"Grilled on the hot seat, frozen by cold shoulder, odd how hot and cold add seasoning to season?" Peche dug spoon in bowl, dug deeper into wife's irritation, took nother bite.
"You got peach juice running down your chin! I just sliced those up for the cobbler!" Georgia Perzik huffed, mumbled lament, "It 'was' marinating with cinnamon and nutmeg." From cupboard she retrieved flour, sat it beside milk on counter top.
"But it tastes so good," Peche grinned as he munched away. Heating up the wife in the kitchen was such fun. My how he loved her petite yet plush Cornish hen figure, as she flounced fain ire.
"Peche, you are a sneaky peach cobbler filling pilferer!" Georgia puffed at pony tail escaped strand of auburn. She tried not to smile at husband's most recent shenanigan.
"But I am the Peche," the near golden skin and too blond spiked hair of the Peche glowed in the sunlight framed by kitchen window. He offered, "I tell you what. The Peche will re-prepare the peaches. You just tell me what to do and we do together."
Atonement for bad behavior should be' so easy," Georgia no longer hid smile, "but you are forgiven." And blessing clung to her thoughts as she commanded, "So okay, real simple, slice up about four cups of those up river peaches that Jana and Daryll dropped off after church. Then stir in a tad more than a dash or two of cinnamon, and a dash of nutmeg. It needs to sit for a bit." Her smile grew. "Think you can handle that Mr. Peach Poacher?"
"Chef Peche to the rescue." The Peche sidled up next wife, planted peach sticky kiss to the prize freckles of Georgia neck.
"Get away," Georgia giggled, gave him elbow. "Save some of that energy for later this evening when Jana and Daryll bring their hand cranked ice cream maker. I want this peach cobbler nice and hot to melt that homemade ice cream topping."
"But," Peche tried snuggling closer. Again elbow nudged ribs
"Focus, old man! Those peaches are not going to re-prepare themselves." Georgia smiled, gave the Peche peck on cheek.
"Ahh, the Georgia peach peck, as in I love you but... work to be done." Peche sighed, from the basket next counter retrieved fresh orchard peaches, added, "Yet, so sweet is the work."
"Meanwhile back at the ranch, er lavender ranch that is." Georgia rebooted, took pause, gazed thru kitchen window oer lavender field to the Pedernales River below; and thought out loud, "Thank you, Jesus." And so refreshed, in mixing bowl she then added, "Let's see: 1 cup sugar... 1/4 tsp salt... 1 tsp baking powder... 3/4 cup flour... stir it up... and now beat in 3/4 cup of milk till all the lumpy lumps be gone."
"My beautiful wife bout ready for these peaches?" Peche held forth tad over four cups bowl of re-prepared peaches.
"Aah, my favorite lump of all is one swift peach slicing machine." Georgia finished batter beating.
"Ready for the Peche to stir in for you these-a 'so sweet-a' sliced peaches?" A tad over eager Peche again asked, grasped wooden spoon, readied for action.
"Give me that bowl." Georgia snatched it from him in the nick of premature mixing. "Step away from the batter, lump boy." She commanded, then sat bowl on counter top. "First we pull from the oven," she turned, opened oven door, "this two quart casserole dish with 1/4 pound melted butter in its belly. Then... then we without stirring pour in the batter... a reminder: without stirring... then we spoon on the fresh sliced peaches over the top of the batter... and note: this too is a no stir zone. Then all we got to do is put it in the oven at 350 degrees for about 45 minutes, or until the top is light to medium brown..."
The door bell rang... the wine enjoyed... the homemade french vanilla ice cream hand churned... and my oh my in the sweet by and by, that ice cream topped hot peach cobbler. But before they supped, with hands joined, guests Jana and Daryll with hosts Georgia and the Peche stood at back porch railing; eyes set upon golden sunset oer the Pedernales River; as they sang thanks giving: "O taste and see that the Lord is good: blessed are they that trust in him." Psalm 34:8
Slow down... enjoy life... praise the One who giveth it... Father, Son, Holy Spirit...
Note: In the Texas Hill Country lie the scenic rapids and falls of the Pedernales. More than a tad are the peach orchards, wineries and lavender ranches that line river bank. I think of it as: The Heart of God's Country.
Our characters take a bow:
Georgia - a Georgia peach transplanted to Texas
The Peche - French for peach
Last name Perzik - Dutch for peach
Jana and Daryll - the neighbor peach orchard wranglers... Read their story, "Every Peach Has Its Pit" August 2015 in the menu at pawpawcorner.blogspot.com or just click the title top left of page...
May God bless ya'll peaches, everyone... in Jesus precious name...
Thursday, January 19, 2017
Tuesday, January 3, 2017
COMA BOB
Coma Bob and the Cosmic Donut
"Well, Coma Bob," soft lips caressed ear, "next time maybe, just maybeee you might listen to me."
