Today I baked my very first loaf of bread. I'm sending you a picture of it because I was so excited at the way it turned out. I opened the oven door and as the heat rushed out into my face, I saw how the top had cracked, you know, just like real bread. I actually said, outloud, "It's beautiful." Usually, the first time I bake something in this oven it turns out being one third fine, one third burned, and the rest all soggy and gross. I learn by trial and error. I'm so excited!

Wish you were here to eat some!

Love, Laura



Sometimes, when I do something new and intimidating, I wish I was still in Girl Scouts. There's something really satisfying about walking around with a big sash that says, Yes, I can... Only, I can't actually think of a single thing I did to earn a badge. I sort of remember my sister earning one because she could swim.

I wonder if they'd give me one for just not drowning. I mean, if you know how what challenge is there? Every minute I'm in a pool, it's a fight for life. Amy could fall in sideways, hit her head on the way in, and still come out without flailing her arms around and gasping for breath. All I have to do is walk down the steps and I've got water up my nose and hair in my mouth.

Anyway, I wish I could earn life badges or something. Move to a new state, earn a badge. Get a new job, earn a badge. Bake banana bread from scratch that tastes just like your mom's, earn the biggest badge ever and sew it to your favorite shirt and wear it to work and make everyone jealous! Instead, the closest you can get is to take some of the bread with you to work, which means you don't get to eat as much, and then say something like, "Oh, please, eat it, my husband and I just can't finish it!" Why do people say that? Why bake a cake (or anything else) you don't actually plan to eat? Baking is hard. If I'm going to go to all the trouble to bake something, I'm going to eat as much as possible without making myself sick or robbing John of his half. (Yes, he gets half. He's smart. He married a woman who bakes. He deserves brownies.)

Of course, the truth is that making banana bread, even though it is delicious, means admitting that you're not good at keeping up with the produce you buy. Banana bread calls for bananas that are "very ripe." Like, so ripe you probably wouldn't think to eat them unless you were going to mash them up and mix them with flour and sugar and then cook them. Basically, so ripe they could be yeast. How did I let those bananas get that way, anyway? I had such good intentions of healthy lunches and potassium levels. Instead they got banana bread ripe on top of my microwave and nearly fell off every time I opened the cabinet door and hit them, while getting something down that I really would eat. They sat there like little blackening pariahs, watching me eat granola bars, until I felt so guilty I had to go out and buy half a dozen eggs, four of which I'll probably never use.

Labels: childhood., family., food.

|