Snow prep, vaccine routine, poetry and other thoughts about the universe

Another heavy snow forecast, which came true today, so yesterday I did snow prep, which consisted of doing the laundry in case power went out, unusual, but it could happen.  And finally, finally, getting around to baking bread. Thanks to Friko, whose comment reminded me that it would be good to have some around.

I don't know why I put off making bread. It's so satisfying, and when it's rising you can smell the yeast at work.  It's alive almost as soon as you've mixed the ingredients. Anyway, for whatever reason, here's the latest giant loaf, which is to be separated into four for freezing.  The sign of the cross is not only a thing bread physically needs, to break the rise, but can be a devotion, too, if you're inclined that way, which I am, thanking whoever invented bread and created the means of making it.

It's whole wheat and white, 5 cups whole wheat, 2.5 of white.  And it makes a lovely crisp crust, not as crisp as if I used some oatmeal, but this time I didn't choose to.  And the crumb is dense and great to eat.

I like a nice sturdy bread that looks like something to eat.  Not full of air.  Here you see the crumb, where the small airholes are the result of the ap flour. If I wanted an even denser loaf, I'd just use wholewheat, and have sometimes.

And here's comfort food last thing last night. Homemade strawberry jam spread on the first slice of the loaf.  Great.

So, here are the obligatory snow pix

Same as last time, basically, about eight inches to a foot, with ice on top eventually, just to make it shiny, I guess.  Every winter I marvel that there will be a time, dv, that I'll sit out on that chair reading peacefully and wondering if I should come in to cool off.

So this morning was all about morning routine, which is looking like this these days:

 

wake up, open window, breathe in lovely air, close window before house freezes, or this morning, bedroom fills with snow.

 

make pot of tea and pancakes, sprinkle with lemon juice and sugar, the pancakes not the pot of tea

 

eat in front of therapy lamp, to which I attribute my much better sleeping this winter

 

check in vaccine possibilities, state, nothing, county, nothing, local hospital, sorry folks, CVS scheduler down, sorry, Walgreen's nothing nearer than 25 miles, and they declined to tell me where anyway, RiteAid let me get as far as picking a pharmacy, then declined to continue.  Froze on the continue button.  Okay, done my best.  Again.

 

And today a friend whose profession is communications, commented that she had a very badly written user guide to a bit of medical equipment she's currently attached to, had to call the 800 number to find out how to proceed. She used to write stuff like this guide, only much better, and wishes fervently she could have got the job of writing this one.  Now here's the thing. She's also a poet.

 

At first I marveled that my friend the poet was very happy also writing instruction manuals, user guides.  Until it dawned on me that poetry is the user guide to the psyche, and, by extension, to the universe.  So, not so surprising after all, then. And her Twitter comments are often mini poems.  She's started incorporating them into her longer works, with quite a bit of success. In the sense of creating good art, not in the sense of getting famous, but I expect you know my definition of success at this point. Go, Kate!