Waiting to Exhale

For many years, I made every loaf of bread that was consumed in this house, and with four kids - all teen-agers - that was a LOT. As they left home - the Squire's nephew to the military, and the girls to their own homes - I made less and less, until now I may only make a loaf or two a week. Of course, I also don't have the frustration to bang out, but that's another story!



I've been on a cleaning binge recently, and found a Tupperware container of yeast hiding on a top shelf. I used to buy it by the pound, not the packet.  I mixed a cup of warm water and a tablespoon of sugar with a teaspoon of yeast, and waited to see if the yeast was still viable.

Nada.

Well, even if it's not fit for cooking, I can still flush it down the toilet, a quarter cup a week, as it helps the septic system.  I flushed some last night, and left the container on the kitchen counter.

This morning, we came downstairs to discover the animals had gotten into the yeast. They'd knocked the container onto the floor and eaten a fair amount of it. Everywhere they had licked the floor, the yeast had stuck, and what didn't get eaten was like l-e-e-e-tle tiny marbles, all over the kitchen.  The worst of it was that the yeast had given all of the animals gas. Bad. You have not lived until you have shared a house with two large dogs and several cats, all of which have a bad case of The Farts.

It is too cold to open the windows, and I'm almost afraid to turn on the gas stove.