Taking time out

The Princess, like many other people, tends to get a little frazzled this time of year. As she is running around trying to get everything done, the Hero sometimes, risking peril to his own life, asks what the Princess is so frazzled about.

For his interest he typically receives the look, the one that plainly says, "Are you INSANE? What DOESN'T need to get done?" This is followed by a litany of the chores that are weighing so heavily on the Princess:

"Finish shopping, get wrapping paper, cancel the newspaper, bake, put the tree up, wrap, finish the newsletter, decorate the tree, deliver cookies, pack for traveling, print the newsletter, take everything off the tree and redecorate, mail the newsletter, repack for traveling because the weather forecast changed..."

The Hero generally stops listening closely at "cancel the newspaper," but continues to nod as if he is hearing every word. When the litany is finally over, he thinks a moment and then offers his help:

"Okay, so how about if we go get some coffee and hang out?"

This is his version of homemade chicken soup, and is, he feels, the very best thing to be done in a crisis situation. The ONLY thing to be done.

The Princess begins to arrange her face into another look, one that says, "Are you INSANE? Did you just hear everything I have to do??" But she finds she is too tired. Suddenly, sitting down sounds good. So does procrastination.

Strangely, the coffee strategy pays off. They discuss lots of things -- but not the List. The chores are still there afterward, but somehow, not nearly as onerous.

Thanks to the wise Hero. And his coffee.

Weather ain't us

Today we have an unofficial Q&A with two meteorologists from popular weather websites, where we have noticed a certain trend.

Us: We've noticed some new features on your websites recently. Can you tell us about them?

Meteorologist 1: Yes, we're very excited about the changes. We have more videos than ever, and just a ton of exciting news on topics like the most dangerous tunnels in the world, discoveries of long-buried, long-forgotten royalty under modern parking lots, exploding whales...

Meteorologist 2: And we've got a lot of content on animals. See? [shows site on tablet] Look, here you can watch a dead great white being cut open and this AMAZING discovery inside, and scroll down here to find out about animals who ski. And you can even --

Us: Looks great. And what about the weather?

Meteorologist 1 [confused]: The weather?

Us: Yeah, what if I want to know what the weather forecast is for our area tomorrow? Or if we're going to have snow for Christmas?

Meteorologist 2: Well, we have a cool little feature that will tell you about how climate change is affecting places all over the world. See, right --

Us: But I just want to know the weather forecast for where I LIVE. For TOMORROW. 

Meteorologist 1: Sure, sure, we still give you the weather. I think.  Uh, let me see here...Hey, Bill, you guys still show local weather on your site?

Meteorologist 2: Yeah, as far as I know. You know, when there's a big storm coming or something.

Meteorologist 1 [frantically searching his tablet]: Ah-ha! See? I knew it was here.

Us: Ah, yes, we see that it took 1, 2, 3...87 links to get to that page.

Meteorologist 1: Well, it IS there.

Meteorologist 2: Look at that. It's on OUR site too -- um, of course.

Us: Well, gentlemen, I'm afraid our time is up. Thank you for being with us today and helping readers understand where not to go when they want --

Meteorologist 1: But wait! You haven't seen our display of oldest beehives in the world yet!

Us: Goodbye!

Black Friday report

From the Weekly Retailer, an Unofficial* Record of Retail Happenings...

Merchants at a particular mall on the East Coast reported robust Thanksgiving and post-Thanksgiving sales, boosted by two particular shoppers who spent several hours in the Clarks shoe store. They tried on every shoe the store carried, and even a few it did not ("Oooo, look at those pumps over in THAT store. Could you see if they have them in a five and a half? Black, please").

A Clark's representative, however, cautioned that it was too soon to tell whether the duo would have a lasting impact on the store's bottom line. "They have been known, particularly the younger one, to buy large numbers of shoes and then return them. We suspect from our records that she has never actually kept and worn a single pair of shoes from this establishment."

Asked what would be the shopper's motivation for such actions, the rep shrugged. "We think she's just giddy over finding a shoe in her size, whether or not it actually works for her."

Due to the large number of shoppers, many stores had difficulty keeping dressing rooms and merchandise floors tidy. Several women apparently went missing in a large department store after entering dressing rooms to try on clothes. At one point, a concerned husband said to others who were also waiting for their wives to emerge, "Stand back! I'm going in!"

But the clothes in the dressing rooms were piled so high that he had to be rescued by a human chain formed by the remaining husbands. As of Saturday evening, the wives still had not been located, despite rescuers being able to hear the faint ringing of cell phones emerging from the vast pile of discarded clothing.

Some shoppers reported long lines that appeared, despite their waiting in them for up to two hours, to not lead anywhere. There is some speculation that rogue individuals, sensing an opportunity to stir up trouble, went around randomly forming lines, which harried shoppers readily joined. In Starbucks the lines moved so slowly that patrons eventually sat down while in line, then laid down, and in some cases fell asleep. There were reports of Venti Nonfat Hazelnut Cappuccinos being poured into sleeping customers' open mouths.

Some children apparently became confused and disenchanted when faced with two different Santas, one in each of the two sections of the mall. They refused to have their picture taken with either one, forcing parents to have Santa's picture taken with the family dog. Eventually many of the dogs, too, started picketing.

Meanwhile the two individuals who had spent a fair amount of their shopping time (and money) at the Clarks shoe establishment were observed circling the See's Candy display. Their strategy was evidently to hang around until a See's representative passed out free samples, which eventually did occur, and which the two individuals devoured. It was noted, however, that they did not give in to the temptation to keep circling and take more free samples. 

