A Pilgrim's Journal of Life, Literature and Love
“Coffee with Bob!” I muttered under my breath. “What was I thinking?” Bob isn’t just any guy. His bakery was my biggest competitor in town before I had to take the bakery gluten free, and also a person I’d known since I was five years old.
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“Hello, welcome to Tradition Tours!” the stewardess said brightly. “Thank you for choosing to travel the world with us. We have a few special guests with us today, natives of the countries we’re going to visit. Our first stop is Germany, and I’ll let our German guest take over from here.”
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I inherited the bakery about 5 years ago when my aunt passed away. I’d worked with Aunt Ginny since I was a kid. Aunt Ginny’s passion for baking fostered my love for the baking business. We have always been a family run business therefore family pride was on the line at this bake-off.
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“I want you to steal the Apples of Inspiration.”
Robin nearly choked on his pipe smoke. “Do you realize that that tree only blooms once every seven hundred years? And the gods guard it jealously!”
…the king sent out a proclamation, decreeing that whosoever discovered the secret of the holes in the princesses’ shoes would be rewarded greatly. One day, not long after the king sent out his proclamation, Jack and his mother decided to see if the king could help them with their financial problems by selling him their cow….
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As soon as the moon’s rays touched our skin, we changed. Wolfish hair replaced bare human skin. We went down on all fours as claws supplanted nails. We howled into the star-studded sky, repeating the ritual that our ancestors had practiced since the days when Vikings ruled the seas. We were wolves.
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Bitter Old Men Yelping at Each Other:
My country, ‘tis of thee
“Get out of your bunker and get out of the sand trap!”
Sweet land of liberty
“What do you want to call them? Give me a name. Give me a name!”
“Is there a vegan option?”
“Are these fish from renewable stocks?”
“Is this bread gluten free?”
“Is this all you’ve got – bread and fish?”
As we were finishing our meal and our catching-up, the restaurant manager walked by slowly with an elegant, elderly lady on his arm.
“This is my son,” the elegant lady said to us. “Don’t you think he is handsome?”
At the water’s edge he saw a stunning woman playing the flute. Weeds were woven into her glossy, dark hair. She was submerged in the murky water from the waist down. Her delicate fingers skillfully danced upon the flute. Bobert was entranced.
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