For previous posts, go here.

Miss Tulip Tuttlesworth beamed at her student across the table at the 24 hour diner.  “I know it’s not appropriate, but I have to tell you Flora, I’m impressed by your talent.  You’re miles above the other students in Professor Skippy’s class.”

“Really?”  Flora blushed.  She wasn’t used to having two people compliment her work in one day.  “Professor Skippy is always going on about my poor finishing skills and crooked button holes…”

Miss Tuttlesworth scowled.  “Professor Skippy is the most vile person I’ve ever met in fashion.  How she got to be dean I’ll never understand.”

“She’s right, though.”  Flora sighed and played with her napkin.  “I am terrible with buttons and pockets.  I can do sequins and beading all day long, and lacework all night.  But those cargo pants from last semester….”  She shuddered.

Miss Tuttlesworth shook her head and waved her hand.  “You, my dear, are a gown designer.  You’re not made for button holes and droll things like shirt dresses and slacks.  If we needed more dresses and slacks, we can just go to a department store!”  She shook her head, her pleasantly plump face darkening.  “Don’t let her get you down.  Not like me….”  Her voice trailed off, her large brown eyes full of sorrow as she gazed at the plastic table top.

Flora’s plain face spread into a smile.  “That’s what I always thought.”  She smiled up at the waitress who came to take their order.  “I’ll have the pancakes, eggs, bacon and hashbrowns, please.  With orange juice.”

“Breakfast for dinner?  What a brilliant thought!”  Miss Tuttlesworth quickly glanced at her menu.  “Waffles please, with scrambled eggs and sausage.  And would you bring the bottle of syrup?  I’m afraid I have an incurable sweet tooth.”  She patted her large stomach and laughed.  “Obviously.  And I have no regrets about it.”  The waitress giggled, took their menus and disapeared into the back.  Flora watched as Miss Tuttlesworth added cream after cream to her coffee.

“You really don’t?”

“Really don’t what?”  Miss Tuttlesworth reached for her fourth cream.

“Feel bad about…”  Flora looked down at her own hips and blushed.

“Oh, my weight?”  Miss Tuttlesworth snorted.  “Dear, I realized a long time ago that I was born to create dresses for gorgeous creatures, not wear them.  And considering most of them live on celery and race their lives away on the treadmill, scared of even looking at a cupcake, I think I got the better end of the deal.”  She tore open three sugar packets and smiled.  “You and I are kindred souls, Flora dear.  We’re like the composers of a symphony.  We may not play it or direct it, but on opening night, we can hide behind the curtains and watch, knowing our fingers and thread created the beautiful gown everyone is staring at.”  She winked.  “And we get to eat whatever we want!”

Flora nodded, trying to ignore the aching feeling in her chest.  “Sometimes, I just wish I could wear my own creations though…”  She thought of Astrid and knit her chubby fingers together.  “I get to make the coronation dress for the princess.  She came into the shop today.”

Miss Tuttlesworth clapped her hands. “My dear, how wonderful!  That’s as exciting as the project I wanted to ask you about!”  She leaned forward, her brown eyes glowing as she glanced back and forth to make sure no one was eavesdropping.  “I know Professor Skippy will be furious, but I couldn’t resist.”  She reached into her back and pulled out a folded pink piece of paper, sliding it across the table.

Flora smoothed out the creases and skimmed it.   “The Cinderella Project?”

Miss Tuttlesworth bobbed her head.  “It’s a contest for up and coming designers to design prom dresses for girls that can’t afford them otherwise.  The girls have to write essays to win, and in return, they get a custom designed gown.  They only choose one new designer every year….”  She gripped Flora’s arm.  “I know I’m not a student and I’m hardly a spring chicken, but Flora, this is my chance!  My chance to do what I’ve always dreamed!”

She leaned back in the booth, a dreamy smile stretching across her cheeks. “Can you imagine?  No more errands for Professor Skippy, no more boring tailoring jobs to pay the bills, no more rude students…for the first time in years, I could do what I loved!”   Her eyes opened, boring into Flora’s.  “Does that make any sense at all?”

