Have you ever attended a funeral and wished that you had known the deceased a little better after hearing them eulogized as "practically perfect in every way"? It's very unpopular to mention the faults of the deceased, or allude to their shortcomings and annoying habits, so life sketches are typically full of superlatives and praise. That's what we want to hear and I certainly hope the trend continues until I make my exit.
Likewise, as time passes, memories tend to gradually evolve from reality to imagination. We are all guilty of this and I like to think of it as a form of forgiveness and love, rather than an intention to deceive or bend the truth.
To be fair, occasionally it becomes necessary to "set the record straight".
In all honesty, and without any imaginative stretch of memory, my mom, Coila Ethel Speas McCracken, was "practically perfect in every way". It's true.
I was recently asked:
"Did she really bake
18 large loaves of bread at a time?"
Hmmm ... I didn't know the answer, although I did recall the ever present smell of homemade bread, huge thick soft slices with nice chewy crusts, counter tops lined with dough rising in aluminum pans and a chest freezer stacked to the brim with bagged loaves.
But, since I couldn't be sure and my memory was unreliable on the number question, I contacted a more reliable source who replied:
- "I'd say 10 loaves when making white bread, 6 loaves when making raisin bread - but sometimes made both in the same day. Throw in a batch of cinnamon rolls and 18 sounds like a fair equivalent."
(Thanks to Sandi for the tally.)
So, to set the record perfectly straight, 18 large loaves of bread may be a slight enhancement fueled by aromatic memories.
In the interest of making the picture completely accurate - there was no bread maker or Bosch to knead the dough in my mom's kitchen. Her hands
moved in perfect rhythm
as she worked
- Heel, push, fold, turn; heel, push, fold, turn, repeat, repeat, repeat...
She was not satisfied to grab a handful of dough and smash it into the pan. The dough was carefully rolled into pillows and pinched on the ends to make a nice smooth even loaf without too many big yeast bubbles.
Please don't feel inadequate if I throw in a couple more facts.
As the bread was pulled from the oven, the tops were lathered with butter which was also homemade. To start the butter making process, the milk from our very own cow was first run through a separator to extract the rich cream.
I'm elated to have Mom's butter churn on my kitchen shelf, where it is a great decorative conversation piece. It makes its way down from the shelf at least once a year (to be dusted).
After the butter was churned it was made into a perfect rectangle in a mold very similar to this one.
Oh, did I mention the homemade freezer jam made from strawberries out of the garden?
The record is now officially accurate as far as I know, so as you can see, my mom was pretty amazing!
