Some days begin with magic.
This one, for example.
I slept like a baby after setting brioche dough to rise and putting yogurt into the machine last night.
My rested body awakened in the early hours, excited to make its first batch of jolly french rolls. Soft, sticky dough felt fun, like playing with Play Dough as I rolled it into little balls, plopping them into the muffin pan.
Dough rising under a warm towel, Cassie and I visited at the table, discussing life, philosophy, challenges, and fun. Smart girl, that one.
Just as I was to put the bread into the oven Joe unexpectedly drove up in his blue pick-up truck. "I came over to take Sam for a walk," he said cheerfully. Grabbing the leash, man and man's best friend headed out the door, Cassie at their side, brown billed Alaska cap on her head. I popped the bread into the preheated oven.
Now the house has that unbeatable bread smell, Tom and Joe are out buying good bacon, and I'm about to make a fruit salad.
Caroline walks down the hall smiling as though it were Christmas morning and no one told her.
Like I said, magical morning.