Sometimes I wonder if I could possibly come from my own family. Sometimes, there is no doubt. My mother called me. Friday night, I think. She had gotten a new food processor and was trying to grind up some ham to make hamballs (think meatballs but a little sweeter and much tastier, with like a brown sugar mustard glaze, mmm!), usually she had the meat shop grind up some ham for her, but she found out that I used my processor to grind up ham for my hubby’s ham salad and thought she’d give it a go.
Apparently, she and my dad were trying to get the thing put together and couldnt for the life of them get the lid back OFF once they’d test fitted it on. So much laughter ensued that I was led to ask what they had been drinking. Apparently it was only tea, but you could have fooled me. Once I realized it was almost exactly like mine I explained it very slowly and carefully and they got it. More laughter. I almost hung up the phone because my mother was beyond words she was laughing so hard. Do you ever get that way? I do, and that’s how I know I’m at least related to my mother. Apparently it runs in the family. I don’t usually laugh until tears run down my face like she does, I dont think my tears and laughter are that closely connected, but good gosh almighty, don’t get BOTH of us laughing, you’ll never get a straight answer. Especially if it’s something that’s not really that funny. That makes it worse. Was it really funny they couldnt get the processor lid off? No, not really, but once she was comparing herself and my father to monkeys, well, it did give me a little giggle. After more questions as to which blade to use and etc, she said she’d tell me how it went.
I heard from her again on Sunday and apparently it went fine. They also found 27 big morel mushrooms in my old stomping grounds :-(… here’s the thing, though. I don’t even EAT the mushrooms, I just like the walk and the hunt. I also pick blackberries, raspberries, etc and don’t eat them. I harvest all kinds of things I wouldnt bother to eat. I think it’s just being outside with a purpose. Something to do. I don’t even mind mowing grass with a pushmower as it provides sunshine, muscle building and fresh air.
Am I weird? Maybe so. Is it genetic? Probably, but as long as there is something to giggle over and something to hunt for, I’m right there.