go to the husband’s work, into recycling dumpsters the college keeps on campus for the students in the dorms.  But, isn’t it odd that one must resort to guerilla tactics to recycle?    Humanity truly does seem to want to hold the plastic bag over its own face…

               

Entry 2: Green Sins

I have my green sins though.  I’m currently trying to rehab myself from a retail addiction.  I’m not doing so well.  My last purchase was only days ago.  I technically ”needed” the sunglasses (scratched lenses on the one pair that were actually impairing my vision, and a big chip in the lens of the other), but the scarf was simply an impulse.  I spotted something beautiful and acquired it.  I blame this on a number of things—being a Leo, a cat who craves beauty, being a child of the hedonistic ‘80s.  And, I’m trying to find a greener outlet for my urges.  Vintage clothing has been a love for a bit now as well, since I discovered an excellent vintage shop in Vermont about five years ago on our annual camping trips.  I own a very well-conditioned dress from the 1940s, and a sundress from the 50s that had some condition issues, but which was creatively worked to disguise the worst of them (tiny pleats cover stains).  An embroidered peasant dress (in impeccable condition) and lace trimmed maxi skirt (orange floral print disguises a few orange rust stains) from the 70s were my most recent acquisitions, on a trip up not two weeks ago.  The same trip yielded my first score that will give me a project.  I started watching a show recently on Planet Green (which never seems to have any more “green” shows, it seems, just Discovery network reruns) that I fear may have been cancelled, called “Dresscue Me” about a woman whose  business involves selling vintage—sometimes in its original form, but more often than not, creatively revamped—sleeves cut off, hems radically shifted, etc.  So, inspired to take on my own project, I found a little girl’s dress from the 40’s that I intend to rework a bit in the sleeves, and wear backward.  It’ll make a really cute little wrap-ish style blouse, and I’ll let my daughter borrow it when it’s her size and then claim it back when she’s outgrown it.  

 I think I need a new sewing machine (I broke mine years back) and to look into whether the vocational school still has an adult ed sewing class, since my attempts to self-teach are what destroyed my machine in the first place.  It might not be fully eco-friendly for me to start sewing dresses and things from new (which I’ll surely end up doing as well as reworking my finds along the way), but it certainly will save money, and besides, there’d be no labor conflict at least.  Automatic fair trade, when home made!

Entry 3: Roots and Magic

When it comes to those preserving skills, I’m pretty lucky to have  grown up how I did.  My mom found a way to get us coveted, wait-listed plots (more than one, yes: three, in fact, in an L-shape.  There was a smaller chunk when I was much younger, but I really only remember the L-shape) in a community gardening area in my home town.  We had to fight some  invasive perennials intentionally introduced by their previous worker (the benefits of comfrey are not significant enough for me to understand what he was thinking with that one),  but I remember a lot.  There was the time I “weeded” out whole rows of young beets, really believing I was weeding.   I remember being fascinated that while peas all look the same going into the ground, when their viny tendrils snake their way up the strings you set weeks before and set out blossoms, the flowers are often in very different colors, purples, white, yellow.   I remember the scourge of Japanese beetles, their grubs, and the stink of the pheromone lures set out to try to manage their predation (I *think*-- note to self, look this up—that they like Brassica especially, and my mother was always growing broccoli, kohlrabi and cauliflower).    I remember building tee-pees to support pole varieties of green beans, and the failed experiments with the melons, which just didn’t seem to find our seasons long enough.   I remembered planting marigolds to protect nightshades (tomatoes and eggplants, not potatoes for us).    I know my mother pickled things, but if she canned vegetables, I don’t recall.  I don’t think we ever had a pressure cooker, so I tend to doubt it.

