letting it rise

My friend Barbie gave me a toaster last week.
Although I always like bread, I don\'t really want it. -
Taste, taste, image of bread.
In honor of the Hebrews, they had to leave Egypt so quickly that they had no time for the bread to rise, the unfermented Passover bread.
Bread for you;
When Jesus is broken, one may live, in the broken sharing, in the oneness, in the oneness, free.
I met Barbie when I was awake for three years.
She is almost as big and sober as me, her hair is long and straight, and her eyes are round and brown. She had early-
Multiple hardening stage
We\'re friends. She gave me something fresh.
Toast from time to time.
She baked five loaves of bread each day with a bread machine spread all over her small house, the most delicious toast, including Melba toast made several times for my teething son.
Freshly baked bread, hot and fluffy, will soon make the bread a little stale.
But toast is the second soul of bread: lighter, a little rough, perhaps more masculine, but still as comforting as a soft beard.
My favorite food is toast.
In fact, my first interesting magazine article was about toast.
I was in my 20 s and lived in a small boat house and was penniless, but had enough money to buy a toaster oven.
I started throwing brunch with toast and toaster oven on it, some guests brought jam, jelly and cheese, others brought champagne, so you can pretend that there is no \"drink\" at breakfast \".
However, these are full of drunken food: Stone Soup meets on the \"lost weekend.
\"Then I decided to turn my toast wisdom into cash and wrote a column called\" town toast \"for a local pioneer --garde magazine.
My idea is to invite visiting VIPs to my house to toast and I will interview them when we eat.
Like many brainstorming sessions in my life, it seemed like a good idea at the time.
But we found out right away that in a promotional tour, almost no one had a normal head and I wanted to go through the Golden Gate Bridge and have toast with some strange people.
Then we took a bite: Harry Dean Stanton agreed if I had an interview in his hotel room in San Francisco.
So one Saturday I packed the pots of the toaster, bread, butter, jam and honey and went into town by bus.
At about noon, I arrived at the hotel in Stanton, and a skeptical concierge announced the news. After a while, I found myself standing at the door of the Stanton room, in my hand.
It was not until this precise moment that I had any second thoughts, of course, it was too late by then.
The door opened, crumpled, fuzzy --
Harry Dean Stanton stared at me.
Then his eyes fell on the oven. \"Yes\" he asked.
\"Hi, this is Annie Lamot. I\'m here for an interview.
He stared at me with a horrible look.
He pointed to my toaster and asked, \"What is that ? \"
I explained what it was. I\'m going to make him some toast.
\"But I don\'t want toast.
\"But you see, my column is called \'Town toasts, \'so what I\'m doing is making some toasts and then we talk. . .
\"But I don\'t want toast. . .
\"In the end, we compromised: I let myself toast.
He ordered coffee from room service and we had a great conversation about art and God for a long time.
The magazine ran three of my toasts in town and folded it up.
I went back to hold a timely toast.
I brought bread. bought, ready-
I have already done it because I will never want to toast any more than raising chickens for eggs.
It\'s also a shame, because the good memories of baking bread can eat up my horrible hunger in the spirit, just as the spirit that I was rocking at the time couldn\'t touch.
Meet a friend who makes bread, the aroma of the baked dough can send me back to a wavy Mvbius memory band and back to our kitchen where my mom makes bread-
White bread, black bread, Danish pastries.
She knead her dough, like a strong masseur, and wipe her damp, wrinkled forehead with the back of her sleeve, let it rise and beat it down ---Take that!
So in Harold Pinte\'s conversation and the tense atmosphere of my youth, there was a comforting smell from the world of plaid aprons.
The taste of the dough is so intimate and please me with other private scents.
Maybe we are happy to remember that we are animals with sense of smell, animals with active sense of smell and smell ---
Clean or salty or grade or sweet or new.
That\'s how we met our mothers even before we found out they were making bread.
How they recognize us in the depths of the wilderness.
By the time I was 30, I might have baked half of my bread. a-dozen times.
But I was always drunk and then stoned to death, and if the taste was good, so was the raw bok choy and mayonnaise, if so.
At that time, I had no stamina for failure and incompetence.
Then, 13 years ago, when I was awake, I began to learn how to finally grow up and how to become discoverers again like a child.
I found that to learn how to do new things, you may be willing to do bad things in the first place.
This is painful.
For example, this means that if I want to learn to play Mozart\'s sonatas, I must be willing to slaughter \"Dale\'s farmers\" first in a few weeks \".
Then I might stare at a future where I would be willing to slaughter the Beatles songs.
So I learned to be incompetent on a lot of cool things like mother and daughter --to-an-aging-mother-
The most recent one was bread. baking.
Barbie began to secretly teach me to make bread.
People in wheelchairs, you have to be careful.
They often do something.
Over the years, I have witnessed the progress of Barbie MS.
She sometimes needs metal crutches after her sudden attack.
But still running around with an old orange mass bug, which is always full of dogs.
As she drove past, her long brown hair and the ears of many dogs flowed out of the window, and she was almost always in a good mood.
I don\'t usually like it on a person because I don\'t trust it.
In addition to the MS, she suffered some great losses. -
Her boyfriend has cancer and her brother who worships died in a plane crash. -
But she will still count her blessings out loud.
She felt the complaint was an insult to God: here she was alive, awake, able to drive, and three or four dogs, several cats, six birds, friends, A God Full of Love
Too much gratitude usually makes me a little crazy.
