Sunday Drive: Vivaldi, Spring, Movement 1

Joyful spring returns with its unending message of new life:

And yet, in the midst of life we are in death.  The Guardian reports:

Pope Leo on Sunday said death and suffering caused by the war in the Middle East are a “scandal to the whole human family”, as he once again pleaded for an immediate ceasefire.

As the US-Israeli war on Iran enters its fourth week, the first U.S. pope said that he continues to follow with “dismay” the situation in the Middle East and in other regions torn apart by war and violence.

“We cannot remain silent in the face of the suffering of so many people, the defenceless victims of these conflicts. What hurts them hurts the whole of humanity,” Leo said at his weekly Angelus prayer in St. Peter’s Square.

“I strongly renew my appeal for us to persevere in prayer, so that hostilities may cease and the way may finally be paved for peace,” he added.

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Todd and Rob Do Spring Planting

Another day in the life of two husbands in the North Georgia mountains.  Nothing exciting, but it's pleasant to see another gay couple living life openly and happily - impossible in my youth, but a commonplace now, even in Georgia.  (I hope it stays that way.)

I envy their strength and stamina.  My get-up-and-go got up and went a long while back.

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Bluebonnets

The state flower of Texas, in case you didn't know.

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Today's Thought: Daffodils

I gazed—and gazed—but little thought

What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.

--Wordsworth

Just after the first of the year, M.P. ordered a mixed bunch of daffodil bulbs from a seed catalog and planted them in the front garden.  Now they are blooming beautifully and we have lots of assorted blooms to grace our dinner table, a mix of colors somewhat like what you see in the picture above.  (I have not been able to get a photo from our garden yet.)

Such a profusion of cheerful blooms has added to the gaiety of our recent dinners on weekends.  Last Saturday night, M.P. made talapia meuniere and a half-dozen crispy little crab cakes,   On Sunday he made a big pot of paprika chicken in thick, luscious gravy, served over rice - oh boy, talk about good!  The weekend before, I fried up a mess of breaded chicken livers, which M.P. swears no one else can cook as well as I can, even him - this is rank flattery of course, because there is nothing to it, but I am always glad when I can raise a smile on the old bear's face.  And then the next night he cooked a luscious, fork-tender pork roast with cream gravy and mashed potatoes that went down very well indeed.

And then there was that chocolate-strawberry-cream cheese trifle M.P. created on a whim - a sweet treat, you bet.

My long-time truckbuddies know that we like to eat our Sunday night dinners by candlelight, using the good china and crystal, and whatever holiday or seasonal decorations may strike M.P.'s fancy, and always with a background of beautiful music by Mantovani and other such artists (thank you, Pandora!) - again, I've not been able to snap any pics lately, but as I have said many times before on this blog, we are very grateful to enjoy the blessing of good food, good conversation, and good cheer together - which is about our only recreation.  Dinner for two at home may not sound very exciting to many people - but for us it's enough, and a worthy achievement for two Official Senior Citizens on a restricted income, who are no longer in the bloom of youth.

It could be much worse, you know.  In the days of green youth, full of strength and sap, we usually assume that things will always go well, and probably get better as time goes on - but in old age, you realize clearly that you are living on a knife edge; at any moment of any day, something could suddenly go wrong, and then -- too bad for you.  I was glad last week when the doctor gave M.P. a clean bill of health in his annual checkup.  But you never know, do you - physically, financially, all kinds of ways, nothing is guaranteed in this mortal life.  We must count every sunny day free from pain and want and sorrow a great gift, a treasure.

With very rare exceptions, life in our little hacienda is peaceful and pleasant - and yet, if I turn my thoughts to the big world outside, I am quickly overcome these days with disgust and dread and even despair.  Both politics and society in this modern age are so ugly, corrupt, and frightful that it takes a conscious, continuous act of will to keep them from flooding my waking thoughts with nausea.  I forbear to mention specific events or persons - including several particularly ghastly ones from just the last couple of weeks.  The modern world is infected and infested with horrors and abominations that have gotten to be as commonplace as the weather report.  

