by Alex Bailey
Only problem was, her knitting needles and yarn were in a box someplace buried among the sea of infinite boxes. She’d have to buy another set of needles and some yarn. It was a good excuse to take a break.
Ann plugged the address of the Stitch In Time into her GPS, the only craft store in Gloria’s directory. She hopped into her new set of wheels and headed off. She was actually quite excited to get back into knitting. It was something she’d thought about through the years, but raising twins took more of her time than she had ever imagined. And, she had visited a knitting store right before Tom died, but with his death she had been too busy to knit.
And now with nothing but time for herself, she was determined to start doing things she enjoyed—things that were totally for her—self-absorbed, free-wheeling, and fun. Perhaps knitting didn’t quite cover all those bases, but she was excited at the thought of getting back into it.
She felt her luck taking off when she saw the display in the store window—sets of knitting needles, knitting pattern books, and yarns of all colors and textures. When she finished drooling, she peeled her nose from the glass and noticed the small sign in the bottom right-hand corner of the window—Help Wanted.
It was perfect! She would apply for the job and be surrounded by knitting and other crafts. She could sew all day, get to know other women in the community who loved the same crafts she loved, and get paid for it. Not that she needed the money; she certainly did not. Tom had left her well off between his life insurance policy, the equity in their home, and selling his dental practice and Elvis wig collection. She was set for life.
When Ann entered the store, she drew in a deep breath. It even smelled like sewing.
A plump woman with leopard-print reading glasses halfway down her nose, shuffled toward her wearing a faded gray sweater. A large red ball of yarn and silver needles design was stitched on the front. In a bored monotone, she recited, “Welcome to the Stitch In Time, where you’ll have a stitchin’ good time. May I help you?”
Ignoring the unenthusiastic spiel, Ann responded with a resounding, “I’d like to pick up a new set of knitting needles and some yarn.”
“Okay, ma’am. Right this way.” The sales lady waddled off.
Ann followed close behind. “I’m joining a knitting club tonight. I can’t wait. It was such a nice surprise when my neighbor knocked on the door and invited me. I’m new in town and, oh, I’d also like to take a peek at your knitting pattern books.”
“Fine.”
“Like in the front window.” Ann beamed in anticipation.
“Everything’s together. Right down this aisle.”
Ann knew her tone well, she had read Winnie the Pooh books to the twins at least a thousand times, and every time she reached Eeyore’s famous line, “Thanks for noticin’ me”, she and the twins would recite it together most despondently.
Ann followed the dreary woman down the aisle lined with colorful skeins of yarn, books, and needles. There were pre-packaged kits as well. “Thank you.” She was in knitting heaven. In fact, if the woman hadn’t been standing there, Ann may just have picked up a skein and rubbed it over her face. “Oh, one more thing. I saw the sign in the front window. I’d like to apply for the job.”
The woman stared over her glasses. “Do you have any experience selling merchandise in a craft store?”
“No, but I love to knit.” The job would be perfect for Ann, and she would be perfect for the job.
The woman crossed her arms over her broad chest and continued staring at Ann. “Really. And just what was the last thing you made?”
“A baby blanket.” She stood taller. “Two actually. For my twins.” Maybe that will impress her!
The woman showed no signs of being impressed. She looked Ann up and down. “When?”
“When?” Ann’s heart sunk. She felt the judging stare of the sales lady. She knew she didn’t have a chance at the job.
“It’s a simple question,” the woman stated sarcastically.
“When I was pregnant. With twins.” Ann smiled, hoping that answer would suffice.
“And your children are how old?” The woman uncrossed her arms.
“Oh, let’s see now. They turned eighteen in March.” Ann knew the woman would burst into laughter, even as she was saying it.
But the woman didn’t laugh, she just handed her a blank stare.
“I don’t have a chance in hell of getting a job here, do I?”
The woman shook her head and turned to leave.
“Any chance I could speak to the manager?” Ann called after her.
“No need. I’m the owner.” The woman shuffled down the aisle without turning around.
“Okay, then. Guess I’ll just pick up what I need and be on my way.” Ann was miffed that the shopkeeper wouldn’t even allow her a chance to prove herself, but she wouldn’t give this woman the satisfaction of seeing her annoyance.