Arc of lightning charred brain. Acrid ash, pile of once gray matter, puffed remnant smoke. Bitter sweet sap gagged deep the back of his throat. From toes to nose Bob spasmed, tried to wretch. Nothing came up. Nothing. He struggled to pull out tube from nose, pull out the IV from vein, but arms were tethered. "Where?" he choked out. "What?" he begged. And then past worse the question bled, "Who am I?" he tried to wretch again.
"Well, coma Bob," soft lips echo caressed ear, "next time maybe, just maybeee you might listen to me."
Strangely soothing, that sweet reverberating I told you so, slowed Bob's spinning brain. His eyes opened to halo of light entangled in the tangled strawberry blond hair of the angel there. A chiding nightingale, whose melody sang gentle, yet harsh, "Likely as not a smidge of a tad is not a lot, yet comeupance bought."
"Likely as not a smidge of a tad is not a lot, never hurt nobody," Bob repeated his spin on the phrase that he had uttered only, when was it, just before stuffing nother maple glazed donut past already maple glazed lips. His memory rippled aftershock. That tangled hair angel seemed bit more familiar there.
That angel glared down at him, chastened with sweet almost song, "Yes Bobby, your name is Bobby, Bobby Lee the donut pig, who almost grew wings and flew from Cosmic Donut Land right into Bobby Lee cemetery.
"Fraulein Heather?" Bob squirmed under the sheets, mustered sideways grin. "I should a knowed. Nobody bites butt better than my fraulein."
"That's Frau Heather to you. Do not call me girlfriend. I am your loving wife. Got it!" One miffed, yet relieved, hefty Frau Heather with cherry pursed lips puffed at stray strand of hair.
"But you are my best friend," Bob lathered on the sweet cream butter.
"Sometimes I want to pinch your head off, Bobby Lee," Heather sniffled. "and the next time you pig out on three baker's dozen maple glazed donuts in a row and wash it down with that third chocolate malt, I will, I swear I will." Water fall trickled down cheeks of Heather.
"Now, now Heath, a smidge of a tad ain't all that bad. Just cause I got ate up in the sugar feeding frenzy don't mean I'll eat over a near baker's dozen next time." Bob semi-promised.
"Near baker's dozen?" Heather wiped tears with back of wrist before the growl revved up. "Bobby Lee, you do that, and you die on me, I swear I will kill you!"
"You are a hoot, Heather," the not so long ago in coma Bob smirked. "In fact from now on I'm calling you Hoot Heather."
"Hoot Heather? I may just kill you now." Heather arched left eyebrow, nodded, embraced strangulation urge. "You do know your arms are still tethered." Heather crazy smiled that too toothy smile, fang punctuated. She reached over, scooted call button a fraction of a tad not near enough for Bob fingers to tap. She climbed aboard bed, straddled him. Her hands stood on finger tips on his wrists. They began a walkin', walkin' up his forearms, fingernails leaving indentation trail.
And Hoot Heather did sing, "La la la, la la tee da, your Cosmic Donut Land is way out of hand..."
"Where's the cheese, extra sugar please." Bob gasped, "Wha wha wha, what was that?"
"Would you like pizza with that cheese, coffee with that sugar?" Heather fingers sashayed past Bobby Lee elbow pits.
"Sweet Frau Heather, you be a scarin' me." Bob tried kicking free, but his legs were tethered too.
"La la la, la la tee da, coma Bob dream awash in waves of macchiato cream, lapping tan sugar beaches of Cosmic Donut Land... capital city Sugar Topia, where there is no mopia... Cosmic, O' Cosmic Donut Land to thee we scream more sugar, heavy on that sap of maple... C. D. Land where no donut tis bland... O' Cosmic, O' Cosmic Donut Land..." Icy Heather eyes blew blue cool. Her fingers danced past Bobby Lee shoulders, wrapped around his neck.
"That tickle... a-eck-eck-eck... Hea...yo...chockin-gggg...mm..." Bobby Lee sugar and cream brain spiraled down drain.
"One boa constrictor hug for one rat neck!" Heather squeezed.
Mind spinning near eternal ether of dream... Bob heard familiar echo...
"Well coma Bob," soft lips caressed his ear, "next time maybe, just maybeee you might listen to me."
Strangely soothing that sweet reverberating voice of I told you so slowed Coma Bob's spinning brain. His eyes opened to halo of light entangled in the tangled strawberry blond hair of the angel there. A chiding nightingale whose melody sang gentle, yet harsh, "Likely as not a smidge of a tad is not a lot, yet comeupance bought."
(Reader aside: A pretentiously irritating The End??? NOPE, my editor wife and that Great Author of us all in His heavens commanded no leaving Bob in an endless loop of coma nightmare.) So...
"I love you, Heather," Bobby Lee coughed out ploy for self preservation.
