By Heather O.
Yes, I know that a lot of people would say that it’s been official for over 20 years, since I got baptized when I was 8, but I finally feel like I have arrived. That I can now properly call myself a Mormon.
Why, you ask?
I grew up with my mother telling me that we were sure to survive any kind of catastrophe because we had pounds and pounds of wheat in our garage. Never mind that I wasn’t really sure how you could actually eat wheat. Never mind that we had almost no other kind of food storage whatsoever. Never mind that we lived in Southern California where the natural disasters were few and far between (well, except for that earthquake thing). We had wheat. We could do anything.
Since I’ve been married, I’ve always been pretty lousy at food storage. But some enterprising and probably more righteous women than I in our stake got together a group order for wheat grinders, and then when to the cannery. I ordered a grinder, then asked them to get me some wheat.
I have never been to a cannery, I must confess. I have visions of thousands of gleaming cans, stacked up somewhere, and some machine that sucks unidentifiable food into the cans, with smiling old women in hair nets handing them out once they are sealed. I’m sure the real situation is rather normal, but I still can’t get this mildly creepy vision of the canning machine out of my head.
Anyway, the righteous food storage lady in our ward handed me a box last week, saying, “Here’s your wheat.”
I was in awe.
I haven’t opened the box yet, and I don’t even know what the wheat looks like. All I know is that the box was wicked weavy. It’s like some mystery, waiting to be discovered in my pantry.
I haven’t opened my wheat grinder, either. It’s a mystery is waiting to be discovered in my cupboard, next to my bread maker, which in my head will be the wheat grinder’s companion. The grinder grinds the wheat into flour, the bread machine makes the flour into bread. Simple, healthy, economical. Everything a good Mormon should be.
At least I hope that’s how it works. If not, I’m totally screwed. And they might have to revoke my Mormon certificate after all.
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