Honey and I have been invited to a 4th of July party tomorrow. I waffled on going at first because the Dean who just hired me will be there and I was invited before she offered me the job. It didn't seem good to go if I didn't get the job. I am also afraid on behalf of Biscuit about the fireworks. Reddo was very afraid of fireworks. In fact, one of my last clear memories of him is him running back up onto the porch to be let in almost immediately after asking for a "woof about" in the yard. With Reddo there were woof abouts, with Biscuit, now it's "Bisc-abouts"). Reddo's great regret about our house, I'm sure, was that our bed was too low for him to crawl under during fireworks. Before he lived with us, he had been my parents' dog and my mother has this massive bed with a springer spaniel size crawl under space. Biscuit did not like the thunder storm that happened shortly after we got her. There was a lot of yelping and crying. She's calmed down a lot since her feverish first six-seven months in our house. I'm going to give her a Benadryl and hope for the best. We may or may not take her with us to the party. She's been pseudo-invited.
I'm supposed to bring cobbler to the party. How I got myself into bringing cobbler is a testament to my "sure, I know how to do that/know all about that" bravado. Since I'm from the South, the hosts made an assumption that I could cook, and what's more I could cook cobbler. I didn't do a thing to dissuade that notion. I made it two years ago for this same event. I didn't think it was very good. Nevertheless, the cobbler has been requested again. Sigh.
My mother is an excellent cook. She rejects many of the fussier aspects of Southern womanhood--lace, pink, sewing, flower arranging--but embraces others--shoe coordinating, cooking, ablutions, baby powder. She didn't teach me any of them. Why she didn't teach me to cook probably has a lot to do with her impatience in teaching anyone to do anything and my life-long weight issues. To this day, she is disappointed in my unwillingness to be girly. Whatever.
So I'm off in a bit to buy some ingredients for the cobbler. I don't know what recipe I used last time. I'm using a different one this time. I wonder if anyone will notice.
On the bright side, I bought some tough looking new pedals for my new bike. Nothing girly about them.
Happy 4th everybody. May your cobbler be tasty, your dogs be calm, and your mothers be accepting.
18 comments:
I enjoyed reading your blog
We used to have two springers, one of whom always became quite needy during storms (or fireworks at nearby Mount Vernon.) It was almost a blessing when he lost his hearing in his old age - then he'd only get scared if he could "feel" the thunder. They were sweet dogs.
I can cook reasonably well, but I leave all baking to the Missus. Good luck with that, you Southern thing you.
I'm not touching the Mother issue, thank you very much. ;p
Cobbler? If folks are going to be requesting cobbler from you again, you can test any recipes you want to try on me! As the hubby would say, "Yummo!"
Biscuit's reaction to the thunderstorm was one of the more pitiful displays I've witnessed in my life. She may have to crash the 4th party, and she'd be happy to try any cobbler recipes you care to test.
6-41, 0.146 BA, 2 2B, 4 HR, 10 RBI, 6 R, SB, 2 BB
17.1 INN, 16 HA, 6 BBI, 19 K, 7 ER, 3.635 ERA, 1.269 WHIP, L
It wasn't good slangred. It was doughy and not sweet. All calories, no goodness. Certainly no yummo.
Wendy--is that what your team did today? Wow.
Mmmmmm southern cooking. So many good tastes originate from the south... grits, biscuits, sausage gravy, fried chicken... and, of course, cobbler.
Great. Now I'm hungry. And disappointed your cobbler didn't turn out sweet, moist and delicious. The least you could have done is lie to us about it. Really. Is that asking too much?
We haven't eaten this year's version yet. It may be better. Report to follow. I do make good grits. Grits was, in fact, (and unfortunately) my nickname in college.
Cobbler not one of my favs but I hope yours comes (came) out well.
You shouldn't have shared that little tidbit of knowledge, Grits my dear. Such admissions have been to known to bite one on the ass.
So you say you make good grits. But since I asked you to lie, are you really telling the truth?
I do so love good grits!
Ok (no lie, sorry Suzanne) the cobbler was good. And (no lie) my grits are good.
Wendy, if you call me Grits I will have to put you in the same mental place I have my best friend from college who became a CIA operative.
"Yes'm," she said meekly, digging her toe into the ground.
Turns out Pixie was quite scared of the fireworks we could hear. I hope Biscuit did okay.
Oh, sure, tell us all about the bad cobbler, then feed the good cobbler to a bunch of strangers. No "yummo" for you. Actually, no "yummo" for me, really. : (
; )
Um, bry, I knew them. They weren't strangers to me. :)
I promise never to make cobbler to give to people I don't know without giving you some too.
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