Mumblings from behind an oak desk...

It's another slow day at the office here in the windy city, and so here is a story in my series of random mumblings, mumbled from behind my lovely oak desk.

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The turnip story -

Several years ago, long before I became a resident of this bustling midwestern metropolis, I lived in a lovely home with my family. (Family meaning my mom, and my older brother.) This lovely home was only a mile or two from the home of my grandparents... Which, of course, translated into seeing them frequently.

One summer, my grandmother decided to grow turnips in her garden. This fact in and of itself is not particularly noteworthy or fascinating until you hear about what became of the turnips.

Being homegrown, the turnips produced from the garden were not particularly large or impressive. They didn't look like they were bound to win any prizes at a state fair or anything. They weren't a spectacular color, or shape either... So grandma decided that they would be consumed.

Not being a family of turnip fans, we disagreed with dear sweet grandma, and let her know that we had no intention of consuming them.

Here's where the real story begins!

One evening after a lovely meal (probably consisting of BBQ chicken from the grill, green beans, jello with fruit and marhmallows somehow suspended in it, cottage cheese, and buttered bread) grandma insisted that we take the turnips home with us.

We verbally conceded the point and said that we would take them. However when the time to take them home came, the turnips were "forgotten" on the kitchen counter.

Point-mom.

Another day that same week, we again dined at grandma's house... (probably a meal of porkchops from the grill, mashed potatoes, cottage cheese, leftover jello with fruit and marshmallows suspended in it, and buttered bread) and again grandma insisted that we take the turips... and again we "forgot" them on the kitchen counter.

Point- mom.

Fast forward a few days to the Sunday of the following week.

In all likelihood we'd "forgotten" the turnips 3-4 times (another point or two to mom) at this juncture.

Grandma, not one to let this kind of thing slide took matters into her own hands.

Unbeknownst to the rest of the family, she quietly slipped the turnips into my mother's purse.

Point - grandma.

The turnips sat in mom's purse, unnoticed for a day or two, at which point I get a phone call.

Mom: You'll never believe what I found in my purse today
Liz: Probably not, so just tell me, what?
Mom: Those damn turnips!
Liz: NO WAY! How did they get there?
Mom: I imagine your grandma got tired of us "forgetting" them.
Liz: You know what this means, right?
Mom: Yep.
Liz: It's on!

Over the course of the next several months, the turnips were returned to grandma... They were conveniently left on her chair, hidden in the couch cushions, tucked under her pillow, left in her martini glass, or wrapped up in her knitting.

Of course, Grandma, smelling the heat of competition (which smelled suspiciously like old turnips,) played right back into us. She would leave them in our shoes, our purses, bags of leftovers that were to go home with us, and I think once or twice even in our mailbox.

Like I said, this took place over the course of several months. To those of you familiar with the shelf life of raw vegetables, months might seem like a long time... and it was.

As it turns out, over the course of time, turnips kind of shrivel up, dehydrate, and more or less petrify.

So by the end, we were passing petrified turnips back and forth which looked more or less like a shriveled dog turd.

It was pretty damn funny.

In the end, I don't know what happened to the turnips, but the humor of the situation kind of wore off, and in all likelihood they were discarded in a trash receptacle. (Don't go crying for the turnips, these things happen!)

But that is the turnip story.

(The moral of this story? --It's not my fault I'm such an odd individual, I come from an all-around crazy bunch of folks, and crazy is kind of like a virus, once it's in your system, it gets programmed into your DNA, and you'll always have it with you.)