Whimsy On A Wednesday Is Not Bringing You Whimsy Today. Sometimes there ain’t none.

Today we will be embracing change in the form of a challenge. Or could it be that this is actually some whimsical advice?

‘Write a story in just dialogue,’they said. 

‘Bring it on,’ I replied.  

Lavender Biscuits (A short story using only dialogue) by Jules Smith

“Hey Grandma, I thought we were all coming to visit you today?”

“Well, I felt like dropping by anyhow, last time I came you were sound asleep. All your college books were falling off the bed and you were murmuring ‘bout somethin’ in your dreams.”

“The last dream I remember had you in it! I was with you and Gramps. We were sitting on the porch steps of your house in the sunshine feeding up on your famous lavender biscuits.”

“That might explain the sounds you were makin’! Chowing down on dream biscuits.”

“They were piled up high on your cookie plate.”

“Ah, my big oval dish with the cornflowers on?”

“Thats it. With scalloped edges painted faded gold. And one part was chipped. I used to run my finger around the sides, bobbing up and down in little waves until I got to the rough bit where the glaze was missing.”

“That was your momma’s fault. She ran outside with a plateful of biscuits when she was a lil’ girl and caught the edge of the plate on the door frame. I remember her cryin’ ‘cause she broke it and then cryin’ some more ‘cause your grandpa made her wait for a biscuit ‘case there was any chipped pot in the mix.”

“Ahh, I never knew that. Momma has that plate now, sitting on her dresser.”

“She does. It’s sure done a good job in its time.”

“Maybe she keeps it like an ornament in fear of breaking it again.”

“Maybe so.”

“I could just eat one of those lavender biscuits now. Talking about them has given me a real yearning.”

“They sure were a favourite.”

“The best, Gram. You had to get in there quick before Gramps found them or there’d be none left!’

“Nothin’ but crumbs! Especially when they were fresh from the oven. He’d say that they tasted like a sunset melting on a wildflower meadow.”

“Can you remember how he’d come back from bailing hay and we’d hear him whistling before we saw him walking up the dirt road?”

“I do. He said whistling was like smiling only it made more than one person happy.”

 “Only if they’re good at whistling!”

“That’s just what I said.”

“Then he’d shout out to us from the road that he could smell somethin’ good in the air and it sure as hell wasn’t him!”

“I remember, child. Him walking up the home trail in his red plaid shirt and them dusty ole overalls.”

“And you’d slap his hand when he reached for the biscuits on the porch table and tell him to go wash up first.”

“Every darn time. He’d say that the dirt from his fingers just made them taste all the sweeter.”

“What you didn’t know, Gram, is he’d pretend to put some biscuits back down but then keep a couple in his hand and slip them into his side pocket. He’d wink at me to keep his secret. You must have wondered at my smirking.”

“Why do you think I always made a dozen more than necessary? I knew his tricks. I knew more about that husband of mine than he knew about hisself.”

“Did you know about the hidden hatch in the stoop?”

“Ah, that’d be telling, my girl. Do you really want me spoilin’ secrets?”

“What does it matter? Did you know?”

“Of course I did. I knew your gramps hid biscuits there. I had to check every week under that loose board ‘cause sometimes he’d clean forget and I didn’t want critters making home there! You know what else?’

“What?”

“It’s also where he used to hide gifts for me.”

“Ahh, that’s so cute!”

“On our first anniversary it started. I watched him from the bedroom window put somethin’ under the boards after work. ‘What’s he up to?’ I wondered. I could barely see as the dusk was rolling in fast and brownin’ like a peach cobbler. The next day, I waited a good twenty minutes till he was away and his old blue Chevy was a dot on the horizon. I ran outside to lift up that hatch and see what he’d put there.”

“What was it?”

“A lil’ duck-egg blue box with a white ribbon tied around.”

“Did you open it?”

“I didn’t dare. I wanted to, badly, but I just stood starin’ down at it. But then I thought, ‘what if it isn’t for me?’ I worked myself up a frenzy, fretting like a wet hen ‘case he was hiding it for someone else!”

