So it's 10:39pm and I've got about 24 quarts of salsa waiting to process (the steaming/bubbling stuff you do so that all the germs are dead and gone and no one gets sick eating it years from now). My house smells amazing. Sometimes too amazing. I've cried three times today when I bent over the bubbling salsa to check the consistency and got a big old whiff of delicious peach, onion, garlic, jalepeno magic. Holy Hannah. It's strong. And that's just how you want it. Only, don't stick your face over the pot right as it begins to boil. You might get a little too much. Just a friendly little tip for when you're canning.
(If you want the recipe, it's amazing, and I'll totally share it with you. If you live close, I'll totally come help you. And if you live far away and want advice, I'll totally take your FaceTime call . . . though, I often don't shower/dress until 3pm or 4pm so just be warned . . . I may not look so pretty).
(Side-note, these peaches and tomatoes are all local . . . Highland/Alpine Peach Salsa. Kinda cool, huh?)
And it's 11:23pm. Just about twelve more quarts to process. I'm in my PJs listening to the Pride and Prejudice Soundtrack. I'm sitting Indian Style on my chair in my room. The crickets are singing outside and I'm taking deep breaths. There is a cool breeze blowing in my windows and it smells just ever so slightly of fall. I find myself strangely or maybe not so strangely content. It makes me think that this is how people fell asleep in yonder day (I've always wanted to write that . . . oh life goal #3098573 met!). When each day was filled to the brim with just surviving. Planting, weeding, hoeing, watering, praying, worrying, then harvesting and worrying about what to do with all your harvest. But then, you look at your yield of lets say salsa and you think, wow, that's super cool. I grew that and when snow falls and it's cold and the ground is frozen, I will go downstairs and pull out a jar of salsa and crack it open and have summer here with me all year round. Now that's something to feel pretty darn happy about.
But then I think, it's really fun to do this for a day, or really half a day because it was a PERFECT day to read outside in the sun (who was I to resist the Universe?), but I really and truly do not want to wake up and do this again tomorrow. Nope. One day of living like they did in yonder days is plenty enough for me. Thank you everything 21st Century modernity. I love you.
So, I know you're all wondering how I'm doing on my first day of self discovery. And I have to say, I'm doing pretty darn good. I've been thinking about this all day. In fact, I've been thinking about it since I posted at 9:30am yesterday morning. I did end up going to that yoga class and I loved it. She totally kicked my trash but also stretched me and pushed me in a slow awesome way. I learned new things and poses. And the whole time I thought about me being the teacher. I looked up the requirements and the cost and it's a big old time and money commitment. And also, it seems like you have to commit to ONE type of yoga at most of these schools. This I found very frustrating. I love all the different type of yoga I do--ashtanga, Hatha, power, yin, and so on. They all have their place and they all work different parts of me. I literally felt like the Banks children. I want a practically perfect yoga studio that teaches me all sorts of yoga.
In fact, I'm feeling inspired.
Tomorrow I am going to write down all the things I want in a teacher training place, write it down on a list, have someone tear it up . . . well, maybe I won't go that far. But really, why don't they have teacher trainings that give you a good dose of everything? Like a Liberal Yoga Degree? A little bit of everything?
Maybe there is. I'm going to keep looking (and if any of you know a place like this . . . tell me!).
Ok, I have four minutes left in this day and I'm determined to post TODAY.
So what do I have to say about today. Yoga is beautiful. Peach Salsa is worth the work (I think). And tomorrow, I have a whole lot to write about Love. It's going to be good . . .
Comments
Post a Comment