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Kitchen is heating up.


Sourdough at 450 degrees. The slow fermentation is inspired by Episode 4 of Michael Pollan’s Netflix documentary “Cooked.” My new goal is to make my own unpasteurized cheese, beer, and master sourdough in the next year. BAM!


Last night I made apple crisp with organic gala apples, cinnamon, peanut butter, walnuts, raw honey and coconut milk. Mmmm is an understatement.


Yesterday morning I took the brown bananas and whipped them with eggs and flour and cinnamon and nutmeg and allspice and yogurt and made muffins so good that Kate said they were the best muffins I’ve made yet. I added stevia chocolate chips for the sugar free amongst us.


Ellie’s birthday is today. One year ago. Jesus. It’s been so good. I’m a lot different than a year ago. And a lot the same. I suppose the same is true for her. And all of us.


I love the kitchen. The fast. The cut. The mix. The stir. The ability to stay precise or just estimate or meh whatever. I favor meh whatever. We don’t one measuring spoons or measuring cups. But I’m good at eyeballing and guesstimating. Except at night when the baby wakes up with a fever and we I have to suction ibuprofen with the ML syringe, then I get feisty because I measured wrong and Kate’s like this is too little and I’m like no it’s not and then I saw sorry for being an ass, but she thought I was calling her an ass, and this is why night time is for sleeping but I guess some things are inevitable when the baby has a fever. But so far today she is fever free.


You really do start believing in a higher power or something of the sort with a kid. At least if you pay attention to the kid and put her and your partner before you. The selflessness awakens a sense of largeness.


Like swimming in the lake invokes a sense of XXL that’s not available in the pool. You squint bilateral breathe watch the sun rise. The same as watching the baby grow. Or similar. They’re not the same. No two things are the same. No two days. No two swims. No two cups of coffee.


People keep saying that I have the capacity to earn more money than a down-the-street kitchen side of the coffeeshop job that pays like $9.50 an hour plus tips. Yes, true. Because I went to law school and then grad school for creative writing. But as my sister pointed out, it’s all a trade off. The costs of my lifestyle right now are income generation. But lifestyle wise, I’m making bank. I’m in charge of my hair, face, eyes, mouth, swim, run, yoga, family, cooking.


I have the availability and energy to heat up the kitchen. I have the curiosity and eagerness and time to research non pasteurized cheese and call local goat farmers and ask them questions and Google stuff that’s interesting to me.


Time for a quick nap. Kitchen is hot from sautéed onions and garlic and chili powder and lime and salt and pepper and paprika.


Fleeting last thoughts. Dad has a thermos from Ireland that is nice for keeping coffee warm, and in sufficient quantities for two. He also floods his coffee with cream, which really enhances the dark dark bold with some sunrise cow udder damn mmmm ahhh. I’ve all but given up on time restricted eating and for the moment adopted a listen to my body and eat when I’m hungry approach and I feel a little bad about it, ashamed that Ive given up my intensity, but oh well you know. You gotta do you. That’s the thing.


If I could swim every day in Harriet, I probably would. It’s so refreshing, even though getting up at 450AM really beats you down. It’s a good kind of beat down.