A Memory Revised

No, I'm not still canning maters. But I was reminded of a story I've always loved  -- and only heard the end of a few days ago when my friend Chick, who was also a friend of my mother and father, came to lunch. 

The story, as I originally heard it, was  that thirty-some years ago, long before I'd met Chick and when we had first moved to the farm, Chick encountered my mother at a party in Tampa. 

Making small talk, she asked my mother about her daughter's move to the mountains. Many Tampa people had summer homes in NC -- perhaps ours was like that? . . .

"Oh, said my mother, no doubt rolling her eyes, "Vicki leads a very different life. . .  (ominous pause) . . . she cans!" 

Well, that much has always cracked me up. But now Chick has told me the rest of the story which seems, somehow, even funnier.

"But," protested Chick, who makes all sorts of lovely jellies and jams, "You know, I can . . "

Unmollified, my mother lifted an eyebrow. "Tomatoes?" she sniffed.