* I wrote this awhile ago, and never posted it. Thought I might as well even if it is a bit later.
My husband is practicing to become a bread maker. Currently a batch of beer bread rests atop our cabinetry to rise. We haven’t purchased a loaf of bread ourselves in weeks, though my parents did contribute two loaves of Orrowheat for sandwiches during their stay. We don’t own a bread maker, just JD’s hands and that cozy kitchen-aide that sits proudly on our counter top, dusted with flour from this morning’s mixing.
As I cleared the dishes from the dish rack while Ellie slept, JD told me about different recipes and articles he found about making bread. I listened as JD spoke excitedly about his recent discoveries, “it takes lots of practice, I read, but this woman said people don’t usually mind eating your practices,” and on he went. I love this about my husband. There is something about the way he is wired that causes him to simply want to do something, and then do it. It usually manifests itself in the kitchen or his guitar, but it’s also evident in his goal of becoming a proficient surfer, losing 40 lbs., fixing our cars and home, etc… So simple in concept, but as a witness to each of his endeavors, I’ve also watched him take three trips to the auto shop in one day, go months without catching a wave on his new surfboard (which is actually a short board for him), gain weight after losing it, only to lose it again, and destine a loaf of bread to toast and jam. Quite frankly, I would have rather forked over the money to a mechanic than lie in a bed of gravel on my back with a wrench of some sort in my hand for the fourth time that day. Therein lies the beauty of what I so admire in my husband.
On a day when my brain is exceptionally foggy and there a million and one things I’d like to accomplish in the two hours El is asleep, listening to theories about yeast and flour and timing is somehow exactly what I need to process this new year.