Stepping in Spearmint Gum

I stepped in spearmint gum today. I don’t even like spearmint gum.

You Can’t Wish For Friday Yet

But you can wish for 5 o’ Clock

Blended Margarita photo by Jon Sullivan

Freshly Squeezed Orange Juice

Freshly squeezed
Six nice Valencias
Beside my pancakes
The perfect sting
To compliment Vermont maple syrup
Sunday breakfast
With the funnies

Orange photo by Paolo Neo

Fudge Brownie, Better Not

Fudge Brownie
I lift you to my chin
And crumble you upon my palate
Moist and decadent
A desert not a snack
Fudge Brownie
I think I’ll have another
Better Not

Dessert photo by Jon Sullivan

Sunday Grand Slam at Denny’s

Who wants pancakes, and who wants bacon and eggs? If life only gave us those kind of decisions everyday. Do you want bacon or sausage? How about French Toast? It all sounds good to me.
Our usual tardiness at the local Denny’s gives the family a chance to catch up on who won yesterday’s soccer match. Everybody has at least five minutes to have a turn. I listen to stories of arts and crafts projects with a devilish grin, as I know that nobody is going to finish the mammoth portions of hash browns and toast that they always seem to commit to. Those extra potatoes and sides will go well with my Grand Slam.
Whew! Let’s not all get the Cholesterol checked or go for any mile runs after this. That last piece of sourdough with strawberry jam on it kind of did me in for the morning. If anyone needs advice on how to glue a model plane or maybe do a math problem, you know where to find me on the couch. Otherwise, I’m not too good for much except watching some sports today. I won’t get in anyone’s way. I’m just a mellow gut full of eggs and bacon, taking Sunday off, the way the world ‘otta be.

“Bacon and Eggs” Watercolor by Andy Fletcher

Visit Pike’s Place Market, Seattle, WA

When in Seattle, Visit Pikes Place Market. Have a latte at the first Starbuck’s and warm yourself up as you stroll the isles. The fishmongers toss today’s catch and the notion for a fresh salmon dinner crosses the palate. Give a dollar to the balloon man as he ties a dog. It looks like rain. Pike’s Place, a sure stop in the Northwest.

“Public Market Center” Watercolor by Andy Fletcher

McDonald’s Slightly Depressed Meal

I went to McDonald’s and ordered a “Slightly Depressed” Meal the other day.

Chop Red Onion

Burgers Sizzle
Husk the skin
With the flick of the wrist
Wipe a Tear
Deftly slice eight nice rings
Upon the oak
Out to the back yard
Dinner is served

Onions-Jon Sullivan Photo

The Sausage McMuffin Hedge-Fund Manipulation

The Sausage McMuffin 2 for $2 meal has risen to 2 for $4 in the past eight years. I am going to look into some kind of alternative breakfast energy such as Corn Flakes.

Sausage McMuffin picture by Lynda Fletcher

Birthday Cake-You Are Never Too Old

The whir of the beater grinds the metal bowl. My mom dumps in two boxes of Betty Crocker white cake mix. It is my birthday. Crack, one egg, two eggs-it has been thirty-three years. She has made the same cake every one of them. Betty Crocker white cake mix, oil, and eggs. The beater grinds.
With precision, up swoops the Kitchen Aid. A quick twist and the silver bowl springs into action. A floured sheet cake pan awaits the gooey concoction; I await the drippy bowl. My mom pours and shakes the pan to even the batter. She spreads the top with a spatula; with an index finger I swipe Betty Crocker to my lips. The joy of adding another year is in the mix.
Rattle. The metal on metal of the pan as it hits the oven rack in a preheated 350-degree oven. The midday sun shines through the kitchen. I await the cutting of the top and my afternoon birthday snack-hot cake and freshly mixed icing.
Nothing fancy around our house. Crisco and box frosting- mom says that Crisco is the secret; butter is a little too strong. Pour the powder into a Pyrex bowl. Stir with a spatula. The warmth of the cake fills the kitchen. Only fifteen minutes left.
Timing is everything; let the frosting set. Get four bowls down. One for yellow, one for red, one for blue, and one for green; it isn’t a Birthday cake if it isn’t nice and colorful. This year will be a big locomotive; Andy loves his trains.
The aroma is unbearable as the buzzer goes off. Two oven-mits from the drawer and out it comes, onto the tile. I pour a glass of milk and the top is carved as promised. I politely borrow from the vat of white frosting with a knife. Ah, birthdays, you are never too old.