Saturday, February 8, 2014

The Book Club

Two members of a secret book club arrived at our home this weekend.  They are shown here yesterday morning, chatting with Ben who was cooking them breakfast.
He picked eggs from my fridge which were hatched in our ward and given to me as a gift.  I will sheepishly confess that since I am not a fan of new things, I had been nervous to try them.
There was no need at all to be nervous -- they were delicious.
While plowing through my deep freeze looking for sausage, I found two rolls of ancient cookie dough.
They were so scrumptious I had to go out for more milk.
The third member of the book club arrived later in the day.  Listening them plot and scheme was like listening to a backwards book club.  They aren't discussing how the book was written.  They are discussing how the book will be -- oops -- I'm sworn to secrecy.
My role in this weekend's endeavor was to keep everyone fed.  You are seeing the remnants of my latest dessert, which followed filet mignon.
This morning I got up to find my dining room table covered with the plot.  These writers, cumulative the fathers of 17 children, were delighted to be able to leave this out as they went to bed and find it untouched in the morning.
Papa Ben cooked pancakes this morning for breakfast.  I should probably explain that the measuring cups, which grew to three at the table, were for Dave's hot chocolate milk, deemed superior to mine, even by me.
I will tell you that writing is hard work, but it's been very productive.  And I'm on board for the next club meeting.