Spoiled

Last night, as I went to turn off the lights in the kitchen before heading upstairs to bed, I paused and looked around me.

The dishwasher was loaded to the brim, soap in its place, timer set to start washing deep in the night, where the sound would not disturb us and we'd awake to clean dishes in the morning.

The face of new carafe-less coffee pot also glowed, the timer light green, waiting for 6:30 a.m. to roll around to automatically brew our coffee, so it awaited us, too, upon our morning descent.

And, finally, an extra special treat (as if those two weren't enough), the automatic bread machine had been filled with flour, yeast, water, and a few other tasty ingredients and the timer on it too was set so that the smell of fresh baked bread would wake us in the morning, wafting upstairs to greet us in our beds.

And I was humbled by these conveniences, these luxuries.  So very humbled.  We are wealthy beyond measure in many senses of the world.

And I thought about my Grandma B.'s homemade bread and knew, no matter how great the convenience of waking up to fresh bread, it would come no where near to being as good as hers.

Conveniences have their place, but they are by no means the best way many times.  Hard work renders greater rewards.  Getting your hands dirty almost always ensures a better outcome.

It's good to be reminded of that in our convenience-driven, instant-gratification, sterile society.

To my Grandma's homemade bread...