Relative Something

*this* John W. Hays' take on things and experiences

Posts Tagged ‘bread

Special Aroma

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Imagine walking in the door after a long drive home through heavy traffic on a day when the roads are a mixture of snowy and not, and being immediately greeted by the intoxicating aroma of fresh-baked buns just out of the oven.

Such are the hardships I am forced to endure again and again living with a woman who creates magic everywhere her energy gets directed.

Guess what I ate for an afternoon snack. Mm, mmm, good.

If this isn’t living a blessed life, I don’t know what is.

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Written by johnwhays

November 14, 2019 at 7:00 am

Disappearing Loaf

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On Wednesday, Cyndie baked a couple loaves of bread and we cut into one of them right away at dinner. Yesterday morning, I received a text from Cyndie:

“Did you bring bread to work today or did Delilah eat a half loaf last night?”

I did not take any bread to work with me, so I guess…

Cyndie and George were going to have some toast for breakfast but she couldn’t find the loaf we had cut into. I can imagine her mental gymnastics of trying to figure out where it could be. Did we completely clear the table when we retired to the fireplace in the living room after the meal?

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Looking innocent, “helping” Cyndie change the bed sheets.

Our dog has no history of taking anything off our kitchen counters, but anything lower than that might be a risk. If she took it from the table, there is a little bit of history there.

Early on in getting to know our new canine family member, Cyndie placed her coffee and toast on the table with her computer and stepped away to grab one more thing. She returned to find Delilah standing there with marmalade on her whiskers.

“Did you just take my toast?!”

Cyndie reported the look she received seemed to indicate Delilah assumed the toast was left there for her to take.

There were no crumbs of evidence detected anywhere yesterday morning. All I know for sure is that I didn’t take the half loaf of homemade bread.

Now I wish I had.

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Written by johnwhays

November 18, 2016 at 7:00 am

Overwhelmingly Loved

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I am living a charmed life lately. Really. It’s a bit overwhelming. How do you adequately thank someone for loving you?

IMG_iP1204ePequenita has been dishing out so much affection for me that I am almost feeling smothered by her. At the same time, who can resist the charm of a cat who repeatedly seeks a perch somewhere on top of you?

She can be so insistent for attention when I get home from work that I have to pick her up to protect my legs from becoming her scratching post. If I make the mistake of choosing to lay down with her for a few minutes at that hour of the day, I usually become the victim of an unplanned nap.

She oftentimes finds a suitable spot on my legs and joins me for a snooze.

My lovely wife has been spoiling me with extra special attention by choosing healthy options for my goal of eating a reduced sugar diet, and tweaking her bread recipes to incorporate more diverse grains with extra substance. Lately I have a thing for millet in bread, along with a fondness for wheat berry and sunflower nuts, in addition to the usual whole grains.

DSCN4668eYesterday, Cyndie nailed it with a couple of excellent loaves, hot out of the oven at dinner time, while she was simultaneously whipping up some fresh homemade pasta to serve as a base under her delectable leftover beef bourguignon that was recently pulled from the freezer.

It certainly feels like being loved, to be fed like that.

My mom gave Cyndie some special training on how to make the bread I grew up with. Talk about love!

Last night, while looking at the beautiful loaves she created, I suddenly noticed an insight about how my father must have felt about the bread mom baked for him throughout their life together. Mom told us stories about how she first learned to bake bread when they were newlyweds stationed in a fire lookout tower in Glacier National Park.

By the time I was born, over 10-years later, she had definitely mastered the craft. Her homemade bread was a staple in our kitchen. Dad was a stern scolder when we didn’t cut straight slices. We toasted it and fried it, and I recall Dad used a slice to soak up the juice on the meat platter when the menu involved steak.

My parents weren’t very demonstrative of their love, but looking back, those years of homemade bread reveal a pretty good version of it.

Now I am blessed with the same. It is overwhelmingly lovely.

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Written by johnwhays

April 20, 2016 at 6:00 am