This afternoon I decided to tackle a few jobs that needed attention. But first I put some corn bread in the oven and had some ham hock and bean soup. Then I dealt with all the ripe garden tomatoes on the counters–sorted and cut them up to freeze. Also the green peppers. Then I cleaned out all the bins at the bottom of the fridge to make room for the apples I picked last week. Found lots of scary stuff. Soaped everything down. Then I boned a chicken I was stewing for soup and then I bagged the plums that have been dehydrating.  After that I cleaned the microwave and started scrubbing out the oven.

Adam dropped in about then. He smelled the warm cornbread and chicken and saw the produce on the counter, ready to freeze. He looked at me up to my elbows in the oven, with clean refrigerator bins drying on the counter and he said, “What’s wrong? Are you having a mid-life crisis? Or is this menopause?” I looked up at him (he was feeling proud that he knew that word), wondering what he was talking about. “You made food,” he said. “And you’re cleaning. Something must be wrong.”

“You’re right,” I said, I’m not myself. So we sat down and together ate some cornbread with lots of butter and honey. I felt much better after that.