Adventures in Canning

I have been meaning to write this for about a month now, but when I've had the time to do it, I haven't had the energy. When I've had the energy; it's been too late at night to start blogging.

This summer Erich and I explored the world of home canning. Canning has become a lost art, I think. Mom has told us that they would spend all summer canning. Once things were ready in the garden, Grandma, my aunt, and my mom would can it. Mom said it was hard, hot work- because you stood over the boiling water all day. Plus, it has to be done in the summer, when temperatures are already high. Mom never made canning sound like a pleasant experience.

We never canned at Mom's. I don't know if it was the memories of her own experience as a child that kept her from canning. More likely it was simply that there was no need to can. You could go to the grocery store and buy canned or frozen vegetables. It was much easier. Thanks to shipping, you can also get fresh vegetables year round, even in Upstate NY where the growing season is about 2 months (Three in a good year). I don't remember my Grandmother canning, so she must have stopped somewhere in the 1970's too. Probably for the same reason- it was no longer a necessity.

My mom always made jams and jellies. Raspberry, strawberry, grape, blueberry, hot pepper. Those are the memories I have- stirring the pot, waiting for it to boil. Then carefully pouring the hot liquid into jars, filling the jars with a plug of melted wax. I had the special job of writing out the labels- everyone said I had the nicest handwriting. Whenever we've had to write out something (party invitations, place cards, etc) it became my job. Mom would give the jam as Christmas gifts. People were always thrilled to receive the jam. It wasn't until I started carrying this on myself that I realized what a nice gift you are giving someone.

When we moved in, Erich planted raspberries in the back yard. I was opposed to this, because I had memories of childhood summers spent picking raspberries. I always picked on the outskirts of our patch. I was never really enthused with the outside- bugs and dirt do not appeal to me. You'd think I grew up in the city, rather than the country! After a couple of years, our little raspberry patch started producing. The first year we had enough for a couple of batches of jam. I bought decorative baskets, filled them with jam and homemade cookies, wrapped them in fabric, and gave them as gifts to the people I worked with. I like to wrap the baskets in colored tulle. It is cheap (a couple of years ago I bought it for 49 cents a yard at Walmart), and looks nicer than cellophane. Plus, you can see through it-so the recipient can still see what is in the basket. Last year we had enough berries to make 72 jars of jam, which was 8 or 9 batches. We made jam for quite a while! :) I've still got jam left, and have been getting creative using it in recipes.

Each year we have planted a bigger garden. This year, we had an abundance of cucumbers. Erich's father (who lives next door) also planted cucumbers. Erich eats pickles, but not cucumbers. I started eating cucumbers with lunch and dinner (and sometimes as a snack). I took them to work and shared the bounty. And yet they kept coming. So we looked at making pickles. I was terrified of canning, but then found we could do a cold pack pickle. Instead of sealing the jar in hot water, you put them in the refrigerator. So one weekend we made bread & butter pickles. You can buy little seasoning packs with all the right spices, then you just add vinegar and sugar, and of course, cucumbers. We ended up with six pints of bread & butter pickles. The recipe said to wait three weeks before opening for best flavor, so when our three weeks were up we had a pickle unveiling dinner. We invited Erich's dad over (his mom was out of town). We had hamburgers, fries, and of course, pickles. Then we sent Erich's dad home with his own pint of pickles. The pickles were good-not quite as sweet as what you would buy at the store, but they are good.

A couple weeks later, we had another surge in the cucumber production. By this time, I was sick of cucumbers. They are my favorite vegetable, but I can only eat so many! We had 12 ready in one day. They aren't little cucumbers-each was 6-8 inches long! I searched online and found a recipe for relish. We bought the Ball Canning Sample kit. It had jars, a recipe book, and a basket and sling to hold the jars in the pan. I was certain my big stock pot was deep enough. Unfortunately, the cucumbers were ready on a Tuesday. If it had been a Thursday, I probably could have gotten away with putting it off until the weekend. But I knew they would not last until the weekend. So after working an extra long day, I came home and the process started. Erich and I peeled and chopped cucumbers, peppers, and onions for an hour and a half. I had never felt the need for a food processor, and that night I wanted one more than anything! (The following weekend we bought one). According to the recipe, we had enough cucumbers for three batches. You have to let the chopped vegetables set for a couple of hours. I used that time for my 'relaxing' time.

