Read Online Eat, Drink and Be Wary by Tamar Myers - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tamar Myers
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take it home! Is that a sin?"
"Absolutely not, and you have my deepest apologies," I tried to sound sincere.
Freni stood rooted to the ground, like a stout, black stump. While I was wracking my brain for something more soothing, but that I would be willing to say, it occurred to me that I might be on the wrong track.
"is there something specific you wanted to talk to me about dear?"
"Yah. You were supposed to take this bunch of English shopping in Bedford, yah?'
So that was it! "Yes, but - "
"They were going to eat lunch there too, yah?"
"That was the plan, but - "
I glanced at my five-dollar Wal-Mart special. "Ach!" I squawked. "It's almost noon."
Freni nodded with satisfaction. "And I have nothing in the house except Mexican pancakes. I was going to go shopping myself, remember?'
"Mexican pancakes?" George asked. "Sounds interesting."
"She means flour tortillas," I said. "Willie Nelson was here last week and had a hankering for some Tex-Mex." Mama would be amazed at how savvy I have become since she died, despite my skirts.
"You have chicken?"
"Ach, you don't gather eggs from cows," Freni said, clearly annoyed. The English haven't a clue, as far as she's concerned.
"I mean, chicken meat. Like in the freezer."
"Plenty," I said, wondering where this was headed.
"How about cheddar cheese and sour cream?"
"Two cows, with four teats each," I reminded him.
"Salsa/"
"Yes - homemade - but we call it tomato relish."
"Black beans?"
"Ach!" Freni clapped her hands. "Terrible things. But Willy like them so much, I bought two extra cans."
George jumped to his feet. "Then it's settled. My wife Marilyn created a terrific dish with not much more than that. With your permission Mrs. Hostetler - Miss Yoder - I'd like to make lunch."
Freni frowned.
"I promise not to make a mess, and of course I'll wash the dishes."
"Ach, a man after my own heart," Freni said, and practically dragged George off to the kitchen.
I may have a negative quality or two, but laziness is not among them. First Grandma Yoder, and then Mama, saw to it that my hands were always busy. I will be the first to admit that I have no special talents, but I can clean house with the best of them, sew, garden, and even kill and pluck a chicken. Why is it then that I feel guilty every time I sit down - unless it's to eat, or go to the bathroom? Even then I can never totally relax. I generally gulp down my food, and I refuse to keep a Reader's Digest on the john. A quick entry, and a quick exit, has been the story of my life. And confidentially, my pseudo-marriage to Aaron didn't change a thing.
Is it a sine to put one's feet up on a hassock, close one's eyes, and daydream just a little? I would like to think not, but I nearly jumped out of my skin when Marge Benedict walked into the parlor and interrupted my reverie.
"I was praying," I said. Then I really did pray, asking forgiveness for my lie.
"Pardon me," she said, and patiently waited until I was quite through.
I opened my eyes wide, as an all-clear sign.
"Do you have a fax machine, Miss Yoder?" It was more of a statement than a question.
The first time I was asked that question I recoiled in horror. "The only safe fax is no fax," I blurted, much to the confusion of my guest. Thank heavens I am more sophisticated now.
"Actually, I don't," I said, and barely blushed.
I now that astounds people, almost as much as the fact that I do not own a computer. These are not religious restrictions, mind you, just manifestations of my technologically challenged condition.
"You're kidding - I mean, where can I go to find a fax machine?"
"There are a couple of places in Bedford, I think. This afternoon when we go into town, I'll help you find one."
She
"Absolutely not, and you have my deepest apologies," I tried to sound sincere.
Freni stood rooted to the ground, like a stout, black stump. While I was wracking my brain for something more soothing, but that I would be willing to say, it occurred to me that I might be on the wrong track.
"is there something specific you wanted to talk to me about dear?"
"Yah. You were supposed to take this bunch of English shopping in Bedford, yah?'
So that was it! "Yes, but - "
"They were going to eat lunch there too, yah?"
"That was the plan, but - "
I glanced at my five-dollar Wal-Mart special. "Ach!" I squawked. "It's almost noon."
Freni nodded with satisfaction. "And I have nothing in the house except Mexican pancakes. I was going to go shopping myself, remember?'
"Mexican pancakes?" George asked. "Sounds interesting."
"She means flour tortillas," I said. "Willie Nelson was here last week and had a hankering for some Tex-Mex." Mama would be amazed at how savvy I have become since she died, despite my skirts.
"You have chicken?"
"Ach, you don't gather eggs from cows," Freni said, clearly annoyed. The English haven't a clue, as far as she's concerned.
"I mean, chicken meat. Like in the freezer."
"Plenty," I said, wondering where this was headed.
"How about cheddar cheese and sour cream?"
"Two cows, with four teats each," I reminded him.
"Salsa/"
"Yes - homemade - but we call it tomato relish."
"Black beans?"
"Ach!" Freni clapped her hands. "Terrible things. But Willy like them so much, I bought two extra cans."
George jumped to his feet. "Then it's settled. My wife Marilyn created a terrific dish with not much more than that. With your permission Mrs. Hostetler - Miss Yoder - I'd like to make lunch."
Freni frowned.
"I promise not to make a mess, and of course I'll wash the dishes."
"Ach, a man after my own heart," Freni said, and practically dragged George off to the kitchen.
I may have a negative quality or two, but laziness is not among them. First Grandma Yoder, and then Mama, saw to it that my hands were always busy. I will be the first to admit that I have no special talents, but I can clean house with the best of them, sew, garden, and even kill and pluck a chicken. Why is it then that I feel guilty every time I sit down - unless it's to eat, or go to the bathroom? Even then I can never totally relax. I generally gulp down my food, and I refuse to keep a Reader's Digest on the john. A quick entry, and a quick exit, has been the story of my life. And confidentially, my pseudo-marriage to Aaron didn't change a thing.
Is it a sine to put one's feet up on a hassock, close one's eyes, and daydream just a little? I would like to think not, but I nearly jumped out of my skin when Marge Benedict walked into the parlor and interrupted my reverie.
"I was praying," I said. Then I really did pray, asking forgiveness for my lie.
"Pardon me," she said, and patiently waited until I was quite through.
I opened my eyes wide, as an all-clear sign.
"Do you have a fax machine, Miss Yoder?" It was more of a statement than a question.
The first time I was asked that question I recoiled in horror. "The only safe fax is no fax," I blurted, much to the confusion of my guest. Thank heavens I am more sophisticated now.
"Actually, I don't," I said, and barely blushed.
I now that astounds people, almost as much as the fact that I do not own a computer. These are not religious restrictions, mind you, just manifestations of my technologically challenged condition.
"You're kidding - I mean, where can I go to find a fax machine?"
"There are a couple of places in Bedford, I think. This afternoon when we go into town, I'll help you find one."
She
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