Beets!

Beets often terrify me. I don't mean to say that I have an irrational fear of beets, because that isn't the case. I don't tremble in the produce department. I don't struggle to hide tremors of terror as I rush my cart past the cans of beets—pickled, sliced, diced, or whole—in the canned vegetable aisle. I don't make the sign of the cross, the evil eye, or any other superstitious act of protection when I walk past a garden that may or may not have beets stealthily growing in some dark and mysterious corner. No, what ends up scaring the bejeesus out of me, nearly every time it so happens, is what happens after I have eaten beets. And digested them.

The first time I was concerned. I looked into the bowl of the commode and there was a string of red in the water coming from...you know, and there were specks of red, too. In the next “movement” the whole stool was red and I was really concerned. I figured I would wait one day and then go to the doctor. That night I had one that was more purple than red and I realized, what the hell, it was beet juice! I had enjoyed a lot of beets and the coloring was working its way through my system. A relief and a good laugh.

Well, time goes by and you forget these things. I did, anyway. The other day I made some fresh beets along with some stewed beet and dandelion greens with garlic. Yummy. But, there, the next morning, my fears returned. I had colon cancer. My intestines were rotting and falling apart in my body. My stomach wall was shredding. I had internal bleeding. You name it. I stared in horror.

And then I remembered: Oh, yeah. Beets.