It made more sense than Flora wanted to admit.  She glanced down at the paper, thinking of her own belittling mother.  The hours she spent in the shop cutting and sewing gorgeous gowns while hiding from her mother’s sharp insults were nothing compared to the decades Miss Tuttlesworth had spent in Professor Skippy’s shadow.

“I know you’re terribly busy with the coronation gown and all your custom orders,” Miss Tuttlesworth was saying.  Flora returned her attention to the dowdy teacher, who was absently tapping her spoon against her mug.  “But if you could help me…it mean a lot.”

She didn’t hesitate.  “Of course.”

Miss Tuttlesworth sighed, her chest heaving as the waitress returned with their plates and set them down.  “Oh thank you.”  Picking up the bottle of syrup, she drowned her waffles and stabbed a steaming piece, lifting it to her lips.  “Now we can properly celebrate.”

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  We have a new Comfort and Whimsy tomorrow!

Courtesy of Southern Living

Ode to Pico de Gallo (and How I Love Thee)

Ode to pico de gallo,

And how I love thee,

For every week,

You make my life complete.

Like my buddy Jessica,

I’ve never been a big veggie fan.

Or a big spicy fan, to be frank.

Before, I was all about sweet and sugar,

Not chips and dip,

Unless it had spinach or artichokes with plenty of cheese,

refried beans or gobs or melted cheddar cheese,

Or oodles of ranch dressing,

But then, one day, I tried pico de gallo,

With my nose wrinkled and my mind set,

And was pleasantly surprised to discover,

I liked, no I loved it!

While salsa can be too runny, too hot or too boring,

Pico de gallo is always a delicious treat.

Fresh and crisp,

With just enough kick,

It’s no wonder I buy a case every week.

Oh, Pico de gallo,

I must admit it’s true.

I’m simply addicted,

Addicted to you.

One of the best things about pico de gallo,

Is how versatile its tastiness is,

On chips or tacos,

beans or fajitas,

With salsa or sour cream,

Or even better, a big ol’ helping of guacamole.

Did I mention my adoration for guacamole?

Well that’s another ode, for another day.

Ode to Pico de gallo,

And how I love thee,

For you have made all my Mexican dishes,

Even more tasty.

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  We have a new Butterfly Dress tomorrow and a new Comfort and Whimsy!

For previous editions, go here.

She was standing in the center of the zoo, swathed in a black cape Perry had insisted she buy.  “It’s ridiculous,” she protested.  “It’s mysterious,” he had said.  He had a point, she conceded.

The sun had long gone down, and the stars were too tired to twinkle against the heavy dark sky.  A cool wind swept across, flinging leaves like stones across the pond.  It was too cool for summer–too cool for the season.

She could hear the animals grumbling and snuffling in their sleep, turning in too small cages or pawing against plastic enclosures.  Her heart squeezed tightly and she squenced her eyes shut, wishing it didn’t hurt.  She wished she could do something more, do something faster.  When she opened her eyes, he was there.

This time, he made no effort to disguise his true face.  His yellow eyes gleamed in the light as he rushed down the corridor, Max racing by his side.  He too, wore a black cloak.  Ripping hers off and vowing to kill Perry later, Birdie went after them.

A hand grabbed her arm and she lunged forward, momentum egging her on.  Whirling around, she snarled at the old woman gripping her elbow.  “Can I help you?”

“You can help me.”  The old woman’s yellow eyes bore into her.  Birdie blinked.  Humans didn’t have yellow eyes.  Only cats did.  Black cats….

Gasping, she lurched out of the woman’s grip.  “You’re the cat that’s been following me!  The one from Pemberely’s shop.  The one the proffessor said…”  She trailed off, her words stuck in her throat.  It couldn’t be.  It couldn’t be true.  The woman would be hundreds of years old.  And while her wrinkled face and withered features spoke of ancient, no one could live for that long.

“They can.”  The woman’s eyes bore into Birdie.  “And they do.  Well, I should have.  Before Pemberely stole the spirit from my tribe.  He stole the spirit from me, Black Paw–straight out of my heart.  For years, I’ve been seeking it.”

“Is that why you’ve been following them?”  Birdie pursed her lips. “You’ve destroyed the lives of hundreds of innocent people!  Every time he went somewhere, you hurt the people he was with.”

