Earlier in December, the hams I cured were ready to smoke. They were just too big for me to handle from a wheelchair, so I had to pass the baton to Herb. After all, it's really a fun process, and I knew he would enjoy doing it.
. . .
Herb fed the animals before it got dark and left for a meeting. He got home about 9 p.m. and suddenly exclaimed, "The hams!"
Accompanied by my wails, he rushed out to unplug the smoker and haul out the darkened carcasses of our once-beautiful hams. We were sick at heart! How could we have forgotten them? Herb stuck the lumps of meat in the fridge, more out of reflex than anything else, and we went to bed.
The next day I suggested that since Jim and Monique wanted their ham cut up and frozen in stew-sized chunks, why didn't we go ahead and cut one up and see if we could salvage any?
So on Christmas Day, our accidental ham will be the centerpiece of our table, and we will thank God for ALL His goodness this past year. That's no accident!