Then it was time to cook the vegetables. Since my large pot was the pot we were using for the actual canning; we had to use my next largest pot for cooking. This meant cooking one batch at a time. Each batch was supposed to produce 4 pints. The first batch filled one pint jar. Hmm-- something is wrong! We put the one jar into the hot water bath. You are supposed to bring it to a boil and then boil it for 10 minutes. This is when we realized my big pot wasn't big enough! We had boiling water all over the stove. It is now about 9pm, I have been on my feet for the better part of four hours, I'm tired from work, feeling like I am failing miserably, and getting crankier by the minute. I am snapping at Erich. I'm hot (did I mention this was SUMMER? And we are standing over a boiling pot of water?). I'm totally out of my element. All I can think is that I want my big comfy bed. Oh, and to never see another cucumber again!

The canning process finishes on the first batch, and we have one jar of what does look like relish to show for our efforts. It doesn't look like the green relish we're all used to; but it does look like relish you might find in someones grandmother's pantry. We repeat the process for the remaining two batches. I think I have found a new 'worst smell'. Cooking cider vinegar, sugar, spices, cucumbers, peppers and onions together. You do NOT want to lean over that pot and take a big whiff. But my sinuses were clear that night! :) By the end of the night, we have made four pints of relish. It was a lot of work for four pints. I cleaned up the kitchen (didn't want the smell of onions lingering any longer) and fell into bed. Vowing never to try canning again. We had been making relish for over 6 hours from start to finish.

I came home for lunch the next day to find Erich had been shopping. He bought us the correct stock pot for canning. He thought the previous night was a success, and did not have the same negative opinion that I had of the whole experience. I did briefly question his sanity. For dinner that night, we had hamburgers. WE cracked open a jar of our relish. I took a fork full out of the jar. I really tasted the onions and it seemed spicy. But when I put it on the burger, I started to like it. There is sweetness, and the bite of the onion. It's more complex than the green relish you purchase at the store. I waited for Erich's opinion before voicing mine. Both of us decided it was pretty yummy. Erich has been eating it on turkey sandwiches instead of using cheese (I don't really understand that, but he likes it). We've already gone through one jar in a month. I had hoped we'd have some left for my parents to try in December, but I don't think that will happen.

So our canning experiment wasn't a total failure. Having the right size pot will probably help us tremendously. My mom sent me my grandmother's Ball canning book. This book is older than I am, and I imagine it was not the first one Grandma owned. She has several recipes marked, and now I'm wanting to try those. Erich and I have spent a lot of time looking through the book, getting ideas of things we would like to make next year. In doing so, we are already planning our garden. I guess I will be adding canning to my list of hobbies. I would like the garden to cooperate next year and have the harvest ready nearer to the weekend!

The Alpha Dog Circus

Last year I bought a book on how to communicate with your dog. I bought it for my niece, Sydney, but as I read it, I realized it was a little too advanced for her. The book said when a dog shows you the white part of their belly, they are acknowledging you as the Alpha Dog. Not in my house!

Cobalt is our oldest dog. We got him December 13, 2001. He had serious separation issues, so we decided to get him a friend. Onyx came home on December 31, 2001. Their birthdays are 2 1/2 weeks apart. Obviously, they aren't from the same litter. We had read that the first dog should be the alpha dog. Onyx had a different opinion, from the moment she set foot in the house. For two weeks, Cobalt had been exploring the house and getting all of our attention. We had a little carrier that I brought Onyx home in. I set the carrier on the floor, and Cobalt came over to sniff it. We opened the door to the carrier, Onyx stepped out, slapped Cobalt on the nose with her paw, and walked into the house like she owned it.

We tried to make Cobalt the alpha dog, but the truth is, he's a wimp. He's afraid of everything (except Thunder & Fireworks, which oddly enough, are the ONLY two things Onyx is afraid of). He quivers and whimpers. Onyx however, is a big personality. There is a part of the breed standard for Beagles which says they must be a lot of dog for the size. Or something like that. Onyx is all that and more. She seems to have two personal mottoes: 'I'm little, but I'm mighty' and 'Bring it on!'.

