I finished my first screenplay--well, finished it enough to send it off to someone who knows enough to tell me what to edit first.
I filled out my tuition grant application.
I trimmed Simpkin's claws.
I thought about fitness goals and ate with a mind to "making my macros". This fervent intuitive eater is test-running a switch to calculated nutrition. What can I say? Intuitive eating saved my sanity and helped me gain a healthy attitude toward food. Now I want to know that I'm eating in a way that supports the development of a stronger, abler--and yes, more attractive--body. I just want my abs to show up. Today this quest involved a smoothie made with 60 grams of whey powder . . .
I wrote a thank-you note.
I squished all visible worms on my cabbages. I transplanted about 20 chamomile plants from the driveway to the backyard.
I was envious of Glynis's morning project. So quotidian, specific, pertinent, consistent. It's extremely refreshing.
Good night kids!
A few weeks ago, Tim held a tiny dovetails class for me and my friend Teng.
After two hours, the three of us had cooperatively produced this corner.
By now I have justified adding woodworking to my list of skills-to-practice. I want to make a box.
|Observe the Japanese saw I bought six years ago--the green one--and have used for the first time this summer.|
|bananas, with spots and cupboard doors|
|yarn from Stokurinn in Reykjavik|
|breakfast--with unseen, just-planted sprouted garlic|
|a sweater torso|
|sprouted ginger root|
|this will be a lopapeysa|
|pears, avocado pears (as S. P. would say)|
|sourdough rye bread|
|spring spit bubble|
|Please note that this is almost certainly the first you have ever seen of my legs. It's that summer, people.|
When my mum and dad were first married, my dad broke a candle holder of my mum's and felt awful about it. Before Christmas that year, he carefully dissolved the substrate from the gemstones that had studded the holder, then re-set them in white plaster, using a glass jar as a base. He was always going down to the basement laundry room late at night and coming back up to my parents' apartment with stained hands. My mum thought her new husband had a burgeoning drug habit.
The re-made candle holder sits on the piano for the entire month of December, every Christmas. Ros and I loved it. The Christmas I was 10 or 11, my dad made holders for the two of us. Ros's had mostly red gemstones and a few blue; mine had mostly blue gemstones and a few red. Until I moved out, we only lit them up on Christmas Eve and Christmas night--we were allowed to go to sleep with tealights lit in our bedroom and spots of colour projected on the wall. In my own apartments, my candle holder has always sat on the windowsill. I've probably posted half a dozen pictures of it. Two years ago, a cheap tealight (I think it was from Superstore--Ikea tealights are superior) leaked out of its aluminum casing and cracked the jar. One year ago, at Home Depot buying things for the new house, I bought a carton of plaster of Paris and decided I would do with my own candle holder what my dad had done with my mum's. Over Reading Week this past February, I finally started the repair. I'm pleased to say it's finished now.
|baking to soften the old plaster|
|chipping out the gemstones|
|trying to place the gemstones with double-sided tape (I had to use school glue in the end)|
|first layer of plaster|
|more plaster, plus verathane = finished|
|a bit knobblier than the original|
The Ikea yarn has by now become three inches of legit fair isle. I'll show you tomorrow.
Notice the new and tiny tropical plant,
and the gemstones. They're on their way to becoming something else.
Today I'm making toasted-almond-allspice-and-marzipan biscotti for Easter.
I'm also writing my second of four final, final papers.
I'm trying to eat only food that tastes good, and I actually want
--less than I thought. To quote Geneen Roth,
"No one's hunger is bottomless".
I'm wearing pants for the second time in eight months.
They're army green; they sit low on my hips and cinch at my ankles.
After the last snowfall, it's gotten warm and the whole city is a lake.
I am wild to ride my bike again.
I'm bracing for the mountain of good work there will be to do once the snow is gone.
Last week I bought this from this talented woman.
I've received two letters as well. Plume and Glynis--thanks thanks thanks.
Heath emailed back. Plans are developing and I have a pile of money to secret away.
I am tired. But the daylight is growing.
I fully intend to wear shorts this summer.
And how are you? I would love to hear your day's news.
I am becoming attracted to the idea of more serious lifting. Since Christmas, with a lapse in the middle of February, I've been doing both strength training and short bouts of cardio. I feel amazing after lifting free weights, holding a long plank, actually feeling my chest touch the ground during a push-up. I adore my biceps. Today I squatted for the first time, holding one of the dumbbells Tim uses on his arms. 8 hours later, my whole body hurts in a very, very good way.
|After I had to rip back the entire yoke on Tim's sweater (those blasted shoulders!), I wanted to knit something less heartbreaking. And so: the cotton candy running cowl.|
|Fourth recipe in Bread Matters--baps.|
120 pages into this book, the recipe section commences. Having read every one of the warnings against industrial bread (some of which I found reasonable, some slightly hysterical), nodded along with the author's defense of the pleasures and advantages of baking bread at home, and closely attended to the sections on bowl material, types of flour, water temperature, and kneading techniques, I felt the only thing to do was to start with the first recipe.
So I did. "Basic Bread" came out of the oven yesterday, and I have a page of notes on it, and a small knob of dough sitting in the fridge, waiting to be incorporated into the next recipe, for "Old Dough Bread". I aim to pull a Julie Powell, and, by the end of the year, bake every recipe in the book. (Thereby, I will translate a vague, qualitative resolution into an accomplishable, concrete sort of resolution.) Tim likes this plan a lot.
At the same time, experiments on my own with the already-established sourdough:
|Also: do you see that sun?|
There is nothing like pausing every couple of hours to dissolve yeast in warm water, measure flour, punch down a cushion of dough, preheat the oven, pat and shape the loaves, check on their proofing, peek into the oven. (I don't want instant food--I want to coax glue to turn into bread.)
Happy Monday you all!
For my first darn, I think it's not bad. Of course, there's lots of room for improvement. This method of darning, mostly suitable for small holes, is called a Swiss darn (or duplicate stitch), and, theoretically, it can be almost invisible.
I'm also in the process of (more creatively and obviously) repairing a nasty gash in a black cardigan of mine. Perhaps pictures within the next few days. Have a lovely Sunday!