Hot Flashes – A Tomato Dilemma

By Sue Langenberg

While the weather this season was too hot and humid for the humans, the tomatoes were deliriously happy. As I sweat my way around, in fact, I saw my tomato plants clap their leaves and do a celebration hula. One day at high noon, I thought I saw a chorus line of stakes. I might be mistaken, however.

I think that it is one of Mother Nature’s rules, in fact, that for every drop of sweat, a new tomato bloom emerges. Blue ribbon tomatoes only occur when clothes stick to you and you can’t move from couch to refrigerator.

My tomato plants continued to cheer and bear fruit until during canning season, I could hardly keep up. Then I noticed that I needed new quart jar materials almost every day. Naturally, the bottom shelf that carries them in the store was empty. My rear end was probably seen for 45 minutes making sure there were none in the back. Then I cried elephant tears at the checker when she said, “no,” that they would not be ordering more lids and bands. In fact, she assured me that the new store policy was that they would never carry lids and bands again, especially for hags with chins and grey hair.

So I scaled every store around town and noticed their shelves empty also. Every other item was new and well-stocked, including fall-colored, moody candles and squeaky pumpkin knick knacks, but no canning lids. Same store policy; no lids and bands to hags with chins and grey hair.

The run on canning supplies continued. It seems that other tomatoes in other gardens were also doing the hula and chorus lines. But those other tomatoes were now happily in jars, and mine were filling up the counter waiting to be processed.

I made calls to the next town. “No, is this that hag with chins and grey hair? We’re now rationing lids and bands to young people only. If you can prove that you have no varicose veins, we might …” I searched online. Every home page about canning tomato sauce was more about chins and varicose veins than the shopping cart that included lids and bands.

It might be my paranoid imagination, but I think those jar lid people organized against me. There was a sudden flurry of activity in the canning aisle the moment that I got out of the car and moseyed in the door with list in hand. I think I saw several managers with piano teeth grins suddenly singing a four-part harmony about having no lids called, “The Tomato Hag Rag.” I might be wrong, however.

I am sure that it’s not my imagination, however, that the whole block was suddenly picking tomatoes with smiles on their faces as they reported to their kitchens. I fall short of being a window-peeker, however, but swear that they must be canning away inside. In fact, if I am correct, everyone in the world is passing me by carrying a grocery bag with lids and bands hanging out.

The news reported the other day that the sale of canning lids and bands were restricted to non—AARPers, especially those who could prove such with photo identification of shapely legs without varicose veins. A friend admitted that she didn’t see that news item, so it was probably just my news in my house where there are no canning materials. I could be wrong, however.

I am at the point where I would pay any amount for lids and bands, short of illegal and immoral behavior. I am convinced, however, that there are none out there.

Can you relate? If you would like to comment on Hot Flashes, Sue can be reached via E-mail at , or .