“Haha! You silly thing.”

“Well, your gramps was a handsome chap back in his day and I often noticed pretty girls givin’ him the eye.”

“None as pretty as you, Gram. What happened?”

“I was cooking up eggs and bacon in the skillet the next morning. He went outside without sayin’ a thing. It was usual for him to sit on the porch with his coffee, though. Liked to watch nature wake up with him, he’d say. I called him for breakfast and he didn’t come in.”

“That’s not like Gramps. He’d usually be hanging over his plate like a starved dog.”

“Exactly. I stormed outside and there he stood with that lil’ blue box in his hand. He told me to sit down a minute as he had somethin’ to say.”

“Go on…”

“He said, ‘I’m the luckiest man alive to have you as my wife and even after a year of it, you’re still here.’ Naturally, I agreed with him but I was only joking, mind. Then he passed me the box and told me to open it.”

“What was in it?”

“A gold heart pendant on a fine gold chain. Inside that heart was set a tiny diamond. Your gramps said to me, ‘That heart is like mine and that diamond is you.’”

“That’s so romantic, Gram…”

“Oh, he could be sweeter than pumpkin pie when the whimsy took him. I must confess I did shed a tear. And then I told him his eggs were cold!”

“You and Gramps are like the perfect love story.”

“Ain’t no such thing as perfect but you can get to your own special kinda magic. Much like making a batch of those lavender biscuits, you have to carefully weigh out all the ingredients to make any relationship its best.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, you have to consider each part carefully, how you mix those different things together.”

“I don’t understand…”

“Some things might need an extra beating to get them right, and others might be just done so.  Sometimes a bit more buttering might be wanted and other times a heap more sugar. Then you have to knead it all just enough so it all binds together perfectly. After that you must let it be a while – let it rest some.”

“Ah, you have to get the recipe right!”

“Well, yes, but not just that. Next you have to bake all that work at just the right temperature or all you’ve accomplished so far might be underdone or a tad too much. Over time, if you keep working at it, you get your golden and delicious!”

“I think me and Mom have to work at our recipe. It’s either burnt bitter or so underdone it might as well not be anything.”

“I can’t say I disagree.”

“So… maybe more sugar?”

“Well, that’s your recipe to figure out but I guess that’d be a good start.”

“She’s been so moody this last year. Honestly, Gram, it’s easier to stay out of the way.”

“It’s been a tough year for her. Keep that in mind. And you ain’t gonna get anywheres without at least puttin’ your apron on.”

“I s’pose….”

“Mix it up some. Add a splash of buttermilk and see what happens.”

“OK, Gram. I’ll try. Gram? Gram….”

“Who on earth are you talkin’ to? I told you to be ready for 2 ‘o’ clock sharp!”

“Momma! I’ve told you not to just barge into my room without knocking first! I wish you’d respect that.”

“I’ve been hollering for you to come down for the last five minutes. Then I come all the way up here and hear you chattin’, supposedly on that phone to one of your friends.”

“I was just talking to myself. I’ve got lots of studying to do, I told you this.” 

“Well, that can wait a while. Your pa is wheeling Gramps out to the car to get him strapped in and settled. He’s real frail at the moment, and today of all days…”

“Poor Gramps. It doesn’t feel like a year already…”

“It seems like only yesterday. We have to go, we need to collect the wreath from the florist to lay on the grave.”

“I’m coming. I see you have her pendant on. It looks nice, Mom.”

“Gramps said the same. Said she wore it everyday and it was nice to see it again.”

“Momma…”

“Yes?”

“When we get back shall we make some lavender biscuits together? Just like Gram used to?”

“I… well, I don’t know that I have her recipe for them…I’d have to search through her book.”

“Well, why don’t we make our own together? See if we can’t come up with something just as good.”

“Why don’t we do just that! I think that’d be a real nice way to finish a difficult day. Gramps would like it too. He sure loved those biscuits.”

“I love you, Momma.“

“I love you too, honey. More than you know.”