Uncloistered

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  “She gazed ahead through a long reach of future days strung together like pearls in a rosary, every one like the others, and all smooth and flawless and innocent, and her heart went up in thankfulness. Outside was the fervid summer afternoon; the air was filled with the sounds of the busy harvest of men and birds and bees; there were halloos, metallic clatterings, sweet calls, and long hummings. Louisa sat, prayerfully numbering her days, like an uncloistered nun.” A New England Nun By Mary E. Wilkins Freeman (1852–1930)

“. . . While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.”

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 For years we visited family in for Thanksgiving or Christmas celebrations. On one visit the house was full, and the only place remaining for two boys (my oldest cousin and myself) to sleep was . . . The breakfast room, right next to the kitchen. That was a mistake. 

Two sleepless boys + insatiable grumbling bellies + love for chocolate. . . Are those BonBons? Bourbon Balls, you say? Don’t mind if I do! Ssshhhhh! Hahahaha!


Brownies, cookies, fudge—it did not matter. Nothing was safe. Tins were opened, plastic was peeled back, crumbs were made. Every dessert had been invaded—except the pie. That would be too obvious. Fruit? Shoot! Hand me another cookie!


Then came the morning. . .




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