As she browsed the patterns, Ann made up her mind about what she’d make. It was perfect, seeing as she was now living in Burrburgh. She chose an afghan pattern, needles, and thick ivory cotton yarn with a soft but bumpy texture. At that point, Ann just wanted to get out as quickly as she could. She took her items to the cashier, who was wearing the same drab gray sweater with the red ball of yarn on the front. But it looked different than the owners, because the arm holes drooped down to her elbows and her sleeves were rolled up.
The cashier noticed Ann’s curious glance and explained, “One size fits all.”
Ann nodded in understanding. The cashier was much speedier than the owner, so Ann quickly paid and jumped in her car.
Since she still didn’t know the route home, she entered her address into the GPS and headed on her way. She wasn’t looking forward to the rest of the afternoon of unpacking boxes, but was glad she had the diversion of the knitting club that evening to look forward to.
* * * * *
When Ann arrived home, an idea hit her. She’d take along a batch of freshly-baked cookies. It served two purposes. One, the knitting group would have something to eat that wouldn’t require a stomach pump; and two; it forced Ann to finish unpacking the kitchen boxes.
She had no idea which box contained her Grandma Smith’s recipe for Southern Fried Chocolate Chip Cookies, but she was determined to find it. The cookies received rave reviews every time she had taken them to a function. They were full of fat, dripping in oil. So what if you needed a defibrillator after eating a single cookie? It may kill you, but at least not in the same way as Freda’s cooking.
Ann found her flatware and loaded it in the dishwasher, along with glasses, plates, bowls and pans. When she unboxed her mixing bowls and cookie sheet, she decided to wash them by hand to get the cookies started—just as soon as she could uncover her award-winning recipe.
As chance would have it, her recipe box was in the last box she opened. She was relieved to find it and elated that it was her final box to unpack in the kitchen. It gave her an excuse to quit for the day. Not that she needed an excuse, she lived alone; if she wanted to live out of boxes for the rest of her life, it was now her prerogative.
She pulled out the white wooden box with her name painted on top in purple letters. The box had been a gift painted by her daughter, Adrien, when she was in first grade. Adrien hadn’t been the best of spellers at that age, but Ann didn’t care that it actually said Ass; it was lovingly made. She had index cards organizing recipes by category and when she saw the index card labeled Tom’s Favorites, she yanked it out and threw it in the trash can. She wouldn’t be needing that again—better to save the space for something she would need, such as Ann’s Favorites.
Flipping through the category of “Grandma Smith’s Recipes”, Ann passed the Almost Blueberry Pie Cake, Brown Butter Betty Brickle Brownies and Crème Brulee Stew. When she pulled out the recipe for Southern Fried Chocolate Chip Cookies, she noticed she didn’t have most of the ingredients on hand. When she had gotten the key to her house from her realtor, Gloria, she’d only
briefly stopped at a Mini-Stop-and-Shop store for a few items to tide her over for a few days. Since she needed ingredients to actually cook something, Ann decided to do her big stock-up-the-pantry trip. She rather enjoyed the shopping experience back home, with so many exciting products to choose from, the bright colors, and the chit-chat with her neighbors and friendly cashiers. But it was a new town and a new store to her, so she wasn’t all that excited to go.
Since she was resigned to making the trip, she made a list of ingredients for the recipe and added to the bottom of the list, everything else.
She gave Honey a smooch on her head, grabbed her bag, and headed out the door.
* * * * *
The Okey Dokey Corral was a large, brightly-lit store, with wide aisles and tall displays. At the end of each aisle, was a chalkboard with colorful drawings of sale items. The first aisle Ann came to, had a huge help wanted sign which stated, “Chalkboard Artist Wanted.” Ann could draw. And rather well. How difficult could the job be? She decided to apply.
The sign directed interested parties to inquire at the service desk. “Hi, I’d like to apply for the chalkboard artist position, please,” Ann announced to a man with a shiny egg-shaped head and gray goatee, wearing a red and white checkerboard shirt with white fringe around the pocket. His name tag read, “Howdy, the name’s Pete.”
