I made bread last night. Well, I set it to rise last night and baked it today for Sunday lunch. It was good. There’s nothing like homemade bread. I don’t often make it, but when I do, I like it. Aside from feeling like a superior homemaker, I just like to get my hands in the flour and play around. I always cross my fingers when the yeast is rising, and try not to peek till it’s doubled, which proves that it is indeed “active.” The arms get a workout too, stirring in all that flour till the mixture forms “a soft and shaggy dough.” But my favourite part is kneading. All 8-10 minutes of it. There’s something about the rhythm which puts my mind at ease. I feel like I am really and truly making something, something wholesome and worthwhile. I am coaxing the goodness out. There is an immense satisfaction when I have turned it into a smooth ball of anticipation. Smooth and resilient. Hmnn. Those words stick in my head. That’s what dough has to be before it can become good bread. It has to make you smile. I think I will need more than 8-10 minutes before I become soft and resilient. Fortunately God’s arms do not get tired. I wonder if he likes kneading too.