I am often, for want of a better word, lazy. Delightfully, not negatively, so. I come home from work, put on fuzzy pajama pants, and cozy up with a book and a blanket and a kitty. It's not a bad way to spend my afternoons and evenings. I put in a good work day, and I enjoy being able to come home and relax. Who doesn't?
This afternoon I had a work meeting from 3:30 until 5:30, and at 5:25 my attention began waning, my eyes began glazing over, and I sat there dreaming about coming home to my kitties and warm house, looking forward to a dinner and a movie on my husband-less Tuesday night. Then I realized that we are planning to host a little party tomorrow night, and that we promised to make soup and bread, and that if I wanted to make bread and actually have it ready for everyone to eat tomorrow, then I would have to make it tonight. As the clock ticked to 5:29 I thought that perhaps I should also take advantage of this evening to do a little yardwork, since a large snowstorm is predicted to hit tomorrow morning, and there are masses of leaves in our yard, the garden hoses haven't been put away, the fall broccoli is still in the ground, limp and shivering . . . etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.
So I drove home in the busy rush-hour traffic (yet another reason not to drive unless, like today, I really had to), collected the eggs (2!) from the henhouse, and, yes, put on my fuzzy pajama pants. Then I took out the sourdough starter I got a couple of weeks ago from my coworker--brilliant, brilliant stuff. I'd always wanted to make sourdough but have found it too complicated and time-consuming. But when you actually HAVE the starter sitting in your fridge, making sourdough bread is just as easy as making regular bread. All you do is take some delectably tangy starter . . .
add water and flour, sugar and salt and yeast, and knead it into a lovely ball . . .
let it rise, divide it into loaves, let it rise again, then bake it in a hot hot oven until its fragrance floats into every corner of the house and you can scarcely stand it . . .
and you just have to dig right in, because there is nothing like fresh bread. MMM.
It tastes especially good if you've just spent an hour and a half of your evening raking the yard, scattering leaves over the garden for mulch, pulling up mostly dead broccoli and kale plants, and winding up hoses. IN THE DARK. Because when you get home at 5:50pm on a day at the end of November, dark is all you have left of your evening. And when you come in the house, sweaty, muddy, and tired, then a conversation with a good friend, fresh bread, two cats on your lap, and a good movie are the perfect way to complete the evening.
Now that's what I call productive.
This afternoon I had a work meeting from 3:30 until 5:30, and at 5:25 my attention began waning, my eyes began glazing over, and I sat there dreaming about coming home to my kitties and warm house, looking forward to a dinner and a movie on my husband-less Tuesday night. Then I realized that we are planning to host a little party tomorrow night, and that we promised to make soup and bread, and that if I wanted to make bread and actually have it ready for everyone to eat tomorrow, then I would have to make it tonight. As the clock ticked to 5:29 I thought that perhaps I should also take advantage of this evening to do a little yardwork, since a large snowstorm is predicted to hit tomorrow morning, and there are masses of leaves in our yard, the garden hoses haven't been put away, the fall broccoli is still in the ground, limp and shivering . . . etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.
So I drove home in the busy rush-hour traffic (yet another reason not to drive unless, like today, I really had to), collected the eggs (2!) from the henhouse, and, yes, put on my fuzzy pajama pants. Then I took out the sourdough starter I got a couple of weeks ago from my coworker--brilliant, brilliant stuff. I'd always wanted to make sourdough but have found it too complicated and time-consuming. But when you actually HAVE the starter sitting in your fridge, making sourdough bread is just as easy as making regular bread. All you do is take some delectably tangy starter . . .
add water and flour, sugar and salt and yeast, and knead it into a lovely ball . . .
let it rise, divide it into loaves, let it rise again, then bake it in a hot hot oven until its fragrance floats into every corner of the house and you can scarcely stand it . . .
and you just have to dig right in, because there is nothing like fresh bread. MMM.
It tastes especially good if you've just spent an hour and a half of your evening raking the yard, scattering leaves over the garden for mulch, pulling up mostly dead broccoli and kale plants, and winding up hoses. IN THE DARK. Because when you get home at 5:50pm on a day at the end of November, dark is all you have left of your evening. And when you come in the house, sweaty, muddy, and tired, then a conversation with a good friend, fresh bread, two cats on your lap, and a good movie are the perfect way to complete the evening.
Now that's what I call productive.
