Yesterday, I made this fig, olive oil, sea salt challah bread. This was my first bread-making and other than some dough stretched a little too thin, I’m pretty proud of myself. It’s been raining for three days and the clouds are colliding. Pat and I listened to music all day yesterday and I cleaned our bedroom, a deep clean and hung a quilt on the wall, went through old clothes I don’t want and purged. I love the rain here. It gives me an excuse to stay inside all day and make challah bread. It’s awful, isn’t it, when it’s sunny all the time? Just kidding. It’s wonderful, but as my Ohio friend says – it’s brings about the Mid-West guilt when all you really want to do is stay inside all day and you can’t because it’s so damn nice out. Here – every day is waiting to be seized, not just half the year when every where else it’s in hibernation. I’ll stop, I’m beginning to see the tomatoes flying.
But I’m loving this rain, the burst of asphalt when you open the door, the minerals and eucalyptus. I love that right now everything feels right. That there are new freedoms budding for the people I love; that I have coffee and bread and mandarine oranges and new blue oxfords and the sun peaking in then out then in again. I love that when I walk down a stairwell, a cool breeze runs over my face and every part of me is a tide pool – anemones water in and out feeding feeding.
Leave a Reply