Spent Grain Bread and Death

  

I've been lazy, and I haven't had much to say.

My computer at home is broken.

My maternal grandmother died, at the age of 90, on Good Friday.

It makes me frustrated and philosophical.
To shape that frustration into something tangible, I intend to build a table. It will be a big, 8-foot long table for the deck. The kind of table that is meant to be laden with food and surrounded by a big group of people. It will be a fitting memorial to my Grandma, who laid out countless holiday feasts and spent little time sitting down to eat them. Her concern was others' happiness.

My sister and her hubby came down for a visit. We hung out. We ate and drank. That's pretty much it. It was bliss. They brought me some spent grains from a batch of the absolutely sublime Howell at the Moon Stout which my brother-in-law made (with newly increased involvement on the part of my sister). It makes an excellent addition to bread.