When they were little, we tried walking them around the neighborhood. Several neighbors have large dogs in their yards. As we walk past their houses, the dogs protect their yards by coming to the fence and barking. Cobalt whimpers and drags his person halfway through town. Onyx plants herself, her legs firmly apart, and barks right back. We usually end up scooping her into our arms and taking off running, hoping that big dog can't scale the fence. Walking your dogs should not be one of those times that your life flashes in front of you; but it does when you walk Onyx. We soon decided to just let them run and play in the yard.

We didn't know how to curb Onyx's aggressive behavior, so we talked to our vet. She told us that if Onyx is the Alpha Dog, to let her go. As long as she's not hurting anyone. Pet her first when we walk into a room, feed her first, etc. So we have been trying. She is a little more manageable. She still makes sure her brother knows that she is the alpha dog. If he is near either of the food bowls, and she decides she wants that bowl, she growls at him. He runs off to the other bowl. Sometimes she wants the food in both bowls, and they make laps around the table as Cobalt goes from one bowl to the other and she chases him off. Eventually they settle down and find a bowl for each of them.

Onyx gets pissed off if you are petting 'that other dog' (we often speak for the dogs, and this is how we believe she thinks of Cobalt). We have two couches in the living room, typically I sit on one and Erich on the other. If Cobalt comes over to me, and I start petting him, Onyx will give me dirty looks from across the room. Then she comes over, and squeezes in between Cobalt and I. Once he is out of the way, she will sit in the same position he was in and expect you to pet her. Cobalt usually then goes to the other human, and the process repeats. If they play this long enough, Onyx will get tired of running across the room, and she will resort to just sitting with whichever human she has, and shooting daggers from her eyes to the other one. It is hilarious!

As for showing us the white of her belly, it is quite possible that the first time she did it, she was telling us we were in charge. But since we did not know this, we thought it was cute. 'Oh look, she wants a belly rub!'. So we gave her a belly rub. Now, 8 1/2 years later, if Onyx lies down near you and flops onto her back, you better be rubbing the belly. If she is next to you on the couch, and you do not acknowledge her, she will nudge you. Maybe with her nose, more likely with one of her outstretched paws. Then she will roll a little further onto her back, all four paws pointing to the ceiling, and wait for the worshipping to begin. If you give her a belly rub, and stop before she thinks you should, she nudges you, and rolls so you can get a better position. So no, Onyx is not telling us she is subservient. She is telling us she's the boss!

Our Vet said to remember who the real alpha dog is. I told her 'Yeah, it's me'. Our Vet has known Erich for many years, but she laughed. Erich said 'it's true'. Of the humans, I have a stronger personality than Erich. So in our house, I am the Alpha Dog, Onyx is the Beta Dog, Erich is the Gamma Dog, and Cobalt is the Delta Dog. I have proof of this, it is not just my ego which says I am the Alpha Dog. Onyx tends to hump others- she's been spayed, it's just her way of dominating. She will do this to Cobalt and Erich, but never to me! I have had to at times scoop her up and keep her away from the boys, and once she's in my arms, she settles down. She knows who's the boss!

Don't feel too bad for Cobalt, we monitor their play time, and when she gets too aggressive, or Cobalt seems not to be having fun anymore, we separate them. Cobalt fights back too- he will chase her and bark at her, and wait for her to come in through the doggie door and then go after her. Those are the nights that our house is a three ring circus. Cobalt also gets lots of loving and snuggles, she doesn't always chase him off. He's a happy little guy, and both are well loved.

Creative People

Sometimes others have called me 'creative'. I've also been called crafty. I had never really thought of myself as either of those. I have friends who quilt or sew clothes. They make the most beautiful things. I have other friends who put a lot into scrapbooking or stamping. Their finished pieces are works of art. To me, those are crafty people. Or people who do things in a Martha Stewart-esque way. Hollowing out gourds to use as votive holders. That is creative. Sandra Lee, who color coordinates everything in her kitchen to match the theme of the party, and creates these elaborate place settings, is creative. (Although I do think there's a bit of OCD hidden in her! It's just insane to switch out your kitchen for each party) I just have a few hobbies.

There I go again, putting myself down. In my ever present struggle with my confidence, I have come to realize that I am creative, and even crafty. Websters defines creative as 'having the quality or power of creating'. It doesn't mean you have to do every craft imaginable, and it doesn't mean you have to be the best at it. You just have to do it.

