A Breadmaking Thing

A Breadmaking Thing

Fulfilling a long-felt desire as well as dealing with post-election, pre-holiday, post-daylight savings time, pre-snow, post-autumn, pre-inauguration, post-boating, pre-ice fishing blues, Mom and I decide to bake bread together.

When I told Kay about this, she said, "I can just see Mom putting her hands up now and shaking them." And when I told Mom about what Kay said, Mom shook her head and exclaimed, "She remembers that?"

The pictures, I trust, speak for themselves. But in case they don't I have added captions which are beyond reproach for their accuracy, while capturing the experience.

Except for this interchange:

Mom (from the kitchen): John, did I ever make bread in Cambridge?

Dad (from the living room): What?

Mom (in sotto voce to me): Sometimes he doesn't hear so well.

Mom (again): Did I ever make bread in Cambridge?

Dad: I don't think so!

Mom: What?


After we were done, Mom asked Dad if the bread tasted like Grandma Newcomb's. Dad said that an ingredient was missing--bacon grease.