Tow Maters.
For those of you who haven't been following the ongoing drama of your Pope's garden, all one of it, I planted my Tow Mater back on April 4th of this year, which you can do if you live, as I do, in the warm climes of Southern California, specifically in the San Fernando Valley, part of the city of Greater Los Angeles, as well as the porn capital of the world, two dubious distinctions at best.
I won't bore you with a long soliloquy today on the pleasures and benefits of urban gardening, except to say that I am proud, as any father should be on this Father's Day, 2012, of my Tow Mater. Thanks, God, for blessing me with this miracle of vegetables.
FYI, my daughter sent me a copy of a wonderful cookbook (I never in my wildest dreams thought I would ever see the day that I would be receiving cookbooks as gifts...and liking them) called "The Tomato Cookbook" by Roy F. Guste, Jr. It only showed up yesterday, so I haven't had a chance to really peruse the recipes, but the ones I've read so far sound delicious. I can hardly wait to get started. Thanks, sweety, it's a great gift.
Not as good as being your Dad, but very good.
(Oh, that "Pope" thing back there in the first paragraph? Yeah, that's a gig I took on a little over a year ago; you can check out the explanation at the top of this page (up) to learn about my ascent into high-stakes Popehood. Welcome to the All John All The Time World Church, which has its headquarters in the aforementioned San Fernando Valley. A third dubious distinction for the SFV, or as those of us who reside here refer to it, the 818. It's a local joke.)
Back to the Tow Maters: as you can see, my plant has one partially ripe Tow Mater hanging on its vines currently, with a veritable shitload to follow; at last count there were 20 or so incipient ripe Tow Maters. There are bacon, lettuce and Tow Mater sandwiches coming, plus gallons of Tow Mater sauce, some Tow Maters Stuffed With Chicken And Mushrooms (one of the recipes in my new cookbook, and FYI, this is only the second cookbook I've ever owned, and I have no idea where the first one is located), probably a batch or two of Tow Mater Grits (another recipe) and just oddles of Tow Mater and Jalapeno salsa.
I am so pumped...which isn't easy when you're my age.
Speaking of my age, I had a immediate reminder of my age (I recently celebrated the 29th anniversary of my 32nd birthday) a few days ago when, during the second round of the current NBA playoffs, I called a friend to inquire if he intended to view the televised game that evening between the Miami Heat and the Indiana Pacers. My question to him was thus:
"Hey, are you watching the Hate Peacers game tonight?"
Inadvertently.
It just came out like that; as my Uncle Fred used to say, my tongue got in the way of my eyeteeth and I couldn't see a thing I was saying. It reminded me of that radio announcer from back in the 20's, who, while doing an live on-air advertisement for a Hoover vacuum cleaner tells his audience, in spate of excitement, that "ladies everywhere are trying the new Heever Clooner".
Hate Peacers.
Old age, creeping in under the guise of the wisdom of years; it's insidious.
I've decided, apropos of nothing, to start another rock band; I'm calling it I Have Something On My Leg.
I just thought that would be a great name for a rock band: I Have Something On My Leg.
Or maybe Tow Mater and His Plump Romas.
(For those of you who are horticulturally challenged, a "Roma" is a type of Tow Mater.)
(My garden is not a Roma-type Tow Mater; I just liked how it sounded.)
Thank you, God, for my Tow Mater, my incredibly beautiful, and thoughtful, daughter, my grandsons, my favorite (and only, to speak of dubious distinctions) son-in-law, my friends and family, and all your blessings, and a very happy Father's Day to all of you who qualify.
Love and Tow Mater soup,
PJTT
copyright 2012 Krissongs Inc.
