It starts here ... Part-time Baker

This was a town with room to spare the broken and otherwise imperfect. My mind glittered at the small but telling signs of attitudes and memories collected in the space of ten years. There are no accidents, but Accidents? That is another matter. The hand-written sign on the grocer's window read "Part-time Baker Wanted." I wasn't looking for the job, but was definitely open to the work.

Time moved quickly once I tapped on the window, caught the eye of the man with silver-hair and matching beard. The wheels of my chair barely cleared the bakery door, 'that'll have to change' I thought while saying instead, "Saw your sign. I'd like to apply for the job." There wasn't much room for a wheelchair in the small but cozy building, but there weren't any customers either. Without pretense, the wrinkles on his face smoothed as the man looked deeply into my face. "I'd have to do something about the workspace," without a trace of resentment. "Can you lift 50 lbs? Bread flour." 

"With the brakes set on this chair, I can lift nearly twice that." That wasn't an exaggeration. Thoughts of the twins rise and I had to consciously will them away to keep from throwing up.

"You have a speciality?" 

The saddle bag on the back of the chair was padded and insulated. Turning to unzip the lid, I reached in and offered him the first of my ancient grain cookies. It was a New Moon. 

 ঌঌঌঌঌ

A hot summer day was perfectly spent sprawled on the cool sateen blanket in the shade. My recipe for Butter Moon cookies became a week-end regularity. My speciality. Made with sweet ancient grain emmer, fresh lemon juice, butter and coconut sugar the large tin of goodies dipped in rose-infused gin and tonic icy cool in half pint canning jars was enough to guarantee my place. 

The Man, loved weekends, rarely missed a reason to celebrate and particularly loved being at the water's edge. I was never very good at rowing a boat but loved the idea of rowing. It was a good thing others were good at it, and didn't seem to mind that my talent was best with bowls and batters and pencil-written pages on wide-rule composition books.

Two small wooden row boats sliced gracefully along the water's edge. A brown-skinned woman the size of a large Hare was graceful in her style. The second rower, a man with silver-hair and matching beard cleverly rode the wake of the Hare-woman's activity. This was a calm and beautiful muliwai. Fresh water mixed with the incoming tide. The light luncheon of Gazpacho made with locally grown tomatoes, crunchy cucumbers, coconut milk and fresh basil with tiny toasted croutons sat well with the cookies. The rosy gin and tonics were small enough not to slosh the rowers too badly, and promises of more, later, kept the party happy, if not completely sober.

The moon would be full late in the night, more specifically, she would be full before she set, and the unexpected could be expected. She told us so herself, and she is rarely wrong.

"Was it the Moon herself you're speaking of who is rarely wrong?" Percival was just as you'd imagine. He was picky with details, and could be counted on to make my broad declarations specific. He was good at compressing my values to fit the situation.

"It was not!"

"Who then, if not the Moon?"

"I am speaking of my astrologer. She is the one who read the sky and suggested there would be unexpected outcomes as this moon became full." Percy nodded and accepted the details. He was also very fond of Cynthia and knew her to be a great gift giver of heavenly predictions as well as ice cream. Hot summer days went hand and hand with ice cream. Vanilla was Percy's favorite, and though he was not partial to gin, he did love the thought of a root beer float. Surely the astrologer would remember, if she was coming to the party.

I hoped she was right about unexpected outcomes. I expected to stand while the moon wore her brilliant gown. All the elements conspired to grant me that wish, and maybe this time I could finally trust myself to believe it.

Continue here.