How nice and friendly that sounds; this would be a great place to work.
Pete glanced up from his paper shuffling and barked, “Job’s filled.”
“Oh, I just saw the sign,” Ann pointed in the direction where she had previously been.
“The jo-ob,” he paused, “is filled.” Pete turned away.
Ann felt a little blue dwelling on her second rejection of the day. She returned to her shopping and soon her cart began to fill, wiping away her memory of the experience.
When she had everything on her list, plus everything else in the store, she slipped into the shortest checkout line. The cashier looked to be in her mid-sixties, had poufy bleach-blond hair, and a huge smile that made her look like a grinning-faced emoji.
The cashier’s conversation with the customer in line ahead of Ann was about her dog, Tiny, a Dalmatian. “He was tiny when I got him. The runt of the litter, you see.”
The customer in front of Ann was impatient and trying to rush the cashier along. Maybe he’s in a hurry. Perhaps he’s on his way to the airport and worried about missing his flight or late for his underwater synchronized swimming class. Ann wasn’t one to judge.
When she approached the register. Ann read the cashier’s name tag on her red and white checkered shirt, “Howdy, the name’s Bubbles.” Ann grinned at the petite woman smiling up at her. Bubbles moved quickly for her age, happily bagging Ann’s groceries. She thought Bubbles was a sweetheart and couldn’t understand why on earth the previous customer had tried to escape her.
“Hi there, Sugar. How are you doing today?”
Ann didn’t want to get into the fact that she’d been rejected for two jobs so far, so she said in a friendly tone, “I’m good, thanks. I overheard you talking to the gentleman about your Dalmatian?”
Bubbles gave her a sideways glance and then asked with a twinkle in her eye, “Were you spying on me?”
Ann took the question in the spirit it was asked, and grinned “Nah, I gave up my job at the CIA.”
Bubbles laughed as large as her hairdo. “That’s right. Got him from a coworker of mine eight years ago. He’s still such a puppy. Loves people. He’s like me in that way. Although, I don’t jump on visitors who come knocking on the front door. Tiny does. And licks them right on the mouth.” She puckered her lips.
Bubbles continued ringing up Ann’s groceries and stacking them in bags, as she exuberantly chatted on about her playful canine.
Ann barely got a word in but she was happy to just be entertained by the cashier who was chattering a mile a minute, almost like listening to an auctioneer.
When Ann finished paying, Bubbles said, “Just hold on a minute, Sweetie. I’ll get you some help in the parking lot. Herman’s working here while he’s on break from Harvard. Real smart and hard working too. He’s studying to be a corporate lawyer.”
Ann didn’t need help, but by the time it took her to protest, Bubbles had summoned the sloth king. Ann truly had never seen anyone move as slowly as the tall lanky young man standing in front of her. There was no way she was going to wait for him, so when they were out of Bubbles’ earshot, she turned to the attendant and said, “Thanks anyway, Herman. I’ve got this. Don’t want to take you away from your work.” She pushed her cart as quickly as she could to her car. She jumped in and imagined Herman still standing in place, scratching his head, wondering where Ann went.
* * * * *
Once Ann got home and put her groceries away, she began making her grandmother’s recipe. She started by making a basic chocolate chip cookie recipe and allowed them to cool completely. Then she popped the cookies into the freezer for a few minutes, while she whipped up the dipping batter and heated the oil for deep frying.
When the cookies had been dipped in batter and were happily sizzling in hot oil, Ann smiled to herself, thinking back to her childhood when her grandmother used to make them. Her kitchen smelled exactly like she remembered with the fragrance of hot oil and warmed chocolate. The only thing missing was the smell of sweaty socks, as Grandma Smith kept a pair hanging in her kitchen window. She said they were a good luck charm, kind of like a kitchen witch, only luckier, and smellier.
When the cookies were golden brown, Ann removed them one at a time and laid them on paper towels to soak up the excess oil. When she bit into one, she thought about how much she missed her grandmother. She had died of an ingrown toenail, and the family had been shocked at the time since there was no toe-related disease on that side of her family. Ann had wondered if it had any ties to the sweaty socks.
