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I find the act of getting my hands in dough very soothing. It also makes me feel -- mmm, as a historian it makes me feel closer to men and women who have, throughout history, done the very same thing -- cut butter into pie crusts and biscuit doughs, kneaded bread dough, shaped loaves. I like that it doesn't require any special tools -- sure, I could cut in butter with a pastry cutter or two knives, and I could knead bread dough with my KitchenAid's dough hook (well, not at school, obviously), but I love the simplicity of it. My hands. A bowl. A collection of flour and other ingredients. And that's that.

Which is to say, I've been making biscuits -- my regular sweet potato biscuits, last week, of which I ate some and stuck the rest in the freezer to have something to grab on the mornings when I don't manage to arrange my mornings to get to Bruff before class, and today regular (no add-ins) biscuits, while I run through recipes to see if there's a biscuit recipe I like more than the others. Work the butter into the flour with your hands. Stir in liquid (milk or buttermilk). Turn it out onto a floured surface and knead it a bit. Pat or roll it out. Cut out biscuits. Bake. Lovely.

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Returned a large pile of books to the library, which turned out to be merely an exchange for an even larger pile of books -- four for background reading on my honors thesis topic, two for leisure. My book collection, guys, my bookshelves are crazy looking. I must remember to take a picture of it some time.

I took a break from reading non-fiction last night to read the last Falco book I own that I haven't read yet (Poseidon's Gold), and finished it before noon today. I guess I'll order the next couple ones this weekend. *dramatic sigh* Unless I luck out and find one at Maple Street Book Shop tomorrow.

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Work continues apace on the second of my Winnow socks.