Homemade bread - eat it while it's hot / Poem: No Mail Today

The last word in fortified tasteless spongey white bread


Here's the nicely kneaded loaf ready for its final rising, this time in the bread pan. I only made one loaf which'll take me two days to eat. Then I'll make anudder one. This is bread season.

I would like nothing better than to show you how to make bread. Lemme know and you'll come over and we'll cook together. Any takers?


The unbeatable kitchen timer. I have four of them including one downstairs by my exercise bike. I forced myself to go on bike for 20 minutes while the bread baked in the oven. Reading material on bike: A Passage to India by E M Forster.


Delicious homemade bread ready to eat only 4 hours after I began adding ingredients. Phone pals during the entire operation included a woman who called asking for info on our group after seeing me on Comcast Newsmakers and Michael from Mike's Hikes. I keep the phone in the pocket of my Starbucks apron and silently mix my ingredients.

Oh! The woman who saw me on TV didn't know it was Ruth she was talking to, even tho I introduced myself (she was an older woman) and she said the person on TV was 'very influential.' She meant persuasive. I honestly thought it was absolutely the worst performance I've ever given.

I was indeed in deep sciatic agony but that should not have mattered. Ada had given me a b'ful outfit for my b'day which I wore on TV. I spose I should load the video on YouTube. Scott said he'd try to do it for me. He's right here now. I'll drive him to the - choo choo choo - train station in four minutes.

This particular bread has cornmeal, honey, whole wheat flour and white flour. Sarah coincidentally wrote about my bread here.

Perfectly baked bread. Oven set to 350 for 45 minutes. However, my oven runs hot, like me.

For Rob's eyes only: Roberto, someone's name came up on the Caller ID...my heart leapt cuz I thought it was you! We'll talk soon.

NO MAIL TODAY

Martin Luther King would rather be alive but’s

the kind of man willing to give his blood

for his countrymen. Thirty-nine when slaim

his work was done. Believers would say

the Lord called him home. I would say he’s

with Gandhi and Malcolm and Medgar on their

big trip to Nowhereland and there is no mail today.

No mail today so cross off your dreams that

the letter you’ve waited for will greet you like a

diamond, deferred one more day the long-awaited

cry from Curtis: it was me that he wanted not

soft as silk Kessler, so cross off your dreams

we’ve forgotten the mail is obsolete like my

Curtis and Martin’s mountaintop dream that

still waits to come round the corner where we’ll

cheer with our might and get on that train.