Biscuits and Gravy, Pessimistic Husbands, and Urban Fantasies

Fall is here.

The bathtub is sinking.

My husband is a raving pessimist.

There are too many books to read.

Too many projects.

Sounds like fun!

Yesterday was a rainy, cloudy day. Loved it.  We noticed Saturday that the leaves are falling with vengeance now. The colors are bright. After the rain the yard is littered liberally with the fallout.   Daughter, Falon, and I made things yesterday. We spent time in the barn cutting our wood. She sanded and painted while I struggled with the software for my Cricut. We cut. We pressed on. We completed our project. More on that tomorrow.

She got biscuits and gravy for Sunday morning breakfast. Cream gravy. Made with bacon fat. Our arteries are officially clogged. Our hearts are in jeopardy. But the memory will live on until the next rare occasion when we treat ourselves to that hearty breakfast.

That’s probably why our ancestors all died young, except for Effie….too much fat infused gravy. But oh, what a stomach-filling breakfast. All they had to do was milk the cow, save the pig fat, and add a bit of flour for thickening. No waste of precious resources in that recipe.

My grandmother Effie, my mom’s mother, was nearly ninety when she died. She did have one carotid rotor-rooter procedure. But that woman ate fat all day, every day. She had sausage or ham and eggs cooked in bacon fat for breakfast. She seasoned her veggies with it. She cooked her chicken, pork chops, ham, squirrel, salt pork, beef, and opossum in it. She made all her gravies with it. Her cornbread pan was greased with it.  She saved it. And she spooned sugar in ample quantity over her strawberries and in her coffee and tea. She drank full fat milk.

I don’t think she ever weighed over 135 pounds.

I was so jealous. I look at food and gain weight. Born at just over 9 pounds, I jumped to 150 3 days later and never looked back.

The absolute horror of it all.

Perhaps that extra weight is the reason for the sinking bathtub. Nah…..I haven’t taken a bath in years. Showers people, showers! But gravity and water damage have taken their toll. So now we wait for that bath to dry out so we can jack up the tub, replace the pipe, the tile, and the backboard. Not exactly a fun time in doing all that. And the pessimist in the house has decided that the underside of the bath cannot be repaired without extensive structural work. Don’t worry. I think we can get by without going there.  If not, we’ll continue to use my shower. He’s such a pessimist!

I don’t know how it happened, but recently I have become a fan of urban fantasy. Guess it’s better than Calgon in taking me away. If you know what that refers to you are of an age. I’m inclined to read for sheer entertainment. I’m too tired for intellectual stimulation.  No way to determine the effects of it on a brain made mushy by long hours and many years of boring work making a living. Ewwwewwwww. My whole head might explode if I allowed myself to engage in a ‘smart’ conversation. That must be avoided. An exploding head would most assuredly make a horrendous mess.

This brings us back to urban fantasy.

I have an urban fantasy. One in which no one is homeless or hungry. Hey, all you rich folks out there. Get together and share with the least among you! They contributed to your wealth one way or another.


That’s my urban fantasy.

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