(You have to admit, bananas are a lot more fun to look at–and to hoist onto the shoulders of playmobil soldiers–than banana bread…)
My parents have just moved into a new house, in a new town (our town!), after having grown up in one place, the same place that their parents grew up in. In the last few weeks they’ve cleaned out closets, scrubbed floors, directed movers, signed papers–so many papers–given away gads and gads of things, explained their thoughts to their friends, been begged not to leave, and left all the same.
Here they are. And they will be in flux for a long while, with their new house already under construction, and most of their things in storage. And my dad–all he really wants–is to rush down to the feed shop and buy some chickens.
We had them over for dinner, because it’s important that they eat in the midst of all this flux. And while dinner was cooking, banana bread was baking, because I knew they needed breakfast the next morning and all they had in their makeshift kitchen was grape juice and pickles.
I am extremely excited to live in the same town as my generous parents. They really are the epitome of giving people and there is much that I can learn from them. Since I was 18 I’ve been on the move, living in Europe, and in the Bay Area, and in Colorado. What a treat to have such beautiful people right down the street!
My dad was a baker by trade, so I’ll let you know what he thinks of my bread, since he’ll have more occasions now to try it now. But the banana bread, whether it was good or not, it was fun to send them home to their new rooms, their new house where the chickens will eventually reside, and know that at least they’d have something for breakfast.