The Art of Bread

Water, oil, eggs, flour, yeast layered in my bread machine. A thin residue of dust rests on the counter as a result of my exuberant flour-dumping skills. I turn the machine on and slowly each component mixes in with the next, creating a yeasty ball of soon to be deliciousness.

I gather my laundry and toss everything into my oversized hamper. I should probably get a new, smaller one. It doesn’t look very ladylike dragging it across the dormitory to the laundry room. I set my basket on top of one of the dryers to mark my territory. Good thing I’m doing this on a Friday night. The laundry room was almost empty, probably because everyone else was off partying. Silly of them to do, but wonderful for me. Five full washing machines and $5 later, I wander back upstairs.

I open the door and am surrounded by the warm, comforting smell of baking bread. It brings me back to the sunny, arid desert I call home. I’m reminded of the day my sister and I first made bread together after we discovered we couldn’t eat ‘normal’ bread anymore. It was pure euphoria when it came out of the oven in its golden-brown steamy glory. We almost ate the entire loaf.

I busy myself with cleaning my room as the bread bakes and the laundry gets washed. Slowly, my week is beginning to feel normal again. I have bread, almond milk, food for dinner, and goodies for lunch. Sometimes I think that the most difficult part of living on my own is the eating part. I can manage school, dance, and the occasional curveball that life throws at me. But, somehow food is the glue that keeps everything together. It supplies energy, strength, and can make a girl who is intolerant to most things feel normal about everything.

That is the art of bread – it does more than nourish. It is familiar. It is comforting. It makes things normal. Today, I am thankful for the little things.

Have a safe and beautiful weekend.

P.S. The featured image is of a pagoda and cherry blossom tree taken on the Sausalito side of the Golden Gate Bridge a few years ago. When day turns to twilight, the bay turns the most mesmerizing shade of purple and blue.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s