||[Jul. 6th, 2019|07:30 am]
Brother's family has arrived for summer visit, and i went over for dinner and fireworks last night. The fireworks were acquired "South of the Border" although likely not at "South of the Border." South Carolina's stretch of I-95 is extremely long across the heavily farmed, flat coastal plain, and i imagine stopping for fireworks was a welcome respite. I recall one Christmas or New Years we went to see my dad's step mother in Georgia and arrived there with fireworks. I presume we also acquired those in South Carolina, although my main recollection was my father's fuss at us to all stay safe. No such fuss was occurring last night.
As a non-parent i observed and affirmed it was OK to be worried when my niece expressed her concern. Consider my eyebrow raised at my sister's willingness to bring her dogs out (although they were barking left inside the house, so) and for her horse to be trotting about in a little ... well, some of it could have very well been curiosity and not agitation.
I used to delight in fireworks but i've lately become quite stuck in the mud. The visual spectacle is accompanied by critter-distressing sound and toxic metals explosively distributed around, along with other increase to particulate matter in the air. At least it had rained recently: i was still nagged by a worry of a fire starting as well.
My brother's athletic son earned the Boy Scout sharpshooter badge at some camp last week with no previous training: i assume he managed to get all the coordination genes i managed to miss. Meanwhile, his older brother spent the week charter fishing, catching amberjack and barracuda.
This morning the windows are covered with condensation (outside humidity condensing on the exterior). Other than acquiring more neem oil at the local farm store to keep the Japanese beetles in check (Why o why do they not eat the stilt grass?), hiding inside appeals to me. I should minimally get my expenses from travel complete, and if i could actually get some real work done it would be good. My week was not productive.
Hans had their fourth feeding of flour and water this morning: recipes say they should be bubbling up in volume tomorrow. Or in the next few days. This uncertainty is surely part of the attraction to instant yeast, but with rye, the fermenting apparently works some wonders with the different levels of protein.
I stopped sprouting the rye "berries" yesterday and put them to dry on the dehydrator racks, but not in the dehydrator. Apparently, the enzymes are easily deactivated by heat. My dehydrator seems to work very quickly and doesn't have any controls on the heating temperature: i suspect it runs too warm for the enzymes one wants from malt. I am tickled to make my own malt and understand what it's about. In future loaves i hope to just add sprouted grain.
Breakfast will again be vacuum packed German pumpernickel which is just not as delicious as it could be. I'm spreading my yogurt on it. All the reading about fermenting dough has put me in proximity to reading about cheese, yogurt and other dairy ferments: i think i'll stick to merely draining more whey out of yogurt and not take up yogurt or cheese making. Paneer is tempting, although reading it's "nearly identical to Mexican queso fresco" raises the prospect of using that instead.
Mom is looking very wan. The x-ray notes about "small pneumothorax," now a "small hydropneumothorax" and a new "basilar atelectasis" are distressing when i look up these words which all lead to descriptions like "collapsed lung." Dad, too, is drained. The bounce from the "non cancer" diagnosis has faded. I feel a small guilt: if i hadn't read about the spot on the February CAT scan she would not have undergone the two invasive and tiring biopsies. Is this going to trigger a "fibrosis flare"? Spending more time in bed is not a good outcome for stroke recovery. I watch her folding up into a little package, and think about the long term care she would need, and how poorly she responded to loosing her independence.