Please, Mamma

good morning, my loves
little moments I adore
chocolate chip muffins

*Early morning practices require something special on a Friday. Last minute “please, Mamma requests” are my favorite to complete, no matter how old they get. Their smiles are worth baking before sunrise. 

I’m Not An Italian Poetess


Typical Monday, it seems. Tried making lunch, while writing my feelings. Epic fail ensues, as thoughts continue to pursue my mind. Forcing me so easily to forget the time.

Poet’s are always lyrical, definitely this one, it seems. I can’t get past writing this as poetry. Stick a knife in my side. Please, won’t you abide? My friends, don’t write and bake, unless burned pizza is all you’re willing to take. My wishes sincere, once again, don’t do both while planning to eat, you won’t win.

Thankful I have a few other attributes that keep you coming around. Like maybe my smile or even my frowns. Tears shower plenty upon these walls, oh God, stop her before she continues to pitfall.

Laughter begins, oh look, a grin! Yep, tis possible, she’s drunk again. No, my friends, it isn’t so. I’m just handling a Monday, so far as this one goes…

Loyal followers, stay with me, please. This is only going to hurt for a minute. Slap happy grins is how I’ll spin it, you’ll see.

She’ll never be an Italian chef
and poetess, too
just look at what
wandering thoughts
can do…

Writer’s multitasking summer,
kitchen’s a wreck,
lovely ideas interrupt
baking, for endless possibilities,
if only I would’ve stopped to check…

This homemade pizza now crisp
and slightly burned, tis true
thankful, in the end
this treat,
is simply a vessel for brew…


I should go back into the Houston sun. It’s just delightfully hot and humid here. Yeah, I know, I’m almost done. The end is near…


Vintage Memories


Passed through the screen door,
Recalled the carpeted staircase,
Felt the pull of Maxine,
Grandmother, to me.
Twenty-three years, two months
Since we stood closely,
Right here
Packing odds and ends
To her,
Treasures, to me.
Cabinet I’ll never forget
Cookie dough testing,
“Needs flour, touch it, you’ll see,
Grab the butterscotch chips,
These will be Grandpa’s offerings.”
Sounds made when the drawers
Opened and closed, vintage whisperings,
Now upon my ears,
Fingertips sliding across moments,
Window gifting the same view,
Coverings, crisp and clean
Perfect place, for
Snapping green beans,
Time to move the sprinklers,
Grab a bucket, strawberries to tend,
Summers without her
Still painful, something I dread.

Chocolate Cake


Getting ready for a nice evening with friends tonight. The men always enjoy a nice slice of chocolate cake. My dad does, too. Couldn’t help but think of him while I was in the kitchen. I loved making his favorite dessert. I’ll send him this picture and give him a call in a bit.

This photo was just taken and the cake is still warm. I call it Yum-Yum Cake, but others call it Texas Sheet Cake. This warm chocolate brownie cake reminds me of my April blog anniversary story, as well. The image still resonates with me, so it’ll be extremely hard watching everyone enjoy this cake later. Ha! Enjoy! Maybe you should make it for someone special tonight. Get in the kitchen and make the cake together…now that is a happy thought.

Yum-Yum Cake

2 c. flour
2 c. sugar
1/8 tsp. salt
2 eggs
1 tsp. vanilla
1 tsp. butter flavoring
2 sticks of butter
1/4 c. cocoa
1 c. water
1/2 c. buttermilk
1/2 tsp. soda
1/2 tsp. baking powder

Mix the flour and sugar together in a large mixing bowl. Boil the butter, cocoa and water in a saucepan. Pour it over the dry ingredients and mix. Add the remaining ingredients and mix well. Bake on a large cookie sheet at 400° for 20 minutes on the top rack of the oven.


1 stick of butter
4 T. cocoa
6 T. milk
1/2 tsp. vanilla
1 lb. powdered sugar
1 to 1 1/2 c. nuts (optional)

Boil the butter, cocoa, milk and vanilla. Pour over the powdered sugar and mix with a whisk. Spread the frosting on the cake as it comes from the oven.

Great Grandma Elsie

At the end of the day a brown mending basket and sewing kit sit next to the bed,

Buttons to sew and seams to stitch all in a neat pile, please fix this, they said.

When did Grandma Elsie’s patching duties submit themselves to Audrey?

Choosing to blink, now dreaming of ingredients to couple with yeast.

 Yes, its possible, a modern woman working the flour, is it only me?

Will recipes materialize, should be better than the garbage we eat.

Slow progression to Great Grandma Elsie’s bakery, it seems.

I look in the mirror at this red curly, crazy hair.

I can’t help but see her familiar stare.

Who the heck is this person I see,

 When did I