bread, lovely things, miscellaneous, drivel

…simple pleasures…

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I’m not quite sure what has made this last week seem quite so perfect – as with almost anything in life, it’s usually never any one thing – certainly never in isolation, but rather like a mosaic of bright spots that come along at just the right moment throughout ordinary days that make you realize that life is truly beautiful.

For weeks now on my daily wanderings about neighborhoods, I’ve been admiring the various tree fruits blossoming, coming into knowable forms and degrees of ripeness. I’ve always stopped and admired them, looked, watched… Something happened this week that compelled me to begin sampling things. I am now, a thief. I steal apples, unripe plums, and I’m scoping out where the figs are growing, grapes beginning to fill out on vines about arbors and fences… There’s nothing in life that tastes so good as food fresh off the branch, or out of the ground… Nor is anything quite as liberating as the twang of delinquency brought about by eating a stolen apple while wandering down an empty suburban street…

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Making bread again, after a long fallow period of simply feeding starters, never getting around to the not at all tedious chore of kneading it, stowing it, letting it proof…

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Rediscovering the joy of watching it rise in the oven, having every corner of the house full of the aroma of bread baking…

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Brewing beer in sketchy and cobbled together equipment, the smell of grains steeping in the mash, the way it changes in aroma as it boils…

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The amazing sight of yeast flourishing, flocculating, vigorously fermenting wort into beer…

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Spending time and energy on silly and purposeless ideas, meant only to amuse and incite others to speculate on the absurdity of modern life…

These are the things that illuminate my existence, that wake me at 4:30 every morning, exhilarated,
unable to set aside… Maybe what makes this week seem nearly perfect, upon reflection, is realizing that this is my ideal life. This is who I am, what I need, almost everything I want to be, the only sort of existence that will make me feel happy. It is my spine, my support, the backdrop to anything else I might do, my funicular form…

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