my ode to Edith Bunker

on morning like these, i don my apron, flour my nose and prance around the kitchen as if i were Edith Bunker. Aiden watches me get domestic, greasing pans, kneading dough, kissing my husband, calling him ‘dear’ and sipping my cup of coffee. and for a moment, i wonder if i could be content as a house-wife. but then, that moment passes as wings of white morning flap against the window like a moth, and i find myself typing with flour-fingers trying to capture those wings while the bread burns.

there are Edith Bunkers in the world. all-in-the-family women. beautiful, floury women with warm ovens and golden loaves of bread. then, there are Emily Wierengas, constantly drawn to the written word while loaves turn black, dust gathers and mothballs collide. (oh, i clean, but only in order to create a space in which to make chaos.)

so if you find yourself in this neck of the neighbourhood, i can offer you a piece of burnt bread and a tidy spot amidst my chaotic life. but forgive me if, when a shaft of light hits the curve of your neck, i have to sit down at my computer and type.


1 Comment

  1. Teneale said,

    February 9, 2010 at 2:32 am

    I think I might just be an Edith Bunker…though not quite as neat. I too am drawn to the written word…but to read it…and this often keeps me from cleaning the bathroom, doing the dishes and my all time least favorite…vacuuming. I did make some pretty nice golden loaves the other day though. Love you

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