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. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . c h a p t e r t w e l v e ........................................................... lumpy gravy Our month in our little cottage on the windward side of Oahu was idyllic— endless days of sunning and strolling on the beach and reading aloud to each other in the evenings. We had eggs and bacon for breakfast and sandwich makings for lunch. In the evenings, we usually went out to one of the many little spots on the windward coast and listened to Hawaiian music, danced, and had quiet dinners. But after a couple of weeks, we decided that we’d better touch base with the real world. We decided that we could have Lee’s former roommates (Jean and Jane) and my former roommate (Jasper) over for dinner. Lee said that she would have no problem whipping up a simple dinner, and if I mixed up a few martinis in our silver pitcher, our guests wouldn’t know what they were eating, anyway. We went out and did the necessary shopping and were ready to take our first stab at being hosts. It didn’t look too complicated. When the big day arrived, we were all set. Jean, Jane, and Jasper showed up at the appointed hour and welcomed us back into civilization. We decanted martinis from our silver pitcher, and the party was under way. Eventually, Lee excused herself and retired to the kitchen to do her thing. All seemed to be going the way it should, but funny noises started coming out of the kitchen. I went out to check, and Lee was in a snit. I have forgotten just what we had planned for dinner, but it included mashed potatoes and gravy, and the gravy was giving Lee fits. It was full of lumps, and Lee’s solution was to throw it all out and go out for dinner. I suggested that she go out in the other room and have a martini with our guests and leave the gravy to me. She left reluctantly. In about 15 minutes, she was back out in the kitchen to check up on things. When she saw the lumpless gravy, she shouted, ‘‘Hallelujah!’’ and served up a delicious dinner like an experienced hostess. After our guests were gone, Lee couldn’t wait to ask me what I did to the gravy. I told her that all I did was keep on beating it, and after a while, all the lumps would disappear. She asked how I knew that, and I told her that my mother taught me that when I was a little boy. I didn’t have any sisters, so my brother and I learned a lot about what went on in the kitchen when we were growing up. Lee never forgot the incident. When she met my mother much later, she told her that in my upbringing, there were several rough spots that hadn’t been knocked out of me, but she was eternally grateful that my mother had taught me to de-lump the gravy. Every now and then, throughout the years, I would stick my head in the kitchen and ask, ‘‘How’s the gravy?’’ It was always good for a laugh. During our 35 years in the Air Force, Lee was an accomplished and charming hostess, but I never let her forget our honeymoon gravy. Letter to Mom and Dad, December 13, 1940 We plan on buying furniture and moving out to Hickam in about a month. The places out there are as nice as they can be, and it will be much nearer and handier all around than living in town. Lee is very sold on the Army by now. We went out to the field Wednesday night to a party and both had a wonderful time. Lee was the belle of the ball. She was so completely surrounded by Majors and Colonels, I could hardly fight my way in to her myself. Lee’s letter to Mom and Dad, December 19, 1940 So many times I have thought of you and have wanted to write, but this past month has been a full one—then there have been thank-you notes, and too, it seems to keep me busy planning and preparing the simplest of meals. But we haven’t starved; on the contrary, I think we’ve both added a pound or two. I hardly know where to begin—there is so much to tell. First, I’ll start with our brand new apartment...

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