Save something from the time where we will never be again

Hello again, and Happy New Year!

It’s 2023! I feel like a different person. Since the last Happy Monk bake day, seven weeks ago, I’ve been around the block a few times. Seen some things. Do you feel different, too? It’s an arbitrary mark, the passage of a year. But time has shifted yet again.

I’m sure it’s the same for all of us!

What I did on my winter break

I baked a few loaves
strayed away from Pender Island a few times
stayed in a motel, stayed at the Empress Hotel
reconnected with family and friends
got stuck in a snowstorm
went to a memorial service for an old friend
swam at Cox Beach, Tofino
dreamed of bread
read a few books, saw some great movies
and had some long, deep nights of sleep.

Sleep changes everything! It was a good break; I feel rested, healthy and ready to move into another baking season.

At the beginning of my break, time stretched out into the horizon. There was more than enough. Would my break be too long?

And over the previous few days, as my holiday neared its end, time closed in on itself; I could see the seven-week holiday for what it was: a handful of events crammed into what seemed like minutes. But how is it that the last Happy Monk bake was just a few weeks ago?

Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea.
Dylan Thomas, “Fern Hill”, 1945

Exhilarating and tedious

I feel wiser today than in December, but perhaps that’s because I’ve caught up with my life, and I’m not fighting sleep debt. Maybe I’ve had too much time off, and you’ve caught me in a reflective mood. I’m in my late sixties, and the passage of time can seem exhilarating one minute and quite tedious the next.

Cox Beach, near Tofino. Glorious day for a New Years swim.

Thinking about what the next few months might hold, the future seems shrouded, timeless, and unknown. And I know the end will be ever quickening. We’re told that the past is forgotten and what matters is now. And yet we’ve struggled to arrive at this moment — or we were just blessed, and here we are.

The Talking Heads song “Once in a Lifetime” has been looping in my mind for days:

And you may find yourself living in a shotgun shack
And you may find yourself in another part of the world
And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile
And you may find yourself in a beautiful house with a beautiful wife
And you may ask yourself, “Well, how did I get here?”
Talking Heads, “Once in a Lifetime,” co-written with Brian Eno, 1980

It seems as if I’ve been sleepwalking these past weeks, and, save for a few moments, including this one, I never asked, “Well, how did I get here?”

Dough-shaping and wood-firing

I’ve marched through four years of Happy Monk Baking, for instance, mixed and baked thousands of loaves, 1 but that’s one aspect of my time on earth. I don’t remember shaping each loaf, for instance, or pulling them out of the oven. But the general experience is very present, the sensuality of the dough-shaping, the aromas around Mildrith, the wood-fired oven. The human joy of handing someone a warm loaf.

When I was about five years old, I stood on my toes in front of the bathroom mirror and could just see the upper part of my face, eyes looking back at me. I can still see that little face as if it happened this morning. Just an instant in time, yet momentous, as if it were the beginning of conscious awareness.

I treasure everything

I treasure everything that has happened in my past, leading to the present. The sunlight, being outside, conversations and adventures with family and friends, travel, the earth-shattering kisses and the falling in love, the birth of my kids, the conversations. They float up when I close my eyes going to sleep, crowd in, then vanish. Sometimes I feel bereft after they’re gone. Sometimes I know they’ll never leave me. They all feel present. They all feel ancient.

This chapter is not over, and new challenges are on the horizon. The world is still new to me, as the past trails behind me. I’m ready for another bread season and new baking possibilities.

Save something from the time where we will never be again.
Annie Ernaux, The Years, 2008, translated by Alison L. Strayer. 2

happymonkbaking

320 611

Happy Monk Instagram Feed

What I did on my winter break

Exhilarating and tedious

Dough-shaping and wood-firing

I treasure everything

happymonkbaking

Share this:

Like this:

2 thoughts on “Save something from the time where we will never be again”

Leave a Reply Cancel reply