Food dehydration and storage instructional video

(11 am. – promoted by ek hornbeck)

By way of explanation, Dee Griffith was a woebegone transplant from the midwest who was raising five boys alone in the hundred year old farmhouse on my block which had once been the homestead of a potato farm. I was five and would go over there to play with her youngest son, Robbie, who was my age.

Dee Griffith ruled her boys with an iron hand and a merciless midwestern twang. She wasn’t used to girls and had little use for the rarified suburban 1960’s housewives of the area. Dee Griffith scared the shit out of me, but she was so different from my own mother that I also decided she was “cool”. She was either divorced or a widow, and was living far beyond her means as a result. With the retrospect of adulthood I realize that she saw me as a way of keeping Robbie entertained and generally out of trouble. She was often curt around me and it might have been because she didn’t like the way my mother treated me but didn’t feel it appropriate to say, or it might have been because she didn’t have any girls of her own. Anyway she was gruff and rough around the edges, but kind in her way.

The following year she sold the farmhouse and moved back to wherever it was in the midwest that she came from. This upset me greatly because at five I had already announced to the general public at large that I was going to marry Robbie, although I really was only saying that because I liked to squick him out about it.

The exchange in question occurred when Dee didn’t quite realize that a little 5 year old pitcher with big ears was hanging around in the kitchen and swatted at some insects that were flying around while she was trying to cook. One of the things Dee couldn’t afford was an exterminator. “God Daymn flahyin’ ants ‘r holdin’ th’ house tagether bah havin’ sex!”, she snarled.

“What’s sex?” I asked innocently. Dee blinked. There was a pause. It was the only time I ever saw the woman taken aback by anything.

“Go ask yer mother.”