Words will keep us together

Fiction, musings and all things writing by Gregory T. Janetka


Samuel was delighted, truly delighted.  This was one of his favorite things in the world.  From his perch high above the kitchen floor, he felt on top of the world.  While he hadn’t figured out all of the mysteries of existence yet, he did know when something was incredibly rare and to be treasured.  This was one of those moments.

He attempted to sit perfectly still, but knew that he kept shifting about the granite, a huge smile emblazoned across his face.  His mother leaned over and kissed him on the head – “One would think you don’t want to sit up here after all honey.”  “Oh no Momma, I do!”  Normally, when he would climb the stool in order to sit on the counter he would hear, “That is for food, not your bottom!” To which he responded by putting his tail between his legs and slinking away.  But on days like today he knew he could let his feet dangle for the whole world to see, and he would never get yelled at.

“Alright, what should we add first?”

“The flower!”

With the help of Samuel, his mother measured out three and a half cups of flour, of which Samuel was more than happy to add all of to the orange and white mixing bowl.  That was followed by the water, eggs, vanilla, baking soda, sugar, and food coloring (a nice crimson).

“Are you ready to use your muscles?”

As if the enormous smile was not enough to tell by, he excitedly shook his head “Yes.”  She handed him the spoon, and he was ready for it.

With his tongue falling precariously out of the right corner of his mouth he began to stir the ingredients.  When he would switch directions with the spoon, his tongue would switch sides as well.  As flower flew out the sides of the bowl, his mother stood next to the counter, feeling on top of the world, watching her little boy work.  While she hadn’t figured out all of the mysteries of existence yet, she did know when something was incredibly rare and to be treasured.

Meanwhile, Samuel continued his assault upon the batter at hand.  His forearms were beginning to burn and his mother joked that all of this work was going to make him look like Popeye.  He stopped stirring to think about this.  He liked the idea of it – other than the fact that Olive Oyl was rather annoying, Popeye did seem to have it made.  Unfortunately for him, he could not understand the joys of spinach, and so knew it was impossible…

“Momma!  No more flower is flying out!”
“Yeah, look, it’s all mixed, good job!”
They rejoiced and celebrated by tasting the dough.  It was delicious.
“Thanks Mom.”
“No, thank you, you made it.”
“No Momma, we made it.”

Twenty minutes later the cookies came out of the oven.  They passed the time with a few games of checkers, both eagerly waiting for their crimson creations to cool.  Just then the front door opened.


With a sincere greeting Father met Samuel and Mother, but quickly skirted them once he saw the cookies on display, shoving one into his mouth.  Owing to the fact that they had just emerged, this caused Father to dance around with his mouth open, omitting the strangest sounds Samuel had ever heard.  They all laughed and ate cookies into the night.

“Goodnight sweetheart.”
“Goodnight Mom.”

– August 2007


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