This is your Loaf

Eventually I knew that I would have to write a blog entry about celiac disease. After all, May is Celiac Awareness Month and I am an exclusive member of the celiac club, four years running.
I came upon this unfortunate autoimmune disease quite by accident and since that time have cursed it, fought it, denied it, and eventually come to accept it, although not necessarily in that order.
I really don't know how long I had the disease or how I came to get it in the first place but the realization that I would have to give up bread as I knew and loved it, left me feeling sad and forlorn...like the creeping awareness of the loss of childhood innocence.
Long before I came to learn about Buddhism or meditation, I found bread making to be a very soothing past-time. I didn't do it often but when I did, it was an event and a ritual that always left me peaceful and feeling connected to the present moment and to my past. Since I come from hearty, Mennonite stock, bread making is part of my DNA, an undeniable genetic imprint from my ancestry. I could scarcely resist its tantalizing pull. As I would calmly assemble the ingredients and equipment to begin the process, I could swear I heard approving words whispered from the cosmos. From the moment that the yeast begins to proof to the sensual and therapeutic kneading of the dough, to the rising and baking and finally the reward of sinking your teeth into the first warm slice slathered with real butter, I knew that this was pure magic and I was a High Priestess of Alchemy.
One of my most treasured gifts from my husband one Christmas, was a massive book entitled, The Complete Book of Breads. This was the bible of bread making and I pored over each word drinking in the descriptions of the process and marveling over the variability of the recipes. One of my favourite paragraphs:
"Baking is a relaxed art. There is no step in the process that cannot, in some way, be delayed or moved ahead just a bit, to make it more convenient to fit a busy schedule. If the dough you are shaping gets stubborn, pulls back, and refuses to be shaped (as is its nature), walk away from it for a few minutes. It will relax and so will you."
And I did relax, although I seldom needed to walk away. What really hurt was having to walk away from the whole of the art, and with it, the beauty of the end product. Bread is life and that life was over.
Now I know you may be thinking, "Pull up your boot-straps, Girl and stop feeling sorry for yourself! Get out there and tame that gluten-free beast!" And believe me, I have...muffins, cookies, cakes, even perogies have been owned by me. But, Bread! Oh, Bread...thou elusive trickster! I have yet to create a gluten-free counterpart worthy of that title.
So, this morning as with most other mornings, I pull a stump of GF "loaf" from the freezer, slap it in the toaster for not one, but two turns on high, and after spreading some highfalutin jam on it to mask its inferior texture, crunch my way through, joylessly. All the while, in my head, I am cooing to my small intestine, passive-aggressive phrases like,
"I do this because your health is more important to me than my taste buds."
"Thrive, undulate, and absorb, my precious cilia!"

Forsaken but never forgotten, the subtle and satisfying art of wheat flour bread making.
This post is my cathartic tribute.