How to Cook a Real Turkey

Posted on November 21, 2017 by Sheila Moss

turkey-532962_1280The big day is coming and people everywhere are getting nervous because they have to cook a turkey. Not to worry. Even I, the queen of disaster, can roast a turkey. I’ve been cooking turkeys for years and a turkey is the easiest thing there is to cook. (Yes, really.)

Throw away that fancy cookbook and get down to basics. Don’t even consider the microwave. This is a time for tradition. Assuming you already have an oven, there are basically three more things you will need: a pan, a rack, and a turkey. If you do not want to invest in these basics, forget the cooking and go out.

The Pan: There is no substitute for a good pan. Don’t be fooled by those flimsy aluminum things you will see in the grocery store. They are the short road to disaster. They are difficult to handle when hot and your turkey could end up in the middle of the kitchen floor. Invest in a real pan, the old-fashioned enamel kind is great. It will last forever and ever, and you can will it to your children when you die. Caution: Measure your oven to be sure the pan will fit. I’ve had a few pretty tight squeezes through the years.

The Rack: This is the best-kept secret to turkey success. It will cost only a few dollars to get a rack of some sort for your pan. This keeps the turkey off the bottom of the pan, but more importantly, you can get that heavy bird out of the pan while its hot. If the rack does not have handles, improvise by making lifters out of heavy wire, such as a coat hanger. Be sure it is wired onto the rack tightly and won’t come loose when you lift the turkey out. Gross? Trust me, it works.

The Bird: Turkeys come in two sizes, large and extra large. Large is big enough for your family and a few friends. Resist the temptation to buy the largest turkey you can find. Buy a fresh turkey. (Not the kind with feathers, the non-frozen ones.) Forget those frozen monstrosities. After years of fooling with thawing and chipping out icy turkey giblets frozen in the turkey, it dawned on me: defrosting is not worth the trouble. How often do you cook a turkey? Splurge on the real thing. Fresh turkeys come out moist and delicious, much, much better than the frozen ones.

Stuff your turkey. A turkey is just not the same without stuffing. I won’t go into recipes. Southerners love cornbread stuffing. Some like oyster stuffing. Personally, I like raisins. If you can find that cookbook I told you to throw away, rest assured it will have many suggestions. The boxes of seasoned croutons sold in the grocery stores also work just fine. You can make the stuffing ahead, but refrigerate it in a shallow pan and wait until the big day to stuff your bird. Food poisoning will absolutely ruin your day.

Turkeys take a long time to cook. Get up extra early on the big day. It will take only a short while to stuff the bird, put it in the pan and throw it in the oven. If the lid to your roaster does not fit in the oven, forget it and use aluminum foil. Don’t worry about skewers and all that stuff to hold the stuffed turkey closed. Use a needle and thread and sew that sucker shut. No one will know. When you are half-asleep, you don’t feel like fooling with skewers anyway.

BE SURE THE OVEN IS TURNED ON: You’d be surprised how many folks eat late because they forgot. Get the times and temperature to roast the bird of your choice from that infamous cookbook you are so fond of. Once the bird is in the oven, go back to bed. The smell of a turkey cooking is wonderful to wake up to. A turkey will cook itself. If you really must peek, go ahead, but watch out for hot steam.

Don’t worry. The bird will be wonderful and you will be eating leftovers for weeks to come.

Copyright 1998 Sheila Moss
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A Hysterical History of Thanksgiving

Posted on November 18, 2017 by Sheila Moss

Once upon a time, there were some Puritans that moved from England to Holland. After a while, the Puritans decided they didn’t much like their kids speaking Dutch because the adults only understood English, and also they really hated going Dutch treat. The wooden shoes gave them blisters, and they preferred black shoes with buckles to match their hats and purses.

They called AAA Travel and booked a cruise for 40 to the New World. Unfortunately the Niña, Piñta and Santa María, had already sailed and all that was left was the Mayflower. The cruise line was lousy and the Puritans didn’t like the bar and casino, so they were pretty grumpy by the time they arrived at their destination.

Although they had sailed all the way across the Atlantic, they were too seasick to go on to Virginia. Probably it was all that seafood they ate. They made a compact with the other passengers to boycott seafood, a revolutionary new idea, which gave them the idea of calling themselves Pilgrims.

