One, baking bread is a new hobby. Yup, I’m a bread lover. Particularly of this kind, quite crusty on the outside, and quite chewy on the inside. It’s a new shape each time. Takes me back to memories of my Granny Fern, known in part for her bread and baking.
The recipe is simple. 3 cups flour. 1 teaspoon salt. 1/2 teaspoon instant yeast. 1.5 cups water. Mix it all together. Cover it for 12-18 hours.
The waiting is part of the fun. The smell of the rising bread fills the house. I let mine rise over night so that I can bake it in the morning. I heat the baking bowl at 475 degrees. I turn the dough on the floured counter to reshape it to a ball. I put it in the hot baking bowl. I bake it 30 minutes with lid on. Then 15 minutes with the lid removed.
Voila.
Two, I love the baking bowl. It comes from local potter Joe Bennion in Spring City. Of course, earthy. Comes from his hands. I have a few of his items, collected over the years, in my cupboards. Mugs, soup bowls, plates, a few baking dishes, tumblers, shot glasses.
Three, I love this line about poetry and bread from the Chilean Poet, Pablo Neruda — I got it from my friend Katharine Weinmann’s recent post — Neruda says, “Poetry is an act of peace. Peace goes into the making of a poet as flour goes into the making of bread.” Yup, I’m a poetry lover. With good crust. With chewy center.
Four, a poem. I included this one in Most Mornings. It’s called, In Clarity. I wrote it so as to remember and encourage a freed heart, a peaceful heart. Today I connect it to the simplicity of bread.
In Clarity
I wish departure most mornings.
From all the imposed noise that distorts my inner.
I wish to remain most mornings.
In clarity of freed heart.
Here’s to the freed and peaceful heart of it for any of us, in the dough and in the words.
It is centering in the basics, yet it is also going beyond learned practice, daring to move into the lived experience of circle. Deep. Fun. Easy. So as to reach new levels of belonging and contributing with self and with others.
Circle is the form that we know most helps. As practice. As methodology. As way of being. As way of doing. Just enough format, principle, and practice to welcome more people to a sense of flow.
Here we go. Humans together. To welcome an aliveness in learning and in love.
It is Thanksgiving Day in USA. A holiday that sources back to European pilgrims arriving to the continent. Settling. Persevering. It sources back to appreciations of harvest, sharing, and inviting community. Turns out it is a much more complex story. All the neglected details, shadows, wounds, and so forth. Indeed. And here we are.
For me, Thanksgiving Day brings out extra energy of gratitude, which also has its complexity. Yet simplicity too. Yes to practices of awareness, wrapped in gratefulness.
So, today, a very random expression, of some gratitudes big and small. That live in my heart, belly.
Thankful for. The computer on my desk. The reasonably solid wifi that connects me to so much learning. The pens and markers that I use to doodle and to map connections. The watch that reminds of dear Toke, because it’s a Danish brand. The artifacts — stones, shells, candle — that rest on the window ledge before me, also reminding me of dear friends. The hoodie that I wear to keep me warmed on these early Winter mornings, and the memory of it being from my son. I smile.
Such beautiful people that I encounter regularly, working with such moving purpose. My kids, their spouses. My parents. My family system that so formed and grounded me. My friends with whom I work and play and eat popcorn, and share a whiskey.
The space in a day to do a bit of nothing. Or take a bath. Or ride the stationary bike. And make a smallish turkey dinner, and use Mom’s recipe for candied sweet potatoes. And listen to a book, a novel. And sort a few finances.
I’ll call Mom and Dave later today. Just for hello. I’ll watch a bit of football. I’ll stretch my body, trying to further hope habit of flex in hips, shoulders, and back. I’ll welcome Elijah. To laugh it up together.
Living with aliveness in learning and love. Having a few key friends to turn to when it all goes to shit. Celebrating life flowing. Candles glowing. Friends, friends — oh my. People who show up to Fire & Water — oh my. Dear mentors — oh my. Dear mentees — oh my.
It grows. This feeling of thanks. That makes for such a compelling moment. In a day. In a week. In a month. In a life.
