Our house smells like apples and cinnamon now. It's a nice, safe, homey smell.
My Father-in-Law brought a HUGE box of apples down from up north. He was in the neighborhood because my Mother-in-Law was in the hospital. One of those "Oh, that’s bad, but they know what to do" followed by a "Holy Crap! THAT can't be good" then a "Wow, she recovered fast" followed by "Psych! She's in the critical care ward."
In the end, she seems to have stabilized at a level of health that will allow her to return home and have something resembling a normal life until the next incident. She is scheduled to go home tomorrow.
Anyway, Rocky's brother and his family came up and stayed with us while all this was going on,and somewhere in the many trips to and from the great white north for ill-fated trips home or dialysis supply runs, a HUGE box of apples materialized on my kitchen floor.
I spent the week cooking for eight, cleaning, raking up leaves in the yard, and putting the varnish on the windows. I've pretty much been running ragged for weeks, and it doesn't show any sign of letting up anytime soon. I still have to fix the plaster that was damaged by the installation of windows in three of the rooms, prime, and paint the walls, select, purchase and install the new window treatments…and that's just scratching the surface of the repair work that needs to be done in the downstairs bathroom (Adventure Boy tripped in the shower a couple weeks ago and fell through the door, ripping it away from the wall. He wasn't hurt. The shower was destroyed.)
Have I mentioned that all eight of us that were in the house this week had only one working shower?
Luckily, we all like each other and Rocky's brother and his family are excellent guests.
But the stress of it all, plus not having time for a proper work out for nearly a month has me on tenderhooks. Nothing that I do to preserve my sanity has been anything like a priority for a couple of months now, and my inner spoiled brat is in threatening a huge temper tantrum.
And then I realized that I still haven't even scratched the surface of basic fall maintenance, I've let most of my friendships lapse, most of our clothes need to be laundered, and we're running out of clean ones, and here's this box with a couple hundred apples in it. Three of them are already rotten, and some are kind of soft...so time's awastin'.
Needless to say, I was not thrilled at the idea of processing them, but there was nothing else to do but let them rot or take care of them. So I dragged out my apple corer-peeler-slicer, screwed it down solidly to the edge of the counter, and got to work. Six hours later and a couple of good knicks on the fingers with the slicer blade (oooh apple juice is stingy on cuts), I have four quarts of home-made applesauce, and seven pies worth of apple pie filling in little bags evenly distributed between the freezer and the fridge.
Between that satisfaction, and the smell of apples and cinnamon covering over the smell of varnish and paint, I almost feel relaxed. But I have to say, if I don't catch a break where I can get in a couple of good weeks of consistent training in…
Well, all I can say is I'm about to whip somebody's ass. (click "listen to Ray")