I would have loved
to stay sleeping
but the hour was 8 p.m.
so when a tinkle and trill
summoned me,
I pushed aside
the grey warm cosy
that tickled my chin.
My feet found the floor
and my nap was ended.
“Naps are a way of traveling painlessly through time into the future.”
~ Thomas Carlyle, philosopher
(1795~ 1881)
progress of my starter was slow,
almost non existent.
it had been doing well ~ sort of
Sourdough expert where are you?
“Rejuvenating Sourdough Starter”
~ key words in Google ~
‘starter in the fridge too long’.
Click!
a video @moon + magnolia
showed me what I was missing:
use cold water rather than warm;
my water to flour ratio was off.
@moon + magnolia taught me to:
~ feed starter every 12 hours
~ use whole wheat flour - more micronutrients
With the corrections, in a few hours,
My jar overflowed and bubbles lined top and sides.
I love my sourdough bread!!
Next loaf to be baked on Sunday.
“Bread is alive and sourdough is proof.’
~ Anonymous
I don’t know when I knew
that writing would take me
on a journey,
dipping into and around
roads across quilted prairies,
a hot air balloon soaring high in the sky
a jet ski that would send me
splashing across
the top of waterways long or wide,
through forested granite mountains
tromping through snow banks in the shivering cold
sketching my own journey with epilepsy
but when my pen
found notebooks and journals
and each morning with tea
to sit and write yesterday,
or plans for today
or dreams for next year or 10 years along.
When I saw shelves and stacks of boxes
filled with all the morning musings
I guessed that I had known all along.
“I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.”
~ Pablo Neruda, poet and Senator of Chile
(1904 - 1973)
A winter of dangerous ice
hidden under greying or fresh snow,
oddly shaped lumps or
sheets worthy of a skating rink.
walks or strolls outside
not wise until yesterday.
Heavy rubber bands slip
over my boots & hold my feet.
little black dots in the centre
of the yellow dots ~ tungsten stems
to grip the ice & keep me upright
on such paths of slippery danger.
“When you’re on the ice, you have very little time,
you see very little and everything happens really quick.”
~ Steve Yzerman, retired hockey player
Along the fence line
between day and night,
the minutes and moments
of the day drift and pile up
against each other til
they brush through
to ripple and colour
the landscape of dreams.
“For what one has dwelt on by day,
these things he sees in visions of the night.”
~ Menander (c.342 ~c.292 BCE)
Translated by Francis G. Allinson 1921
I don’t like being alone.
Times when silence deafens.
~ when early morning is dark;
no traffic on the streets; wind
not furring thro' naked trees;
when I feel solitary; alone
in this building of families;
this city of workers
and lovers
and children.
times when my ears ringing are
the only sound that I hear
The cat is even silent, fed and content
~ not yet breathing his funny buzzsaw snore.
But I know that I have just
awakened in this early morning
~ that the building has yet to
yawn awake; the city still sleeps.
There may be another like me
across the street or across the city
who also feels the calming sound
of early morning silence.
“Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.”
~ Max Ehrmann, Desiderata
 |
| August 2024 |
Over a year ago, I began
a sourdough starter ~
bubbly and full of life.
Flattened and lazy,
On the watch for
mould or a flat taste.
no mould appeared
taste is sharp and sour!
What was I doing wrong?
Too long in the cold
fed once a week!
No reason to bubble.
~~~~~~~
So it is with spirit
Excitement in life
shrinks in the cold
flattens without life
stirred and kept warm,
danced and out of breath
What excites me?
ideas that beg for the written word
story that stirs my soul to laughter or tears
music to tap my toes and sway my hips
What excites your heart and mind?
“For here I hope begins our lasting joy.”
~ William Shakepeare
(Re: Sourdough restoration: I’m keeping it on the cupboard and feeding it once a day for a while until it’s back to it’s bubbly self. Maybe a week? In this cold weather, I’m not going far from home.A metaphor for life - it I keep my life in the cold)
