"Blues is to Jazz what yeast is to bread. Without it, it's flat!" -Carmen McRae
Oh wise aunt! The creation of a thing like bread surely enriches the lives of the maker as well as every muncher involved, just as Jazz with it's Blues spikes the souls of it's musicians and the ears of the listeners involved.
About two years ago, I started to bake bread regularly. I'm still killing sourdough starts regularly, though.
For the first year or so, I had been trying to find that perfect recipe, the one that would understand what I needed out of a dough, and would love and patiently teach me the way all, as young girls dream bread dough someday will.
SIGH.
Instead, I have been trying to pay better attention to the consistency of the dough as it develops, after all a certain amount of humidity in the air is all it takes to create a gap between what the recipe says and what the dough needs. The basics of cooking (chemistry) reveal themselves this way.
I have learned that eggs added to the mix gives me changes in the texture of the finished product and in the dough, how it develops. Shortening or any sort of fat seems to produce a moist, stale resistant crumb- as no fat and slow, long rising times produc a dry crusty thing of beauty. I learned that forgetting to add the salt is really, a very bad thing.
Now though, the dear wonderful old oven which ever so darlingly takes up space in my kitchen has blown it's element. Oh yes, three play kitchen sized burners and no oven. I'm sure it's two thousand years old in oven years, so I have decided that I'm not going to be terribly surprised or personally assaulted about it. I just have to figure out how to bake bread in the crock pot...
I have noticed that time seems to pass more efficiently and peacefully on they days that have a bowl of dough in them. Kneading by hand for fifteen to twenty minutes is my favorite workout.
THE SMELLS.
My favorite, absolutely most cherished thing about home made bread is of course feeding it to people. And have you all noticed how satisfying it is to dive in, free of the civility of spoons and forks, to a messy bowl of something- and eat using only clean hands and homemade bread? No matter how homely the loaf!
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Girrrrrls
So, Um, Yeah!
Really? Really, that's what you think? That's your position, that's what you're going with?
Really?
I found the fact that the love letters were kept for so long sweet...and creepy.
They were from a sixteen or seventeen year old princess whose very existence was painfully not good enough unless she had a male friend or teacher or parent crammed most of the way up her ass. This transplanted New Yorker gave my sister a run for her money (I mean self esteem) the whole damn five years she spent with her in school, and every other girl who didn't look like a huge German that everyone loved because she was fun and did not pose any competition for the few good enough dudes' glances which she vied for.
What this boils down to is that it reminds me of the patterns and expectations which we develop and hopefully evolve out of after adolescence. BUT, every damn time I attempt to hang around with people my age, and often even when I try to socialize with people much older than myself, I run into these same behaviors over and over again.I'm sure I carry them around as well.
It sticks under my skin. The conversations I over hear at social gatherings just remind me of the objections of the highschool dance team when the fat girl tried to join.
The uneducated and negative judgment of a local citizen, running for office suddenly dissolves when one woman meets him, face to face, and he winks at her.
The conversations about soandso down the road being a lazy and probably a druggie, seem to fade into the past when they later find out that the gentle man has a painful disorder, he can't work while on his doctor prescribed medication, he can't drive or busy-body around town- so he invites people to his home to visit, and from time to time walks the sidewalk next to the school yard and watches the children play.
The new woman in town, trying to get to know so and so's ex, is suddenly a stupid hoe.
The person you are frustrated with supervising at work must be a moron, right? Couldn't be that they are intimidated, have a learning disability, or stress, or malnutrition, or any other number of things, could it?
The little white lies we tell to pump up our image.
The manipulative ways people get other people to do what they do not want to do-because you are "friends".
The sheer fear some of us feel when in the circle of gossip when bullshit needs to be called and you'd rather cackle with the rest of them, the torment some feel for never bonding with the others as they are left out.
The things the swarm of bees buzz when the new-bee has left the vicinity.
Can't stand doing anything alone, can't stand not being told how beautiful they are by a new random person every so often, can't imagine opening your mouth to engage a new someone (unless they look like they would make a good lay, or hook you up with some of what they have).
This binder of notes written by Yuppie ended with highschool- of course it did, right?
