Being allowed to use the can opener was almost as freeing as learning to ride my bicycle. I went to great lengths to enjoy my five minute lunch alone in Hugo’s summer field behind our house on VanDyke Road. Perhaps it was the responsibility I displayed with my two-wheeler that gave my mother the assurance I could handle the responsibility of staying home alone. She taught me to tear off the label from the Campbell’s can of chicken noodle soup before I brought it anywhere near the burner. I poured the noodles into the pan. Then turned it on — I was only allowed to use the lowest temperature (You have more time than money she would tell me. No need to burn the house down.) I warmed it to luke, then poured it into the styrofoam thermos I had painted in stripes. I Tupperwared a stack of crackers. Filled another thermos of ice water. Put them all in my corduroy book bag that my mother had sewn for me. Placed that into the wicker basket of my bike. Kissed good-bye my dolls and stuffed animals as if going off to war. Then rode the five minute trail along Hugo’s field. Sat down in the smallest clearing just off the edge. Emptied the book bag. Made it into a tablecloth. Drank my soup. Drank my water. Relished in being my summer self. It was only a moment, but it was beautiful. 

Here in France, I learned to bake the worshiped bread. Normally I do it in the afternoon. Freeze it for our toast each morning. But once in a while, I have the desire to start the day with fresh break. That means making the special recipe before bed. Getting up early. Then finishing the kneed, the roll and the baking. Washing the dishes while it bakes. Our house becomes a boulangerie. My fingers dance on the crust, as I cut the pieces. The butter melts without urging. Even the honey and jam feel special. It is only for this breakfast. There will be additional bread, but only this one moment, eating in the waft of this happy morning. 

Some might say it wouldn’t be worth it. But then they wouldn’t have can-openered their way to magic. I guess that’s for all of us to decide. Me, I hope I will try to make the most of each moment. What else do we have? 

Here comes another, what will you choose?