Waiting. Watching. Wondering.
Uncertainty. Questions. Conflicting opinions.
A wide range of emotions is being experienced each day all over the world. Tragedy, fear, loneliness and grief are present for many.
These are what I call the ‘in-between’ times for the world. What is going to happen next? Will it be one of my family members that contracts the COVID-19 virus? Is my cough and slight fever something for me to panic about? How do I support others when my children tell me they don’t want me doing any shopping or leaving my home? On one hand I appreciate their help, and yet……I struggle with receiving. I realize I must think about creative ways to stay in touch with my family, which includes parents in their nineties, and young grandchildren that I miss desperately.
Today I am aware of another level of sadness for me. My mother died two years ago, and tomorrow is the anniversary of her death. How do I honour her memory in the midst of this upheaval? My mother was famous for her brown bread, and I am suddenly hungry for the taste of her delicious baking.
I pull out my old recipe box and find an index card with her writing. Mom Bergen’s brown bread! The card has spots of grease and it is faded and worn. And, I wonder…. what if I try making this bread?
I choose to remember my mother by baking bread from her recipe!
Suddenly there is more uncertainty in my life. A list of questions unravels in front of me like a worn-out sweater falling apart.
Will there be yeast available in the grocery store? Last week there wasn’t. Can I trust the recipe? What does it mean ‘add flour until the dough is soft and not sticky’? How will I know when there is enough flour added? What does it mean to use warm water, but not too hot or the yeast will get killed? Sounds violent to me. Can I trust myself to do this?
Then there is the mystery of all the ingredients. Such a disparate bunch of stuff. Water, yeast, sugar, oil, salt, flour and, somehow, they will transform into bread. What magic!
I manage to get the flour figured out, and it is time to knead the bread. The recipe says to knead for at least ten minutes. I set the timer and start pummelling and punching. At first, I am sure the timer is broken. Ten minutes seems like an interminable length of time. How will I last that long?
Then, something happens. The dough feels soft, warm and squishy. My hands naturally fold and roll the dough over, and I put the whole of my upper body into the pressure of the heel of my hand as I push into the dough. I lose track of time.
The kneading action becomes rhythmic and meditative. I am transported to the family kitchen of my childhood and I see in my mind’s eye the picture of my mother in her apron, with a kerchief covering her hair as she energetically prepares the dough. Here I was doing the same thing! My eyes filled with warm tears, and my soft heart mirrored the softness of the bread dough.
I am flushed with the exertion and with the warmth of the oven that I heated to have a spot for the bread to rise. I make sure the oven is barely warm and place the bowl of dough to rise. I think my face is flushed with a feeling of pride as well.
However, I am not yet done. Dare I believe I can do this? What if it flops? Will it taste good? How will I know it is done? Well……I am committed. What have I got to lose? I will see this as an experiment and let go of perfection. I tap into my curiosity and remind myself to see this as an adventure, rather than a test of my worthiness.
Then I realize I am not alone.
My brother inherited Mom’s bread pans and he is also adept at baking her bread. The pans are well-seasoned and dark with decades of heat and loving bread baking. He has been teaching his sons to bake bread during this time, as they gather on a Zoom call.
My sister has been baking Mom’s brown bread for years and when I phone her, she gives me some hints. I am encouraged that I am on the right track. We have fun reminiscing about our mother, her energy and how she sang while she baked. I smile as I realize that the ‘leaven of loving partnership’ will add joy to my experience of baking bread today.
As I sit at my kitchen table writing, the room is filled with the fragrance of baking bread. I am touched by my sense of being part of something powerful and sacred. Is it possible that by baking bread today, I am engaged in a ritual that is way bigger than I ever imagined?
I am carrying on a tradition started by my mother, and as a result her memory is honoured. She loved sharing freshly baked loaves with neighbours and so, I think about who might enjoy some of my bread. Perhaps I can leave some at my neighbour’s doorstep. I have a sense of abundance as I see the loaves cooling on the countertop. The aroma is intoxicating, and I am eager to cut a slice and slather it with butter and honey just like I did as a young girl. I had fun kneading the dough, and I see myself as capable and adept at trying something new.
What does making bread have to do with Life?
Kneading the dough is an integral step for it to rise successfully. Is it possible that the hard knocks, pushing and pulling in my life are necessary for me to rise? Perhaps the tough times that seem so prevalent these days will teach me lessons that I would not otherwise learn.
Waiting is a crucial part of baking bread and instead of being resentful about the waiting, I am aware of my pleasure increasing as I anticipate the bread being baked and ready to eat. All my senses are involved, and I am filled with gratitude for the smell, taste and the sight of the freshly baked bread. The wait is worth it! Are there times in my life when I can slow down, wait and be grateful for what will appear? Deep breathing, taking time to stroll through the woods, or being quiet as I sit with the candles burning and listen to calming music are all ways to be present and wait with patience.
Then there is my willingness to try my mother’s recipe and step into the unknown. Taking a risk can pay off, both in life and in baking.
Life can be faced with an attitude of play, curiosity and lightness. When I let go of the pressure to ‘do it perfectly’ and saw my bread making as an experiment, I relaxed and had fun. I trusted the recipe and asked for help from my sister. As a result, the bread came out of the oven looking very much like my mom’s bread.
There is a need for some structure, both in baking bread and in managing life during COVID-19. Rules are meant to keep us safe, and a recipe leads to tasty bread. Seeing the big picture will support us all in maintaining the guidelines of the medical leaders as we continue life during this ‘time in-between’.
I smile as I consider the unexpected insights I gleaned today. I know that my mother is smiling too as she watches me practice what came so naturally to her. I love what she has taught me through the deceptively simple task of baking bread with love and joy.
I trust that you also have memories to sustain you during this time when you might have more space to reflect and remember. Waiting can be stressful, and it can also lead to great rewards. Thank you for your presence today as I remembered my mother. I send you love and peace.
On a final note…..I just ate a slice of bread fresh out of the oven, slathered with butter and honey, and it is delicious! Today’s experiment taught me many things, not the least of which is how to bake a tasty loaf of bread. I am content and I wish I could share a loaf with you!
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