The yellow eyes flashed.  “Did he not hurt my tribe, my people?  Did he not hurt me, my ancestors?  No one is innocent, Birdie.  Everyone has a price, everyone has desires.  Even you.”

Birdie jutted out her chin.  “Are you going to try to buy me off now?”

“No.”  Her grey braid swung back and forth.  “I want your help.”

“What can I do to help you?”

The old woman’s eyes flashed and her withered hands, twisted into claws, flashed out and grabbed Birdie’s fingers.  “You understand animals,” she whispered.  “You have the spirit within you.  The same spirit I had, the same spirit Pemberely stole from me.  I need you to help me get it back.”

“If you get it back, will you leave the other animals alone?” Birdie asked, narrowing her eyes.  “I came here to help them, not get mixed up in a revenge plot.”

Black Paw’s wrinkled face broke into a smile.  “Don’t you understand, Birdie?  The spirit is not just yours and mine.  It is in the true heart of everyone who truly loves animals–and animals themselves.  Once we take the spirit from Mr. Pemberely, the animals will be free.  He will be free.”  Her eyes flashed, defiant and proud.  “I will be free.”  Her gaze darkened and Birdie shuddered.  “And then he will pay.”

“What do you want me to do?” Birdie asked.

“Perform the ceremony with me.  The sacred bonding.  The joining of our hearts, our minds, our hands.  Or paws,” she allowed.

Birdie shook her head.  “No way.  That’s what got Mr. Pemberely in trouble.”

“Please,” the old woman begged.  “It’s the only way.  Otherwise, they win.  Pemberely, Max–they win.  The animals lose.”

The old woman glanced behind them and whirled back around, her voice urgent.  “You must tell me tomorrow!  You must tell me before it’s too late!”  She rushed away, vanishing between the monkey and parrot cages.

“Wait!” Birdie called.  “Wait!”

But the woman was gone.

Birdie sat up in a cold sweat, clutching her blanket.  Sassy raised her head in alarm as she slid out of her sheets and went to the window.  Peering down, she saw the black cat staring at her.

Shivering, she knew it wasn’t just a dream.

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  We have a new recipe tomorrow and more whimsical fun!

You might recall my adoration for the minions in Despicable Me.

How can you not like minions?  I think they’re adorable.

They’re cute, they squeak, they’re devoted, they’re funny, they cause hilarious chaos wherever they go….what more could you want?

They’ll even dance with you on the moon.

Minions are so wonderful, Queen Bitty demanded one.

And being Queen Bitty, she was obliged by her dutiful subjects.  AKA, my mother and sister.

Poor Mom is a sucker for Bitty.  She’s wrapped around her tiny little paw.  She bows down to her 4 lb. whims.

Meet Itty Bitty.

Queen Bittys’ minion.

She’s got her party bloomers on and everything.

Queen Bitty has grand plans for her minion.

World domination, Mars domination, taking over the moon….those are just a few of her plans.

Luckily, her minion does not dare question or argue with her.

For she is Queen Bitty.

Ruler of the Pond.  Ruler of Itty Bitty.

We all bow down to the Queen.

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  We have a new Pemberely Pet Shop Story and a delectable recipe Thursday!  Stay tuned!

Anna Marie should have never eaten her grandmother’s cookies.

If Anna Marie was a smart child, like her parents and teachers believed her to be, she would have gone to the Gardening Club after school with her friend Christine.  If Anna Marie was a smart child, she would have gone straight home after finding out the Gardening Club was cancelled, and done homework or practiced piano or something like that.  If Anna Marie was smart a smart child, she would have invited Christine over to eat chips and watch reality TV they weren’t supposed to see while prank calling boys in the sixth grade PTA phonebook her mom kept by the giant whiteboard that ran their family.

Anna Marie was a very smart child, in fact.  Too smart.  And way too stubborn and independent for  her own good.  That’s why, instead of doing any of the the things she was supposed to be doing or could be doing, she found herself waving goodbye to Christine at her mother’s car and hopping into the trolley that rolled downtown.

She got off at Whitemore Street, the historic area all the tourists drooled over, and strolled past the rows of Victorian mansions built by early German immigrants.  When she reached a pale blue and white cottage surrounded by a white picket fence, she grinned.  She always loved coming to her grandmother’s, to the tiny cottage that looked like a dollhouse, nestled among bursts of colorful flowers and towering oak trees perfect for climbing or reading a good book under.