                More vividly, though, I remember sessions of berry-picking, both in orchards where you paid for the privilege or, more often, in random spots eyed while driving.  It almost seems like weaving a fictional tale to describe these episodes, when my mother would spot a cluster of blackberry or raspberry bushes off on the side of a highway or road somewhere, and less than a day later, we’d converge as a group, comprised of myself, my mother, and her mother.  And, we almost always met up with the same  little biodome of species.  Berries draw in bees and other pollenators, which support spiders, and there are plenty of snakes too, those who eat insects, and, I suspect, since some we saw were larger, those who eat things like birds and rodents also drawn to wild berries.  And, wild berries are thorny.  But, these berries, harvested under those odd and uncomfortable conditions (spiders and snakes, oh my!) would end up in a cauldron, then in sparkly quilted jars that somehow were sealed for good, somehow with only steam, then in the most amazing peanut butter sandwiches.  Peanut butter is not a food I will eat, unless with a generous amount of this magically transformed stuff we call jam. 

                I made my own first batches of jam in 2009.  Blueberry and peach.  The blueberry turned out tremendously.  I’d never had blueberry jam from my mother—as it turns out, my father doesn’t like blueberries, as hard as that as if for me to comprehend.   The texture was excellent, though, if I was a bit disappointed to having to resort to only IPM berries purchased at the weekly farmer’s market.  Later that season, I also made a batch of peach jam, with fruit from the same vendor.  I was less impressed with the texture of this effort—a bit too liquidy; I think it needs more fruit than specified, as well as a mix of unripe peaches—but its taste was amazing.  I hope I haven’t waited too long to get peaches from some local source—perhaps Russell Orchard in nearby Ipswich (less than 10 miles away)—especially as that batch of peach jam made in ’09 went extinct this past winter.  Organic and local, where tree fruit is concerned, isn’t possible.

                This year, we had amazing strawberries, and I was incredibly lucky, snagging the last six pints at the whole market that day, and having that score be further enhanced by the fact that the berries came from the organic farm we have a share at.  Then, I messed up.  I was in a hurry, distracted by being at home with an infant, and with my memory blurred  by having had a whole jamless year pass, I failed to notice, and therefore, to follow, all the directions.  The ingredients were measured appropriately, but were not added at the right times.  The sugar went in from the beginning, not after waiting for the fruit and pectin mix to boil.  The result was not the  jam I was hoping to be enjoying on peanut butter all autumn, but a syrup.  It’s far from a total loss: it proved to be delicious as a topping on Danish pancakes, and makes a killer milkshake, blended up with some vanilla ice cream and milk, but, it is not what I had aimed for.    Things get discovered in mistakes sometimes, though.

Entry 4:  Less is More? (8/15)

The only time I ever really “shook” my retail addiction was for about a year and a half or so.   I  stopped watching television and reading fashion magazines. I was revolting against things from a feminist angle at the time, at least with the fashion magazines, as they had had a part in giving me an eating disorder and general body dismorphia, and besides, my undergrad professors only really knew seventies feminism well, so I got this idea that I had to stop shaving to make a statement about how men have been cultured to be pedophilic.  That’s maybe sort of true, but I simply don’t like my hairy self.  I like the inner person , of course, as much as I always have (which honestly , isn’t a whole lot some days), but she’s a lot prettier when she removes the excess fur.  I’m partly French, and part Jew, all of which adds up to being a pretty,  well, Yeti.  So, razors and tweezers are friends.   Fashion magazines are around from time to time, but I understand that airbrushing is to create fantasy, not a tool for torturous self-comparison.

 Giving up the t.v. wasn’t all my choice—not my “choice” at all. I had an odd man-friend at the time (I won’t call him a boyfriend: he was too old for that label, and honestly, “friend” is a bit of mislead as well, but that’s another entry).  He believed t.v—and music with lyrics, at least in English—w as the devil.  Maybe it’s a little true.  Both t.v. and pop music introduce things into our heads we might not come up with otherwise.  Music  has mantras that lodge in.  You find yourself singing them, thinking it’s only in your head, and only when someone hears you, recognizing how truly crass that set of lyrics burned in your mind really is.  But, t.v. is a great one of manipulating the Capitalist demon born, I over-simplistically claim, of the fact that I was a child of the hedonistic ‘80s.   For me , the great weakness will always  be fashion.  But, the influence t.v. has in driving me to go out and  buy yet more clothing isn’t ads for sales; it’s costuming.    I get inspired by a look, want to recreate it, then set out to find the pieces necessary.  

