It's a happy cornbread-in-cast-iron-skillet kind of day

The smell of happy, 4 by 5 1/2 watercolor, 300 lb. d'Arches cold press paper

Cornbread makes me happy, especially when it's cooked in a cast iron skillet or other relic of the past.
None of this namby-pamby tin or aluminum fakeries. Real cornbread.
When was the first time you tasted cornbread made that way? The delicious smell still gets you doesn't it? 
Today's one of those days. Cooped up in the house because of the cold, I was stuck on what to paint that makes me happy, part of the daily challenge this month. In fact, kinda blue.  And then in the cabinet, I see cornbread mix.
I know, I know, not made from scratch, but it'll still be different by the time I add my ingredients--including, but no all, red child powder from Chimayo, New Mexico.
I know, I know, it'd be better  with a big pot of pinto beans, or chili, or stew, in which you can crumble the cornbread up. But that will take more time. Still, I can dream about being cooped up in a cabin with a wood burning stove and cornbread rising to a golden brown.
The first time I remember that kind of cornbread was in deep East Texas long ago, walking as a kid down to my grandmother's house with cousins. My mother's mother, Grandmother Culp, would make corn bread in cast iron molds resembling half corn ears. Add some butter and mmmm.
So while you're reading this, or even before you do, I'm making some real cornbread in a cast iron pot I expect belonged to my other Grandmother, Cuba Reasor, and handed down to me by my late Uncle Mike. 
It makes excellent, happy cornbread. My mood has already improved, just writing about it.

Daily watercolor for the  #worldwatercolorgroup January Paint happy things challenge.

Cast iron happiness