Posts Tagged ‘homemade bread’
Making Do
This is not the first time I have been “making do,” in my quest to survive all that life tosses in front of me. I used the same post title six years ago when Cyndie and I traveled with Mike and Barb to visit Cyndie’s parents in Florida at a similar time of year.
This time, I am managing things alone at home while Cyndie is visiting the Sunshine State. I am squeaking by on whatever meager rations she left behind. For example, how about toast out of her homemade cranberry walnut bread with my favorite crunchy peanut butter?
Gives me just enough strength to walk Asher to his heart’s delight and keep the horses from total neglect. They are making do with the snowless conditions and warm sunshine of late.
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There is no snow left in the fields as clear skies and record-high temperatures continue to be our norm.
I can poke fun at my comforts by overstating the truth but the relative luxury I am graced with does not come without a dose of guilt in the face of those dealing with war, poverty, famine, and climate catastrophes and truly suffering to get by.
I do not take my good fortune for granted, so I share the wonder of it all with hopes it might balance the harsh realities others are experiencing and whisk them away for a moment to a better place that does still exist in other places of the world.
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Disappearing Loaf
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?
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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Overwhelmingly Loved
I am living a charmed life lately. Really. It’s a bit overwhelming. How do you adequately thank someone for loving you?
Pequenita 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.
Yesterday, 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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Relative Something 