Hello, Invisible Minions.  Queen Bitty here.

Did you know it’s the Blond Duck’s birthday today?

Well, it is!

That’s right, the Blond Duck is 25 today.

I know, it doesn’t seem likely.  But it’s true!

So friends, do pardon her for absence of replies and her usual rounds of visiting.  Because she’s quite busy twirling, shopping and eating a lot of food she’ll have to do a lot of treadmill penance for.

But she’ll be back tomorrow.  After she feeds and worships me, of course.

Even on birthdays, Queen Bitty rules with an iron fist.

Don’t forget to visit the Blond Duck’s buddy Chad, at A Journey Through the Desert. Chad’s a fellow writer and running enthusiast who was kind enough to do an interview with the Blond Duck.  He’s always sharing inspirational quotes and wonderful book reviews, so check him out!

And now, read the second part to the second tale of Miss Pickles.  Remember, the original Miss Pickles book will be released in a few weeks!  And if you find yourself needing an early Christmas gift or something to read, The Twelve Tales of Christmas, my collection of 12 whimsical and delightful Christmas tales, is available on Amazon.com or through Lulu!

And without further ado, The Return of Miss Pickles continues…

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Much to Mason’s relief, he got to go to his friend Ralph’s house after school after that excruciating math test.  Ralph’s mother made everything better, whether it was a skinned knee or a sore heart.  With her butter yellow hair wound up in thick braids around her head, she bustled about the kitchen in her flowered apron, stuffing whatever person wandered by with strudels and tarts and thick chocolate pastries choked with sugar.  The house always smelled like cinnamon and brown sugar, and always pumpkin in the fall.  Ralph’s mother loved pumpkins–they were strewn about the house like a wayward pumpkin patch and baked into everything from cakes and pies to breads and casseroles.

“Eat, eat!” she would cry, her plump pink cheeks flushed with pleasure.  “It is good, ja?  Eat, eat!  I’ll get you some pie, ja?”

Poor Ralph never had a chance.

After Mason and Ralph forged a standoff with the unruly kindergartners on the bus for the best seat (3rd row, left side), they hopped off the bus.

“Do you really think Miss Pickles will return?” Ralph asked, his stubby legs pounding against the sidewalk as he tried to keep up with Mason.

“Of course,” Mason said confidently.  He rubbed his stomach.  “What’s your mom fixing today?  I’m starving.”

Ralph shrugged.  “I’m not sure.  She wasn’t feeling well this morning.”

“She wasn’t?”  Visions of scones and strudels danced around Mason’s head.  “So she might not make something?”

Ralph shook his head.  “There’s always plenty in the fridge, though,” he said in a matter of fact tone.  “We won’t go hungry.”  He patted his large belly.

“It’s just not the same, you know?” Mason muttered.  His own house was completely different than the Anderson’s.  His mother was a high powered attorney who gave three days of information in thirty second snippets.   Mason’s father had been laid off due to the economy, and now lumbered about the house sighing and staring longingly at his golf clubs, which had been taken hostage by his mother.  On top of everything, his grandmother had moved in.  As she had dementia, she was convinced she was a old Hollywood star and marched about the house in her silk bathrobe, holding a pencil for a long cigarrette and a old white mop on her head for bleached curls.

To make matters worse, his mother was pregnant.  That meant she was mean, bulging and always demanding ice cream and pickles from her personal assistant.

If it had been anyone else’s house, it would have been hilarious.

In a comfortable silence, the two friends walked to Ralph’s house and let themselves in the front door.  “Mom?” Ralph called.  “We’re home!”

“Ahh, meine kinder!  Come to the kitchen, ja?”

“Ja,” Mason replied, taking a deep breath.  Already, he felt a little better.  Cinnamon did that to a person.

Following Ralph into the Andersons’ large kitchen (it took up half of the house), Mason burst out laughing.  Mrs. Anderson was wearing a Haz mat suit with a clear plastic window in front of her face.  She waved with one gloved hand, where she was kneading dough.

Ralph stared.  “Mom, what are you doing?”

