Personal blog of christian
writer & fallible mom
Katy McKenna Raymond
in Kansas City, Missouri
Katy is represented by
Greg Johnson at
WordServe Literary
Read more Katy at
LateBoomer.net
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Recent Posts
- Try
- Becoming Brenda Starr
- Off Beat
- Scattered
- That’s It
- So I’ve Finally Signed With An Agent. Now What?
- The Spoon
- Sciatica
- Sweetheart
- A Woman’s Train of Thought Has No Caboose
- However much we own, we are all still living on borrowed time
- After all, when restaurants shrink portions, they don’t shrink prices.
- As with everything in life, balance is key.
- Slow down, you move too fast…
- Yeah, I know. I have issues.
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(No Title)
"Why are you crying, hon?" Doug wants to know. Isn't it obvious? I'm peeling potatoes. I know, I know. It should read "onions," right? While it's true that generations of hormonal women have hidden behind layers of onion, only the potato will cut it for me. An onion is merely a disguise, a mask to protect the cook from revealing the true source of her tears. An onion is always on reserve in the fridge for when the emotions hit the fan, so it can be said, "Oh, I'm fine, really. It's just this darned onion." A potato, on the other hand, is no mere mask, and it stubbornly refuses to be used to divert observers from the truth. A potato doesn't hide anything, but each slice of the knife brings honest feelings closer to the surface. It's important to state right off that a so-called "vegetable peeler" will not achieve the desired results when one is in need of therapy. A vegetable peeler is for a woman afraid of getting down to the root of her difficulty. It is nothing more than an insipid blade flanked by two guard rails. A paring knife, by contrast, is short and sharp. In the peeling of a potato, the knife is drawn across the vegetable toward the cook in a motion designed to cause the cook to regularly consider her own mortality. If I'm starting to feel a little sorry for myself, or depressed or volatile, I whip out a paring knife and 10 lbs. of potatoes and go to town. I might think about my ancestors, the McKennas, and how thrilled they would have been for a potato to call their own, and my heart swells with gratitude. Who would have dreamed the McKennas would ever have it this good? Why, my potatoes aren't blackened or blighted or scarce! Just lightly salted with tears. Forget onions! If you need a good cry, there's nothing like a close encounter with a raw potato.
Posted by Katy on 04/24/01 at 08:17 AM
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