You know how some vegetables look in the grocery? Kind of shy and retiring? That's how I think rutabagas look, a bit embarrassed and "pick something flashier" is the vibe I get from them. My friend (and dive shop customer) Merlyn's an enthusiastic gardener and he's now brought me two boxes of his homegrown veggies. This week's box had a rutabaga in it. It's not like other rutabagas I've seen. Those bashful, sorta brown, sorta pink softball-sized orbs are nothing to the robust, vivid brown and purple alien bowling ball behemoth in my kitchen. This thing is still growing! There're a couple green sprigs left on the top that have perked up and gotten a bit longer since it arrived. I think it'd be a good idea for both of us to be here when Durwood decides to cook the thing because I'm afraid it might just fight back. Merlyn was in the store yesterday and I asked him if he irradiated the seeds. He and his wife laughed and said, "that's one of the small ones." One of the small ones?!?? I'd donate it to a food bank but I'm not sure I want to inflict an obviously sentient vegetable on some unsuspecting poor person. I'll keep you posted.
November 18--Alvin Langdon Coburn, The Octopus. Jillian and Max loved the octopus in all seasons. They ran up the arm across the street from their door, around the center, and back down the next arm. Every day they ran the octopus--up, around, down--all the while laughing and dodging pedestrians. They didn't care if it was rainy or frigid or so hot you could fry eggs on the pavement,they loved to run. Jillian loved the autumn when the skies were so blue day after day and the sharp wind hurried the leaves along in skeins across the paths. Max like winter with its snow and ice for sliding on. They ran after school when the dusk gathered in the corners. The doorman of their building, Raphael, kept an eye on them most days. In that particular winter he wasn't the only one.
The sun's almost up and I need more coffee. Bye!
--Barbara
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