Due to pressing family obligations, the two were constrained to leave the mall sooner than they may have wished, but they vowed to be back next year to support the economy. And maybe get more free chocolate.

______

*nonexistent

What's your BFS (Black Friday Strategy)?

Those of us who venture into shopping malls and stores on Black Friday face an adventure replete with drama, intrigue, strategy, and yes, danger (Will the nearest restroom be closed for cleaning?). It is thus important to have a strategy for facing all of these challenges head-on (such as Don't drink ANYTHING).

A Female Relative and I have our Black Friday routine down to a science. Here is our typical game plan:

1. Drive to mall: 23 minutes

2. Look for parking space: 77 minutes

3. Shed unnecessary outdoor clothing and stash in car: 6 minutes

4. Dash to mall entrance in freezing cold weather: 0.63 seconds

5. Shop: 1 hours, 21 minutes

6. Check watch to see whether it's time for a break yet; too early  

7. Decide to take a break anyway, go to cookie shop: 12 minutes 

8. Shop: 58 minutes

9. Think about lunch: 49 minutes

10. Look for available table in food court: 3 hours, 6 minutes

11. Eat cold lunch: 2 minutes 

12. Stand in restroom line (me): 22 minutes

13. Use men's room instead (Female Relative): 1 minute, 30 seconds

14. Shop: 2 hours, 28 minutes

15. Think about getting Starbucks: 0.6 seconds

16. Wait in line at Starbucks: 2013-2019 AD

17. Become eligible for Social Security benefits due to long wait at Starbucks 

18. Wait in restroom line: 35 minutes

19. Shop: 52 minutes

20. Get another cookie: 9 minutes

21. Declare shopping trip a success, look for car: 34 minutes

And most important, 

22. Sleep: 365 days, until next Black Friday 

A no-snow event

It is that time of year here in the East when we note the chill in the air, see the thin layer of frost on our car windows in the morning, and say, "A storm is probably coming! We need to get milk and bread!"

That is what we do best here: freak out about things that may or may not occur, or that are occurring 753 miles away from us, and therefore MIGHT also occur here. Within the next hour or two.

So that we can be prepared, sometimes the winter forecast comes to us before summer is even over. If it calls for severe cold and snow, we can stock up on supplies when they're plentiful, in August. And hope that we don't have any power outages from a summer storm.

So I checked the winter forecast for our area early this fall. One expert suggested that we had "a 50-50 chance of being above or below normal temperatures" this winter.

I pondered the source of this brilliant prediction, and narrowed it down to two choices:

1. An actual, degree-holding, paid meteorologist with access to the most up-to-date instruments and weather models

2. An individual with the mathematical understanding of a marmoset

My scientific analysis leads me to believe there is a 50-50 chance of either being the source.

A few weeks ago there was some excitement among the radio weather people and reporters about a potential snowstorm brewing in the West that might, just might, give us a couple of feet of snow. Or maybe a dusting. It was hard to tell, the weatherman emphasized. He suggested, only half jokingly, that perhaps listeners should go stock up on their bread and milk NOW, just in case, even though any activity was an entire week away.

A major weather website had this to say about this particular meteorological situation:

"It is important to stress that this will not be a major snow event. It will not even be a non-major snow event. Probably, you will get nothing."

But you should DEFINITELY go to the store, just in case.

Cookie Monster and Martha

In a time when it is becoming fashionable to assault certain food groups -- specifically, everything that tastes good -- it is refreshing to come upon individuals who unapologetically and wholeheartedly enjoy these foods. Like Cookie Monster.

I saw a video segment of Cookie Monster on the set with Martha Stewart as she made Pumpkin Whoopie Pies. Cookie Monster was not so much helping Martha make the cookies as willing her to just get the cookies DONE, like NOW. Whereas Martha was calmly attempting to impart some of her vast Baking Wisdom to a blue fuzzy puppet, as well as to the myriad children in the audience.

"...and now we're adding one teaspoon of salt," Martha would say, showing Cookie Monster the bowl of premeasured salt before dumping it in the mixing bowl.

"Yeah, yeah, salt, how much longer?" he would say impatiently, although not altogether impolitely.

To distract Cookie Monster -- and perhaps because Martha felt an obligation to set a good example for the children present -- Martha tried to steer the conversation away from cookie adoration:

"So, Cookie Monster, we shouldn't eat TOO many cookies, right? Cookies are really yummy, but boys and girls need other foods too."

Cookie Monster looked uncomprehendingly at her for a moment, wondering how this statement could possibly have any relevance for him.Then he recovered. 

"Oh, sure, me eat other things too...fruits, vegetables."

"Oh, so you eat vegetables? That's very good."

"But me no change my name to Brussels Sprouts Monster," he said hastily.

"No, of course not," Martha agreed.

"Me eat cars too...once, me eat whole truck," he said, proud to report this balanced diet to an apparently nutrition-conscious Martha.

"I see," she said, nodding. "So you eat your main foods, and then you gorge on cookies."

"Cookies!" he growled happily, thankful to be back on familiar ground.

Martha continued to add ingredients to the mixing bowl. "Now we eyeball the vanilla," she explained, pouring in what looked like a very generous amount.

"Eyeball? What eyeball mean?" Cookie Monster said suspiciously.

"It means we don't measure it, we just use our eyes to put in how much looks right," she said. Then, noting Cookie Monster's own prominent eyeballs rolling around, she suggested, "YOU would probably want to use a measuring spoon."

