I'm bundled up here this morning, with sweater and socks watching the wind blow under clear blue skies, thinking perhaps fall is really here. It feels strange to be chilly. But pleasant in its own way.
Hub Man was kind enough to run the old fashioned apple peeler, while I trimmed and placed them into the crock pot. Together we got the thing filled in 16 minutes! Now THAT is efficiency. Took me 45 minutes alone the other day. I think Ford was onto something with that assembly line concept. In any case, there will be another aromatic cinnamon filled day at our house.
This being the third batch, I am getting brave. I added a pint of peaches I had in the freezer, along with a pinch of ginger to this pot. Every batch will taste different.
I would never make it in the food manufacturing business. Consistency is not my goal. Individual character is. Perhaps this is more like wine making. . . . "Ah, the third run batch of '04. The Peach Batch. You lucky dog, how did you get ahold of a jar of that ambrosia?"
I was browsing some blogs to review on the Weblog staff page and was blown away by the high quality of writing in some of them. I'm not kidding, I think eventually there will have to be a new writing genre invented to fit this kind of stuff into. Because just plain "journaling" does not cut it. Bloggers have the added twist of commenting readers that add to, influence, and inspire the blogger.
Some diarists are breathtakingly honest about what is going on with them. And I'm not talking about sexual stuff, which frankly is rarely done well in blogs, but emotional honesty. Revealing the inner workings of the mind. And what a fascinating look it can be, when well done.
Most of the time, I'm not that brave. I make jokes. Or go for all out gloom and doom.
But in the middle ground between those two tactics, there is this golden balance where some fine writing can happen. I just hope that these people are making hard copies of their work for the future. I don't know about you, but I print out my entries at the end of every month. I could not bear to have them lost in cyberspace one day in some cataclysmic event. 600 some odd journal entries is nothing to sneeze at!
It's the Luddite in me. Don't trust these new fangled contraptions with my hard work.
Humpfff!
Well, I'm off to dither in the garden. Fall cleanup must take place. When I get tired, I'll come back in here and be revived by apple and cinnamon aromatherapy.