Black Dots Dotting Brussels Sprouts

Hello. I'm still working on a roll of plastic wrap that I bought on vacation in June. The brand is Laura Lynn. Hmmm. That sounds familiar. As in my sister, Laura Linn. This brand needs a companion product, maybe called Kathy Linn. It says 200 sq. ft. on the package but in reality it seems like miles and miles of plastic wrap. I'm not complaining. This is good. I use it multiple times a day and it just never goes away. Like the poor woman in the Old Testament whose oil never went away, the pot always had some more oil, no matter how many times she used the last drop. It would be nice if all supplies behaved like that, I'm musing, the bottomless pits.

I am in the business of demoting. I demote what once were good clothes, like my tye-dyed-courtesy-of-Bar-Keepers-Friend-shirt, to stay-in-the-house or exercise clothes. Or work in the yard clothes, 'cept I never work in the yard. But I should. Then I demote food. Well, I try not to go there, what with my three day rule, but if bread seems stale, I guess you can make French toast out of it. But French toast hardly sounds like a demotion even though the directions SAY to use stale break. Okay, this one is tricky. But you know how food tippers say if something is less than prime, you can mutilate it in the blender and make soup out of it, then who will know the dif? I will, that's who. Or cook blemished berries into a syrup. Naw, I don't think so. Hardly appeals.

Okay, so I definitely demote rags. Old kitchen washrags and towels, when stained silly, become rags to mop floors or dust furniture. It has to be down to two criss-crossed threads before I'll throw a stinkin' lousy rag out. This is really bad. I'm the type who won't wear new clothes. I might wreck them or wear them out or something. My sister is the opposite type, she can't wait to wear something new, she'll wear it home from the store. So . . . what disorder do I have that makes me behave in this peculiar fashion? It's VERY hard for me to throw anything out. It all goes in the Goodwill pile, as I've mentioned before. I got a kick out of something that happened on vacation (see above). My friend gave me a book to read. The main character thought and did so many of the things I think and do that I thought I WAS the main character (MC). It was really weird. For instance, the MC'S daughter has the same eye roll thing going, reserved exclusively for her mother, that DTD has for me. When the daughter gave her mother some sample lipstick from her job as a beauty editor, it was the wrong shade so the daughter told her mother, MC, to throw it out. MC said, I'll give it to Goodwill. Well, my sentiments exactly. Daughter rolls eyes and says, Goodwill doesn't want your USED lipstick. And I'm thinking, Why not? It's perfectly good. Not a doubt in this world I put new things like that in the give away pile. How can anyone say one little bare use is USED? Well, anyway, the book is Home Safe by Elizabeth Berg.

I just don't get it. I knew a lady who once a month went through her ENTIRE HOUSE and threw out anything the family hadn't used during that month (minus seasonal decorations or fancy dishes and clothes, I would presume). She admitted that she went overboard, but hoo boy, I kinda wish I had her guts, to be indelicate. Then I just read that this male decorator does the same thing. He says if you don't keep up with things then your house will go to pot. Well, he said something like that. Wow, I'm inspired. For instance, I have a box full of buttons, hundreds of them, that I can't quite bring myself to give the old heave-ho. Why is this? I've used one button in the last 11 years. Surely I would never miss them . . . until I needed a button the very next day after I threw them out. Guess I could check out the Reader Exchange in the newspaper. I'll bet there is a button collector out yonder who would be hysterical to have another box of buttons. In fact, there are probably LOTS of button collectors drooling for a fresh box of buttons. At any rate, I must need Electric Brain Shock or something. Everything is too hard for me.

Once when I took DTD to visit her great aunt and uncle on the Jersey shore, I was helping make dinner. I got to do the salad. First off, it takes me FOREVER to examine each bit of lettuce, to make sure there is NO brown on it, none whatsoever. My sister has said I would last 30 seconds in a commercial kitchen. So, I got all the brown off and I asked DTD'S aunt, Do you have a salad spinner? The uncle was sitting at the kitchen table watching the whole scene. He became exasperated and blurted out, GOOD GRIEF!, you make the BIGGEST DEAL OUT OF EVERYTHING. That didn't hurt my feelings because it's true, I do make the biggest deal out of everything. They didn't have a salad spinner. I dried my perfectly green lettuce by hand, spinning it outside in a dishcloth, you know, winging it in circles over my head by arm and letting all the water droplets fly.