When the Pilgrims found Plymouth Rock, they liked its name much better than Cape Cod, which sounded fishy. So, they decided to all get off and settle there. They forgot that Plymouth Rock was pretty chilly in winter, however, and they hadn’t packed any insulated underwear. They didn’t like to ski or drink hot buttered rum either.

Thank goodness, the New World had invented baseball and the Indians were playing that season. The Indians felt sorry for the Puritans, who didn’t understand the game. One of the Indians, named Squanto, knew all the cruse line directors and had traveled to England where he learned to “Speaka the English” with only a slight American accent. Squanto took a special interest in the Pilgrims as the ball team was always looking for rookies to recruit.

Squanto taught the Puritans to hunt so they would be able to find their seats in the stadium when it was built, and to grow pumpkins so they could make jack-o-lanterns for Halloween. Squanto also taught them how to make maple syrup — and taught them to grow corn, and  they could use the syrup for making popcorn balls. If it had not been for this sort of help from the friendly Indians, the Pilgrims would never have made it in the New World

The Pilgrims were so happy they decided to have a big bash to celebrate, and they invited all the Indians to come. Since they didn’t have any hot dogs, they ate roasted fowl and venison and pretended it was ballpark franks. They washed it down with cranberry juice cocktail. Actually, this was only a harvest celebration since the Pilgrims always fasted when they gave thanks.

The next year the Indians didn’t make it to the playoffs and the Pilgrims forgot all about celebrating for several years until another winning team came along. Since they had been praying for a winning team, they were very thankful and decided it might be a good idea to celebrate again.

Unfortunately, the Indians had moved to Cleveland and were beginning to be a little aggravated at the Pilgrims for building houses instead of a new stadium. The Pilgrims decided they would become New England Patriots fans and watch football for their celebration.

They liked the combination of turkey and football so well that they did it every year, and it soon became a tradition. Finally, the Continental Congress passed a law that all 13 colonies would celebrate the holiday, and then they promptly adjourned to go to the big game.

Nobody really took Thanksgiving very seriously until some lady wrote about it in “Ladies Home Journal” and President Lincoln, who frequently took ideas for laws from ladies’ magazines, thought it would be a good idea to have a national day of Thanksgiving.

And that is how the Thanksgiving holiday came about. To this very day, we still over indulge on turkey to celebrate and to show our gratitude for football. We no longer invite the Indians; however, since the World Series is over for the year and they are on vacation and wouldn’t come anyhow.

Copyright 2000 Sheila Moss

Written with sincere apologies to the memory of the late, great columnist, Art Buchwald, who satirized the dubious Pilgrims and Thanksgiving story first.

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Rx Operation

Posted on November 12, 2017 by Sheila Moss

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Have you ever suspected your body has betrayed you and had nagging little questions start running through your head? Have you every wonder if you might be really sick? Have you ever considered the possibility that you might need surgery when you’ve never been sick a day in your life – before?

Has that nagging little discomfort now turned into a throb?

Did your friends or family ask if you are feeling okay?

Did your spouse suggest you set up an appointment?

Did the doctor suggested you have some “tests”?

Did you suddenly remember that you have test anxiety?

Did you have to retake your test because you flunked it the first time?

Did the doctor tell you not to worry, which worried you?

Did the receptionist give you literature and say, “Better read this”?

Did anyone ask you questions about your medical insurance coverage?

Does everyone tell you about a friend who had your same symptoms?

Have you finally decided that aspirin cannot cure it?

Did your spouse buy you two new pairs of pajamas just in case?

Do you have a sudden compulsion to make a will?

Did you search the Internet, but couldn’t find your symptoms?

Or, even worse, did you find that these symptoms and that they can be serious?

Did the doctor say you wouldn’t be in a wheelchair long?

If someone asks how you are, are you afraid to tell the truth?

Did everyone tell you not to worry as it probably nothing?

Did you get pre-certified but don’t remember applying?

Does it only hurt when you breathe?

Did the doctor use big words that you can’t remember?

Did you get a second, opinion? A third, forth and fifth?

Do think you would look terrible in a hospital gown?

Is your doctor starting to look just like Dracula?

