Moderation

Today’s word for reflection today will be MODERATION.

This word does not actually exist in my vocabulary… well… it exists… I just don’t know how to use it.

Example:  Today’s challenge was banana bread.  Not just one loaf.  Oh no--------- can’t do just one!  If we’re gonna do something, we are going to go all the way.

First, I must preface this with the explanation that I do not cook. I am seriously unable to function in the realm of the kitchen.  So, last night I begin planning (actually the planning started three days ago with a trip to the grocery for flour, sugar, eggs, etc.)  Anyway--- I took my bananas from the freezer, carefully counting them; I needed twelve.  Did I mention that I don’t do math either?  This morning when I went to peel them I was one short.  Not surprising.  I pop a frozen one in the microwave to thaw, praying that it doesn’t explode.

I make some coffee, crank my radio to some good old rock-n-roll and let the party begin.

I proceed.  I figure if I have to go to the trouble of dragging out all the tools for the task I might as well double the recipe.

That was my first mistake.

Does anyone know JUST HOW MASSIVE A NINE CUP pile of flour is????  Add the fact that I can’t add… well… you get the picture.

The recipe said to ‘cream’ the butter & sugar.  Cream?  What exactly does that mean?  Can I do that by hand? Ummm…NO.  Now I must rearrange my counter and drag my mixer out (also known as The Devil Machine).

I transfer to the bowl (too small.)  I go to the laundry room, drag my ladder out and climb to the top shelf and drag out the Holy Big Red Tupperware Emergency Bowl.  Whew!

Mix, pour, grease--- which is a whole other issue--- CRISCO?  Really?  Who needs hand moisturizer when you have to plunge your hands into the Crisco can.  Ewwwwwww.

I mix.  I stir.  I cuss.  I sweat.  I look up to Heaven and say ‘Why me, Lord?’ I step back to look at –technical term here- My Massive Bowl of Goo.  All I have in my head is the vision of a scene from the Ray Romano show where Frank comes in the room and says “Holy Crap.”

How am I going to get THAT stuff from the bowl into the baking pan?  Soup ladle?  Measuring cup? Bare hands?  The latter is definitely not an option, because I am not touching The Goo.

Finally, I get my courage up, grab a spoon and begin to slop (another technical term) The Goo into the pans.  Holy Cow--- not enough pans.  Now what?  I rummage and find two more.  I have to re-plunge my hands into Crisco and repeat the moisturizing procedure.

I now have eight loaves happily baking in the oven with two more waiting their turn. 

I post to my Facebook that somewhere long ago there must have been a cave man who told his woman to go out into the wilderness, pick some bananas, grind some wheat, go to the salt plain, build a fire and cook.  That man is one lucky dude not to have me as his woman!

Moderation.

Don’t have it, don’t think I ever will.  I have two speeds.  All or nothing.  Happy or sad, black or white, right or wrong, hot or cold.  There is no in between.  We all have disabilities; some of them are just invisible.

As I sit and write this the aroma of fresh bread wafts through the house.  Ah--- life is good.  I told myself yesterday for Lent I would give several hours of my day to domestic duties.  It’s been frenzy but it is accomplished.  I have triumphed over my kitchen.  Battle won.

Jesus stands over me this morning, chuckling, I’m just sure of it, as He watches His child in the mad dash of the life of his beloved child.  I smile.  Let’s just hope I read the recipe correctly and in order and that it tastes good.