Sour milk

 I  like to pick up my groceries curbside on Saturday mornings between 7 and 8. That is what I did today, and as usual, as soon as I got home I thought of at least two things I wish I had ordered. We will be absolutely fine without those things. But if I had been rolling my cart through the store myself, I'd have thought of them as I passed them on the shelf.

Anyway, I digress. I got up before 7 on a Saturday because I arranged to pick up groceries. This is a way to trick myself into being productive on a Saturday. It wasn't terribly successful.

I probably need to stop listening to the news, because it is having an impact on me. The reactions of the people of our country to covid and to the election are sapping my energy and hope. I spend way too much time trying to figure out why there are such deep divides, and worrying what those divides mean for the future. I lose motivation and have trouble getting moving with my work.

So it was much later than usual when I finally made my coffee, which doesn't seem like a big deal. But it was. When I added milk to my coffee, I realized that the milk was just on the edge of being sour. There is a point where it smells just a tiny bit different but it is still sweet enough to be used in cooking. It was six cups of milk. That is the right amount for a double batch of almond stritzel.

Starting enough dough for twelve loaves means I will have to be productive for several hours. So I got the dough ready for the first rise, and then decided to take a walk.

I really should have taken a walk early in the day. Being outside just changes me. Nothing is different in the world, but bracing fresh air against my face, the sight of the winter grasses and the barren trees against the sky, and a view of the horizon makes a difference in me. I had energy for the rest of the day.

I put up just a few Christmas lights outdoors and then came in to check the dough. It was ready to roll and fill.

Three loaves rolled out around the filling, a mixture of almond paste, egg whites, and powdered sugar.

One loaf spread with filling and ready to be rolled and sealed into loaf form.

One more rise before baking.

Chuck lit a fire so we could eat supper outside while the stritzel was rising. This was completely a kindness on his part. I was the one who wanted more time outdoors because of how healing it had been in the afternoon.

And the lights seemed to be pretty nice from outdoors as well.

The bread is baked now, the dishes cleaned up, and an episode of West Wing watched together while we enjoyed a little ice cream. A couple of loaves burst open so we will have stritzel for breakfast in the morning. It's always good when that happens.

Between now and then, all the prayers and good energy I can summon. For those who are sick. For those who are in danger. For those who don't have enough. For those who need justice. For those who are grieving.