My Grandma Wager was a beautiful seamstress. She used to make outfits for my sister and I. She made outfits for our dolls too, and sometimes she made matching outfits for us and our dolls (long before you could buy such things in stores). Somehow she managed not to pass this onto anyone else in the family. My mother doesn't even sew buttons on shirts. If something needed to be sewed, we would put it in a certain place upstairs. When we went to Florida, the pile went with us and Grandma mended everything. She had a beautiful sewing machine, it folded into a table, and was kept in their Florida room. My parents wedding picture sat on the table. By the time I was a teenager, Grandma's eyes were so bad she didn't open the table any more.

My mother has always thrown amazing parties. She has a great eye for decorating and entertaining. She is also an amazing cook (as was Grandma). Mom's medium for her creativity is her kitchen. Although her flower beds always look amazing too. She doesn't really do crafts, but I think that is just because she's never had time. Mom is the person who introduced me to scrapbooking, but I know she hasn't had time to really work on it.

My creativity flows through many channels. We make jam every year. And then of course I make all those cookies each Christmas. I pack them up into gift baskets (preferring to wrap mine in fabric rather than plastic wrap), or I find other pretty ways to package the goodies. This summer I tried my hand at making pickles and relish in response to an abundance of cucumbers in our garden. I didn't really consider it crafty, just resourceful.

I do a little scrapbooking. In the past few years, I have made scrapbooks for several people in the family. All the while the things for my own scrapbooks sits in my scrapbooking tote in the dining room. Someday I will finish them. I need to make the time for it, really I do. Maybe this winter, after Christmas when I'm out of knitting projects.

Of course I have my knitting. I have a goal to make blankets for all my family members. Well, not ALL of them. The immediate family. Making blankets for the entire family would keep me occupied for years! Then I might try something more adventurous. I've found patterns of toys for kids. I think that would be neat to try. I have no doubt that I can do it. Even if I screw up at first and have to try again. I enjoy knitting, it gives me a chance to just unwind. It's something to do while watching TV as well. I don't feel like I'm letting my mind rot if it's occupied with my knitting :)

I suppose even this blog is an outlet for my creativity. Who knows, it could even be the springboard to writing a novel. Until then, I'll keep rambling about my thoughts. I'll also keep dabbling at my various crafts until HGTV discovers me. And then, I can have a house with a dedicated craft room!

Confidence

There is an email that circulates around a couple of times each year about how great women are. The email says that our only fault is that we do not know our own worth. When I get the email, it always boosts my spirits. But recently, I realized how very true that statement is.

I think I have mentioned before that I've always had a bit of a confidence problem. I thought it was just me. In the past couple weeks, various women that I am friends with have expressed doubt publicly- either on Facebook or their blogs. The women were younger than I am, or my age, or older. They doubted their ability in their profession, their hobbies, their parenting skills. The women and their situations varied, but all had the same end result- they won accolades for their efforts. I was surprised to find these women doubting themselves. I was also a little relieved to know it wasn't just me.

And then I was sad. Because women truly are amazing. We are daughters, sisters (even if we have no siblings), wives, mothers, and friends. We are nurturers, accountants, physicians, cooks, teachers, and counselors. We work in the office all day, and come home to our second job. The housework, making dinner, laundry, paying the bills.

When my Grandmother was born in 1917, women could not vote. As of this week, women occupy a third of the seats on the Supreme Court. My parents always told us we could be anything we wanted to be. Being female does not limit the possibilities. Each of us is an extraordinary individual. We don't require fame or celebrity. We make a difference in our own world every day. We enrich the lives of those around us, even if we don't always get the appreciation we deserve.

Women are amazing. We need to realize that, each and every one of us. We also need to realize it is ok to take time for us. It is ok if the to-do list doesn't get finished one weekend. Trust me, the work will still be there. I don't want you to think I'm anti-man, but really- the things that are on our lists are not on theirs! It's ok to let the little things go. We are not failures because we didn't vacuum the living room. No one will kick us out of womanhood if we order takeout now and then. (Although, I wouldn't mind someone kicking me out of womanhood once each month, ya know?)

Sit back, grab a glass of iced tea, and watch 'Steel Magnolias', 'When Harry Met Sally', or 'Gone With The Wind' (or whatever your favorite movie is). Cry your eyes out. Take a nap. Go shopping and delight in the great sale you found. Remember, girls, we are amazing creatures!

