Not the best of rests last night. Lights flickered inbetween the crack leveling the floor and door. My next-room neighbors, as I found out later in the day, woke up sporadically throughout the early morning, causing my eyes to wince and glean from the pouring light fixtures from their windows to mine.
Seventy twenty one rang. Within minutes, my oatmeal-filled body jetted on a nearly flat-tired bicycle, swerving this campus with ease now that I've gotten acclimated with such territory. Fortunately, the morning didn't turn to lull my body to Christine's queen bed for the remainder of the day.
It wasn't even a lull, necessarily; it was surprisingly, more festive and copacetic than usual. My swagger proved boisterous. The zucchini were astounding - prodigious and ripe to perfection. The market garden was a jubilee all around. There was laughter abound from these 1980's quasi-vacuous and radical tractor training movies Raoul asked us to see before stepping onto the mechanized monsters. I mean, who can't help but cackle at the titles, "It's Not Gonna Happen to Me" and "Grandpa...can I ride that, PLEASE?"
If one knows my body, one would assume I'd knock out for the remainder of the afternoon. However, the elated swagger pressed on. I'm gradually becoming more and more comfortable, leveraging my wants with my actions - taking out the compost, utilizing the grey water system, relaxing the shoulders, and enjoying company.
I baked my first-ever bread for a dinner dessert - cranberry honey loaf with brown sugar, using the freshly extracted honey from our garden bee hives this past weekend.
While there were lauds from across the table, I couldn't help but contemplate - who should we really be thanking? The bees for the honey? The being who created bees? The plants growing the flour, sugars, and various white substances I added to the mix? How about the water sources used to wet the flour's palette?
The energy connection is prodigious, yet I, a small percentage at the end of such the connection who simply mixed in all the ingredients from far away places, lands, and spaces, was commended whole-heartedly. There is a deeper relationship than simply my adoration for food science. It is far more than staking edible content into a stainless steel bowl, interpolating them with a whisk or two, and popping them into a heat furnace until our heart contents.
Seventy twenty one rang. Within minutes, my oatmeal-filled body jetted on a nearly flat-tired bicycle, swerving this campus with ease now that I've gotten acclimated with such territory. Fortunately, the morning didn't turn to lull my body to Christine's queen bed for the remainder of the day.
It wasn't even a lull, necessarily; it was surprisingly, more festive and copacetic than usual. My swagger proved boisterous. The zucchini were astounding - prodigious and ripe to perfection. The market garden was a jubilee all around. There was laughter abound from these 1980's quasi-vacuous and radical tractor training movies Raoul asked us to see before stepping onto the mechanized monsters. I mean, who can't help but cackle at the titles, "It's Not Gonna Happen to Me" and "Grandpa...can I ride that, PLEASE?"
If one knows my body, one would assume I'd knock out for the remainder of the afternoon. However, the elated swagger pressed on. I'm gradually becoming more and more comfortable, leveraging my wants with my actions - taking out the compost, utilizing the grey water system, relaxing the shoulders, and enjoying company.
I baked my first-ever bread for a dinner dessert - cranberry honey loaf with brown sugar, using the freshly extracted honey from our garden bee hives this past weekend.
While there were lauds from across the table, I couldn't help but contemplate - who should we really be thanking? The bees for the honey? The being who created bees? The plants growing the flour, sugars, and various white substances I added to the mix? How about the water sources used to wet the flour's palette?
The energy connection is prodigious, yet I, a small percentage at the end of such the connection who simply mixed in all the ingredients from far away places, lands, and spaces, was commended whole-heartedly. There is a deeper relationship than simply my adoration for food science. It is far more than staking edible content into a stainless steel bowl, interpolating them with a whisk or two, and popping them into a heat furnace until our heart contents.
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