Skipping down the cobblestone walk, she pulled the front door open and shouted, “Oma!  I’m here!”

Schnitzel, her grandmother’s Dauchsand, greeted her with a series of sniffs and licks.  Otherwise, the house hummed with silence.

“Oma?” she shouted again.  Anna Marie dropped her bag in the hallway and stepped into the kitchen.  There, in the center of the counter, lay a plate full of chocolate chip cookies, Anna Marie’s favorite.  Next to it lay a note:

Anna Marie,

Don’t eat these!  They’re for a special friend.  I’ll make you your own batch when I return.  Just went to Mrs. Holland’s to deliver the rest of these–be back in a bit!

Oma

Anna Marie frowned.  Mrs. Holland was a crotchety old woman who gossiped too much and smelled like cabbage.  She did not deserve Oma’s chocolate chip cookies.

It didn’t even occur to her to wonder how Oma knew she was coming, when she should have been at the Gardening Club.

Scratching Snitzel’s head absently, her stomach began to growl.  As her mind rewound through her day, she realized she had skipped lunch.  The cafeteria’s idea of sloppy joes both terrified and intrigued her.

Her stomach’s protests became louder, hunger stabbing her middle in insistent jabs.  Her mouth watering, she eyed the cookies.  With a sigh, she turned away and opened her grandmother’s cabinets. Wrinkling her nose, she perused the contents.

“Crackers, sausage, cheeses, smoked fish,” she muttered, making a face.  She opened up another cabinet and gagged.  “Veggies and fruit.”   Pulling open the refrigerator, she scowled as she peered at contents of the tupperware inside.  “Casseroles, cabbage soup, kolaches, sweet rolls, pudding, vegetable soup…”  She stuck out her tongue.  “Why can’t Oma eat normal food, like peanut butter and jelly and hot dogs?”

Schnitzel panted in response.  He knew the word sausage and knew the object of his affection resided in the cabinet Anna Marie had opened.  Wagging his tail hopefully, he watched her every move.

Grumbling under her breath, Anna Marie clutched her yowling stomach as she stared at the plate of cookies.  Even across the kitchen, she could smell the warm sugary goodness.

“Surely she won’t miss one cookie,” she murmured to Schnitzel as much as herself.  “Just one cookie…”  She took a step closer to the plate.  Snitzel looked hopefully at the cabinet.

“And it’ll take her at least thirty minutes to make more…” Anna Marie reasoned, taking another step.  “And there’s no telling how long she’ll be at Mrs. Hollands.”  Another step away from the sausage stuffed cabinet.  Schnitzel whined.

“Just one or two…” Anna Marie murmured, stepping to the counter and reaching toward the plate.  “Just enough to hold me over.”

Schnitzel gave up hope and lay down on the floor, his tail thumping the cabinet.

Picking up a cookie, she took a bite and closed her eyes in bliss.  The warm sugary and buttery goodness with the thick chocolate chips melted on her tongue.  Swallowing, she picked up another cookie.

“Just one more,” she told Schnitzel.  He whined, wishing she’d return to the cabinet with sausage.

One more became two more, which became three more, which became four…

Before Anna Marie knew it, she was staring down at a empty plate with chocolate and crumb smeared fingers.

And she was floating a foot off the floor.

Licking her fingers, she lifted her feet gingerly.  They simply floated up, not touching the ground nor the sky.  She jumped up, her fingers touching the ceiling.  Instead of slamming into the tile floor, she slowly floated down, hovering above it.  She took a few steps forward, surprised to find it was just like walking on really soft carpet.  Taking a deep breath, she ran a few steps and leaped forward.  Instead of flying, as she had hoped, she simply slammed into the side wall, rattling the ancient photographs that dotted it.

Strolling about the house and climbing the stairs without really touching them, she returned to the kitchen and paced.  Snitzel’s heart race and his tail thumped the cabinet. Absently, she opened up the cabinets (now that she could properly reach them without climbing) and pulled out a can of sausage, setting it on the ground for him.  She tried to sit at the kitchen table, but she floated above it and it just felt too odd.

