Archive for September, 2010

September 26, 2010

The Adventures of the Lone Cupcake

The wind whistled through the kitchen, swirling the powdered sugar around the still figures. One lone cupcake stands before a horde of chocolate torte brownies. They are both still; the brownies uncertain whether to believe the tales about this lemon cupcake, the cupcake waiting for the right moment to move.

The Lone Cupcake stands strong against the dark forces of chocolate.

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September 19, 2010

Scrabbling for Cheese

It’s funny how transient our little neurons are. Yes, self-righteous scientist, I do realize that neurons, by nature, are transient. But it is interesting how our mind will start in the kitchen, leap over to the wash room, and find itself in the attic. Let’s play a mind game. I’ll say a word, and you consciously trap the first word that jumps into your wrinkly gray mass.




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September 12, 2010

Camera Clickin’ Creeper

If I wasn’t a woman, I would have been reported and tagged as an official creeper by now.

I can’t imagine a lurking lone male of any age escaping the notice of careful parents, especially one with a large Nikon D40. It just isn’t done. One of my friends often complains that he can’t exercise at the community park –he’s a fan of monkey bars, apparently– because the parents give him the Stink Eye. Understandable, considering that every forty seconds a child disappears or is kidnapped in America. Even so, the poor guy can barely get a sweat going before a parent will ask him to get his derriere out of there.

Waiting under a cabana for photogenic children.

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September 2, 2010

The Role of Apple Pie

This morning, I was a pie-making virgin.

This is strange, considering that both sides of my family are self-proclaimed pie fiends. Every holiday, even the half-holidays (like Groundhog’s Day and Washington’s Birthday), there is a pie to officiate the occasion. G-ma B will make fresh blueberry pie, its raven tendrils of juice sprouting from the flaky mound. Grandmother Miller’s pecan pie is famous in the Amish circles of rural Indiana, which is saying something. Those Amish women don’t kid around when it comes to baking. Don’t forget sweet Aunt Debbie and her daughters who pop out fantastic pies as quickly as a well-oiled Krispy Cream machine. Even my father, the man who can only make Super Dad Dogs (hot dogs rolled in a piece of bread), makes a decent cherry pie.

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