This is something I wrote on Thursday, November 12, the night we had a pizza dinner party that turned into a Rip+Mix research session for Alicia’s Food and Sustainability group.
It is dark already, at 4:50 pm, and you can see my socks hanging on the laundry line in the reflection in my window. The sky is fading from a deep cobalt to inky black, turning my window into a mirror.
The rain drips down the upper part of my window, tilted out to bring in the fresh air. It is not raining hard by my standards, but by Scotland standards it is serious weather.
I have all the windows opened in the house, to chase out the still, stagnant air that reeks of laundry detergent, spices, flaming beans, and sweat and fart (the smell of people living in a closed environment). The rain splatters against the opened windows as the church bells down the hill tolls five. The sounds of the city leak in around the edges of the windows; tires rushing wetly on the pavement, geese honking in the distance, sirens dopplering past.
In the kitchen, the only room in the house with its window closed, dough rises in the warm and humid.
Or, tries to rise. I added twice as much yeast as necessary, after boiling the first batch to death. Shanna said she could hear their little swansongs from all the way on the other side of the Atlantic. The dough turned out smooth and elastic, and springs back from my hands as I knead it.