We lived with my Nana for six months. In a old farmhouse, four miles from a town with under 200 people in it. The nearest grocery store was 45 miles away. So we made our own bread. Every 3-4 days, out came the bread bowl and the house smelled heavenly.
I learned to make bread watching her and my mom make bread. It's not something one makes from a recipe. You learn how hot the water should be to proof the yeast. You learn how much flour to add. How long to knead, how to tell if it's raisen enough, how to make a loaf. It's handed down, mother to child, Grandmother to grandchild. I had CN help, and she is starting to figure it out. It was exciting to see her willingness to help me.
Making bread connects me to my mom and Nana. It reminds me of thier love and support, and that they would be here if they could. It transports me back to a time in my life when I knew no different than to be surrounded by thier wisdom.
I needed to knead my frustrations out, to smell yeast proofing, to feed my kids something I had made, to eat 'real' bread for dinner. If you've never made 'real' bread - your missing out on one of life's greatest pleasures. It's right up there with sitting in a hotsprings while it snows, sex on a Tuesday morning, really good chocolate, perfect strawberries, and the David Crowder Band.
So tomorrow, when there is no school because it's cold and wet- I'm going to make Chicken Noodle Soup. Which I'm sure I had homemade soup as a kid- but have no emotional attachment to it at all. I just told my mother in law I'd bring it for lunch on Saturday. But my kids love it. They will probably have an emotional attachment to it. I sure make it more than bread. And it's almost as good.
We recieved our update for R and ER... I'll post more tomorrow. Here are pictures though.
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