In fit of joy that angel there, that frau named Heather, halted the choking of Bobby Lee, and hugged and kissed, and squeezed and squished his face tight to ample bosom.
Bobby Lee, tethered to bed and all, grasped at gasp, but alas, smothered in love, he breathed his last.
(Reader aside: The End??? Over ruled again! No killing old Coma Bob. OK already!)
Bobby Lee arms would have flailed to escape smothering embrace had his arms not been to bed tethered. But he did manage to turn face aside, half whisper, half choke out, "You are smothering me," then sneak in air a while... while...
"Now I do not want to sound too preachy," Heather preachily said, "because no one can nag you to good health, be it physical or spiritual. But even a tad of a smidge of sin, leads to more sin, kinda like that one more than a baker's three dozen maple glazed donuts. And like filling one grave with dirt from another grave, so is that maladjusted justification: a smidge of a tad is not a lot. Too much is never enough, Bobby Lee. The cult of sugar tis tasty poison. For sweet is the drink of more, till it grows to unforgiving sea, where awash in waves of sensation, feelings numb, beauty fades, and love drowns. So put down that baker's three dozen maple glazed donuts, shun that second and third chocolate malt, sheath that cell phone, kiss a loved one, hug a neighbor. But first in morning waking and last at rest of night, thank our Heavenly Father for your life, and even for me, your wife. Love God and love one another as Jesus commanded. For there is only one way out of the nightmare coma loop of sin... His name is Jesus..."
Quote Bobby Lee, "There is more to life than sugar, please forgive your child, Heavenly Father, in the name of Jesus."
"Praise the LORD," quote the nightingale angel there.
Last aside to the reader: Well I guess by now you know I did not like the character Coma Bob very much, probably because he reminds me of me. For artistic flavor I really did want to leave him in an endless nightmare coma loop; over ruled. Then in rebellion I wanted to kill him off. But unlike that self of so called humanity, our LORD would that all come to salvation, even those la-la-ing thru Cosmic Donut Land. God's love is pretty grand... John 3:16 KJV, "For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that who so ever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life."
Like to read a whale of a true story? The book of "Jonah" in the Bible is only three action packed pages long. Tells of an obstinate, rebellious, self-righteous little man, who would rather be thrown from ship into raging sea than deliver ...God's only eight word message to save a wicked city... That is the book of Jonah in the B-I-B-L-E.
"Well, Coma Bob," soft lips caressed ear, "next time maybe, just maybeee you might listen to me."
Arc of lightning charred brain. Acrid ash, pile of once gray matter, puffed remnant smoke. Bitter sweet sap gagged deep the back of his throat. From toes to nose Bob spasmed, tried to wretch. Nothing came up. Nothing. He struggled to pull out tube from nose, pull out the IV from vein, but arms were tethered. "Where?" he choked out. "What?" he begged. And then past worse the question bled, "Who am I?" he tried to wretch again.
"Well, coma Bob," soft lips echo caressed ear, "next time maybe, just maybeee you might listen to me."
Strangely soothing, that sweet reverberating I told you so, slowed Bob's spinning brain. His eyes opened to halo of light entangled in the tangled strawberry blond hair of the angel there. A chiding nightingale, whose melody sang gentle, yet harsh, "Likely as not a smidge of a tad is not a lot, yet comeupance bought."
"Likely as not a smidge of a tad is not a lot, never hurt nobody," Bob repeated his spin on the phrase that he had uttered only, when was it, just before stuffing nother maple glazed donut past already maple glazed lips. His memory rippled aftershock. That tangled hair angel seemed bit more familiar there.
That angel glared down at him, chastened with sweet almost song, "Yes Bobby, your name is Bobby, Bobby Lee the donut pig, who almost grew wings and flew from Cosmic Donut Land right into Bobby Lee cemetery.
"Fraulein Heather?" Bob squirmed under the sheets, mustered sideways grin. "I should a knowed. Nobody bites butt better than my fraulein."
"That's Frau Heather to you. Do not call me girlfriend. I am your loving wife. Got it!" One miffed, yet relieved, hefty Frau Heather with cherry pursed lips puffed at stray strand of hair.
"But you are my best friend," Bob lathered on the sweet cream butter.
"Sometimes I want to pinch your head off, Bobby Lee," Heather sniffled. "and the next time you pig out on three baker's dozen maple glazed donuts in a row and wash it down with that third chocolate malt, I will, I swear I will." Water fall trickled down cheeks of Heather.
"Now, now Heath, a smidge of a tad ain't all that bad. Just cause I got ate up in the sugar feeding frenzy don't mean I'll eat over a near baker's dozen next time." Bob semi-promised.
"Near baker's dozen?" Heather wiped tears with back of wrist before the growl revved up. "Bobby Lee, you do that, and you die on me, I swear I will kill you!"
