It’s Saturday morning shining down. I woke to a plus 1.5℃ in the greenhouse. It is now 2.9℃ and -3℃ outside at 9 am. I’m sounding like a weather station, aren’t I? I’m recording history, not trusting my memory. I’m at that age now where I have to put my medications in a pill box organizer. I’m at that age when tying my shoe laces and clipping my toe mails are also a problem. I have to rely on my wits and not my physical agility. Too bad I can’t have both at the same time.

Saturday morning. I used to go swimming Saturday mornings not so long ago. It’s a has been. Then I took up the skis. Now it will be another has been until next winter or the next snowfall. I wonder if I can be as enthusiastic and dedicated on a bicycle. I’m not skilled, agile or at home on it at tall. I even fell off a tricycle once. I used to walk Sheba every day. Now I’m walking my fingers on the keyboard. I’m still exercising.

It is Saturday morning. I’m slow but not quite at a standstill. I couldn’t talk myself into tackling my sourdough tout suite upon wakening as I had planned the night before. But it is divided, folded, shaped into 2 loaves. They are dusted with cornstarch, wrapped and chilling in the fridge. They will be baked after my regular loaves this afternoon or evening. It is going to be a slow bake Saturday. Now for my second cup of tea.