Those who say money does not buy happiness, have not strolled through Pike's Market on a mild spring day. The roof is bursting with daffodils and there is beautiful jeweled produce to buy: vivid asparagus, button 'shrooms, teeny tomatoes. Brought home to be roasted with olive oil, fresh pepper/salt and herbs grown on the balcony and curls of aged asiago.
Riches, indeed.
Pennies found and the balcony garden sketched out completed this first day of March.
So, you're actually going to garden out there. Great idea! I miss growing red leaf lettuce - tasty stuff. Will be interesting to see how you do your potatoes. Are you doing them in a garbage can? Are you hanging anything? I sometimes wish we'd opted for a place with a balcony... but hey -- it might still happen, since we're into March with no new word on fixing things here...
ReplyDelete"I think we are well advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not. Otherwise they turn up unannounced and surprise us, come hammering on the mind’s door at 4 a.m. of a bad night and demand to know who deserted them, who betrayed them, and who is going to make amends."
ReplyDelete~~ Joan Didion, Slouching Towards Bethlehem
Rondeau Redouble
ReplyDelete(Wendy Cope, b. 1945)
There are so many kinds of awful men -
One can't avoid them all. She often said
She'd never make the same mistake again;
She always made a new mistake instead.
The chinless type who made her feel ill-bred;
The practised charmer, less than charming when
He talked about the wife and kids and fled -
There are so many kinds of awful men.
The half-crazed hippy, deeply into Zen,
Whose cryptic homilies she came to dread;
The fervent youth who worshipped Tony Benn -
'One can't avoid them all,'she often said.
The ageing banker, rich and overfed,
Who held forth on the dollar and then yen -
Though there were many more mistakes ahead,
She'd never make the same mistake again.
The budding poet, scribbling in his den
Odes not to her but to his pussy, Fred;
The drunk who fell asleep at nine or ten -
She always made a new mistake instead.
And so the gambler was at least unwed
And didn't preach or sneer or wield a pen
Or hoard his wealth or take the Scotch to bed.
She'd lived and learned and lived and learned but then
There are so many kinds.
And I've dated them ALL. Oy.
ReplyDelete