What You Don’t Know….Won’t Hurt You

Warning:  Mild cursing in this post.  Not anything out of the ordinary. I would let you know if the F word was in here and it is not, although it could be substituted for a few words and make it funnier.

I love black beans.  My daughter loves them too.  But my husband and her husband hates them.  I personally think it is because the beans do not look appetizing at all because they are solid black, like tiny hunks of charcoal or tiny pieces you see laying in the road from a blown out tire.  I have to agree.  BUT….they have a wonderful taste.  So husband and son-in-law really should try them, but they won’t.

A week ago, I cooked myself a pot of black beans.  Husband was not working that day and everytime he walked into the kitchen, he would look disgustingly at my pot of black beans and proclaim “I don’t see how you eat that stuff!”  I tried to assure him that they were indeed tasty and if he would just take a small bite after they were done, he would change his mind.  I would not be fibbing if I said that it would be one of the very last things that he would eat if he were truly starving of hunger.

I was so proud of my black beans.  I put some in a Rubbermaid container to take to work  to have as lunch.  I also took a small amount of shredded cheese to melt on top when I nuked them.  Also included was some Pace Picante sauce.  I felt kinda mexicano that day.  Oh and some garlic powder….can’t forget that!!   I called my daughter to tell her that I had cooked some black beans and we talked for a few minutes about how good they were and how stupid our husbands are for not liking them or even trying to taste them.

Lunch time rolled around and I was h-u-n-g-r-y.  I nuked the beans with the cheese on top.  Oh my, they sure looked good.  I put the Pace on the side.  I sat down in the control room and was chowing down like Porky Pig.  Yum, yum, yessir they were good.  My supervisor came in the door and was walking past me. He stopped and looked down at my plate and said “What is that stuff?”  I told him it was black beans and they are good.  He said anything that looked like tar could not be good. I told him to leave me alone so I could eat.  A few minutes later, my co-worker came in the same door and was walking by on his way to the kitchen.  He also stopped and said “WHAT is THAT???”  I told him it was black beans and they are good.  He said anything that is as black as his cell phone could not be good.  Humph!  Would ya’ll just leave me ALONE??????

They drink coffee don’t they?  I guess it is different somehow.

But I am going to get them all back with a little trick up my sleeve.  Have you heard of the recipe for black bean brownies?  It is a low-carb recipe and it is very healthy also.  No flour.  Yessiree I am going to buy 2 cans of black beans and hide them  in the pantry.  One day when husband is at work and I am home, I am going to make this recipe.   One for husband and one for work.  My husband is diabetic and anything that is called a brownie and has a little bit of sweet taste to it, he will love.  Poor guy, he has a bad time with that diabetes stuff and I will put stevia in the recipe for him.  I have only brought a cooked goodie from home to work one time.  It was St. Patricks Day.  I made a decadent chocolate cake with white icing that I had colored green with food coloring.  The guys at work wanted to know what I did to make the icing that green color.  I mean seriously…..do you think I would try to poison you or something?  Dammit it is St. Patricks Day for heavens sake!  So much jollyness at work. I vowed never again to spend my time cooking them a damm thing.  But I will make an exception for the black bean brownies.

It will be my pleasure to serve black bean brownies and not say a word to husband or co-workers.  I will wait until the next day before I tell my husband the truth.  Hey Honey, you know those black beans that you said were nasty/horrible/gross?  Well guess what?  You ate them yesterday in those delicious brownies.  He will be a little mad at me but he will get over it when he remembers how good they were.  And when I tell him that they are very healthy for people with diabetes he won’t hate me anymore.

But the thing that I am REALLY looking forward to is… when I wait a few days to tell those two guys at work.  I can see it now in my mind.  We get to work and we are drinking coffee talking about the work that needs to be done on our shift.  Then my overly fastidious supervisor will announce that he had to make an appointment with a GI doctor.  The other guy will say with much interest..”Yeah..what for?”   My supervisor will say that he pooped solid black and he thought death would soon be upon his door….the dreaded colon cancer.  He screamed at his wife “Honey….get in here RIGHT now and look at this black shit!!!!!  I am going to die!!    The other co-worker will say “Damm!!! The same thing happened to me!!  About the black shit I mean…not that I screamed at my wife like a wimp…”   At that time I will fall out of  my chair laughing and say “You guys are killing me here!!!!   You are not going to die.  You just ate some black beans in the brownies!!!!!

They will never eat another thing that I bring to work.  That’s okay too.  But the funny thing is….they will forever more be..just..a..little..afraid..of..me.  And when I show up to work again with black beans…all I can say is they better not say a word.

 

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Introducing Myself

Hello and welcome to my page.  I wanted to tell you a few things about Crazy Old Woman so you would know who you are dealing with – what makes me crazy 🙂

We all have things that have happened to us that had an influence in our lives.  It’s how you deal with those influences that makes us the personalities we are.

Okay here goes.  Oh by the way, if you are very easily offended, you might not like my page.  I do not get graphic about anything here.  But sometimes I will write about things that just might offend someone.

