This very, very, very, true account was originally written to my genealogy team:
The Bread Dough and Genealogy Story
Because my sister and I are trying to sort through photos and identify them before scanning, my uncle texted me and said I could send him some photos and he would bring them with him when he meets up with his siblings and they could help identify them.
So I called up my sister and asked her to come over and sort through them, choosing the most important ones.
She came over last Friday night, right before we were going to have a get-together on Saturday with another sister and my family....for which I was making pepperoni rolls.
Before Sister came on Friday, I ran to the store and picked up two bags of frozen bread dough and lay them on the kitchen counter to begin thawing.
Sister came and we decided that the 6 ft. long kitchen table would be the best place to lay out the pictures. We got to work and worked from about 6 pm to ….6 a.m.
Throughout the long evening my sister would hear random noises in our house.
"It's just the fridge, Sister."
"That's the washing machine in the laundry room above us, Sister"
"No, that's not someone dragging a garbage can up the alley, it's the washing machine upstairs."
After a few hours of that, I happened to leave the room to put a photo away, and when I came back in, Sister was looking across the room and saying, "What's that noise?"
I patiently said, "Probably just the fridge," and looked toward the door to make sure no one was trying to get in.
But something caught Sister's eye over by the windows. By a kitchen counter. She kept gazing that way and finally said,
"Is that BREAD DOUGH making that noise?"
GASP! The bread dough in the bag was swollen to at least 10 inches high and the bag was bursting!
"CRAP! Sister! the PICTURES!!!!!!!!! If that explodes everywhere...over our HUNDRED YEAR OLD PHOTOS...…"
We jumped up and dived across the room,
standing courageously between the potential explosion and the HUNDERED YEAR OLD PHOTOGRAPHS.
What mattered if the brand new kitchen windows were covered in dough? What mattered if the dough blew up in our faces and hair and clothing? What mattered if it blasted into the dining room?
We became Genealogy Warriors (and Worriers, too, at this point...) and we braved it all to protect Grandpappy and mammmy and their many ancient peers.
We had no idea what to do. Or how much time we had to do it in.
Then we noticed the little plastic tabs had blown off the bags (and that may have been what she heard). And then we noticed bread dough oozing through holes it had blown through the plastic! Maybe the worst was over?
We raked through my crocks of utensils in search of something sharp to pop the rest of the dough and release some air. We cringed our eyes and poked....and....the dough began sinking. Sighhhhh….
All was well.
Except for Sister and myself.
I think we aged a few decades in that moment in time.
It's hard being a family historian.
It really, truly, is.
Be blessed and be a blessing!