I secretly believe that people who talk about blessings are usually very angry, they don\'t say hello loudly when they pass you in your garden, they really want to throw bombs at you
But I don\'t mind Barbie because she is real and she has what I want: gratitude, so, happy.
And that great white bread. -
Tough and gentle at the same time.
You have to fight a bit to get the pillow.
Over time, her MS lost a little bit of power here, where coordination and control were lost.
Soon, she used metal crutches all the time, but still drove her old orange bug and the dogs in the back seat.
Then the cane gave way to the Walker, but somehow she was still driving, walking around, and then suddenly you never saw her near again.
So I started going to her house.
She was still cheerful and was walking around in a wheelchair with the dogs, cats and birds.
At any time, on the floor of the different rooms of the house, there are five bread machines running.
She\'s not just baking for me and other sober friends.
As she once said, maybe God and her brother absconded, but he or she gave her a Fire Department.
Firefighters at the local fire station are all male, and when she falls off her wheelchair and needs help getting up, they have responded differently;
They were called by her alarm clock button on the necklace.
Then, when she gets worse, they develop the habit of going to see her often.
\"Now I have a lot of brothers,\" she said . \"
She can no longer drive around and it is difficult to walk because her legs are often stiff due to cramps and must be folded up like the legs of the table.
So the firemen built her a wheelchair ramp and when she needed to see a doctor they would come over and help her get into someone else\'s car.
They brought her several bags of pet food and flour.
So she toast them.
The dough is always mixed or kneaded, raised or baked, and her house smells like the first week of creation: salt and water, yeast of life, the most basic of the Earth, feathers, seeds, fur, start, rot.
My theory is this: Barbie\'s body is so limited and uncomfortable in the world, but by baking, she was able to show the men and their soft warmth with the ideal bread.
She said, \"This is the best I can do.
I measured it and noticed that it is warm and it will fuel your great work.
Think about me when you eat.
\"This is the way to eat Barbie bread.
But the terrible thing is that when I went to see her last week, she didn\'t just give me a piece of her delicious bread.
She gave me a toaster.
Like I said I didn\'t really want this thing but she wanted me to have it so I took it away.
I think I can take it home and let it live and never-used ice-cream machine.
They might be roommates.
I decided to try it first, though, partly because I knew it would make her happy.
I bought all the ingredients and followed the most basic white-bread recipe.
I measured the water, the oil and the lemon juice and put them into the bread plate and the bread plate into a cabinet of fat size 1-1year-old child.
It\'s on my kitchen counter and looks like a cross between a dorm fridge and R2D2.
I added salt, dry milk, sugar, flour and yeast;
Close the lid, plug it in and turn it on.
Then, when my bread was baked, I lay on the sofa with a book.
I almost immediately heard a loud noise from the kitchen and went to investigate. TICKTICKTICK.
My bread machine sounds like there\'s a bomb inside, and I imagine Barbie is a terrorist, smiling slightly on the stairs.
I re-read the manual and wondered if I pushed the Knead blade in correctly.
I put my hand on the blade, went through all the puck and tightened it. I growled.
Ten minutes later, it was already a nightmare.
I\'m tipto on the toes and hope to get the best results.
I went back and patched some more and finally found out what was wrong ---
The bread pan was not pushed to the heating coil all the time.
I pushed it down and soon my machine made a low hum.
I was lying on the sofa and satisfied with myself.
Sam shouted from his room, \"are your bread ready ? \".
There was new noise in a few minutes.
If I hear this grinding in my car, I would assume the rear axle works loose.
The bread machine rumbles like a washing machine when the load is unbalanced.
A disgusting crash occurred: the bread machine died.
Sam tore it out of his room, and together we found the bread machine on the floor, dead, lying on one side of it, the bread pot nearby, and a round dough next to it, like a rejected organ.
Looks like suicide. R2-
Jack kewokean encouraged D2. \"Oh, my God!
\"Sam said, looking at me with broad eyes --
The eyes give an alarm, like, \"kid, will you be in trouble when mom comes home ? \".
\"Then he remembered that I was a mother. He covered his mouth as if he wanted to cover his scream. My self-
Hate bloom like time
Film of desert flower failure.
I asked, \"What should I do ? \"
\"Maybe you can still get it to work,\" he said rationally . \".
So I put it back on the counter and tried to put the lid back in.
It was so crooked that the lid was half hung. an-
Inch on the side of the box.
I loosened the screw and tried to re-align but not.
So even though the lid looked broken, I closed it and decided to try again to see where we were standing.
I have prepared a new batch of ingredients; plugged it in.
Two hours later, I had a chef. hat-
Bread in the shape of goldbrown bread.
You can put it on the cover of Sunset magazine.
I stood there excitedly staring, and I thought, \"I\'m bringing Barbie soon! \" God . . .
It\'s amazing: you have a pile of flour, some water, sugar, salt, and yeast, and you have a nourishing cloud in a few minutes.
From what looks like dirt and Ashes, there is a gift of life, wrapped in a scent as fresh as the mountain air.
\"Oh God,\" wrote the mysterious Rumi, \"turn me into a well --baked loaf.
\"Now, it turns out that bread is terrible.
It has almost no taste at all, and the texture may be more like sawdust than I thought.
Now, you didn\'t expect it to be fluffy and delicious, so there\'s another optimistic alchemy story on our hands because--I won\'t lie --
This is not the case.
Until I want to toast, butter and share it with Sam.
It is so, so good.