life in the time of virus: bisquicits and thunderbunkies

Lorraine's frilly freudian slip

Baking bisquicits this afternoon; experience like dealing with a tangle of hangers. Nothing co-operated. Not the flour, butter, or cream. Wash-rough hands struggled to knead life into the dry, cranky dough. Coffee-mug-biscuit-cutter refuses to release.

Mood darkens as sky; storm brings thunder inside my cranium; migraine raising. Cursing the placement of racks in the oven. Heaving doughy dishes, flour-smeared bowl into the sink.

As I ran the water hot and strong, steam rising, the storm and my mood broke over the horizon, trees twisting me to a lighter emotion.

Watching birds peck in between the raindrops; crazy squirrel antics. Prismatic soap bubbles trace up towards the ceiling.

Sharp, tangy aroma of cheddar, asiago, and herbs. Warmth of the oven. Swoosh of cold as I open the freezer, removing my glass. White wine swirls in the iced glass.

Settling in front of the tv: Lone Ranger and Knight Rider. Crumbly lupper…

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