My hands move rhythmically, unconsciously, as I knead the dough. The sound of my daughter’s nonsense song floats through the kitchen as her little fingers poke and prod her own ball of dough. I remember my mother’s guiding hands when she taught me, the strength in her fingers, her sure movements. I remember her stories of my grandmother showing her and think of the generations of women leading to this moment. This one moment shared with my child, connecting us to the women before us and to each other. I help my daughter shape her roll and smile to myself.
28/4/2023 09:20:35 am
Boys can bake, too! A lovely snapshot of mother and child, sans cell phone, bonding. Nice one, Cathryn.
Rashna Tessa Walton
29/4/2023 09:59:23 pm
bread, the staff of life.
Sue Clayton
30/4/2023 04:03:56 am
Baking has always served to connect generations of women. And as Paul says, boys too now. Comments are closed.
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"Classic"
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