Waughphells

I called Claire from work this afternoon and asked her what we were having for dinner. Being the good wife that she is, she was planning on a healthy lentil barley soup (which tastes better than it sounds). Normally I go along with whatever she has planned, for as she will attest, I am not very finicky. Nevertheless, I had waffles on the brain and I entreated her to make them. She made no promises, but I was pleased to discover upon coming home that she had heard my cries.

It reminded me of when Andrew and I made waffles one Sunday evening last year when we were living at Fairwood. Claire was helping out with youth group, and Andrew and I were hanging around the apartment. I don’t remember whose idea it was, but we decided to break out the waffle iron Claire and I had received as a wedding present. We searched around for some sort of waffle recipe and proceeded to churn out a batch or two of pretty decent waffles. We were enjoying the fruits of our labor when Claire returned and expressed great dismay that we had used the waffle iron before she had a chance to try it out. She had a point, but our sudden craving for waffles had deadened our thinking, I suppose.

At the time I regretted our foolish endeavor, but now I look back on it as a precious memory of Andrew, typical of the spontaneous things he would often do. Things were never boring when Andrew was around.