Do you ever find that memories you haven’t thought of in years suddenly assault you with such powerful force, you find yourself completely breathless?
Lately, this seems to be happening to me more and more. I find myself unexpectedly entrenched in some long forgotten moment with such clarity, if I didn’t know better, it would seem it had just occurred.
I have also found myself increasingly maudlin of late. I sit and look at pictures of my daughter from when she was little, and I want to weep for the years that are already gone. She’s only seven. I expected to feel this when she was entering high school or moving away to college. Perhaps when she gets her driver’s license or goes out on her first date. But now? Isn’t it too soon? Is it hormones? Does this mean I am officially getting old?
Last night I awoke at some unseemly hour. I have no idea what time it was. I didn’t want to know. This, too, seems to be happening with ever-increasing frequency. Anyway…I awoke and couldn’t go back to sleep. For some reason, as I lay there, I remembered making biscuits from scratch with my mother when I was a child.
Just so you know, helping my mother as a child is the only time I have cooked anything from scratch. Biscuits? Since I started making my own, I have found myself to be a “whop” biscuit kinda’ girl. So named because you pulled the paper back a little ways until the seam was exposed and then you “whopped” them on the counter to get the can to pop open. Jerry Clower anyone?
I remember the flour sifter, and the brown wooden bowl she always used to make biscuits in. I can see her flour-covered hands kneading the dough. And here’s the part that really struck me about this particular memory. My brother and I used to like to eat small pieces of the raw dough. Is that weird or what? I’m sure in our childlike minds, we thought we were really getting away with something. And my mom let us.
Nowadays, there would more than likely be all kinds of wording on the ingredients warning of dire consequences if any were to be consumed prior to completion of their final desired state. Somehow, it didn’t seem to be as big of a deal back then. I don’t really know why. Fortunately, we survived.
I want my daughter to have memories like these that she, too, will recall in the middle of the night, or whenever. I guess I better go get that can of biscuits and let her practice “whopping” them on the counter.