“I suppose there’s nothing to do but wait until Oma gets back,” she told Schnitzel, twirling in the air as she wondered about the kitchen.  Sleepy with a belly full of sausage, Schnitzel barked in agreement.

Anna Marie didn’t know who the cookies had been intended for, and she didn’t know how her grandmother knew she was coming.

The only thing she knew was she should have never eaten the entire plate of cookies.

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  We have a week full of whimsy coming up!

For previous editions, go here.

Carolina clutched her quarter in her hand and took a deep breath.  Glancing at the other diners in Whimsy, all circled around the lily-pad speckled fountain, she bit her lip.  “Ready?”

“Ready!” a nosy woman cried, elbowing her friend in her eagerness.

“Ready!” cried the little girl, hopping up and down so hard her mother grabbed for her penny as it flew in the air.

“Ready!” cried Hibiscus, her chin smeared with buttercream from her pilfering cake fingers.

“Freddie?” The hard of hearing woman croaked, looking confused.

“No, ready!” her friend bellowed into her ear.

“Oh, yes, ready!” the old woman cried, rearing her arm back.

“One…two…three!”

On the count of three, dozens of pennies and one lone quarter sailed through the air, landing with a series of plops and globs into the fountain.  The frog band, who had the good sense to duck underneath a umbrella, jauntily set forth into a cheerful rendition of “When you Wish Upon a Star.”

“Well, that’s done!”  Hibiscus dusted off her hands and eyed her enourmous cake, the side secretly carved with lines from her sweet-loving fingers.  “Shall we have some cake?”

The other ladies nodded and murmured in agreement, each eying the massive cake hungrily.

“When do you think our wishes will come true?” Carolina asked, staring into the fountain like she expected the wish to come leaping out.  A swan glided by, preening.

“Who knows?” Josh said glumly, crossing his arms and glaring.  “I didn’t get to make a wish.”

“Greedy people don’t get to make wishes,” Hibiscus informed him, her pinkie flicking out and scraping along the back side of the cake.  Holding a napkin up to her lips, her buttercream loaded finger slowly raised to her mouth.  “It’s a law of the universe, like karma.”

“In that case, you shouldn’t be able to make a wish either,” Josh retorted, snatching the napkin away.  Hibiscus yanked her pinkie out guiltily.  “I was simply tasting it.”

“You’ve been doing a lot of tasting,” Josh retorted, pointing to the cake.

“I was curious.”  Hisbiscus’ stained lips drew into a pout.  Frowning, she turned to Carolina.  “The cake, my dear?”

“It’s not time to eat cake!”  The tiny girl clutching her mother’s hand piped up, stepping forward.  “If we eat the cake, it means the party is over!”

“That’s very true.” Carolina chewed on her lips.  “I didn’t think of that.”

“But this is whimsy,” Hibiscus protested, licking her lips as she longingly stared at the cake.  “Surely we can reverse things?”

“Now, now, it’s everyone’s birthday and everyone should be able to decide,” Josh said smoothly, a wicked gleam in his eye.  “Who would like to play a game?”

Several of the ladies raised their hands.

“And who would like to eat cake this instant?”

Several ladies raised their hands.

“It’s a tie,” Josh announced with a frown.  “How shall we break it?”

“Let Carolina do it.  It’s her real birthday.  She’s only sharing her party with us.”  The little girl gazed up at her idol, wishing she had a pink dress just like Carolina’s.  As if reading her mind, Carolina smoothed her skirt and blushed.

“If it’s all right with everyone, I’d like to play a game.” Carolina gazed around at the other ladies.  “Or perhaps some dancing?”

“Bridge!” one woman cried.

“Poker!” another shouted with a gleam in her eye.

“A cake eating contest,” Hibiscus suggested hopefully.

“Hide and seek!” the little girl cried, clapping her hands and leaping up and down.  “Let’s play hide and seek!”

“Yes, that sounds perfect!”  Carolina beamed.  “Who’s it?”

“I’ll be it,” Josh volunteered, setting down his notepad and pen.  Covering his eyes, he began to count.  “One, two, three, four, five…”

Giggling, the ladies dashed away to various corners of the room.  Several ducked under tables, one tripped and fell in the fountain, one tried to climb into the umbrella stand and another hid behind the coatrack.  Hibiscus dashed off to hide behind the waiter’s podium, taking the cake with her.  Glancing around, Carolina hurried behind a tall mannequin wearing a ballgown.

