Day One

The thing about living in Northern Vermont is that it's so beautiful, you almost forget about the fact you simply can't get fast internet service in some areas. We live in one of those areas. And I also am hamstrung by the ancient browser on my old laptop, which dates back to approximately the Harding administration. My software was speaking something like Sanskrit, and the the Google Blogger language belongs to the 21st century. So yeah, I finally made a post to this thing.

Thoughts swirl constantly during the hours I make bread on our peaceful farm in the woods. And soon the snow comes, more and more time to reflect, as the obligatory (and enjoyable) chores of summer and fall are over, the wood stacked, the last mowing done, the storm windows on (but not yet cleaned). Thoughts like, what are the real, longterm consequnces of human use of grains - their cultivation, domestication, and subsequently this whole bread thing and how it allowed for civilization and culture and leisure and overpopulation and environmental degradation and . . . . sloooowwww down there, Kimosabe. All in due time.

Today the Hollywood Writer's Guild went on strike. President Bush said, for the 1024th time, we are at war. A hurricane approaches up the east coast. A German couple are in jail here in the US facing deportation because of a typo on their temporary visa - customs officials are being very unlenient. Donald Rumsfeld said something really racist. A full year before the meaningless charade of presidential elections, the Democrats are ramping up the rhetoric. The right wing talk show Rottweilers are once again drizzling spittle and baring fangs about Hilary Clinton. God, they love her! Without Hilary, they'd have even less to say than they already do.

All this, and I want to talk about bread and culture. So suck it up. On THIS blog, that's what's for dinner.