Part 8 {lib}

“Really, George,” Mrs. Zangler was saying, “I don’t understand what happened to the sauce.”
“I just hobe you followebd the recibe this tibe, Ophelia,” Mr. Zangler answered. Eliana quickly realized he had a large wooden clothespin on the end of his nose, which was distorting his speech.
“Hi Mrs. Zangler, hi Mr. Zangler,” Eliana called. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Hello, dear! Would you take this platter out to Hayden? He’s grilling the hotdogs,” Mrs. Zangler replied.
“You want one of these?” Mr. Zangler asked, offering her a clothespin. Eliana shook her head, laughing, and pulled the sliding glass door open. The patio was blanketed in smoke from the grill, and Eliana could hear Hayden coughing somewhere within its depths.
“Hayd? You ok?” she asked, making her way over to where he was grilling.
“Yeah,” he coughed. “The grill is a little smoky, that’s all.”
“Sure,” Eliana answered, skeptically. “I hope you didn’t burn the hotdogs,” she teased.
“Well, I’m still kinda getting the hang of this grilling thing,” Hayden admitted sheepishly. “A few of them are—shall we say—slightly well done?”
He opened the grill, releasing new puff of smoke, and displaying several charred, blackened hotdogs as well as a number of normal ones. He was piling them onto the platter Eliana was holding when they heard someone calling over the fence.
“Uh oh,” Hayden murmured. “What did you say, Mr. Vendetta?” he said, louder.
“I said that you were going to get the fire department over here, with all that smoke,” a loud voice answered. Leaning over the fence was Mr. Vendetta, an older man with thick glasses and an enormous straw hat, which he was vigorously fanning.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Hayden apologized. “It’s starting to clear out now.”
“What are you doing fooling around with that grill anyway, young ‘un?” Mr. Vendetta asked.
“Well, I’m just starting, you know, Home Ec. and all, and I was just--,” Hayden started saying.
“What’s going on, Rodney?” Mr. Zangler asked, walking over.
“Well, the young ‘un here doesn’t seem to know that he’s polluting the air with all this improperly managed smoke,” Mr. Vendetta answered.
“He’s learning how to grill, Rodney,” Mr. Zangler explained. “Don’t worry, the smoke will be cleared out soon. I suggest you go inside and eat your dinner, like everyone else.”
“I’m not hungry!” Mr. Vendetta answered indignantly. “Now, young ‘un, you need to turn the gas down. And move the racks over a little bit.”
Hayden, bewildered, followed his instructions, while Mr. Zangler watched, holding back a laugh.
“Now stick those ‘dogs on the grill, that’s right, horizontally, and close it for three minutes. Did I ever tell you about the time I almost grilled a raccoon, George?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Mr. Zangler answered, looking as if he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to hear that story.

As Olin Miller, some random guy, so excellently stated, “Writing is the hardest way of earning a living, with the possible exception of wrestling alligators.” We could not agree more and hope this deepens your appreciation of what we are trying to do here.