Wednesday, March 5, 2014

Not just a biscuit.

Here is a picture of my first batch of homemade biscuits.  I can't eat a biscuit without thinking of my Grandma. I don't know how often she made biscuits but I can't  remember being at her house when she didn't have fresh biscuits. I would just love to be in the kitchen watching her make her biscuits. It was surely an art. They had them for breakfast, lunch or dinner. I loved them smothered with sausage gravy and a nice dusting of sugar.

This is the only picture that I have of my Grandma. I wish I had more but I think she was too busy being awesome to be posing for pictures. I'm sure she would have never taken a selfie.

I never really thought about how much something so simple as a biscuit can bring back so many memories. It's not just me either, several of my cousins say they cry when they open the oven after making biscuits. She did more than make biscuits. She could sew anything, crochet and more importantly make those around her feel so important and loved. I don't ever remember her being too busy to give me her full attention even in a roomful of family members; and there were a bunch of us! My grandpa was pretty righteous too. He worked on cars, had a little wood shop, a master at solving crossword puzzles, was a beekeeper and a founding father of dumpster diving! 

The time that I got to spend with them was special and I wish I would have gotten more. I wish I had her biscuit recipe and more pictures of them. I wish that I wouldn't have been a selfish teenager and visited more often.

I want to more like my grandparents. I think sometimes our plates are too full to make biscuits. Too busy running here and there to really stop and appreciate what is important. Time, time is what is important. I want to spend more of mine making biscuits with the people I love.

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