We'll Be Right Back

I've been around, just not blogging for the past couple of weeks. I was doing so well there for a while. But I have just been too worn out at the end of the day to blog; or too busy doing other projects on weekends. I'm really fighting sleep as I write this, but it isn't even 9pm yet-too early to go to bed. I have been making a list of blog ideas, hopefully when it comes time to write them I'll remember what I wanted to say.

Tonight I'm going to just write about something kind of lighthearted. TV commercials. I know a lot of people change the channel as soon as the commercial comes on. That is not me. If my program is on at 8pm on ABC, I will stay on ABC for the entire duration of the program. The only exceptions are if there are two programs on at the same time that I desperately want to watch, or if we are under a severe weather watch. I watch the commercials. Or use that time to run into the kitchen and load the dishwasher, or fold the laundry in the dryer.

Some commercials are really annoying. The local Ford dealer has a commercial in which the announcer says 'specials' but pronounces it 'spesials'. There is another local one for a chat line, and part of the phone number is '444'. The woman speaking says 'Fo-Fo-Fo'. I scream at the tv every time I hear it (not sure who I think is listening to me...).

Some commercials are sad. I cannot watch the Pedigree commercials about shelter dogs, or the commercials with Sarah McLaughlin talking about animal abuse. Those break my heart, and I have to mute it and look away. Hallmark commercials around Christmas time always leave me weepy.

Sometimes commercials serve as a Public Relations tool. This spring, Toyota and BP both had commercials to mend their respective PR disasters. Both companies chose to spend a great deal of money to run a minute long commercial at the same time each night. Toyota's ran a couple of times a night-once during the five o'clock hour, and once during the six o'clock hour. The BP commercial ran at 6:54 each night. The commercials used the same format. Perhaps they even had the same PR firm. There was not a lot of flash or pretty scenery. Just a person, speaking, telling you how you could depend on the company. This person told you that Toyota took our safety seriously, and were working around the clock to fix the problems. Or the person told you that BP cared about the people of the Gulf and were working around the clock to cap the leaking oil well. I don't know if the commercials achieved the desired result. But they sure spent a lot of money trying to make us love them again.

There are a few commercials which I just love. The first is a Jeep commercial. It is similar to the Toyota PR commercial, in which they are trying to get us to love this car company again. A US car company that for years put out products inferior to those we could import from Asia; a company that the US taxpayers had to bail out. The Jeep commercial has a steady beat running through it, like a single drum beat. Or maybe it is to symbolize a heart beat. Steady and sure. One car company used to advertise they were the 'heartbeat of America'. Chevrolet? Maybe Jeep is trying to emulate those glory days. The commercial shows the Jeep doing Jeep things like off-roading through a forest and climbing steep inclines. It also shows the factory, and the workers putting the Jeeps together. It talks about what a great nation America is, how we were built by people doing things, and that we have always been a better nation when we took pride in things and built the best. While I don't want to run to the closest Jeep dealer, it stirs these very patriotic feelings in me. It draws on our national pride, and our heritage. I think it is a really well done commercial.

Another car commercial that I love is for the Kia Soul. At first when the commercials with the giant hamsters started airing, I thought they were odd. But they are very catchy! The one that airs a lot now has these hamsters who are rappers or something. They have the big saggy pants, hoodies (which, by the way, I hate, but that is perhaps another post), and the chains around their neck. Maybe they are thugs or gangstas. I don't know the proper terminology. Homeys? Anyway, these hamsters do a little rap type thing. ''You can go with this, or you can go with that. This or that". They sing this through the whole commercial. 'This' always refers to a Kia Soul. 'That' refers to less desirable modes of transportation- such as a toaster or a cardboard box. I love the little hamsters, and laugh every time I see the commercial.

