Nixon, Kennedy and Honey Butter on Joe’s Mind
With his newspaper still held out in front of him, Joe pondered why Nixon didn’t protest? If this article is correct, Kennedy stole the election. He heard noises in the kitchen. Certain he was alone, Joe folded the paper and got up to investigate. Wasn’t Stuart staying with a friend? These days he couldn’t tell for sure. That kid changed plans and came up with more excuses than Kennedy had fixes. Chuckling, he turned the corner to find his eldest child surrounded by bowls, measuring spoons reading a cookbook.
“This is a double surprise. I thought you were spending the night at Bet’s house. And I didn’t know you could cook.” Try as he might, Joe couldn’t suppress his involuntary flinch whenever he glanced in her direction at her ever since she dyed her hair black. As usual, no comment did he utter on the change.
Anytime Ginny came within earshot of Stuart, she lamented her daughter’s lost looks. Begging, “Please let that dreadful color grow out. Won’t you?” As far as he could see, all his ex-wife accomplished in her incessant carping was to entrench the girl further. “What are you up to?”
“Trying to find a recipe for honey butter.” She answered barely taking her eyes off the page. With a groan, she slammed the book shut and picked up another. Opening the book to the index, she scanned the list before slamming it closed as well. “I can’t find one, and I’ve been craving it all day long. Should’ve bought some on my way home. I almost did until I remembered how much better home made is than the stuff you buy.”
“Even though I’m glad your home but maybe you’d give me a better idea of your comings and goings.” He moved into hug her.
Moving away from his advance, she sighed, “Don’t start, Dad. Bet’s came up with a new plan. I didn’t want to do what she was doing so I came home. That’s all.” She began stacking the books. “Never mind.”
“It’s easy made it all time when I was a young.” Joe volunteered. “Here,” he took the stack from Stuart and shoved them back onto the bookcase. “We need butter. Do we have any?”
She held up a stick.
“Then all we need is cinnamon. Got any?”
Another trip to the same cupboard eventually produced some ground cinnamon. Laughing Stuart held up a small blue and white can to her father. “Those cabinets are so disorganized. I half expect to find a can of oil and then even some kerosene.” Poised over the bowl on the counter, mixer at the ready she asked, “Now what?”
“Mix it all up then.”
“What do you mean? How much?”
Joe peeked into the cinnamon. There appeared to be about a little less than a teaspoon. “Use the butter, all the honey and this,” he handed her the tin.
“Almost. when you’re done, I’ll take mine on a toasted English muffin.”