“Ready or not, here I come!”

Hiding her giggles behind her hand, Carolina watched as Josh sprinted across the room, finding one woman after another.  Suddenly, a cool hand touched her shoulder.

“Carolina?”

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  We have a week full of whimsy coming!

For previous editions, go here.

Flora had always wondered what fashion designers felt like around models.  Now she knew: short, dumpy and fat.  Lowering her eyes from Astrid’s gorgeous features, she squeaked, “Me?  You want me to make your coronation dress?”

The girl laughed, low and throaty, and tossed a shimmering cascade of golden curls causally over a perfectly tan shoulder.  “Flora, surely you know you’re the seamstress.  Your name is a carefully guarded secret around the s0ciety set around here.   If I wasn’t going to cornation, I doubt I’d get in.”

“Huh?” Flora grabbed the back of a chair.  Her head was spinning faster than the pizza dough she and Jackie had watched the restaurant owner twirl a few minutes ago.  “Are you sure you’ve got the right girl?  I’m just a seamstress.”

Astrid arched a manicured eyebrow.  “Did you design and sew Candace Green’s debutante debut ballgown in a week?  The white one with all the beads and sequins?”

“Yes, but”–

“Tabatha Mercy’s pink prom gown?”

“Yes, but”–

“Danielle Wellington’s wedding dress?”  Astrid’s lips curled.  “They say the train lasted longer than her marriage did.”

“She’s divorced?”  As much as she worked with the ladies of society, Flora scarcely listened to the gossip.  Her mother did enough of that for both of them.

Astrid gave Flora the smile that had won her Princess.  “So you see, you’re the only one that can make my coronation dress.”

“Yes, but…”  Flora gripped the chair harder, her chest tight with panic.  “This is coronation. This is the event.  Why don’t you go to New York or Paris and get a couture gown?”  Every breath took effort as her mind raced.  Coronation was the biggest event of the year for the city.   Tourists would pile in from miles around to watch the princess be crowned.  Then there were the parades, the parties and festivals and the Ball.  The Coronation Ball was the event for miles around.  Many ladies spent months searching for perfect designer dresses to suit whatever the theme was, and even more time dieting and primping for the occasion.  To the people of her city, Coronation was bigger than Christmas.

And now the Coronation Princess, the woman in the center of it all, wanted her, Flora Oak, to make her dress.

The room began to spin as Astrid’s musical voice washed over her.

“Flora, I know what I want.  I want you to make the dress.  I know it’ll be perfect.”  The blue eyes blinked, the rosy cheeks blooming.  “It’s a masquerade ball, so I’ll want something dramatic, enchanting, elegant. Magical.”  She glanced at her slim wrist and pouted.  “Oh dear, I’m late for an appointment.  Shall we meet next week to go over your sketches?  Say Tuesday at two?”  Without waiting for an answer, she picked up her bag and breezed through the doorway.  “I’m looking forward to it!” she called, a small bell tinkling as she pushed through the door.

Flora stared at the spot where Astrid had stood, her tongue glued to the roof of her mouth.

“Flora!” her mother screeched from across the building.  “Flora, did Astrid leave?”  Before Flora could reply, another scream blasted towards her.  “Flora, if Astrid left, you better get in here!  Not only did you bring me a big pile of lettuce instead of my pizza, but there’s a whole list of things that need to be done around here!”

Flora glanced at the dress on her worktable, then at her mother’s door.  Checking her watch, she sucked in her breath.  Ten till four.  She wouldn’t be late to class after all, if she hurried.  And being spared Proffessor Skippy’s wrath was almost as good as being spared her mother’s.

“FLORA!”

It didn’t take long to make her decision.  Grabbing her workbag, Flora rushed out of the office still wearing her sewing apron.  Alone in the office, her mother’s exasperated screeches went unheard.

