last saturday's joy

saturday

Cinnamon rolls in the morning and Phil's birthday hotpot in the evening. And in the middle there was the strength of a three-legged skype conversation and the leisure of long sun on the balcony as we chatted and shelled peanuts. Unfortunately, I don't have pictures of those.

early fruits

The tiny kitchen where I'm learning to bake bread.

My second attempt at ciabatta. I felt more comfortable with the wet dough, and it did turn out a bit better . . . but still a long way to go!

Almost everything possible is broken on this old, stolen, well-traveled oven. But it still bakes!

 

The poolish baguettes made me proud. Textured flavor, cool crumb, crispy crust.  Yay!

friday night there were roses

Up at five and six to manipulate hunks of dough make it feel like I'm working hard, but then at 7 and 8 I'm back in bed with that giant tattered gray sweatshirt that once was Robbie's and the laptop, appropriately, on my lap.

As expected, the teaching schedule has been changed one week in and Tuesday I will have an unknown percentage of new students and never see again an unknown percentage of the old ones. They rearranged everything so the classes are thirty-some rather than forty-some. Which is really good. The slightly more questionable detail is how one class gets four straight periods on Thursday afternoon. That's 2:30 - 5:30 and a heck of a lot of oral English. We're going to have to do yoga in the middle or something. I can't really imagine that it will work well. I pushed a bit to see if schedules could be switched, but Mr. Z the secretary wasn't budging.

LW and a cousin talked and talked and talked over tea by the river. ZX listened, mostly, and occasionally wondered over to stare at the water. I pulled my chair out into direct bright sun and studied radicals. Thought I should like to tell Tim about 思, which is a field over a heart, and means to consider or miss deeply.

After xifan at ZX's parents' we lingered a bit longer than usual in the dining room drinking in the warm, scented air of spring by the window. The TV showed long shots of HuJintao being greeted in Mali by great cheering crowds. The Chinese expats and then Malians dancing on the sides of the street. We didn't actually hear how much money had been loaned, only that it is interest free, and probably includes plenty of infrastructure projects (for Chinese contractors and workers to complete, of course). ZX's father said with humor, "My money goes to Africa, and your money goes to the banks in the US" . . . then tied on the apron and moved into the kitchen to wash the dishes.

in my new life, I blog every day

The apartment is smaller than I remember, but there's a freezer full of xiangchang, and it's so good to be starting the new life, finally. By this second morning the suitcases are unpacked and coffee is going. I set the school desk out on the balcony where the sounds of the street almost manage to overpower iTunes at full volume. Classes could begin as early as tomorrow, but I haven't been in touch yet with Y at the foreign affairs office. ZX's mother says I can buy whole wheat flour from the little cart at the gate of this building. She calls ZX's cousin back to try to convince her to come to the house to see us. We laugh at her enthusiasm, and again later, when SanJie calls us to say we should go out instead. She and her husband are near forty, roosters like me, but look so much younger. Except for his eyes, where you can see the work harder than he wants to at his research job with the oil company. They were classmates in elementary school. They live in Shandong but come back each Spring Festival to see their parents.

slow ferment

It feels good to sit in the kitchen waiting for the ciabatta loaves to finish their final proof, and the onions for tomorrow's "Roasted Onion and Asiago Miche" to finish roasting. Ryan and Christen do food like I want to - bright vegetables from grocery stores that feel like markets; oatmeal and flour and dried cranberries scooped from the big plastic bulk food bins. Homemade salsa and homemade hummus. The food processor stays out on the tiny counter that wasn't big enough for a toaster. 

Fresh bread we sometimes buy and slowly I've been attempting to make it. I created my own wild yeast (the Bay area's supposed to have an extraordinary strain) starter, and after babying it for a week, it's finally ready to start going into bread. The first sourdough loaves will be ready to shape within the hour.

Christen's off for most of the afternoon, and we catch a few NPR shows between job-searching and cooking and laundry and dishes, but nothing to Ryan's seven hours each day. We laugh at his intensity over dinner. Last night we went back to the class on suffering at the Presbyterian church. It was suggested that the kingdom of God might be built with a lot of laughter. We all thought we ought to work on that.

Another glitch in the visa-getting. John from the visa-service in DC said the embassy sent it back to them asking for the original documents . . . which were attached. He said he's submitting it again - this time for one-day service. I think about the prayer in Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat, Pray, Love, which was actually a petition to the Universe, and think I might try. I'm signing you all on.

slowing down

Small leaves drift down Bruce, along with me and the bike. I'm glad to have started building on a paycheck, but it barely seems worth even going in to work for four hours on Wednesday and Thursday. They teach me how to make iced chai lattes and then two hours of "e-learning" on the dusty computer in the back of the kitchen. I laugh aloud at some of the test questions that come, but admire in a detached way the efficiency of the system I have entered. Food safety, dining room awareness, the "Panera Way." 

It's the "business model" approach that another group described in a recruiting meeting I attended on Wednesday. A more efficient way of making money than the time-for-money formula of a traditional job or small business. They started with an assumption that everyone wants more money. And time. But what good is time if you don't have money to spend enjoying it? Funny, I've found a whole lot of enjoyment out of watching the sunset clouds outside of Jill's window. Doesn't take a lot of money. I'm not opposed to earning money, but I'm cautious, wanting to take the slow way. The slow ferment that makes good bread, good cheese, good wine. Slow transportation that makes me notice the faces of the places I pass. Maybe even a slow approach to economic growth, Wayne Teel suggests in sunday school last week, might do us some good.