It’s after midnight. I just baked a loaf of banana bread, and I do believe these wee small hours might be where I will find my baking self again.
I mashed the bananas in my hand mixer, and I’m not sure if that’s how you’re supposed to mash bananas. I filled the ceramic bread pan instead of the metal. I used shortening and added a teaspoon of water. I washed the dishes when I was finished.
And I danced myself around the kitchen to the tunes of Lennon and Maisy. And I drank water from a long stemmed wineglass.
It seemed appropriate to bake something, to fill my home with a sweet-smelling gift to my family. To myself.
It’s Father’s Day.
“I won’t say I’ll never love, but I don’t say a lot of things.
And you, my love, are gone.” ~ Ingrid Michaelson