Squash. Patty Pan squash. I saw it in my health food store the other day and snapped it up. Because I love it. My granny used to buy it at Iverson's Farm in Michigan. She went to Iverson's every day and bought fresh vegetables and we'd have them for dinner. I have to go on about Iverson's Farm someday, but tonight is Patty's night. I thought Patty Pan squash was the best. The only thing is, we didn't call it Patty Pan. It's the little pale green round squash, like a flying saucer with scalloped edges. I thought we called it flower squash, but I'm not sure about that. Anyone? Googling and my cookbooks are not helping me out here. I'm really surprised at Google. Now, with Webster, nothing surprises me, but Google? I KNOW we didn't call it Patty Pan. I know that as sure as I know Gloaming is dusk. I've never even heard of Patty Pan.

Well, so I wanted to cook it today and I set to work cutting off the "bad" spots. I'm not one to leave a bad spot hanging around (also another blog subject for another day). As I went along removing some of the skin, I noticed that the squash felt slimy. I think I've felt yellow crookneck squash to be similarly slimy, so I shrugged it off. After the squash was in the pan, I proceeded to wash my slimy, sticky hands. I used plenty of soap and water but I kept feeling a grainy residue. I washed again and it was still there. So, I examined my hands. Guess what the residue was? My skin. It had rolled and balled. That's right, sweet little, innocent little Patty Pan stripped a layer of skin right off my hand, the hand that held the squash. Completely. Wow, how 'bout them 'taters . . I mean Patties? I had nice, new, shiny skin on my hand. I thought I should hold a skinned Patty in my other hand, the hand that held the knife, so as the hands would match. Then I got to thinking, I wonder if I should rub a slice of Patty Pan on my face for a very cheap, very easy, very effective exfoliation? But I figured with my luck the squash slime would run into my eyes and I'd end up in ER, blind. That has happened to me before, ending up in ER. I was cutting a sweet pepper, the little pale green number that's good in scrambled eggs. Maybe it was the Banana pepper, a mild one. But it wasn't a mild, sweet, delightful Banana pepper. It was really a jalapeno pepper, a hot, stinging, hateful jalapeno pepper. It just so happened that I lived in NC at the time, where the temperatures can be cold. When it got cold, my hands used to get dry and cracked. So, I found out just how cracked. The jalapeno juice ran into all my little microscopic cracks in my hands, hundreds of them, and SET THEM ON FIRE. BURNING UP FIRE. So, I had to go to the ER and sit there for five hours with hands o' fire. Won't be making that mistake again. I just noticed a common denominator, the color pale green. I must be allergic to pale green vegetable. Wonder how come Patty and Jalapeno don't strip our stomach lining. Guess they mix with something along the way that tones them down. Good thing, since I ate a bucket of Patty, half a bucket before choir practice, 1/2 a bucket after.

I'll go crazy if I can't think of the name my granny called that squash. But cooking it in the fall air did make my house smell like granny's Michigan house, so that was the consolation prize, besides how good it tasted AND brand new skin.

Today is not a typical Florida day. The air is crisp, cool, dry, light and clear. I could have stayed in bed ALL day, instead of only 3/4 of the day. One of those perfect, cozy feelings, never wanted it to go away.

DTD has signed a lease on the glamorous apartment. But the electricity is not turned on yet. So she was forced to spend the night at our house, last night and tonight. Last night after she was in bed, I poked my head in her door and said, How does it feel to be back in your old room? Fine. Did you brush your teeth? Mom, that is weird. Well, I guess I got carried away. After all, she has been in her own apartment for 9 months, and I've never yet called at 10:00 PM to ask her if she's brushed her teeth yet. I have asked if she flosses, though. But not a special phone call, just in person. We drive each other bats. But it's fun to have her here, just like old times. And tonight I managed to mind my own business. That was easy because tonight she brought her toothbrush with her and I heard it go "clink" in the toothbrush holder. But I didn't check to see if it was wet. Progress.

I'm excited. Tomorrow DTD and I are going to IKEA. IKEA is the last place on earth I want to go to again, once was more than enough, trust me. BUT, DTD has a larger apartment now and a couch and kitchen table are on the shopping list. Maybe a rug, too. I'm allowed to accompany her as long as I don't speak unless I'm spoken to. This started because moving makes me nervous. As my friend told me, Three moves is as good as a fire. Truer than true. I just can't afford to get involved with DTD'S activities, my nerves can't handle it. I was grilling her on how she should protect her mattress with a plastic cover. Eye roll. I mean, I saw to it when she moved out, I packed all her breakables just so, wrapped the mattress. But now she's moving again, and I just have to let go. Even though she has the world's most comfortable mattress in the world and it deserves to be coddled. Then, since I was getting nowhere with the mattress, I switched gears. I said, I can come help you pack your things. Mom, I can do it, she says, you just don't think I can do it. Yes, I know you can do it fine. Mom, I already did. So, I get nowhere fast, I give up.

Mike read my blog. He tells me, I didn't say gloaming WAS mist, I said, The mist was IN the gloaming. Well, that may be what the song says, but it is distinctly NOT what Mike said. He said, as you know, Gloaming is mist or fog. He's trying to tell me that I hear things differently than what he actually says. OH, BROTHER. Nice try.

This cool fall air is making me sleepy. It's so refreshing. I have no idea how Floridians survive the H & H, Heat and Humidity. No wonder I have no stamina. Living in a cool, crisp state would be like getting an injection of stamina.

KEM the KWIRK