A side-note of personal triumph
Sep. 22nd, 2012 07:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceI appear finally to have used all the teaspoons in the house. Karen had a lot of teaspoons when I moved in, and I do mean a lot; and I have meted out my lifetime's use over a bare handful that were never enough; and I thought I would never get through them.
Lo.
In other news, I had thought that I was done. I had turned off the water in the yard and the heat beneath the beef, and I thought it sufficient unto the day. Then I bethought me of laundry, and started a load of towels; then I remembered about the bread. I am still determined to find a way to rise the dough overnight without its overrising, because that's the only way to be sure we have fresh sourdough for lunch; so this time I'm going to irritate it all evening and leave it in the fridge and then give it one last knead first thing in the morning, set it in the proving-basket for its final rise and see how much time it needs to warm through and get excited about things again.
So there's that. I am fiddling with bread and sipping wine and thinking about eating leftovers while m'wife chews through a feast of many courses in company with other bards (she's a judge! she's important! they will defer to her, and I'm not there to see it!). I harbour no resentments, none. I like wine, and eating leftovers, and making bread. I'm supposed to like being by myself, too, it's meant to be my nature. Especially at the back end of a social week, and before a major party. But, y'know. She's Karen and I'm Chaz, and I miss her.
Lo.
In other news, I had thought that I was done. I had turned off the water in the yard and the heat beneath the beef, and I thought it sufficient unto the day. Then I bethought me of laundry, and started a load of towels; then I remembered about the bread. I am still determined to find a way to rise the dough overnight without its overrising, because that's the only way to be sure we have fresh sourdough for lunch; so this time I'm going to irritate it all evening and leave it in the fridge and then give it one last knead first thing in the morning, set it in the proving-basket for its final rise and see how much time it needs to warm through and get excited about things again.
So there's that. I am fiddling with bread and sipping wine and thinking about eating leftovers while m'wife chews through a feast of many courses in company with other bards (she's a judge! she's important! they will defer to her, and I'm not there to see it!). I harbour no resentments, none. I like wine, and eating leftovers, and making bread. I'm supposed to like being by myself, too, it's meant to be my nature. Especially at the back end of a social week, and before a major party. But, y'know. She's Karen and I'm Chaz, and I miss her.