Justin Nelson, Jr., pounded the last of the stakes of his new cattle pen into the dry dirt. Like sentinels, they sprouted in a line from the barn, swerved north of the stream, veered at a right angle for the stump, and followed Justin to where he stood. The cross-beams remained, after which he'd finally be done. He took a white handkerchief from his shirt pocket and wiped his forehead. The task had been lengthened considerably, although Justin refused to admit it, by incessant thinking, an activity which often stopped him with his hammer in mid-air. But now, he would soon be able to think all he wanted from the comfort of his porch as the cattle wandered from shade to shade. After he bought some cattle, he reminded himself. Under the entirely blue vault of sky, Justin felt something pass between himself and the morning sun. His leathered face turned up to see nothing but ubiquitous light, curving toward him in all directions. He arched his aging back, feeling the popping and hating it more than usual, before wiping his neck and replacing the handkerchief. He had that feeling that he'd better drink something and sit down or he'd end up in that damn hospital again. Twice last year, whether he needed it or not, he went in for a check-up, and twice a year, some intern treated him like the village idiot. Truth be told, everyone who knew about him had treated him that way for nearly eleven years, except his niece. With a sigh escaping from the bellows of his withering chest, Justin shuffled back to the porch he had added onto his small two-room home. In the distance, a plume of dust was billowing off the road. Mail truck. Must be time for breakfast. About time I ate something. Question: Who or what wandered from shade to shade? Options: A. a homeless person B. not enough information C. The cattle D. a stray dog === The correct answer is
C

I had seen it before, those fuzzy, furry leaves and stalks, with the pretty, star-pointed purple flowers, but up until that moment that I saw them sitting in a basket at the market stalls, I admit I had never taken notice of it as a food. It grow along cracks in stone walls and along the roadside near my home in Settignano, which is blooming with spring goodness right now: robinia (black locust) trees, wild garlic (three-cornered leek) and even elderflowers are already bursting. I asked the vendor just to double check, "Is this borage?" "Si," Came the answer, "Borragine." He confirmed. "I've had it in ravioli," I started to say, "Brava!" He said, as if we were about to start a guessing game on what could be done with it. Actually, there's a lot that can be done with it. If you can use it as a ravioli filling with ricotta, then you can imagine it taking the place of spinach in gnudi, too, but also soups or frittata or stirred through polenta. I learned that the flowers are just as delicious, if not more interesting, for their delicate cucumber-like flavour people told me of their use in salads or cocktails like Pimms, and someone even mentioned she freezes them in ice cubes, what a pretty idea for those first warm nights when you can dine al fresco, homemade cocktail in hand. Then there's risotto and of course the fritters, much like these ones. Or you can simply deep fry the clusters of buds that haven't yet burst open like these deep-fried robinia flowers. borage and ricotta crepes The problem, I was thinking, as I took home my bag of borage, is that I can't decide what to make. There's simply too much choice. I consulted two of my favourite books that also happen to be cookbooks. Patience Gray's Honey from a Weed and Luigi Ballerini's A Feast of Weeds. Both had wonderful ideas for borage (and indeed many other edible, foraged plants). Question: What did he eat? Options: A. famous recipe B. not enough information C. homemade meal D. A recipe from his book === The correct answer is
D

Q: Yes. I had a stress heart attack five years ago. My step-son is a heroin addict. He will be on an opioid agonist for the rest of his life. His behavior mirrored the worst of what addicts do to a family. I was desperate to make a change, and my husband was desperate to save his son's life. That meant having to watch my husband support my step-son as he abused me and my children. Multiple criminal behaviors, many times the police came to the house, two convictions, long-term parole. Watching him threaten to kill me, kill his father, and kill his younger brother and sister. Add to that a very stress job situation with a new boss who decided he needed a new VP, but had no basis to terminate my employment, so instead was determined to make my work life a living hell on earth. So, yep, I had a heart attack. I'm still angry at everything that led up to the heart attack. I'm working really hard on forgiving my husband, forgiving my step-son, and the overwhelming guilt of my children seeing me as an accomplice to their abuse. I found a new job, and then had the pleasure of seeing my former boss fired by the Board of Directors. Since then I find I'm hyper-vigilant in issues of child abuse, worker abuse, addiction, lying and deceit (Trump trigger), and feeling somewhat betrayed by my husband. I honestly think if it had been one of my children doing the abusing, I would have found a way to put my child into long-term rehab. I would not have pretended it wasn't happening, or "not that bad" or other form of denial. As is, I lived through this hell for two years, and a part of me will never forgive for how it all came about. Probably TMI, sorry. Becky Question: What did Becky's boss decide he needed? Options: A. not enough information B. A new VP. C. To make Becky's life a living hell. D. To get fired. === The correct answer is
A: B