Pickle on the plate

I just frantically searched for three solid minutes for my reading glasses on my head.

I'm THAT many years old.

And then ever so nonchalantly untangled them from my hair and put them on as if I wasn't even related to that frantic woman everyone noticed in Panera a minute ago..

Hi friends.

Happy Thursday.

The winds are cool and school is being ordered and I'm hopeful that we will meet on more of a regular basis every Thursday just like the good old days.

I hope that as you read you picture me looking cute and stylish and classy when in reality I loose reading glasses in frizz.

I DO love that several of you have reached out to me to mention that you like reading here because you can hear my voice when you do.

That just makes me smile all the way to my toes.

My dear husband is forever asking me to record these for those who would like that kind of thing so we will see.

You know me, I want to appease all of my millions of fans.

Though I want to fight for more sun and less pumpkin, I know it's a losing battle and I must give up sweet corn for candy corn eventually.

Ho hum.

Know this, that my husband and I won't go down without a fight, and by "fight," I mean attempting to pickle just about everything we can get our grubby paws on.

A counter full of beets from my father-in-law looked pretty cool in purple syrup.

Apart from staining anything in it's wake they were pretty good.

And then when we finished the beets we saved the juice to fill the jars with hard boiled eggs because somewhere we're part Amish and plan on creating our own little salad bar at home with purple eggs on it.

Then why not pickle GREEN BEANS instead of eating them how God designed them with heaps of butter and salt?

This.

This was not my idea.

I won't tell you WHOSE idea it was, but I WILL tell you it wasn't MINE.

And the only other partner in pickling was my HUSBAND.

But I'm not spilling the tea on who decided to shove perfectly good beans in yellowish liquid.

And process them into oblivion.

They sit on the shelf as a reminder to me to use as MUCH wrinkle cream as I can WHILE I CAN.

I'm not even sure my husband's grandmother named Faith, (without a middle name to sandwich in-between her last name because her own depression era mother told her that if she had "faith" she wouldn't even need a middle name,)

Not even grandma Faith who ate "coffee soup" for breakfast would think pickled green beans was a good idea.

Please don't tell my husband I said that, but it is what it is.

You watch, no one's touching those beans with a ten-foot pole.

Then it was an "itch" for dill pickles.

Though NOT a fan of super sour things personally, I do love listening to jars "pop," so I'm more of a moral support sous-chef.

When my sweetheart began shoving garlic cloves in jars I knew we "weren't in Kansas anymore."

Fresh dill? who dis?

They looked amazing on the shelf.

Just walking by them made us stand a little taller.

The pride and accomplishment just oozed out of our Adidas slides.

We may have been off a bit with the beans but THIS,

THIS was success!

And then we passed the allotted time to try them.

We were excited.

We were brave.

We may haven been a bit too confident.

I don't think I could stomach more than one spear.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOWEEEEEEEEEEEEE them's was sauer.

So sour that my own tongue began to beat the inside of my mouth to scold me for offering it something like that.

My pucker was so strong I gave myself a mini facelift.

I haven't seen these cheekbones since high school folks.

No joke.

I'm not sure how long it will take us to work through these jars but I'm hiding the vinegar until the Lord's return is predicted.

Or until the next pandemic because these things put any vaccine to SHAME.

TO SHAME I tell you.

I'm not sure where the idea fully came from, but my husband I found ourselves in a few cases last year, following the other to speaking engagements and coined that phrase that one of us was the "pickle on the plate."

You know that pickle that comes with your stacked club sandwich along with the flagged toothpick?

Or the inevitable side with an amazing grilled cheese sandwich?

We can all agree that fries or onion rings are a horse of an entirely different color.

Pickles are the after thought of the entire dining experience.

I don't know of anyone ever getting their plate and delighting over the pickle.

It just kinda comes as a "package deal."

You get the cheeseburger, you get the pickle.

No questions asked.

This fact has made us giggle more than once when I grace the arm of my husband speaking at a pastor's conference or he helps me print my 14 font notes for a ladies session.

The crazy thing is that I LOVE being the pickle but HATE him being one.

I'd rather him be two states away when I'm speaking and I front row for his meetings.

One time we were BOTH pickles at the same exact time.

Yeah, that's a funny story.

We truthfully enjoy being the pickle and supporting the other as best we can.

And speaking of,

I really should go CAN something....