Why is it that when I have something pressing to do, all the other aspects of life seem so inviting? I have a Poetry portfolio due and I keep wanting to read Peter Reinhart's The Bread Baker's Apprentice which, by the way, went ignored all last week, but now is very captivating. I do the dishes right away, I read more books to the kids, I pay my bills-early, open emails I would usually neglect and have been cooking with extra flair. Oh and the birds! Why haven't I noticed them before this?
Alas, I'll snort and whinny and stamp, then push the blinders back to restrict my peripheral vision, again.
...But I do have this fantasy about just buying a lovely little portable Italian wood fired oven and trooping around to peoples dinner parties, film crews and festivals and cooking amazing breads and pizzas and telling stories or teasing them out of the guests, even better. I could go to schools and bake with kids, I could show up at Farmers markets and cook up the wares into lunch. I'd take artful photos and put them here. In the mean time, Ill knock out those assignments, I guess.
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