Lord, Preserve Us...

...said these squashes. But since nobody named Lord lives here, I decided to step in. This time tomorrow, these salted and peppered zucchini discs should be ready to satisfy your craving for snackfood AND part of your daily vegetable requirements.

I know. I'm quite clever.

Inside a Vegetarian's Festival

What do you call it when thousands of vegetarians get together and talk about how much better they are than people who eat meat?

Veggiefest!




















If you've never been to a Veggiefest, the best I can describe it is a place where the people are crunchy and the vegetables are blended into an easily slurpable smoothie.

Oh, and inside none of the vendors accepts standard U.S. currency. If you want to purchase anything, you can either barter or use Veggiefest tickets. Can't wait till next year!

How to Defile a Fresh, Delicious Meal.

You know how sometimes you prepare a fresh, nutritious meal for your loved one and they praise its beauty and flavor and you feel really warm and cozy inside, but then your loved one is all like, "You know what would make this even better?" and he goes into the fridge and gets RANCH?

That doesn't bother me.

Not even a little bit.

Actually children, two months ago I would have been right there with him, slathering the ranch all over my beans and tomatoes. But that was before I discovered my dairy allergy. And now I am barred forever from the sweet manna of Ranchy delight, just as a Catholic who has failed to attend church on a Day of Holy Obligation, such as August 15, day of the Assumption* is barred from the sweet manna of Heaven. Or something like that.

*I guess the Pope didn't hear what they say about assuming things--am I right?!

BIG News from Carbondale.

Living in a big city like Carbondale means that our lives proceed at the rate of approximately one thrill per minute--if not more.

This week was no exception, as you can see from the front page of the Carbondale Times, published every Wednesday, whether or not anything has happened in the interim:


Needless to say, children, what with the return of sliding weather, I've hardly had a chance to catch my breath.

(In real news, the farmer's market is now open and I bought some of the season's first spargel* on Saturday--splendid!)


*asparagus. I know one German word, and dammit, I'm going to use it when it comes up.

What Things Look Like.

I'm not going to pretend that I'm one of those people who thinks things are just regular looking. I mean, I don't just look at a slice of cauliflower and say to myself, "Oh, there's a slice of a vegetable that looks only like itself and nothing at all like a majestic albino tree growing by fractals from the earth."


That's just not who I am.

And when I see the poisonous purple shoots sprouting from a potato neglected on the shelf too long, I most certainly do not not think to myself that maybe this is what blind alien penguins would look like, if we ever found them out in space hurrying in a pack across their alien landscape.


So there. Now you know.

Eating Leaves.

One thing that hopefully has changed by the time you exist and are reading this is that your father often accuses me of "only eating leaves." As in, "All you ever eat is leaves!"

Of course, children, this couldn't be further from the truth. I also eat a number of roots and tubers, and occasionally a flower or two (including asparagus and broccoli).

Nevertheless, I admit that when he traveled to visit his brother (your Uncle Charles) last week, I found myself preparing an awful lot of "leafy" dinners.

Like this one, made of leaves on a bed of rice.


And this, composed of leaves and raisins and seeds.


And this one of leftover leaves with other leftover footstuffs.


OH MY GOD, I KNOW WHAT'S HAPPENING. This is like in On the Banks of Plum Creek, when the grasshoppers come and eat "every green thing" and the Ingalls family can't make a crop and then Mary gets the scarlet fever and it settles in her eyes and she goes BLIND!


AND I'M THE GRASSHOPPERS!!!!

... I'm so sorry, Mary. And I'm so ashamed.

Where the Internet Comes From.

You may have never stopped to think about it, children, but the Internet didn't just spring into existence one day. Computer people had to build it and then writer people had to string together all the words that filled up the empty spaces.

Your father is one of the latter. Here's a rare inside look at how the Internet gets written.

As you probably suspected, the process of writing the Internet is whimsical and frivolous from start to finish, much like the Internet itself.

And as you probably also suspected, the only way your father maintains sufficient stores of energy to complete the demanding task of composing the "web" is to fuel himself with hearty helpings of roasted vegetables. Like these. Now eat yours.

Where Our Food Came From.

In the pre-apocalyptic early days of your father's and my marriage (before the planet we live on was totally and irreversibly fracked), food was very easy to come by to residents of the United States. In fact, a common problem of the day was learning how to consume fewer calories to avoid the diseases of over-eating!

During this halcyon time, a person could go to a place called a "grocery store" and find everything she could possibly want (except sometimes spelt flour) to cook or bake, no matter what the season. Here is a scene that was perfectly ordinary in our lives at this point: me, pushing my personal shopping cart into the house after a mundane shopping trip that did not involve running down and harpooning a mutant squirrel or wrestling people from a neighboring tribe for a few acorns.


Look at what bounty we had available to us!


(And also, the cart was useful as a clothes-dryer once we'd put the food away.)

D: The Most Beautiful Vitamin?

Not long ago, your grandmother Laurie (who is a doctor, of course), recommended that I start taking some vitamin D supplements. That's the latest craze in health right now, kids, which will probably sound quaint and old-timey when you read this, but what can I do.

Naturally, I have taken her advice. And isn't D a beautiful specimen? Doesn't it look like liquid gold?
Wait a moment... is that liquid gold spread out over the menu for New Kahala, the Chinese food restaurant?

And is that your mother, ordering herself dinner at (gasp!) 4:03 in the afternoon?!



Yes, children. I regret to say that everything you deduced from these photographs is true. You see, your father was in Tulsa this weekend and come Friday, I didn't care what I did anymore. Which led to me admiring my supplements and ordering greasy takeout food at a time when most people are still reasonably full from lunch (except the dignified English, who are taking their tea).


But ask me this: Do I have any regrets? No. I have no regrets.

(Note: You may be thinking that eating greasy Chinese takeout "cancels out" taking vitamins of any kind. Finely observed, children. I see I have trained you well.)

Grow Your Own.

You know that one plant everyone loves but many people are reluctant to buy because of the dangers involved? Well take a word of advice from your loving mother: grow your own! I am, of course, talking about lentil sprouts.


As we all know, store-bought sprouts are often subject to salmonella and Jah knows what other kinds of chemicals and diseases. To avoid such unpleasantness in your home-grown sprouts, be sure to soak the lentils in chamomile water overnight before growing.

Then plop those babies in one of the mason jars you've saved because you know how useful they are and can't bear to throw them away, no matter how much grief John gives you. Cover the top with cheesecloth and put those babies in the windowsill to engage in the beautiful and inspiring process known as photosynthesis.


Change the water every day, and after about a week...ta-da! Beaucoup sprouts for your sandwiches this week!


P.S. That second sprout-jar? Didn't take. I tried to grow pepper-seed sprouts, but no dice. Perhaps in the future, when you read this, I will be wiser on the subject.

The Differences in the Kinds of Meals Your Father & I Prepare.

Children, you may have already observed that your father and I have slightly different preferences in cooking and eating. Rest assured that these differences existed long before you came into our lives.


For example, your father, left to his own devices, will prepare himself a meal of bacon, Nutella, and Pabst Blue Ribbon.











Notice how nonchalant he is about not only eating the Nutella directly from the container, but also about eating it before the "healthy" part of his dinner.


I, on the other hand, make myself smoothies with kale in them.