Birds & Bees, and Homemade Bread

This weekend a kind, elderly sister missionary I've befriended came over to teach me how to make some real home made bread from ground wheat. I was pretty excited because this was the first friend I've had over in Guatemala in nearly 3 years and the fact that she's 70 didn't even phase me (until now, actually).

Some of the literature I've been reading lately is written from the perspective of someone in their later years ("Water for Elephants" and now "Angle of Repose"-- both are excellent reads by the way). So besides reading about them as of late, I just love old(er) people-- they've been there, done that and aren't phased by life's happenings. I feel like they must look at us with the same frustration as I look at any 14 year old girl-- you know, sometimes I feel like just grabbing them by the shoulders and yelling JUST RELAX, IT'S ALL GOING TO BE OKAY! Besides their sagacity, they're also often terribly, terribly entertaining.

Well Sister X was par for the course in oh, so many, many ways.

She brought over the wheat and we got to work. The delicious aromas of rising bread soon filled our kitchen and I couldn't wait to sink my teeth into the beautiful loaves of dark, tasty, healthy manna I had made with own two novice hands.

After about an hour of chit chatting about life in general, we watched the twins for a while with Dave and her husband. About 5 minutes before the bread was ready to come out of the oven and grace our mouths with it's wholesome goodness, Sister X brings me over the corner of the kitchen.

Nothing on this earth could have prepared me for what I was about hear.

Sister X looks at me as a mischievious, yet knowing, smile creeps upon her face.

(WARNING: The faint at heart may need to stop here as I QUOTE VERBATIM)."

She begins: "I wanted to tell you when we were away from the boys..."
(At this point, I'm simply puzzled-- I think naively, "What could she want to tell me away from the "boys"? )

She continues: "You know, the smell of yeast rising is an aphrodesiac for men."

At this point, I'm feeling a bit weak in the knees, and now as I look back, I should have been worried about the expressions creeping across my face (I kind of have a bad reputation for that).

I respond with a nonchalant, "Oh really? That's interesting," hoping, or rather praying, that the conversation would go no further. If only I were so lucky...

"Oh yes," Sister X replies and at this point, it's clear that the good part has yet to come...
" Yep, blood straight from the head down the penis-- a straight shot."

OH MY GOSH.

The rest is a blur-- I vaguely remember fingers pointing and that's about it.

I do know that I immediately reflected upon her casually (though come to think of it, repeatedly) recounting how she's been making home made bread every other day for the last 40 years... Wait a minute! The woman also has 12 children... "It's all coming together!" I thought to myself.

It was one of the those moments that Dave and I frequently talk about-- moments that you would NEVER have imagined yourself possibly being in when you woke up that morning and rolled out of bed. Now I find myself being a bit self -conscious-- what would possibly compel this innocuous woman to share such a TREASURE of information with little old me?

Shudder.