Fresh bread for lunch

 

My mother parented six children all born between 1953 and 1960. We all remember the smell of fresh baked bread baked in an old Aga stove. Mom's mixing bowl was so big we could use it for joy riding by spinning each other dizzy while we tucked in cross legged.

By 1966 Mom had been diagnosed with Paranoid Schizophrenia. She was hospitalized and endured shock treatments, to no avail. The rest of our childhood was under the care of a parent who, while mentally ill, still took care of us and the household to the best of her abilities. She never left us, at least, not in spirit.

Today Mom is living in her own home again, after forty years in mental health housing. She moved home last year and it has taken that long to stabilize our frail elder. She is 92 and feels her age.

There is nothing she likes better than sitting in her big green chair and watching over activities at the dining table and in the kitchen. 

Last night I mixed up the bread dough and put it in the fridge over night. This morning I shaped the dough into a nice loaf and baked it so we had fresh bread for lunch. With each step of the bread-making process I discussed the recipe, the technique, the baking utensils, the oven temperature, the timing, testing for doneness, with Mom.

When the bread came out of the oven we both thumped the bottom of the loaf to test for doneness.

It was a simple lunch: carrot sticks, slices of cheese and a fresh piece of warm bread with melted butter.

We might think we don't have time to make food for family, or spend time with our elders because we have too much work to do. 

Fresh bread for lunch. Priceless.