Finally the chocolate dough was mixed, and Martha showed it to Cookie Monster.

His gaze into the bowl was reminiscent of new parents gazing at their firstborn in a bassinet. Awe, wonder, longing -- it was all there.

"Put in oven," he commanded.

"We will. First we have to scoop them onto the cookie sheet." Martha carefully, and ever so slowly, measured out each scoop, placing a perfectly shaped ball of dough on the sheet.

Cookie Monster showed great restraint at not falling upon the enticing cookie dough, although he did go so far as to put his blue furry hands on the sheet. Someone probably made him repeat, before the show, "Me will not grab Martha's cookies" 100 times.

"They no need to be perfect," he said, practically drooling at the thought of devouring his beloved cookies.

"Oh, yes, they DO have to be perfect," Martha said.

"No, no," he said. "Trust me. Go in oven now."

"No," she said. "We're going to put them together, so they have to fit perfectly on top of one another."

"Put together? What this mean?"

"To make pumpkin Whoopie pies," she explained patiently.

Cookie Monster looked as if he might want to have a word with his agent, or whoever was responsible for putting him on a show with this madwoman.

"What happened chocolate chip cookies? Me thought we making chocolate chip cookies!"

"And when we return," Martha said brightly to the cameras and ignoring Cookie Monster, "we'll have some lovely pumpkin Whoopie pies to put together."

I did not get to see how it all turned out -- both the cookies and the disagreement -- but presumably Cookie Monster and the kids got some yummy cookies in the end. And Cookie Monster probably started dreaming about his next appearance on Martha's show -- titled "Martha and Cookie Monster Make Chocolate Chip Cookies One Enormous, Gigantic Chocolate Chip Cookie."

A letter of appeal

Dear CSA folk who give us yummy food every week,

Let us guess -- it must be squash season. We suspect this because squashes keep showing up in our basket *(we're quick, aren't we?). 

Accordingly, we have had squash soup. Squash salad. Squash and pasta. Roasted squash. More squash soup. More squash everything. (I really cannot recommend Lucky Charms Squash, however.) 

Everyone may have their own opinion, but we personally believe that the best way to consume squash is to drown it in syrupy goodness, such that the squash becomes merely a vehicle for conveying all that sugar to one's mouth. Our own experiments suggest that the best ratio of squash to sweetness is roughly 1 to 8. As in, squash ala mode. Yes!

Not that we are against all the nutritious food we receive. We know that you work very hard to bring your customers the best produce and other foods around. But we have a longing, just once, to have something a little different in our weekly basket. 

Might we suggest chocolate?

Clearly this would require a shift of focus for a CSA. We could start with what CSA stands for. Chocolate States of America? Chocolate Supporters Anonymous? Think about it, won't you?

A neighbor recently attempted to come up with some combination involving chocolate that would not be tasty. It was hard. Chocolate goes with pretty much everything -- even, as you might know, as a secret ingredient in an eggplant dish.

So if squash will be making yet another appearance in the baskets, we would suggest pairing it with some chocolate. Who knows? Chocolate squash soup might be just the thing.

Sincerely,

All Squashed Out

_______

*The basket is actually three bags, of course, but we assume that you call it a basket because "basket" carries a much higher quaintness factor. 

IKEA 911

According to news reports, a call was made to police in Britain about "screaming and banging" that could be heard in a nearby house. It was very late at night. Was there domestic violence occurring? A robbery? Murder??

No. Just a couple attempting, as the police reported, to "put together their IKEA furniture." 

This accounted for the banging. The screaming was the couple's infant, apparently protesting having its sleep time interrupted by the assembly of a chest of drawers. Reports indicate that police left the home "satisfied that no crime had been committed."

Perhaps not. But I personally suspect that the infant in this case was unjustly accused of creating a racket, and that the screaming was in fact due to other causes -- namely, the parents who were putting together the IKEA furniture. If I had been engaged in this endeavor, for example, it could very well have been accompanied by screaming, along with much weeping and gnashing of teeth. And that would have been while just trying to get the stuff out of the box.

Further, given my assembly skills, I imagine that had police been called to MY home, they may have concluded that a crime WAS committed:

"I'm sorry, ma'am, we're going to have to take you in for questioning. From the looks of things, you have assembled the Brimnes Wall Cabinet with Sliding Door upside down, which violates the Geneva Conventions. Please come with us. And no screaming, please."

Which presents a quandary, because the only things that will fit into our tiny rowhouse are things that can be brought in in pieces. A sofa minus its legs, for example, or a refrigerator without doors, shelves, back panels, freezer, sides, etc.

Fortunately I have the Hero, who, in his bachelor days, was Mr. IKEA, enjoying the process of putting together shelves, beds, desks -- anything made of cheap wood. 

I imagine that the next time the neighbor who made that call in Britain hears unusual noises from anywhere, he is not going to be in a hurry to call the police again. Someday the wife is going to be attacked in their own home by aliens, screaming for her husband to get help, and the husband is going to be like, "Oh, no, Edna. Not this time. I'm not going to send the bobbies on another wild goose chase...see, there? It's quieted down already. Edna? Edna?...Hello, police? Please send someone right away. Something's very wr--Aggghhhhhh!!" 

"Who was it?" a dispatcher will ask the one who took the man's call.

"I dunno. Some guy putting his IKEA stuff together, I guess."

