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She said there wasn’t any proper syrup for the Kodiak Power Flapjacks. I’d bought these a few days before and said “weekend treat, perhaps.” She’d made a batch but couldn’t find the maple syrup. Whereupon I produced it straight away from its place in the cupboard. Ah. Reason: it wasn’t a brand I usually get, and her eye, not falling upon the expected shape and color, had concluded there was no syrup. She went with the Carey’s. I apologized, because that’s the absolute last-ditch syrup. It’s an old “dietetic” brand, found in the Diabetes Section, where everything’s ugly and the labels are from 1967 because you don’t have any choice. I also pointed out that there were special North Dakota syrups, in the cupboard where they have always been, for years. My cousin’s business sends us a package of North Dakota syrups and jams every year, because he rents the land from me. Somehow we never get around to finishing the Rhubarb Syrup. Or opening it, for that matter.
At Traders Joe the next day I found the expected maple syrup bottle and bought it, so she would have the syrup she wants. Keep this in mind as well, because it will be important in a bit. An update on the soap situation: ETBF(MN), upon being informed that I had worked my way through the whole bar, informed me that the drippings from the soap shelf had bleached the tiles, because the soap was so caustic. I was astonished. But it’s soap. It’s supposed to be nice. No wonder it stung. What is the matter with Europe and cake soap? Also, I was wrong about having some bars left over from a shopping trip 13 years ago on Majorca. It was Corfu.
I do not trust these bars, and fear they contain caustic lye and acetone, and will cause sterility and blindness. Update on dinner, not that I promised one:
So get this. I’m at Lundsenbyerly’s, looking for deals. The pork loin, normally $9.99, is down to $7.99. BUT because the meat hits its expiration point at 11:59 PM, it’s $2.00 off. Into the basket it goes. I had a small bag of “Teeny Tiny Potatoes” from Traders Joe, $2.29, so I fed us for a pittance with much for lunch. This was offset by the bag of kale that had gone over. She had bought it at Costco, a two-for-one set-up that overestimated our standard kale consumption. On the other hand, honey. Lots of honey. Since we did the trust thing, for reasons that eluded me at the time and annoy me now, because, the future and all that, we now have two accounts at the financial institution, for reasons. This means we each get a holiday gift. It used to be Starbucks coffee with an enormous Holiday-themed mug, which was A) never used because of its size - the coffee would go cold - and B) could not be thrown away because you presumed you’d use it next holiday season. Then it was Harry & David’s. Oh look: 49 pears! This year it was from a local firm that makes honey and maple syrup. So we have two big jugs of maple syrup to go with the small one I bought. I needn’t have got it at all. Two big jars of honey, too. We have honey enow already. Honey consumption in this house is not steady and pronounced. I often forget we have honey to put on morning toast because I got out of the honey-toast habit when I was six. But now, gallons. When I picked up my jar, it was sticky. The lid was dented in two places, and honey had, as honey will, dribbled out. Did this affect it longevity? I found the company’s website, and was about to send them an email to inquire, but then I feared they would send me more honey. It seems like the sort of company whose ethos demands that they make good. “Well, don’t give them your address,” you say. Right! Good point. But I kinda sorta want more honey I set the boon on the counter, wondering where I would put it. Perhaps pack it away for the next place, the Hip New Place? I’ve already set aside two small bottles of whiskey to toast the last day of Jasperwood, and usher in the new “home,” wherever or whatever the hell that ends up being. I intend on taking nothing from the kitchen, so it would be odd if the only thing I brought was honey and syrup. That suggests a sweetness about the event I am not at present expecting to materialize. After dinner I went down to the storage room to refill her morning K-cup box, and saw something I’ve looked at for months and months, never registering, because it was another Costco purchase.
So, Jalapeno day? It was not a Jalapeno day. It might be, tomorrow. It wasn't today.
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One hundred and ninety-nine souls. Take one down, pass it around. Motto: "The Agri-Heart Of Southern Minnesota." I’ve no idea of that’s an old building that was given a respectful facade that adheres to its old shape, or something new meant to fit in nicely with the present day.
It’s set back a bit from the street. Could mean the latter.
Strange little modern thing. The original purpose? I don’t know. Post office, bank, something that had money to go with the new style.
The subsequent roof did no one any favors.
Since it’s not a bank anymore, you wonder if it failed or was absorbed.
You hope the latter. You don’t want to think of some farmer standing on the sidewalk, testing the door, not quite sure why it’s locked, then realizing why. "Well, if the door’s locked at that one, I’ll go down the street where I got another account, and -"
"Aw, drat"
A little garage with a heap of metal that looks like something AI draws in the margins when it doesn’t know what to do:
Some of us know by memory the amount of pressure required to activate the button, and what it felt like. It was always a bit mushy.
WHOA
Where did this one come from? Ziemer & Rath. Lost in the mists of hist -
Oh, wait a minute, no, his Rath’s great-great-great-grandson was still farming the land as of 2019.
Cheapest of all possible styles. Fairly new, which makes me think that one up top was the old post office.
Bank-wise, the last man standing: this is the State Bank of Easton. No signage, but the hint of a drive-through window on the side tells you what it is.
We end with the sentinels on the edge of town:
The massive structures that helped transport the bounty of Minnesota to the mills of Minneapolis, and from there, to tables across the nation. If you wanted to get sentimental about.
Which you should.
There you go. Motels await. See you around.
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Sunday I came downstairs to see the zero-calorie syrup container on the counter. I asked: why?
