Headwaters Wordsmithing

Writing for the actor, singer, and reader.

Birthed in the Northwoods of Wisconsin,  Headwaters Wordsmithing creates screenplays, lyrics, and books with an emphasis on faith in God...and a minor emphasis on coffee.  Make yourself at home.

Chocolate Chip Cookies & A Sheep Named Leroy

The LIttle House on the Corner is still wearing that delightful smell of cookies baked several hours ago.  It's the home-style version of 24-hour stick deodorant.  And cookies taste better.

Don't ask how I know that.  I just do.

The Wife is bustling towards the door on this cold Saturday morning, heading to a Church staff training meeting complete with potluck snacks and lunch.  She has a big plate of cookies balanced on one hand while clutching her gloves and purse with the other.  I hold the door open as she squeezes by.

"It took forever to get the best ones sorted out.  We might need a new stove.  I left you some in the kitchen.  Make sure our son gets at least one, okay?"

"Ha-ha.  Have a nice meetingSee ya later, Babe."

I stand at the window and give her a little wave as she backs out onto the street.  The minivan's taillights make it to the corner which triggers a movement towards the kitchen with a speed used only for emergencies and buffet lines.

Holding a 1/2-a-glass of milk and a fistful of chocolate-chip cookies I return to the Dining/Living/Computer/Family Room, plopping down at the table marking the Dining Room area.

Consumption begins.  In earnest.

By the 3rd cookie, I realize something is different.  The cookies have a very distinctive crispness.  More of a crunch, really.  Sorta like...yeah...that's it.

Like the outside of those chicken legs I cauterize on the grill.  Actually, it's like the outside of everything I charcoal on the grill.

(Burnt offerings.  It's Scriptural.  Look it up.)

I check the bottom of the cookie.   It was either laid out to cool on a freshly-tarred road or it was severely burnt beyond the powers of SPF30.  And its remaining friend has the same problem.

Based on my last burp, the previously consumed were likewise afflicted.

Oh maaaaaaaannn.

I quaff what's left of the milk, unable to get that chocolate-ashtray-taste outta my mouth.

Time for the Elixir of Knowledge.

While the Elixir brews and gurgles, I inspect the remaining cookies.  I find one that might qualify as a "D+" in baking school.  The rest are culinary dropouts.

I take the "D+" and leave the dropouts for our son, TechnoBoy.  His immune system is younger.  He can handle it.

A fresh cup of the Elixir of Knowledge accompanies me and the "D+" cookie back to the Dining Room table.

I take the first sip of the Elixir.


Another sip and a thought wanders by.

Well, it is kinda like...

In the Book, the Israelites found themselves in this type of predicament.  They were only to bring the very best to the Temple.  Only the best for Him.

And He had to call them out on it.  They just weren't doin' it.  They were saving their best for someone else.  And giving Him less than their leftovers.

The Elixir of Knowledge and I suddenly imagine a conversation.  An ancient Israelite exchange between father and son.

"Benjy, go get a lamb for the Temple offering."

"Okay, Dad.  I'll get Reuben.  Be right back."

"Hey! Hey!  Why ya gonna get Reuben?"

"He's the best we got, Dad."

"Yeah and I wish we had a whole flock full of Reubens.  But we don't.  Get Leroy."

"But, Dad.  Leroy has the mange."

"Nuthin' some wool scraps and glue can't fix.  Get him...and grab the glue!"

I do this.  I give my best to those I know the least.  And to those who mean the most - those who love me the most - I give the least.  The leftovers.

The "D+ or Worse" cookies.

The "Leroys".

I care more about impressing people I don't know than I care about giving my best to those who know me best.

And, to my embarrassment,  I give leftovers to Him, the One who knows me best of all.

Well, nuts.

I take the "D+" cookie back to the counter and put it on the plate for TechnoBy.  I grab a couple of the charcoal-lined "Leroys" and head for the fridge.

I am definitely gonna need a bigger glass of milk.

All content copyrighted by Dennis R. Doud. Website designed by Isaac Doud.