Can you remember why you thought you might need surgery?

Can you remember your name?

Did you feel fine until you went to the doctor?

Do you wish they would hurry up and get it over with?

Are you only cautious – not afraid?

Did it turn out to be a false alarm?

Was it only your imagination working overtime?

©2003 Sheila Moss
Edited
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Princess of Pop

Posted on November 10, 2017 by Sheila Moss

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I can’t keep up with pop culture. Who is the current big pop star? Let’s see, there was Miley Cyrus, who tried to outdo all the other bad girls and succeeded, and bad boy, Justin Bieber. Taylor Swift is considered a pop singer now. Compared to others, she is a saint and her primary vice, as far as I know, is trashing ex-boyfriends by writing songs about them.

I’m so out of step with reality that I’m still trying to figure out the success of Britney Spears. I sort of ignored her, figuring what’s one more pop star. I lived through Farah Fawcett-Majors. What could be worse that that? Ms. Spears was one of the youngest ever to achieve her level of musical success, which created somewhat of a sensation in the music world.

Britney was pretty enough, a stringy headed blond. But her main attraction, aside from her musical talent, was her controversial belly button. Her belly was displayed on most of her promotional pictures where she favored low-rise pants and crop tops. There is nothing much that can be done with a belly button except to add a belly ring – which she did, in case you care.

Whether or not she has breast implants was another major topic for discussion and speculation on social media for a while. Indeed, Ms. Spears is well endowed and was unusually fond of displaying her attributes. She was a typical adolescent discovering the power of sexuality, you say. But in her case the entire world was watching.

Like other pop stars, she had numerous fan websites created by fans who discuss her with intelligent and articulate statements, such as, “She’s so cool.” or conversely, “She sucks.”  I checked out the browser-crashing official website to see if I could discover any relevant information. Britney’s bio started with her career as a super gymnastic athlete, a career abruptly ended when she lost interest at the ripe old age of 9, just prior to reaching for Olympic stardom – great loss, I’m sure.

She then focused on her singing and dancing talent. She tried out for Mickey Mouse Club, but was “too young.” Someone at Disney slipped a bug in her mama’s ear to go to New York and get an agent, which her mama immediately did. Does the word “stage mother” enter your mind, or is it just me? Anyhow, after being polished and hardened for a few years, she was ready for the big time and got a job as a Disney Mouse for two years until the show folded. After a whole year of (Can you believe this?) “ordinary life,” she struck it big with a record album and the rest is – as they say – history.

As a packaged teen queen, she was exploited and marketed to the hilt. She was worshiped by teens that spend their allowances and lunch money on music downloads. All sorts of products, posters, T-shirts, dolls, records, anything a teenager might want to buy to show their love for Britney was available. The amazing thing was that teen girls loved her pretty face and music while teenage boys thought she would marry them some day — all of them, I guess.

So that’s the story on Britney Spears. With every album, she tried to sound more sexy to titillate teen hormones and get fans to spend more money so she could get even richer. She and mama even wrote a book. After several marriages, several children, and some highly publicized mental health problems, Ms. Spears is trying to prove herself as a mature singer and still performs concerts in Las Vegas and goes on tours.

If she were my kid, I would have told her to wash her face, put some clothes on, and to go to college and wise up. But, I guess when your face is on magazines, your records are at the top of the charts, and you are rolling in the dough, you can do whatever you want. That’s a side benefit of wealth and popularity and the privilege of a princess of pop.

Copyright 2001-2017 Sheila Moss
Revised and Updated
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Oh, My Lucky Stars

Posted on November 6, 2017 by Sheila Moss
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Photo by InstaWalli on Unsplash

Lately, I’ve begun to wonder if I broke a mirror, walked under a ladder, my stars are out of alignment or I’ve tangled with a black cat inadvertently. I’ve never been superstitious. I’ve always been believed that a person makes their own luck and has an element of control over their own misfortune. Here lately, however, I seem to have run into a streak of incredible incidents that shakes my belief system and makes me wonder if I need to knock on wood after all. This is all absolutely true, folks, I couldn’t make something like this up.

