Peevish

Pet peeves. We all have them. They don't have to make sense but they do drive us senseless. No matter how much we try to ignore them or sing another refrain of "Let It Go", pet peeves continue to niggle us. Occasionally, we are able to set one aside, but most often we are plagued with a persistent few that set our teeth into a grinding motion. Here are a few of mine.

1) Encroachment--I prefer to grocery shop when the rest of the world is sleeping in, but when I find myself caught up with the masses, I am quickly subject to muscle tension. This is especially true when I am going through the checkout line and the customer behind me insists on nudging a cart into my space. It is not like there is any doubt where their cart ends and my ample behind begins. It is more a case of urgency without respect to boundaries. It is difficult to sign my name on the card dealy-bob when I have a cart stuck in my rib cage and and my body is askew. Manners, people, manners.

2) Pop-up ads--One does become numb to the barrage of ads that troll around on our computer screens on a daily basis but there are occasions when it is difficult to ignore the flashing, spinning, cannot-find-the-close-button ads. In addition, there are the belly fat pictures, miracle cures from strange tropical fruits and, in my case, old age stuff. Creepy. And not tempting.

3) Dust--How is it that two people, living extremely dull lives, can generate a coating on so many surfaces in so little time? Nancy Neatnik, I am not, but I do feel slovenly when I see my butt print on the piano bench after I stand up. Not sure if I am more depressed about having to dust again or the size of that butt print.

4) Dibbles--Strictly defined, a dibble is a gardening tool. In my world, dibbles are the leftover bits and pieces from meals throughout the week. Cooking is not an exact science. There always seem to be a few leftover beans, one stray pork chop, a half container of yogurt, one clump of grapes and other such non sequitur items. Thus, there are times we have a dibbles meal with all the gusto of a sloth. More likely, I do the fridge purge and say a prayer for the starving citizens of the world.

5) Prescription drug commercials--They always start out with happy, smiling folks embracing a life free of some malady. And then the shoe drops. Boy Howdy. It is hard to stay focused on contentment when the list of possible side effects is finally disclosed. I am not sure I could muster up the courage to ask my doctor for a drug that can potentially cause double vision, leprosy or persistent diarrhea.

Hope you have a peeve free week. And if you like to dust, just let me know. I can make you really happy.

Popeye

Power foods. Nutritional wonders. Cure-alls.  Secret remedies. Call it what you may, the list of miraculous foods seems to cycle through year after year. Some foods stay on the list for a while and others have a short claim to fame. The guaranteed-to-lose-weight diets are no less fickle. There is the cabbage juice diet (delicious on the first day, not so much by day twelve), the Atkins diet (great for bacon lovers, hard on toast munchers), the gluten-free diet (necessary if you have a medical condition, questionable if you just want to "feel" healthy) and last but not least the pre-packaged food diets (the pictures on the boxes look delightful, starvation can make cardboard taste good),

I don't know how it happened, but my generation somehow managed to grow up without miracle foods. When we were hungry, we ate whatever was put on the table. If it was liver and onions night, that is what we dined upon. If the garden was producing an abundance of swiss chard, we munched away on the boiled green mass. Chicken butchering day meant a sizzling pan of fried chicken and a fight over a limited number of gizzards. Jars of home canned green beans made their way to our table throughout the cold winter months. Lugs of peaches sent us all into high gear as we started our assembly line of blanching, slicing and funneling slippery fruit pieces into sterilized jars. Homemade bread greeted us with a come hither fragrance as we tumbled into the house after a long day at school. The family cow kept our glasses full of milk and our desserts topped with fresh cream. Grunty, rooting pigs gave us salty, smoky bacon for lunch box sandwiches. The kitchen oven cranked out comfy casseroles, tasty bars and a never ending supply of chocolate chip cookies. Never once were we told that what we were eating was Dr. Oz approved.

We did, however, take one recommendation seriously. We listened to Popeye. Popeye was a cartoon character we watched on our black and white TV, snowy reception and all. He was a rather hapless fellow who found himself in situations that required enormous amounts of courage and strength to save the day. Just when we thought he would not overcome defeat, Popeye would grab a can of spinach, chug it down in one gulp and sing, "I'm strong to the fin-ich, cause I eats me spinach. I'm Popeye the sailor man!" And, sure enough, the can of greens made his muscles bulge and his eyes sparkle as good triumphed over evil. If spinach was good enough for Popeye, it was good enough for us.

To this day, I believe in good old-fashioned spinach. It is not fashionable like kale. It doesn't sparkle like pomegranate seeds. It doesn't have celebrity endorsements like pistachios. And it certainly doesn't claim to cure hangnails and warts.

But, the next time you are feeling a bit peckish, I recommend a hearty spinach salad. And if you need to keep up with the latest food miracle, throw a pickle on top. I hear fermented foods are really in this year.