I called my Grandma recently and asked how she was doing. With a sigh, she said she was suffering a case of the Januaries. “What’s that?” I asked. She replied that it meant she didn’t have much energy to cook or do much of anything. That’s certainly not a good way to feel.
Do you ever suffer a case of the Januaries? After December, which is a lively month filled with festivities, gifts and fellowship, I can see how some would think that January is something of a letdown with its cold, short days. I, however, view January as a time to recharge my batteries—it’s a fresh start! And since, fortunately, I am not suffering a case of the Januaries (though check back with me in February when I usually start shaking my fist at a mocking sun that gives off more light but still refuses to emit any heat ), I decided it would be nice to bake my grandmother some bread. But not just any bread—I decide to bake her a loaf of her mother’s oatmeal bread.
When I spent time with my grandparents last summer, we had a blast going through all of the family recipes. Every dish came with a story, but Grandma especially lit up when we came across the card for Great-Grandma Gibson’s oatmeal bread. “That’s my favorite,” said Grandma. Great-Grandma Gibson’s oatmeal bread wasn’t an everyday thing—she only baked it about once a week. But when Grandma would wake up and see a loaf cooling in the kitchen, she knew it was going to be a great day. She recalled one time when she came home from college and Great-Grandma had just pulled a loaf out the oven. “I was so hungry and it smelled so good, I probably ate most of the loaf with some butter (or maybe it was peanut butter),” she said.
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