My Pets

Toby, my pet SCOBY

This is Toby.  He's alive.  I know that Toby looks like a placenta but he's actually a SCOBY - a Symbiotic Culture Of Bacteria and Yeast - and he's alive.   I think of him as my pet.  

Although Toby likes to eat, he's as picky as a toddler.  All he wants is one thing: sweet tea.  Toby floats in about a gallon of sweet tea which I refresh every seven to ten days.  If Toby were a cat, you'd change his litter that often, wouldn't you? So my pet doesn't take any more maintenance than your cat or dog.  And, I don't have to walk him.  Totally a plus.

What Toby does, and does well, far better than your pets - even if you have gerbils or mice, is procreate.  He breeds faster than a rabbit! Every week when I change his tea, I take Old Toby, who is now lying below Baby Toby and remove him, allowing Toby Junior (the clone) to bask in the sweetness of the new batch of tea all alone.  Papa Toby goes into my SCOBY hotel, a resting place for Toby, Toby Senior, Grandpa Toby, Great Gramps and so on.  

The SCOBY Hotel

I could just pitch Old Toby onto my compost pile or eat him like gummy candy but I prefer to "put him out to pasture" in the friendly gallon jar with his family.  That way, if something happens to my current Toby, I have one in reserve.  Or two.  Or ten...  

Another, happier, alternative for me is that I can give Old Toby to YOU.  YOU take Old Toby, put him in a jar full of sweet tea with a cup or two of his fermented tea and then you have your own cute pet.  

What's that?  You don't think Old Toby is cute?  Didn't your mother ever teach you that if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything?  Maybe I don't think your pet is that cute either, but you don't hear me announcing it to the world.

You could buy yourself your own Toby online.  Tobys there cost $50.  Makes my gift idea seem more generous, right?

Toby can sit on the counter, all but ignored, for several weeks, just happily floating in his sugared tea water and growing more SCOBYS but the longer he sits without fresh food, the more sour his pool water becomes.  Ultimately, Toby will be swimming in vinegar - lovely if you want to use it for salad dressing, but pretty tough to drink.  

Drink?

Yes, that's right.  The byproduct of Toby's sweet tooth is KOMBUCHA, a fermented tea that's chock full of probiotics, 38 - 43 strains of those little buggers, all just waiting to improve my gut health when I swig down a drink. And swig I do.  

When I put Baby Toby into his new tea (again, with a cup or two of old tea, just to keep it acidic), I bottle his used-up pool water which is now Kombucha, add flavoring and let the tea sit on my counter for a day or so.  Then I put the bottles into my fridge.   

Because I like the taste of Kombucha, which is like a sparkling apple cider with a champagne-like fizz, I also change the SCOBY hotel once a week and bottle that tea, too.  My fridge is filled with fermented-tea-in-beer-bottles at all times and usually more is just a day away.  I am happy to let guests who wander down taste test the current flavors.  Usually there's one that's a standout and we chug down that bottle immediately.  The rest will improve as they age.

Kombucha sells everywhere these days.  Somebody told me you can even buy it at WalMart.  I have never seen it sold for less than $2.50 on sale and some brands sell for nearly $4.00 each.  Mine costs me $.50 a gallon.

Now that you know that, I don't seem to be one cat shy of crazy anymore, do I?

* * *

This is Karen.  She's alive.  Karen is a Water Kefir Grain.....

www.StillSwimmingUpstream.com

Plenty

When I picked up a new prescription, I noticed on the side of the bottle is a neon yellow label that says, "WARNING:  This medication should be taken with with PLENTY of WATER."  The words "plenty" and "water" are in bold print and are capitalized.  Clearly, this information is IMPORTANT!  

Proof that I don't make this stuff up!

While I'm grateful for the eye-catching caution, I am left wondering how much water I need to drink with my little pink pills.  How much, exactly, is plenty?  Doesn't the very word seem out of place on a medicine bottle?  It's airy-fairy instead of precise and measurable. Come on, guys!  Couldn't we be a wee bit more specific here?  

My husband's beverage of choice is sweet tea and his consumption of it is legendary.  He has been known to drink endless gigantic glasses with lunch, then ask for a "to-go" cup for the road.  He drinks plenty.  By virtue of contrast, I'm never thirsty. I order water, drink a sip or two and I'm done.  I've had plenty.  