But, in that year or so that I lived wholly without pop  culture (I missed Star Trek, Enterprise,  doh!) I also managed to erase a $5000 credit card debt I had amassed in only the two years I’d had credit—a pretty amazing feat, in those days of working for tips.   I dressed like a hippy ragamuffin (seriously, I loved  showing  off the fact that I  was wearing patched things, and I gave up underwear of any kind, rather than having to replace it), and I don’t  want to go back to that phase, but there are things about that time that I  wish I could recapture.  I made what I had work; what I had in my closet was always enough, no matter what came up in my social calendar.  I dress better now by leagues and miles, and I truly could live out of my closet, replacing only things that wear down by nature, like t-shirts and panties, tights and leggings, for years and years.  But, to build that wardrobe was costly. My debt, for the record, is in about the same  place these  days (or about $5000, not counting some loans for grad school), but the sad thing is , I’m  a water treader.  For instance, in the past three months, I’ve  sent $1700 to my  card, but my balance is more or less the same, because that’s about what I spent in the past three months too.  I’m not totally sure what I spent it all on either.  I know  a Pandora bracelet and a wrap watch  were in the mix, as well as clothes, both for myself and my daughter.  My husband’s Father’s Day present, too, I suppose (to be “fair”, without over back-pedalling, the Pandora was a combo of my birthday and fifth anniversary presents; the watch, Mother’s Day—and yes, it’s typical for my husband to offer nothing, and assume I’ll indulge myself.  No wonder his debt, on credit cards anyway,  if half mine!  He’s never brought up the fact that my birthday is on Saturday, never asked if there’s anything special I’d like, and here, honestly, I am just talking about the gesture, not some stuff—but, again, that’s another topic)

And, I’m  an emotional buyer.  Perhaps it’s like those people who are addicted to food.  Enough is never enough.  I set goals (like if I don’t buy anything for a year, other than underwear, socks, and other true necessaries, all purchased only with real money, not plastic, I can have that quilted Burberry jacket I’ve fantasized about for three years: that’s the new  carrot I’m dangling) but I impulse buy and blow both the original budget for the coveted item ,and worse, go way past that.  (I could  have  had three Burberry jackets, with some extra  for a scarf, with $1700, for instance).  But, buying pretty things makes me feel pretty, so for just a moment, I forget why I hate myself.    But, I hate where I am financially.  True, we don’t make a huge amount of money, but really, should my little brother have beaten me to home-ownership, even if he did have a huge lead I didn’t of an almost ten extra years at home to not have bills?  I think not.  Would I be granted a mortgage anyway?  Hell, yes, but only because my debt isn’t a lot compared to some, isn’t overburdensome compared to my income,  and I always pay, yada, yada.  But, do I feel good about it?  Not at all: it’s one of the many areas in my life that leaves  me feeling like I’m  a stupid little kid, and no one should have ever handed me this bike, especially  without training wheels, and sent me off on my own.  But, does anyone really get much more training in these matters?  Probably not.  So, why are some people capable of living within their means, and I insist on having the best of everthing, on buying champagne, when I can afford tap water, and maybe an herbal tea bag to spice it up?

And, what’s worse is I know how this conflicts with my  green living ideals.  Sure, I buy vintage, and organic cotton, fair trade, and all that, but not always.  Far from it.  More often than not, I’m shopping online, buying random crap I don’t really need.  I don’t think I ever repeat an outfit (garments yes, whole outfits, no) in an entire school year, and yet I can easily spend $500 in a single spree.    Making things get made (raw materials and energy), and making them get shipped (more raw materials and energy).

Some things do work.  Like walking away, telling myself I can go back for it if it really feels that important after a day or more has passed. Honestly, that one is at least half of the time, just the trick.  The other half, I’m sometimes spared because someone else snags it before I get to it, and sometimes, I’m spared because I’m too lazy to go back.   But, sometimes even a day isn’t enough to keep me from turning a luxury into a necessity, because that, I can do well.  If it makes an outfit perfect, it’s a “need.”

