breadcrumbs at the library

Note: This was written early this year, when I got to spend an afternoon all by myself.

Hello. I’m at the library.

what do I want to say? make a list of projects to work on ?

character sketches? screenwriting for dummies. do I count as a “dummy”?

bread crumb project. most important. I started something on it and I’m not sure where I filed it or if it filed it. I think I did. Suggestion?” start over. it never hurts to just start over. the final product will be better, anyway. that is something to be thankful for.

Okay, let’s get going on breadcrumbs. Do I work here in the blog, or go to word where I can see better by increasing the size of the text? Sounds smart, but it seems like I spend more time sitting staring at a blank word document and not knowing what to do. feels lonely, silly, dumb. Makes me feel like a “dummy”.

so start here? sure why not. I’m here already anway. title the piece “breadcrumbs”. okay.


My mom always made too much food. When she planned a gathering for family or friends, you could count on there being mounds of potatoes and chicken and salad leftovers. She would be handing out bags of food to the guests to take home at the end of our celebration. She was good at sharing, and she always made sure that everyone left with a belly full of good, warm food. It wasn’t until I left home and spent time with other families that I realized that not all mothers are like this.

There is a ziplock bag of breadcrumbs sitting on my counter, and I cannot bring myself to throw it away. It has been sitting there for at least 3 weeks. Maureen pulled it out of the cupboard and tore it open and started eating. She didn’t much like the taste, and spit the bread out on the floor. I don’t blame her, because the bread is very stale. It has been in the cupboard since we moved here in October. Before that it was in the pantry at the old house for almost a year. People who know me well know that I don’t like to throw away perfectly good food. But these breadcrumbs are not edible and have not been for a long time.

So why are they still here with us? Why didn’t I use them up when they were good, or say my guilty good-bye to them and throw them in the trash? Why did I keep staring at them everytime I opened the pantry to get a can of beans or a box of pasta? Why did I put them in a moving box with the baking dishes and crock pot and bring them to sit in the new cupboard in our new house?

For Thanksgiving 2004 my mom made the “dressing” for the turkey. Most people I know call it stuffing, but my mom always said “dressing”. When she made the grocery list of items for me to get a few days before the holiday, she wrote down “loaf of white bread”. She made sure to specify white, because she knew if she didn’t I would come home with some whole grain thing, which she judged us to eat way to much of. When I looked at the list, I felt lucky. I opened the freezer and pulled out a loaf of white bread. Mom said, “oh, that will work”, and she set it aside to thaw.

My mom wanted to use real breadcrumbs this year, not the bagged kind or some Stove Top Stuffing product. She chose, instead, to thaw the bread, then place the slices on cookie sheets in the oven. She baked them at at 350 degrees for 10 minutes. Then she took the toasted bread out of the oven and carefully tore each slice into bite sized pieces.

What do those breadcrumbs mean to me? Why are they so important?

The crumbs in the bag have my mom in them, the oil from her hands, which were beautiful and warm. When I think about the crumbs I think about her hands, and all the important work that they did in her life. Cooking, teaching, nourishing, healing. These days when I get tingly hands, when I am doing qigong or getting ready to sleep, I always think of my mom. I see her hands in the eye of my mind, and I see her hands become my hands. I feel blessed to have hands that look like hers. Then I wonder- what if my hands are infused with the gifts that her hands were filled with? What if she is sharing her generosity and healing with me, so that I can continue to put these rare qualities out into the world, now that she is no longer able to so?


whoa. fighting a strong urge to get up and walk around again. just feel like screwing around, looking at books. if I were at home it would be laundry or cooking or a kid or the phone that would be tempting me to distraction. and it doensn’t take much. it is clearly a method of avoidance that I am good at using. do I quit writing now, and read what I have written and maybe edit it? I’m glad I finally got this piece about the bread going, so now I can go home and throw away that damn bag of stale bread. I guess I don’t need it like I used to. Maybe the point of this is that the breadcrumbs can go because I am becoming more comfortable with the fact that I am carrying Carol around with me : in my warm and tingly hands she is with me. she still has a place in this world through me, and through the corporeal lives of her 6 grandchildren.

If I stop writing, then it is time to go home. Home to laundry, dirty floors, toys scattered everywhere, and needy little people. am I ready? not really, but more ready than I was when I sat down here to startin writing this.

I think I may have actually started something important here.