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It's the week of the great Spaghetti Supper and we are up to our eyeballs in meatballs, noodles, apples and pastry.
We're all working hard to raise money this Saturday for children with disabilities, living on the streets of countries less fortunate than Canada.
So this morning Frank, Greg, Susan and Martha gathered in my kitchen and we peeled, chopped, stirred and laughed together.
Greg was making the sauce, opening many cans--adding ingredients from a tried and true recipe--in vast quantities. It takes a lot of sauce to feed 100 people.
"Are you sure it's really 3 cups of sugar I have to add to this?" he asked. I went over to double check the recipe, yes, it was 3 cups--and noticed that Greg was part way through adding 3 cups of salt, not sugar, from the unmarked container on the table! The recipe only called for 1/2 a cup of salt!
Greg's eyes widened in horror. "Noooo--are you serious?" he said. He couldn't quite believe that I wasn't joking about it being salt.
Immediately we began skimming the surface of the sauce, trying to get it out before it sank. The sauce was rescued--once the meatballs go in, it will be just fine!
By 12 we had to be done as I had a work appointment to be at. I left three apple pies cooling on the stove top, while another two were cooling in the closed oven.
Three hours later I came back--and noticed in a doorway, one empty foil pie plate, slightly bent, with small vestiges of what looked like pastry clinging to the edges.
I thought that perhaps Molson had plundered the garbage, but I entered the kitchen and found 2, not 3 pies, on the stove--and a pile of crumbs on the wooden floor.
St. Molson had fallen from grace! This dog, who I don't think even gets dog biscuits, in one fell swoop hit a home run for doggie heaven.
I thought of how much all of us would have loved to have sampled a pie and how much we hoped to make by auctioning any remaining pies off--they are highly coveted. And I thought of Molson, licking his chops over the last crumbs of his booty.
I went to inform Brenda of Molson's downfall and was so focused on that, I ignored the sound of a child crying.
When I had recovered from my initial dismay over the missing pie, I discovered that Victoria had had a terrible day at school and was broken hearted over a series of events that resulted in her being unjustly punished and the target of a jeering busload of children who she inadvertently kept from leaving on time.
This is where an Omie can make a difference. First a big hug was needed and returned with heartfelt fervour. "You are a wonderful human being, " I said, "And in the morning, no one will remember this."
"It was a very big bus, with a lot of children," she said, as if she wasn't sure--but she was no longer crying.
"What a day this has been!" I declared--and launched into the tale of the salty sauce and the disappearing pie.
"And now, poor Victoria and her Bad Day!" I said, happy to see that she was beginning to laugh a little.
I'm grateful.
Grateful that Greg actually queried the quantity of "sugar" in the sauce.
Grateful that there were still 2 pies on the stove!
Grateful that even a disastrous day for a little girl, can be survived with the love of family. I'm grateful that she is ours and that we have her to love.
I'm grateful.


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