I think running could work though.  It required another purchase (decent sneaks),  but a purchase made consciously, and with the intent of finding a healthy addiction to supplant the one I hate the most.  The one that makes me a hypocrite—and here’s the sticky thing.  That feeling of hypocrisy is one of the ones I try to kill while pursuing that next perfect dress (or bag, or pair of jeans, or pair of shoes, or….).    I think the walk away method is still a huge part of the strategy, but  I think in the end, that I need to add a new mantra to my way of thinking.  Instead of  making purchases to make myself feel better, I’m going to start setting aside a play stash, and I’ll hit it up when I’m feeling good about myself, and like I deserve a reward.  (A recent movie is my source here: in it, a character shared with another her uncle’s philosophy on drinking: Never drink to feel better; only drink to feel even better.  So, never shop to feel better; only shop to celebrate feeling better!) For now, I think just some positive movement in the direction of becoming debt free—actual progress with that credit card balance—is the thing to reward myself for, when that right time comes. 

In the meantime, I just hit up the saving account that had our house money in it (but far from all of it, thankfully).  And, it’s going to my debt, because my husband’s right: it’s not really saving when you still have debt.  I may need to spend some to keep my credit going, but the hypocrisy cycle just has to end.  The feeling is ugly, and the piles of earth-abusing threads I’ve collected isn’t pretty enough to really cover it.  It comes right on back, and no one can keep up with that kind of financial hemorrhaging.

Entry 5: Progress and Plans (8/18)

Using the baby’s morning nap,  now that I’ve packed the diaper bag (except her food) and dressed myself and prepared for my trip to the dentist, to update on things in my green little world.   

I went for a “run” yesterday, my first one in I couldn’t even tell you how long, only to discover I’ve got a lot of work to do before running will be comfortable and enjoyable.  I ran, then walked, then ran, then walked, until the baby threw a crying fit in her stroller, so for about a half hour.  I came home feeling slightly queasy, then attending to the baby’s needs instead of downing a bunch of water , left me with a massive dehydration headache.  But, right now, I’m  planning a tandem “run” with my husband this evening, so I’m still in the game.

On that topic of dehydration, here’s something I’m irritated with: makers of the BOB stroller: charging me $388 for your stroller, as lovely as it is, and not including  a freakin’ bottle holder, and instead, making me pay an extra twenty bucks for one, is lame. Lame beyond lame.  There’s taking Capitalism to some ultimate piggy limit, lemme tell ya.  Charge me an even $400 and put in the accessory you know every damn owner of the things, designed for athletic use, hello!, wants.  Random vent over.  Clearly, if I stick with this, the $20 purchase is one I will justify.  Who can run without access to water?  Keeping it stashed in the cargo bin under the baby just results in not drinking any the whole run, then being a dehydrated mess later,  if yesterday’s experience means anything.

So, a run tonight.  I also have to go to the dentist, obviously (I forgot I had the appointment, so thank goodness for those reminder calls!).   I also need to process some of our CSA share for the week, as well as our backyard goodies.  Usually, I do this on Wednesdays, but it’s Thursday sometimes too.  I’m drowning in tomatoes.  I need to roast piles of them.   Maybe this weekend I can drag out the canner and can a jar or two. I also need to roast beets, and probably, I ought to cook up some eggplant and zephyr squash.  I think I’ll put the eggplant and squash in some sort of pasta bake thing, as I have some ricotta in the fridge approaching its date.   But, I’m also excited for the fennel that made its first appearance in our distribution for the week, and I have a caramelized fennel and onion risotto recipe on the fridge that appeals to me too.  Maybe I’ll even shred some zucchini for bread, and freeze it that way (I have two recipes worth measured out in little baggies in the freezer already).    I wouldn’t be  surprised if  some of this  processing and cooking actually takes place tomorrow, but I’ve got an afternoon to look forward to, anyway.