zirconium

Sometimes, when a pepper seedling emerges, the husk that covered the seed remains attached for a while.

In this case, the seed came from what I now think of as the mama plant, which I've featured in this journal now and then. That plant now seems well on its way to producing its second crop of the year:



In the meantime, I roasted store-bought peppers this afternoon (with an eye toward maybe making soup with the a can of evaporated milk now past its best-by date), since I had the oven going anyway, for pot roast (with onion, daikon, and potatoes, seasoned with rosemary and thyme from my garden). One of the recipes I looked at called for red wine, so I opened a nice bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon/Malbec (Dos Fincas 2012) a friend had contributed to a party I hosted back in May. I prepared green beans as well, which meant the dog was practically leaping with joy, as she loves to hoover up the tips.

Middle Tennessee was under a tornado watch most of the evening. I am kicking myself a tiny little bit for not making "The Hugo" (a variation of the Dark and Stormy, by the Lee Bros.) to complement the occasion, but not really, what with working on a submission through half of the night and on someone else's manuscript much of the day. Some other time ...

A problem with fascinating houseguests (in this instance, a carpenter with an international touring production) is how it leads to staying up with bourbon and turkey sandwiches while listening to him reminisce about the custom knives he bought in Japan and the diner we should have tried in Vancouver and the nonstandard rigging he sorted out for staging Wizard of Oz in three cities in Korea.

May was a blur of work, yoga, and gatherings (one wedding, one graduation, and a bunch of birthdays).

On the first day of June, I treated myself to a stand-up paddleboarding lesson. On the fourth day of June, I went swimming after yoga. Both days, it felt soooo good to be on/in the water, and I think my threadbare one-piece will last one more season.

I am in the middle of cleaning up one of the tulip beds in my front yard. Tennessee clay is as stubborn as I am, so excavating the bulbs for division is a chore. I confess to feeling grateful toward the moles for making it easier to transplant some of the hollyhocks.

Naturally, the one on the east side of the house (the side not visible to the public) is the one with the best show of blooms so far...



( Read more... )