I’ve mentioned a dozen or so times here that I’m not a morning person. I’ve thought about whether that was a real thing— whether it was a “thinking makes it so,” thing. Here’s my evidence that, in my case, it’s not.
I made these about a week ago, to go with my version of cassoulet.
It’s a good recipe, though I used the recipe writer’s suggestion of 1/2 white and 1/2 wheat flour, and I used brown sugar, not white, and the wheat flavor entirely masked any of the sourdough. I haven’t loved the flavor of the starter I’m using. I’m finding that it’s not very flavorful, generally. I may start experimenting with it, to see if I can’t develop its flavor better.
I remember meeting with a financial advisor, when I had to roll over a 401(k) when I was a 20-something. He asked what my goals were, and, overthinker that I am, I included in my goals that I wanted not to find out that the things I invested in were exploiting people. I used the example of not funding our generation’s equivalent of the Holocaust.
For whatever reason, I’ve always worried that, when the time came, I wouldn’t have the guts to live out my convictions in a meaningful way. I’d choose the easy or the comfortable path. I worry about that, still.
I’ve gotten to the point where I get really frustrated with things like changing your Facebook profile pic, in support of an issue, but having that be the only “meaningful action” you’re willing to take. I call it the “what a good boy am I!” mentality. You can make an argument that you’re raising awareness that way, but I’m not convinced that it goes meaningfully beyond self-congratulations.
I make it a point not to invite political conversation. So please understand that this is not me talking about immigration or national defense. This is me saying enough with the words. Time to do something.
When I got home from work last night, I decided to take the dog for a walk. I’d meant to do it over the weekend and never gotten to it, and I was hoping that channeling his energy in a positive direction would slow him down on the busy project of destroying his bandage.
So the dog’s recovery has been much lengthier than we anticipated— he wore his splint until last Wednesday, and has had a couple of rounds of pressure sores on his feet (he hasn’t had his nails trimmed since just before the surgery, and his foot wasn’t touching the ground, so having his toes wrapped for the last 2.5 months means that his nails dig into his skin and cause problems). The last round necessitated leaving his toes wrapped for another week, to get completely healed. So I’m supposed to remove the bandage Wednesday, though I wouldn’t bet that the bandage would last that long, at this point.
In every sense of the word.
I love chocolate. I do. So what I’m going to say next is going to sound a little like heresy.
On my snow day, I went a little kitchen-crazy. I have this recipe, from ages ago, entitled “variations on chocolate shortbread.” Honestly, I don’t know where I found it, but it’s what I do instead of sugar cookies (they’re fun to decorate, but I don’t enjoy making them or eating them, so I don’t.) You take a simple shortbread recipe (butter, salt, sugar, flour, maybe a little baking powder— I’ll come back with quantities), then divide the dough and flavor it different ways. Historically, I’ve divided the dough in half, done half in chocolate, half without chocolate, and then added chips to half of each half (dizzy yet?), resulting in plain (which I’m calling “classic,” because respect), chocolate chip, chocolate, and chocolate chocolate chip. It’s a good balance to the other cookies I tend to make, to have some extra chocolate stuff in the assortment.