On most Sunday nights, Jamieson makes pizza. He has mastered the art of homemade dough and we have a family love affair with Weyauwega Cheese (and, frankly, anything that comes from the enormous dairy aisle at Woodman's). Last week, the dough wasn't in top form since our yeast apparently died. Yesterday, new yeast did the trick. Jamieson peeked at the dough when we came in from an afternoon of yard work and said, "That dough is really risen." To which I said the only thing a Lutheran girl can say a week after Easter: "It is risen, indeed!"
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