The kids were off to school, so I thought I would cook biscuits for my wife and myself. It would take about 15 minutes, allowing me to waste a little time on the computer. My wife had not slept well, so she decided to go back to bed for a while.
Well, I forgot about my biscuits. I’m not sure how much time elapsed, but the timer had gone off enough times to stop when I finally went back downstairs to the kitchen. They were not “black burnt,” they were just a little hard on the outside. They were edible (after you cracked them open).
As I sat there with the strawberry jam and both biscuits, I was a little disappointed. First, the biscuits weren’t perfect and second, I didn’t get any credit for the attempt with my wife. She was sleeping and there was no need to wake her up for biscuits that weren’t perfect.
They say “It’s the thought that counts.” She was asleep though, so I wasn’t even going to get credit for the thought.
The biscuits weren’t bad. They were a little hard, but they weren’t bad. I only cooked two, one for me and one for my wife. I decided to eat both of them. You can’t leave a burnt offering for your wife. That doesn’t sound quite right, but you know what I mean.
The holidays bring on stress in so many ways. We miss and think about those who are no longer with us. We are rushing to get everything done so we can “relax.” Everyone is either going to see someone or getting ready for someone to come see them.
Then there are the gifts. Folks stand in line to get the perfect gift or run all over town looking for the last latest greatest thing that everyone is buying. Calling the stores, the mail order catalogs or your cousin in Boise to see if they “have one out there.”
Back to burning the biscuits…
To be honest, I’d rather have someone “think about doing something nice,” than to give me something from a shelf. I enjoy surprises and neat gadgets as much as any person, but I crave for someone to just think about nice things – like trying to make the perfect biscuit.
No, I haven’t lost it. Just the thought of biscuits brings back memories of Saturday mornings when my Daddy would cook breakfast. He didn’t believe in moderation on Saturday mornings. He fried every slice of bacon, bologna and salt pork he could find in the refrigerator. He would then scramble all of the eggs, cook all of the grits and all of the biscuits that were in those tubes you whack on the edge of the table.
It was good. There was too much, but it was good. It was Daddy saying “I’m giving you everything.” He did, with no strings attached.
Then I thought about lemon yellow socks that an aunt gave me for Christmas when I was about six. I would be happy to get socks now, if they were blue or black or those nice white ones with blue toes and heels. I still don’t want lemon yellow socks.
Who wears lemon yellow socks?
You don’t have to burn biscuits for everybody on your Christmas list, that’s not what I mean. Search for those memories, those thoughts and those places that only you know about – and give those. It might be a gift, it might be a letter, and it might even just be a story about your Daddy cooking breakfast.
I’m not sure, but I would like to think that we would all like to share the love we’ve been shown in the past. That love and those memories cause me to ramble, but it is “good rambling.” I say good rambling because it’s not what you write or what comes out of your mouth – it is from your heart and can be seen in your eyes.
Give me those burning biscuit thanks for thinking of me eyes any day.
That’s thinking about the biscuits, rather than the hard crusty outside (and the smell in the kitchen).
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I'm BN Heard and I like semicolons, dogs and biscuits made from scratch.