I’ve been indulging in movies again recently. There was a time when I considered I might be a professional movie reviewer, another time I thought I might make movies or write one and get nominated for an Oscar, and then the time when I was falling in love with another movie buff and I imagined our life ahead enjoying movies together til we were old and grey. He chose someone else, and the other options didn’t pan out either, and all of that is okay. I couldn’t be more content with my life now.
One reason for the resurgence is that I’m not going to the theater occasionally for a specific movie, and now there are so many great new movies showing up on streaming services PDQ instead of having to wait a year til they play out the theater circuit. Last year I watched many of the Oscar nominations before the awards; this year I haven’t paid attention to those accolades, but have been following the recommendations of friends to choose my viewings a couple of times a week. Last night’s movie was a sure Oscar contender.
It is absolutely beautiful in every way possible. If you have a cat in your life, it’s a must see. Even if you don’t, it’s exquisitely worth your time. I’ll let the trailer speak for itself.
“The world is full of beauty… and it’s up to you to capture it, Louis, and to share it with as many people as you can.” So I’m sharing this bit of beauty with you. Thanks, Deborah, for sharing it with me. Here’s an interview with director Will Sharpe, but save it til after you’ve seen the movie.
Another visually stunning film I watched this week is “The Tragedy of Macbeth.” I found some of the dialog hard to understand more from the audio characteristics than from the language, and a little trouble keeping some of the characters straight because it’s been forty years since I studied the play; but, a worthwhile evening’s entertainment nonetheless. Thanks, Sarah, for recommending it.
The morning started well when I got a shot I’ve been hoping for for a long long time: two hummingbirds midair. It was with my camera-phone instead of my husband camera, so it’s not a great image, but certainly captures the drama of their territorial nature as they protect their food source. I’m grateful for a telephone that can live in my pocket and capture a photo like this! Unheard of even a decade ago, much less when I was first meeting the big wide world forty and fifty years ago. I’m grateful that I get to spend an hour in the morning before the workday begins, out in the garden with growing, living things.
Then it was time to cook Boyz Lunch. With the rattlesnake pole beans simmering in oil, ginger, parsley, black mustard seeds, and the first paprika pepper harvested…
…an organic whole chicken roasting in the oven (in a wonderful non-stick pan from Food 52: I was skeptical but it’s been well worth the price)…
…and mashed potatoes and sliced tomatoes from the garden, we feasted! I’m grateful for all the food enjoyed today, by me and others I provide for, and for the opportunity to prepare a feast for my friends; for the hard work in the garden paying off, and for the joy that cooking brings me.
I’m grateful for little Biko, who is just about 22 years old, in the prime of his life, and always eager for something green; and grateful to offer John the joy of feeding him lettuce from the garden.
I’m grateful for this lettuce-leaf basil, that grows so prolifically in a pot, with leaves so huge they really could be used as lettuce, as Amy pointed out, and will no doubt show up on my next BLT instead of lettuce. Maybe tomorrow.
And then it was time for Zoom Cooking with Amy. We started by making the pasta dough, and then the no-cook sauce, and while those were resting we enjoyed martinis together. Then we rolled and shaped the strozzapreti, and assembled our meals.
And then we tossed the cooked pasta with the tomato-basil-garlic sauce, sprinkled with parmesan, and sat down to enjoy our dinner together. I am always and forever grateful for zoom cooking with Amy.
I picked two cucumbers, one way ahead of any others, and one more for enough, and made a quick half-pint of refrigerator pickles, with a perennial onion, dill, and coriander from the garden, some kosher salt, and the leftover brine from yesterday’s dilly beans. I’m grateful for food from the garden, as it begins to come into the kitchen daily at the beginning of this harvest season.
I’m grateful for food in general. I don’t take for granted that there’s always enough in the house to feed me and the animals; I know for many people that isn’t the case. I’m grateful for the conditions of my life that, for the time being, ensure that we have food; knowing that this could change with a moment’s misfortune. I’m grateful that I can buy avocados, bacon, croissants, and mayonnaise at the store. What a remarkable time and place to live in, where all these foods are delivered from near and far to a nearby supermarket, filling aisles with choices. I know there are many places in the world where this isn’t so.
