I live in a techie world- not all of my own design; and with two high-speed high schoolers, and a husband who is physically here, but is truly Linked In to the ethernet, I am smart enough to know that I only know enough to get something started before I seek their expertise (and their ridicule!) So, in a world that's speeding up faster than I can do a Google image search for 'Magic Mike,' I find myself seeking out rituals and practices from my youth (real or imagined) that let me determine (also real- or imagined) how fast I am speeding towards my Firstborn's first launching from the nest.
With the updating of the annual calendar, (from one Marilyn Monroe monthly to the latest) I typically get caught up in the possibilities and potentials of how I can invent myself... and then I take a nap. However, something in me is different (the 2nd whole day in to the New Year.) In an effort to somehow make up for any/all remiss parenting, I was inspired to make homemade bread to nourish my family (~and to see if I really could make something passable that my ancestors probably knew how to do in their sleep. And, quite frankly, it was that or take down the Christmas decorations. Easy decision.)
|My Mom- she taught me everything I know|
With only a few texts and panic phone calls to my Mom, (It says OATS. Does it mean white flour? I don't have any oats. How much should it rise. It's not rising! How long should it take to rise?) I can say I successfully spent an entire day making 5 loaves of bread. And, it was... average, but really satisfying. The house smelled wonderful. I felt a connection to the amazing lineage of women in my family who nourished generations with their own daily bread, and (using a traditional method) I actually felt... empowered? (Don't hold your breath for the homemade butter, however!)
This is how it went down...
|Awaiting their virgin voyage|
|HOT... and buttered|