The Magic of Bread

Good Morning -

We had a deliciously quiet day at home yesterday. We slept in, read the paper, I made a coffee cake, she made quesadillas with sausage and grilled onion, and we both just generally relaxed - delicious.

I had thought I might do some work at home, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. Instead, we went on a little bike ride around the park and then settled in to watch the Broncos get disgraced by the Raiders.

We had decided it would be a good day to make soup, so my partner made a big batch of a delicious tomato/pasta/Italian sausage soup that we intend to eat on for the next three days in anticipation of the belly blow-out that can be Thanksgiving.

To accompany the soup, I decided to make a loaf of bread. The loaf I chose was a dill-flavored Scandinavian bread that includes cottage cheese (the recipe is in a cookbook I have from the '70's and the cheeky author titles it "Dill Dough bread").

I make a good bit of bread and other leavened products and, each time, I am surprised and delighted when I check on the dough and it has, indeed, doubled in bulk in its warm, dark place. My amazement continues when I bake the leavened dough and it actually turns into what I image a loaf of bread or roll or whatever looks like.

It's an amazing process and one I don't take for granted.

I had thought last night when I chose this image for the tile that I might talk about faith or some such and how it works that we do things with skepticism in our hearts and they still work out. Even if you don't fully believe the dough will rise, if you manage to somehow act on the belief that it might, it usually does.

I thought I might go more into that idea, but, as identified in the mood with yesterday's blog, I don't much feel like it this morning.

Also, the clock marches on and it's about time to throw myself in the shower and acknowledge my working self.

Before I forget again, though, Saturday (Nov. 22) marked exactly six months of Virgens. So, I have roughly 180 Virgens in my basement. They don't take up as much room as I had feared. I wasn't sure how I'd feel about this project, but think that I might miss it when May 22 comes along. We'll see.

Until then, here's to little miracles in warm, dark places. Here's to bread that does what one expects bread to do. Here's to quiet Sundays with the one you love and here's to finding a place of action despite the skepticism in one's heart.