Bad things happen in threes – at least that is what I’ve always heard from those more superstitious than me. So, where do I begin? I suppose the first thing was the day the car was vandalized. We decided to attend an event at the Gaylord Entertainment Center, get out of the house, hear some music. Good idea – except while were there, the car, parked on a nearby metro parking lot, had a window smashed. Nothing taken, probably the burglar alarm scared the culprit away, but there was still the smashed window and the associated aggravation of getting it repaired. Well, crime happens. Deal with it. Life in the city goes on.

What next? Well, you remember the earthquake, the one in Seattle? I’m in Tennessee, so it doesn’t affect me. Right? Wrong! It so happens my daughter travels in relation to her job. Of all the cities in the United States, where she might have been working, where was she when the earthquake happened? Yep, Seattle. No serious injuries, just minor stuff and shaken up like everyone else. But what a frightening thing – and what a coincidence.

Then the furnace caught on fire – well, almost. Actually, it was relatively minor when all was said and done. I won’t go into all the details again. I’d rather not think about it. The house was full of smoke, and I had to make an emergency call to the furnace company. Could have been much worse – MUCH worse.

That’s three, isn’t it? So why is it that same week I received a call from my sister in St. Louis to tell me my mother was in the hospital? Another source of stress. I tell ya, what else, can happen? But things can always be worse. As long as nobody is dead, and nothing is broken that can’t be fixed, just count your blessings. Right? Maybe it just seems as if everything is going wrong at once. Maybe I do have some control over life. Maybe its just coincidence.

So, I need to get my mind off my troubles and quit worrying about bad luck. I made it to work just fine, no traffic accident or anything. No point in being paranoid! At least that is what I was trying to think while I was waiting to be rescued from the office elevator, which was STUCK on the fifth floor. It had to be pried open with a crowbar and I had to climb out, folks.

Anybody got a rabbit’s foot, a four-leaf clover, a horseshoe, a piece of jade, a lucky penny? Send it all. I’ll take anything at this point. Is that a black cloud following me around, or what?

Copyright 2001 Sheila Moss
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Fall Forward or Fall Back?

Posted on November 4, 2017 by Sheila Moss

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The other morning I had to get up 30 minutes earlier than usual.  Know what? It was dark that early in the morning!  I was shocked to realize that the days are getting shorter.  Until then I hadn’t noticed since it’s usually daylight by the time I wake up.

Now that Daylight Saving Time has ended, we are back on good old standard time.  We will have more daylight in the morning – at least for a while – but afternoons will get shorter and shorter until there is none at all.

Instead of ranting, I’ll just point out a few of the more amusing consequences of moving daylight in the evening to the morning: Let’s see, it’s Spring forward … Fall back… Right?

You reset all the clocks, but your biological clock doesn’t have a reset button.

It’s light in the morning, but depressingly dark in the early evening.  You wonder where the day went, as you sure didn’t see any of it.

You forgot to set the coffeepot timer back, so there was no coffee in the morning – a thrilling discovery in the blinding light of early dawn, standard time.

You spend 15 minutes turning the microwave off and on, trying to figure out how to set the clock.  Finally you decide who cares, microwaves don’t need clocks anyhow, only timers.

You long ago gave up trying to reset the clock in your car and are shocked to see that it has the right time – which goes to show that we don’t really need to change time to be right at least half of the time.

You forgot to turn back the clock at 2:00 am and got to church early.  You were astonished that you were the only one there and wonder if the world ended and you missed it.

The clock on your computer sets itself, nice…. but you forgot and did it again.  Now it looks like 6 o’clock, is actually 7 o’clock, and feels like 8 o’clock.

Some folks arrive for work an hour early because they forgot to fall back. Some folks arrive two hours early because they thought it is Spring back…Fall forward.   You can tell who they are because they are the grumpiest.

You can’t remember whether you changed your wristwatch so you change it again, only to realize that you can’t trust your watch either.  You have to call “time and temperature” to find out what time it is.

The timer is wrong on the TV recorder so you miss half of the movie you were recording.  Of course, you don’t realize this until you’ve already watched the other half.

You should turn clocks 11 hours forward shouldn’t you, instead of one hour back?   That’s what all the clock experts say – but they don’t say how to get the clock to stop chiming.

You decide daylight saving time is actually just a plot to confuse us by making us think we are saving energy. You are glad you don’t have to save any more energy because you don’t have much left to save.

