Four, But Who's Counting?

Just four days till the Julie and Julia movie opens. I don't remember ever in my life counting down to a movie opening ~ or even knowing the date a movie would be released. But I have had August 7 on the brain since the buzz began. My Life in France is one of my very favorite books.

Harvest Report

Looks like our 19 tomato plants will produce as least a dozen tomatoes. Gee, the garden is coming along slowly this year. My planting my seedlings late may be the reason the plants are leafing rather than tomato-ing at this point. The sugar snap peas also seemed to sink more energy into vining than pea-ing this year. They were a sweet luxury while they lasted.

Can't complain about the pumpkins though; the elephant-eared leaves snake across our plot as though chasing a mouse AND hover over smooth green globes, soon to wrinkle into orange ribs. Also can't complain about the abundant garlic harvest. I dug up a dozen or so bulbs yesterday and hung them to dry. They should be ready right about the time I collect basil for pesto. Yum. Our beets are sweet with striped flesh as luscious to roll on the tongue as their name: chioggia.

Postcard

Been thinking about enjoyment lately. Good summer subject, eh? The only thing better than thinking about enjoyment might be lounging on a quiet Lake Michigan beach enjoying enjoyment ~ an engaging novel, minted iced tea, cool waves lapping my toes. Or beurre blanc sauce from my entree at a favorite French restaurant, a lovely Cotes du Rhone, dark chocolate mousse with mango coulis ... mmmm. Or even rounding a bend in the road to happen upon a field of sunflowers stretching to the horizon or hundreds of brown sheep with white heads bleating roadside.

Everyone can list his or her delights. Even people who have forgotten how to enjoy life can strain their brains to find former delights. Although they may wonder if they still enjoy those things, with time, their fun-muscle memory kicks in. I'm convinced of this. I will not rhapsodize here about the importance of pleasure in our lives.

I was just wondering why I don't want to take my watercolor paint stuff off the dining table and stash it back in the basement. It's been four days since my niece Bethany and I watercolored a rose and some lemons at that table. Her rose painting is frame-worthy. My lemons are well, lemons ~ literally and figuratively ~ useful for avoiding future mistakes. But every time I pass the table and see the brushes, palettes, and pale violet droplet stains on our water pots, my heart warms to remember sitting at that table with Bethany, playing and painting, creating something, hoping it would be pretty, seeing new colors emerge from swishing other colors together. It's as though the pile of pots, paints, and paper is a postcard we sent home to remind me of our trip last Thursday to a pleasurable place in time. I'm just not yet ready to put the postcard away.

Ear's to Afterthought

I'd like to propose a toast to afterthought ~ you know, the moment you mull what was just said and finally "get it." In the spirit of Philippians 4:8 advice to dwell on what is excellent and praiseworthy and its popularized Johnny Mercer lyric "accentuate the positive, eliminate the negative," I'd like to officially stop grousing about my failing hearing and laugh about the humor in it. Of course it's frustrating, but it's also often funny. Consider my conversation with a dear neighbor I encountered yesterday as he walked home from the train:

Me: Robert is dying to know how the Indy 500 was.
John: Great ~ there was a crash not far from where we were sitting.
Me: They still had a creche up from Christmas?
John: A car hit the wall and went up in flames. The driver jumped out and waved to the crowd while the fire trucks put out the fire.
Me: Oh ... crash.

If John heard my creche question, he and his wife will have a good chuckle. And Robert was indeed excited to hear about the crash; I didn't mention the creche to him. Guess there's a Mars-Venus element to this story I still need to learn to laugh at!

Cantigny

Here's my oh-so imaginatively titled poem about Cantigny Gardens:

Cantigny Gardens
by Jane Hoppe

out of the overflow
of vision and wealth ...
fountains

flowering chestnuts
like pillars ...
majestic

grape arbors
arching above ...
serenity

yellow hello, blue angel,
purple petals ...
play

Here's my takeaway from the First Division War Museum at Cantigny:
A World War II-era poster with the beginning date of 1778 and ending date of 1943 said "Americans will ALWAYS fight for liberty."

Hope Springs Eternal

Twenty-nine days (but who's counting?) after our eight inches of snow fell, I'm still carrying my new spring purse and wearing my parka, which I've washed and put away for the season twice now. Guess the new spring purse was wishful thinking. Hope springs eternal in a Midwestern heart.

Eight Inches of Springtime

At left: the new spring purse I got ready to use because hey, it's spring! At least, I thought it was.

At right: what I woke up to the morning I first planned to carry my spring purse

Three days later, we're back to spring. Purple crocuses are visible again; bright green garlic shoots push upward; big fat buds along tree branches promise green leaves; and yellow forsythia brighten views everywhere in the neighborhood. Whoohoo ~ spring! Time for flowers, even on a purse.