Playing Fair and Being Kind

My efforts to cut back on eating bread have failed in one sense but, perhaps, I’m being more mindful of the amount I take in. I tried eating sprouted bread but that didn’t slow down the weight gain. Come to think of it, why would sprouted grain bread be any different in that sense? I like bread. It fills my mouth’s desires to put it bluntly. I use it as a vehicle for a multitude of delights. Nut butters, jellies, sandwiches, curries, vegan butter, and other delicious spreads.

There is a family joke about an unidentified great-grandmother who is quoted thus: “I love making bread. It’s gets my hands so clean!” It is intended to repulse and it does. Today I thought of that as I was kneading biscuit dough with my fingers. I got a Jones for biscuits and Googled vegan biscuits yesterday. I printed the recipe and during the morning dawn-lit hours before rising I salivated when the biscuits came to mind. I was hungry for warm biscuits, butter, and jam. Up I sprung and turned on the oven to preheat to 450 F.

Flour, milk, salt, soda, baking powder, butter, and lime juice became hot-from-the-oven buttermilk biscuits in half an hour. Mouth happy!

During the preparation when I was kneading the bread I used the method suggested by the author of the recipe; I used my fingers and found the process of cutting in the butter much faster and complete. I will use this method from now on. And get my hands so clean.

Here is poem I wrote a few years ago and added a stanza this morning. (Remember a couple of days ago what I said about artists not being finished with their work, ever?) This poem was inspired by the day I divorced my third wife. We were in court and waiting out in the corridor by the court room. She showed up and saw me sitting by myself on a bench. She immediately began a bit of a taunt. Don’t ask me why. I just watched her do her thing without breaking expression. I didn’t move any part of myself except for my eyes. This poem sort of captures the moment.

I hope your day is as beautiful as this one here in Maine. The weather is clear and bright and warm. Peace out. G. M. Goodwin 30 July 2017

MURDERER

She enters the arena,

Catching sight of the plaintiff,

Shifts her posture,

Begins to exaggerate her walk,

Longer bouncing steps with

Arms swinging and

Grinning to taunt.

The beast in watchful repose,

Eyes focused,

Body held in quiet,

Belying coiled energy,

Wanting to spring and kill,

Not right now,

Not this place and time.

Head low on shoulders

Turned on massive form to see you,

You an interruption,

Eyes in large head recognize,

Measure your position, distance,

Sizing up the situation,

Arms and legs tense.

Able to hurl murder

Across the distance to capture

And kill gruesomely,

The beast knows,

Is taunted but holds fast,

The eyes say it all,

“Don’t linger”.

George Goodwin

September 2013

modified July 2017