You know one thing that makes me feel competent? Homemade biscuits! To me biscuits symbolize pretty much everything awesome about home life. There's winter sunshine streaming in through the windows, the sooty, metallic scent of the wood stove, soft doggy paws clicking over the floor, and fresh out of the oven biscuits with their hot flaky insides just waiting. Any pan where I didn't burn my mouth (and my fingers) on their moments from the oven goodness I just wasn't paying attention. There is nothing to compare. I know I'd had a few things to say about my home life on this blog, but those mornings will always remain for me a delightful memory.
Anyway, this evening Allen and I were having breakfast for supper -sausage, scrambled eggs, cooked apples, and perfectly flaky biscuits with golden brown crusts. While we were eating I was thinking that this is what I want to do when I'm old and (Lord willing) have grandkids. I want to invite folks over for weekends and holidays and sit in my kitchen eating hot biscuits with butter while outside the wind stirs the bare branches and inside a wood fire crackles and glows. Then, while the kids play cards or run in out and out of doors we adults will sit there with our coffee and cider discussing the good things in life. Maybe later we'll go for a walk or play in the leaves with kids. It's a good dream I think.