Sixty-four ounces then, or two?  Your guess is as good as mine.  

Adventures in moving

For the last year we have been living in the land of sugary sweet tea while all our household goods resided in maple syrup country.  This past weekend was the appointed time change that equation and, to add to the fun, we threw in moving our youngest from a basement apartment to third-floor living quarters. 

For years Jer has refused help from all but his closest friend (thanks, Jack) and stoically carried refrigerators and the like alone up countless flights of stairs on his back.  Lately he's been re-thinking this and now wants a small army of strapping lads to assist.  Most guys would be happy to accommodate our gorgeous daughter if she merely asked them, but she appears to have inherited his gene for reticence. She found one guy - one guy - to help. 

We got up early, early and rolled into the area at 10ish.  We had time for a quick stop in Hudson and then planned to go to Mantua to check out our house which we hadn't visited since last Thanksgiving and assess how much packing there was to do and develop a game plan for tomorrow's agenda.  Then Jer was going to drop me back in Hudson at so I could go to lunch with friends while he picked up the rental truck and got the lease and the keys to the new apartment.  We were going to start the move around three, giving Kate (who works nights) time to sleep.  I hadn't even stepped through the door yet when Kate called and said, "Don't be mad but John has to be at work at 4:00."

Mad wouldn't be an adequate description.  My husband morphed into a flaming ball of fury before my very eyes.  Thoughts of dragging a couch up three floors while I obediently followed with a cushion played in the film room of his mind, causing him to become unhinged.  "Get in the car!" he yelled, desperation in his voice.  "I haven't gone inside yet."  "We don't have time!  GET IN THE CAR!"  Now was NOT the time to remind him that I'd made plans to meet my gal pals in Hudson for lunch.  Nope.  I rode off to Kent to start the move.

Is now the time to mention that we lived in Kent for six months when we began our home project in Mantua?  We lived in the basement of a friend's condo which was within easy walking distance to the apartment that Kate was vacating.  This neighborhood had literally once been my backyard.

If you tell me a story about your third-cousin once removed, I will remember it for decades but I can go into a building, come back out and I won't remember which way I came from.  I compensate for this lack by paying strict attention to where I am, especially if I plan to do any serious navigation. Sadly, on this day, I was totally distracted both by the prevailing mood of the day as well as by texting my friends to apologize for missing lunch.  Therefore, I did not notice that we passed Katie's street before we got to the truck rental establishment.   Turns out I would be driving the Jermobile behind Jerry while he drove the rental.  Jer's mood did not improve when was issued a got a rickety van and trailer to drive cross-country but he was hellbent in getting Kate's heavy stuff moved by 3:45 p.m, so he took the keys, told me to follow him and zoomed off.  A man on a mission cannot be distracted.

About two blocks down, Jer turns into an auto parts store and I, who was in the wrong lane to follow him, wondered what's wrong with his vehicle as I pull in and turn around in the grocery store parking lot.  Of course I got stuck at a red light, but I never saw him go past me so I went back to check on him. By this time he wasn't in the auto parts place  either.  I cruised up and down this stretch of road a couple of time but he never came out.  Finally I decided that he knew where Kate lives, we'll meet up there.  And then I drive.  And drive.  And drive. 

When I got to the intersection of I-90, which I knew went directly to Hudson I realized that I was traveling in the wrong direction.   Now I realize that Jer made a wrong turn with his big rig, immediately realized it, turned around in the auto place while I was turning around in the grocery store lot.  He'd already left before the red light changed.  Jer rarely makes a wrong turn, so of course I made the assumption that I was traveling in the right direction. 

I realized my mistake but I was dreading arriving because now I'd piddled around being lost in what was once my own backyard for a good half an hour and, you might recall, my husband was in a foul humor before we'd even started this particular project.

When I got there, Jerry was happy as a pig in slop.  Katie had opened her basement window and was handing items out it and the yard was swarming with guys who lift weights for fun.  It no longer mattered what time we finished.  Later Katie asked me why I hadn't just taken her car and gone to Hudson.  I just didn't think of it.