Monday, April 24, 2017

It's Not All About Potatoes

Prowling this morning I found one of 'My Documents' that surprised me.  Now when did I copy that from somewhere on the big web, I wondered.  And why?  Everyone that knows me knows I'm a pack rat.  Is a packrat a hoarder, do you think?  I save everything.  So my good luck found this list for potato uses.  I hope it will be of some use to you also.

I just suggested to 'A' last week to stick those long rosebush stems into a potato and bury them.  She forgot.  I'll do it  ...for I want one of them. Yellow roses.  I love them.

Well back to the: Potato - Uses other than eating

Reduce puffy under-eyes. Lay a slice of raw potato over each eye and lie back for a few minutes.

Remove stains on clothing, carpets, upholstery. Grate a couple of raw potatoes into a cup or two of water and allow to soak. Squeeze out the potato shreds and daub the water on the stain. Alternatively, try rubbing the stain with the cut edge of a raw potato.

Remove stains on hands that come from working with berries, beets and other plant materials. Just rub hands with the cut surfaces of a raw potato.

Hold decorative arrangements (flowers, branches) in place. Poke holes in a large potato set at the bottom of a bowl and arrange your flowers, herbs or branches in the holes to keep them in place. Add water if needed.

Remove tarnish from silverware and other items by soaking them in potato water (left after boiling potatoes). Of course, if you don’t have any tarnish to remove, add the potato water to a soup stock. (Or soak your feet in it. Many swear by this folk remedy for tired, aching feet.)

We are a clan of potato eaters.  I grew up eating potatoes, as you may well have also.  Mashed potatoes slathered with real butter and cream?  Nothing like it.  So many other ways of eating potatoes.  Possibly more popular than rice in this day and time.

Way back, long ago, growing up, potatoes were called spuds around this area.  Maybe they still are.  I'm isolated from my area.

To our family came a baby boy, M.  He was a spitting image of his grandpa B.  By one year old he was eating well.  4 teeth.  Mashed potatoes he would grin for.  Soon we began calling him "Spud".  Good nickname.  It fit him well.  It would be so nice to have him back.  About every time I peel a potato,  memory brings back our Spud, our slender young child of the black eyes that glittered seeing a potato.

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