Spitball Army

The $10.90 debt hung on for months, the rain turned their dusty Oklahoma town to mud, but the train always came at the right time.

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The range flashed “F2;” flames burst out the oven door. Under the layer of black molten sugar was a perfect sweet potato casserole.

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We hadn’t eaten Granny’s empanadas in decades, but this year I made them. Each bite of sugary refried beans tasted of childhood.

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At the holiday buffet, “one-trip-to-the-table” Gary inserts turkey slivers inside a lemon pie wedge and jalapeño slices atop that.

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