Thanksgiving Day is almost here, and already the Springington kitchen is filled with delightful aromas, not the least of which are Mrs.  Springington’s pies.  While Mrs. Springington puts the final touches to a crust, we find Phil right there beside her, savoring the delightful scents.

“Those pies sure smell delicious, Mrs. Springington.”

“Thank you, Phil.  Baking certainly does fill the home with a wonderful aroma, especially so close to Thanksgiving.”

“Should I put these others in the box now?”

“No, just let them cool there on the table while I put this  one in the oven.”

“That sure is pretty, the way you made the crust like that.

“This?  This is called a lattice-crust.  I like to do my apple pies this way.”

“It’s like a work of art.  I wish I could do something like that.”

“Listen to you Phil, calling my cooking a work of art.”

“What’s so strange about that?”

“It’s just that you’re the artist, Phil, celebrated and renowned.  When I think of all the beautiful paintings and murals you’ve created, and then to hear you go on about my baking like it was something special.  It’s nothing millions of American housewives don’t do all the time.”

“Then I think it’s millions of American housewives who should be celebrated and renowned.  My stuff only has to look good.  Yours looks good, smells great, and is delicious.  I only wish I could learn to bake a pie like that.”

“It’s not so hard Phil, I could teach you.”

“Really, you would do that?”

“Sure, in fact we’ll start right now.  We need to make one more pie for those kids at the orphanage, and this is where you learn to bake, Phillip Wellbright.

“Okay, I’m ready.  What do I do first?”

“Well, first thing is, better put on this apron, we don’t want to mess up your clothes.

“This?  You want me to wear this apron?”

“That’s right.”

“You mean with the flouncy ruffles, and the flowers?  Don’t you have  one that’s a little more plain?”

“Don’t you like that apron?  It’s Alice’s favorite.  She always wears it when she helps me in the kitchen.”

“She does? ”

“Yes.”

“Well, if Alice wears it, I will too.  These flowers kind of go good with her eyes, don’t they?”

“They do, and they don’t look bad on you either, Phil.  Here, let me help you tie that in the back.  There, very handsome.”

“Handsome?  I don’t feel handsome.  I feel kind of silly.  If it weren’t that this were Alice’s favorite apron, it think I would take it off.”

“Nonsense Phil, you look fine. Besides, if you’re going to work in the kitchen you’ve got to wear an apron to protect you clothes.  You don’t want to go walking through town with flour and dough all over your pants and jacket, do you?”

“No, I suppose not.   I just remembered, I have a smock I use sometimes when I’m painting.  It’s cut plain and is just solid white, I could run next door and get it.”

“Stay right where you are, young man; we have work to do.  Are you going to let your vanity get in the way of baking pies for those children?”

“No, not when you put it that way, Mrs. Springington.  I feel kind of ashamed of myself.   I’ll keep this apron on, only I hope no one sees me like this.”

“That’s fine, now let’s get started–why hello Mr. Elliott.”

“Hello Mrs. Springington.  Hello Curly.”

“Frankie, when did you get here?”

“I just walked right up the back steps a minute or two ago.  It looked like you and Mrs. Springington were putting on some kind of fashion show, and I didn’t want to interrupt, so I just kind of slid in quietly.”

“I’m teaching Mr.  Wellbright to bake, Mr.  Elliott.  You’re free to join us if you like.”

“Sure, this is too good to miss.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing Curly, just that I didn’t know you had such a keen interest in baking.  It looks like you’ve really gone all out.”

“Never mind how I look right now.  I didn’t have any interest in baking until a little while ago.  It was Mrs. Springingtons pies that did it.”

“They do look delicious don’t they?  And the smell! Mmm-mmm!”

“I’m glad you agree.  So now you understand why I’m wearing this, this apron here, to keep the flour and dough from messing up my clothes.”

“Very practical, Curly.”

“That’s right, practical.  A man has got to consider these things you know.”

“Yep, practical, and pleasing to the eye too.  I kind of like the way those ruffles seem to compliment your wavy hair.”

“Watch it Frankie!”

“And the way your baby-blue eyes pick out the delicate periwinkle in those dainty little flowers.”

“How would you like a delicate punch in the dainty little nose?”

“My, my; aren’t we the truculent one?”

“Truculent?  What’s this, more of your crossword vocabulary?”

“No, I owe this one to a tuba player from Yonkers named Anthony.”

“Yonkers?  Since when have you ever been to Yonkers?”

“I’ve never been to Yonkers, Curly, but that’s where my pal Anthony the tuba player is from.”

“I never know when to believe you, Frankie.  You and I have been best friends for a long time, how come this is the first I’ve ever heard of this truculent tuba player?”

“Anthony isn’t truculent, Curly. ”

” Now I’m confused.  I thought you said he was truculent.”

“No, I never said that.  He  introduced me to the word and told me it’s meaning.  It’s got a nice sound , doesn’t it?  Truculent. I like the way it rolls around on the tongue.  Truculent. Why don’t you give it a try?”

“Listen, Frankie, I’d love to go on with the English lesson, but right now I need to get back to helping  with the pies.  Mrs. Springington has been very patient while we’ve gone off on our little diversion, but now, if you don’t mind, it’s time for me to learn how to bake.”

“Don’t mind me boys.  I always enjoy listening to you two.  You remind me of a couple of characters on the radio.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Springtington, for being so understanding, but Phil and Frankie are signing off for now, so please, lead me to the oven.”

“First we need to make a fresh batch of dough for a new crust.  Measure out two cups of flour  into this mixing bowl.”