Important cooking terms to know (and then forget)

Today we are pleased to bring you some techniques the Princess has been learning in her cooking course. This is a go-at-your-own pace course online, and the Princess has adopted the strategy of that wise old literary character, the tortoise, who has become synonymous with the saying "Slow and steady pretty much guarantees there won't be any food left for you when you get to the finish line."

Chopping Techniques

Rolling technique: maneuvers by which you encourage raw meat to roll over and play dead (when this fails, please see "Hi-ya!" below)

Slash and burn: to roughly chop a given set of vegetables or greens, throw them in the cooking vessel, and promptly ruin them by scorching them

Pivot: to anchor the tip of one's knife with one's palm while deftly using the other hand to move the knife across the food (alternatively: to dance from one foot to the other when this technique has proven to be not quite deft enough and one cuts one's hand)

Dice: to cut foods into evenly sized cubes, poke a varying number of holes in each side, run a string between pairs, and hang them from your rear view mirror

Minced: the result of obsessive, uncontrollable dicing

Chiffonade: to cut a food into such fine pieces that, when they are cooked and added to a dish, no trace whatsoever of them can be found ("I DID put mushrooms in the rice, dear -- see right there?" "That's not a mushroom, it's a proton").

Hi-ya!: as a measure of last resort, to put away the knife and use one's hands to bring the food into submission

Cooking and Preparation Techniques

Refresh: a process whereby greens are rehydrated and reinvigorated by soaking them in a bowl of cold water, gentling massaging them, and offering them Perrier, soothing music, a place to put the feet up, etc. 

Saute: to cook foods at relatively high heat in a great deal of butter (roughly equivalent to 2 sticks). The butter not only adds essential oils but also completely camouflages the natural taste of the food, making this ideal for things like Brussels sprouts, cabbage, raw leather, etc.

Braise: to cook foods in a liquid at low heat for a long time, allowing you to focus on other parts of the dinner, such as watching Iron Chef

Coup d'état (often used with "to score a"): to fail so miserably at bringing together a nutritious, appealing, tasty meal that your spouse suggests going out to dinner instead. (After one has achieved coup d'état, one is considered to have graduated from cooking class -- forever.)

Congratulations! You now know as much as the Princess does about cooking. Possibly more.

Donuts on the loose

"Hey, get out of there!" I hissed. A box of 12-count Entenmann's donuts had appeared out of nowhere in my grocery cart. "What are you doing? You're not supposed to be here!"

"You don't like us?" they said, hurt.

"One of you, maybe. Not 12."

But they were not about to go back on the shelf. They were giddy to be in a cart, exploring the world outside Baked Goods.

This was going to be a dilemma.

"Oooo, where are we goin' first? We've never been anywhere else in the store!" they chorused.

"Shhhhh!" I said. "Keep it down in there. I don't want anyone to see you."

In the refrigerated section of the produce department, they let out a whoop. "Cider! Get some! We go good with cider." They started to chant:  "Ci-der! Ci-der!"

I grabbed the first thing I could.

"Heyyy!" they said when something big and dark crashed down on them. "Get that cabbage off us! We're gonna be smooshed."

"Good," I muttered. "Then I won't be tempted to eat you."

But there were 12 of them, and they couldn't be held down for long. Straining, they managed to roll the cabbage off them.

I pushed the cart through the produce department, trying to keep the donuts out of sight. But somehow, as I turned away to look at some apples, they reached out and grabbed a container of caramel sauce and pulled it into the cart. Full fat.

"Caramel sauce! For apples!" they said happily. "We go good with them. AND they're healthy."

"Ohhhhh, no," I said. "No. No. No. If we have to have caramel sauce, it's going to be fat-free."

While I was busy switching out the caramel sauces, I heard a small voice say, "Want donut." I turned to see a boy sitting in a nearby cart, staring at my box of donuts. 

The donuts were WAVING to him. 

"Mommm...WANT DONUT," he said more insistently to the woman with him. He pointed to my cart.

I hurriedly dumped a large bag of apples in the cart, on top of the donut box, but not before the mom spied it. With a horrified look on her face, she made to put some distance between her son and me, telling him, "We don't eat...things like that."

"Look at the trouble you're causing me!" I said to the donuts. "For goodness' sake, just be quiet!"

Not for long. "What does THAT say," they said, squinting at a sign by the coffee stand. "La-...lat-..."

I quickly turned the cart, but it was too late. "Latte!" they shouted in unison. "Donuts are PERFECT with lattes!"

Before the chanting could begin, I swung into the first open check-out lane. I had to get them out, fast.

"Oooo," they said, looking at the magazines. "Hot chocolate. We'd be yummy with THAT."

"Hey," said a package of marshmallows, abandoned on the shelf among the candy and magazines. It sounded vaguely sinister. "Hot chocolate is MY territory."

"Sorry," the donuts said.

The abandoned marshmallows gave me an idea...if no one was looking, I could just slip the donuts behind Real Simple. It was the holiday edition, several inches thick --

"Hey!" the donuts protested as I picked them up off the belt. "We gotta go back on the belt! We've been waitin' all day to ride the belt!"

I sighed and put the box back on the belt, along with the rest of my groceries. Idly gazing at the order of the woman in front of me, I saw whole oats. Lots of fruits and veggies. Organic orange juice. The donuts would NEVER have jumped into HER cart.

I leaned in closer to the cashier and said in a low voice, "I changed my mind on the donuts. I'm not going to take them."

"No problem," she said cheerily, and set them aside.

"Hey!" they protested. "We're supposed to go in the bag!"

