I use to not be that way, she pondered, thinking back back back to innocence and childhood. Running a garden cafe while her Mom was busy making deliveries. Goofing off in back while customers waited for more service which usually never came. Served them their food and/or drinks, she thinks. Done with them — my time now. She had big plans and needed to dream about them a lot. She intended to own… a castle.
—–
“Lordy, child. What you thinking about *now*?” her mother complained, seeing that glazed look in her eyes again while she herself has to do all the work. “These cookies won’t baked themselves. Set aside those dreams and help me roll the dough.”
“I was thinking about… Bliss.”
“Child, you’re too young to be thinking… oh.” Gertrude realized she was talking about the cat and not religious or any other type, God forbid, of ecstasy. “Yes,” she says while continuing to sprinkle sugar on the first dozen, almost ready for the oven. “Well, Bliss is in a better place now, child. The Lord will take care of her.” Pause to set down the sugar. “The Lord will take care of all of us when our time has come.” She thought of more reprimands but decided now was not the time. The child was obviously still grieving a bit. Things like, “It was *just* an animal,” wouldn’t suffice here. Or that, “Sorry for your loss, move on,” joke she heard on one of her favorite British TV shows the other day. No — consoling will have to be the trick. And she *is* tired of doing all the work. She decides to combine the two needed outcomes. “Tell you what, when I start feeling down, little girl, I always find that working takes my mind off my troubles.”
“Oh, Mom. You’re just trying to get me to make those cookies.”
“True,” she admits, “that’s an added benefit. But the taking your worries off part is true as well. So what do you say? I’ll put this batch in the oven and I’ll help you.”
(to be continued)
Sunklands 