Today I awoke knowing that it was "the 10th day."
This meant that in addition to a staff training in the morning, an afternoon meeting, coffee with a Irene and a late interview, I had Amish Friendship Bread duties to perform.
My "bag on the counter" took up residence the night Ellen planted it here in mid January, and it has grown to be like a benign family pet, being squeezed and "burped" and fed regularly. My friend Alex asked me what it was that was growing in there and I had to admit that I didn't really know.
As each 10th day dawns, I no longer think first of what I need to accomplish that day. Oh no; now it is all about where I am going and who I can give one of my 3 extra "bread-baby" bags to.
This morning, I had to hustle before leaving for work to get the blobs of bread batter divided up. Imagine my perplexity when I found that I had used my last large Ziploc bag and forgotten to buy more! That slowed me down for a minute, but I had medium bags so I used those. As I handed them out to my bemused victims at the staff training, I admonished them to buy bigger bags--I told them that they were going to need them.
Pondering this caused me to consider buying shares in a certain company that makes these plastic bags. I've been listening to the audio book, The Tipping Point, by Malcolm Gladwell, and so I've learned that seemingly unrelated small things can cause epidemics, reductions in crime rates and rocketing sales.
The sale of plastic bags must be going through the ceiling about now, not to mention sales of instant pudding, one of the ingredients in the final product.
On Sunday my clever daughter-in-law Sue, informed me that she knew how to start the bread batter. I was stunned. "Do you mean that it's not true that 'Only the Amish know' like it says on the recipe?" I asked.
When she told me how she had figured it out, I felt rather amazed at my own lack of deductive reasoning powers.
I also felt a bit of loss. The mystery was gone, rather like when a child discovers that Santa Claus is really their parent. Now I was no longer compelled to keep the blob in the bag alive. I could create another whenever I wanted to.
For now, I have no plans to kill my bread offspring; it's really quite delicious. But it is nice to know that if my freezer overflows and my friends begin to run when they see me coming, I can call Amish Friendship Bread Anonymous and break the cycle of addiction.
And there is a method in the mystery. If everyone made their own; who would we give our multiplying bags away to?