|Some more Tartine-style loaves, monkeying with the ratios of WW, AP and Rye flours|
But the tone of the letters, the way the sentences were put together, everything about them seemed foreign and unfamiliar. I had absolutely forgotten the person who wrote those letters. I had forgotten almost all the events that were described.
Love is a strange seed, isn't it? You don't know where it will take you. In my case, it took me back to Ontario, to build a life with my best friend who eventually became my wife. But seeds crack open, and transform in the growing. I'm a different person now than what I was then. I have new confusions. Love remains, but it is an ever-new seed, waiting to crack open the next phase of life transformation. We move on, and we forget the old confusions, the old self that propelled us onward.
The letters were from someone else. We threw them away after reading them, as we also threw away 3 or 4 trailer loads of trash.
That's my segue for this blog: Memory. It appears that every decision and encounter we have had in the past are the things that make us who we are. But how we choose to order those memories is (always) a present-moment event. I am thinking of David Hume and his ideas of causation. Probably I am misrepresenting his ideas, but it seems to me that he showed, using reason and philosophy alone, that we associate causality with priory, when the association can never be proved beyond all doubt. In the case of our our very self, the thing we call "I" seems to be a consistent entity that endures over time and is affected by external events and also effects change on external objects through interaction. But the affects and effects can never be proved absolutely. We can determine now who and what we are and we do that either consciously or unconsciously. Our brains are like computer RAM that only retains the semblance of consciousness by periodically sending electro-chemical sparks along neuronal pathways that we assume and accept as our 'self', and this network of pathways includes memories, aspirations, and emotions and other as-yet-unnamed and mysterious elements of psyche. We are always picking and choosing who we are.
Forgetfulness is a tool that we use to identify what is most important.
|Left: a Tartine-style dough, with AP flour. Right: Whole Wheat, with 10% Rye|
I ate the bread, the particles of what were bread became the particles of my body for a time.
|crumb of one of the breads with AP flour|
|A 90% WW, 10% Rye loaf made in the Tartine Style with 100% whole wheat wild yeast starter. A good bread.|
Now it seems totally unimportant. In a week or two, everything I've written here will be unfamiliar. In a few years, I may even have forgotten that I ever had a blog about bread, ever.
Notes to Myself
- Who the hell are you?
- What the heck is this blog for, anyway? Is it about bread? Who cares?