A jar of pickles catches the eye. . .

August 1, 2011

VACATION COUNTDOWN: 20 days!!!!!!!!!!!

Yes.

I am that excited.

At the same time, thinking of what has to be done before we are comfortably ensconced in our cottage by the sea is terrifying.

The advantage of vacationing at the end of summer means dealing with fewer vacationers, coming back refreshed, temperatures that are not as hot as they are in July.

Hopefully.

The downside is that when you come back from vacation a week before classes start, you have to have a lot of things finished before you leave.

Perhaps even spend a couple of hours a day working while you're on vacation.

So while very much looking forward to our time away, I am not in a great hurry to wish it away.

Because it'll be over soon enough as it is.

Plus, Mer is moving in a month.

Perhaps I should have two countdowns?

Sunday Adventures: Part I

For a Sunday, yesterday was very busy.

So busy that I'll have to divulge them in two parts.

First, Stephen and I made a quick stop at Jinglers.

He was in need of summer pj pants.

The pair he was wearing yesterday blew a seam in a most unfortunate place.

I probably could have repaired them, but he didn't want to take the chance.

Plus, my mother has been commenting on my Jinglers' purchases.

Capris.

Summer blouses.

Shorts.

And when I told her how inexpensive they were, she commented that she wished she could get clothes that inexpensively.

After I restarted my heart from the shock, I agreed I'd take a look for her.

So I did.

And sure enough, I found a lovely beige sweater with pearl buttons down the front, and a pair of capris.

Also beige.

Bright colors, florals, stripes, plaids. . .

Not my mother's forte.

So I have to purchase carefully.

Luckily, I was able to get her approval for the purchases while we were driving to the Big Potato.

Because Jinglers doesn't do refunds.

And it isn't anywhere near wheelchair accessible, so I can't take her inside with me.

Unless, of course, I leave her in the car and run back and forth with things I think she might like.

Stephen, alas, found no pj pants, but he did find a bathing suit, a pair of shorts and two shirts.

I came out with a pair of work pants.

A light blue sweater.

A blouse.

It was a light day.

Mum and I made plans during our Hoarders viewing to traverse to the Big Potato and then return to downtown Fredericton for coffee and treats of some description.

With Stephen's attendance of course.

Because while I can handle Mum and the wheelchair, Mum, the wheelchair, a mini-grocery cart and a packed Big Potato is a lot more than I can handle.

Plus I just wanted him there.

Kids, renovations, work have not made spending one-on-one time with Stephen easy.

And I like one-on-one time with Stephen.

But the opportunities are few lately.




How can I predict that the Big Potato would be busy?

It's summer.

They're selling fresh, local produce at a fraction of the price of the grocery stores.

For example, broccoli at the Superstore: $2.99.

At the Big Potato: $1.49.

Even with gas prices, it's still cheaper.

Healthier.

And MUCH better tasting than the imported veggies from who-knows-where.

It was also busy because in the Maritimes, as in many other places, it's pickle making season.

Women. . .

. . .yes, all women at the Big Potato with carts full of cucumbers from the Fill The Bag for A Toonie bin.

And while there could be all sorts of other explanations for why women would want several bags filled to the brim with cucumbers, the logical explanation is pickle making.

I've made pickles in the past.

In fact, I quite like making pickles, but given all that must be done in the next three weeks, pickle making really isn't feasible.

Pickle making was a big deal when I was younger.

My mother made the best mustard pickles I've ever had.

And her pickled beets curled my toes.

I can remember sitting at the kitchen table for days at a time cutting cucumbers into small triangles, filling her German-made and bought roaster, bigger and heavier than any roaster I've ever seen with those cucumbers and adding red peppers, onions, cauliflower while Mum stood at the stove and mixed the sugar, vinegar, mustard seed, water concoction that would cover the vegetables before she heated the sweet and tangy mixture over the stove.

One year I thought it would be fun to include pearl onions.

She bought several bags at my urging.

And then watched me peel every. single. one. of those tiny, pearl onions.

I never asked for them again.

In fact, a bag of pearl onions can send me screaming out of the store.

And pickled beets. . . .

Would result in me with hands stained purple for days on end.

But the results. . . .jars and jars of pickles lined up on the shelves in the basement, brewing so they'd be ready in time for Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter. . .

Who could ask for more?

Maybe I'll find the time.

After all, with no television to tempt me. . . .



In addition to veggies and fruit, the Big Potato sells all sorts of other delights.

Home baked goods, such as breads, biscuits, cookies, squares. . .

Fudge.

Stephen had some.

In fact, when my mother was hospitalized in Oromocto, we'd often stop at the Big Potato to purchase veggies.

And a treat for my mother and her roommate, Eldon.

I've talked about Eldon before.

97 when he was sharing quarters with Mum.

Spent a lot of time in the giant wheel chair.

Three teeth, a glass eye.

Didn't like Stephen.

Thought I was his wife.

Used to yell at me, in his capacity as my husband, that it was time to take him home when he thought I'd spent enough time visiting with Mum.

And he loved fudge.

I'd always bring him some brown sugar or peanut butter or chocolate fudge.

You'd be surprised how fast a 97 year old man with three teeth can eat a piece of fudge.

And my mother, while we were in the line waiting to pay for our selection of veggies, my mother asks me if you can still buy dulce at the Big Potato.

Seaweed.

That's all it is.

Seaweed.

Rubbery, chewy seaweed.

An acquired taste.

My mother loves it.