You can’t figure out why you are so tired when you got an extra hour of sleep.  Then you remember that you woke up by your biological clock instead of the time on the alarm clock.

You dream of moving to Arizona and wonder if you would feel better by not participating in this nonsense.  Of course, it could be worse.  In Indiana part of the state participates and part doesn’t.

If I got some of these events backwards, don’t be surprised.  It only goes to show that like everyone else – I’m confused!

Copyright 2004 Sheila Moss
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The Price of Success

Posted on November 3, 2017 by Sheila Moss

 

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Photo by Peter Lloyd on Unsplash

 

I had this great little website that I got built for free!  FREE – my favorite word!  One of those free website places, bless their little hearts, provided me with FREE space for a personal homepage. Now was that nice, or what?

We were so happy – just me, my website and my faithful surfers.  I worked hard to make my little personal website funny, cute and original.  Then I was “discovered” – overnight, almost.

That’s when found out about the price of success.  What I found out is that my “free” website is limited in the amount of traffic allowed.  I am given free space, but the space is limited in size and number of viewers I can have.

Now, I knew that all along, but it was never a problem.  My biggest problem was how to generate hits – not how to prevent them.  Who would have figured in their wildest dreams that a major humor directory would target my little site?

Suddenly I found out that FREE can be very expensive.  Seems when a user has too many “hits” on a “free” site; they are charged for the extra amount of time used.  Panic! My dream became a nightmare.  The more successful I became, the more money it cost me.

What a dilemma.  I wanted hits, didn’t I?  I should be happy, shouldn’t I?   Problem is, I wanted them for free.  FREE – you remember – FREE?  It used to be my favorite word.  Sure, I wanted success, but I wanted it for FREE.

Perhaps I need to explain.  People who build personal websites dream of everyone coming to see them, the world at their doorstep, so to speak.  We are a somewhat vain bunch.   Honestly now, who would put their life online except a prima donna?

Now, as you probably have figured by now, you don’t just throw up a website and achieve overnight fame. For a couple of years people did not come, except in nominal and ordinary numbers.  Then suddenly… THEY CAME…  They ALL came  – they all came at the same time. Like cattle they came to my site – in droves they came.  It was a stampede.  Run for your life.  Head for the hills!  We’ll be stomped into dust in no time!

My days of the freebee ended.  I had to close down my “free” site in an attempt to divert the traffic before I went bankrupt.  It was a rodeo.  I’m only thankful that I had already decided to open a commercial site — just a few days before the giant stampede.  Otherwise, I guess I’d just be a memory by now, a pile of dry bones in the vast dessert of experience.

But, I’ve just read my horoscope. It says I need to get ready to, “receive the good things coming my way from unexpected public opportunities,” and “my creative venture are starred for success.” My horoscope knows.  My astrological sign is Taurus, the Bull.  Just figures it is something to do with cows.  It must be destiny!

So… forward ho! I’m riding off into the sunset on the web to look for more FREE stuff.  Watch those cattle behind me and don’t let them get there first.  If I can just stay ahead of the herd, I know I’ll be okay.  Next time, I’ll check things out more.  Next time I’ll read the fine print.

Can’t get anything for free, you say?  Of course, you can.   My horoscope said so…. And I really, really do need a good website…. for FREE, of course, my favorite word!

©2000 Sheila Moss
Updated
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Where There’s Smoke…

Posted on October 30, 2017 by Sheila Moss

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It was a dark and stormy night. At least I think it was a dark and stormy night. At this point I can’t be sure. The only thing I can be sure of is that I am lucky to be alive.

It was a close call, you see. I woke up in the middle of night to the smell of smoke. In my sleepy haze, I thought to myself, “Who’s smoking?” Then I woke up a bit more. Wait a minute, nobody smokes here! “Must be a burglar,” I thought, still half asleep. But, burglars don’t take smoke breaks.

Suddenly I was awake!

Stumbling around in my nightgown, I checked the entire house for the source of the smoke. I looked in the attic. I opened the closets. Nothing. I looked outside – still nothing. I decided the smell must be a back draft from the chimney. The next morning, still puzzled, I decided I might as well go to work. No reason not to go … I thought.