I deliberately turned away from them -- it was easier not to hear their clamoring that way -- and paid my bill.

I snuck a peek at the donuts as I pushed my cart by them, but I was already forgotten. They were endeavoring to climb into the cart of a man in the next lane, while his back was turned.

I wished them luck.

Put up your dukes, chicken!

The bird in the oven should have been beautiful. It WAS beautiful in the magazine picture accompanying the recipe I was making. But recipe pictures, in my experience, bear little resemblance to actual, finished dishes as created in my kitchen. In the rare event that my version does turn out to look something like that shown with the recipe, I am strongly suspicious that something has gone wrong. 

Yet, those photos are seductive. Just follow these easy, 23-step instructions and you, too, will create a culinary masterpiece and be the envy of everyone. Yes, the envy of various wildlife outside my door, who gather in the hope that if they wait long enough I will toss a ruined meal their way.

But this recipe would be different, I could feel it. A whole chicken, stuffed with vegetables and onions, the encased in yummy homemade dough* and baked to golden perfection.

Perhaps because I had taken a shortcut on the dough**, I felt emboldened to take other liberties, such as refraining from tying the chicken's legs together. And since my dough was **, I used two sheets of ** pie crust dough to cover the chicken. It wasn't pretty, but I wasn't entering it in any contests.

About halfway through roasting, I peeked into the oven. I could see then why the recipe had specified tying the legs together with kitchen twine. They had burst through the dough and were now splayed, facing outward like two guns at the ready.

That was only the beginning. My attempt at joining the two sheets of dough together and creating a seam was evidently not sufficient. The entire bird had broken through its encasing of dough, transforming it into an Incredible Chicken Hulk. With the two legs sticking out like gun-like appendages, the menacing chicken was armed and ready to meet the enemy.

Too bad. It never had a chance against these two hungry humans.

____________

*That's what the recipe said, anyway. 

**Not homemade.

Halloween frights

According to news reports, police in England were called to a gentleman's home to let him know that, according to a neighbor, the Halloween decorations in his yard -- nicknamed Texas Chainsaw Massacre -- were "too scary"  and were "frightening neighborhood children." The surprised man said the display was "just a spot of fun," which proves that a) he had innocent intentions and b) he is definitely British.

But frightening things don't necessarily have to be in our front yards to haunt us this time of year; here are but a few examples that come to mind...

• Anticipating a mouthwatering slice of leftover apple pie, opening the refrigerator to find an EMPTY pie plate, and realizing the Pie Thief has gotten there before you.

• Running out of candy on Halloween just before several large teenagers, their costumes consisting entirely of black smudges beneath their eyes, demand treats at your front door.

• Dreaming that Black Friday is almost over and you've missed the best sales because your consumption of holiday turkey and mashed potatoes has rendered you comatose. 

• Dreaming that the Pie Thief has struck again.

• Waking up to find that he really has. AND that you really have missed Black Friday.

• Looking in the mirror in the morning, wondering why you have your Halloween mask on already, and then realizing you DON'T have your Halloween mask on already.

Luckily, it's all just a spot of fun.

_____________________

Q: How do British chickens cross the road?

A: According to this report, wearing reflective bibs.

Protect the pumpkins

Wanted: Safe, loving adoptive home for adorable pumpkins and gourds, considered by one current owner to be part of the family and by the other to be tolerated until Halloween, and then --

"Then we should eat them," the Hero said.

He strongly believes that objects should have a practical function, not a strictly aesthetic one, although clearly this belief does not extend to his ancient gum ball machine that adorns the family room. Were it functional, anyone who tried the gum balls in it would soon require emergency dental services.

So the adorable pumpkins and gourds we have displayed for fall must, in the end, be useful in some way. Preferably to us, not simply to the wildlife.

I have thought about giving them names, in the hopes that the Hero might see them as pets of sorts and be less inclined to want to consume them. But this will not necessarily save them. How many children growing up on farms have discovered this harsh life lesson?

Mother:  Don't go naming the pigs, now.

Children: Oooo, they're so cute! Let's name this one Chloe, and that one can be Hank.

Mother: DON'T name the pigs.

Children (months later): What are we having for supper, Mama? Hey, where are Chloe and Hank...?

Mother: I TOLD you not to name the pigs.

So that strategy has been shown to be ineffective around those who are determined to have your beloved pet, or pumpkin, on the menu. Besides, the Hero and I tend to bestow names even on squashes that we fully intend to consume, such as our recent butternut-spaghetti squash pair we affectionately dubbed Bert and Ernie.

One day Bert sat on the counter, waiting to be transformed into butternut squash soup.

"Run, Bert!" the Hero said. "Now's your only chance!"

But Bert serenely sat, knowing that he was fulfilling his unique destiny -- that for this moment he had been created. Plus he had been created without any feet, so running was pretty much out anyway.

Ernie still awaits his fate. He too seems serene, although every now and then I seem to catch a bar or two of "On Top of Spaghetti," and I wonder whether Ernie is trying to become like the errant meatball in the song, somehow getting enough momentum to rock and fall off his perch onto the floor -- and eventually roll out the door.

But for the decorative pumpkins and gourds, something drastic is necessary. Like maybe the Witness Protection Program.

3 bedrooms, 2 baths, concrete patch

Any homeowner, whether actively searching for a new home or not, is nevertheless inclined to keep a mental list of features he or she would like in a future home. For example, we live in an old house, and we occasionally remark that it might be nice to live somewhere in which some surface -- any surface -- in the house was level. It also would be nice -- here we know we are dreaming -- to be able to open windows without the use of heavy industrial equipment.

