Thursday, April 22, 2010

All Down the Line

Dearest, It's a beautiful late afternoon, I'm on the back porch listening to music on KZE, the occasional exclamations of children next door playing, birds twittering, chimes ringing. Winter is a distant memory - the world is technicolor now. A white crabapple blooms at the back of our yard. I love it because it's delicate and also because it gracefully screens out, until the leaves fall again, a neighbor's house. There's another crabapple, in a corner of the mixed border by the house, close by where I'm sitting. I wish I liked it better. I think it should be moved. It's dark pink now - lovely - but in September it covers itself with dark-red berries which clash with the lengthy spandrels of the purple buddleia which at that time of year, as hummingbirds still appear, is at its most graceful peak.

Much cooking this morning and there is a stockpot of Sicilian Spicy Chicken to show for it - the perfect dish to use an abundance of produce: zucchini, celery, eggplant, potatoes, and tomatoes; last summer's bell & chili peppers from the freezer; carrots; mint from the windowsill; and leftover Italian parsley. At the market this morning I bought chicken legs, a jar of capers, and a few unpitted olives from the olive bar - seasonings for the dish. Add the better part of a bottle of red after browning the chicken and afterward the vegetables - there you go.

D is still working over at the artist's property. The foundation on two sides of the house is all dug away. The house appears, from where I stood anyway, to be floating - and perhaps it needs to be - is holding its breath & making itself as light as possible until the concrete is poured later tonight. At least I think that's what's going on - vague on the details, but they seemed to be up against a deadline & may be there late tonight.

I put in a brief appearance to get the car, drop off cookies, steal a couple of glimpses, say hi, admire generally...

No reason to hang around. Fled. Drove to the library, checked HuffPo headlines and the Times, reserved a volume of Emily Dickinson's letters, googled a jazz festival, and watched a Pamela Anderson Dancing with the Stars youtube. Tiny dancer, quick and graceful, a spritely, long-legged fairy, dancing dragonfly. The sound was off. Now I'm regretting that. What were she & her partner dancing to, I wonder? (Tarantula, by Bob Schneider? Probably not.) Started checking out a David Gray youtube or two, wanted to transport myself in his howling, growling joy and melancholia, but I gave up - too much for the staid setting I was in, librarian at the desk droning on to a new patron about interlibrary loan...

Fled library. Ravenous. Considered stopping by a supermarket for deli ham which I haven't had for a while, or for smoked salmon which I could mash with cream cheese to go with bagel that, a previous day, had been beautifully proffered by the bulldozer operator who in today's mild weather tanned shoulders were bare. Remembered about a small container of sliced turkey in freezer. Returned home, steamed up turkey, toasted fine raisin-walnut bread, slathered on mayo, sliced tomato thin, rinsed & dried romaine, and piled together sandwich that wouldn't hold - has to be eaten all deconstructed, which is how, roughly, except maybe for lasagne, I like things...


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