Many of my earliest memories involve sitting on my family's kitchen counter. It seemed life happened in the kitchen. The cooking, the baking, the endless stream of dishes and homework papers my mother corrected while she was doing the cooking, baking and dishes!
I wasn't (thankfully now, and resentfully then) one of those kids that grew up on WonderBread. My mother made every single loaf we consumed. Usually, this took place once a month on the weekends, a grand ordeal indeed.
While she spent hours flouring, mixing, kneading, rolling etc... I did the same up on the counter.
She had bought me my own little baking set, and would always give me what I needed to make my own bread (or cookies or whatever). I sat up there, mimicked everything she did--with some artistic liberties of course-- and by the end of the hours, edible or not, had made some bread (or cookies or whatever!)
As time went on, she also taught me what the different ingredients did, the difference between baking soda and powder for example. I got pretty darn good at the cooking/baking thing and on my 12th birthday, was honored the title of "Weekend Breakfast Chef" when I got my own waffle iron.
The time I spent on that counter and in that kitchen made me appreciate a whole lot. I loved the sound of sifting flour, the feeling of dusting the counter with it. I liked knowing by touch that the dough was right, or if I'd overworked it. I loved looking over at my mother, flour on her face and oven mitts in her hand as I debated with her which loaf had a hair in it (one always did!)
Ultimately though, the greatest gift my mother shared with me was the art of CREATION. Taking a bunch of small parts and making a wonderful whole. Then, taking those same small parts, combining them differently, and making a completely different whole! What joy and triumph I felt when that oven opened up and wonderful golden-topped loaves came out and I could say: I MADE THAT!!! I was responsible for the satisfied sighs as warm bread and melting butter did the same on our tongues.
I don't remember every recipe we made, or every conversation we had, but I DO remember the feeling of satisfaction of creating something with my mother, and I truly thank her for "creating" those memories with me.
Oh, and by the way...although I appreciate them, I don't think I'll ever buy a bread machine--in my world, an oven and bread pan equal love.
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