Bread without a B or Love


I notice that removing the B from the word Bread, is my second favorite daily practice, to read before rising from my bed after a good night’s sleep. Many times, it is to read The SUN – this month’s poem In the Middle is fitting for me as a golden girl in love with Dave for six months, having met while swimming laps in Skaneateles Lake, after eating my favorite slice of hot pizza – garlic – bread.

The garlic bread I prepare for my first-born daughter, Erin’s’ 50th birthday dinner is insignificant compared to the “lasagna with love” I create from scratch. The bread is made by Wegmans. The lasagna is mixed on my stove, layered into a heart-shaped pan I recently bought at an estate sale. I am surprised how happy and pleased I feel to be cooking a full meal, as it has been some years now.

It is a well-worn saying that one cannot live by bread alone. Yet I drive daily to Wegmans for my favorite morning eats, a fresh hot bagel, not needing any condiments. Not even spread with butter which I love. Sometimes, I arrive too late or too early for the 27 grain, sesame, poppy, blueberry, or cinnamon-raisin bagel to be hot out of the oven; the bakers have seen me for years, and most are happy to warm up my choice of the day.

Wearing Covid-19 masks makes it difficult to eat while in the store; still, I sneak my mask down for a warm bite. And replace. Bite. And replace. Bite. And replace.