Firsts

Yesterday, Jacob rode his bike to Highland Park by himself (from my parent's place, which is three blocks away).

Alabama Getaway

How ya'll doin? We just got back from four excruciating days in Birmingham, Alabama. Don't get me wrong, we had a great getaway, but it was hard to get past the stark fact that we were in ALABAMA. This is not a state I have ever aspired to go to. When I asked the concierge, who was in his 70s, about the Civil Rights Institute, he preceded to hand me a map and point out all the shopping centers in Birmingham. In his drawl, he said something about how these are all the spots the "ladies" like to visit. Perhaps he didn't hear me ask about the Civil Rights Institute?

Why Does The Sun Always Have To Shine On Me?

Add irritated tone, exact quote from my 10-year-old son at 8:54 a.m. Tuesday morning.

Short answer:
"When we are driving north, the sun is rising in the east and you are sitting on the east side of the car."

Why Does The Sun Always Have To Shine On Me?

With irritation, exact quote from my 10-year-old son.

Power of a Dish Towel

I had the weirdest memory this morning. I got up at 5:30 a.m. to bake challah for tonight. The recipes says to cover the bowl with saran wrap and a clean dish towel. I remember my Bubba baking and covering her dough with a dish towel. I suddenly felt a strong connection to the past and to another generation. I have vague memories of watching her work with dough. I think she baked yeast doughs fairly often. I wonder what she was thinking while she was doing it. Did it bring her pleasure to bake for her family? Did it relax her? Did she even think while she was doing it? Did she have a motivation? I never felt like I knew my mother's mother. She always seemed vaguely dissatisfied, or maybe not so vaguely dissatisfied. Maybe just unhappy. I think she had a very sad life. Whatever the case may be, I like to think she found some pleasure in making the dough and baking for her family.