Everyone makes fun of me for studying my food. One time my sister and I went out to lunch. I got salad. I had to look it over. DTD says, Mom, why do order salad, how can you possibly enjoy it? Good point, DTD. Anyway, my sister was laughing and making fun of my oddity, having a high old time, when I found a little worm curled up in a lettuce leaf. I pierced it with my fork and brandished it for all the world to see. She thought the fact that I found a worm tucked in my salad was even funnier than looking for a worm. Once I found a dead fly in my salad. I suppose the general population is operating under the notion ignorance is bliss. Good for the general population, who has more hours in their day than I. (Not sure that was grammatically correct.) No one knows where I got this super inspection trait. Someone in my family, though, is the type to plant himself by the driveway so he can study the situation as you pull up, scanning the car body to see if you acquired a new ding in the last half hour.

I have never understood the advantage of eating creepy brown lettuce. Or not digging out the bad black spots in potatoes. The normal person, when making mashed potatoes, probably goes, Well, I'll take out the worst spots, but who is ever going to know if a few little icky spots get mashed in, I mean it will all be so mashed and well-distributed. No, a normal person probably doesn't entertain a thought process that even comes close to that. They just peel, boil and mash in 15 minutes flat. Once at Thanksgiving I was making creamed Brussels sprouts. That was the only dish for which I was responsible. I sat there FOREVER (two hours?) peeling the outer layers off the sprouts, one by one, because I had to make enough for a table of 10 even though probably only one person was going to eat them . . . me. You wanna know why I fanatically peeled off the layers? Because they had little black dots on them. Black dots seem to enjoy the cabbage family. If you look closely, sometimes you can see tiny black spots on cabbage leaves and broccoli stems, all the way up to the flower buds. Ewww! What are they? Something peculiar to the cabbage family? Mold? Little stationary animals? Whatever they are, they ain't purty and I ain't gonna eat 'em. The hostess at this dinner was getting annoyed it could take me THAT LONG to fix a side dish. It really is unbelievable. But I can tell you one thing, when you eat my food, it is not disguised. It is PURE and DOT FREE. Which makes me wonder how carefully giant processed food companies study their food before it splashes into the vat. I have a feeling they aren't handling every individual Brussels sprout. My only hope is that the food they use is harvested straight from the farm outside their factory door to the conveyor belt. Maybe super fresh food doesn't have time to grow black dots. I have been meaning to ASK MARILYN about these dots. Recently she was asked why she doesn't write for some science journal instead of Parade Magazine. She said, Have you seen the questions? All the smart people are reading the ASK MARILYN column. Yep, that's what she said. I wonder if my black dot question would lower the curve, as in killing it.

Okay, the roofer starts in the morning. He drives in from a town a good ways north. I asked Mike, What time is he getting here? Mike says, 7:00 AM. 7:00 AM?*!*?*!*?*!*? What is WITH PEOPLE?? How can this be a good week? I'm just going to bed at 7 AM. How can I sleep with men stomping around overhead, ripping off my roof?? And nailing a new one down? Hmmm. I might ask my friend who bragged about her mattress if I can come over and take naps. They're all gone during the day, but they have barky dogs. No, that probably won't work. Well, I'm looking at the glass half empty. Instead, I need to practice saying, By the end of the week I will be as sleep-deprived as is humanly possible and still be partially alive, but I will have a beautiful new roof. PLUS, the weatherman, if you can believe him, is calling for cooler weather and no rain this week. An answer to prayer, if it happens. FOR ONCE, let's hope the esteemed weather man is RIGHT ON! I always tell Mike he missed his calling in life, he is infatuated with the weather channel.

Please, don't start looking for black dots on your broccoli and cabbage. Don't worry about gray ground beef. Brown is beautiful, just ask any old banana. I got someone hooked on loose hair. I am a bad person.

Oh, my friend turns 100 tomorrow!

Just KEM