As a kid, there was always dulse in our house.

And you knew this because not only was it putrid tasting, it smelled like dirty socks left to sit in rotting garbage.

And my mother loves it.

Of course they still sell it at the Big Potato.

So in addition to the other items she wanted, celery, red onions, red, yellow and orange peppers, two cucumbers and two salad cucumbers, my mother added a bag of dulse.

We inadvertently brought the peppers home.

But not the dulse.

Ever.

On the off chance that you've never heard of dulse:

Dulse (Palmaria palmata)
Dulse is a reddish seaweed that grows attached to rocks by a “holdfast” in the North Atlantic and Northwest Pacific. It is commonly used both as food and medicinally, and is shipped around the globe.

Growing from the mid-tide portion of the intertidal zone (the area between the high tide and low tide) and in deep water, dulse fronds vary from 8 to 16 in. From June to September, it is picked by hand at low tide, dried by laying it on netting, and is put through a shaker to remove small shells and other debris. Once dry, it is rolled into large bales to be packaged or processed.

Grand Manan Island is known for the best dulse because of the geography of the island. On the western side, high cliffs shade the intertidal zone, protecting the dulse from bright sunlight during the morning hours. “Dark Harbour dulse” (located on Grand Manan Island) is darker, thicker and more flavourful than that growing elsewhere, including the eastern side of Grand Manan Island and the other islands in the Archipelago. Dulse grows quickly in the summer and the same shores may be picked every two weeks during the season.

Sun-dried dulse can be eaten as-is, or can be ground into flakes or powder. It is sometimes pan-fried quickly (garlic butter optional) into tasty chips, baked in the oven covered with cheese, then add salsa, or microwave it briefly for a crispy treat. It can also be used in soups, chowders, sandwiches and salads, or added to bread or pizza dough. Fresh dulse can be eaten directly off the rocks before sun-drying.

Dulse is a good source of dietary requirements. A handful will provide more than 100% of the daily amount of Vitamin B6, 66% of B12, a day’s supply of iron and fluoride and it's relatively low in sodium and high in potassium. http://www.tourismnewbrunswick.ca/Home/Activities/DiningCuisine/LocalCuisine/Dulse.aspx

It was one of those things my mother never worried would disappear into the gobs of my brother or I.

Following our visit to the Big Potato, everyone was in need of a nice cup of coffee and a nibbly.

We returned to Fredericton and parked on King Street in the government employee parking lot by Tim Horton's.

In addition to coffee, stretching our legs on a gorgeous sunny day, complete with gentle breeze was a must.

Even for my mother.

We remembered, this trip, to bring the "feet" for her wheelchair.

Mum has the ability to hold her feet off the ground for extended periods of time.

Enough to manage a walk around the grounds of the nursing home.

Or a trip to the Big Potato.

For longer hauls, however, it's imperative we bring her feet.

They're easy to put on.

But I always forget which foot attaches to which side.

Mum hasn't had much experience walking around downtown Fredericton in her wheelchair.

And we haven't had much experience pushing her.

Not until you have to push a stroller or wheelchair through a city can you assess the quality of it's sidewalks, curbs, and streets.

Fredericton needs a lot of work.

Taking Mum across the streets was challenging.

The curbs cracked and pitted just enough to catch a front wheel.

Meaning one of us pushed and the other lifted the front of the chair.

Hoping that we could get across the street without hitting a rut or crack that would further slow our progress.

And Mum?

She whiteknuckled each crossing.

Worried that we'd inadvertently dump her into the middle of the street.

After we crossed each street, I had to pry her fingers from the wheelchair arm rest and massage them to reinstate circulation.

The sidewalks weren't any better.

But Stephen was a careful driver and worked hard to ensure she had the smoothest, if not always the straightest, journey.

Now we approach sidewalk walking with a heightened awareness, looking for which sidewalks are more user friendly.

Whodathunk it.

We managed to make it to Read's coffee shop.

Just a couple of blocks from where we parked.

But that was far enough for my mother.

And just as we selected our table, with one seat in full sun for my mother the sun-worshipper and another in the shade for my husband, the sun avoider, we were hailed by our dear friend, G, and his partner, H.

We hadn't seen G in a while, as he hasn't been well.

So I took full advantage of his presence before me for hugs and catch up chat.

While H sat beside my mother and chatted with her.

Both share common work experiences so they had lots and lots to chat about.

That's the nice thing about living in a small city.

You can go out for coffee on a Sunday afternoon and find people you like, care about and genuinely want to talk to.

You can also run into people you'd rather never see or talk with, but that was definitely not the case today.

We had our coffee.

Me: creme brulee.

Mum: her half cup of the smallest serving size they have, complete with cream.

Stephen: decaf.

Always decaf.

Otherwise he'd still be downtown.

Running through the streets singing Motown at the top of his lungs.

A couple of nibblies. . .definitely not Simply for Life approved.

Cinnamon bun, complete with icing for Mum.

Blueberry oatmeal muffin from Happy Baker for me.

And let me say, the Happy Baker does not skimp on their blueberries.

It was almost bursting.

Stephen eating from both.

Once Mum finished her coffee and snack it was clear she was ready to head back to the nursing home.

She didn't have to day anything.

Her checking her watch and then looking at me was all the signal I needed.

I did ask if she'd like to stay with us, go for dinner, and then we'd take her back.

But she was worried about not having her meds.

Note for next time: get the meds.

Just in case.

Title Lyric: Reading Time with Pickle by Regina Spektor