***

“Now, when you cut on the bias, be sure you do so carefully…”

Flora scribbled in her workbook, her eyes flickering up furiously in order to barely miss a second.  Much to her delight, Professor Skippy was out today.  Instead, Miss Tulip Tuttlesworth had taken over. And other than Jackie, there was no one in the world Flora loved more than Miss Tulip Tuttlesworth.  Leaning forward in her seat, she watched as the older woman’s hands expertly sliced the fabric.

Miss Tulip looked up at the class and smiled.  “I believe that’s enough for today.  Professor Skippy will be out for this week and the next, so I’m afraid you’ll have me for awhile.”  The students sighed with relief as they packed up their bags.  Professor Skippy could terrify a armed crocodile.   Jotting down the last bit of notes in her notebook, Flora stretched and stood as the last dregs of students dribbled out of the room.

“How are you, Flora?”  Miss Tulip asked, peering at her through thick glasses.  Her drab brown hair was pulled back in a messy bun, her make up free skin shiny under the harsh florescent lights.  Picking up the bright green fabric, she held it against her grey dress and smiled.  “Gorgeous, isn’t it?  It’d be a lovely evening gown.”

“Or cocktail dress.”  Flora made her way towards her as the teacher smiled.

“Yes, yes, you have a good eye for these things.”  She patted Flora’s shoulder and set the fabric on the table.  “My dear, I know you’re very busy, but there’s a project I’d adore your help on.”

Flora beamed.  “Really?  There’s actually a project I wanted your advice on.”

The teacher slid the fabric into her workbag and pointed out the window.  “There’s a 24 hour cafe across the street.  Shall we have some pie and a chat?”

Flora’s thoughts flickered to the pizza she’d devoured earlier with Jackie.  Her stomach growled and her mouth watered.

“There’s nothing more in the world I would want more,” she said honestly.

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  We have a new Comfort and Whimsy tomorrow and more whimsical fun!  Stay tuned!

I have a shocking confession.

I love pie.  I adore pie.  I live for pie.

I am a pie princess.  It’s all I ever want.

I eat pie instead of birthday cake.  If it’s Christmas, I want pie.  Thanksgiving, gimme pecan pie.  Halloween, candy corn pie.  I don’t care.

I love pie.

But I faced a terrible pie quandry:  What was my favorite apple pie?

Was it lattice top…

Regular top…

Or crumble?

I had to find out.  I had to know.

So I did this.

Half crumble, half lattice.

I had a slice of both.  For judging purposes.

And the winner was….

Strudel/ Crumble/ Crisp top!  Though any pie is a delicious pie, in my opinion.

I guess there was a reason I had tiered apple pies (strudel top) at my wedding…

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  We have a new Butterfly dress tomorrow and a new Comfort and Whimsy Saturday!

For previous editions, go here.

Panting, Birdie burst through the door.  Skidding across the tile floor, she flung her bag into the booth and slid into the seat.

“Thanks for meeting me,” she gasped, holding out her hand to the professor staring greedily at the menu across from her.

“There’s so much good food here,” Professor Allright muttered, licking his wrinkled lips as his eyes scanned the colorful plastic page.  “Patty melts, hamburgers, pork chops, fried chicken….however am I going to choose?”

Birdie rolled her eyes, knowing it was pointless to try to talk to him now.  Tapping her fingers against the plastic tabletop, she waited until the waitress brought them their drinks.

“Say, weren’t you in here earlier?” the waitress asked, narrowing her eyes.  “At breakfast?”

“I forgot breakfast!” Professor Allright bellowed, flipping the menu over and scouring it eagerly.  “How are the pancakes?”

“Ask her,” the waitress snorted, pointing to Birdie.  “She had a stack this morning.”

Professor Allright’s eager eyes flicked to Birdie, who had to resist rolling hers for a second time.  “Get the Surprise Sampler.”

“Surprise Sampler?” the Professor scanned the plastic sheet.  “It’s not on here.”

“It’s like a buffet,” Birdie supplied, exchanging amused looks with the waitress.  “It’s a little bit of the best of everything.”

“You’re paying, right?”  The professor peered at her through his thick glasses, his tongue running over his lips.

Birdie nodded.  His eyes glittering, the professor turned to the weary waitress.  “I’ll take the Surprise Sampler with a plate of nachos, a short stack, a piece of apple pie and a chocolate cream pie for dessert.  All together please.  With a side of macaroni.”  Patting his stomach, he leaned toward Birdie.  “I haven’t eaten in two days.”

