kneading the dough

Everyone has something they do when they're mulling things over.

I have a friend who walks. She straps on her shoes, tosses on a jacket and loses herself in thought. And frequently finds herself in the next county, on backroads that don't look familiar in the gathering dusk. But somewhere, in these voyages, she finds a calming that carries into her everyday life - something amazing that keeps that serenity forefront in her mind even when things get hairy.

My grandfather creates. He'll wrestle with his problems for awhile, and then sooner or later he'll take out his paints, and my grandmother will find gorgeous and detailed works of art on her dining room table the next morning. And the frown-lines will have left his forehead.

In high school and college I could write out my frustrations. I could solve almost anything with words. I thought better on paper than I could speak. That trait has gone dormant now, lost in a life that allows it little free rein, so now.....

I make bread.

When fears and questions arise to taunt me in the wee hours of the morning, I climb carefully over my sleeping husband, go down to the kitchen and lose myself in some mixing and blending, some chopping and shaping. If Bear wakes up, he'll find me in the kitchen, surrounded by loaves and the sweet smell of yeast, and he'll say only 'Ah.' Then he'll kiss me, and leave me to it - I worry better alone.

He knows by the breakfast brioche the next morning that everything is right again in my world.

What helps you think?