Blueberryfest: Many, many myrtilles

The blueberries are ripening like crazy at my/my parent's house. I think we have 15 bushes altogether, and on Friday I picked 33 cups of berries from the six bushes in the backyard. (That's a one-time family record, fyi.) What do you do when you have thousands of blueberries? We had blueberry soup, blueberry cookies, blueberry cobbler, blueberry pancakes, blueberry tea, and of course the berries themselves. I somehow missed out on blueberry martinis.

My contribution was a blueberry tart loosely based on this recipe. I substituted in a graham cracker crust, and my dad guilted me into making the lemon curd from scratch. ("Your GRANDMA used to make the best gingerbread cake with lemon curd. I don't even know where to FIND lemon curd at the store.") The recipe for that part was pretty simple, and the mixing bowl arm fatigue was worth it because it was really, really good. Here's my tart:

Obama's sweetie

So Obama toured a textile factory in Allentown, Pa., which is essentially my hometown. (My postal address is Emmaus, but that's only because the post office for my actual neighborhood is literally one very tiny room. I digress about rural Pennsylvania.) Anyway, surprise, he charmed all the ladies working there. Apparently he called someone "sweetie," which to some rings condescending.

As someone who still recounts how two years ago Patrick Ewing, Jr. called me "sweetheart," I think it all depends on the person and the context. In that instance, PEJ was giving me a hand with a book in the library. If I were, say, a secretary on the set of Mad Men, and my boss called me sweetie, it would only hammer in how much I was treated like a piece meat. When I was 10 or 11 and my grandma called me a "little girl," I hated that. Stuff like "little lady" bugs me, but I kind of like it when a significant other calls me "babe." And Obama always at least seems respectful, to me.

Honestly, I think it's mostly when nonfamous strangers call me "hun" or the likes that I really stop to analyze it. It generally doesn't offend me, but it robs terms of endearment of their meaning. Cuz 9 times out of 10, I'm not your honey.