Ponatoes

My pressure canner is jingling right now with pontatoes.  My 3 year old son Levi calls potatos by this name...well, and tomatoes are also called ponatoes, which causes some confusion at times, like last night at supper when we had both on the table.  Levi asked his dad for "ponatoes" and disagreed when he was passed the potatos.  He was then handed the tomatoes and corrected to the term, to which he responded, "But that's what I said.  Ponatoes."

Canning has taken over my life right now.  This is okay; I like to can.  I'd so much rather can than bake scrumptious desserts.  Why?  It's because I am never tempted to eat half boiled potatos or blanched green beans or soggy tomatoes as I ladle them into their clear hot houses of heated jars.  The food, every last morsel of it, is stored away for winter consumption and looks so pretty on the shelves.

 

Painting for me has subsided til the food items can be dealt with.  But I did stop to paint my toenails.  I see my Russian grandmother when I look at my feet.  I got my veiny feet from her.  It is nice to think of her though.  I miss her.  "Nyat, Tonya.  You no wear a sweater and you get cold and sick.  Put it back on."

Much ado about ponatoes.