Sally Lunn Bread

This morning, I woke up by myself at about 7:40. I had gone to bed early but decided against setting an alarm, as a weekend treat to myself. That didn't really pan out (get it?) so I decided to make bread.

 After going to the dining hall and spilling an entire cup of coffee on myself, then drinking another one, I headed to safeway. I am normally not a morning person, but getting to enjoy the early part of the day of my own volition was beautiful. It helps that it was super sunny, but I think getting up before the rest of the world on the weekend is a lovely feeling.

Baking this bread turned out to be absurdly easy. Maybe because there was no kneading involved. Maybe also because I haven't made bread recently so it was all just a party for me. Seeing it actually start rising was the most exciting part. I felt so accomplished; like I had brought something new and wonderful into the world with nothing but flour, eggs, butter and some yeast.

Once made and sufficiently oggled, I got to cut it up and make french toast out of it. Perfect, Just perfect. And it wasn't even noon yet. I thoroughly enjoyed spending my Sunday morning at the church of bread.

Inspiration from Smitten Kitchen!

I want to be...

I want to be one of those people that makes butter and cheese by hand, so that every simple grocery item becomes treasured, a labor of love. I want to be self sufficient and spend my weekends preparing my food for the week.

As I sit here waiting for my bread dough to rise, I know that I'm being idealistic. Turning over household food chores to capitalist industry is what allowed people, and women especially, to be free from the kitchen and explore career options. It is because of store-bought bread and cheese that I'm able to be going to college right now.

Okay maybe that is a stretch, but it's not far off. If I spent all of my time making food, who would support me? And more importantly, when would I have time to do homework, or any kind of work? (Aside from my precious hour I have now in which my bread is rising).

I'm very privileged that I'm able to do this in my spare time, and that I can spend under $10 on a plethora of ingredients at Safeway. But what about people who don't have the kind of time I do? The real privilege of slow food is time, not money. And in a world where people need to go to school full time and work a job and take care of their children just to stay afloat, there is no time to make a healthy meal. Despite the fact that fast food is actually more expensive than most food from scratch, you're paying for the convenience.

Because of all the trouble that capitalism has wrought on food, I am quick to say that ease of life is what is causing a lot of america's problems. But this is not a fully fledged idea. There is more to work out. 

With the rest of my bread-rising time, I'm going to read more of White Bread by Aaron Bobrow-Strain. He teaches at my school, and this book looks like a promising start to answer some tough food questions. 

It's always when I'm wearing my dexcom that I get the most frustrated with my diabetes management. Here is a list of some of my diabetes thoughts today. 


Number one: My overnight. WTF is that. I don't even have any control over that. I don't even know.


Number two: I made a vow the night before that I would be a really good diabetic for a day, since I have my dexcom on and so I'd have proof. When I woke up, I had my shot about 20 minutes before breakfast. Then I didn't look at my dexcom again until lunchtime. Which is where you see point number two on this graph. My breakdown. Seeing the thing flatline and having it just tell me that I'm "HIGH" is really fucking discouraging. I had to cry a little bit. AKA a lot. I know that there is so much about diabetes that is out of my control but when my dexcom gets all accusatory on me I can't help but feel like such a failure. Doesn't it know that I'm trying hard today?! Apparently not.  When I get to see all of my numbers, it completely shakes the foundation of what I think I know about how diabetes works. Which really fucking sucks.


Number three: This saturday is my seven year Diabetaversary. I feel like I should be better by now. 
Also maybe I should be less of a H8R on my disease. Yeah. It sucks. It really does. And I just wish I could drop out of school and take up full-time diabetes management so I can figure this thing out. But that's not productive.
It's a part of me. It's teaching me something, even if I dig in my heels and try to refuse. There is no use hanging onto false hopes because they're false. Real hopes--like having a good blood sugar day for once-- are much more painful, because they really matter. Having a hope means working towards it... and that is what sucks.

Prices

Whenever I learn about some expense, I apply it as a unit of measure to other things, such as: This iPod costs about 4 pairs of jeans. Usually what is at the forefront of my mind is things that I want to buy. Currently it's plane tickets to Thailand, where I'll be going in about 4 months. Which I'm now applying to other things, such as 3 tickets to Thailand = one year of Whitman. Eeek.

$1,706: A round trip ticket to Thailand from PDX From August to December. 

$2,300: The grant money I get for the internship I'm doing this summer.

$54,086: One year of Whitman

$54,000: Amount of Money owed by Bob Catsiff because of fines towards the mural outside of his toy store, at $100 dollars a day for more than a year.

God & Stuff.

I have been notice recently that there are a lot of logical, ethical and symbolic reasons for religion. It really does serve some primary human needs. There is the function of God on a macro scheme, which always begs explanation... Then there is the micro need to access this word. Everyone want's to get it right. Holy books are unsolicited answers to all of life's problems, or at least are an attempt at an that kind of ideal. Who doesn't want  that?

However, understanding religion logically is not the same as belief. No matter how much religion speaks to ways to fill certain emotional needs, it can not quantify emotion. That has to come from each individual, either inspired by them or by God. I don't know. I know that I don't have it and right now I really wish that I did.

   In preparing to go to Thailand, I set up my phone so it shows me what time it is Bangkok, and guess what... In Thailand it's MY BIRTHDAY ALREADY!  Yeah!
   I can't tell you why I'm so excited about my birthday... Maybe because the date is so familiar for me, like an old friend. April 3rd, it's nice to see you again. 
   I haven't had a birthday party in years, and don't plan on it. Although last year I got surprised by my best friend with a room full of stuffed owls from Goodwill on the midnight of my birthday.

My Birthday Owls, chillin' in their new home, the bathroom.

   Outside of surprises, I try not to have too many expectations. Making plans stresses me out. I just want to enjoy the day, enjoy my friends, and maybe reflect on my life so far. I see birthdays as even better than the new year as a chance to reflect, and take stock of my accomplishments.
   This birthday is kind of a big one. 20. What does that even mean? I'm still not an adult, but I'm not a teen either. I've always said that I would get a tattoo on (or near) my 20th birthday, as a kind of grown up thing to do. I'm not sure how grown up getting a tattoo really is, but I still enjoy the sentiment. I still don't have a design in mind though, so I'm not stressing.
   In taking this new step in to 20-hood I feel like I should recognize what being 19 even meant.
   In my 19th year I: finished my first year of college, spent another summer working at PSU, learned a lot about Star Trek, Worked for the paper some more, declared my major, got to share a horrible room with one of my best friends, survived a hellish fall semester (including rough living situation, hard classes, a lonely break, watching lost of 'Friends', a sprained wrist and a rejuvenating visit from my parents), was vegan for a while, kissed a whittie, learned that (basically) I'm straight, Finally went to a news conference in Seattle, became besties with all of my housemates (especially my newest roommate), got the flu, got a job offer on my own merit at the Children's Museum, and got a god-awful haircut which has finally grown out. 
   Not too shabby, I suppose. 
   T-2 hours and I'll get to start the adventure of being 20!