About six years ago around this time of year, Josh came home with a book and told me nervously that he thought I should get a hobby to distract me from treatments. A friend at work had told him how therapeutic bread-making could be and so he purchased what essentially amounted to a bread textbook.
I believe my exact words as I chucked it across the bed were, "I don't need a hobby, you motherfucker."
Yesterday, I took an hour of the morning for myself. I tried out a new bread recipe, the texture of sandwich bread with the taste of a rye.
It can be therapeutic; when the dough forms together and you've forced the yeast a bit with warm water and it is rolling into a small, tight ball beneath your hands.
When it is resting afterward, steam rising from the finished bread.
Thank you, Josh, for the hobby. Apologies that it took me so long to give you a proper thank you for the useful distraction. Apologies, also, for calling you a motherfucker.
I love you.