This is so wrong.  So very, very wrong.  What I see in the news are visions of barbarism, not civilization; unchecked and uncorrected, it will become a world not worth living in.  It seems to me it is very nearly that now, when we must fear bloody murder at school, at church, even in the grocery store.  There are still good people in the world - but flowers cannot grow on trampled ground.  To have a lovely garden, you must tend it carefully.

And lest I be misunderstood, there is blame a-plenty to spread around.  Today's conditions have been developing for a very long time; the madding world has been drifting further and further off course for many years, and in many ways.  Airheads and rockheads have both brought us to where we are today.  (Let the reader understand.)

I used to rant and rave on this blog about the crimes and injustices of the human race - I still think about doing so from time to time - but at this late age, I no longer want to disturb my own tranquility just to get something off my chest.  It does no real good - at best, it's preaching to the choir, and at worst, it's spitting into the wind.  Nor does my point of view necessarily coincide in all points with those of any particular party or platform:  the human race keeps falling off the narrow path, the via media, into the ditches on the right and on the left.  Both are just as deep and just as muddy.

So nowadays I don't speak out much - I did for a short time last summer, when all the riots started - but then that quickly went in a very wrong direction.  I did again in the fall, with the run-up to the election.  And perhaps I will do so again, but mainly I just don't know what to say anymore with the world becoming a madhouse run by the inmates - but I have to preserve my peace of mind, and the tranquility of our little world within these four walls.  No doubt the human race will continue lurching and slouching along whither it will, for good or ill, without my help.  

All of this rambling is just the run-up to a quote I want to share with you today, from Eleanor Roosevelt's "My Day" column in 1945.  She was talking about an elderly friend who was crippled with arthritis and fretting because she could no longer get out and work for the good causes she believed in.  Mrs. Roosevelt, meditating on her situation, says this:

I believe one thing to do is to fix our minds on what our ultimate objectives are. We should decide what are the main things which we want to see achieved, and then judge day-to-day happenings by whether that main trend is being adhered to. Even when the minor happenings seem to be set-backs, and in themselves are not quite the thing that, with our limited knowledge as citizens, we would want done, we must try to look at the whole picture.

Well, there you go.  Look at the big picture and hope for the best.  And be grateful for every happy moment.  That is what I am trying to say here.  That is all I can do at present.  It's enough; it has to be.

We must cultivate our garden.

--Voltaire

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Sunday Drive: Vivaldi, Spring, 1st Movement

Redbud and dogwood are blooming here in Texas.  Spring has sprung!  At last. 

 

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Sunday Drive: El Baile

For the first time this year, it's 80 degrees outside as I write, hooray!  Therefore, your Head Trucker is happy to report that winter is over and spring has sprung, and isn't that wonderful news?  As it always is, year after year--the birds and the bees, the flowers and the trees turn our minds from the sordid and vulgar to the lambent and sublime.  As Emily Dickinson wrote:

To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,—
One clover, and a bee,
And revery.
The revery alone will do
If bees are few.

And this:

A little madness in the Spring
Is wholesome even for the King,
But God be with the Clown,
Who ponders this tremendous scene—
This whole experiment of green,
As if it were his own!

And finally, this:

Spring is the Period
Express from God.
Among the other seasons
Himself abide,

But during March and April
None stir abroad
Without a cordial interview
With God.

And so, let us tend our gardens and take delight in the perpetual miracle of renewal and grace that is the divine gift of this glorious season.  Rejoice--lift up your hearts--drink deep of inward refreshment while you may--and dance with the bees who toil so happily upon the pretty flowers, though they last but a day.

For as someone else has said, There are just so many summers, babe, and just so many springs.

To put you in a terpsichorean mood, here is Juan Carlos Quintero with "El Baile"--The Dance:

Catching Up with the Pork Boys: Spring 2018

In this episode, we find M.P. rapidly returning to full culinary strength for a scrumptious Easter dinner; with the coming of spring, he renews his interest in the lawn and garden; and finally, we celebrate my birthday in full festive style.  Click on any photo to enlarge.

Our Easter hors d'oeuvres began with rainbow-hued Easter-egg cookies - M.P.'s gay improvisation  on "melting moment" cookies, a kind of shortbread.

