Day 11

The creative instinct comes with peace for me, comes with sitting in silence and letting my mind roam free. I had a chance today. I am full of all the things I want to do, quilts for my grandsons for Xmas, with appliquéd images that swim around in my head waiting to get created. I went through the full spectrum of things I must get started while I sat and peeled huge pears, while I added sugar to the hot stewed apples, while I sat and ate some more of that chicken with little chillis from the market and some more small onions and fresh tomatoes. I have to admit now that I made a bad mistake in my regime. I killed the yeast and my first batch of bread today did not rise. Unleavened it would have been called. There I was with this big lump of dough and no bin. I could not put it in the compost as it would have gone mouldy, I could not bury it as something would have dug it up. Then my daughter came to the rescue. I bet the birds do not worry if the bread has risen mam she said laughing. I spread the heavy dough out into a meat tray and cooked it. The smell permeated the whole house as though it was leavened. When I tipped it out of the tray onto the cooling rack it was like a rock. I thought of the flying birds and I groaned. I could not feed it to them and watch them crash to earth as they attempted to fly. So here is my confession. No I did not do anything bad. I went to the canal and broke it up and threw it into the water where it softened and the swans could not get enough of it. Fait accompli. It was not wasted and my bin is still empty. I will never kill any more yeast. So another day over and this is the life for me. Never again will I hear the thud of the flip top bin in my home. There is life without it, I can vouch for it.