Just A Mash

Mashed potatoes and I have a strange relationship.  okay to be fair, it may not be that the potatoes have a relationship with me.  I mean they’ve been cooked to death, squashed until they’re piles of mashed potato min do on a plate.  I really don’t think they are up for a relationship, certainly not with me.  I, on the other hand, do have a relationship with them.

I suppose I enjoyed them enough as a young child.  I mean who doesn’t love food you can play with and sculpt into whatever your heart desires?  But as I got older I lost the simple pleasures of this.  And somewhere along the line, in my life anyway, bad news began to be equated with mashed potatoes.

I know what you are thinking, no way that’s possible.  But for a stretch in my life, it seemed every time I was given bad news, like hey you have lupus, the meal I was having had mashed potatoes.  Frankly it got weird.  I mean I saw them being prepared or on my plate and I’d start to feel anxious.

This wouldn’t be an issue, except Beloved holds the potato sacred. He believes eating it in a variety of forms is a way of honouring the humble and powerful potato.  Yes this includes being mashed.  Especially mashed because evidently he is still into sculpting his meal.

While I can’t place my finger on things, I’ve had a feeling all day that something was going a bit wonky.  Naturally when I see potatoes, in the mashed variety, upon the plate Beloved is carrying, I assume the worst.  Such as his cancer is back.  Or he has heart problems.  Wait, maybe he’s leaving me, hey there is only so much one man can out up with.

So I waited.  And I watched he started to use his fork to make whimsical designs in the potato.  Still I waited as he started to eat.  Eat the mashed potato as if it was nothing.  How could he miss the omen on the plates, and in his mouth?  Finally, after giving me a strange look, he out his fork down, reached across the table and said “what’s got you thinking so hard”.

I pointed, unable to speak because surely this is where the bad news comes.  He sighed, smiled gently and said, “I had to use them up before they went off and I love a good mash now and then.  If you won’t be eating yours, I will have them.”  And that was it.  Extra mashed potatoes for him and a strange sense of what just happened for me.


Different Dance With The Same Steps

Beloved works odd hours.  Mostly because he works more than one job.  These odd hours leads to some interesting obstacles when it comes to meal planning, not to mention other logistics.

We try to do mass cooking when he’s around.  And by we I mean him.  He tries to sort out several meals that can keep for a few days.  He also tries to “repurpose” meat etc. so he can make multiple meals after.  As for me, I tend to pass judgment on what he is planning.  (In fairness, he is the better cook out of the two of us and he’s not a fan of my creations for the most part.)

The problem with this approach is finding storage room for everything.  And once we get past that hurdle, the next big hurdle he faces is actually eating the food days later.  Because what sounded delicious on Sunday is totally not what he wants on Tuesday.  So he kind of hastily eats it on Tuesday and then lists after something more tasteful that day.

Enter a quick stop for more than coffee, such as a package of nuts or cake if the mood strikes.  And sometimes, if the disappointment was large enough, it becomes a package of nuts and cake.  Or maybe two pieces of cake. At which point he arrives home between occupations and bemoans his food choice.

And around and around we go with this.  I’m not much better in that I tend to not be a fan of leftovers.  So this means he is stuck with his food that seemed brilliant only days before.  But each week we do this same dance.  And each week he swears it will be different.

Not That Unusual

While slicing some lemon today, a small slice hit the floor. Nothing major. Except the four-footed one was faster to reach it, thankfully there was no peel or pith on it. I was pretty sure she’d spit it out after she put it in her mouth, but nope. She ate it. And looked up waiting for more.

Some dogs are like that…they shouldn’t like certain things, it’s not their normal taste, but some of them defy the rules. The four-footed one is a girl to defy the rules. From consuming citrus to insisting on being carried, she never ceases to go against the rules.

It could just be because she doesn’t see herself as a dog. She believes she is a human, or at least does things like a human. From sleeping in a bed to sitting in a chair to not enjoying other dogs. Is that my doing or is that her nature? Sometimes I wonder if I have had that big of an impact upon her. Other times I wonder if she is just naturally prone to mimicking what she sees around her, which for the most part is myself and other people. And then again, maybe, just maybe, she is a bit weird.