“Alright.  Two cups, just like this?”

“That’s right, level it off so you get the correct measure.”

“Okay.  One, and two.  What next?”

“Now we cut in two-thirds cup of this vegetable shortening.  You’d better let me show you how first, then you can take over.  You take the pastry blender like this, see, and cut the shortening in like this, till it makes little pieces, about the size of a pea.  Now you try it, Phil.”

“Okay, like this?”

“Yes, you’re doing fine, Phil.”

“How many more pies are we going to bake today, Mrs. Springington?”

“This apple pie is the last one, Phil, eight pies total.  Four pumpkin, and four apple.”

“I can hardly wait to taste them.”

“We’ll have to wait until Thanksgiving.  Remember, these pies aren’t for us.”

“That’s right.  But they are a nice, delicious preview of the feast.  Do you mind if I go peruse the gallery again and take a deep breath of those warm, fresh-baked apple and pumpkin pies? ”

“Go right ahead.  I’ll finish mixing this dough.”

“Just look at those delicious beauties, would you, Frankie.  Take a deep breath of that warm, spicy, aroma.  Look at them, all lined up, one, two, three, four, five, six– wait a minute, one, two, three, four, five, six.  Six?  Mrs. Springington, come here!

“What is it, Phil?”

“One of our pies is missing.”

“What?  One, two, three, four, five, six.  Why so it is.  What could have happened?”

“Frankie, don’t just sit there looking surprised.  You were right here by the table, did you see what happened to that pie?”

“Who, me?”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute, what’s that on your mouth, and what’s that on your tie?  Frankie, did you eat that pumpkin pie?”

“Of course not, Curly what do you take me for, a pig?  I only ate a piece of it.  The rest is right here, in the pan I just happened to slip behind my back for a moment.”

“You call that a piece?  Frankie, you ate half the pie!”

“Let’s not quibble over minor details.  Besides, what’s one pie, more or less, among friends?”

“That’s just it, Frankie, those pies aren’t for us.  Mrs. Springington has been busy all day baking those pies for the children at the orphanage.”

“For the children?”

“Yes.”

“At the orphanage?”

“That’s right.”

“When I turn around, give me a good solid kick in the seat of the  pants, would you, Curly?  Mrs. Springington, I’m awfully sorry.”

“It’s alright, Mr. Elliott.  I have everything I need and enough time to bake one more pumpkin pie.”

“Then I haven’t ruined everything?”

“Far from it, Mr.  Elliott.  I always enjoy your company, and the fact that you helped yourself to the pie just shows how welcome you feel in my kitchen.  I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Springington.”

“You can help Phil carry the pies to Mr. Springinton’s market.  Alice is there, and I believe your friend Olivia is as well.”

“That sounds great, Mrs. Springington, anything to help.”

“I’m glad you said that Frankie, because you’re going to do more than help me carry those pies.  It’s time for your first baking lesson, partner.”

“Me, learn to bake?”

“That’s right.  Right here at Mrs. Springington’s elbow, just like me.  And the first thing you gotta do is put on this apron.”

“This one, with the pink stripes, and the dainty buttercups?”

“That’s right, and don’t forget the delicate lace trim, and the poofy shoulders.  What do you say to that?”

“Well, if I must, I must.”

“Here you go, slip into this, and hold still while I  tie it nice and secure in  back.  There.  Would you care to step through the living room for a moment and take a look in the mirror?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“That’s the spirit, Frankie. Right this way, in front of the mirror. There you are.”

“And there you are too.  I think I look cuter in mine.”

“Never mind who’s cuter, you were giving me a hard time about wearing this apron, but now look at you.  I bet you’re feeling pretty truculent yourself right now.”

“Me, truculent?  No Curly, I don’t feel truculent.   My boy, let me tell you something; a man has to learn to take these things in stride, to keep his cool, and remember himself.  So, as I stand here beside you, looking at our reflections in the mirror, I do have to admit that this is not my best look, and you do look rather silly, but far from being truculent,  as my pal Anthony would say –”

“The tuba player?”

“Yes, as my pal Anthony would say, I would describe myself as feeling  blithe.”

“Blithe?”

“That’s right.”

“Mrs. Springington, would you come over here for a moment?”

“Yes Phil, what is it?”

“Take a look at Frankie.”

“Cute, isn’t he?”

“That’s not the point, Mrs. Springington.  Frankie describes himself as feeling blithe.  What say you to this?”

“I think the description fits him perfectly at the moment.”

“You do?”

“Yes. You look pretty blithe yourself, Phil.”

“Now that you mention it  Mrs. Springington, I am feeling rather blithe.  Are you feeling blithe, Mrs, Springington?”

“Well of course, how can I help it?  Just look in the mirror.”

“I guess that makes us three blithe bakers.  What are we waiting for?  Back to the kitchen!  Mrs. Springington, after you.”

“Gentlemen, to your spatula’s.  Forward, march.”

“Frankie, next time you see your pal Anthony, give him my regards. I hope his Thanksgiving is as happy as this one is shaping up to be.  In fact I want to wish everyone a Happy Thanksgiving.  May yours be filled with peace and the fellowship of friends and family; may your heart be filled with gratitude, and may your thanks reach out joyfully to Heaven.”

Click here to read George Washington’s Thanksgiving Proclamation of 1789: http://www.mountvernon.org/education/primary-sources-2/article/thanksgiving-proclamation-of-1789/

 

copyright 2017 r.k.morris