The Biscuit Beast

When I was 4 I can remember very clearly sitting at the dinner table enjoying fresh biscuits that my mother had made.  Fresh hot biscuits right out of the oven. Could anything be better? Yes. Fresh hot biscuits that taste good.  Even decent would suffice. While my mom is probably one of the best cooks I’ve ever known and will ever know (no I don’t say this because she’s my mother, she’s actually won awards) she lacks a few skills in the biscuit department. Her biscuits were beasts, without beauty.

Now while for normal people this could be easily overlooked, since she can bake and cook like a pro and can rival Paula Dean, for my father it just didn’t cut it. So for a 4 year old, who adores her mother and her cooking, to hear her father say: They’re just not like my mama’s biscuits; it’s quite confusing.  What the heck does that mean? And how about you just enjoy the things since we didn’t have to make them.

Side Note: My dad isn’t a complainer by any means.  I can only remember two meals my mother made that were anything but perfection.  One of them was stuffed peppers. She and I both knew they were horrific hurl-inducing anomalies but she wanted to see what my pops would say.  So like nothing was amiss she placed them on the table and served em’ up  … … …

Me: What do you think Dad? Do you like them?

Quizzical brow:  Delicious!  Can I have seconds?

The Cook: Peals of laughter!

Holy smokes we laughed. Finally we let him in on the joke; and sheepishly he just grinned and refused to admit that were anything less than perfection.

But back to the biscuits.  Biscuits were a precious thing to him.  My grandmother had since passed and so for my father… fresh hot morning biscuits…. that tasted delicious= GODLINESS. 

Fast forward 25 years. I’m home visiting and surprise, surprise, wake up to find my father has finally decided to make biscuits himself.  After hearing his complaints for the first ten years of marriage my mother finally gave up and only ever served store bought biscuits. They sufficed.  But after another 20 years of marriage… they wouldn’t hold the butter any longer.  He decided he was going to take the biscuit by the bowl and make them himself.

Round 1: Disaster.  Hard balls of dry dough.  Poor guy.  He had such hopes and dreams.

Round 2: Never a quitter… He watched some videos online… ever the researcher… and turned his newly found skills, mixed with memories of seeing his mama make them every morning for 20 years… and voila! Whoa.  Stop the presses.  Did this just happen?

Biscutis 1 Biscuits Honey

You can bet your buttered biscuits that just happened.  Or should I say honeyed biscuits? Because with a dabble of honey, not butter… we’re still on a diet remember… They’re just what mama/grandma ordered, and my father for that matter too: GODLINESS. He turned her biscuit beasts into ones that even Belle would fall for. Beauty and the Beast style.

Round 3-6: Just kept getting better.  We had waves of people over every morning since my parents house is like Grand Central Station for everybody in town (they love it.)

While visiting for 4 1/2 days I ate like a queen, like my father when he was 5, and enjoyed biscuits with sausage gravy EVERY SINGLE MORNING.  Yes of course my mother made the gravy… its perfection. Pure perfection, no videos or training needed for her.

And thus the two of them have yet again become a perfect pair. Beauty and the Beast. Sausage gravy and biscuits. Perfection personified.


Snowman Snow

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow. No I can’t sing. Can’t even carry a tune.  I don’t even try in the shower, but let me say, boy can I whistle!  So when I see snow… a hot teapot’s got nothing on me.  Thus was day 2 on my home visit.  The clouds rolled it, the weatherman had made his forecast, and the temperature dropped.  Snow! Snow! Glorious blizzarding snow! But what to do? Yes I love it but I need activity points.  I’m here visiting family, eating like Bruce Bogtrotter in the movie Matilda (it gets good at 3:16.)

So when faced with the dilema, I settled on more cards and homemade chocolate pudding. (Whistling Dixie when my mom cooks.) The next day the sun was back… That’s MT for you.  They say MT has 363 days of sunshine.  Big Sky country.  And with sunshine comes warmth.  And with warmth comes perfect snow.  When I say perfect snow I mean snow that is deep enough and damp enough to stick, yet not melt, nor turn into an ugly off white. Glistening, sticky, and yet still firm. Snowman snow.  In MT we would usually get feather snow. Flitting bits that would come down dry and be blown away quickly. Rarely staying, and if it did, turning to ice within hours.  But this was a special day. I could feel it.  The temperature was a balmy 42. The sun was smiling for all its worth. The chocolate pudding was happily hugging my tummy.  It was time to make a snowman.

I’ve certainly made a number of snowmen in my life. I’m no expert, nor do I belong in a snowman competition.  However I certainly appreciate the finer aspects of making a snowman.  The packing, the base building, the rounding and smoothing process.  Making sure the thing will last once its built.  It was time. And thus my whistling returned with a points plus activity status of +6. More pudding anyone? Yes please!



7 feet tall

100’ diameter

2 ton weigh in

I bought him a Weight Watchers membership when I was finished.

There’s No Place Like Home

Boy did Dorothy say it true.  If only I had her red heels. But with just plain kicks home I went. And what a glorious arrival it was!  Remember my secret? Well it was time for the big reveal.  The airplane had landed and down the stairs I came (I still miss the escalator days but this is a diet!) beaming to see my mama and not knowing what to expect from her.  Its been 7 months since I’ve seen her and 3 months on WW+. Would she notice right away? Would she not?

It wasn’t immediate. We were both just happy to hug and enjoy being together again.  It was so nice just to be… Home.  Then it came… the recognition, the questioning look, the bright smile: “Honey, you look fabulous!” YES!!!!!

What a feeling.  Glee! Both my parents were so happy for me.  After telling them all about the program, how it worked, how things were going, I think they may join as well.  We’ll see.

The few days there were glorious. Yes I tried hard to stay on WW+ and yes the parents helped but my 3 month vacation from strict dieting was due. And boy did I celebrate. Stories to come!

Being home was the reward I had been looking for and needed. A pat on the back. An incentive to keep going. I wish everyone had that same home.

The Hills Are Alive