The spirit of canning

People who are scared of such things (read: Kim) have asked me if my glorious house is haunted. To which I always say, hell yes! Though that could be wishful thinking. After all, what could be wrong about sharing a cup of tea in the morning with Geneva Allen, matriarch of the Allen clan and original owners of The Manor? The Allen clan, or, as I call them, the Clampetts:

 

And I mean that in no bad way, but seriously, just look at that picture! Yes they were the land barons of their time, but you do expect them to load up the truck and head to Beverly Hills at any moment, no?

Anyway. I’m torn between envisioning Geneva as a stern God-fearing woman, or someone who seemed buttoned up but loved her boozy cherries on the side. I’m thinking the latter, because it’s clear that I – me, personally – have been inhabited by the spirit of Geneva Allen herself.

Exhibit A: I’ve never canned a damn thing in my life. Haven’t even cared to. Oh sure, I think there was the one time I tried to put up some tomato juice, but the jars got some weird floaty things in them so I tossed them. It’s like I wasn’t even trying.

But what do we have now? This:

Yes, the Jam Cellar of Terror, thus named because when a friend from (ahem) Wharton came visiting with her family, I thought it would be cute and quaint to get their picture in the Jam Cellar. That is, until the pic turned out to look like something from Silence of the Lambs, with Kate clutching her daughter in hopes of keeping her safe. As if.

I of course decided to embrace this, and have been imprisoning visitors in the Jam Cellar of Terror ever since. I think I’m up to 7 captives by now, which includes Normal Brother and his wife Angela. Sometimes at night while Kone and I are tucked into bed, I imagine I can hear their screams echoing through the walls…..

But I digress. The point being, this canning thing is NOT normal behavior for yours truly, so of course the only explanation has to be spirit possession. And I’m okay with that. I haven’t had any jars exploding on me yet, so Geneva must be giving me some good advice at least, right?

Her assistance means I can focus on other things as well, like being the town curmudgeon when it comes to running a tight ship in our little community. Clearly someone has to.

Next up: Whereupon Miss Tasha takes on the Silverton Police Dept.