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)