Munching on the delicious oil-soaked goodness, she hoped her cookies would be well received. She placed them on her prettiest platter, a light blue ceramic dish featuring tiny pink pigs with angelic wings. She wrapped them tightly and opened a can of soup for dinner. She hated eating in front of Honey, so she filled her pet’s dish with kibble.
Honey gulped her dinner down in a few bites, licked her chops, and then looked up at Ann with her large sad eyes, as if asking politely for a taste of that delectable, dripping-in-grease cookie. Ann felt bad saying no to her pooch’s request, but was looking forward to her upcoming evening of knitting merriment.
Chapter 6
Ann arrived at her neighbor’s front door with Honey’s leash in one hand, a platter of cookies in the other, and her knitting bag hanging from her shoulder.
Freda opened the door wearing a blue cafeteria lady’s uniform and pink bunny slippers. Ann wondered if the slippers were also part of the uniform. Stepping inside, a dachshund sniffed Honey and then jumped up to greet Ann. She reached down and patted Freda’s dog.
Freda’s deep voice boomed as she ushered them inside, “Down Princess!” The dachshund obeyed her owner. “Come on in you two.” Freda reached over and gave Honey a rub on the top of her back. “How ya doin’, girl?”
Ann handed the platter to Freda. “I made cookies.”
“Great, great,” Freda accepted the platter and led her visitors through the small, cozy living room downstairs to the basement. A table was set up along one long wall, with a sofa next to it. Another sofa was on the opposite wall and various mismatched chairs sat in between the two to complete a circle. A low coffee table was in the center of the mis-matched furniture.
Ann thought it was quite appropriate for a knitting circle.
Freda set the platter on the table next to a bowl of chips and an assortment of bottles of water and soda. A second platter held what looked like brownies. After tasting Freda’s cake, Ann decided she’d steer clear of the brownies, since she didn’t need a trip to the hospital.
“You’re the first one here, as you can see,” her husky-voiced
neighbor pointed out. “That means you get first pick of the seats.”
When the doorbell rang, Freda headed back up the stairs.
Ann hesitantly took a chip, and after the first bite decided they were safe. She unwrapped her plate of cookies, just as three women arrived at the bottom of the stairs.
Gloria Stonehenge appeared around the corner. When she saw Ann, Gloria’s expression flickered for an instant, like a single frame of a movie, from surprise, to sadness, and finally to a fake smile. If Ann had blinked, she would have missed it. In her familiar British accent, she said, “Ann, love, are you the new member?” Gloria gave her a quick hug, as Ann nodded. Gloria looked just as radiant as ever in a pale-yellow skirt suit. In fact, Ann felt grossly underdressed in black jeans and a green baby doll top.
Gloria carried an orange striped kitten. “Hadn’t a chance to change from the workday.”
Ann felt better when the other two women appeared around the corner dressed much closer to the way Ann was dressed. She patted the orange kitten and said, “Aw, how adorable.”
“Diablo’s only eight weeks old, but he’s quite a curious little fellow,” Gloria said. “Ann, this is Mindy Woo and Michelle Fitzelstein.”
Mindy, a tall blond, in her twenties, wearing jeans and a blue camisole, carried a bowl with a turtle sitting on a pile of stones. “Hi,” she said shyly, eyes fixed on her turtle.
Ann said, “It’s very nice to meet you, and who’s this?” She leaned over to get a peek inside the turtle bowl.
“That’s Testudo, her turtle,” Michelle announced, extending her hand to Ann.
Ann shook Michelle’s hand. She towered over the woman who resembled a gnome with long gray hair, pale skin, rosy cheeks, and a Rudolf-red nose.
“And where’s your pet?” Ann inquired.
“Oh, Tijuana Charley? He’s upstairs socializing with Princess. Thinks he has a chance with her every time he sees her. Can’t break him away. He’s a Chihuahua.”
Freda led two more women downstairs. She introduced Dona Hightower, a striking fifty-something-year-old dripping in bling, wearing skinny jeans and black patent-leather Louboutin five-inch spike heels, and Elegante Villanueva, a pretty, but unkempt woman in faded denim overalls. In her arms, lay a cat the color of Ann’s iron fence surrounding her pool back on the West Coast with eyes to match.
