Posted tagged ‘turnip’

“Air, I should explain, becomes wind when it is agitated.”

March 2, 2018

The tops of trees bend down left and right. I’ll be surprised if I don’t see branches lying in the yard. The rain pours. Nearer the coast the houses are being battered, and the roads are flooding. Some are closed. The risk of losing electricity is high. I am drawn to the windows to watch the trees and the sheets of rain. The storm is fascinating.

Sometimes I’d go to the beach when the winds were especially high. I’d stand with my arms out and let the wind take me. It was exhilarating. Later today the wind could get around 76 MPH. The tides are historically high. The waves are twenty to thirty feet. There are two more high tides with the dangerous one around midnight. I’d like to be there, at the beach, but I know with my history a tree would fall on me or my car or both.

Last night I got ready for Peapod, but the truck never came. I checked my e-mail, and delivery is scheduled for today. Last night’s supper was dependent on groceries so I had to punt. I had bought Eastham turnip already peeled and cut. I cooked it. It was delicious, almost sweet. The only drawback is turnip smells gross to me when it is cooking. It is like cabbage in that respect.

I slept in this morning which surprised me as I had gone to sleep early for me, around midnight. I had finished my book and was sorry I hadn’t brought up the next book in the series, the last one I have. I could have gone back down the stairs to get the book, but I turned out the light instead.

My arm still hurts. I have to type with my laptop actually on my lap and my arm resting on the arm of the couch. If the laptop is on the table, the angle is wrong, and my arm hurts almost immediately. I still have 5 or 6 weeks to go.

Today is a stay inside and just take it easy day. I do need to change my bed, but I’m not looking forward to doing that almost one handedly, maybe tomorrow, maybe not.

I’m going to start my book. I’m going to put my feet up and get comfortable. I’m going to eat some chocolate. I think it will be a wonderful day.


“Springtime is the land awakening. The March winds are the morning yawn.”

March 18, 2016

Spring arrives this Sunday. I have this visual of winter packing its duffle bag while spring is unpacking its flowered tote. Spring, being experienced in the passing of the baton, will have packed a few sweaters and maybe a pair of bright yellow galoshes.

According to the weatherman, parts of the state will get snow on Sunday. I think it is just so wrong no matter how you look at it. If I were in charge, I’d make a law which prohibits snow once winter has skulked away. Luckily, we here on the cape will get mostly rain.

The sky is ominous in some spots right now. The weatherman has predicted afternoon showers. Gracie has her well dog visit to the vets this afternoon, and we’ll also go to the dump. That’s the spoonful of sugar.

St. Patrick’s Day was wonderful. Dinner was perfect. Everything was cooked just right. The meat was tender and delicious as were the vegetables. I love cabbage, but I don’t understand why. Its strange smell when it’s cooking seems to hang around far too long. I’m guessing one of the reasons I like it is I was an adult before I tried it for the first time so I brought no childhood food nightmares with me to the tasting.

When I was a kid, there were certain foods I hated. Beans, as you know, is one of them. Peaches have fur I can’t get passed though even if I could, I don’t like the taste. Over time I do keep trying the foods I wouldn’t eat. I came to love turnip. As for beans, no matter how many times I try beans of different varieties I still don’t like them. The only bean I’ll tolerate, actually the only bean I like, is green beans in that wonderful casserole which has been around for millennia. I grew into liking carrots by themselves instead of eating them mashed and mingled with potatoes the way my mother served them to us. Actually duped, not served, is the better verb here. My mother was being very clever and quite sly. It took a while before I realized potatoes didn’t turn orangey when cooked.

“Strict punctuality is perhaps the cheapest virtue which can give force to an otherwise utterly insignificant character.”

March 16, 2015

Yesterday Boston broke the record for most snow ever in a winter. There were no celebrations, no sparklers or fireworks, just groaning and complaining. Snow stopped being pretty about 13 or 14 inches ago. It snowed here as well, and the night was cold with a howling wind. I was lying in bed listening and thinking in black and white about Dracula or the Wolfman.

The morning was busy starting with the dentist at ten. It was an interesting experience. First I had a different hygienist then came the coup de foudre. The new hygienist’s chair was heated and had three different massage settings. It was wonderful. My back felt better and my teeth were whiter.

I also stopped in a couple of other places for St. Patrick’s Day stuff, and I wanted to check to see if the store had cut up turnip. They did not but did cut it for me. Now I just have to skin it. Tomorrow will be the rest of the shopping.

I went to St. Patrick’s Grammar School so we always had March 17th as a holiday. The public schools in my town didn’t have the day off, but those in Suffolk County which included Boston did. It was for Evacuation Day which celebrates the date when the British troops evacuated Boston during the American Revolutionary War. Nobody really calls it that. They all call it St. Patrick’s Day.

When I was a kid, I walked everywhere and was never late. In winter I got to school in the morning with enough time to freeze while waiting in the school yard for the bell. At the movies I ended up eating half my candy before the cartoon even started. In high school I’d wait for the bus, and if it was raining, my hair and shoes always got soaked. I used to tell my students that punctuality is the sign of a civilized society. They were never impressed.

I don’t like waiting for people who are late. It seems as if they don’t care about keeping me waiting. They always have an excuse.

If I’m alone and not expected anywhere, time doesn’t matter. I move at my own pace. The day is broken into activities, not hours. I don’t even wear a watch.