linda baie: a lovingly baked memory

#12 in the Poetry Potluck Series, celebrating National Poetry Month 2012.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: You meet the nicest people through Poetry Friday.

I can’t remember exactly when Linda first joined “the gang,” only that she immediately felt like an old friend. At her lovely blog Teacher Dance, she not only shares a wealth of ideas and insights about teaching poetry and creative writing, but also many original poems and personal life reflections. Her warmth, caring and generosity have won over many blog readers, who, like me, appreciate her genuine interest in others and lifelong commitment to learning. One of the things Linda is doing for Poetry Month is continuing her project of creating poems which examine different ways of looking at children growing up, essentially saying goodbye to each precious stage. She plans to combine her series of poems with family photos and create a keepsake book for her grandchildren. Very cool!

Today I’m wearing my best bib, because Linda has brought biscuits! Some of you may know about my deep, abiding love for biscuits. Yes, I’ve dallied in the past with a few cupcakes, macarons, and pies. But there is just something about biscuits — small, round, gently risen in all their brown perfection, a piece of idyllic country life, a cozy Sunday morning family breakfast. Roll, pat, cut, a fine cloud of flour, particles of good memories that linger.

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friday feast: beaucoup biscuits

“Poetry is the synthesis of hyacinths and biscuits.” ~ Carl Sandburg

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Well, butter my buns and call me a biscuit!

Go on, grab one (a biscuit, not my buns, silly). You’re perfectly entitled — Autumn is officially here and September is National Biscuit Month. Not that I need any excuse to indulge my biscuit love. You know what I’m talking about. When they’re warm from the oven, you ever so gently break one apart and that little column of steam rises. Oh, tender, flaky bliss: a pat of butter on each half, melt, melt, maybe a drizzle of honey or a lick or two of jam. With each heavenly bite, the South rises again and again.

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I freely admit to never having successfully made biscuits from scratch. Yes, I’ve consumed my fair share of ‘whomp’ biscuits (Dough Boy goodness in a can), but I’ve always felt genuine-for-real homemade biscuits should be left to the experts. Most often, they are kind, huggable grandmas wearing faded flowery aprons who never measure ingredients but their biscuits turn out perfectly every time. Anyone have a Southern grandma I can borrow?  Continue reading