Dear Kid,

Do you remember I bought bee pollen a week or so ago at the farmer’s market? You might not because A) you were studying so diligently or B) that day’s post didn’t go out properly due to technical weirdness (so you can re-read it here). But I did.

Following the farmer’s instructions, I raced home (sort of) and put the pollen in the freezer as directed.

Then I promptly forgot about it.

Until I remembered and decided it was silly to invest in bee pollen if you’re not going to use it, and to use it you have to know how to use it and that required consulting My Friend the Internet.

I happened to have a few free minutes and so I did just that.

Here’s what I learned based on my extensive research of exactly one site.

Pollen is the male seed of the plant. This is factual and entirely less interesting than when the king in “Once Upon a Mattress” tries to explain the birds and the bees to his son (which I’m including here for your enjoyment because I’m that kind of mom).

Fact: Bee pollen can’t sting you. This is a good thing. But it gets, oh, so much better.

Bee pollen is approximately 40% protein and is one of nature’s most completely nourishing foods according to Bees Weekly interviews. Just kidding. The bees aren’t interviewed and they don’t have their own magazine, but bee pollen is all kinds of good for humans (and bees).

Bee pollen can’t be made in a laboratory. Something that looks like bee pollen and seems to be bee pollen can be made, but if you feed it to bees they die. So that is a big #fail.

It takes one bee working 8 hours a day for a solid month (no weekends off) to gather a teaspoon of pollen. Hence the price which doesn’t quite require a home loan but is still rather hefty.

“The percentage of rejuvenating elements in bee pollen exceeds those present in brewer’s yeast and wheat germ.” Rejuvenating?? What??? Why didn’t anyone tell me about this sooner?

According to MFtI, bee pollen improves endurance and vitality, extends longevity, helps people recover from chronic illness and common illness (colds), builds new blood, and reduces cravings and addictions. It may also be the cure for the common election season, but that hasn’t been proven yet. It may protect against radiation and have anti-cancer qualities.

Local pollen can also help people who suffer from hay fever and allergies which is pretty much everyone in the Ohio River area (and by “Ohio River area” I mean USA).

But here, is the second best part (the first best was the rejuvenation part because some of us are aging). Get this:

The British Sports Council recorded increases in strength of as high as 40 to 50 percent in those taking bee pollen regularly. Even more astounding, the British Royal Society has reported height increases in adults who take pollen.

Seriously.

I am absolutely going to start taking this stuff. Be on the lookout when you come home. I will be a 20 year-old who is a slim, buff, 5 foot 8 inches.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

IF you had been alive and aware on Oct 17, 1814, and IF you happened to have found yourself in England, and IF by chance you were wandering around London (more specifically the parish of St. Giles), you might have witnessed the London Beer Flood. I kid you not.

On October 17, 1814, an enormous (and by enormous I mean 610,000 liters) vat full of beer broke. This in and of itself would have been sad and tragic. However, in the tradition of beer-related chain reaction events, other vats collapsed under the onslaught of beer and breakage, and almost a million and a half liters (1,470,000 liters to be more specific) burst their containers and erupted into the surrounding area.

The alcoholic tsunami wiped away two homes, washed out the wall of the Tavistock Arms Pub, swamped several streets, filled several basements and first floor rooms, interrupted a wake, and then set up a fuss because the international media didn’t interrupt coverage of the events of the day to set up 24 hour reports.

Rock and Roll artists didn’t even hold a fundraiser for the beer-diseased and displaced. All in all, the tsunami thought it was severely underrepresented.

Eight people died in the flood (none of them were college students who would have known how to drink their way out of beer-flooded environments).

The brewery was sued over the accident, but the judge and jury (who were plied heavily with the product in question) remained sober just long enough to rule the disaster an Act of God. God never weighed in on the decision, but hinted strongly in tabloids that there was human corruption and neglect involved. Since it was 1814, and since this was a really poor part of town, no one looked into the incident to carefully until recently when the beer tsunami memoires surfaced and we learned just how upset a tsunami can be.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Report of the Day:

Dad woke me up at 9:21am.

Ordinarily, this would have been a big ol’ breach of the Don’t Wake Me Up rule, but I had (sort of) agreed that it would be ok. And I didn’t have the energy (and by “energy” I mean enough caffeine) to argue. Or talk. Or grunt.

So I got up, threw on some clothes (figured if he wanted to wake me in the middle of the night, then he was just going to have to deal with a makeup-less wife), told him as long as he got me some coffee on the way I was ready to go.

I kissed the Puppy on his nose, put him away, and we left.

We were headed (I know you’re holding your breath just dying to know) downtown for Books by the Banks.

Books, as you may recall, are those things that have words printed on paper. They’re a little old fashioned (perhaps) but some of us love them. (See “Library”.)

Books by the Banks was down at the Duke Convention Center (which means “big space” in Cincinnati-ese). The amazing Susan of Working Moms Against Guilt (shout out—love her) was there speaking on a panel about social media, lots of authors were there, and—wait for it—the Bloggess was there.

That means nothing to you. But she’s kind of a big deal in the blogging world. The same way Michael Jordan is kind of a big deal in the basketball world.

I was impressed.

I also met C. A. Newsome who writes murder mysteries set in Cincy dog parks. Which is impressive, but not nearly as impressive as the art she paints for the covers of the books (amazing puppies). Here is a helpful link, because I’m that kind of gal.

There were lots of sessions that sounded interesting but we had to leave because Dad’s reffing later.

So we drove homeward and stopped at the Montgomery farmer’s market where we bought fresh coffee (yay) and some farm stuff (including bee pollen which I will have to investigate). Our final stop was for bird seed and a new feeder.

