Sunday Rituals and Vituals by Kat Magendie

Sunday's are about ritual: Get up; yawn, drink coffee; organize the one paper we have delivered to our cove, the Sunday Asheville Citizen Times, into read piles; mountain walk; turn TV to Sunday Morning; and turn on oven. What a life, what joy, what comfort. Used to be the ritual was church-going. Grouse. Mutter. Mom forced us five kids to crawl out of bed, wash our face and brush our teeth even!, get dressed, and all to attend boring church and worse was when we had to get up earlier to attend boring Sunday School before boring Church. I still think church is boring, sorry Church Folk, sorry Mom, sorry ministers and priests and whatnotall, but, one of my Sunday rituals is I’m no longer afraid I’ll go to some fiery hell if I don’t get my butt to church. I digress. I’m talking about biscuits here. Yep. Hot flakey put some honey butter on mine please biscuits!

Well, today is Tuesday and I could have them, could have had them yesterday, could have them tomorrow. But it wouldn’t feel the same, for I need that ritual on Sunday, to set it apart—larkens back to the old homestead days when dear ole Mom cajoled, “GET YOUR LAZY BUTTS OUT OF BED YOU DIRTY LITTLE HEATHENS! RIGHT NOW NOW NOW BEFORE I WHUP YOUR HIND-ENDS BUT GOOD! EVERY SUNDAY THE SAME THING. I. HAVE. HAD. IT. UP. TO. HERE! YOU HEAR ME?” Ah, yes. I hear it, along with the pitter patter of our dragging feet as we carried our own personal crosses to Jesus so he wouldn’t feel alone with his.

Anyhoo, don’t serve me those canned biscuits, eyew. I will accept Pillsbury Frozen Biscuits, because they are as close to homemade as I have eaten. My granny made cat’s head biscuits. Oh! She’d put the dough in a pan and then cut squares—gawdang those have never been replicated, ever. We’d dip them in chocolate syrup—a sugar-gritty concoction of sugar, water, chocolate sauce, and Granny’s secret that was a pinch of salt or a bit of love or some vanilla or a drop of sweat, or whatnot; who cared, it was sopped up and quick. Sunday morning is biscuit morning. Period. Amen. HERE are some recipes, Bless Your Heart if you don’t have your own. Here’s to Sunday—only five more days away! (What? You thought I'd write about Taxes?)