I didn’t get out to the broom company. That didn’t happen.
What did happen was I realized there are a few projects I want to accomplish this year. One of them is baking bread.
Specifically I want to bake a loaf of bread a week. From scratch. No bread machine, just the oven. I want to do this every week until it becomes as natural as breathing. I want to do it until I don’t even have to glance at the recipe; until I just know.
And I want to do this with gluten-free flours, until I find the just right recipe that makes a moist, fluffy loaf of GF bread. I know it’s out there. I just have to discover it.
You’re wondering what this has to do with religion. Why I’m blogging about it for PBP.
I am too, truth be told. There’s something there, something not quite tangible, that I can’t really wrap my tongue around.
Something about the breaking of bread and the symbolism behind it. Something about how bread is made with earth, air, water, and fire. Something about the gods, and harvest, and bounty and abundance.
I cannot find the words at this moment, but I know deep in my soul that baking bread will be a religious exercise for me as much as it will be a secular one.
I will bake bread for the gods, for my ancestors, for myself, and in the action and the communion, I will find nourishment.