Tuesday, August 12, 2014


Son4 told his dad last night he has PTTD:  Post Traumatic Tomato Disorder.

As he helped me scald nearly 100 tomatoes, he asked, "Have I told you how much I like tomatoes?"

"This isn't a labor of love for you, is it?" I responded, long aware of Son4's distaste for tomatoes.

"It's a labor of loathing," he muttered.

Bathed and cooled, I arranged the tomatoes just-so on trays on the table, so I could memorialize them via photography before we dispatched them.  Years ago, when I was smitten with blogging, the camera was my near-constant companion, providing images to illustrate most blog posts.  Maybe I could restart that engine, and an image of one hundred tomatoes on the table seemed fitted to the post forming in my head. 

When I inserted the camera card into my computer this morning, I noticed it contained over 250 photos.  Drat, I'd never erased those early July photos.  I'd do that with this upload.  Then something went wonky with the process, the card contents were erased, and the photo destination folder was also empty.  Oopsie. 

I made salsa with the bulk of yesterday's portion of the harvest.  Some of those tomatoes were peeled, seeded, and refrigerated for making tomato butter today, a favorite of Charles'.  The recipe is here, if that piques your interest, and you're overrun with tomatoes.  And I can steal the recipe's illustrative image for this post.  Heh.

Charles brought in a bag of another 25-30 last evening and was met by 2 silenced mouths and 4 widened eyes.  In addition to yesterday's canned salsa, we already had fresh tomato juice, fresh salsa, and ketchup.  That tomato-butter-to-be is waiting in the wings (and clearly, I'm ignoring it).  What next?

Poor Son4 will be suffering RTTD -- Recurring Traumatic Tomato Disorder -- for some time to come.  Into each life a few tomatoes must fall.  And to some, a bit more than others.

Set your affection on things above, not on things on the earth.  Colossians 3:2

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