I mixed up these store-bought foods with the first cherry tomatoes and some late lettuce from the garden, and created a gourmet sandwich that filled me for the day. So simple, so delicious! I’m grateful for my own appreciation of food, a simple yet essential pleasure, and to live in a community that values food. I’m grateful to know where most of my food comes from, and to think about where the rest of it comes from, knowing that the food I enjoy relies upon the efforts of many people to make it onto my table. I’m grateful for the root sources of food, the plants and animals, and all the plants and animals and other living things that their lives depend upon. I’m grateful for the food chain, the food web, that results in food on my table.
I knew a guy named Tom, once, who lived with a progressive friend. Tom put a shapely tree trunk in his bedroom that fit perfectly from floor to ceiling. He also converted part of the back deck into an orchid room. Some orchid connoisseurs go to great lengths to provide optimum humidity and other climatic particulars, and Tom was one of them. We lived in north Florida at the time. I was impressed with his collection; though they were the first living orchids I’d ever seen (outside of decapitated corsages) so I was no expert, there were a lot of them on many shelves, of different colors, foliages, growth habits. He impressed upon me what great lengths one had to go to to keep them thriving; he assured me it was difficult. He knew the scientific names and cultivars of all of them. It was greek to me. He was smart, and cute; I think he found me wanting. I was cautious and constrained, and thought him too short; he moved on. I’m grateful, though, that he introduced me to orchids.
It took decades before I got my first orchid, but after that I collected one a month during a difficult year, and gained a reputation as an orchid whisperer. Since then, all of ‘my’ new orchids are rescued or rehomed. When Connie, who had even more orchids than I, moved away she gave me her collection of ten or so. They’re mostly still alive and blooming, along with most of my originals or spawn of from 15 years ago, and a few more gifts and adoptions. It turns out, they’re not that difficult at all, at least the most common grocery-store variety of genus Phalaenopsis. I’m grateful for all the orchids that have come my way, for the beauty and the lessons they’ve brought. (Caveat: I’m sure there are good ecological reasons not to support the orchid ‘industry.’)
I confess, I haven’t learned the genera of all the orchids I have. I did know more of them at one time, but have forgotten for lack of use. They all seem to do just as well in my dry house in western Colorado as any of Tom’s did, or any of the other orchid collector’s I’ve met, who sold them for a nursery, and had a good-size greenhouse in her suburban DC backyard. Her collection was suffering some fungal plague or other pestilence, and looked over-crowded and overly humid. I simply watch for what they need: if their leaves grow very dark green, they might want less light; if they get pale, they need more. Don’t let them dry out completely, feed them now and then, clip off bloom stalks a third of the way back. Keep them in a saucer, water with tepid from the top, mist them when I can or rinse leaves under a soft stream or spray of tepid tapwater; repot them now and then.
Most of them get indirect southern exposure most of the year; I rotate a few blooming ones out of the sunroom into the kitchen or living room just so I can enjoy their flowers. When they fade I trade them back into the sunroom; all year long there are usually at least two or three in bloom, and it seems to keep them all happy. The Phalaenopsis I call Cynthia has bloomed non-stop for more than three years since she gave it to me to babysit for awhile. I am grateful for this orchid, and for the one called Fred which he gave me on my birthday a couple years ago, and for the one called Jere from which I’ve shared several offspring; for Shawn (because that was the name on the pot when Connie gave it to me), which I just divided for the first time last month, and for all the Connies including a couple of exotic varieties; and for the two newest Christys, who are still acclimating in the east windowsill and haven’t settled on a spot yet. And for all the others.
My very first orchid, Lava Glow, still grows though reduced to a core of just a few new leaves. Others have been divided and shared through the years. I count at this time – I just counted, to be sure, and have more than I thought, twenty-three orchids, of which six are in bloom and several more budding. I am grateful that there are always orchid flowers in my house. I’m grateful for moderation in orchids as in all things, grateful to be able to nurture a few beautiful creatures in exchange for their contribution to this house, grateful to be alive in the same world with orchids.