The little woman you see in this picture is not alone.... not alone at all.
Hovering over the kneading of the bread right over her left shoulder is the most wonderful mother.
She just happens to be across the country, experiencing the same grey, drizzly day we've had here in San Jose.
Mommy, I could feel you near with every move as I made the bread you've been making since we were too little to appreciate it...
the bread I salivate about when I tell friends how sweet and cake-like it is (my mouth is watering just writing about it!!)
The very loaves that mean Christmas, birthdays, Valentine's Day and Thanksgiving all rolled into one:
I remember you speaking to me in December as I mixed in your kitchen,
telling me not to be afraid of the dough, feeling the slight breeze you left as you bustled right and left behind me, preparing ten things at once, all destined for incredibly happy palates.
You are such a wizard in the kitchen: I cannot believe it took ten years out of college, but over the past year I've been well-bitten by the nesting bug, and I find great peace and solace in a good kitchen:
I can't wait to share this space with you at the City Manse: it's incredible!
Your words whispered to me as I kneaded, finding a rhythm that felt right. It felt like meditation... like I could maybe solve world peace over a sturdy kitchen island.
Or at least inner peace :)
I love you more, Mommy.
No, more than that: I knew you longer.