When I came home from work that evening; however, the unmistakable smell of smoke hit me as soon as I walked in the door. I know the thermostat was set at 65, “Why is it so hot in here? It’s 80 degrees!” I tried to turn off the furnace and nothing happened. “My gosh, the furnace is malfunctioning, I need to call the furnace company – FAST!”

Naturally, the company was closed for the day. “If this is an emergency, press 0 says the recorded voice.” I pressed 0 and waited. Twenty rings later, an answering service picked up. “What is the problem?”

“My furnace won’t turn off! It’s 80 degrees in here! I smell smoke!”

“Is this an emergency?”

Is this an emergency? Are they nuts? “YES!!!” Should I just hang up and call 911, I wondered?

“Someone will call you back,” said the answering service.

Again I tried to turn off the furnace, again with no luck. The phone rang, and I explained the problem to the repairman as calmly as I could.

“Can it wait till tomorrow? You will have to pay overtime if I come now.”

Overtime? What did that matter? The furnace was going to blow up! “I need somebody NOW!”

“Why don’t you pull the breaker?” he persisted.

“What’s that?”

“Okay,” he finally agreed, “I’ll come.”

It occurred to me about that time to go outside and have a look. I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of this before. The exterior type unit is located on the far side of the house where it can’t be readily seen. As I rounded the corner, I was horrified! A bale of charred and blackened straw was lying against the unit’s exhaust! I begin tugging at it in a panic. It disintegrated as I pulled away handfuls of burned straw.

I decide to get help. My honey, was on the phone. “I need your help!!” I yelled. He continued to talk. “I NEED YOUR HELP!! How he could sit there calmly talking on the phone when the house was 80 degrees, full of smoke, and ready to burn down is beyond me.

“I’m talking to the income tax accountant,” he says, as if that should explain everything.

Who cares? “HANG UP!”

Finally, it sunk in.

I grabbed shovels and we finished getting the smoldering straw away from the furnace. A night or two prior, there was a windstorm and it was very gusty all night. It must have blown the bale of straw against the furnace. Who would have figured?

We were filthy and must have looked like a couple of forest fire fighters by the time the furnace company finally showed up.

“I think we found the problem,” I told the repair person.

It could be worse. MUCH worse! If the hay had ignited instead of smoldering or if carbon monoxide had backed up inside. And the natural gas line was blackened. Well, I’d just rather not think about it. The furnace was saved with minor repairs and a major cleaning. My entire house now smells like a smokehouse or a pit barbecue, I’m not sure which.

“You were lucky,” said the repairman. Never keep anything flammable anywhere near a furnace.”

Funny, I don’t feel very lucky.

After this little episode, I’ll never need to be reminded to be careful about how I store stuff. I also won’t ever need to be reminded that where there’s smoke there’s fire.

Copyright 2001 Sheila Moss

This is almost too embarrassing to admit. Have you ever done anything this stupid or am I the only one?

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Survivor South

Posted on October 26, 2017 by Sheila Moss

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After watching Survivor’s umpteenth episode on television the other night, it occurred to me that if these folks think they are survivors, they ought to live in the South where surviving has been more than a game; it’s a way of life.

Survival? Try taking a short cut across the back lot behind ol’ Mr. Jones’ house if you really want to be a survivor. You will learn to survive really fast to when being chased by his ornery old bull. And if the bull doesn’t teach you anything, chances are Mr. Jones’ pit bull will.

Southern rednecks knew about survival long before it became a reality television show. Survival wasn’t a game though, it was a way of staying alive. Southerners suffered though poverty and hardship for a hundred years – not to mention chicken floggings, outhouses, barbwire, and cowpies.

Down South no one is expelled from a clan except maybe a few politicians, which are sent up to Washington. But they ask for that. They usually don’t stay long enough for anything except a couple of filibusters until they come back home.

Southerners also learned to survive the Yankees that move down here because they think the climate is better. Funny how the first thing someone from the North does when they move down South is try and change people to be like them. You’d think as much as they dislike us, they’d want to stay up yonder where they belong.

Southerners don’t get immunity from anything, especially hard work, no matter how many votes are in our clan. It’s just as well since we don’t have any shark jaw necklaces like they do on TV.