She became suddenly bored with the same old guy telling her he loves her. She'll be going away for college, probably never going to see that guy again. Feeling like she needed a boost, she went to a meticulously planned get together and was "entertained" by a room full of young and not so young men, before doing a decent thing, like telling the 'same old guy' that his joyride was over... Youngish boys and girls seem to take themselves and their relationships so very seriously, until they are bored- when they dissolve the thing in an evening, and cry and cry about being called the devil later. How come thinking about how the things you do might make others feel, falls out and stays out of fashion in middle school?
You can be looked up to, successful in academia, cared for and coddled by supportive intelligent parents and role models, involved in activities which boost your self image, emotionally leeching off of your peers, but when it comes to doing the right thing, we would rather sneak off and get drunk, or avoid the situation, or down right lie in the face of our fellow humans instead of tell someone something they don't want to hear.
It's all fun and prom dresses until you use big words in sentences without knowing what they mean. That goes for us full fledged adults too!!
There is a huge, dry lake bed where the lush young beauty once was now, if she has grown up and stayed seventeen. I hope she grew up and graduated with a degree, and has a fulfilling career, or has become a successful table dancer- what ever she wants! What matters when you grow up is whether you have decided to start to look outside of yourself self at the many many beautiful, different people there are in the world, and realize that they have feelings which hurt just as much as yours when they are lied to, or about.
Every so often I jump into a pool and swim and engage and enjoy, and don't feel as though I am being inspected. It is a good feeling, to listen to the things another human has to share, to unabashedly weave your own sentiments into the conversation, to be social.
Other times, I jump in and -THUD- "OUCH! there's no water in this water park, I want my effing money back!"
Most times, I do not crave more interaction for a long long time afterward, but I do need to be acknowledged every so often, and return the favor. We are social beings- as much as I want to tell you that I am satisfied seeing the same four people most days, I am interested in new things, and other people can be great teachers, great models for the characteristics and disciplines which I would like to someday carry with me.
It's like mother has been reminding me for years,
You can't know another person's heart.
And what is important is to know the difference between truth and lies, good and bad, and that you try to promote the good within and around us.
For all I know, if my sister and I had moved to this small community earlier in the development of the other children maybe we would have bonded with them and carried on normal amounts of the bizarre things children and adults to to each other as they develop instead of getting 'inspected' and misunderstood through time, even today.
Maybe not- maybe we would have still called BULLSHIT, and would have been ostracized just the same.
I'm not really trying to make a point. I needed to write this, to get it out from under my skin, to try and pull it out, into the fire of time.I still have nightmares about high school, I still have lunch room cafeteria panic attacks around people- especially teenagers.
Some of the people from my graduating class stuck around the peninsula, or are starting to come back to daddy after the big city did not fondle their fancy as the locals do. I snap back five years and become the frustrated, awkward creep I was in Advanced Algebra as a Freshman, when I run into them or am stuck in a room with them.
I am still and was critical, judgmental, awkward, and constantly annoyed by the people around me.
Uninterested.
Just like shit head up there.
So, um, Yeah! Maybe we could have been BFFs!!!
I still have my own self esteem and dependency issues.
I am trying to keep from drying up, trying to keep the pond full of living, supporting water- trying to beat back the insecure, hateful teenager within.
Someday I might have a daughter, or a teenage relative or acquaintance who would need my interaction and I need to be able to look them in the face and see the person- not my past, or the mean, bizarre games I'm sure teenagers and adults alike will always play.
I need to be able to look at myself in the mirror before a social outing, and see the real things, the life- the here and now- within and around myself, and the people I meet.
If there was a product for sanitizing the brain, Brain Bleach- I would diligently scrub and inspect daily.
Instead, I write, read, plant, stutter and stumble. Practice, practice, practice!
Really? Really, that's what you think? That's your position, that's what you're going with?
Really?
I found the fact that the love letters were kept for so long sweet...and creepy.
They were from a sixteen or seventeen year old princess whose very existence was painfully not good enough unless she had a male friend or teacher or parent crammed most of the way up her ass. This transplanted New Yorker gave my sister a run for her money (I mean self esteem) the whole damn five years she spent with her in school, and every other girl who didn't look like a huge German that everyone loved because she was fun and did not pose any competition for the few good enough dudes' glances which she vied for.
What this boils down to is that it reminds me of the patterns and expectations which we develop and hopefully evolve out of after adolescence. BUT, every damn time I attempt to hang around with people my age, and often even when I try to socialize with people much older than myself, I run into these same behaviors over and over again.I'm sure I carry them around as well.
