It was an aunt, or neighbor lady, or someone's mother (not Darla's) who said the trick to unlocking life's mysteries was knowing how to make a really flaky pie crust. The details of the conversation she struggled to remember were hazy, but there would have been no conversation to try to recall at all if Darla had not been momentarily zapped into another dimension last week when she thumbed through a battered copy of The Ladies' Book of Etiquette, and Manual of Politeness at a church rummage sale. Jumbled ideas and mismatched words collided inside Darla's head as glimpses of faces came and went. Darla's heart was sure it caught a scent of something real. After months of playing a very cruel game of hide-and-go-seek with her marbles, Darla was more than ready for a taste of the truth. Fortune cookie-esque bursts of thought came out of nowhere: Knowledge is experience. Only a whole person has room to grow. Pastry and Good Citizenship and Difficult Books Make For Very Strong Medicine. Who is at the center of your experience?
Experience. After a series of experiences (good, bad, out-of-body which she couldn't pin down as either bad or good), Darla would not allow one more How, When, or Why to put her in a stranglehold.
Semi-Daily Scribbles 
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