Throwing Stones

I've been thinking about Paula Deen a lot this week.  Her face has been plastered on the news every hour or so.
                                           
I watched her tearful interview on the Today show, and my heart went out to her.  She's clearly upset by and ashamed of the behavior that got her in this current mess.  She's terribly hurt by the condemnation she's received from so many of her sponsors.  She has apologized over and over for her language twenty-seven years ago. 

Apparently, an employee filed a law suit, claiming the working atmosphere in Deen's empire is discriminatory.  Over the course of the trial, Deen admitted she has used racial slurs in the past - almost thirty years ago.  Immediately, the Food Network dropped her.  Not two days later, Sears and Home Depot dropped her - they won't be selling her cookware anymore.  She's losing her Las Vegas restaurants.  And there's probably more to come. 

I don't know every detail of the suit filed against her, but this punishment upon punishment seems extreme.   Yes, she needs to correct her work environment, clean up whatever unjust shenanigans are going on.  I don't deny people have been hurt.  Deen is a senior citizen who was raised in the south, and, over the years, some attitudes might have needed adjusting. 

But, the woman is facing it.  She acknowledges that years ago she used some hateful words.  Not anymore.  Not for decades.  One can't build her brand to the level Deen has by systematically treating people badly.  The demonization of the woman seems unnecessarily brutal.

I imagine we all have said things we later regretted.  I certainly have.  The human heart is often ignorant and insensitive.  It can be fearful and defensive and prideful.  This is the condition we all share with Paula Deen.  Every one of us.

I pray we remember this as we watch the Deen saga play out.   Because she is a high profile figure, her sins are glaring and repeatedly highlighted.  She is paying for her mistakes in a very public, painful way.  I would never want that focus on my imperfect heart. 

I pray forgiveness for Deen emerges soon.  Nobody benefits from being incessantly dragged through the mud; certainly not the drag-ee, but not the dragg-er either.  God alone is qualified to judge the deeds of man.  And all of us will stand before Him someday.

Microwave Cobbed Corn

I just found two typos in my last two posts.  It's embarrassing.  I work darn hard to write brilliantly, and it's disappointing to discover mistakes that have been on exhibit to the world for a week or more.  My daughter usually spots any errors, but she's on a road trip this month, so I'll blame her.   Free labor isn't what it used to be.

I wanted to share a corn-on-the-cob cooking method, which I just learned from a couple in the grocery store.  I saw this idea on Pinterest, so I don't claim it as my own.  However, the directions I saw were limited.  The couple in the grocery store told me exactly how to cook the corn in a microwave, and I've tried it twice now.  I doubt I'll ever use another method again. 

It's very complicated, so pay attention.

1.  Place unshucked ears of corn on a microwave proof plate and cook for four minutes per ear.  For these two ears, the total cooking time was eight minutes.  It's OK that the husks look discolored and icky.  They cook too.

2.  Next, grab a pot holder or a thick wad of paper towels (because the ears are very hot) and cut off the stem end of the ears, about an inch up.

3.  Using the pot holder, squeeze the silk end of the husk, working the corn down and out the open end.

The silk stays in the husk!  It's very exciting.

No silk on the corn.  One tiny strand on the cutting board, from the husk stripping, but the golden corn is silk-free. 

Slather the thing in butter, and there you go.  Steaming hot, tender, string-free corn.

I was joshing about this being complicated.  It's three steps: cook, cut, squeeze.  It's easy as pie.  Although, pie is not really easy; it's tricky.  Microwave corn-on-the-cob is not pie.

It's corn season, and I'm buying it often.  I usually add a final step, which is sawing the kernels off the cob with a sharp knife.  Then, we don't need dental floss after the meal.  

Try this method for cooking fresh corn, and let me know what you think.  (And if you find a typo, let me know that too.)

No Place Like Home

Our daughter purchased her first house last week.   It was a three-month adventure.

Her closing date was moved twice.  She needed a thousand dollars more than she was originally told.  She was told she couldn't get home insurance until the shoddy roof over the back patio was repaired or torn down.  She discovered the day of her walk-through the refrigerator that came with the house didn't work.  At the time of closing, the realtors didn't have the keys to the house.

It was a bit anti-climactic when she left the closing with no way to get in to the 35-year old house that has issues, but was still hers.   She had a lot of paperwork and a bottle of wine from the realtor, but no place to go.

So we went and had lunch while the realtor found the key.  Turns out only one of the three locks to the house was re-keyed.  What kind of sense does that make?  My husband immediately went to Home Depot and bought three new doorknobs with deadbolts and installed them.  We were able to lock ourselves in while we started cleaning and painting.

In the process of rinsing rags, we discovered all three sinks in the house leaked.  Back to Home Depot for plumbing pipes and caps and whatever else keeps water contained.  Buy more paint, will you, honey, while you're there, and bring some food on your way back, because we're going to be working on this house for a year.

We put on Motown and swept cobwebs from corners and inhaled paint fumes and got dirty and silly.  My husband installed fire alarms and re-installed some closet shelving that was propped up with 2x4s.  We bleached and caulked and Swiffered.  That night, we slept like stones.  Then we got up and did some of it all over again.

Every homeowner knows that buying a house is an adventure.  You don't know that going in the first time, but that's what you learn.   It's a crazy, often aggravating process.   Our daughter was shocked at how many people had to know her SSN, see her pay stubs and bank statements.   Too many people "are in my business," she declared.  Yep, when you're dealing with thousands of dollars, everybody wants their piece of the pie.    

But, in the end, she has her own plot of land.  That's why foreigners came to this country 200 years ago.  To own something, build something, establish something, and spend decades paying for it.  It's the American dream.

Our girl is excited to have a home full of light (we're painting all the rooms Steam White or Ivory Mist.  It's all Eggshell to me) and hospitality and brownies.  She's planning a Noah's Ark-themed room to welcome youngsters, and she's inviting friends to come teach her how to prepare their favorite meal.  She has a shower curtain with the periodic table on it.   She's a chemistry teacher, so imagine her delight when she found that at Bed, Bath, and Beyond.  She might use a beaker for a toothbrush holder. 

We're very excited for her and all the adventures she will create on her own little patch of earth: a vegetable garden, fighting weeds and spiders; eating rice with friends and family because, for awhile, the larder might be lightly stocked; having mail delivered at the end of the driveway; and dancing naked in the living room, if she wants to.

There really is no place like HOME.