Bread and childlessness

I had an urge to bake this morning. Bread, specifically. I enjoy the way the yeast and water react, froth, the way the dough texture changes after kneading, or when it rises, and the smell of the bread as it is cooking. The kneading is not my main pleasure. Instead, I am fascinated by the different textures of the bread-making process. I think all baking is like that - from the creamed butter and sugar, changing when you add eggs, changing again with flour, and then heat. I remember one of the first things I learned to make at home with my mother. Hokey pokey, the kiwi word for honeycomb toffee. It was so exciting adding the baking soda to the sugar/golden syrup, and seeing the ingredients explode into a magical frothy mixture. It was the chemical reaction I found fascinating, as much as the taste of the end result. I feel the same way about bread.

I could get all philosophical and say that life is like that too. Put different ingredients together, or leave one out, and see what you get. But that isn't the point of this post. Today, I just want some room to complain a little. I wanted to bake bread. But I still had some of my favourite bread (Vogel's spelt and flaxseed) left, and don't like throwing it away. DH was out playing golf, so wouldn't be home for lunch. And there was no-one else to help me eat whatever I was going to make. So it would be a case of making something simply for fun. Which maybe would have been fine, though I was taught not to waste food (even though these days I do my fair share). I have the same quandary when I bake anything, but with the added issue of how unhealthy will it be. Maybe that's another reason I like baking bread!

That's the thing, isn't it? Even decisions over which bread am I going to make are influenced by the fact that I don't have children. Okay, I know realistically any kids I might have had might not be living at home any longer. But I could have had years of baking bread for them or with them before they set off for university or careers or travel or love. It makes me feel a little sad.

And right now, I'm allowing myself to feel that regret. But what I won't do is allow myself to stay sitting in it. So this afternoon or tonight, I'm going to prepare the no-knead bread that needs to sit for at least 12 hours overnight, and will bake it tomorrow for lunch. I've only made it once, so I want to try it again. It will be nice in a sandwich with tomato and salad and cheese, or maybe some ham, or perhaps with some soup. I'm sure my husband will want to toast it. And over a few days, I'm pretty sure we will be able to devour the loaf. If it comes out okay, that is. Of course, there's no reason to assume that it won't. And there you have it - maybe bread-baking is a metaphor for life after all.

#Microblog Mondays: (More) Miscellaneous

I’ve been working on a number of longer posts (watch this space), and so haven’t posted mid-week this week, and didn’t have a pithy eight-sentence post ready for today either. Clearly, my plan to write a blog schedule has gone by the wayside, but hopefully you’ll see some evidence of my labours soon.

It’s my mother-in-law’s birthday on Wednesday, and I plan to bake her a birthday cake. I don’t get to bake birthday cakes for my never-born children, or for any nieces and nephews, so I’m quite happy to do it for my elderly in-laws. I’m thinking a lemon layer cake - because she lost a lot of her tastebuds several years ago with radiation treatment, but can still taste tart citrus flavours - but first I need to find a good recipe, and must remember to make sure I have the right pans before I start.

I am finally able to start thinking about where we might travel next, possibly in November or December when my husband’s contract will have ended. There are advantages to being unencumbered by the need to provide a memorable Christmas for any children, or to travel only during school holidays. Anyone have any suggestions of good destinations at that time of year?

Those unwanted reminders

Last night, I opened up Facebook, and saw photos of my friend’s sons, as her eldest headed off for his first day at high school. He is the same age (give or take a month) as my great-nephew. I was pregnant, briefly, at the same time as their mothers, 13 years ago.

I’m not often floored by photos, or stories. I actually love knowing or talking with these boys – though I know one much better than the other – and seeing them grow. Occasionally I think about the fact that we could have a son (or daughter) the same age. But that thought comes only as a theoretical reminder, and doesn't bring pain with it. I don't let it.

But for some reason last night - perhaps because it is on the eve of my wedding anniversary that my husband and I will today celebrate on our own - I was struck by what we could have had, and what we don’t. Emotionally, and completely unexpectedly, it bowled me over.

Though it will pass, too. This I know.

#MicroblogMondays: Out of place

A holiday, however short, is a time away from home, where the problems of life, however large or small might be, don't follow us, and although we know they're still there, we also know we can't do anything about them when we are away. So we try to forget about them, relax, let our shoulders and feel burdens lift, and focus on the present. When we don't have children, travelling can be a blissful escape, helping us forget that we are a little different.

However, we've just spent a week in one of New Zealand's most popular summer holiday regions, a peninsula lined with beautiful beaches and bays, lush bush (forests), and clear waters. Tiny communities see their population swell tenfold over the Christmas/New Year break, as kiwis flock to the beaches, to the camping grounds and baches, but we had strategically planned our visit to occur before the school year had ended.

As we often do, my husband and I debated (hypothetically) the merits of investing in a bach or holiday home, whether we'd choose one right on the beach, or high on a cliff with spectacular views of the bays and islands. As usual, we came to the conclusion that with kids, it would be a blissful paradise, with long, easy, happy summer days as the children swam or explored or played beach or backyard cricket with all the other kids in the area. But without children - or even lots of nieces and nephews - we realised we would be out of place here, too.

A nice place to enjoy an ice-cream, with or without children.

Pleasure (and pain) in the little things

Sometimes, when we least expect it, we realise that maybe we’re missing out on something small that gives us pleasure. I was struck by this recently in a stationery store. It was the start of the school year, and there were notepads and exercise books galore - heavily discounted, and tempting me with their empty pages. I bought one exercise book. Yes, a paltry, measly ONE. I delighted in the cost … 49 cents! I felt a tiny twinge that as I didn’t have any children, I had no excuse to buy dozens. Then I moved on.

You can read more about my stationery fetish here on ASeparate Life.

#MicroblogMondays: No Kids to Promote

One of the things I miss about not having children is not having activities to support, sports to watch and cheer from the sidelines, music lessons and practice to supervise. But on the plus side, I don’t have to hit up friends and relatives and neighbours for fund-raising for Plunket, for the schools or sports teams or overseas trips. I don’t have to sell raffle tickets or Girl Guide biscuits, or the fund-raising chocolates that seem these days to be ubiquitous in workplaces. I don't inundate my friends here or on Facebook with these fund-raising requests, or ball photos or bragging about sports teams or exam results or what they cooked me for breakfast on Mother's Day. I don't get to do any of that.

So when I saw that the daughter of a friend of mine was involved in a campaign, I decided I should support her. I’ve only ever used my blog one other time to try to garner support for someone doing something I believed in. So I’ll keep it short and sweet. But you can read more about Maddie and her campaign here.

Please indulge me just this once.