The Whirley-Pop was heating up pretty quickly. We were looking forward to an evening of feasting on mouth-watering popcorn. A friend was over for the evening.
There is little else more satisfying than fellowship with good friends, and handfuls of good food.
That's when I heard the wailing and awaited the tears.
Our daughter, Elizabeth, had awoken from her nap in the usual way: unhappy. But I was stuck at the stove, steadily cranking away, the tension building in the simmering, swirling kernels . . . and in my sobbing daughter.