Rise and Swine

I scratched it out right there upon the slate - words to live by.  But somewhere between then and nightfall I had failed every word that was written. When your wound a bit tight, have a mess of kids, and plenty of furry creatures...it can be a recipe for disaster even on a good day. BUT... When the toilet is clogged...again. The coffee maker is broken. She's crying over math lessons. They're bickering over whose turn it is to sweep the floor. Kai is screaming as he watches the dog eat his favorite car. That sweet little bundle of ours is spewing from every open cavity. Dishes and laundry are piled high. Chickens have grazed the garden. The dog's footprints dust the hardwoods...10 seconds after I've scrubbed them. Oh, yeah, dinner.  Kinda forgot about that one - soup anyone? By evening I'm spent. Of course, this means nothing to the toddler who has a complete and utter meltdown as I'm trying to take off his clothes and put on his pajamas.  He w

She flips through that old box pulling out the stained tattered piece of parchment.  The one her dearest friend had scribbled out instructions upon.  It's one of the few tangible things she has left.  Lying it on the granite before her, she pulls from the pantry.  She labors to grind the wheat.  Runs the water paying close attention to it's temperature.  Too cold - the loaves won't rise.  Too hot - she'll kill the yeast and the loaves won't rise.  Either way she'll have bread good for nothing but pig slop.  Carefully, she stirs.  Waits.  Eventually it comes: the turning out of cool dough.  Then the work begins as she kneads the mound into something pliable.  Her hands consumed with the sticky mess.  More waiting.  Finally, the shaping of loaves.  She places them in the cast iron and lowers them into the heat until they're golden, beautiful and ring hollow.  The process takes time but it's therapeutic to her soul. Tonight they'll slice the loaves...