Repairing jam, compilation of really bad business names

Six or eight weeks ago, when I was possessed and bought 16 pints of organic blueberries during the Whole Foods one day sale, I made several jams, including a straight-up blueberry from my Food in Jars cookbook. After the fact, I felt it just had too much cinnamon but didn't have time to deal with it so put my sealed jars away in a dark spot until a lazy morning arrived. This morning is that time! That you can repair many jams is a liberating, wonderful feature of canning. In this case, I opened up the four jars of not-good-enough jam, discarded the lids, dumped the jam into my canning pot, added another pint of blueberries and once it's all boiling again, I'll add some Grand Marnier. Meanwhile, my waterbath canner is full of water and coming to a boil, new lids will be softened, jars sterilized anew. Yes, you have to toss lids, recook and reprocess your jams, but isn't that better than throwing it out? And, you'll net more of your product because you're adding something, be it additional fruit or, in the case of a too-thick jam, boiling water. Fantastic all around!

And now, completely off-topic but for your total amusement, a list of terrible business names personally witnessed by moi.

• Darquest Tan: Darkest Tan if you can't translate that nonsense. I don't believe this needs much in the way of explanation for making this list.
• Purse-a-Nail-ities: I don't even understand why so much needs to be going on here. Manicures and purses? This name is ridiculous.
• Ginalick: I have no words.
• Jimmy's Hair We Are: Here we are? We are hair? Who's Jimmy?
• Chicageaux: Why has Chicago come to Cajun country?

These really ice the cake of poorly considered, or overly considered, company monikers.

Go away you gross lurkers

Yesterday, I was repulsed and upset to find that several folks visited my site because their disgusting web search for "naked children" brought them to my recent post about my boys and their cousins reveling in childhood innocence which found its expression one night last weekend in the removal of all clothing. I have changed the title of that post and will likely remove the picture soon despite the fact that I've received so many comments about what a blissful photo of unabashed childhood it is. It reminds healthy people of the joys of feeling unencumbered by body image and societal dictums of propriety. It brings us back to our childhoods and the delightful silliness of youth. So to all you gross perverts trying to get off on photos of kids, my site is NOT FOR YOU. Don't return and don't enter despicable search terms into my search bar. I will try to find you and report you and block you. Do you hear me? I hope so. Go get some help; you need it.

A special not-quite goodbye

As I mentioned earlier, tonight's dinner was my last for the Grands. It was a bittersweet meal to prepare because I have felt honored to cook for them and will be sad to be without an excuse to visit them regularly. The boys and I have become so fond of them, and they of us. Fortunately, their new home is just a mile or so away, and they have already welcomed post-move visits. Surrounded by their daughters and sons-in-law, they've been busy packing up 43 years of memories. My mom and her siblings have been doing the same with more than 60 years of accumulations and remembrances at Nanny's house. It must be so emotional to help sort, toss and box up a lifetime. I remember sitting in the bedroom of our old house (the one before my parents' current), on the floor with my mom, crying our faces off about leaving behind ten years of memories. I can't imagine leaving a place in which I moved as a newlywed, raised my babies, watched them move out, learned to empty-nest. Tough. Heavy. A whole host of feelings to be sure. I knew one or more of the Grands' daughters would likely be there this afternoon, so I made a big dinner, enough for all, of some of my favorites: roast chicken, broccoli with a smoked paprika-sherry vinaigrette (to die for), couscous with red wine vinaigrette, celery and parsley (from A. Hesser's Cooking for Mr. Latte), and my spiced chocolate Madeleines with espresso-cream sauce. Comforting, good, hearty, saves well = good for people in the midst of a move. I wrote a letter to the daughter who hired me for this job, thanking her for the opportunity and sharing this post which you might remember I wrote just after I took the gig. I forgot to truss the chicken so he was splayed in every which way, but looks aren't everything!

It was so nice to see everyone and hugs and smiles were shared. I left dinner in the kitchen, unloaded the bubble wrap I'd brought from my too-large stash (who ever has enough bubble wrap when they move?!) and started to tear up. It is rather rare that I feel I receive back all that I give, but today I felt I'd been, by virtue of this lovely family letting me be a small part, the grand winner. I felt, again, faith in the hope put forth each time a new connection is made; when meeting someone, you never know how you might be blessed and even when others are selfish or limited or flawed or whatever, there are still those who aren't. Those who will enrich you, make you happy, simply by virtue of your knowing them.

As I started to say goodbye, a cardboard box was passed to me. Stunned, I found I'd been gifted with some of Mrs. H's demitasse cups and saucers and individual porcelain tart shells. They said they couldn't think who'd enjoy them more. My eyes are again welling up just thinking about how touched I was. Am. I will treasure these, and I look forward, eagerly, to the boys' and my first visit.