Studying for a quiz Today

I was kneading the dough for an apple pie crust. I had cored and peeled apples, and they were on the fire, swimming in a syrup tasting of cinnamon. This would be the second time I had baked something.

The first was Mariana's carrot cake.

The same carrot cake which I almost dropped onto the concrete outside the apartment, but miraculously landed frosting-side up. It lived to hold up Mariana's single birthday candle and receive compliments from her guests.

A little bit more water. This was going to be a dry crust.

I had taken over the pie without anybody telling me to. This was a recipe from the internet, but it was my project, buzzing from one end to the communal kitchen to the other, rinsing, mixing, kneading, etc.

It's hard not to talk about myself when all I have out here is pictures and memories of a beautiful daughter.

I was baking and eating, but all the same, I was looking over my shoulder and to the floor. This is where she would sit and play. This is when she would hang onto to my shins protesting the lack of full attention on her. This is when I would mush up a couple of apple slices and add cinnamon and place it in front of her to play with most of it and eat a little bit of it from time to time.

This is when I would show her what I was doing.

This is how I would explain to her why I was so far away.

She won't remember the taste of her birthday cake and as for the pie, I already remember what I want to do differently, how I want to make the pie better using the limited supplies I have available.

At 12:45p, I'll go and carry an old bicycle wheel to the campus coffee shop for an interview. I must convince the interviewers that I am capable of successfully showing them how to do something, which in this case will be removing the inner tube from this old bike wheel. I leave it at that because I am allotted 2-3 minutes and I do not want to go over the time limit.

My fingers are still black from practicing the demonstration and I don't feel as nervous. The interview has nothing to do with bicycles-- it has to do with teaching high school students about positive life decisions and the consequences of bad ones. If all goes well, I'll train to visit schools below the poverty line, giving demonstrations on one of several topics ranging from alcohol abuse to positive relationships.

Ironically, Mariana is very much a product of not following the advice of similar presentations (e.g. safe sex), but I am confident that I can effectively present a message.

There is a lot I do not know about parenting. I am still trying to figure out fatherhood from such a distance, but in the meantime, it shouldn't hurt to prepare myself with answers to those awkward and unasked questions Mariana might approach me with one day.

Or maybe it could do with pie or bicycles or even bugs.

Why bugs have aposomatic coloration, or that luciferine and luciferase combine with oxygen to produce a "cold" light.

Facts float around my head and I make an effort to arrange them and remember them somehow. Memories float around too, but I make little effort to arrange them and instead let them fly around, signalling to me that I will soon be with her again.

Far away. Far away. Soon. Soon.