Recovering Positive
One of my God assigned traits is positivity. Gallup calls it a strength, and it is. Mostly. As with coins, there are two sides. For the sake of this writing, I’m going to refer to positivity as Posi – an alter (or maybe upper) ego. See how easily and willingly you agreed to this – that’s Posi in motion.
As an example, when Posi gets hyped up on, say, espresso martinis or dirty chai tea lattes, things get a little wild. It’s Posi who likes to talk a group of people into doing athletic events where we almost all (at some point) wish to die. Other times, Posi influences me, and a half dozen of my friends to spontaneously buy airline tickets causing a hurried explanation to SHLB as I throw clothes in a suitcase that I’m going hiking in Colorado – tomorrow.
For the most part, Posi and I are old pals. She has lent me grit and determination fueling many a success. Part of her charm is how she regards and wields words akin to her – possible, possibilities, opossum, possessed. See how she spins things in her favor, how she postulates. With this strong bend toward opportunity, Posi is reluctant to say or even think the word no. She’s cringing as I type it, pouting on my shoulder, drumming her fingers on my collarbone, building her defense. With Posi – the planet is an enthusiastic YASSSSSS!
I hold Posi responsible for how I ended up failing at bread starter before I began. That’s right. I resigned before I began to start. SHLB’s Grandpa used to say, “Fixin’ to begin to commence.” That was me as I geared up to start the starter that I never started.
For the next part of this story, I shall use nicknames, partly to protect the guilty, but also because I’m in an exercise cult and we all go by alternate names. I’m known as ButterBall. The nicknames aren’t real legal names, but they are real nicknames. Back to ending before starting – or something like that.
“Reboot is going to give me some starter and I’m going to make sourdough bread,” High Tide told me. Oh!
Posi draws a thought bubble around my head. In the bubble she inserts me wearing a ball gown with a floral apron and a modest tiara – the everyday kind, nothing too fancy. I am armed in sequined, elbow length oven mitts from Anthropolgie. I slide a loaf of fresh baked bread from my oven as my family breaks out into acapella Alleluia chorus. We break the bread. It’s nothing shy of a religious experience. The holy grail of whole grain.
I return from the thought bubble.
“I’m down for that,” I tell High Tide. “I’d like some starter.”
A text thread is built.
Message one offers instructions and a link for a specific jar that will be needed to house the starter. Okay, the starter needs a cage. Still down. Jar is ordered.
Next message. Make sure you have room in fridge for said jar to live. Starter needs cage and space. Noted. Sequined oven mitted high fives all around.
Message three. A small kitchen scale is a handy tool for bread making. Uh oh. I have made it to past the middle age mark without inviting a scale into my kitchen. I come from a long line of superb cooks, most of whom never measured anything. It’s soul cooking – using pinching and tasting and dolloping – imploring the senses. The score is now at cage, space, and scale. Posi is leaning in hard. We can DO this!
There is a cookbook reference (Sourdough by Sarah Owns,) and Red Hill Unbleached White All-Purpose Organic flour recommendation. I am teetering at a solid doubt-filled maybe, then the kicker text chimed in.
“Do you want the “discard” to use for other recipes?”
Discard. Discharge. Dismiss. Disembowel. (Me dislikey.)
What? Does the bread go potty? Am I making bread, or did I sign up to foster a pet cockatiel? What recipe might involve the ingredient “discard” and am I prepared to wrestle it into a mixing bowl?
I sternly said, “No, Posi.”
She fought me. The ball gown. Alleluia. Alleluuuuuuuia. The bubble popped back above my head, engulfed in flames.
Nerp. Nopers. Noparoonio.
My text was simple and honest.
“I may need to back out of this agreement. I’m more of the Easy Bake Oven type.”
Reboot hung in there. She offered to help me, teach me even. High Tide encouraged me. We could do the starter and bread together.
But it was time to put Posi in her place – in a jar, in the fridge, beside the Super Sprouted Whole Wheat Sourdough that I bought at Beaufort Farmer’s Market. It was delicious and though it is finished – I didn’t even come close to starting it.