If Southerners wanted to play games, we could use bandannas to identify teams. They come in both red and blue. But, they are just big handkerchiefs to us and mostly used for working and sweating. We don’t have anything fancy with a redneck logo on it.

Looking for food to survive would be easy. Southerners are used to hunting, fishing, eating wild greens and berries and other unusual food. It’s part of the heritage. The South figured out survival and living off the land a long time ago from necessity. We can even eat kudzu if we have to.

Nobody gets a million bucks for surviving as a Southerner, only a chance to continue surviving. We don’t have much time for playing mental games or planning strategies to outwit each other. Trying to work and make a living is challenge enough for most good ol’ boys and gals.

Southerners have learned to take it slow and easy and to cooperate with each other instead of competing. There is a lot of good music, good neighbors, and good fun. If someone else strikes it rich, maybe they can loan us a few bucks to buy gas for the truck until payday.

So, that’s the Southern take on this Survivor stuff. Thanks goodness real life isn’t reality television. There are enough folks trying to outsmart and outwit their neighbors. Most likely I will just stick to watching shows that make sense and let other folks figure out Survivor.

©2005 Sheila Moss

NOTE: This is my lame attempt at Southern humor and not intended to be offensive to anyone. I’m Southern too. Just so you know.

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Eat Your Broccoli

Posted on October 23, 2017 by Sheila Moss
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Photo by Dan Gold on Unsplash

Once when he was on a state visit to Mexico, George W. Bush was taken to visit the ranch of the Mexican President. Seemed only natural to visit a ranch with George W. being from Texas and all. Wouldn’t you just know it? It turned out that the “ranch” was a broccoli farm. The Salinas Valley of Mexico, so to speak, smell of broccoli everywhere.

When his father, George Bush Sr., was President, he was famous for his aversion to broccoli. Astute reporters, wondering if George W. loathed broccoli as much as his dad, just had to ask. Sure enough, he replied with an off the cuff remark about preferring cauliflower. Fortunately, international relations survived the incident and so did George W. as far as I know. Guess he didn’t have to eat any, just look at it – lots of it!

Now, personally, I can take broccoli better than cauliflower. Cauliflower is so bland you can’t even taste it. It doesn’t even have any color to it, all bleached white like that. None of the cabbage family is really terrific tasting, though. Heck, kids have been hiding broccoli in their milk for ages to avoid having to eat it – ever since they found out it was good for them. Maybe that’s why George W. likes cauliflower – it’s easier to hide in his glass of milk.

Brussels sprouts are far worse tasting, of course. We won’t even speak of cabbage unless you are planning to make coleslaw. What is it with this aversion to vegetables? I didn’t really realize it, but I’m not much of a veggie person either, I guess. Greens? Yuk! Cooked leaves! Here in the south they say we’ll eat anything as long as it has enough bacon grease in it. But I wouldn’t touch a pot of turnip greens with a 10-foot pole, much less a turnip. I’m just not THAT hungry.

That goes for a lot of the vegetables that people seem to be fond of. I used to belong to a group that had a social dinner every week. Seems the chef was especially proud of his zucchini squash, or maybe he was just cheap. Every week, a big pan of yellow buttered slimy stuff graced the table. I finally just rebelled and refused to try to eat it. If God want me to LIKE that stuff, he wouldn’t have made me carnivorous. I’m not even gonna mention okra. What a disgusting vegetable! It even sounds nasty, “ok-raw.” So vote me off the island. Who cares?

Starchy vegetables are okay – corn, potatoes, beans. Starch is a carbohydrate. It’s just sugar that’s over the hill. Starchy vegetables are in an entirely different sort of category. They hardly count as vegetables at all in my book, nothing like those super nutritious, vitamin C, and calcium rich, broccoli spears.

Guess winding up on a broccoli farm was sort of a nightmare come true for Bush. Well, I can sympathize to a point. Please don’t send me your eggplant casserole recipe that you can’t-even-taste the eggplant in. If you can’t taste it, then leave it out, for Pete’s sake! I don’t have a glass of milk big enough to hide something like that in.

Thank goodness, I do like broccoli, especially the cheese sauce!

Copyright 2001 – 2015 Sheila Moss
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