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Her hands hurt when the rain would roll in. She often wondered about how it worked that way. It wasn't as though her arthritis would flare when she anticipated taking her morning showers. So water didn't have anything to do with it. Pressure must. It had not gotten to the point of hindering her knitting habit or baking. Though on days like this when the forecast predicted a few inches of precipitation, kneading bread was decidedly more difficult. Not impossible, however, so she hauled out the KitchenAid out of the cabinet and turned the lazy susan to access her various flours and other ingredients for her precious dough. Flat breads and baking powder confections were her usual alternatives on days that the pain came - when she felt it would hinder the process. But she wasn't going to wimp out this morning.
Early sun streamed through the windows-belying the storm that loomed- she felt she would be best served making today's batch of loaves grainy and dense. Perhaps some pumpernickel-rye with course pieces of pink peppercorns and some white raisins with a  hint of softened wild rice was the order of the day. The invention may be just the flavor such a  long day would need.
The customers that came by at five o'clock were almost always pleased with the day's offerings. Never shy in purchasing, many observed the two-loaf maximum daily purchase.
Her arthritis flares coming more frequently threatened this livelihood and at night when the pain required medicating she would fret about losing her life's love. Losing the ability to continue in the niche she had carved for herself in the world. And she would cry ever so gently; grieving before death in fear of living life without.