Rub a dub dub,
Three men in a tub,
And who do you think they be?
The butcher, the baker,
The candlestick maker.
Turn them out, knaves all three!
Do you remember that rhyme? For some reason it sticks in my head more so than any other I learned as a child so let me take this opportunity to analyze myself in the roll of each man in the tub.
The butcher: This is not me. I do not butcher things… unless you count the English language and then by all means please do count me in.
The baker: I never thought I’d see the day that I could consider myself a baker… or consider considering myself a baker. I’m not there yet but I now see a baking streak in me. This morning I brought a loaf of Pulla (I’ve been baking it like mad) to school to give to a friend of mine. I thought it would be a fun little pick me up… Plus her husband is Finnish and it’s Finnish bread and since he’s the only Fin I know that I’m not related to, I thought he should enjoy a taste. She took one look at the bread I gave her (rather unceremoniously I might add, as I was dashing off to haul 50 pound boxes of clay) and said “You’re a baker!! Look at the rise you got on the bread, it’s beautiful”
Color me stunned. I beamed, I glowed, I shined. I blushed and said thank you, told her it was no big deal and went off to drag around heavy art supplies.
But that compliment stuck with me all day. The rise on my bread was beautiful. I can only assume she found it impressive because it’s a braided bread and yes… the strands did rise all puffy and golden… Me… a baker in the making, who’d have thunk it? (See, I’m a butcher too).
The candlestick maker: When I was a kid I would sit in the bath and sing this poem to myself over and over again. I still don’t know what about it captured me so… but I can tell you as a child I always associated with the candlestick maker. I thought it would be so much fun and calming to make candles. Yeah, not so much. Let’s just say I like to melt candles… not make them.
Also, I am not a man.