“Well, meine liebe, I was not so good this morning.  My head pounded, my nose ran and my throat ached so!  I went to the doctor and he said I had a cold.  A nasty, nasty cold!  And I said, “Ach, nein!  I have too much to do, too many orders!”  So he says, I can help.  And he gives me a shot of steroids”–  She bent over and pointed to her large behind– “Right here.”

“Mom!” Ralph turned purple as Mason turned his head, his lips twitching.

“And now, I feel all better, yes?”  She beamed at the two boys through the plastic window.

“Then why are you dressed like that?” Ralph asked, edging away from her.

“Well, I have to give it 24 hours before I’m not contagious, and I still have orders to fill!  I had this left over from the Old Country.”

Mason took one look at Ralph’s face and doubled over laughing.

“Sit, sit!” Mrs. Anderson cried.  “I have some fresh cocoa and some pumpkin muffins, ja?”

“Ja,” Mason said, leaping into his chair.

Suspicious of the Haz Mat suit, Ralph sat away from his mother.

“So Mason, how is the little one?  Is your mother fine?” Mrs. Anderson asked.

The smile dropped off Mason’s face.  “Yeah, she’s fine.  She’s due in four months.”

“How wonderful.”  Mrs. Anderson waved her plastic covered arms.  “Babies are wonderful.”

Ralph poked the top of his cocoa, yanking away his burning finger.  “Did you make this in your Haz Mat suit?”

“Ja.”  Making a face, Ralph got up to make his own cup of cocoa.  It was the first time Mason had ever seen him turn down food.

As he reached for a second muffin, Mrs. Anderson patted his arm.  “I know what you’re worried about Mason.  Don’t worry, she’ll come back.”

Mason stopped, his fingers still wrapped around the muffin.  “Who?”

Mrs. Anderson smiled and mimicked holding a parasol.  “She will return.  Don’t worry.  It’s almost time.”

Mason glanced around.   Ralph had his nose plastered to the microwave window, his eyes wide as he watched his cocoa spin.  “How do you know about her?  Did Ralph tell you?”

Mrs. Anderson shook her head, her hair brushing against the suit.  “Nein.  He did not have to.  We’re old friends.  We’ve known each other a long time.”

Mason stared at her.  “Does Miss Pickles know everyone?”

“Probably.”  Mrs. Anderson giggled.  “She has been around for ages and ages, though a lady never reveals her real age.”  She looked at Mason still holding the muffin.  “Eat, eat little one!  You’re far too skinny!”

“But why did she take so long?” Mason asked, still clutching the muffin.  “I thought she’d come back sooner.”

“No,” Mrs. Anderson corrected, smiling.  “You wanted her sooner.  She was not needed, until now.”

“Who needs her?”  Mason’s arm was still stretched across the table.  “Who convinced her to come here?  Was it me?  Maybe Ralph or Don?”  Mrs. Anderson’s face stretched into a serene smile.  “Don’t tell me it was Beatrice!”

“Nein, nein,” Mrs. Anderson laughed, shaking her head.  “It was not one of you.  It’s just something she knows.  It’s like reading the rain or wind.  She just understands these things.”

“Well, when is she coming?” Mason demanded.  “Tomorrow?  Next week?  The week after?”

“Soon,” Mrs. Anderson promised. “Very soon.”   Behind them, a loud crack snapped into the air.  Ralph stood in front of the microwave, the door hanging open.  Hot cocoa dripped from the door and off Ralph’s chin.  The inside of the microwave looked like a chocolate bomb had gone off.

“Whoops,” Ralph said, grinning as he licked the cocoa from around his lips.

“Ach, Ralph bitte!  You got cocoa all over my pastries!  Now they are soggy and ruined!” Mrs. Anderson fussed, getting to her feet.  The Haz Mat suit made swishing sounds as she moved quickly.  “Mason, eat!  Eat!  You are far too thin, ja?”  Clucking and waving her hands, Mrs. Anderson hurried over to clean up her cocoa covered son.

Lost in his own thoughts, Mason took a bite of the muffin.  “Soon,” he murmured to himself as the warm pumpkin comfort slid down his throat.  “Miss Pickles will be here soon.”

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  We have the second part to The House on Elm Street Wednesday, a delightful, light recipe and a new story Friday!  And we’ve got a new Creative Woman of the Pond, Lorraine from Not Quite Nigella!  Stay tuned!

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