The Professor has left for campus, the house is quiet except for the hum of the humidifier and the occasional mew of a cat; a mix of sleet, rain and snow tumble from the cloudy, gray skies as a fickle Mother Nature straddles the weather fence in deciding which it’s going to be today. And somewhere in a dark cave in Philadelphia, there’s a very large, furry rodent snickering gleefully at his deceitfulness in getting our hopes up that an early Spring, was indeed, on its way.
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Musical pairing – Multiply by Jamie Lidell
There are two kinds of ‘beet’ camp – lover or hater . . . there just doesn’t appear to be an ‘in between’ . . . and we fall squarely in the lover camp. I must admit that eating ‘pickled’ or ‘sweet’ from a can was my beet of choice as a child; in fact, I’m not sure I even knew what a ‘whole-beet-from-the-garden’ looked like until I was an adult.
There was a time when I wouldn’t give dates a second look . . . not that kind of date! My mother would bake a date cake occasionally that required the purchase of, I believe, a yellow and red box of diced up date bits, then added to the usual suspects of flour, sugar, butter, eggs and spices . . . but I don’t recall what it tastes like . . . mainly because I don’t recall ever having a piece of it . . . dates were suspect in my 10-year-old mind . . .