There's one place in the rectory I've found to be the best for exploring, and that's in the kitchen.
A few weeks ago, we celebrated Pecan Day with the housekeeper sending me on a mission in the cabinets to look for those celebrated nuts.
Once I got inside, I made my way around molasses, popcorn and croutons. I felt like I was on safari, sniffing the wild smells of gelatin and vanilla extract.
I knocked over food coloring. What? What color was it in the first place? Is there something I should know? Never mind. Let me see, ooh, the confectioner's sugar was like a pillow, the smell of cornstarch gave me goose pimples, and I found a hidden canister of quick grits. Anyhow, when all was said and done, there were no pecans.
What I did discover was a box mix of pecan cluster bars. Mary Lou was happy and my quest had ended. It was exhausting!
By the way they made a delicious dessert with whipped cream on top. Before I forget--the pecan never made it big in the rest of the world. It's strictly a born-in-America nut like me!