Another day, another month in the year 2022. I flip the page on my Klimt calendar and find a lovely painting of a woman who reminds me of the actress Andie MacDowell. What ever happened to Andie MacDowell? Wikipedia says she’s still acting up a storm, so to speak. My two favorite Andie MacDowell movies are Sex, Lies, and Videotape and Groundhog Day.
After I got this Klimt calendar, I read the Wikipedia Klimt article and was stunned by a one-sentence paragraph summing up his first thirty-five years. To wit: “During this period Klimt fathered at least fourteen children.” There is no mention of any of the women with whom he fathered these children or what happened to the children, though the article strongly implies Klimt had nothing to do with any of them beyond providing half of their genetics.
I toast a piece of my gluten-free sorghum millet buckwheat garbanzo tapioca bread and smear the toast with almond butter and a little honey to give me some caloric support for the upcoming beach walk.
I am a gluten-free bread maker now that our local gluten-free baking savant retired from the biz. She gave me her buckwheat bread recipe and I embarked on my adventures as a baker, never having made bread before. Ten batches along, my initial fear of activated yeast having subsided, I now freely improvise on the original recipe… with excellent results.
Fortified with toast and almond butter, we drive down to Big River and meet Sally and her marvelous Golden Retriever Molly for our weekly beach walk and ball flinging episode.
This morning the tide is way out and the ever-changing skyscapes are spectacular.
We lose one ball to the voracious ocean, much to Molly’s chagrin. Fortunately Sally brought a spare ball, so Molly is only bereft for a moment about the loss of ball number one.
On the way home, Marcia goes to the bank and the post office while I shop for groceries at our beloved Corners of the Mouth, the price of everything having gone up profoundly in the last few weeks.
Hungry from our beach adventure, we have more toast and scrambled eggs, courtesy of our pal Elias and his magnificent hens.
Re-fortified, I chop a few days worth of kindling and stack the slender sticks of pine on the hearth to dry in front of the fire for a couple days.
And now it is the afternoon.
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