...uhhhh, pit? I don't know. Anyway, my story goes like this:
My phone rings while I am in the airport on my way to LA. (Sorry, Arduous, I was only there for a whole 19 hours, not enough time to swing by to pick up that futon!) I look at my cell and see it's my mother.
Hey hon, I know you were bummed that you didn't get any peaches while you were up north visiting us, so guess what? I am bringing you some, I'm on my way home now! And, next weekend? I am buying a bushel to share with you and your sister! Doesn't that sound just yummy?
Oh geez, how do I tell my mother I spend my entire Saturday last weekend elbow deep in peach juice, peach pits, peach skins and peaches? And, I can't stand to look at another peach at this moment? Well, it's my mother, so if you knew her you would understand that you just don't. Like I said, you don't look a gift peach in the pit. All peaches are good peaches, yummy peaches and will be delicious this winter, regardless of the fact I will probably experience a little peach RAGE while making peach jam this weekend.
Even though I am on my way to the other side of the country, I call my husband to give him "peach storage and ripening" instructions and a warning that the mom-tornado is blowing through town. More peaches, he says? What are you going to do with them? I don't know I say, but for the love of god, don't say a WORD to my mother that I already am sick of peaches, you don't want to hurt her feelings! OK, he says gamely, I will take care of the peaches.
I arrived home last night (this morning?!?) about 2:00 a.m. to the smell of ripening peaches on my kitchen counter. And, you know what? They actually smelled delicious!
10 hours ago