In the house from a distant room far, far away…
“Wash the buzzard, OK?”
I paused in thought. Wash the buzzard? I didn’t even know we had a buzzard, but often I’m the last one to find out about things around here.
“Sorry,” I shouted back, “what was that again about the buzzard?”
The sound waves traveled back from the distant room past the Arrr-arrrrrrr of the garage door opener, across the Runga-clink runga-clank of the dishwasher and the Whoos-slursh of the washing machine to my straining ears:
“Wash the buzzard and push the flier with a broom. Over and out!”
And before I could get up and trek across the house for a closer explanation, the garage door closed and the Voice was gone.
I Googled “buzzard recipes.”
109,000 hits. Hmmm, must be popular.
Just as I was settling in to a good read on how to stuff a buzzard for that special dinner party, the washing machine buzzed.
Dutifully, I got up went into the utility room and put the wash in the drier. Then I took the basket of dry stuff from the previous load and took it into the bedroom for folding later.
I am becoming quite the laundry specialist if I do say so myself.
Now, back, to the recipes. “…no need to add garlic.” Well, that’s interesting.