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336 pages, Paperback
First published November 5, 2013
“…Oma’s (hair) with streaks of soot gray where her youth has burned away” K.L. 333.
“Seamus looks smaller. His size hasn’t changed, but the layer of pride we all have beneath our skin, the one reminding us how well we care for our own, that has lost some of its girth” K.L. 909.
"all of us with pieces missing, all of us starfish, but instead of regenerating our amputated parts we've replaced them with one another".I borrowed this book from the library on my kindle, but may be tempted to purchase the book itself for the recipes.
"What is so mystical about bread that superstitions follow from the moment man conceived it to this very day? The wheat, from the ground. The yeast, from the air. The dough, alive, breathing, growing, giving itself up for the people. The gods find it acceptable, the priests use it in their rituals, the magicians want to harness its power. And yet what goes into bread is common, vulgar even, available to anyone who will pick and grind and create fire to bake.
Sacred and profane."
"What is it about this stuff? All of it. The flour, the dough, the loaves. It's like there are magnets in it, and in me. I have to touch it."
I know. When my hands are in dough, something deep and primordial can hear the voice of God, calling me forth from the earth. It is very good. Grain from the ground, made dust. Man from the dust. The kneading reconnects both, bringing me back to Eden in a way I've never encountered at any church service.
"It's like it's -"
"Spiritual," I say."
"This is what Pastor Ryan means when he preaches on community, all of us with pieces missing, all of us starfish, but instead of regenerating our amputated parts we've replaced them with one another."
"Do everything as if unto the Lord. Offer up everything as if for the Lord, including jars of olives to the food pantry or leftover loaves of bread. Years later, that's finally how I make sense of it, where it settles out for me. If Jesus knocks on my door today, will I rummage through my home and give him the food I don't like, the outgrown jackets with stains and a broken zipper, the dirty Crock-Pot in the basement, the one with the chipped lid and mice nesting inside I've yet to find time to toss into the Salvation Army's dumpster?"