Swirly

There are a lot of things swirling around in my head with little organization or coherence. Here you go:

Anyone else automatically picture that awful hazing trick of sticking someone's head in the toilet and flushing it when the word "swirly" is mentioned? And why do I automatically think of that? I've never been on either side of that particular gross activity.

We've had a lot of apricots to make into jam this year. We LOVE apricot jam in yogurt. This year I tried a flavor combination suggested in this book I got for Christmas a couple of years ago and haven't actually used thanks to that second baby I had. There was a recipe for apricot preserves with white wine or lemon juice and vanilla beans. I used lemon juice and some vanilla extract because I don't have the beans. DAMN, THAT'S GOOD.  I ate an entire pint pretty much by myself last week.

A., of course, prefers the straight-up apricot jam with no vanilla, because we don't agree on anything (taste-wise, that is). Luckily, we have about a dozen pints of it to keep him happy.

I'm making stew for dinner today. Hooray for cool-enough weather to simmer stew! In that stew is the meat from three different kinds of animals: deer, elk, and lamb. The deer and elk meat came from Mr. Jason. The lamb came from this. I used onions, garlic, potatoes, carrots, and thyme from the garden, and a basswood spoon carved by A. to stir it. Who is this weird locavore with hand-carved wooden tools? Oh right. That's me.

You know what?  I never want to use the word "locavore" again. How faddish and pretentious can a word get? Forget it. Do not describe me as a locavore. I'd rather just be called a gardener. The implication of that is that a gardener eats his or her own food, anyway. So yeah. I'm a gardener.

I think that's enough swirl for now. Over and out.