Biscuits and Honey

​In the early days, people had a wood stove in the kitchen to cook meals. Because of this, the kitchen was the warmest room in the house on cool and cold days. Thus, the kitchen became a favorite place for gathering with family or visiting a friend or neighbor who stopped by for coffee. The gas or electric range has replaced the wood stove, but the concept is the same. The kitchen is still my favorite room in the house when it comes to making memories, not just my kitchen.
I'll never forget the day my granddaughter came into the kitchen and asked, "Mom, why does our house smell like Papa's house." I had baked an apple pie at my daughter's place. And the first time, I made biscuits with my then three-year-old granddaughter in Waterloo, Iowa. Oh, the memories that come from the kitchen.                                                                   
Our granddaughters came to spend last weekend with us. It warmed my heart to learn that Addison asked, "Nana Mac, will Papa be making biscuits." Addison and Evelyn helped; they love pressing the biscuit cutter into the rolled-out dough to make perfectly round biscuits; and sneaking a pinch of dough when they think I’m not looking. We were not just making biscuits; we were making memories they will hold on to long after I am gone.
The plate was piled high with fresh from the oven, warm buttermilk biscuits. I set the plate on the kitchen table. I made a sausage gravy to go with them, but both kids (total carb queens) prefer to eat their biscuits plain. After biscuits and gravy, Melissa and I love having a biscuit with honey, a breakfast dessert.
"Where is the honey," I inquired.
"Where it always is, in the cupboard next to the stove," Melissa replied, as though the answer was obvious.
I was looking in the cupboard, "It's not here!" I wasn't looking for just ordinary honey. This honey came from our Virginia friends, Pete, and Karen. They have bee hives and produce their own home-grown honey. "You used the last of the honey and didn't tell me," I accused my spouse.
"We ate the rest of that honey," she said. "They sent us another jar; it's in there."
"That WAS the other jar," I said with alarm! So there we were, with a plate full of homemade buttermilk biscuits but no honey.
This offense was far worse than drinking the last of the milk and leaving a jug with a few drops in the fridge. The crime was more severe than taking the last roll of toilet paper from the closet and not saying anything about doing so. We're talking about honey, a prized possession of pure liquid gold!
The weekend passed, and all survived despite our honey deprivation. Sunday afternoon, we sent the leftover biscuits home with Addison and Evelyn. Afterall, what's the sense in having biscuits with no honey?
I walked our dog, Nova Mae, down the road on Monday morning. I waved at the mail lady as she pulled away from our mailbox. The door on the mailbox was hanging open, with a package sticking out. "I hope that's a box of dog treats," Nova said with anticipation.
"Probably not," I said to my hopeful canine. I pulled the package from the mailbox. It was heavy, and I knew I hadn't ordered anything that would weigh that much. "What did your mom buy this time? Bricks?" Nova Mae and I shared a good laugh about that. I didn't have my glasses, so I couldn't read the small return address label, but I could read the big black and white label on the sides: FRAGILE.
I put on my glasses in the kitchen, read the return address, and smiled. "Who is that from," Melissa wanted to know.
"This is none of your concern, woman," I said, "just go about your business." With such a response, she naturally stood looking over my shoulder as I opened the package. I smiled even bigger as I pulled from the box not one but two jars of honey!
"You just gotta love Pete and Karen," I said, "Just when we thought we were all out, they sent us 'his and hers' jars of honey! Obviously, mine is the bigger jar." Melissa denied they were 'his and hers' jars, claiming they had sent US two jars of honey. (I think she was eyeballing the bigger jar as well.)
Inside they included a card that read, "As promised, here's some of this year's Bee Puke." We shared a good laugh about that.
I learned a valuable lesson from our lack of honey this past weekend. To avert such a honey shortage in the future, I fully intend to hide one jar the honey in the back of my sock drawer, where Melissa won't find it. Hopefully, I will remember where I put it; many dogs have buried bones never to be found again.
I think I'll make a fresh batch, and we'll have buttermilk biscuits and honey for dinner.