Pandemic Living has caused me to commit more than my usual number of fashion crimes. I apologize in advance….
Exhibit A
Exhibit B
Exhibit C
Exhibit D
As a public service and to cleanse your palate so you can sleep tonight, I present this amazing little creature, found during my dog walk yesterday:
I do derive a sort of primitive satisfaction through providing food for my family, and I have ample opportunities at present to do so.
Early in the shut in, I was unable to find any decent bread and decided to make my own. I started with honey wheat. The product was leaden, underproved, and raw in the middle. Paul Hollywood would have gagged. No, Paul Hollywood would not have let it pass his lips.
My kids loved it.
Eyeing my few remaining yeast packets and not finding any in the store–though a one-pound bag was available through Amazon if only I could wait a month–I decided to create a yeast starter. I figured this could be my forever yeast source and went on to attempt herb bread and then a repeat of the honey wheat loaves.
During each rise, the dough needed multiple hours to heft its glutinous flab to a semi-upright position despite my cheerleading. Picture Toad in Arnold Lobel’s story “The Garden,” and you will have it about right.
These loaves were likewise leaden and underproved but had at least become fully cooked. I didn’t know that starter is meant to be used in addition to dry yeast.
No matter. My kids loved them.
Bread had begun to repopulate the shelves of my local Safeway but by now my children (22 and 25!) were requesting “Mom Bread.” I found myself both puzzled and flattered.
So. I’ve continued my pandemic baking.
I decided to actually READ the bread instructions. An angel dropped a one-pound bag of yeast on my door step. After several months of use, I have somehow discovered that I have a Proof setting on my new oven. Thanks to the convergence of these fortuitous happenings, I have just produced something called bread.
Real bread!
This post courtesy of my 4:30 telehealth client who didn’t show up and didn’t respond to my call or email.
Scott 1000® Bathroom Tissue is the official toilet paper of my 2020 Pandemic.
You will know I have finally lost it if I actually hit “publish.”
Oops. Too late.
If I ever endure another pandemic or get stuck on a desert island, I hope to get stranded with a big pack of Scott 1000®.
My current household of four adults went through one Scott 12 pack in a month. Then we were on to the 9 pack of Angel Soft®. “9 MEGA = 36 REGULAR ROLLS*” the package proclaims!
At our current rate of consumption, we will be through 9 MEGA ROLLS in 9 measly days.
We had groceries delivered today via instacart. I absolutely do realize the enormous privilege it is to have someone risk their well being to do my dirty work. I gave the shopper a GIGANTIC tip and a home-sewn face mask to show my appreciation. Jon was a very polite and responsive shopper, and he made good replacements. But after he had gone, I realized we had been charged for toilet paper which had not been delivered.
I’m not terribly worried at this point. I had been pretty hard on Henry for not recycling that big stack of newspapers but now I am reconsidering my stance.
What toilet paper would you choose as the 2020 Pandemic Champion?
(I have not been paid to mention this product. I am merely odd and my filter has broken.)
“*based on number of sheets in Angel Soft® Regular Roll”
Photo: Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=611402
We, the moles of dank basement offices, provide therapy to you while you sit in your minivans, lie in your beds, or perch on the commode. We choose the basement to better protect your privacy.
We project a sense of calm and stability as we help you manage your anxiety and untangle knots. But we may or may not be wearing the same outfit we have worn for the last five days. Like you, we may be stressed, disoriented, and smelly.
Maybe “mole” is not the right word to describe us. Moles are solitary creatures. We, however, burrow through cinder block, dirt, distance, and time to hold and encourage our peers, robbing our depleted stores to deposit teaspoons full of encouragement and listening into the reserves of our fellows. We voluntarily unburden one another of the lint, splinters, and gooey boogers our minds have accumulated during the week’s work, hoping to assure that we all have a good night’s rest.
We will wake up tomorrow and do it all again.
We are not special. We are just like you. We are all in this together.
Photo credit: Didier Descouens – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=23203253
I grew up hearing “Good fences make good neighbors.”
Good headphones are the good fences of this pandemic. At least in my home.
We are four adults, two dogs, and a cat trying to work, attend school, Netflix, and socialize within these four walls. I think we are doing a creditable job.
Can we use this pandemic to invent something called Fence Parties? On one of our next sunny days, I want to see if our neighbors will set up a picnic on their side of the chain link fence where we can see them from our picnic on the other side. What do you think?
This reflection was generously paid for by client X, who was unable to find a way to reconnect after her phone died five minutes into her video therapy session. I thank you for my lovely respite during one of the busiest days of my week.
And now to hit “publish.” I will not be damned by my overthinking tendencies today.
Tulip image by © Cody Logan / Wikimedia Commons / “Tulips by clpo13”, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=1723143
Hello.
How are you?
I am writing to you from the toilet.
I’m lying.
Or am I?
You’d never know.
This is how we behave in a pandemic. Everything goes.
I’ve provided video therapy with a cat’s butt in my face while wearing a nice green blouse, navy blue pajama bottoms with sparkly stars, self-knitted striped rainbow socks, and green paisley clogs. I’ve made a sourdough starter and begun to bake bread. I’ve performed songs from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang over Marco Polo using the “helium” voice and sourced coveted face mask elastic from a worn out fitted sheet, king sized. My youngest daughter is making bank sewing face masks at the kitchen table.
It has taken a pandemic to bring me back to this blog. My muse had left me, and I had become overwhelmed trying to keep up with all of your blogs.
I don’t know if I’ll be back here tomorrow or the next day. I might be busy going crazy. I don’t know if you’ll read this. You might be busy doing the same.
I don’t know anything. Except that God is still good. And in the midst of horror, beauty and joy are still to be found. In abundance.
I hope you are all safe and well.
P.S. In case you’re curious, this is what I’ve been up to since dropped off the face of the earth: https://www.ravelry.com/projects/cmburesh .
sourdough starter photo credit: By arash ghanizadeh – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=47349654
Family Rules 