At home, Dad snarfed a quick lunch while the Puppy and I hung the new feeder and filled everything up. The birds are happy.

Meanwhile, the Puppy discovered that someone has moved into one of our downspouts. Do you know how hard it is to dig into a downspout when you are a small canine? I got a flashlight so I could look in to see who was there. Turns out, no one was home at that particular moment. The beast is quite sure someone was there recently (and who am I to question his nose?) and was Not Amused when it was time to go inside rather than continue the search for his new friend.

I think that’s a pretty good start to a day, don’t you?

Now to football and other important matters.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Sometimes the way things are named or marketed leads to instant disappointment. “World’s Best” fill-in-the-blank often isn’t even on the World’s Top Ten List. Nitro Coffee (which the sales person spends 10 minutes explaining and you can’t wait to try) tastes like ick.

The Donut Trail could have been one of those things. The Donut Trail #DonutTrail could have been a somewhat circular hiking trail. Or a trail with a picture of a donut. Or some other highly disappointing (if calorie-free) marking creation.

Happily, it’s none of the above.

Located in Butler County, the Donut Trail is a “trail” of 9 specialty Donut Shops. They are far enough apart that driving is essential (I told you this didn’t disappoint). According to the website (see here):

Grab a traveling donut companion and head out on a sweet new trail in Butler County, Ohio. Follow the trail markers to find delicious donut shops. Prep for your trail travels by downloading a map and passport. Once you’ve conquered all the donut shop stops with your passport you’ll be rewarded!

These lovely independent donut bakeries carry all sorts of interesting sounding donuts like s’mores donuts, pineapple fritters, and tiger tails (I’m not sure what that is, but I’m willing to find out).

I’m guessing there is even coffee to be had to go with the donuts.

I think this may have to go on the calendar for when you and Pi are home. What do you think?

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Once upon a time, there was god named Prometheus. We’ve talked about him a little in the past here and here and here. And here. But I’ve never actually told you the full story. Time to rectify that.

Once upon a time—wait. That’s not exactly right.

Back in the beginning of time (or shortly thereafter), there weren’t any people. To keep themselves occupied, the gods fought among themselves (that’s what the Big Bang was before it became a TV show). Fast forward to the end middle of the family bickering, and Prometheus and Epimetheus were told to make man and animals.

Epimetheus got right to work on the animals, and with each creature he created, he reached into his Bag of Gifts and bestowed one upon the animal. He handed out swiftness, cunning, fur, shells, wings, and snailness. He handed out slime and scales and extra legs. He gave out super noses and pouches and prickles and quills.

Meanwhile Prometheus was sculpting man out of mud and clay, and Athena breathed life into man. Prometheus strolled over to the Big Bag o’ Gifts to find something nice for his people pets. But Epimetheus had given everything away.

Prometheus thought and thought (but faster than that) and decided he had to find something. So (being the kind of dude he was) he snuck up to Olympus and grabbed some fire which he gave to man. Probably he gave it to a woman because she was a better chef and was in charge of keeping the family warm.

Zeus decreed that man would be required to sacrifice a portion of the mealtime to the gods. And (being the kind of dude he was) his decree said that the bestest, most yummy portion of the meat (and never the lima beans). Prometheus didn’t want his pets to give away the best portions and decided to intervene.

Prometheus mad two piles: one had the bones of an animal wrapped in juicy fat; the other had the best portion. Prometheus covered each pile with animal hides and asked Zeus to choose which portion would go to the gods. Zeus picked the yummy smelling….bones. (As a reminder, Zeus was powerful, but not exactly a rocket scientist.)

Zeus had agreed, but he was annoyed irked angry royally pissed off. And a hangry Zeus was generally a problem for someone. In this case, Zeus took fire away from the people persons.

Prometheus saw all his people huddling around a non-warming pile of sticks and eating cold pop tarts and knew he had to Do Something. So he built a small torch, flew up to the sun to light it, and brought the present back to the people.

While this wasn’t exactly undoing what Zeus did, it was just a miss on a technicality and Zeus reached a whole new level of annoyed irked angry royally pissed off. Zeus decided to punish Prometheus and man.

Zeus was nothing if not diabolical and he sent Pandora (the woman not the radio station—that came later) to punish people. But you already know that story.

To punish Prometheus for tricking him about the sacrifices, stealing fire, and refusing to tell Zeus which ungrateful child would dethrone him, Zeus chained Prometheus to a huuuuuge rock in the Caucasus Mountains and sent a giant eagle to eat his liver every day.

Eventually Prometheus was freed, but that’s another story. Until then, he was pretty miserable which made some of the renaissance artists very happy since they loved painting Greek misery.

And now you know.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

If you’d been hanging around in the United States in the 1600s, you would not have heard anyone use the term “Hoosier.” Even if you went to the area now known as Indiana, you wouldn’t have found anyone talking about Hoosiers.

Today, you can’t miss ‘em.

Somewhere in the 1800s, the term “Hoosier” sprang up, full grown, into usage.

There are lots of “explanations” given for the derivation of the term, some of them more outlandish than others.

Outlandish: They wanted to be the cool kids on the block when the phrase “Who’s Your Daddy?” came into usage.

Realistic: They wanted to be able to give people the “Duh” look when asked what a Hoosier is.

Outlandish: It comes from the word hoosa which means American Indian maize (corn).

Realistic: Indiana University inherited a mascot uniform and they had to have a name to go along with it.

And still History Departments at major academic institutions don’t call me to guest lecture. Go figure.

We had lovely time at IU yesterday, even if our presence caused yet another home team to forget to win while we were there.

Love, Mom