Today I am soaking chick peas, waiting for bread to rise, waiting for laundry loads to wash and dry, waiting for a child to go to sleep and waiting for him to wake up again, waiting for Attic Man to come home and waiting for my mother-in-law’s visit.
So much of domestic work is about patience. I am experimenting with low-yeasted breads in a cool house and am finding longer rise times–three hours or more!–yield better-tasting loaves. I am learning that chick peas make snapping sounds as they soak, which one only learns in a quiet house during naptime.
I learned about the chick peas while I was paying bills, and it occured to me as I very happily for the first time in months was able to pay everything in full, on time, that so much patience is required, and that what happens while bread is rising and chick peas are snapping and checks are en route is faith. It can be worry, too, and anguish, but it can be quiet faith. That is hard. I am not there yet. Being able to pay those bills and pulling a beautiful loaf out of the oven can help future waits fill up with faith rather than anxiety, but each time it is as if the world is starting over again and it can be hard to remember that yeast can be trusted.
so can therapy. so can friends. so can water in chick peas.
when will I learn?
The picture is just beautiful. I love the feeling of having set things in motion and knowing that they will come to a fruitful result. Those days when the housework is humming hold promise for me. I haven’t had many lately, but I remember them being pleasant.