Honey

What do you call honey when it turns solid? Crystallized, maybe? Whatever. I took a big, old can of crystallized honey out of the back of the pantry. I was thinking I would drizzle some of it on my cereal. Well, that wasn’t gonna happen. I stood there staring at that honey like a fool – like, “what am I supposed to do with this stuff?” Then . . .

Please use the open space below to share your first 50 words on the topic “honey.”

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Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

5 thoughts on “Honey”

  1. I figured, maybe if I heat it up in the microwave… no… plastic container that may be a bad idea. I know! I will put it in a bowl of really hot water and see if it goes back to it’s natural (or natural to me) form…. heating up the water hoping it works cause I LOVE honey… waited about 5 minutes and bam! magic, it worked. I am so proud of myself.

  2. H is for Honey.
    O is for Oh, I hope it isn’t from clover.
    N is for No corn syrup. N is for Non-adulterated.
    E is for Everything that goes good with honey.
    Y is for “Yes” when asked if it’s desirous..

    If honey isn’t messed with, because of its source-variety it is one of the most versatile, healthy, and chef-friendly foods on the planet. Dr. Seuss would WOW us with the stories he’d weave. Think baklava.instance. Hot oatmeal with butter and honey is a great breakfast. Remember also ancient Israelites were promised a land flowing with milk and honey. Dessert anyone?

  3. Why do people still use “honey” when they address me? I am finding it particularly annoying now that I’m a senior. I called and left a message for a new dog groomer to schedule an appointment. When she returned the call and used “honey” speaking with me I didn’t want to be bothered doing business with her. Honey! Sweetie! Dear! I’m none of those to people who are not close to me. It’s ageism now for me. It’s tacky and cheap. It’s stupid for business. Not too long ago someone used one of those words when speaking to me. I couldn’t control my tongue and blurted out, “I’m not your honey. I have a name. Use it!” There’s another annoying thing professionals do. Who gave the receptionist in the dentist or medical office the okay to call me by my first name? I don’t know them personally. Who gave the dentist or doctor the right to use my first name? Rude! Rude! Rude! Now I can visualize the cartoon that pops in my head every now and then showing me telling someone off when they bug me. It’s pretty funny. They almost always are amazed and mouths open in astonishment when this little ole lady starts yelling and using some really good four-letter words at them. What the heck? May as well enjoy myself.

  4. “Honey on toast. No jam or marmalade for me please !”
    “No, no butter or cheese either !”
    I was shifting my abode, this person was supposed to help me shift , and here I was trying to feed him toasts. I could kick myself in the shin . How was I supposed to know where I had placed the bottle of honey ? It could be in the fourth carton of kitchen stuff, or in the first. Or it could be in the spouse’s belongings as he was fond of honey and would occasionally keep it on his bedside table . A trail of determined ants would always lead me to the honey bottle , which sat there , its drippings coating the sides and smudging my embroidered tablecloth from Kashmir. In serious breaches , the cap would have rolled down underneath the bed, where it would be fetched from, by wide arcs of reluctant brooms ,smothered unrecognisably , in honey, ants and dust bunnies .
    I would retrieve , curse , clean , curse some more , and replace the bottle on the kitchen shelf . Over the years, my unconscious mind and spouse’s rising blood sugar, associated honey with too much work and insulin shots. I stopped buying it and the last bottle sat , half slurped on the kitchen shelf for too long . The honey solidified into a golden mass, first , then it started bleaching itself , top downwards . A white ,crinkled ,scummy layer appeared on the surface .
    With a sickening certainty , I remembered chucking the honey, bottle and all, into the dustbin , during a recent “purge”, that always preceded a move . Others called it “spring cleaning”,only , this was no spring . Blistering summer morning , and a shorts clad urchin sat on my balcony, plate of “unhoneyed ” toasts on his lap, staring at me expectantly.

  5. It was 8:05 am and the plane just landed at Dulles. Jane was on her way to a Congressional Hearing that she was covering for a political journal. Her mind however was miles away from DC as she anticipated meeting Tom at Grand Central Terminal that evening in New York. As she walked through the terminal at Dulles she past her favorite bakery wagon. There on the top shelf of the wagon was a honey bun, her favorite. She thought for a moment and decided she would save the calories in preference for the size 4 dress she had in her suitcase, the honey bun was history.

    l

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