Boy Scout Candy
(so called because Mom got the recipe
once at a Boy Scout Exposition in
about 1965 and we just don't
change family recipe names
for the heck of it)
Melt a stick of butter in a saucepan

2 cups sugar
½ cup Cocoa
2/3 cup milk

Heat. When bubbles begin, boil 5 minutes.

Stir in:
½ cup coconut
½ cup nuts (chopped pecans, walnuts, etc)
½ tsp vanilla
3 cups quick oatmeal

Damn near anything else can be mixed in, too.

Drop in gobbets onto wax paper. 
Makes a LOT.
I work in a unit with a preponderance of
middle-age women, and ponderous is an
accurate description for most every one of

Our youth, lesser employment and frisky
slimness are mostly in the past, and we
do not miss many meals these days.

Every occasion is celebrated with food.

On a tough day, someone will tiptoe past
cubicles to set a chocolate kiss on the
desk beside each harried worker, and
when a holiday looms the serious cooks go
into overdrive, hefting CrockPots in the
elevator and setting out a spread that
would make Lutherans despair. 

Even for an early-morning staff meeting, I
brought a huge platter of Boy Scout Candy,
since it makes a huge quantity, after all. 
We scribbled notes, spoke our pieces,
passed around the platter, and snapped a
few pictures of various co-workers in
Hawaiian shirts, since it was a theme day. 
Fortunately, the coconut in the candy
suited the tropical theme, too.

So as we prepared to file out, a woman
appeared in the doorway decked out in a
flourescent vest and hard hat. 

"Boy," I whispered to the woman next to
me, "I'm glad I'm not in HER unit for
DressUp Theme Day." And about that
time the woman said, "This is an
earthquake preparedness drill. Everyone
under the table."

We stared blankly. 

Our boss turned to us and said mildly,
"She's not kidding. Under the table."

It is fair to note that the boss, a woman
suited to head a department of
Gravitationally Enhanced persons, made
a swift and discreet exit.  The rest of us,
after a few dismayed glances, slowly sank
to our knees and crawled under the table.

One, who'd stepped out into the hall,
walked back into the meeting room and
stopped, thunderstruck at finding a dozen
floral-clad women sprawled in poses that
might appear seductive but were more an
accomodation to bad knees, giggling and
snapping photos of each other with our
camera phones, being well prepared for
an earthquake and passing around the
platter of Boy Scout Candy.