I Don’t Care

This is a pre-PS to the story for today. But instead of Post Script at the end of the story, I wanted to make sure that I answered some important questions about the riddle and your many, many answers to the query… The biggest question is: when will I get around to telling who won? I promise, PROMISE, all will be revealed on Monday (that means most likely it will be Monday, but may be Sunday or Tuesday because that is how I roll). Second question is: was your guess counted in the group, pile, plethora of answers? I believe that I found all the answers throughout the different sites such as the original website, official website at SchmidlinAngusFarms.com, the LinkedIn account, the Instagram account, my email and text. If by any chance I missed your guess and you can provide a screenshot of your winning number that you sent to me, I will make sure to include you in the prize giving along with the winners I announce. Third question: does Susan know what she is doing? I’m not sure if I have a good answer for that one. It seems like I do know some of the time, other times not so much. I can tell you that seeing your guesses and some of the unique ways you came to your conclusions really brightened my days during this grueling hay season. And speaking of hay season, we are almost through with the season, finally, and that is why it is going to take me until Monday to get all the guesses out of the file I dumped them into, get them sorted into  some reasonable sense, and find the winners. Now onto today’s story…

My Mom had a way with words. Sometimes she would say she did not care for something. If someone was acting recklessly, naughty or rude, she would say she did not care for that kind of behavior. She was never dissing the person, but what they were doing. When moving into the Senior Living apartment she had to fill out a bunch of paperwork, for the first time in her life she had meal service on a daily basis. When asked about food preferences she only stated that she did not care for Brussels Sprouts.

Now I do not know what very rural Kansas in the 1920’s did to Brussels Sprouts to make her loathe them other than boil them to mush, but Mom truly hated them without actually saying so. She wouldn’t touch them.

My sister and I took Mom for a Lady’s Night Out at a local nursery. There were samples of food and wine tasting every few feet around the giant greenhouse. There was live music and the place was jam-packed with many happy females with a few gentlemen sprinkled in. One of the samples was of Brussels Sprouts lightly cooked with butter and bacon. They were delicious and we talked Mom into tasting them, she was as surprised as we were to hear her say that it was no longer true that she did not care for Brussels Sprouts! But it may have been the previous wine tasting that tipped the scales toward that declaration.

I have always said that I loved hay season and many years have given lists of why it is my favorite holiday of the year. The biggest reason for my happiness was because of how good I felt when hay season was officially over for the year. With this current hay season dragging on for a month and a half, I no longer care for this hay season. I don’t think wine would help my current feelings.

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