Potatoes, onions, and books—an odd combination
Feeling mellow and contenttonight, after a nice (and easy) supper, a good visit with Jean and Jordan. It’sbeen a lazy day. In fact, it’s been a lazy week. I read an article this morningentitled, “Ten Things You Can Do Around the House to Avoid Writing,” and I thoughtI didn’t even need that article. I’d been procrastinating nicely on my own. The article made me think of Erma Bombeck (remember her?) whofamously said when she rolled a blank sheet of paper into her typewriter, she’drather go mop floors than write. This article suggested making an elaborate recipe—Idid that tonight with--wait for it--marinated kale. More about that another time. Or folding laundry—I don’t do that so much. Walk your dog ispretty much out for me since I need the walker—I doubt Sophie would like that.Erma’s classic mop the floors is there, along with taking a nap. Now there’s adistraction I can agree with.
I do have a complaint though.Has anyone else noticed with dismay how big onions and potatoes are these days?Onions, even my beloved sweet onions, as big as a baseball. And the last coupleI’ve tried to slice or dice are hard a rock. And potatoes five or six incheslong. I tried to bake one for my supper last night. Used the British method andbaked it at 200 for two hours—did not faze that potato. I tried to split it,fluff to let the steam out, as the British do, and I could not begin to splitit. I upped the temperature and put it back twice, until it was nearly eight o’clock,and I was hungry. I could cut it, but it sure wasn’t fluffy and tender like youwant your baked potato. What I had for dinner was essentially toppings—sour cream,bacon, green onion, grated cheddar with an occasional bit of potato thrown in.Delicious, but not substantial and probably not very good for you. I was sodesperate to eat that my final trick was to try to bake just half the potato—didn’thelp at all. I told myself I’d bake the other half for lunch today, but I was sodisgusted I threw it out.
One problem is that ofnecessity I order most of my groceries delivered. I try to add a note that say,“Smallest onion you can, please—none of those humongous ones,” but it rarelydoes any good. It’s just not the same as picking out your groceries yourself. Itry if the timing is right to ask Jordan to get them on her occasional groceryruns. But I think someone—farmers, grocers, whoever—has gotten carried awaywith the idea that bigger is better.
While I’m whining, here’sanother complaint. I love seeing on the computer pictures of classic libraries.Some are old, with intricate railings around tiers and tiers of shelves, andyou can almost smell the books when you look at the picture. Other picturesshow elaborate home libraries, still tall with many tiers and a moveable ladderto get to the top ones. I hereby declare that much as I love books and reading,I do not want any book badly enough to climb one of those shaky ladders to getto it. I also love old things and ways as opposed to modern days witheverything machine and computer driven, but I’ll make an exception forlibraries, even ancient ones. Surely someone could devise an automated systemthat would deliver those books to you. It’s one instance where I’d exchange abit of the picturesque for practicality.
I admit to a lifelong fear ofheight—acrophobia. I read somewhere that people with a fear of height alwayswant something to hold on to. That wouldn’t do it for me. I wouldn’t climb aladder to the fifth tier of books, even though I could hold on to the ladder.Jean lives on the seventeenth floor of Trinity Terrace, and when I’m at herapartment I stay clear the other end of the room from the balcony, just in casesome magnetic force would pull me out to that open space. Friends Subie andPhil live on the third floor, and I’m much more comfortable there. I’ve oftenthought I wouldn’t sleep comfortably on the seventeenth floor, but then Iremember I have slept on floors that high or more in hotels. That’s another story,but I won’t go into it—a funny story about staying in a Hyatt with babies whocould climb. Suffice to say I like my feet—and my bed—firmly planted on theground.
On that note I’m going toretire to my comfortable bed in my comfortable cottage where I can open thedoor and let my dog out on good, green earth. A tree man was here the otherday, seeing what our trees need (don’t even ask!) but when he came into thecottage to report on what he’d seen, he looked around and said, “I really likeyour set-up here.” So do I. I thank the Lord every day for my cottage and mycomfortable life—and then I feel a bit guilty about all those throughout theworld who are living in horrendous conditions. Let us all pray for peace—in Ukraine,in Gaza, at our southern border, in many African nations where there isturmoil. Throughout the world.
