Allergy Season

My body has got to the point where is either drips, hurts, aches, blurs, limps, itches, twinges, spasms, cramps, cricks, throbs, creaks, smarts, chafes, twitches, stumbles, sags, lurches, grows in where it shouldn't (toenails) or out where it shouldn't (whiskers), and that's not to mention all the unmentionables. Flatulence any one?

My friend Carol said she quit smoking 114 pounds ago.
I quit smoking 6 pounds ago.

I talked to Jean and Janice, they both seem dandy.

How goes it with Mr Mark Harris? Does he hurt, ache, twitch, limp, creak, or smart?

We have a Son's diner Sunday. Roger and Stephanie are grilling chicken and tri-tip, I'm making Paula Dean's Grandma Hier's Carrot Cake/fantastic, squash stir fry, and potato salad.


Speaking of potatoes:

I love potatoes. I especially have loved potatoes ever since the doctor told me to cut potatoes out of my diet. I have, sort of, so it's been a while since I've cooked any, but I was boiling potatoes to make potato salad for Son's Dinner and I got to thinking about the little spuds.

Growing up it was one of the nastiness garden jobs; They needed to be cut up so each little piece had a growing nub, an eye. It was a dirty job. Dad always plowed the furrows but we kids had to plant them and those furrows had to have been ten miles long. It was a dirty job. After what seemed like years of weeding and watering they needed dug up out of the ground and all the wet clumpy dirt clots had to be shook or rubbed off. Another dirty job. Then they were stored somewhere cool and dry so they would be preserved, and before eating they had to be culled and scrubbed. I hated all the "stuff" of growing potatoes. The "cool and dry" part of storing never seemed quiet "cool and dry" enough because the potatoes would be stinky, mushy, moldy or rotting and we would have to dig though them until we garnered enough for dinner for all of us, all ten of us, every night, night after night. You could wash potatoes for two hours and there would still be a little garden grit. There was always worms.

No golden glow of nostalgia growing the nasty things, but man they were good eating then and they are good eating now. Why we don't hate them unequivocally is one of the mysteries of the universe. Who would ever think such a dirty little, grubby little, plain little, homely little, miserable little vegetable could cause so much gastronomic joy.

With the allergy season of age upon me, potatoes somehow eases all the aches, pains, limps, creaks and groans. The ultimate Taylor comfort food. Whether you are recovering from a broken leg, a broken heart, a malfunctioning lung, a re-designed eye, or a drippy nose potatoes can make it better.

Life isn't always a french fried potato.