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All those "-ation" words could lend themselves to something funny, couldn't they? Imagination is funny (it makes a cloudy day sunny . . . ). Or provocation leads to escalation landing you at the station that you started from.
Well, the idea, Ann, is to have it all make sense, not just to incorporate "-ation" words. The situation at the station was intolerable until the destination became clear.
Y'know, I used to be able to riff on words this way, and I really enjoyed it. It was both fun and funny. But now? Now, nothing easily springs to mind that is both fun and funny. I wanted the latter in order to lighten the load for us all. But funny is as funny does. (This is based on my mother's invariable response when I would ask if I was pretty: "Handsome is as handsome does." What kind of support is that for a kid? Not much of one.) But I'm not here to bash Eileen. As little as I know about her mother, I could tell, even as an adolescent, that Eileen had never been cherished by her own mother—for whatever reason that might have been—most likely based on her mother's own life. If it's not one thing, it's the mother, as far back as we can trace. Clever remark, with truth in it. And the role of the fathers—as far back as we can trace—is not mentioned. What was the role of the fathers—as husbands and as upholders of the patriarchy in general—in shaping the mothers' reactions to the children?
Where on earth was I before we got onto this? Oh yes: funny is as funny does. Our usual family humour now has an edge to it. The Covid malaise is affecting everything. Everyone. You can find, if you're lucky, a thought to smile about, but forget about guffaws. Forget about bursting into laughs that make your stomach muscles hurt. Forget about tears-in-the-eyes laughter with friends.
I want to laugh. HA-HA-ha-HA! Isn't that a Broadway song? I love to laugh! Maybe I can coax a little smile. I hate to say it, having said a version of this every week for past two months, but my sourdough starter makes me smile.
And there she goes again! She's off with another sourdough story!
I take it from the fridge, where it lies dormant, smoothly solid with a quarter-inch of liquid on top. I scrape it into a bowl, which probably feels nicely warm to the starter, and add half a cup each of flour and water. I mix it together until it's more or less smooth, then I put the bowl on top of the chest freezer with a pretty tea-towel over it, and I walk away.
When I return, the starter has awakened. It is frothy, with bubbles all over the top. It looks light and lively. I reward it by adding more flour and water, equal parts. It's so much fun to do this that I often keep feeding it all day long and end up with cups and cups more starter than I actually need. But I won't throw it out, of course. I'll just make more bread. I love my sourdough. Does anyone need bread today?
Musings blog: http://www.scenesfromthejourney.blogspot.com
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