White Bread and other Glories

Alas. There are no mating slugs in NC and so you will have to endure yet another dry post from a very dryyyyy part of the country.



In other news, the Husband and I are contemplating running away from home. Far away. As in another continent. The Husband has a 12-week internship next summer (Coming Soon! Whining Wife Whinges about Where the Husband Went Without Her!) and the internship tends to sway where you land your first job so while we still can, we are dreaming. And we're dreaming in the vicinity of Geneva, Switzerland. The Husband has always wanted to live overseas for a while and The Wife has wanted to leave her country far far behind for quite some time and live a glamorous life in Europe, so this could work out well. Or it could be The Husband working a lot and the Wife whining that she has the same old life she had in the states, but in a more beautiful place. Go figure.



We had dinner with the family yesterday. And blessings rained down from heaven in the form of homemade bread (made by the Mom of the Wife). I love white bread, especially homemade white bread, with a love that cannot be named and even if it could be named it would be beyond the reckoning of mere mortals. Salman Rushdie wrote a truly brilliant essay on white bread, you can read it here. It comes closest to communicating my own love of white bread.


I wonder sometimes what it says about me that I'm listening to Matisyahu's Youth continuously and day-dreaming about white bread toast and the hills being alive in Switzerland.

Hmmm. Maybe it would be better not to over-analyze that too much.