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Baking Bread and Enjoying the Fruits of My Labor…

December 10, 2008

Yesterday, I baked bread. Such a simple pleasure. Fresh bread. The smell filled the house and made me feel content. What is it about baking that makes me feel complete? Granted- the eating is lovely… But it’s more than that. Perhaps it’s simply the act of taking seperate ingredients and mixing them to create something new. The whole heady feeling of creating. Maybe it’s just the smell. Filling the house and my head with images of other comforting times with family and friends. Who knows?

The children are content watching a little T.V. I have my first five full minutes of peace. A nice cupe of tea and a slice of bread and my life has become heaven. It is blustery cold outside with the wind howling and trying to wedge through any crack it can find to wrap its frigid fingers around my ankles. I have it outsmarted, though. I’m wearing fuzzy socks. You know the ones. The thick fuzzy ones that could be mistaken for a small creatures if it weren’t for the outrageous colors. When you’re really lonely and no one’s looking- you can even pet them and name them if you are into that sort of thing. Mine are red. And they don’t have names. I’M not into that sort of thing.
It’s almost time for lunch. I shall feed the children, put them to bed, and pick up a book. Heaven 2.0… I don’t have anything started so I get to pick something fresh. Oh the delight of wandering through my treasure trove of books and choosing just the right one. The choosing is almost as good as the reading. Holding the book and taking in its fresh inkyish odor , letting your fingers smooth the pages just to relish the satiny feel of them… Your eyes drinking in the words on the page… Holding those words and images in your ming, savoring them and delighting in them and perhaps storing them for later contemplation…

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