12 Going On 21

As she opened the door and started up the stairs she was engulfed in a swirling ribbon of delightful aromas which seemed to lift her and carry her to the top. Whatever her mother was cooking smelled wonderful. Her mom was one of the best cooks in the town. Everyone knew that. Brother Douglas, the pastor at their church said, "No one can fry chicken like Mrs. Long." His wife, Naomi, asked mom what she did to make the chicken taste like it did. Mom told her. Naomi Douglas did everything just like mom said. Her chicken still didn't taste like mom's.

Barbara laid her books on the cedar chest at the foot of her bed and went into the kitchen. "Ummm! Something sure smells good." she said as she walked to the stove and lifted the top of the huge iron skillet.

"Oh, it's just a pot roast," Mom replied. "Mr. Mallory's garden is producing more than they can eat this year so he brought some potatoes, carrots, a big bunch of onions, and a fourth of a bushel of green beans to the store and gave them to your Dad. When I saw them, I went to the market and bought a beef roast. We'll have enough for a couple of meals."

Barbara's parents own and operate the local hardware store. Her Dad knew what it was like to have hard times. He was always ready to give credit if it would help someone out. When times got better for that person they would show their appreciation by sharing what they had with Carl and his family. Sometimes it was meat they had butchered, or maybe vegetables from their garden.

"You ought to show me how to make pot roast some time. I'm sure my husband, whoever that might be, will love it," said Barbara.

"Oh my goodness, don't say such a thing! I think we have plenty of time before that will happen. It scares me just to think about it. Time flies by fast enough just living it day by day without talking about something that far into the future. Why don't you wash your hands and set the table for me."

"Okay Mom, but someday I would like to know the secrets in fixing some of your famous dishes." Barbara washed her hands and got the plates. Her little sister, Megan, came in wanting help with her math. She is in fourth grade. Barbara put the plates on the table, showed Megan how to work the problem and sent her back to her room to finish her homework.

Barbara set the table, went into the kitchen and lifted the top of the skillet again, took a deep breath, drawing into her nostrils the smell of the beef cooking with onion, carrots and potatoes. The scent traveled down into her body and fell into a dark empty hole, her stomach, which growled like an angry dog. She was really getting hungry.

"Can I help you with anything else Mom?"

"Oh no, Honey. You go on now and be working on your homework. Grams washed and broke the beans. She says she may be blind, but there are some things she can do to help out. I'll call you when we're ready to eat."

Barbara went into her room. She was goad that she had her own room now. A few years ago she shared a room with Megan, but when she got older, Mom it was best if she had a room of her won, so they made the den into a room for her. It was her favorite room in the house. She had her posters of Miley Sirus and Justin Timberlake on the walls. She had pictures of the marching band and her in uniform. She loved playing in the band. The band pictures reminded Barbara that the band director wanted her to try out got first chair in the clarinet section.

Her mother had played first chair clarinet. Barbara wanted to, but Sally has first chair now. They'd been best friends since second grade. How would Sally feel if I beat her out of that position? Would she still want to be friends with me? Oh, well. Do the homework.