I Can Feel My Bottom Growingby
Andra Watkins on December 24, 2013
Don’t ask me how much remains. Trust me. It will hang around on my dang rear end for months.
Alice makes the best shortbread I’ve ever eaten. It’s a Secret Family Recipe, brought into the tribe by a maid several generations ago. Even though Cayleigh might as well be my niece, that doesn’t make me family enough to have the recipe.
Still, I can see that maid’s caramel colored fingers kneading butter and flour, sugar and salt. She stands on the front porch. Watches the Spanish moss celebrate the occasion, party streamers in every tree. She breathes in salty Johns Island air. When the tide turns back to sea, she knows she’s done.
Her dough is ready.
A little bit of that moment goes into every batch of shortbread deliciousness. Feels like that clear December day every time I take a bite.
Today’s song is a tribute to Alice. Her time at Tulane. Her disappearing cookies. I am so lucky to call her friend.