Quite by accident I have discovered an important feature of homes that most of us have likely overlooked. This came to my attention via a new cookbook, which is strictly about vegetables. In addition to recipes the book offers numerous helpful hints, such as "the best thing you can say about a rutabaga is that it is not a turnip." *

In the section on squash, the author acknowledges the difficulty of separating some types of very hard squashes from their skins and inside contents. Some, she warns, "require a cleaver (or an ax) to do the job." For the hardest of squashes, her solemn advice is: "Drop it on a concrete floor or paved driveway."

So here we have a vital piece of information for home-seekers. Obviously the home with a concrete surface offers a considerable advantage over one that does not, at least among those buyers who frequently attack large, unwieldy squashes and need a safe manner of doing so:

Female Buyer (looking at prospective new home): "Oh, Henry, it's PERRRRFECT...but there's no -- if only it had -- even a TINY section of concrete."

Henry (to agent): "I'm sorry, we couldn't think of taking it. Ha ha, you know how it is, with squashes and all..."

Having dispensed its advice, the cookbook does not address the issue of, once the squash is opened, how to scrape the contents off the concrete surface in a relatively hygienic manner. Presumably, once one is proficient at the cracking-open aspect, one knows exactly how much force to apply to pry open the squash but keep the contents intact (something like F = p x hy, where p = the smashing power of two arms held overhead and violently thrown in a downward motion, and hy = "hi-ya!").

An indoor patch of concrete will be particularly important if you are looking to purchase a home in a community with a homeowners' association, which is likely to frown on the use of HOA-owned driveways and streets for the destruction of dinner items. Search the HOA rule book to be sure; you will probably find an Article 3856217, which will state that "Under no circumstances are hard-surfaced Common Areas to be littered with the organic remains of Members' squashes..."

With any luck, however, they won't mention axes or cleavers.

_____

*Personally I think the best thing you can say about a rutabaga is..."rutabaga," because it's just fun to say.

If only he wanted a dog

The Hero enjoys reading and watching tales of people who have persevered through adversity and overcome their difficult circumstances, such as thinking the last vestige of ice cream in the house is gone, only to ferret out one last, freezer-burned mouthful in the carton in the bottom of the freezer.

These inspirational stories sometimes motivate him to make changes in his own life. After I told him about a story I read involving a young man who was paralyzed and his helper monkey, the Hero said thoughtfully, "I think WE should get a monkey."

It was not immediately clear whether one of us would have to be severely injured in order to obtain a monkey.

In a recent survey of Americans, respondents were asked various questions about pets. Of those who said they would like to own an exotic pet, most voted for a tiger or giraffe. 18% said they would like a dinosaur.*

No apparent effort was made by surveyors to ascertain whether respondents believed that dinosaurs are still alive and, therefore, possible candidates for petship. It seems logical to imagine that if they were alive, there would necessarily be rather extensive questionnaires to fill out before one could just be handed a dinosaur to take home:

1. Why do you want to own a dinosaur? Choose all that apply.

A. I want to help bring back a majestic species.

B. I want to set up my own Jurassic Park in the back yard. 

C. It's either that or a goldfish.

2. Where would you house a dinosaur?

A. In the back yard. 

B. In my neighbor's back yard.

C. I was thinking the basement.

D. In my mother-in-law's place.

3. What resources do you have that would enable you to properly care for a pet dinosaur, IF you were granted permission to own one?

A. Lots of trees on my property.

B. A neighbor with lots of trees.

C. A really, really big collar.

D. Five kids to give the dinosaur a bath every month.

4. Do you have any experience disciplining pets?

A. I have two Dobermans, four Rottweilers, a pit bull, and one leg.

B. My pet rock is pretty well behaved.

C. Those five kids I mentioned...

5. Of the names listed below, which would you be most likely to choose for your pet dinosaur, IF you were granted permission to own one?

A. Duke.

B. Methuselah.

C. Flopsy.

D. Anything but Dino. 

So, there could be more awkward pets than a monkey. I'll know it's time to worry if I see a really, really, big collar lying around our house.

*This was the same percentage, incidentally, who said they believe that the Loch Ness monster is real, although there is no evidence of any overlap between these two groups.

Can we just all stop efforting?

Dear Grammar Expert, 

Q: Please tell me that "efforting" is not a word.

A: Okay. "Efforting" is not a word.

Q: Then why do I keep reading and hearing it everywhere? As in "The government is efforting to solve the issue," "Rescuers are efforting supplies," "The candidate is efforting minority votes." And on TV newscasts, they're always saying, "So, Rob, can you tell us -- oop, we seem to have lost him. And now to the weather while we're efforting to get a visual on Rob."

A: Reporters and writers and newspeople and the government are efforting to cover up the fact of their lazying.

Q: They're too lazy to say "trying"?

A: Keep in mind that they also need to importance themselves while they are lazying.

Q: Dialoguing, journaling, efforting...even my spell check is going crazy! How can we stop this nonsense of making up words?

A:  Not to worry. We have a committee solutioning it right now. 

Please don't change the channel

After failing to get even the three network channels with our basic cable package, we decided something was possibly wrong, and the Hero called the cable company. The young man on the other end was very helpful, or would have been had we wanted one of the numerous upgrades he was earnestly trying to sell.

