Writing This Post
I was sitting here on the couch of my parent’s house toying with what I want my first slice of March to be when my dad marched on down the stairs having finished giving the dog a shower (he - the dog, that is - has been having bad allergies that require a shower a day. Fortunately that job has fallen on him - my dad, that is).
He made his way over to the coffee table, grabbed the clickee (we call remotes clickees in the house and I think everyone should follow suit), turned on the Uconn basketball game, and started talking my head off about how he bought a whole new upstairs tv because the old one was so slow and CAN YOU BELIEVE IT, Larkin, this one is also just as slow!!!
I sighed (internally) and set my laptop aside. I would think of what to write in a moment.
“Well, Dad, it’s probably the internet that’s lagging and not the tv itself.”
I honestly don’t think he heard me as he continued to mutter and tweak the volume.
Okayyyyy, I thought. I could still write this blog post. Even if I now had a little bit of background noise.
My dad’s phone started ringing. Loudly. “Hello? Oh, hey Clare, what’s up.” Squeak squeak went the sneakers. A whistle blew.
I tried my best to block out their one way conversation. Write, Larkin, write. Nothing was coming to me.
“Lark, Clare needs you to check on this sourdough starter,” he hollered over to me as if we were not a mere 15 feet apart.
“Okay, can you look at it? Tell me what you see.” I’ll admit, I probably was a little sassy. I was trying to WRITE!!!!!
He grunted something that I’m glad I couldn’t hear and looked at the sourdough starter that was on the counter. “Yeah, I’d say it’s doubled if this black line is the indicator.”
I might have sworn a little under my breath. “Alright, I’m coming over.”
Abandoning my laptop, I went over to our makeshift bread station and carefully measured out 70 grams of starter, 375 grams of water, 12 grams of salt, and 500 grams of bread flour. I mixed them all together until each hand was absolutely covered in sticky dough. Just as I was starting the process of de-doughing each individual finger, the dogs went ballistic. Oh dear. We had company.
In walked my grandmother and Clare.
Maybe I’ll think of something to write about tomorrow.
