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By the end of the afternoon we run out of flour and send Dad
to the store. He hauls a 50 pound bag on
his shoulder and mutters something about General Mills stock. We run out of
Crisco the following morning and are again low on flour. That evening, The Nightly
Business Report has a story on sudden, inexplicable increase in demand of flour
on world market which sent General Mills stock skyrocketing. The U.S.
blames the artificial shortage on China . China
blames the U.S.
on price gouging of Crisco. Russians remain uninvolved fearing they might tip the scale. The United Nations calls for an emergency session
to discuss the crisis. Al Gore says it’s
all because of the global warming.
In meanwhile, my mother-in-law and I are snowed in, wading
through three feet of flour in her kitchen. Not only is she not deterred. She seems positively energized by all the
ways I've taught her how NOT to work the pie dough. When the 34th batch got thrown into the garbage, she started taking notes. I think she is planning on publishing a
book titled 368 Ways to Ruin a Perfect Batch of Dough. I don’t know if I
should be proud or embarrassed that my name will be in the credits. I hope we recuperate some of the cost from the sales of the book. She laughs at me and says that I worry too much and that it's all worth it.
My mother-in-law is not the only one learning. I too am
discovering a lot. Even I am amazed that the mastery of basics – three simple ingredients
in all – can contain so many screw-ups. But, with every failure I feel like I am making progress... I feel I am an inch… well, a
fraction of a millimeter – closer to something borderline edible.
I can’t explain it, but it seems like the
more I fail, the more hope I receive. It's really weird. And have no idea where it’s all coming from.
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