It sticks under my skin. The conversations I over hear at social gatherings just remind me of the objections of the highschool dance team when the fat girl tried to join.
The uneducated and negative judgment of a local citizen, running for office suddenly dissolves when one woman meets him, face to face, and he winks at her.
The conversations about soandso down the road being a lazy and probably a druggie, seem to fade into the past when they later find out that the gentle man has a painful disorder, he can't work while on his doctor prescribed medication, he can't drive or busy-body around town- so he invites people to his home to visit, and from time to time walks the sidewalk next to the school yard and watches the children play.
The new woman in town, trying to get to know so and so's ex, is suddenly a stupid hoe.
The person you are frustrated with supervising at work must be a moron, right? Couldn't be that they are intimidated, have a learning disability, or stress, or malnutrition, or any other number of things, could it?
The little white lies we tell to pump up our image.
The manipulative ways people get other people to do what they do not want to do-because you are "friends".
The sheer fear some of us feel when in the circle of gossip when bullshit needs to be called and you'd rather cackle with the rest of them, the torment some feel for never bonding with the others as they are left out.
The things the swarm of bees buzz when the new-bee has left the vicinity.
Can't stand doing anything alone, can't stand not being told how beautiful they are by a new random person every so often, can't imagine opening your mouth to engage a new someone (unless they look like they would make a good lay, or hook you up with some of what they have).
This binder of notes written by Yuppie ended with highschool- of course it did, right?
She became suddenly bored with the same old guy telling her he loves her. She'll be going away for college, probably never going to see that guy again. Feeling like she needed a boost, she went to a meticulously planned get together and was "entertained" by a room full of young and not so young men, before doing a decent thing, like telling the 'same old guy' that his joyride was over... Youngish boys and girls seem to take themselves and their relationships so very seriously, until they are bored- when they dissolve the thing in an evening, and cry and cry about being called the devil later. How come thinking about how the things you do might make others feel, falls out and stays out of fashion in middle school?
You can be looked up to, successful in academia, cared for and coddled by supportive intelligent parents and role models, involved in activities which boost your self image, emotionally leeching off of your peers, but when it comes to doing the right thing, we would rather sneak off and get drunk, or avoid the situation, or down right lie in the face of our fellow humans instead of tell someone something they don't want to hear.
It's all fun and prom dresses until you use big words in sentences without knowing what they mean. That goes for us full fledged adults too!!
There is a huge, dry lake bed where the lush young beauty once was now, if she has grown up and stayed seventeen. I hope she grew up and graduated with a degree, and has a fulfilling career, or has become a successful table dancer- what ever she wants! What matters when you grow up is whether you have decided to start to look outside of yourself self at the many many beautiful, different people there are in the world, and realize that they have feelings which hurt just as much as yours when they are lied to, or about.
Every so often I jump into a pool and swim and engage and enjoy, and don't feel as though I am being inspected. It is a good feeling, to listen to the things another human has to share, to unabashedly weave your own sentiments into the conversation, to be social.
Other times, I jump in and -THUD- "OUCH! there's no water in this water park, I want my effing money back!"
Most times, I do not crave more interaction for a long long time afterward, but I do need to be acknowledged every so often, and return the favor. We are social beings- as much as I want to tell you that I am satisfied seeing the same four people most days, I am interested in new things, and other people can be great teachers, great models for the characteristics and disciplines which I would like to someday carry with me.
It's like mother has been reminding me for years,
You can't know another person's heart.
And what is important is to know the difference between truth and lies, good and bad, and that you try to promote the good within and around us.
For all I know, if my sister and I had moved to this small community earlier in the development of the other children maybe we would have bonded with them and carried on normal amounts of the bizarre things children and adults to to each other as they develop instead of getting 'inspected' and misunderstood through time, even today.
Maybe not- maybe we would have still called BULLSHIT, and would have been ostracized just the same.
I'm not really trying to make a point. I needed to write this, to get it out from under my skin, to try and pull it out, into the fire of time.I still have nightmares about high school, I still have lunch room cafeteria panic attacks around people- especially teenagers.
Some of the people from my graduating class stuck around the peninsula, or are starting to come back to daddy after the big city did not fondle their fancy as the locals do. I snap back five years and become the frustrated, awkward creep I was in Advanced Algebra as a Freshman, when I run into them or am stuck in a room with them.
