I've been reading A Grief Observed by CS Lewis (it's been on the shelf for years and years, but only now did I open it). The man is somehow inside my head. My own words are down on his pages, even some of the words I've put into artwork. I finished it last night, slept like a baby, and awoke this morning determined to bake bread. I've eaten some already. I will take a loaf to a neighbor who gives me homegrown tomatoes. There's a lot to be said for the small comforts.
My mother always made bread. Nothing tastes so much like home or smells so wonderful. I've tried bread machines, but they make the bread too fluffy, too airy. Hand kneading isn't hard, anyway,and it's a decent ten-minute workout. Mother said, "You know it's ready when the dough feels like a baby's bottom." Then she would spank it gently--we were a big family, and there was always a baby around. So now I bake bread from her recipe when the spirit moves me,and today was one of those days.
I've been reading A Grief Observed by CS Lewis (it's been on the shelf for years and years, but only now did I open it). The man is somehow inside my head. My own words are down on his pages, even some of the words I've put into artwork. I finished it last night, slept like a baby, and awoke this morning determined to bake bread. I've eaten some already. I will take a loaf to a neighbor who gives me homegrown tomatoes. There's a lot to be said for the small comforts.
2 Comments
Margot Merz
6/23/2012 05:28:39 am
Beautiful. Wish I were close enough to eat some of your bread with you.
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Phil Nolan
6/24/2012 11:13:41 pm
I bet I won't get any :(
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AuthorBobbe Shapiro Nolan, Fiber Artist in Eagle Lake, TX. Trying to learn to call the sewing room my studio, and myself an artist. I retired after 15 years in hospice nursing--so now I have the time!. Archives
July 2021
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