Sunday’s are about ritual: Get up; yawn, drink coffee; organize the one paper we have delivered to our cove, the Sunday Asheville Citizen Times, into read piles—mine and his; mountain walk; turn TV to Sunday Morning; and turn on stove. What a life, what joy, what comfort. Used to be the ritual was church-going. Grouse. Mutter. Mom forced us five kids to crawl out of bed, wash our face and brush our teeth even!, get dressed, and all to attend boring church and worse was when we had to get up earlier to attend boring Sunday School before boring Church. I still think church is boring, sorry Church Folk, sorry Mom, sorry ministers and priests and whatnotall, but, one of my Sunday rituals is I’m no longer afraid I’ll go to some fiery hell if I don’t get my butt to church. I digress. I’m talking about biscuits here. Yep. Hot flakey put some honey butter on mine please biscuits!
Well, today is Tuesday, I could have them, and could have had them yesterday, and could have them tomorrow. But it wouldn’t feel the same, for I need that ritual on Sunday, to set it apart—larkens back to the old homestead days when dear ole Mom would cajole, “GET YOUR LAZY BUTTS UP OUT OF BED RIGHT NOW YOU DIRTY LITTLE HEATHENS! NOW NOW NOW BEFORE I WHUP YOUR HIND ENDS BUT GOOD! EVERY SUNDAY THE SAME THING. I HAVE HAD IT UP TO HERE!” Ah. I can hear it now. The pitter patter of our dragging feet as we carried our own personal crosses to Jesus so he wouldn’t feel alone with his.
Anyhoo, don’t give me those canned biscuits, eyew, a real blaspheme! I will accept Pillsbury Frozen Biscuits, because they are as close to homemade as I have eaten. My granny made cat’s head biscuits. She’d put the dough in a pan and then cut them into squares—gawdang those have never ever been replicated, ever, by anyone. We’d dip them in chocolate syrup—a sugary concoction of water, chocolate sauce, and Granny’s secret that was a pinch of salt or a bit of love or some vanilla or a drop of sweat, or whatnot; who cared, it was sopped up and quick. Sunday morning is biscuit morning. Period. Amen. HERE are some recipes, Bless Your Heart if you don’t have your own, and the Pillsbury website. Here’s to Sunday Mornings—only five more days away!
http://www.pillsbury.com/products/biscuits/frozen/Grands-Frozen-Biscuits.htm
http://search.foodnetwork.com/food/recipe/biscuits/search.do?N=4294966852
http://www.cbsnews.com/sections/sunday/main3445.shtml
http://www.citizen-times.com/apps/pbcs.dll/frontpage
(Repost from yog)
Well, today is Tuesday, I could have them, and could have had them yesterday, and could have them tomorrow. But it wouldn’t feel the same, for I need that ritual on Sunday, to set it apart—larkens back to the old homestead days when dear ole Mom would cajole, “GET YOUR LAZY BUTTS UP OUT OF BED RIGHT NOW YOU DIRTY LITTLE HEATHENS! NOW NOW NOW BEFORE I WHUP YOUR HIND ENDS BUT GOOD! EVERY SUNDAY THE SAME THING. I HAVE HAD IT UP TO HERE!” Ah. I can hear it now. The pitter patter of our dragging feet as we carried our own personal crosses to Jesus so he wouldn’t feel alone with his.
Anyhoo, don’t give me those canned biscuits, eyew, a real blaspheme! I will accept Pillsbury Frozen Biscuits, because they are as close to homemade as I have eaten. My granny made cat’s head biscuits. She’d put the dough in a pan and then cut them into squares—gawdang those have never ever been replicated, ever, by anyone. We’d dip them in chocolate syrup—a sugary concoction of water, chocolate sauce, and Granny’s secret that was a pinch of salt or a bit of love or some vanilla or a drop of sweat, or whatnot; who cared, it was sopped up and quick. Sunday morning is biscuit morning. Period. Amen. HERE are some recipes, Bless Your Heart if you don’t have your own, and the Pillsbury website. Here’s to Sunday Mornings—only five more days away!
http://www.pillsbury.com/products/biscuits/frozen/Grands-Frozen-Biscuits.htm
http://search.foodnetwork.com/food/recipe/biscuits/search.do?N=4294966852
http://www.cbsnews.com/sections/sunday/main3445.shtml
http://www.citizen-times.com/apps/pbcs.dll/frontpage
(Repost from yog)
12 comments:
I hope you are still in the Great Northwest, holding a precious little baby in your arms!
(Now I'm hungry for a hot biscuit with unsalted butter and honey!)
Oh, you bring back memories of mother's biscuits - they were so flaky and would just melt in your mouth. Now when I am ill, my daughter comes over and makes fresh raspberry scones. To die for!! - oh...maybe that's why I get ill....
So agree with you on the church thing....seems like you would be in the minority with such a viewpoint in the south....or have I jumped to conclusions from what I have heard and read? Anyway, I often relish a lazy Sunday morn and not having to dress up and 'worship'......such freedom!
Oh how I love biscuits....yummy! I feel a lot like you about church. I used to go and was very involved. I am sure there was some good in all of that. :) But, I've since learned that God is not just in churches and that church is not a building. Thank God! Hope your having a wonderful time! XX Lori
I never went to church as a child. Only on big holidays. But now we're going pretty regularly (although we enjoy skipping some Sundays too and we're still trying to find another name for it other than "church"). I am hoping my daughter doesn't hate it. She's small now and having fun with the other kids but when she grows up... Now I'm worried.
Hahaha! Fun post Kat. It took me years to get the Cowpoke to like my biscuits, cause ya know, "they aren't like Mama fixed 'em". :D
Pillsbury frozen biscuits? I'll give that a try. A friend introduced me to Sister Schubert yeast rolls for dinner...they were DELICIOUS!
Oh man, I couldn't even read about the biscuits, I'm so sad about how church was for you. And how your mom was. :-(
I don't care if my kids like church, I just want them to know Jesus loves them. This made me cringe a little, because I know there are Sundays where I stress out trying to get ready, and surely that doesn't make My Daddy happy. Thanks for reminding me that Jesus isn't about church. Your morning ritual sounds very, very nice. :-)
Delightful...and, I have enjoyed following your site…Happy Holidays…have a wonderful New Year.
Best Regards,
A.J.
Yes Church is boring and biscuits are not.
Hmmmm? Wonder if God is trying to tell us something?
I often live in fear that my southern card will be revoked because I cannot make a good biscuit to save my soul. Maybe that should be my New Year's resolution.
I looked at that picture of biscuts and I tell you I could just about smell them.
No church no worries God will preach to you right up on that mountain top..hey thats what he did with Moses!
Merry Christmas Kat!!!
PS, I have a ball in church. It is like going to see an good friend that everyone else knows too. I must admit I come from a background where church was anything but boring. LOL. We had a snowstorm here this weekend and just about every church in the area was closed. I got to watch my pastor deliver a 20 minute sermom on the internet in my jammies it was great but too many days away from church, well I just miss it.
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