“AND LORD? GIVE US THIS DAY OUR DAILY BREAD…AMEN”
As though he was chewing tobacco, the weather reporter spat out his words with great gusto and haste: “Gusty winds, at 35 miles an hour with an overcast of dark grey clouds.”
Still, who do you think would care about the elements or simply about remaining indoors when there are loud “Moving Sales weekend”advertised everywhere? Moreover, my husband Bill already had his mind programmed to them. As for myself, when he left, my intuition in this odd Missouri climate was to hibernate between fine and friendly flannel sheets.
I did just that; but first I chose to “say no to cooking” as one of my refrigerator magnets
encourages me whenever I dare to make eye contact with it.
About a couple of hours later, and in between colorful Disney Land dreams, I heard Bill’s unmistakable voice in the center of our bedroom. He was literally trying to wake me up as he barged in, car keys in hand, exclaiming jubilantly and loudly at the top of his voice: “BELOVED GUESS WHAT !” then ran out again.
Reflex action! I awoke, rushed out to our cozy eat-in kitchen, drowsily forced myself to smile and focus on the bulky object Bill held in his hands; and which he wished to conceal beneath his wind-breaker.
“What is this?” I shrieked.
“SURPRIZE! SURPRIZE,” he chirped, removing his jacket to expose what was to become my unexpected kitchen guest and aid for God knows how long: A REAL ELECTRIC BREAD MACHINE!
THE MAGNANIMOUS BREAD MACHINE AND I
Well, well! Here I am two days later, with my heart beating an African war-drum tempo.
I feel faint and over apprehensive. My head says, “Leave everything and run for your life.” But I cannot! I mean I can do so but my loyal feet would not.
You see? Right now, I am actually keeping guard over the bread machine…the alien device which, God willing after two whole (and un-abridged) hours, promises to yield a full healthy 1.5 pound loaf of bread.
Henrietta W. Romman P. 2
I sat in complete awe, taking note of the Lord’s help to mankind to ameliorate and beautify life and give us pleasure. This digital machine is beautiful: Spotless white, never disclosing her mission or status except for the unique aroma permeating the atmosphere as she goes into gradual swing.
Trust me. I was never against bread-makers…Heaven forbid! My past kitchen life, while we lived in Sudan, Africa, offered me precious times of bread making. Those were sessions of concentrating. “Knead—See—Feel---and Wait.” From now on, I owe it to myself to be spoilt; rest my whining limbs; watch and wait for the miracle of –powders plus liquids turning to bread. I must live the complete cycle with the ‘Chef Mate Bakery Oven Model HB-- 215.
For this first trial in home bread- production, my daughter Magda who lives next door, came over, placed the ingredients and marked the settings. She appointed me guardian, ready at the right time with my mittens, to receive and inspect the first Bread Babe, to be born under our roof.
According to the manual, it said “DO NOT TOUCH THE HOT SURFACE.”
So I pledged my obedience till the one remaining hour is spent. From my comfortable
chair, three yards away from the ‘taboo bakery,’ I started to smell the wafting yeast while a few of my taste buds longingly were raising their heads.
I am unconcerned but hopeful, anticipating, guessing, expecting to witness the full miracle. I remain pen in hand registering my emotions and my great joy at finally having to resign. I am allowing this God-sent Robot to take over and bless me and my family.
Who knows? Maybe months from now I shall excel in using this beneficial intruder?
Maybe by then I shall encourage many a senior peer, to yearn for real rest; and like myself, to let go of traditional bread baking.
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