Give us This Day our Daily Bread...

I suppose every day is a meal. However you want to phrase it--for the senses, for the soul, for the wallet/retirement account. Everyday is heavy and warm with experience and emotion, like a loaf of bread fresh from the oven of, well, someone who has time to make their own bread. Wish that were me! The drops of humidity, butter greasy with milk fats, dried and powdered golden wheat, and the ripe-smelling yeast all kneaded and risen together in a basic but beautiful chemistry. Such is a day. Filling while living it and when completed, and you're feet kicked up on the couch, it becomes, "How was your day?" "Well, had bread for lunch." One meal blending into another. I often wish we could remember all the little moments, good or bad, that crystalize during our mundane routines that often get swept under the rug. Or, lose significance when explained to others in a "guess you had to be there" sort of way. That's how I feel when the week sweeps me by. Both amazed at all the tiny wonders and horrors of my every moment and by the forgettable obscurity of it, the futility of actions whose repercussions will be small, diminishing into tiny ripples that will all but disappear.

Now bless me father for I have sinned

But it's the same old story again and again and again

Ah well, such is the bread of an everyday life

From morning til noon to this shadowless night

-Flogging Molly, Rebels of the Sacred Heart