Mmmm, bread!

There were a lot of aggravations to having that accident. One was that I was just getting to the point where I could stick through the aerobics class that I had started a month earlier; that, I didn't get back.  Another big one to me was that I couldn't make bread anymore.  It wasn't like I was SuperMormon and made all my own bread and grew the wheat to grind besides, but I really enjoyed making bread when my schedule allowed, and now I couldn't raise my shoulders and hold my arms away from my body for more than a few seconds.  I couldn't play the piano (not that I was great, but I liked to sit and play the hymns) and I certainly could not put the muscle power into kneading bread.

My father took that to heart and had a grand idea.  He bought me a big hefty stand mixer for Christmas. He thought it was such a great idea that he bought five of them:  not just one for me, but one for my mother and each of my sisters. A dough hook!  All I had to do was dissolve the yeast, add the liquid and dry ingredients, and turn it on for the requisite time at the requisite speeds.  I still had to watch it and gauge whether the proportions were coming out right, and roll out the loaves and tend to the rising and baking.  It was great.  It needed my intelligence, if you will, but not my muscles.

I am now on my third identical mixer, each under a different brand name, Kenwood to Farberware to Rival, but the same design.  No one makes it anymore, so if (when) this one wears out, I will have to find and get used to something entirely different.  I try to be nice to it so it will live a long time.  I bought a convection microwave with the settlement of that accident, and I am on my fifth one of those--one burglary, one house fire, one systems failure, and one oven fire.  Hubby just sighs and says, "I know, you can't live without that oven.  We have to repair it/get another one." Even if we're broke, whichever point applies.  I bake my bread in that oven and I love it.  If you get a  compassionate service visit from me, I am likely to bake some for you.

So, on a parting note, here is a fun little piece I wrote:

Bread

I’ll tell you a secret:

Home-made bread covers

A multitude of sins.

Housekeeping imperfections

Are muted by the marvel

Of heady baked aroma

And crusty tenderness.

My family won’t ask

Why all the spoons are gone.

Instead they whoop,

“Mom made bread!”

‘Course it doesn’t work this magic

If you do it every day;

But it makes up for doing dishes

(And it’s more fun anyway!)

                 

                  (c) Marian J. Stoddard