I Suck At Making Biscuits

I'm just putting that out there.  The biscuits that I made this morning as a method of transporting the "eating, not cooking" honey that BF gave to us last week are too dry and not fluffy enough.  Granted I rarely make biscuits (my baking powder's old-ish too) and I used to only make Bisquick ones (I know, that's an abomination especially considering where I grew up--southern Indiana is just enough south to hold biscuits dear) and I know that proficiency in biscuit making is a learned thing, so these are okay,  just not mmm-good (sorry, Campbell's soup guys).  Durwood asked if we have his mom's recipe.  I didn't realize that she was a biscuit maker, I knew that she baked like an angel and couldn't cook her way out of a wet paper bag, but I entered her life too late to get to sample her biscuits.  I'll have to look in her recipe box downstairs to see what I find.  Or I'll just have to keep making them until I get them right.  Awww, there's a pity.  I am, however, awesome at making soup.  I bought a rotisserie chicken at Sam's yesterday and whipped up a cauldron of gorgeous soup in the afternoon.  Look how full of goodness it is!  Lots of veggies, lots of chunks of chicken, good rich broth.  You totally wish you were coming to have lunch with me at work next week.  (Maybe the fantabulousness of this soup will finally draw in customers.)  I think that I have reached the maximum capacity of this particular pot, it was a challenging stir.  One more tomato, one more wedge of cabbage, a slightly larger onion and it'd overflow.  That would be bad.  What a crap day it is, weather-wise.  Here it is December 16th, it's foggy, drizzly, and warm enough that I wore a hoodie when I went to get a haircut.  Tsk.  Winter, people.  Wisconsin.  Cold enough to keep the measly amount of snow we get would be good.  I know, I know, warm is more comfy than cold, and dry roads are safer than snowy and icy ones, but I think we're in danger of losing our "frozen tundra" machismo.  The last few winters have been decidedly wimpy and this one's not looking good so far.  Cold keeps Durwood indoors and bundled up, grumpy too, but we need snow.  The farmers are in trouble and the lakes are shrinking.  Did our tectonic plate slip south when we weren't looking?  Somebody needs to look into this.

December 16--Camile Pissarro, The Harvest, Pontoise.  Lake plodded down the dusty road and took the path to the orchard.  It was harvest time and she was tired even though it was barely past dawn.  Papa would be along soon enough with a wagon and he'd be angry if she didn't have a few baskets of fruit ready to be loaded.  She set her jug of water down in a notch between the roots of the tree nearest the path and took two baskets off the stack.  She looked for the yellow flag that showed where Nat and Lily had left off the night before.  She shook her head.  It looked like Lily had left her dress in the long grass but Lake knew that her sister would never leave her yellow dress out in the orchard overnight.

Okay, kids, that's it for today.  I'm off to buckle down and concentrate on the secret sewing.  I'm down to the finishing steps and really want to be done by bedtime tonight.  I've a bit more topstitching to do and then the serger takes over for the finishing work.  And sometime today Durwood and I need to collaborate on a Christmas letter.  See you tomorrow.
--Barbara Sue

P.S.  It's snowing in Yellowstone.