“I’d believe it,” she muttered.  “I’ll have a cheeseburger and fries with a slice of pecan pie, please.  A la mode.”

“I’m bringing you a salad, too,” the waitress informed her, scribbling on her pad before stabbing her pen into her frizzy hair.  “Someone’s got to fee you some vegetables.”

“Fried pickles are vegetables,” Birdie pointed out.

The waitress merely snorted and scurried back behind the counter, where several kids from Birdie’s school sat drinking milkshakes.  Widening his eyes at the thick malts, a string of drool crept down the professor’s chin.  “You think I could get one of those too?”

Gritting her teeth, Birdie slapped her palms against the table.  “Until you tell me what you found out, you’re not getting a single bite.”

The proffessor’s wrinkled chin trembled.  “No milkshake?”

“You give me some good information, you can have a milkshake.”  One of the advantages, Birdie thought, to having absent minded parents who believed in financial independence yet forgot they had a credit card.

“Oh, yes.”  The professor blinked and dug around in a large leather satchel beside him.  Pulling out a sheaf of papers, he slid them in front of Birdie.  “I actually found this quite fascinating.  Not only is the Curse of Zarina quite well documented and argued, but your Mr. Pemberely has strong ties to the Black Paw tribe.”  He re-accounted the rumors Birdie had found in Pemebrely’s own papers.   “But what many don’t know is that the medicine woman, known as Black Claw, is said to be angry and seeking revenge.”

Birdie snorted.  “How would you know that?”

“After her disappearance, all the cats in the village vanished.  It was said that the cats were the seekers of the truth, the seekers of the true soul of the Black Paw tribe.  Every year, the tribe grows smaller and smaller, unable to find work or sustain its people due to a series of unfortunate events–fires, floods, government red tape…”

“So how are a bunch of cats supposed to find him?  Pemberely’s already got hundreds of cats,” Birdie said.

Professor Allright shook his head.  “Black Paw cats are different.  For one, they’re all black.  Secondly, they won’t show themselves easily.  They will wait, wait until the right moment.”  He tapped the folders.  “It’s worth mentioning that everyone Mr. Pemberely has ever come in contact with has suffered the same ill will as the Black Paw tribe.  His first employer’s office burned in a fire.  The second was flooded.  The third suffered a plight of intense flu that killed everyone except Mr. Pemberely.”

Birdie shook her head.  “If these cats are so powerful, then why are they punishing others?  Why not just go after Pemberely?”

“Because they need someone that can help transfer the spirits and conduct the ritual they have designed,” Professor Allright crowed, slapping the table.  “Hence where the Curse of Zarina comes in.  Ivory is known for strength in many cultures, and elephants have long been associated with good luck.”

Birdie stared at the table, chewing on her lip as the waitress slid a platter of hamburger, fries and salad in front of her.  “And if you have a holistic medicine woman there, she can perform the ceremony,” Birdie muttered, biting her lip so hard the taste of copper flooded her mouth.  “And if her daughter is pretending to be a magician…and there is a whole group of cats and legendary creatures there, all with a bone to pick…” She turned and glanced out the window.  The black cat glared at her from the sidewalk, the yellow eyes boring into hers.  “It all lines up,” she whispered.

The proffessor ripped off a chunk of fried chicken with one hand, waving a hamburger in the other.  “Do I get a malt?” he asked eagerly.

“Sure,” Birdie replied, her gaze still locked with the black cat’s.  “Why not?”

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  We have a new recipe tomorrow and a new Butterfly Dress Friday, plus Comfort and Whimsy Saturday!

We crunch, crunch, crunch,

during lunch, lunch, lunch.

We crunch, crunch, crunch,

Smack, smack, smack,

Chew, chew, chew

and drool, drool, drool.

And after we crunch, crunch, crunch,

We lick our paws and chops,

And after a lick of peanut butter or two,

It’s time to nap until dinner.

And then we crunch, crunch, crunch,

smack, smack, smack,

chew, chew, chew,

and drool, drool drool.

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  We have a new Butterfly Dress tomorrow and a new Comfort and Whimsy Saturday!