Bread. A human staple, made of flour and water, usually prepared by baking. It is one of the oldest prepared foods known to man (I use that word inclusively), evidence of bakeries go back some 30,000 years. Imagine. Bread not only plays an essential role in religious rituals (bread and wine) but I would go as far to say sliced bread is the bedrock of modern culture. Well that and Spanx.
I think the most interesting aspect of the word bread is the etymology. Let’s take the word “companion,” from Latin, com “with” and panis “bread.” Meaning a true companion is one you break bread with and hopefully on a daily basis. Sadly my companion is temporarily “comnopanis” or “without bread” because his doctor, clearly a sadist, has removed bread from his diet.
I begrudgingly decide to live in solidarity with my comnopanis which means walking away from hot sourdough bread with Irish butter for the next few months. It’s a huge sacrifice, but I have to believe they’ve added an extra wing to my mansion in heaven, maybe an indoor pool, and spa. It’s the least they can do.
Why do we suffer so? It’s hard to believe God is still mad at us about the apple thing, but considering the temptation of modern Eden is still the Apple, you have to wonder when we will become wise?
Speaking of wisdom. The problem with my comnopanis is finding attractive alternatives to pancakes, sandwiches, pasta, fries, french bread, potatoes, rice and crackers. There are only so many ways to cook an egg. This has been challenging but I rose to the occasion and ran straight to Trader Joe’s.
I was a woman on a mission, I threw ten salads in my cart, a bag of nuts, raw carrots, sliced mangos, and a few apples (hehe). I grabbed blocks of cheese, cherry tomatoes, avocados, fresh broccoli, seasoned chicken, filet mignon, and two dozen eggs. I admit I felt morally superior in the check out line.
With my newfound morality, I slapped on an apron and served up a beautiful plate of sliced tomatoes, chunks of avocado, next to a fluffy scramble for breakfast. It was delicious. He’s still hungry. I say “suffer in silence.” I let him select a salad from a plethora of choices for lunch. He’s still hungry. He ate his steak and half of mine for dinner, still hungry. I believe you’re getting the picture. He weighed himself on the first day and then a week later. He has lost eight pounds. I lost a half a pound and I’m grouchy?
My husband took him to the veterinary. Now this is a tricky thing because we have already spent a fortune on this dog when he was diagnosed with Addison’s four years ago, according to my husband he is out of funds, and when he tells the vet there will be no X-rays, surgeries, or hospital stays they look at him as if he’s deranged or maybe a psychopath. Clearly he is comnopanis.
We’ve stayed the course with the whole no panis thing and this morning Larry skipped merrily to the scale. He was down another four pounds, Shaggy’s down six pounds, and I’m holding study at a two pound loss. Thank God I didn’t toss my Spanx.
There is no moral to this story, no end to my suffering, and no panis in my cupboards.
I’m Living in the Gap, drop in anytime, bring some marbled rye.