Finding the Magic

Most days I dwell happily and contentedly in the glow of optimism and gratitude. On these days I can easily find the silver lining and my glass is always at least half full.  The sun's rays miraculously find their way into my heart while I follow the yellow brick road.

There are, however, days when it seems that the yellow brick road leads to the cliff's edge, and the winds blow hard and cold as I cling to the narrow precipice as I struggle with the next step.  The storm comes up fast and furious and I wish that someone could tell me how long I will have to hang on, because the thought of bracing myself indefinitely is completely overwhelming. 

Rustic Italian Bread

I have seen more than one of these stormy days in the last week, and while there is always a part of me that knows that this too shall pass and the sun will once again grace my path, the daily struggles seem enormous.  My hermit-like tendencies become intensified as each day I do my best to put one foot in front of the other until it is once again time to be wrapped in the arms of Morpheus and look for some solace.

While I usually stay out of the kitchen and do as little cooking as possible on these days, there are times when some good old fashioned back to basics cooking is just what the doctor ordered.  Today, I ventured into the kitchen to get up close and personal with some hand made therapy and bake some bread.

Bread making is a wonderfully meditative and peaceful seclusion that taps into some ancient wisdom of the soul.  Bread making helps me find the magic again.  

The magic starts with the yeast.  Mix a little warm, sweet, water with some tiny balls of yeast and I am mesmerized by each lovely little bead of yeast as it comes to life, exploding into a bubbly and frothy concoction filled with promise.  I can't seem to pull myself away from the bowl, watching with the enthusiasm of a young child.  It always seems a shame to add the flour and end the show.

Fortunately, kneading the dough gives immense pleasure as well.  But now, instead of visual joy, I switch to tactile joy, as the dough is magically transformed into a silky, elastic ball of goodness.  By the time the dough is ready for its first rise, my mood is somehow lighter, and I can see the sun shining through the front window, eagerly searching me out.

Of course, the magic reaches its ultimate climax as the smell of freshly baked bread fills the house and we all eagerly wait for the golden loaf to cool just enough to tear open and become intimately acquainted with some farm fresh butter.  The crunch of the crust and the satisfying chewiness of the interior of the Italian Rustic loaf somehow make the storm of the week seem a distant memory.  As I eat the gloriously simple and divinely delicious concoction, I can somehow connect to a past life in some far off French village where the daily baking was done in the communal hearth in the center of the village as the villagers shared the weight and the joys of daily life.

With the sun fully in my face, I am once again content with the world.  Cooking is truly good for the soul!