Everything on a Waffle: List 2

I ran pell-mell into town, where it occurred to me that I would be safe in stores.

Up one aisle and down another I loitered, examining the labels on the canned vegetables.

Apparently someone had been coming in regularly, cutting Dante’s leash, and letting him out of the store and the Cantinas were just mad to find the perpetrator.

Mrs. Cantina stopped making gibberish noises and got on the phone to the sheriff, ordering him to come immediately and arrest someone.

That’s when Mr. Cantina, very stealthily, crept up behind me, grabbed my collar, and roared, “YOU!” in my ear.

No one had ever grabbed me by the collar much less roared “YOU” in my ear before. It discombobulated me totally.

Another person, guilty or not, would have sensibly cried “No” at that point but I was still floating these days and my mind went off on a tangent thinking it was unreasonable and silly for Mr. Cantina to keep repeating “Did you?” that way.

But it didn’t matter. Because all it proved was that my mother was sitting out there coatless somewhere, waiting to come home to me. Even as he stared at it, the remark “Your mother’s dead” sitting unspoken, like something rotten in our path that neither one of us wanted to be the first to pick up. Even after the kind of day I had had, being taunted at school, and then threatened with incarceration.

“Haven’t you ever believed in something contrary to the evidence?” I asked.

Then he said soberly, “I once believed that a man we had caught with all the evidence of murder around him was innocent. We ended up sending him away because we had to present evidence against him.”

This was my favorite of his repertoire as he very well knew, which otherwise tended toward frozen potpies and TV dinners.

“I’m going to,” said Uncle Jack. “As soon as I can think of a tactful way to do it. We don’t want to embarrass her and have her give the listing to someone else. I’d like to sell that house soon. I need a few quick sales right now so that I can turn around and get the townhouses and condominiums going.”

“I’m going to,” said Uncle Jack. “As soon as I can think of a tactful way to do it. We don’t want to embarrass her and have her give the listing to someone else. I’d like to sell that house soon. I need a few quick sales right now so that I can turn around and get the townhouses and condominiums going.”

I could hear the sound of pan lids hitting the floor and general pandemonium.

“‘James has taught himself to read even though he is only four, and I don’t know what you do to continue to intellectually stimulate a child like that,’ she said to my mother and me when we came over to visit that day...."

“We watched him chase a cat up a tree. He was very agile...."

‘I think that the apricot thumbnail cookies may be close but I’m not sure that they will appeal to Ryan on a long-term basis or whether, when they are older and I pack them in school lunches, they will retain their apricot filling if the lunch bags get squished about in their knapsacks.’

Lena became obsessed with making a dozen perfectly boiled potatoes. She practiced day and night.

“You do see the point of the story, don’t you?” I asked.
“Well...” drawled Uncle Jack, so I interrupted him.

“You remember my timely advice to you about taking me with you to show houses? I know people in town and I know their ways. You’re new here. I know what people are apt to do or not to do.”

“With a pan of rolls sitting right there, why would she suspect anything?” said Uncle Jack. “And without that overwhelming noxious smell, I’m sure I can sell the house right away.”

“I didn’t even know yeast had an expiration date,” I said. “There’s a lot of stuff you need to know to be able to cook.”

“I don’t settle. When I heard the story of your mom and dad, I said to myself, yeah, that’s what I’ve been waiting for. I want someone who puts the whole ball of wax at risk. I want the kind of marriage where we would follow each other out into the stormy fatal sea or I’m not marrying at all.”

“I didn’t mean anything. Believe what you will believe,” said Miss Bowzer, peering over my shoulder, cigarette ash perilously close to the dough.

First, check your yeast and make sure the expiration date hasn't come and gone. Then pour a quarter cup of lukewarm water into a mixing bowl and put a teaspoon of sugar into it.

Put the dough in a buttered bowl, cover it with a cloth, and let it rise until doubled in bulk.

She said just mix it up so that it looks like icing and I did, using about 1/4 cup of butter, 2 cups of sugar, and a few drops of milk, but she said proportions here aren't crucial.

We had a peculiar relationship. We didn’t like each other much but had
lived through my parents’ disappearance together. It gave us a kind of melancholy bond.

I could see the ocean from Miss Perfidy’s street, gray on top and frothing white as it tossed its way into shore.

Going through the living room, I noticed that the doilies were missing from the chair arms.

Crepe pans. She used to run a serious hardware store with serious hardware. Then everyone got all la-di-da. Could afford to start cooking for recreation and she had to start carrying notions like crepe pans, fondue pots, cappuccino machines.

"...Sunday dinner used to be a sociable meal after church. It’s too bad it didn’t happen because I remembered it clear as day and I had quite a pleasant time.”

“Well, as long as you had a good time...” I ventured. “I mean, if the memories are nice, you can enjoy all kinds of things that you didn’t have time to do.”

“Miss Perfidy!” I called. The front door banged as Miss Perfidy left. I went back to stare morosely at the dresser. All my sweaters were gone.

If you prefer Miss Perfidy's tea biscuits, double the baking soda and leave out the vanilla. Then age for ten days in a drawer full of mothballs. They won't be tasty but they'll be authentic.