Summer Afternoon

Yesterday, I found my grandma’s handwritten bread recipe. I traced the near-perfect swirls of her prize-winning penmanship, recalling that she wrote it down for me after giving a hands-on baking lesson.

“Use your palm’s heel to press down to knead—two risings. And don’t forget the best part—share that bread warm from the oven, slathered with butter, with someone you love.”

Wondering if my hands, thirty years later, would still remember how to knead the dough, I added yeast to my grocery list. Then I invited my newly engaged daughter over to make Grandma’s bread with me on Saturday afternoon.