Show me the ruins

I’m not sure why, but for the past week or so “There But for Fortune” has been rattling around my head. The song was written by Phil Ochs in 1963, but is probably best known for Joan Baez’s cover from a year later.

Perhaps it’s because we live in such unstable times—60 years ago people in the first world might have thought that at least their trajectory was secure, even with wars in former colonies across two continents. But now I think we all know at some level that nothing is vouchsafed to us: not clean drinking water, not education, not uncontaminated food, not protection from hostile attacks, not shelter. Those of us who are honest must also admit that much of the insecurity is self-inflicted.

So Ochs connecting the listener to the prisoner, the unhoused, the addict, the invaded nation seems perhaps even more on point now than it was in the 60s.

Here’s Baez singing it back in the day.

 

©2024 Bas Bleu

Domesticity

A couple of months ago, I came downstairs one morning to discover my kitchen ceiling was leaking. It took two visits from a plumber (because the shutoff main for this block of townhouses is inside one of the end units) and $600 to find and fix the leak (upstairs toilet in a bathroom I never use). And it left this gaping hole in the ceiling:

I thought to myself, “Self—this will be a forcing function. Instead of calling in a wallboard and painting expert for this hole, take this opportunity to install the recessed lighting you’ve needed in this kitchen for the seven years you’ve lived here. Remediate that single source of light, which throws a shadow over everything you do in this room. Do it! Now!”

Well, as I mentioned, this was two months ago. Turns out the forcing function wasn’t the huge hole in the ceiling, but the cold LED light bulb I put in the one ceiling lamp in the space. Because every single time I walk into the kitchen and flick on the light, I feel like confessing to something.

So the electrician came yesterday to spec out the project. Turns out that pendant lights are out of the picture because of the swing of one of the over-counter cabinets. So, just recessed lights. But no shadows while I'm working. 

 

©2024 Bas Bleu

 

 

Let them peck cake

I got a suet cake feeder jobber for Christmas, and the birds have appreciated it ever since.

Viz: downy woodpecker is really chowing down here.

 

©2024 Bas Bleu

 

 

Growing things

As long as I’m talking potted plants, about six weeks ago I bought a dwarf Meyer lemon tree. I’d have preferred something not Meyer, but that’s all the nursery had at the time. The one I picked had a bunch of blossoms on it, and I tried to knock the minimum number of them off during transport.

When they finally all fell off over time, I thought it was safe to move it to a larger pot. I wanted its roots to have room to grow.

I’m pleased to report that there is one very miniscule lemon growing, which I hope makes it to maturity. (The paucity of sunlight in my garden is an issue, so my fingers are crossed.)

I decided I wanted to get a dwarf lime, as well, so I went back to Merrifield Garden Center on Friday. Their citrus shelves were bare.

So, Saturday I went to Meadows Farm—they had not only Key and Persian limes, they also had Ponderosa lemon in addition to Meyer. Well, I bought a dwarf Persian and brought it home to meet the Meyer. It has no blossoms, but if you get close to the leaves, it smells like lime.

I’m hopeful.

 

 

©2024 Bas Bleu

 

 

Gratitude Monday: back in bloom

There were three or four gardenia shrubs in the yard of the house where I grew up. On summer evenings, the scent of gardenias wafted up to my bedroom (no AC, so windows open). So I suppose I associate that scent with summer vacations and staying up really late to read books for the library summer reading program.

At least five, maybe six, years ago, I bought a baby gardenia bush and planted it in a pot. The first summer I had it, it produced well, but diminished some in each of the following years. Last year I got nothing. It occurred to me a couple of months ago that perhaps the roots were cramped, so I repotted it into a larger container.

And, well—looky here!

Two flowers and at least 48 buds.

That’s my gratitude for today, baby—and I’m staying up late to read a library book.

UPDATE: Look how many more this morning:

 

©2024 Bas Bleu