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Al Owne in the kitchen (03/03/2013)
By Al Owne
I tried waffles again. I don’t know if it’s the antique iron, or me, but they didn’t turn out too well. The good things were: I didn’t burn myself, I used the hint I read about pouring the batter in the middle and let it ooze to the sides so I didn’t run it all over the stove, and I let the batter rest for five minutes. On the other hand they just weren’t very good. They were crispy and tough. They weren’t really burned either. Let’s just say if I would have been in a diner, I would have sent them back. I guess I’m just not a waffle maker. I’ll eat my waffles at some church fund raiser from now on, I think.

I’ve been suffering from “Cabin Fever” lately. I’m tired of winter and darkness and I guess I get a little depressed about my situation, too. I was cured of that last Saturday. I was walking around the house feeling blah and thought that it would be a good time to check out my recliner beside the fireplace for a while, so I cranked back and dropped off into a deep winter’s nap.

I was shocked awake by my doorbell ringing once, twice, three times. “Okay,” I thought, “I’m coming; I’m coming!” I shook my blanket off and trudged to the door. I looked out the small window and didn’t see anyone. “Had they left?” I thought. “Maybe someone’s playing jokes,” I grumbled to myself and my mood darkened even more. Then I noticed a colorful stocking cap under my line of sight and under it was a little girl. She was accompanied by an even smaller one. They were so close to the door that I had been unable to see them through the window.

I opened the door and the taller one said, “We’re selling Girl Scout Cookies,” in a very self-assured manner and pushed her way in. “Okay,” I said, “How do we do this?” “Oh, it’s easy,” she chirped; “You give us the money, and we give you the cookies!” Then she handed me an order sheet.

The order sheet had other names of neighbors scribbled on it and names of the various types of cookies, some that I recognized and some I didn’t. So I tried to write my name with the pen she handed to me but it was hardly visible. “It’s cold,” she explained and I could see it really wasn’t necessary so I made some funny marks on the line to her satisfaction. I asked the two which were the best cookies. They each had a choice and I followed their recommendations and choose two boxes of chocolaty cookies.

I gave her the $8.00 due and the two super sales girls were out to a waiting car and back in less time than it took me to realize my stocking feet were cold. After I got my high sugar loot, I asked, “Is your Mom in the car?” “No, that’s my Dad; bye,” and they were gone hurrying to the neighbors next door.

As I carried my cookies past the recliner, I realized that my blah mood had disappeared; no one could be down around those two. 


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