Cheese Biscuit Drama

Part of my Hoonah "growing experience" has been thoroughly embracing the daily ritual of cooking. Displaced and with too much free time, I no longer have any excuses to let restaurants serve me or to feign ignorance and dish up only cut up veggies and hummus. But don’t think for a minute that I don’t take every opportunity to play the sympathy card to my dispassionate audience of a family. Often is the subtle plea to shower me with pity and praise as I slave away, woebegone at stove, sink, drainboard and opened refrigerator.

One evening I was feeling a slightly overlooked and lonely as I stood at the kitchen counter. Andrew and Steve were both lost in their literary worlds of bliss. I measured and grated, I cracked and eyeballed the many ingredients. I was a vision of domestication, outfitted in two pairs of long johns, wool socks, a turtleneck and a fleece zip-up. Atop, I was makeupless, my hair was in a fancy quaff and my rapidly fluttering eyelashes were behind my oh so sheik designer glasses.

I was attempting a new gourmet cheese biscuit recipe (to me anything is gourmet that I don’t dump out of a box)…the fact that no one was sharing in my trials, or simply giving me any attention for my trouble was really annoying me. So in between stirs, I thought I’d really show them just how hard was trying to bake. I used a little help from my props and spontaneous vocal coughing.(the coughing was not planned but was resultant of inhaling too much flour up my nose)

Alas, to my dismay, no pity was given but I did make Steve laugh and Andrew momentarily peek up from behind his book, wearing a drop-mouth expression. After we all laughed, I tried to get the flour out of my nose. Steve turned the camera on and caught me in my best light. Ahhhh, another proud moment on my road to maturity, captured forever via digitalas.