"No, I do NOT want the upgrade," the Hero said so many times that I thought he was a recording. "Not that one either. We just -- if we can't even get what we're supposed to be getting with the basic package, why would I upgrade to ANOTHER package?" 

Happily, the website showed us the simple solution we wanted, and it did not try to sell us anything for $100 more. We simply needed some sort of device, which would come in the mail along with -- surprise! -- yet another remote control. If our household consisted of 17 other individuals, we could all have our very own remote control.

But while waiting to have our rightful channels restored so that we would have access to greater amounts of entertainment, we spent an afternoon being far more entertained by three live children.

They are roughly 11, 12, and 14, the offspring of friends of ours, and they made us forget, for a while, that we had only two cable channels. We were all consuming ice cream together, which perhaps inevitably led to a discussion of food. Young persons of 11, 12, and 14 are highly fond of food.

The third was complaining that the first had consumed a great quantity of some food at home, which had then deprived the others of their fair share.

"He ate almost the whole thing!" she protested.

"He needs it!" the mother said in his defense. "He's a swimmer. He needs the energy."

"But I'm a ballerina. I need energy too!"

The swimmer pointed out gleefully that ballerinas are supposed to have "just a small salad for lunch." 

The ballerina rolled her eyes at this. The second wisely stayed out of things, lest he be told that softball players must subsist on bread and water.

This turned to a discussion of what the mother had craved during the three pregnancies, as the offspring tried to divine any sort of correlation between that and their present food preferences.

With the first, it was chips and salsa. The second, donuts ("I would eat two or three on the way home from Krispy Kreme. Then the rest of the box at home."). The third -- she couldn't remember what she craved with the third.

"No one EVER remembers anything about the last kid," the third said grumpily.

Except if the last kid came along, as the Hero and I did, long after the others, and then EVERYBODY remembers EVERYTHING about you. How you wanted to stay a little barbarian and refused to wear big girl pants. How you wore horribly mismatched clothes in kindergarten. Even, in one of our cases, the details surrounding one's conception.

Sometimes it is best if certain details remain unremembered and, more critically, unshared.

The topic turned to months, and calendars, and a small but intense discussion ensued between the second and third. Though they both conceded that the other had a calendar in their room, there was some disagreement over which of them USED a calendar more.

"I have a calendar. It's on my desk."

"Mine's on the wall."

"But you don't LOOK at your calendar."

"Proving what?"

"I actually USE my calendar!"

"This is better than watching TV," I said to the Hero. "Do we get this channel?"

"Live entertainment's always better," he said.

So, cable company, if that new device you're sending us doesn't work, be warned. We've potentially found something better than you.

Come again? Je ne comprends pas

Lately the Hero has developed an interest in learning French in the hopes of someday traveling somewhere he might use it, like in a local continuing education class.

So as he washes the dishes -- it is typically the Hero's lot to do the dishes at our house -- he listens to an audiobook on beginning French. Knives and forks are cleaned to the sounds of "bong-swahr" and "bong-zhoor."

"Mair-see. Thank you." 

"Eel nyah pah der kwah. You're welcome."

"Kohmmang tahlay voo?...Tray byang, mair-see. How are you? Very well, thanks."

"Would you slow down?!" he says in exasperation to the unseen, unhearing speaker. 

Then he discovers that he can slow the speed of the words down as they are spoken, so that "tray byang" becomes "trayyyyyy byyyyyangggg..."

I comprehend none of this, until I hear, "Non. Non. Non, Monsieur. Non. Non. Non. Non. Non."

This I judge to be an appropriate response to telemarketers, or perhaps someone selling something on the streets of Paris.

"I think you have that one down," I yell encouragingly.

Finally, with the dishes and his tutoring session done, he comes over to me at my computer.

"Mon uno cutio. Cuticus. Uh, cutioso," he says to me lovingly, looking at me like I should know what that means.

"Did you just call me a cute snail?" I ventured.

"Maybe," he says. "I was going for 'my cute one,' but I didn't learn cute yet. Does Mademoiselle like it when I speak French to her, yes?"

"Well, Mademoiselle is actually a Madame" --

"I always get those mixed up!" he says.

"But yes, as long as you don't call me a snail, I like it."

"Tray byang, Trayyyyyy byyyyyangggg..."

CSA week 3

On Saturday mornings we eagerly wait for 9:00, which is when we can go pick up our CSA order from the bakery down the street. This event engenders excitement akin to a child getting candy from a benevolent relative, or to adults getting free food from anyone. Neither of which is true in this case. Maybe we should get out more.

Last Saturday, since I was out of town seeing relatives, I had to miss this occasion. The Hero would have the privilege of picking up the food himself. As soon as I got up that morning -- two hours before the rendezvous could take place -- I texted him. 

"Remember our food pickup?" I said anxiously.

"Well, duh," he texted back. "I like food too."

Knowing I would be immobilized by curiosity about this week's food until I heard from him, once the food was safely home he laid it all out on the counter, and then thoughtfully videotaped it. There was a lovely shot of Arctic char, cheddar jack cheese, Arctic char, cheddar jack cheese...

The video stubbornly refused to move beyond this view. I could see the tantalizing leaves of ...something.

"What on far right?" he texted, indicating something he couldn't identify.

"?" I answered. "Only see fish cheese."

He described a vegetable that did not sound exactly like turnips, but because I knew turnips were on the list, I said, "Turnips?" 

The unknown vegetable turned out to be Swiss chard, which I figured out because it was also on the list and was a lot greener than the turnips, which I hadn't seen in the video.