The last commercial that I really love strikes a special memory for me. It is an Alka Seltzer commercial. The father is sitting at the table reading the paper, and his teenage daughter runs in shrieking in excitement. She tells her mother 'I got into one of the best schools in the country!'. On the screen it says "What he heard" and the scene replays, but this time, the girl screams "I got into one of the most expensive schools in the country!". When it was time for me to apply to colleges, I chose to apply to only three. I had been looking at colleges since Junior High, and had done tons of research on colleges. I chose to apply to SUNY Brockport- a state school I knew I would get in to, Hanover College- which became my Alma Mater, and Notre Dame- a long shot. Yes, THAT Notre Dame. The Fighting Irish, in South Bend, IN. Dad and I have always been huge Notre Dame fans. I decided to apply, not because I wanted to go there, but because I just wanted to see if I could get in. I had no desire to go to Notre Dame- it was too big for me. I knew I wanted a small school. When I told my parents what schools I was applying to, my father said 'Notre Dame?' He got very pale. I saw this look in his eyes, and all I can think of is when you watch cartoons and the character's eyes temporarily pop out of their head. I saw dollar signs rolling through Dad's eyes, like a slot machine. I told him I didn't intend to go there, I just wanted to see if I could do it. Dad kept stuttering, 'Well, honey, if you really want to go there, we'll find a way'. It took several minutes to convince him I did not want to go to Notre Dame.

Turns out, he didn't have to worry about it. I was headed to Indiana, but to the southeast corner, not the northwest. By the time I received the rejection letter from Notre Dame, I had already sent the necessary paperwork to Hanover to secure my spot in the class of 1998. The rejection letter was pretty comical. The letter said they were sorry, and hoped I would be able to overcome this setback in my life and go on to have a full, productive life. That may not be verbatim, but it was the message of the letter. I kept the letter, because it was so amusing. I'm sure I still have it somewhere. I have gotten past the rejection. And I think my life is full and productive, even if I do analyze commercials for fun.

Spirits

Before I start this entry, I feel I should add a disclaimer. Some people might find this weird. Well, more weird than anything else I do!

My mom's parents are both deceased. Grandpa passed away in February, 2000; and Grandma followed in October, 2008. I know they are still with me, and I feel their presence all the time. Some days, it seems I feel them more than others. Today was one of those days.

I believe that a part of each grandparent lives on in the form of a bird. Maybe this goes back to our Native American roots. Maybe I'm just a goofball. But I really believe this. The day before my Grandfather died, I saw the most beautiful male cardinal outside my apartment. It was singing, and really trying to make sure I noticed it. The next day, the same cardinal was outside my window all day. Cardinals were my grandfather's favorite bird. I felt a sense of peace seeing this striking creature. Since Grandpa passed, I have had cardinals in my yard daily. Here at the Goofy Grape, we are up to about 10 pair of cardinals that live in our yard. They are at our feeder daily. Male cardinals tend to be territorial, but not the ones in my yard. Each one is prettier than the previous one. My mom often tells me she's never seen so many cardinals.

When I'm having a rough day, or going through a particularly tough time, a male cardinal will appear. Maybe he flutters beside me as I walk from my car to the office, or he sits outside my kitchen or bedroom window and sings all day. It always gives me a sense of peace. As if Grandpa is telling me, "it's going to be ok". Sometimes, I don't know what the message is supposed to be, but before long it will be revealed to me.

Grandma's favorite bird was the blue jay. Bossy, but beautiful. Before Gram passed away, we had the occasional blue jay at our feeder or in our yard. The day after she passed, this big blue jay sat at our feeder. It sat there almost all day. I could see this bird from the kitchen, the dining room, and both bathrooms. Now, I have four blue jays that live in our yard. They fly through the yard, their big wings spread as they glide from tree to tree. They play in the yard, chasing each other. And they yell. They will sit in the trees and yell at each other. Blue jays have a very distinct sound. I can't really describe it, but I know it when I hear it.

The blue jays have the same effect on me that the cardinals do; they soothe me. I feel that my Grandparents are close by, watching over me. Tonight, I came home and heard a jay. I looked out, and on our patio fence was a blue jay. It sat there, yelling, hopping up and down with every yell. I stood there for a few minutes, then went into the kitchen. I saw a flash of red swoop past the kitchen window, and I snuck back into the dining room. Just outside the window was a male cardinal. It was eating peanuts I had put out for the birds. He sat on the other side of the window and just looked at me. Every time he looked at me, I felt like I was looking at my Grandfather. As I stood there, sharing this moment with the cardinal, I saw something to my left. And there, on the fence, just a foot or two away from the cardinal was a blue jay. The two aren't often in the same place together. Then I knew there was a message. I don't yet know what the message is, but I'm pretty sure God has a message for me. It will be revealed in time. But I know not to fear, everything is going to be ok. He sent my Grandparents to tell me.