Making Whoopie

It was date night here at the Hungry household. And it was a great one, in no small part because of whoopie.

Whoopie pies, that is.

Mama Teacher has been vacationing in Maine and I was watching her house. She brought back some tasty whoopie pies, a specialty of her home state (one of two, the other being Indiana). Yum! But even though she brought the kids' favorites--chocolate and strawberry--I horded the pies and took them on date night.

Which was almost rained out. We've had lines of severe thunderstorms today and one of them hit just as we were about to leave. So we waited for a break, only to get caught in the parking lot of our first stop. We sat in the car sharing one each of the delicious pies--like cake, but cookie-shaped, with that sweet frosting, but not too sweet, or shortening-laden--while we watched the torrential downpour. Then the sun came out, in the midst of it all, and there was not one but two rainbows, a bright inner one and a lighter outer one, fully arching over town. Gorgeous. Miraculous. Only the second time I've seen a double rainbow (the first time being over our neighborhood when I was a kid and dad was taking home a friend from a sleepover). The first time for Mama. We got mediocre pictures of the parking lot and the two rainbows, but it was lovely. And the pies were great (the book is too--thanks so much, Mama Teacher!).

We ran errands and made some fun stops, including the hardware store, where we saw a groundhog outside. My lucky day. Rainbows and groundhogs. It sounds like it should be a song from "The Muppet Show!" We got hardware to secure our new bookcases to the wall so they don't tump over, a shower curtain rod because we don't have one, and a storage unit to put behind the toilet downstairs, plus other hardware store stuff. Then we were off to the fancy food market, walking every aisle and choosing things we can't get at the regular store, like bacon chocolate! For Mama. And some fresh black mission figs for me to try. Then we got a snack from the steam table (two new bean salads: edamame succotash and a four bean salad, both with mirin and vinegar and red onion, etc) and just sat talking until we closed the store.

Outside was a star, the first we'd noticed through all the crazy, dramatic, picturesque (mind you, that would be Turner, not Constable) skies. I sang "Star light, star bright . . . " and Mama asked what I wished. It occurred to me that she didn't know I don't wish anymore. Not on stars or hay bales or birthday candles. Not from some morbid, fatalistic, pessimistic position about the futility of wishing, but because I think I have everything I could want and anything I could wish for would mainly be superfluous. Or hubris, because who wants to be jinxed? Sometimes, I'm more superstitious than I thought. Or, as Mama pointed out, too well-educated in the Greek myths! Regardless, I didn't wish on the star, only thanked it for everything, like the rainbows and the groundhogs, Mama and the kids, the whoopie pies and friends.