Last week was hella full, and it ended on an incredible high note on Friday evening at Ingleside Gallery for the Opening Reception of Hope '22. My dear friend and comrade Ash Tré Phillips came by, and as we chatted we both complained about how exhausting the week felt, and how a beach day was in tall order.
We pulled out our phones to check routes and maps to the beach, and it would take both of us multiple buses and about 90 minutes to get from our respective homes to Baker Beach. "Frack it," we said, "let's make it an adventure!"
When I got home Friday evening, I pour 3 cups of flour, a teaspoon of salt, 3/4 of a teaspoon of yeast, and about 1.75 cups warm water into a bowl and mixed it until tacky. The dough has to rise at least 12 hours before it can be baked. I let it set, ate dinner, and went to bed. I woke up at my usual 4am, and it still had hours until baking. I tended it gently every hour or so pulling up a piece of dough from underneath and slapping it on top. Again and again until all the dough had been lightly pulled and slapped. 9:30am came around and into the oven it went. 25 minutes covered and 25 minutes uncovered at 425, and the bread came out absolutely smashingly. This is a dough that cannot be rushed, and it set the pace for the rest of the day.
John and I packed up some stuff, and threw on some fabulous Queerly Complex tees and headed to the beach. It took three buses, navigating a Pro-Life Rally in Civic Center, and almost two hours until we reached Baker Beach. The whole way John and I were enjoying ourselves and taking it slow. Just like the bread needed time to rise, we needed time to get to the beach.
When we hopped on the last bus of our leg, Ash was on it waiting for us. We set out at the same time and ended up on the same bus. About 15 more minutes and we were at the beach. The sun, waves, and light breeze greeted us. It was the perfect January Saturday.
So much of my time in 2022 already has been spent hustling and bustling because, let's be real, I (like everyone else) has gotta pay rent. And it's fracking expensive to live in this capitalist world.
And I also gotta make time to slow down. If that means saying, "Frack it!" to the chores for the weekend, so be it. If it means, I won't be as "productive" on my "day off" as I hoped? Again, "FRACK IT!"
I'm gonna die some day anyway, so I might as well slow down and enjoy what I can when I can.
Here's some fun pics from our trip.