They were five in number. A quintet of housewives desiring companionship apart from the esteem of their husbands and children. Five women trading favorite cookie recipes, honing bread making skills, seeking friendship. Sisters in arms. In the beginning, they met on the third Wednesday of every month, gathering in each other’s cozy linoleum floored kitchens. But that was before the war. Inevitably, after Pearl Harbor-when mailboxes began to serve up family fracturing draft notices-solidarity, empathy, and comfort baking became a means of survival, and more often than not, the group was assembled.
Rather quickly, though, it was apparent that stores of flour and butter, sugar and eggs-and waist measurements-and available ice box space could not withstand the blizzard of baked goods for long. In light of the need to find a substitute for the conjuring of pies and cakes and cobblers, the five were faced with the inevitable question. If not baking, what then?
Scattered suggestions here and there.
Sewing or knitting. Victory gardening. Canning and preserving.
Stamp collecting. Bird watching. Going to the pictures.
I say we find some sailors and then get tattooed!
Clapping and cheering and whistling. And laughter. Bawdy, raucous unladylike snorts of laughter!
Making rum balls seemed like the perfect compromise.
This piece is my interpretation of A snow fall and a secret revealed.