I am still and was critical, judgmental, awkward, and constantly annoyed by the people around me.
Uninterested.
Just like shit head up there.
So, um, Yeah! Maybe we could have been BFFs!!!
I still have my own self esteem and dependency issues.
I am trying to keep from drying up, trying to keep the pond full of living, supporting water- trying to beat back the insecure, hateful teenager within.
Someday I might have a daughter, or a teenage relative or acquaintance who would need my interaction and I need to be able to look them in the face and see the person- not my past, or the mean, bizarre games I'm sure teenagers and adults alike will always play.
I need to be able to look at myself in the mirror before a social outing, and see the real things, the life- the here and now- within and around myself, and the people I meet.
If there was a product for sanitizing the brain, Brain Bleach- I would diligently scrub and inspect daily.
Instead, I write, read, plant, stutter and stumble. Practice, practice, practice!
Thursday, March 3, 2011
I like it. It makes me feel like a drag queen!
What do you do when a beloved family member falls ill?
Not just "ouch- that sucks! Sorry for you" ill. I mean, "Two weeks to go there, big guy!" ILL.
It's an inappropriate thing, to sit and wait for a person to die- there is nothing that you do do, that is more appropriate than anything else. For one of us, there is a trip to Arizona, hundreds of dollars, tears, and the first time reunion in a long time of family and friends at an inappropriate event. For both of us, a zone of reflection, support, reflection of life.
To be shrouded by the hazy, unknown veil of looming life's end is to gaze with complete openness into the face of life- the surface of that clear pond. Beneath the surface of the sheer mirror is a world so close, but unknown- never really known.
Fred's greatest fan, as he constantly reminds me, is his paternal grandmother, DarDar.
The second love of her life has had three brain tumors thriving, unseen for months, despite six months of treatment for Bell's Palsy. The doctors have transferred him to hospice.
DarDar is living in Arizona, with her family in Texas and Washington. Fred will be postponing his visit until a time when he will not be "in the way", as he puts it.
When?
Who knows?
Until then, we are floating in a space filled with music, cleaning, gardening, cooking, eating, and surviving the rain. The song we are listening to now is a strange mix of tones, vibrations and special effects which transports me from my existential grump, to a stage- lights, disguise!
Entertainment, nourishment, that flutter that happens sometimes with the right song- all things to do when awaiting death, I suppose.
It's still bullshit.
This is not a picture of my Vinca, or Periwinkle. It is a picture from the internet that I thought was pretty.
My Vinca is half trampled, but still my first pop of not green color around the house, besides the pathetic narcissus by the front door which has bloomed, as well.
Yay.
The flowers bloom, the beloved do not heal.
Puts a damper on this whole "break in the weather".
Not just "ouch- that sucks! Sorry for you" ill. I mean, "Two weeks to go there, big guy!" ILL.
It's an inappropriate thing, to sit and wait for a person to die- there is nothing that you do do, that is more appropriate than anything else. For one of us, there is a trip to Arizona, hundreds of dollars, tears, and the first time reunion in a long time of family and friends at an inappropriate event. For both of us, a zone of reflection, support, reflection of life.
To be shrouded by the hazy, unknown veil of looming life's end is to gaze with complete openness into the face of life- the surface of that clear pond. Beneath the surface of the sheer mirror is a world so close, but unknown- never really known.
Fred's greatest fan, as he constantly reminds me, is his paternal grandmother, DarDar.
The second love of her life has had three brain tumors thriving, unseen for months, despite six months of treatment for Bell's Palsy. The doctors have transferred him to hospice.
DarDar is living in Arizona, with her family in Texas and Washington. Fred will be postponing his visit until a time when he will not be "in the way", as he puts it.
When?
Who knows?
Until then, we are floating in a space filled with music, cleaning, gardening, cooking, eating, and surviving the rain. The song we are listening to now is a strange mix of tones, vibrations and special effects which transports me from my existential grump, to a stage- lights, disguise!
Entertainment, nourishment, that flutter that happens sometimes with the right song- all things to do when awaiting death, I suppose.
It's still bullshit.
My Vinca is half trampled, but still my first pop of not green color around the house, besides the pathetic narcissus by the front door which has bloomed, as well.
Yay.
The flowers bloom, the beloved do not heal.
Puts a damper on this whole "break in the weather".
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