KMsAngel
Posts: 17415
Joined: 4/13/2007 Status: offline
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quietly lets self in after everyone's in bed. puts on sinatra's "all the way" (thanks Christine), puts the slide show of my grandpa and his families and his days in the firehous, and starts a ginormous batch of oatmeal raisin cookies. *dang* that was much too short. wipes hands off on frilly apron, and rustles up some Buble, Harry Connick Jr, Norah Jones and loops them endlessly. goes back to humming..... soon, the clatter of spoons, mixers, the susseration of flours and sugars, the cracking of eggs, brief moments of silence to taste whether or not more cinnamon is needed..... a little bit of salt is added as the sound of bagpipes mournfully fills the room for a few moments (firemen play that at funerals).... soon, the smell of bikkies cooking, and the coffee gurgling mingles creating an enticing, homey sense in the coffeeshop. in between scooping and putting in and taking out pans, angel goes and opens the windows to the cool night air and lets the aroma of home waft into the nighttime street. hopefully it will remind some people of a happy past, or a longing for a past that never was or a future they hope for. Angel wraps up a few batches, puts them into boxes, writes a thank you to the local firies, looks at the mess - thinks she'll come back later to deal with it - and wanders out (don't worry, there's till lots left for the Gang)
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20 fluffy points! flightless cherub
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