Musette

A third of the way there

Today's pool temperature: mildly frigid. It was the 5- and 10-mile swim day, and the serious distance guys didn't want to overheat. Leaving the splashers slightly chilly. Actually, it was great in there. On my handful of hours of sleep, I thought I'd slip in and try catching a nap while putting in some laps. I did a mile. The good news is that it was the farthest I've swum in years. Better is that I felt as though I could've done yet another mile. The best news, though, is that I got myself outa there before inflicting harm on some surprised body part.

So, it's 18 more days of daily poems. I like to think that at the end I'll simply continue, though the idea of saying "you know, I'll just finish this tomorrow" seems wonderful. To reconnect with the deeper reasons for doing this, I've picked up Peter Levitt's "Fingerpainting on the Moon," which takes me right back into his wise, wise presence. I'd really needed a hit of Peter. I'll let him keep me company as I sit at my desk. The sourdough starter is bubbling on the stove, not cooking but warming itself above the low heat of the oven. The rain--or rumor of approaching rain--has made it chillier in here. So there will be bread again tomorrow. And poetry. And brunch at the yacht club, I'm told. And before that, blessedly, bed.

The foolproof food of poets

So the bread recipe is truly foolproof. I added the sourdough starter using the amounts in another recipe, slopped in some approximate amount of water, reread the sourdough recipe and realized I was supposed to add yeast as well, added the dissolved yeast to the finished dough I'd already shaped into a ball to let rise (don't try this at home, kids!)--and it *still* turned out. Tastes amazing.

Overflow

The instructions said "24 hours" and a "large" bowl to avoid "overflow." Did they put any of that in big red capital letters so the casual reader would pay attention? No. So when I got home from work today after a longer-than-expected shift, the sourdough starter had been bubbling for, oh, 26 or 27 hours in the only warm space in the house--on the top of the water heater. Let's just say that I did not use a large bowl and learned that really, washing down the sides of a water heater is no different than sponging down the refrigerator. Only that sourdough stuff is *really* messy. There's a poem in this, but only desperation will have me writing it. (Day 23: Ode to sourdough starter...)