Eight Billion Loaves of Bread

(and the magic of Hollywood)

Something has been smoldering on my mind

for a while now, and it’s high time I said something.  Every time I make bread I think about it—every single time.  Two years ago on my little Facebook page, I posted a photo of a loaf of bread.  It was just an ordinary sandwich loaf made in a loaf pan, not a pretty little boule like you see in this photo.

But something strange happened.  There was an incredible response to that little loaf of bread—way beyond what I’m used to getting these past few years, because I have refused to be an automaton.  Right away, the “likes” came pouring in.  The “shares” were amazing.  The “comments” came from far and wide—all kinds of names and faces I’d never seen before as well as my wonderful core of page members.

At first I thought it was just one of those things, some sort of fluke.  But I kept getting this gnawing feeling.  It kept stealing over my heart like a thief in the night.  Why this?  Why now?  What’s so special about this little loaf of bread?  Surely, I could have done a better job than this.  But you see, something sinister was at work.

And . . . I began to hear the silent unspoken words of the people.  Why is this happening?  I don’t understand.

You will remember this time in our lives, no?

This was one of the times when the world wreckers turned the world upside down.  The reports were dire.  The orders were direct and severe.  Have I done something wrong?  We were to become willing prisoners of our own home for a “short” duration.  For ourselves.  For our neighbors.  For the greater good.  What will become of us?

Who could have been prepared for that or what would conspire over the next couple of years?  We were all just ordinary people living our ordinary lives.  People who had lived in the hustle and bustle of the world all their lives—running here and there, working hard, shopping, exercising, visiting friends—were suddenly hemmed into a tiny space.  I’m afraid.  Their own space, yes, but a tiny space.  For many it was a space they had never paid attention to before.  I don’t know what to do with myself.

And there they were—cut off from the pulse of the planet:

One day laughing and joking, working and playing; the next day wandering alone through rooms in their house, looking out the window at the gray world outside.  Then I posted the photo of the loaf of bread.  This is good.  I want this.  The shelves in the store are empty, and I’m afraid.  I guess the photo struck a note in the hearts of many.  It suggested simple food and a simple life—and days gone by that were better.  (And they WERE better.  No, it’s not a figment of my imagination.)  This is what’s important.

So many people had been caught unaware, and really that’s pretty normal when you think about how our lives are.  How our lives were, I mean.  Who has time to think about the making of bread?  I don’t know what to do with myself.  Just go and buy it.  It’s a necessary product for most people.  You don’t have to think about it.  Or at least you didn’t have to.  Before.  There’s not enough to go around.

Time passed.  The demolition continued.

There’s no Half ‘n Half this week for my coffee.  When they get it in next week, I’ll buy three of them so I’ll have enough.  It’s not hoarding—I have to think of myself, too.  Shelves filled back up slowly, but there were and still are products that go away for a while and then come back.  At much higher prices.  Because the boats are stuck in the harbor.  My friend who lives there says the harbor looks the same as it always has. 

And reality started slipping away.  Up is down and down is up—ignore the evidence before your eyes, you were told.  Because it would be rude not to.  I don’t know what’s real anymore.  Groups started to faction off.  Clans.  What’s the matter with you?  Are you stupid?  The good people—and there are so many of them—averted their eyes and shut their mouths.  In exasperation.  In fear.  The world is overpopulated.  How did we get from a few billion to almost 8 billion in just a few decades?  Magic.

The fermentation began.

This is all your fault!  The people, who once laughed and tossed a loaf of bread into their shopping carts without thinking, now seethed under the surface.  If you would have just done what you were told, everything would be okay by now.  The deadly cocktail of emotions grew and oozed out of its container.  If you hadn’t been so cowardly and had just stood up to them, we could have taken our world back.  Eight billion people during a time when immigrants were necessary to countries because there weren’t enough people….  Magic.

My mind goes back to a simpler time.

We’re driving down the street.  It’s the 1960s.  It’s a very hot day.  The sun tries to fight its way through the tree-lined streets, but the majesty of the trees is superior.  For today.  The scent of summer wafts in through the windows.  Hot is hot and cold is cold.  Up is up and down is down.  And we all know who we are and where we’re going.  It is a good day.  But that was then and this is now.

I went to the supermarket yesterday with a friend.  She wanted to buy some French bread, so I looked at what was offered.  The cheapest was an ugly store baguette weighing 1 pound for $3.  The rustic boule weighed 14 oz and it was $5.  The artisan country loaf weighed 1 pound and it was $6.  We don’t have a bakery in town, so over at the health store they get bread from Portland every morning.  The loaves are bigger but cost $7 or $8.  I can’t keep going on this way.  For a loaf of bread….$8.  The loaf in the photo above cost me $1.25 to make, including electricity for the oven—and I think that’s ridiculously high.

Bread is the staff of life.

It may not have every nutrient in it, but it will sustain life well for quite some time.  Eight billion people.  Didn’t anyone die during that time?  There was a lot of abortion and birth control, too.  And bread means “home” for many.  It’s the scent wafting out the window in childhood.  It’s part of dinner while people laughed around the table.  It’s the simplicity with a glass of wine and a good book.  It’s the first course at the restaurant you all went to after graduation, the glasses still clinking in your memory.  It’s the lazy drive down tree-lined streets in the 1960s.

You better not say anything to the neighbors because you never know who you’re talking to.  So I remember two years ago when I posted a photo of a simple loaf of bread, of the very essence of life.  I forgot how important it was.  And the “likes” and “shares” came pouring in.  That’s solid and real.  I know what that is.  I remember goodness.  The fear was palpable but controlled because we thought we had a plan.  I’m afraid of my friends.

I know which direction is up,

and I know which direction is down.  I know when things are hot or cold, black or white, wet or dry, male or female.  I know what the real things in life are.  I know how important bread and water are, and I know there are dark characters who also know this and want to continue to fool the masses, shape the narrative, and drink the souls.  I know the difference between day and night.

“Little Tom Tucker
Sings for his supper.
What shall he eat?
White bread and butter.
How will he cut it
without e’er a knife?
How will he be married
without e’er a wife?”   ~   Mother Goose

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