It's a Sad, Sad, Sad, Sad Day

There is moaning and wailing; weeping and groaning.  Even some gnashing of teeth and rending of clothes (well, I got flour on myself, does that count?):  my breadmaker died last night.

I am well aware that in most households, this would qualify for a brief "Darn," and life would move on.

In our house, life has come to a screeching halt.  Because I use this breadmaker nearly every day.  It is my lifeline; it is my hope; it is my only succour in times of screaming; and the only thing standing between me and screaming-meemie children.

You may remember that two of my boys can't eat wheat and that, consequently, I have to make all our own bread.  You may also recall that these two boys are extremely picky eaters (to the point of occasionally and uncontrollably barfing on Mom to remind her that they Still Do Not Like Green Beans.  We skated real close to that territory tonight, as a matter of fact.); and their main sources of nutrition for two meals each day are toast and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.  They have to eat what I fix and be happy at supper, but that's the only battle I have strength enough to face every day.  I'm good with toast and PB&J.

So, when I say my breadmaker has died, it is cause for sackcloth and ashes.

I promptly wrote the company and asked about replacement parts.  Guess what?  This model was discontinued FIVE YEARS before I bought it fifteen years ago in an overseas military PX.

You have a point:  15 years is a long time for any appliance to last.  But my husband's 20+ year-old toaster oven is still working; why not my breadmaker??  Why couldn't it have given me some warning:  flashed a little light; emitted some smoke for a few days; or treated us to the sound of screeching gears?  No, it just died.  Abruptly.  And I shed a little tear.

There is one light at the end of the long, dark tunnel until we can get a new breadmaker:  Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day.  And they're not kidding.  Check it out.  And, dang it's good.  But Artisan Bread does not make good American PB&J sandwiches.  So I see a lot of trial, even more error, and lots of hockey pucks in our immediate future until I get a new recipe worked out.

So, what did I do with the dough the machine was kneading when it conked?  Stuck it in a pan, let it rise, and turned it into a very respectable looking hockey puck.  I fed it to the children for breakfast this morning.  They started to scream, but took one look at me and the flames shooting from my eyes and the ends of my hair and meekly gnawed their toast.

Bread anyone?  

I thought not.