• I think I Can, Can, Can, Part 2: Homemade Canned Applesauce

    This weekend found me trying to channel my inner-housewife and can homemade applesauce. I found out that canning is wicked stressful. I now understand the 1950’s woman’s dependence on barbiturates. What helped most was thinking of Nanny (yup, we like to talk about her a lot ’round here!) Nanny did not ascribe to the mama’s little helpers way of thinking. She did swear in the kitchen. She did not spill. She did not give her family botulism. She was the Grace Kelly of canning, the Katherine Hepburn of homemaking. I tried to channel her grace under pressure while making the applesauce she made so frequently, and only swore a couple times. And the effort was f*!?ing…

  • I think I Can, Can, Can: Part 1

    Some women get weak at the knees at the sight of small jewelry shaped boxes. For me, its all about the produce boxes. Let me explain- My dearly betrothed hates stopping anywhere on the way home. En route to somewhere, he happily obliges my tiny bladder, antique store blitzes and all around leisurely drives. On the way home though, he becomes a stickler of efficiency with one mission only: get home. Can anyone relate to this? I can’t be the only woman suffering through the potty dance on return destinations! So anyway, when he remembered me mentioning that I’d love for him to bring me some apples from the Thorpe…