It is the 20th of March and 36 days into Lent. It is another day. I am trying to find my zen. I am tired from a rem-less sleep. It is where I am, heavy and loaded down. This is where I will start.
The fact is, we are down to one loaf of bread and there are no makings for sandwiches for lunch. The utensils, flour, yeast come out. And while the dough is rising, I steal one of Sheba’s bones for making soup. The pot goes on the stove, the bone and water goes on to boil. In the meantime, I find, wash and chop the vegetables. The bone comes out, the vegetables go in.
The dough is ready. I punch it down and divide into three loaves to rise again. The soup bone is cooled, so out the door it goes with Sheba. She is out of my hair, gnawing happily for some minutes. I have some free time to relax with my second cup of tea. I have an urge to make biscuits to go with the soup but axed it along with the urge to vacuum. Better to just chill.
The timer is beeping that the loaves are ready for the oven. I will put them in and then enjoy the warmth and brightness of the sun. I will catnap with Sheba while the bread bake. This imperfect life is just purrr-fect.