But that was not all - he made our old favorite deviled eggs in all the colors of the rainbow, too!  And at left, you see a platter of finger sandwiches (homemade pimiento cheese filling), while at top right is a bowl of tasty tandoori meatballs.

Continued below the jump . . .

The Pork Boys Do Easter 2017

Some photos of our Easter feast, along with scenes from M. P.'s garden - click photos to enlarge:

A simple white table with flowers and Easter eggs

Easter egg tree

Electric fireplace decorated with paper flowers

Appetizer:  colored deviled eggs 

Soup: chicken and potato

Entree no. 1:  boneless chicken thighs stuffed with dressing, in a cream sauce

Entree no. 2:  Baked ham with orange sauce

Pineapple casserole (left) and creamed corn; not pictured is a pot of boiled kale

Potato salad with radish roses

A full plate with a "bunny roll" at right

M. P. made a garden this year, the first in a long while.  Here is how it looked on the first of April, just before a heavy rain that night:

Front view:  It took M.P. several weekends to get all this dug up, composted, enclosed, and planted with 20 or so varieties of vegetables.  At the rear, the new compost enclosure he built.

New stepping stones, using found tiles

Closeup of two varieties of tomato plants, showing M.P.'s markers made out of wooden skewers and cut-outs from a milk jug.  At right his ingenious first example of a plant protector made from a clear soda bottle.

Rear view, where squash and cucucumbers are still hiding below ground

And here is the view on Easter Sunday, showing marked progress:

Front view showing more plant protectors around the tomato plants 

Rear view with a lively growth of squash and other things

M.P. also planted several varieties of rosebushes; here are the first two blooming now:

Green Ice miniature roses; as you can see at the top of the bush, they are a pale green when they first blossom.

Sunset rose:  a delicate shade of orange, with a lovely scent.

A Grower and a Shower

Size queens, take note:  crowds of Frenchmen and Frenchwomen are flocking to the Botanical Gardens in Nantes to see the rare flowering of "Titan's Penis" - the Latin name is Amorphophallus titanium.



These things can grow to 10 feet tall. Just imagine. Unfortunately, it stinks.

Well - you can't have everything.

In an English Country Garden

I wonder if any of my truckbuddies remember the tune of the same title:  it was a well-known piece that I learned to play as a kid while taking piano lessons (which, alas, I didn't continue very long).

I was reminded of both tune and title by the serendipitous discovery on YouTube of some BBC programs done in the late 1980's which are really delightful.  I don't think they were ever shown over here, but if you like to cook and garden, check these out, I think you'll enjoy them.

Color My World

Just thinkin':  What if somebody said green is the color of growing things, therefore green is the only natural color, no others allowed.  I mean, green is very nice and all, but . . . wouldn't that be a kind of tunnel vision?

Four Artists

The ex-roommate, who happens to be a very fine artist himself, and I have been emailing each other back and forth today about some wonderful painters I disovered yesterday whilst surfing about from here to there.  It seems, much to my surprise, that representational art is not dead, after all.  And we both especially love the way the first two artists portray light - exquisite.

Whether from good conscience or just sheer laziness, I'm only posting one work by each artist here - but do follow the links and look at the many other paintings they've done.  I hope they grab you as much as they do me.

1.  Leon Belsky, "Tulip Flight I":

Your Head Trucker don't know too much about art, but it strikes me that this is a dancer's pose - no?

2.  Nancy Depew, "Challenge":

3.  Michael Chapman, "Inner Noir":

4. Francis Livingston, "Rush Hour":

Update from My Garden

Just sharing some love with ya, fellas . . . .

Click on the images to see full size.

More flora and fauna after the jump --

First Rose

Spring Thing

The first iris:

My Garden

So yesterday I got outside on my knees in the dirt, and dug and planted and cursed at the weeds and old roots that kept getting in my way.  Okay, okay, I admit it don't look like anything to write home about, even after spending fifty bucks on the flowers.  But it's the best this old garden-ignorant shitkicker could do. 

Still, it adds a little cheerful color to the place, and that helps my feelings.  Here, take a look:

November

Ablaze with November light and memories of green hopes and warmth, chrysanthemums and sycamores give a last burst of glory to the old year as we turn the corner towards the end.