Biscuits took her back to Granny’s
As soon as my eyes popped open, I began to prepare a mental list that would get me out the door and on my way in the minimal amount of time possible. I even went one step further and started my daily checklist of work duties so that I could make the best use of my time.
After all it’s spring break, and our beach bags are packed and waiting beside the front door.
I made good time into Andalusia, immediately began to work on my list and made it into the office by 9:15 a.m. only to be waylaid by another assignment. However, as I made my way to the Andalusia Public Library to attend the Covington Retired Persons’ Association meeting, I ended up with a most unexpected surprise.
And, with respect to Dr. Gunn, the best part of the meeting wasn’t his speech – it was the homemade biscuits.
You see, the event’s hostess is a force to be reckoned with, and after her repeated attempts to get me to eat – which I had declined – she constructed for me a plate of goodies.
When I am invited to cover things – be it a retirement party or civic event – I try to make it policy that I don’t eat. It’s no offense to the organizers – it’s just that is extremely difficult to manage a camera, note pad, pen, cell phone and plate gracefully.
At one point before my exit, someone mentioned to me I should get an extra biscuit for my plate. Since the one on my pre-made plate was covered in tomato gravy, I acquiesced and began my journey on foot back to the office.
As I settled down into my chair, I noticed the smooth, brown crust of the biscuit and thought, “That looks like the ones that Granny used to make.”
It’s been one of my life’s greatest regrets that I never learned how to make those biscuits. There were plenty of opportunities before she passed, but when you’re young, you think you have all the time in the world.
In the mornings, she’d always have a plate full along with grits and the runniest scrambled eggs you’d ever seen. All yucky and gooey – those eggs were apparently her husband’s favorite. They were not mine. And to this day, my eggs better bounce when you put them on my plate or they’re going in the garbage.
But I’ll say this about those biscuits – you know they’re good if you can eat them cold, and I didn’t think I could be so lucky as to ever taste something like that again.
One bite and wonderment filled my mind – I was sitting back on her bar stools, waiting for the oven to open – her smiling face and the scent of Joy – gone as quickly as it had come.
All that was left was the smile on my face and a hankering for some more of those biscuits.
So, Mr. Bakerman – you know who you are – give me a call. I need to know how to make those biscuits.