One of my New Yorker daughters signed me up for a Hobby Club, hosted by one of her work buddies, Tyler Riewer. (That’s rEE-ver, for the uninformed, a very nice Germanic name, very much unlike Jones, which is so common as to be utterly boring…more on that another time.) Mr. Riewer’s Hobby Club gives all the members a chance to experiment with new and different activities, one for each month of 2015. Included on his website (check it out—it’s really fun!) are instructions for each undertaking after which we are invited to post our Instagram photos so we can all enjoy laughing at ourselves and each other.
This month of January, we delve into the floury depths of breadmaking. Now, this is not an altogether unexplored territory for me, since I already make most of our own bread for health reasons anyway, whole wheat, no salt, no white refined sugar, all that. But what this club is doing is taking the breadmaking art to a new level for me—they actually expect me to use (gulp!) measuring cups and a receipe!
What Mr. Riewer doesn’t know is that Instagram is, in itself, a new and different activity for me. As are many of the other cultural changes that have come about secondary to the birth of the internet. I have embraced a somewhat love/hate relationship with the web, for example, but I suppose each new discovery and invention presents its own opportunities for good or bad. Kind of like money, or guns, or parental authority; it’s all about the choices of those that use it.
But some things do not change, at least for me. Like the joy of seeing my grandchild, (even if it is only on a video chat instead of in person). Like the sound of football on in the family room. And of course, like the smell of fresh bread baking on a cold January day. ‘Nuf said. I need to go make that baguette.
Thanks, Mr. Riewer!