Sheila's Dribs 'n Drabs

Daniel and his friends weren't celiacs like me, but God had given them lots of dietary restrictions, to keep them safe in the desert and to keep them devoted to Him. Would they stick to the rules when their captors proved generous and kind? 22. Daniel "You're lucky," said the guard, but Daniel didn't feel lucky. "You've been chosen. They're going to teach you; make something special out of you."  "You'll get the best food," he added, leading the youths to a table loaded high. Rich meats and sauces were piled on plates; loaves baked from the finest wheat; fruits stirred enticingly with honey and cream. Their mouths watered. Their stomachs ached to enjoy.  But, "No," said Daniel. "Feed us plain fruit." All his friends thought he was mad.  "Why?" they asked. "Because if we follow God's rules He will make something special out of us." Thank you God that each and ...

I cooked the steaks so badly My son despaired and sadly Chose vegetarian. I join him very gladly Except when someone else is cooking steaks.

The log fire burned, smoke curling, guarded, safe; heat rippled strong. Up on the grate whole slabs of meat and ribs cooked slow and long, their juicy scent, sweet, heated, spiced, almost alive, smoke curling to the sky. And overhead the sausage hung, swung, smoke’s delight to fire the barbeque.

The scent of cooking, Sweet and savory; Sounds surround A scrap, a bubble Gravy. Clattering pans, A smattering of something Splats the floor. Alone no more There’s pattering feet And paws Where scent of cooking, Glorious cause, Imbues the pup with Glorious applause. Your chatter draws A lapping, happy tongue. Giving thanks for Thanksgiving dinner

Warm and sweet, thick’n heavy, the air is treacle and bubbles release their childhood scents from the pan; jam butties for lunch. “Peanut butter’n jelly,” says the voice in her head, but what have peanuts got to do with fruit? “If you fall in the jelly you’ll be in a jam,” chants the memory of children and books. “But Mum, what’s jelly got to do with jam?”—American books that couldn’t even spell “colour.” Ah, but Sheila’s American now, spells “color,” eats “Jello” at parties… and stirs the pot of memories, warm and sweet; jam butties tomorrow, flavored with love.