"You are a hoot, Heather," the not so long ago in coma Bob smirked. "In fact from now on I'm calling you Hoot Heather."
"Hoot Heather? I may just kill you now." Heather arched left eyebrow, nodded, embraced strangulation urge. "You do know your arms are still tethered." Heather crazy smiled that too toothy smile, fang punctuated. She reached over, scooted call button a fraction of a tad not near enough for Bob fingers to tap. She climbed aboard bed, straddled him. Her hands stood on finger tips on his wrists. They began a walkin', walkin' up his forearms, fingernails leaving indentation trail.
And Hoot Heather did sing, "La la la, la la tee da, your Cosmic Donut Land is way out of hand..."
"Where's the cheese, extra sugar please." Bob gasped, "Wha wha wha, what was that?"
"Would you like pizza with that cheese, coffee with that sugar?" Heather fingers sashayed past Bobby Lee elbow pits.
"Sweet Frau Heather, you be a scarin' me." Bob tried kicking free, but his legs were tethered too.
"La la la, la la tee da, coma Bob dream awash in waves of macchiato cream, lapping tan sugar beaches of Cosmic Donut Land... capital city Sugar Topia, where there is no mopia... Cosmic, O' Cosmic Donut Land to thee we scream more sugar, heavy on that sap of maple... C. D. Land where no donut tis bland... O' Cosmic, O' Cosmic Donut Land..." Icy Heather eyes blew blue cool. Her fingers danced past Bobby Lee shoulders, wrapped around his neck.
"That tickle... a-eck-eck-eck... Hea...yo...chockin-gggg...mm..." Bobby Lee sugar and cream brain spiraled down drain.
"One boa constrictor hug for one rat neck!" Heather squeezed.
Mind spinning near eternal ether of dream... Bob heard familiar echo...
"Well coma Bob," soft lips caressed his ear, "next time maybe, just maybeee you might listen to me."
Strangely soothing that sweet reverberating voice of I told you so slowed Coma Bob's spinning brain. His eyes opened to halo of light entangled in the tangled strawberry blond hair of the angel there. A chiding nightingale whose melody sang gentle, yet harsh, "Likely as not a smidge of a tad is not a lot, yet comeupance bought."
(Reader aside: A pretentiously irritating The End??? NOPE, my editor wife and that Great Author of us all in His heavens commanded no leaving Bob in an endless loop of coma nightmare.) So...
"I love you, Heather," Bobby Lee coughed out ploy for self preservation.
In fit of joy that angel there, that frau named Heather, halted the choking of Bobby Lee, and hugged and kissed, and squeezed and squished his face tight to ample bosom.
Bobby Lee, tethered to bed and all, grasped at gasp, but alas, smothered in love, he breathed his last.
(Reader aside: The End??? Over ruled again! No killing old Coma Bob. OK already!)
Bobby Lee arms would have flailed to escape smothering embrace had his arms not been to bed tethered. But he did manage to turn face aside, half whisper, half choke out, "You are smothering me," then sneak in air a while... while...
"Now I do not want to sound too preachy," Heather preachily said, "because no one can nag you to good health, be it physical or spiritual. But even a tad of a smidge of sin, leads to more sin, kinda like that one more than a baker's three dozen maple glazed donuts. And like filling one grave with dirt from another grave, so is that maladjusted justification: a smidge of a tad is not a lot. Too much is never enough, Bobby Lee. The cult of sugar tis tasty poison. For sweet is the drink of more, till it grows to unforgiving sea, where awash in waves of sensation, feelings numb, beauty fades, and love drowns. So put down that baker's three dozen maple glazed donuts, shun that second and third chocolate malt, sheath that cell phone, kiss a loved one, hug a neighbor. But first in morning waking and last at rest of night, thank our Heavenly Father for your life, and even for me, your wife. Love God and love one another as Jesus commanded. For there is only one way out of the nightmare coma loop of sin... His name is Jesus..."
Quote Bobby Lee, "There is more to life than sugar, please forgive your child, Heavenly Father, in the name of Jesus."
"Praise the LORD," quote the nightingale angel there.
Last aside to the reader: Well I guess by now you know I did not like the character Coma Bob very much, probably because he reminds me of me. For artistic flavor I really did want to leave him in an endless nightmare coma loop; over ruled. Then in rebellion I wanted to kill him off. But unlike that self of so called humanity, our LORD would that all come to salvation, even those la-la-ing thru Cosmic Donut Land. God's love is pretty grand... John 3:16 KJV, "For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that who so ever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life."
Like to read a whale of a true story? The book of "Jonah" in the Bible is only three action packed pages long. Tells of an obstinate, rebellious, self-righteous little man, who would rather be thrown from ship into raging sea than deliver ...God's only eight word message to save a wicked city... That is the book of Jonah in the B-I-B-L-E.
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