The Coffee is Ready

Just in time for my very first, banana bread. Over the last few months an itch to learn how to bake has taken hold. I like and am a fairly good cook, but when it comes to breads, cakes, cookies, and pastries - not so much.

Behold.

My first banana bread. I know, for those of you out there this is very simple. You've probably flipped out hundreds. That lovely bundle of goodness, is for me, a major step.

I get it now....one cup means one cup...not a scoop as I'm want to do.

Stephen

Bits & Pieces

Few days ago after a long hard day I settled back into my chair to give a good long thought towards a nap when she came into the room and said, "Ah, Honey, I agreed for us to babysit this weekend." Notice she didn't ask, say please, may I dear - just, I agreed.

Flipped her a look. She flipped it right back. Then, "It's Ariana."  The little six year old girl I mentioned earlier this week. Case closed.

I awoke this morning to the sweet scent of pancakes. Then I felt a presence next to my face. I peeked. There was a cute little face peeking back. She'd sneaked into our bedroom and was standing next to my bed with a yard long smile on a face full of pearl white teeth.

She followed me into the bathroom, then waited. She followed as I left the bedroom. Tagged me when I walked out the door for my paper. Trailed me back. At one point she latched onto my pants leg and refused to release me as I took coffee and paper into the family room. When I sat she climbed, without hesitation, into my lap and snuggled.

I have a new friend.

To tell the truth, it felt kinda good. During the last two evenings, I again, experienced the joy of a grandfather. And, to continue with honesty, it also brought back a deep bone bruising sadness.

We'll see where this leads.

*****

She's walked the street in front of the shop for weeks. Her hair has been all but shaved which leaves her the appearance of an escaped mental patient. She wears baggy and old BDU pants, the older woodland camouflage pattern, and a dingy white t-shirt. She drags a small carry-on flight bag when out and about her rounds. She's jerky, hesitate in her movements. I'm reluctant to guess her age but if pushed I'd place her at forty or so.

She talks to herself. She's dirty and smells awful. I should know, last Friday she finally rang my bell. In a moment of stupidity, I released the lock. I have a weakness for the young and defenseless. This weakness of mine extends towards all women in need. I can't help myself....I know, I'm an easy touch. So sue me.

First words out of her mouth, "Hey, call me a ride."

She didn't ask or say please, or may I use your telephone, just - do it.

Without invitation she pranced into my office, and when inside, took a seat in my spare chair. I nearly came unglued at the overpowering smell of body odor, a very distinctive unpleasant experience. So, as any good Samaritan I reached into my cabinet and retrieved one of my wife's Urban Survival Kits and placed it in her hands and explained a restroom waited across the street. Then, "You mean in that park."

"Yes."

"Call me a ride."

"No."

I stood to speed her exit. She reached for my desk phone and held it aloft and in the blink of an eye began to dial. She eased back into the chair and spread her legs and waited. Then she puts on a fake smile, and I assume when her call is connected, said, very sugar sweetly, "Hello. Who's this. Yes, put him on the phone. Hello, who are you."

I've pulled my bandana out and have it over my nose. She continued, "Well, then just ****you too."

She extends the phone to me. "Here, tell them I want a ride." Before I can respond she slams the phone down. Tears follow. "I was thrown out of my home. He hates me. I haven't a place to sleep. Oh, my Lord what will I do. Hey, you have anything to eat? I need a drink of water. What's your name? You're cute. Can I use your bathroom, I gotta pee. I want a knife like yours. You gotta spare knife I'm afraid out there and I'll cut their gonads off. I once cut my husband when he wanted to rape me. I showed him, I cut him deep."

This had to end.

As gently as possible I took her arm and walked her into the main shop towards the door. I placed a granola bar and small bottle of water in her bag along with the Urban Survival Kit and reminded her of the shower at the park.

Her, "Hey, can I make a quick twenty?"

"No."

"You're a butthole."

I smiled, said, "So I've been told."

*****

Other than the soft music of the radio the house is very quiet now. I should set this laptop aside and get to work on the yard, but I wait in hopes of rain and the perfect excuse to relax and read.

She'll be home from church soon so perhaps I should make her a nice lunch.

Maybe, that.

The friggin yard can wait...after all, it's my one day off.

Take care.

Stephen

    

Hey, That's My Bronco

Guess I've been asleep at the switch. I've just discovered 'Fast 'n Loud.' I like this show.

And, I want my Bronco back...

Stephen

It's Okay, Just Insult Me

Name calling is just childish, and this is over the top and sick.

If you want to know how to be dropped from my links...this is a prime example.

And yes, I side with the Tea Party.

Stephen

A Break

I've taken a step back from the world. Allow me please to gather my thoughts, heal this awful headache, and then I'll try and post, something.

Until we meet again - sally forth and misbehave.

Stephen

You're Welcome

I take a day off to relax and read only to drift from my state of  rem sleep to find the government shut down.

Isn't it wonderful.

If I'd of known a simple day off would restore a partial restoration of state's rights I'd of taken two days vacation.

Stephen

Sunday

In this rare quiet moment I'm relaxed and at peace. Last evening, or I should write, early this morning, she stepped into the family room with her arms filled with picture frames. She had a shy smile on her face, then, "Is it okay with you if I put the grand children's pictures back on display?"

Time indeed heals all wounds. Back then, the very sight of the photographs dropped her to the floor in pain, and tears of grief. Several days later I arrived home to find all the pictures, those little frozen moments framed in gold and wood, gone. She'd bundled and hidden them out of sight. I never said a word or complained. Our house was empty of memories.

This morning I awoke and when I stepped into our living room the piano top was lined with pictures of Little Bit and Sport Model. The family room bookcases held their smiling faces. It's been far too long.

Her heart mends, and I owe and credit this change to a little six year old girl.

This, is a good thing.

We have a busy day scheduled. Sweet Wife has tapped me to prepare a dinner for guests. She recently met and made a new best friend. Her new best friend is from Trinidad, a registered nurse and grandmother and member of Sweet Wife's church. Her new friend has custody of her six year old granddaughter, a pixie of pure delight. The pixies name is Ariana. Ariana has hair like spun silk that falls in ringlets and a thousand watt smile. I must be careful of my heart.

My job is to cook. They arrive at 1600, and it's been made clear I had better be on my best behavior and to please secure our home of all lose firearms. I shall comply. If this minor chore will further her hearts healing - I'm all in.

Later,

Stephen