Mossy Spots and Cauliflower

Reading Thoreau’s Walden and Percy Fitzgerald’s life of Henry Irving, while dipping at random into many related and unrelated volumes. Encyclopedia Britannica entries: Oliver Cromwell; Thomas Cromwell; Thomas More. Books by and about famous stage actors: Sothern; Jefferson; Garrick; and that guy some people still talk about and others quote without knowing, Shakespeare.

I was on the roof yesterday, taking care of some mossy spots before last night’s rain. Not Thoreau’s cabin. So much time, effort, expense, and responsibility — slaves to our dwelling here on Easy Street, located somewhere between good fortune and homelessness.

Two flannel shirts purchased at a local thrift store: soft, immediately comfortable, just the thing.

A gallon of gas and a head of organic cauliflower for roughly the same price: drive a few more miles, make two quarts of pickles.

Our water comes from a city well; it’s still clean and has no chlorine. Don’t make your pickles with chlorinated water, he said.

Tomato plants in, pepper plants in, cucumbers, sunflowers. Jade plants, philodendrons, back outside and responding well to the living atmosphere charged with pollen and birdsong.

It’s a list today. Yes, that’s what it is.

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