My mom and father divorced when I was three years old.  1960.  I had a younger brother who was 1-1/2 years old at the time, my baby sister was 9 months.  You do the math.  I guess us kids made them crazy.  Or it could be because I had colic for the first three months of my life and cried constantly when I wasn’t asleep.  That would probably make me a little upset too.

My earliest memory is of hollering and arguing parents.  The next thing I remember is us kids and mom living with her parents.  Father moved on.  No phone calls, no birthday cards – nothing. But we got used to it.  We kids went to visit father’s parents occasionally.  I guess maybe they gave him news of our happenings by phone.  Things went OK for a while until “The Incident”.  I will not go into detail except to say that my paternal grandfather was a dirty old man and when I finally got up the nerve to tell my maternal grandfather what had happened, it’s a wonder there wasn’t a killing.  Now this wasn’t a full blown “incident”.  But to a young girl it was enough.  Of course visits with them promptly stopped.

Things settled down somehwat after that.  It was Nana,  Papa, Mom and us kids.  My mother really did hate her mother, but adored Papa.  But all three of fought like cats and dogs all the time.  Sometimes on the weekends, the arguing would be so bad they would get physical and throw kitchen chairs at each other and be yelling at us kids to “go outside !!!!”.  Nice.  We would go outside and go down the street or wherever just to get away from it.  I am sure we were very entertaining to the neighbors and fodder for lots of gossip.

One time I can remember coming home from school and Momma and Nana were fighting in the front yard!  It was a she-cat fight too.  They yelled at us to go somewhere.  The next week Nana is in bed with a traction thing.  She must have gone to the hospital or doctor somewhere to get that contraption.  Maybe she got it from a friend whose daughter like to beat up on her too…who knows.

And then later, after Momma was at work and Nana was taking care of us, she would say “Your momma stays out too late and is seeing men she shouldn’t.”

And then a few years later Papa gathered us kids around and told us that Momma was marrying a man who had been in jail at one time for indencent exposure.  He told us that if anything “ever happened” after they got married to tell him and he would take care of it.  I don’t think Papa knew the man was a terrible alcoholic too.  Or maybe he became that way after he married my momma.  She had that effect on people.

Well they got married and we moved to the country, which was very nice.  We had a dog, a big garden and some chickens.  The honeymoom didn’t last too long.  Soon it was hollering and arguing all over again, just two different players now.  Momma and stepfather.  Mainly over his drinking.  We had a nice dining room table that was 6 foot long, 3 foot wide and solid oak.  Stepfather sat at one end and Momma sat at the other.  One night they were arguing and the next thing I know, a quart Mason jar full of ice tea, came whizzing by in front of me.  It hit the far wall, shattering tea and glass everywhere.  Us kids went somewhere.  If Momma was aiming at his head, she wouldn’t have made it as a baseball player.  I think it was a warning.

Well Papa died of a heart attack leaving Nana alone in a house in the city.  Nana never drove a car.  I don’t think they could afford two cars.  Maybe Papa was afraid if Nana had a car, she would load her stuff up and go live with kinfolk in Arkansas.

Our next door neighbor couple in the country wanted to be closer to his job, so a deal was made.  They traded properties and Nana was our new neighbor.

Nana crocheted and sewed a lot.  She was also an excellent cook.  Everything I know about cooking, she taught me.  Every afternoon when us kids got off the school bus, she had a treat made.  This helped us “new kids” be popular for a while because she made enough for them too.

Momma and Nana still argued a lot but because they didn’t have to live under the same roof, it wasn’t as bad.  Nana never had to get traction again.

Momma worked in town and since I was the oldest, I had to cook and clean a LOT.  I never got an allowance or even allowed to go anywhere with friends very much.  I think she didn’t want me to be as wild as she was.  It didn’t work.  The more she made me do, the more I rebelled.  Finally when I was 17, I had been dating a 17 year old boy.  His family wasn’t that great either.  We decided to get married.

Holy Mother of Pearl, Momma went beserk.  The more she screamed and threatened me, the more determined I was to get out of that house, one way or the other.

One weekend my boyfriend’s family went to stay at the lake in a cabin.  Not really far away, just an “out-of-the-house” thing.  That is called a “stay-cation” nowadays.  I was allowed to go !!  I had a blast swimming, boating and fishing.

One month later they decided to go again.  Momma said I couldn’t go this time.  I asked “why not?”.  She said “because I said so.”  The rebellion took a different turn.  I wouldn’t back down and cower out like I had in the past.  The gaunlet had been thrown down.  A terrible fight broke out.  After it was over, I moved in with Nana.  When Nana was helping me get my clothes, Momma told Nana some awful, horrible, terrible things that I supposedly had done. She told my grandmother that I was a slut and that I had been having sex with boyfriend.  She was wrong about the slut thing, I had only ever “been”  and the only one, so I was not a slut.  I was hysterically crying .  Nana  very calmly said “You dated every married man in town and married an alcoholic ex-con.  What else is new?”  Way to go, Nana !

This is the end of chapter one.

I hope I have managed to inject some humor here.  I am not bitter or a “survivor”.  These are the things that have made me a strong person.  I will continue later.  Thanks for stopping by.