ON THE RADIO


There’s a radio in Wanda’s kitchen, but it doesn’t work anymore. Every Friday when she makes the week’s bread she wishes it did.

She punches down the dough and separates it into the six loaf pans she has oiled and floured to receive it. She groups them shoulder to shoulder and covers them with an old table cloth, like tucking her children into bed to sleep and then rise.

She wipes her hands on her apron and stares out the kitchen window at the garden where her husband Edward wrenches up weeds and talks to one of the goats. Before the Depression Edward taught Agriculture, now he practices it. Thank God he wasn’t a stockbroker.

It’s not a bad life now, more physically demanding, but there are perks to that. Her little pot belly has disappeared and her fears of carpal tunnel brought on by hours at her computer are meaningless now.

Edward is breathing easier since he quit smoking. The scarcity and exorbitant cost of one pack of cigarettes finally forced him to quit a habit he couldn’t manage to do on will power alone.

The tomatoes from their garden taste better than the ones she used to buy at Albertsons. She’s come to enjoy the pungent flavor of goat cheese and milk and hardly misses red meat at all.

In the fall she and Edward will trade one of the baby she goats for a pair of breeding pigs from the Bruster’s last litter. Wanda doesn’t know squat about pigs, but the thought of bacon frying in her cast iron skillet, sending out a formidable aroma, gives her the determination to learn.

Edward calls to her from the garden, “Hey Wanda! I could do with a hand out here, you done with the bread?”

“Yep, done and coming out. How about some lemonade?” she hollers back.

“Yes, great! Bring the pitcher please,” he says. “This is thirsty work and I’m liable to drink the whole thing.”

She tucks two plastic glasses into her apron pocket and lifts the Tupperware pitcher by the handle with her right hand. On the way out the door she glances at the inert radio and then over at her old six string Martin guitar. When the garden is weeded and the goats fed and milked, it would be nice to have some music.

She decides that tonight they will have another performance of the “Wonderful Wanda Radio Hour.” As program director and solo performer, she will take requests and keep the commercials short and silly.

Thank God she learned to play guitar.