If the CSA people really wanted to mess with us, it wouldn't be too hard. Just put "sunchoke" on the list, then sit back and watch us happily go about believing the kohlrabi to be sunchoke, because we have no idea what sunchoke looks like. Or even if it's edible. Or even if there's anything called sunchoke.

We are obsessed by food, you are thinking? I'll let you know as soon as  I figure out what to do with my sunchoke.

Today's math problem

From your CSA each week, you receive enough food to satisfy the entire population of the European Union. However, the net count of hungry people in your house, at any given time, is: 2. You resolve this issue by:

a) Looking in the back of a math book -- any math book -- for the answer

b) Mailing 10-pound packages of extra food anonymously to your out-of-town relatives, including some with the same last name who technically are NOT your relatives but COULD be 

c) Leaving little care packages amongst your neighbors' bushes

d) What issue? Bring on the food!

At least one CSA we know of has come up with a choice e). Customers get an extra tub along with their abundance of food. At the end of the week or a couple of weeks, you pile all the food you have not been able to consume and that has gone bad into this tub, and return it to the CSA for them to add to their compost heap.

This seems like a sound and wise solution. In reality, I'll bet they don't get much for their compost heap, because most consumers are probably eager to avoid this scene:

Customer (carrying tub filled with rotted tomatoes, wilted spinach, etc.): Uh, here's your food back...it's not quite in the same shape it was when YOU gave it to US...(mumbles an apology, then turns and flees)

Farmer: Wait! You forgot this week's basket!

We personally would probably pick choice a), mainly because we tend to approach ALL problems by putting forth as little effort as possible and in a manner guaranteed to not give a satisfactory outcome. Only problem is, I've checked all the Hero's math books, and the answer to this conundrum does not appear in ANY of them. Sigh. Just like in math class.

A veggie treasure hunt

Cooking at our house has taken on a new dimension since we joined a CSA-like program recently. Previous menu preparation involved extremely detailed planning of meals for the following week, and a strictly adhered-to shopping list based on those meals. Except, of course, if the Hero was along on the shopping trip, in which case nonapproved items appeared in the cart on a regular basis due to his belief that, "Hey, we need four pounds of bacon!"

Now we have the food BEFORE we know what we are going to do with it. Occasionally we don't even know what it all IS. But we figure that it is a mark of healthy eating to have a certain percentage of food in the refrigerator that is unfamiliar to you.

Possibly because we failed Kale 101 once before (having cheated by giving away some to neighbors), kale appeared, perversely, in our very first food basket. Coincidentally, my weekly cooking lesson called for making a tossed salad with: kale.

The Hero was horrified upon hearing that we would be eating the kale raw.

"You're not going to cook it?" he said, as if facing the prospect of eating raw duck. 

"Don't worry," I said confidently. "I'm going to massage it first."

Now he was worried.

Rubbed with oil, tossed with other salad ingredients and some additional oil and vinegar, it was actually pretty good. We still had half a bunch of kale left.

"The rest is yours," I said. "You can come up with something to do with it."

"I'm not going to massage it," he announced. "Maybe we should cook this batch."

With so many vegetables, we decided to keep a list on the outside of fridge of things we need to use up. We did this because we like lists. Lists give us a sense of accomplishment. Plus, the Hero, like many men, can open the refrigerator and divine that there are NO leeks anywhere inside, despite having looked for only 0.3 seconds, and despite there being several large leeks right at eye level. Lists help reduce this behavior, although they do not entirely eliminate it ("The list says we have three zucchini." "Well, then, we have three zucchini." "But I don't see --" "Don't make me come over there and find them." etc.). 

The Hero was very taken with this list idea, and announced that he had made additional categories in addition to the original vegetables. "See? Now we have Fruit, Beverages, Dairy, Miscellaneous...We can keep track of EVERYTHING we have left."

"Or," I said, "we COULD just open the fridge door and SEE what we have left."

But the list is more fun. And we can't wait to cross kale off the list.

Welcome back, students! Oh, and help us set a record

Nothing against the University of Massachusetts, but I'm not disappointed that I don't go there. A fond welcome-back tradition in the fall is for several hundred people to get together and construct some type of healthy, communal dish, specifically, a dish that weighs in the neighborhood of 15,000 pounds. This is all in the very noble, educational effort of making it into the Guinness book of world records. 

Which would be fine, except this year the dish was a fruit salad. In my mind this sets a bad precedent: No one I know goes to college to eat in a healthy manner. What kind of welcome-back is that? Were the tradition to involve, say, a 15,000-pound ice cream sundae, with a couple of tons of toppings and maybe 500 spoons; or 7 1/2 tons of pizza with thick, chewy crust -- yes. I could certainly get behind THOSE efforts. But 7 1/2 tons of apples, plums, etc. -- no, thank you. 

This is not what our great colleges and universities have been founded upon. What would the Founding Fathers (Ben and Jerry) say to this?*

The fruit salad, which did indeed earn a place in the esteemed record book, was constructed in a 15-foot swimming pool. The pool likely was donated by a retired couple, or at least the husband portion of a retired couple, who believed they no longer had any use for it, and who was probably admonished by his wife for "giving away a perfectly good salad bowl," and now what would she use to take to the Fowlers' picnic?

For next year, I urge the university to put that bowl to a better use and consider constructing a different type of food -- some excellent choices have already been mentioned in this post. I bet they'd get a LOT more than 500 people to help put it together. And also to take it apart.

_____

*Probably "We want Chunky Monkey!"