Smell That

The smell of something delicious, if you happen to be the four-footed one, can be found in a multitude of places.  From mud found in the garden all the way to up to the neighbor’s tree all house see tantalizing aromas.  Thick, tall grasses seem to hide special orders that can not be resisted despite what your human may say.

For me delicious aromas tend to come from certain places, like the kitchen or a bakery.  Restaurants may tempt me the same as certain stores.  But the neighbor’s tree has never offered me anything that smells delicious.  And no matter what may be in the tall grasses, I’m okay not seeking out a tasty morsel from there.

Sure my attitude probably has me missing out on some things, but I’m okay with that,  the same as I’m okay not eating bugs, at least not deliberately eating them.  And I don’t care if the bugs taste like chicken or chocolate, I am okay on missing out if it’s a deliberate  choice.

So when a friend invited us out to a new place to eat, one that served things like meal worm pizzas and cricket poppers, we did not hesitate. Nope not for me second.  We politely declined.  Because we, after all, are not like the four-footed one.  And yes we know it’s a good source of protein, but we aren’t at the place yet where we can consider consumption of the bugs as an every day occurrence.  And yes I know I eat bug parts every day, but it’s hidden from me.  I’m okay with that. Because delicious aromas aren’t found up trees or in the grass, not for me.

The Sweet And The Sour, or Eating Sunshine

I love citrus.  I mean really love citrus.  It completes my water infusions, it adds brightness to my meals and us twins me as a snack.  I cannot get enough of citrus fruits. Basically I need a citrus orchard to go along with my peach orchard, which by the way I dont really own yet.  The thing is citrus just doesn’t love me back the same way.

Citrus is like one of those people we al have in our lives.  You know the people that might be fun, but ultimately aren’t that good for us?  Yeah citrus is basically like that for me.  I know this for a fact because after over consuming citrus (I mean when you love this stuff that’s just a natural thing to do) I now have sores in my mouth.

And just like that person who ultimately isn’t that good but we can’t remove completely from our lives, I vow to never do this again while I already know it will happen again.

Sure I could aim for moderation, but that doesn’t work.  Nor does quitting cold turkey.  I just can’t let citrus go even as it wounds me.  I wonder if there is any support groups for those of us addicted to citrus…the sweet and the sour.

It’s A Protest, Doggie Style

The four-footed one decided to stage her own form of protest against the injustice of an empty dog food dish. It wasn’t that she wasn’t fed, she had been fed less than an hour prior to the protest. As far as protests go, it was small both in venue and participants. As far as impact goes, sure it’s small and not going to reshape civilization or shake the world; however, it sure got my attention.

And no she did not get more food added to her bowl. She got listened to, and then moved when it became apparent she was digging her feet in. Literally digging them into the floor as she refused to move. Thankfully I can pick her up easily enough and relocate her to another place in the house. (Not without further protest on her part of course.)

Was I wrong to simply step in and assert my physical presence? Perhaps, but she was barking loudly for more food when she had been fed. I knew she wasn’t hungry. She just wanted more because a freshly opened bag of dog food, to her at least, is like heaven. And if I let her, she’d try to eat the whole bag all at once. Which wouldn’t be healthy. And I didn’t want to clean up the end result of consuming a large bag of food.

But I do applaud her for knowing her own mind and not being afraid to let me know what she was thinking. I love these traits in others and thrive on them in my person approach, however I seem to have an issue in embracing them in the four-footed one. And that’s not fair.

Nourishing The Soul

Lovely smells wafted in from the kitchen, a mixture of savoury and sweet.  Tempting me to at least consider trying to eat regardless of what the consequences would be.  This isn’t the first time a lovely person has created magic in my kitchen.  Magic that meted me to at least taste the creations.

This time the lovely personwas Beloved and he created everything from tasty salad creations to soup and a simple, light entrée.  Consuming even just a little bit of any one of the creations would put a huge smile on his face.  But just in case none of those would tempt me he made a simple oatmeal.

I suspect he would have made me anything if it meant getting some nourishment into my body.  He isn’t a huge fan of living off smoothies or smoothie bowls, but some days that’s all I can manage or want.

But today I sampled some of his soup and a few mouthfuls of salad before retreating to rest in a comfortable chair again.  And as I sat down I again gave thanks for all the amazing people in my life.  Especially those like Beloved who ignore my mood being down while lupus is on the uptick.