like butter on hot biscuits

I made biscuits today for the first time in more than four months. turning on the oven made our little cottage so hot this summer, not to mention the lack of counterspace and time. so we made do with the dining hall biscuits all summer. but it does a gal's heart good to have her children say, "these aren't as good as mama's" every time they were served.

today is also the first time I've made biscuits since my aunt denise died. denise taught me to make biscuits in my grandmother's kitchen when I was about cora's age. she'd pull one of the kitchen chairs (that my grandfather made) over to the counter and let me stick my hands right into the bag of white lily self-rising flour. she would cut the shortening into the flour while I dusted a big circle on the counter top. when the dough was rolled out, we'd press circles together using those smurf glasses mcdonald's sold back so long ago. we never made less than two dozen biscuits. only when they were in the oven was I allowed to tiptoe in to wake up my daddy. the promise of hot biscuits was a sure way to rouse even the latest sleeper.

I loved watching my dad eat biscuits. the rest of us ate the with butter or a slice of cheddar cheese in the middle, but my dad would eat at least four, every one of the with different fixings. eggs and bacon, peanut butter, sausage gravy, jelly and butter, corned beef hash: whatever else was being served for breakfast went right inside. and iced sweet tea. all the grown-ups has a big glass of tea with breakfast when we stayed at my grandma's house. I think of her whenever I hear someone crunching ice.

of course the way I made biscuits today would make denise raise her eyebrows and shake her head. I put the flour and the shortening (vegan, organic, of course) in the food processor because I can't seem to avoid big lumps when I try to cut it in with a fork. and I don't use self-rising flour, let alone white lily. today we used almond milk instead of whole milk because that's what we had. but as soon as I had dusted that circle of flour onto the kitchen table, kids came running to make shapes out of dough using cookie cutters (no smurf glasses here). cora always eats at least two biscuits-worth of raw dough, and there's flour on the floor and dough rubbed into jamin's sweatshirt.







we were at my parents' house last weekend. I spent some time with my mom and sister going through scrapbooks my dad had brought up from his trip down to clean out denise's house. we found my grandmother's wedding rings and a cast iron corn gem pan. there were pictures of my dad as a toddler and my grandmother in a bathing suit (her dream was to be a rockette). my dad told stories of his mother dragging him and denise under her bed in a thunderstorm because one of the cows had gotten loose and was banging on the kitchen window. there were old pictures of my parents (which look strangely like eric and I) and baby pictures of me and my sister. a whole life, generations of life even, in cardboard boxes.



we've been home now for five days. we are easing back into life here: seeing friends, going on hikes in our neighborhood, finding books and toys we'd forgotten we owned. there is still some settling in to do. I still have some soul-searching to do on what this next season of life might look like. I'm still coming to grips with the idea that god is calling me to be right here, to just be still for a while. fall is a tricky time for me anyway because I don't like to wear socks and I know winter is coming, but there is beauty to help us ease into the change. and here is a good place to be. here is standing in a kitchen full of furniture my dad made for us and using recipes that are just as full of good stories as they are good flavors. we are living a life someone will try to make sense of from the remnants in a cardboard box some day. we are telling the stories our children will tell. and now is the time to write the stories of peaceful familiarity and ritual and routine to match the stories they'll have of adventure and wandering. and if they think of me every time they eat hot biscuits, that's not too shabby either.