Too Much

Crying in the Lowe's parking lot for fifteen minutes over a dead goose will really make you reassess your sensitivity levels. I didn't know the goose. I didn't know her family. And yet, there I sat, body wracking with uncontrollable sobs, overcome with emotion and unable to stop picturing that damn, dead goose.

I figure she had a family. She and her little suburban flock have long been a part of my local landscape. Their lake is a small one that's cut in half by a four-lane highway and surrounded by perfect little subdivision houses.

She and her flock made daily (sometimes hourly) pilgrimages from one side of the lake to the other, defying death and speeding Volkswagens for God only knows what reason. A flock of geese waddling across a four-lane highway has its way of slowing down traffic, but every now and then, when driving past the lake, you'll see a poor soul who has been mowed down by some careless driver.

The poor soul I saw this last time when driving by the lake threw me for quite a loop.

The tears didn't start immediately. No, we were well on our way to Lowe's and nearly to the other side of town when the dam finally broke. I kept picturing the goose and her family. I kept remembering that Canada geese mate for life. I kept wondering what her poor mate would do when he realized she was gone.

I don't know why but that solitary goose nearly broke my heart.

I realize that I felt too much in those moments in the parking lot, husband awkwardly patting my leg and telling me it would be alright, Lowe's customers curiously peering into our car at the sobbing crazy lady.

I realize that I feel too much in a lot of situations.

Whenever I think of my hypersensitivity to situations and people, I always think of that scene in How the Grinch Stole Christmas when the Grinch's heart grows three sizes. It becomes so big that it nearly bursts out of the frame.

                                                                             Source: google.com via Tifanie on Pinterest

Yeah, that's my heart. It's too big, too soft, and I feel too much. Too much pain. Too much sadness. Too much passion. Too much anger. Too much everything.

This is both good and bad.

Good, when I need to throw my entire heart into something.

Bad, when I cry over a dead goose.

Sometimes I really do wish I didn't always feel too much, especially when the pain is nearly unbearable, but in spite of that, I don't think I'd change my big, soft heart for anything in the world, because even though it's sometimes strange, even though it's usually oversensitive, even though it causes me plenty of trouble, I kind of think it's pretty special.

Hanging out with the pretty special folks at yeah write; won't you join us?

An Introduction to: The Biscuit Chronicles

So it's Friday, and in addition to doing laundry, cleaning house, and loafing around watching MTV True Life or Teen Mom episodes I've seen a million times, I try to use my Fridays off for something productive. Something good and never evil.  Today my good and not evil deed has to do with biscuits and my search for the perfect biscuit recipe. In order to progress this search to a new level, I've decided to start a biscuit project of sorts. To give a little background, below is an exert from one of my columns called "The Legacy of Biscuits."

The South is a region that is built upon a strong foundation of family and food, and the royalty of the Southern food family is the biscuit. All my life I’ve heard stories of biscuits. From the dainty soda biscuits my Daddy’s Gram would prepare with nearly every meal to the piles of lard biscuits that my Mama’s Grandma Tuggle would fix for her legendary Sunday dinners, I grew up with a respect for the Southern biscuit and its place on the Southern table.

The problem is that I haven't yet found my own biscuit identity. I love to cook, especially Southern cuisine, and if I can't establish a good recipe for one of the foundations of Southern cuisine, then I might as well throw in the towel and surrender myself to the fact that I'll probably never rise above simple things like chicken noodle gravy. So, I've decided to begin a search for my "biscuit identity," the biscuit recipe that will secure my place in the family's biscuit legacy. 

A past and poorly photographed attempt.

Beginning this Sunday, I plan to embark on what I'm going to call "The Biscuit Chronicles." *Cue dramatic music here. Please, folks, try not to get too excited...it's exhausting. Each Sunday morning, I will try a new biscuit recipe. I will document the ins and outs of each recipe, the ups and downs, the successes and failures. I'll hope like crazy that they don't turn out flat and hard as rocks, but I'll know that some batches will, and I just have to be okay with that. 

I will record The Biscuit Chronicles until I have found the perfect recipe. The biscuit of all biscuits. The one that works with bacon, gravy, sausage, and honey. The one that makes my husband react in a sincere and honest way (instead of the usual "Oh, I love anything you cook, honey" response).

Between now and this Sunday, aka Day 1 of The Biscuit Chronicles, I'll be searching for my first trial recipe. If anyone knows of a great recipe, or would like to share their own, please let me know. Really, you could be a part of history here.

By the way, it's Fab Friends Friday over at For the Love of Blogs, and in the spirit of the day, I'd like to recommend that in addition to reading my posts, you hop on over to the "Blogs I'm Reading" list to the right or my Link <3 tab at the top of the page. These are some awesome blogs that exemplify the kind of blogger I want to be some day :)