Shafts of sun, cutting through fat, wet clouds of grey, the fingers of light, splayed across horizon impossible long, fading into the Trapps, the space for light increasing now, yielding more commanding light and oddly darker shadows below, closer to the canopy before me, an unyielding progression of emotion as would only be fitting on the day that I turn fifty-five. Presumably a good bit beyond the midpoint of this incarnation, it's been a fine day thus far. The delicate wasp that has just landed on the pane of glass before me agrees, his mighty abdomen nodding and his inspects the glass and flies on.
I avoid social media in the main, but I do have a much in need of an update profile on LinkedIn. Indeed, this blog is connected there and everyone once-and-a-while I meet someone for the first time who has actually been here and had a look. The LinkedIn algorithm has, it seems, notified 2000-plus people that I was born on this day and my, what an interesting trawl of familiar and intimate and unrecognizable, seemingly at random have reached out to wish me a fine day. A pang of guilt, certainly, for I haven’t ticked the same notification and am reminded that I’ve missed nineteen-hundred-and-ninety-nine birthdays, a few a day, presumably, ever day.
My wife and I headed out to Kelleco Nursery today. She had wanted to venture over to Sabellico on the east side of the Hudson but I’d already made that trip once this morning, After an all-out bike ride at my maximum capacity to get it done in under forty-five minutes and two scheduled calls that I told myself where the last I’d do today, I returned with no photos cept a silly selfie and no new plants identified in a respectable thirty-six minutes, showered and shampooed, managed the two calls and officially declared myself, to myself to be done with work for the day. I have to pause because that movement of light I’d referenced in the paragraph above is progressing on in manner most epic. There’s even a small rainbow on my desk. And after a tuna salad, which is only the second carnivorous meal I’ve had since early Jan, we headed out, listening as it were to Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs and made our way through the trees they had there at Kalleco, choosing two apple trees, one that bore red fruit and one that bore green. I hope they keep the handy tags on them when they send them over. Too big for our big SUV, they’re shipping them for a fee. And, as one does, I asked and the fee is the fee, not matter how many trees you buy. So we decided to buy two more. Two stately gingko trees and the two apple trees will arrive on Thursday.
In this fine, celestial moment of moving light I am enjoying some Trouble. Her WFMU, TITMW show from last Thursday passed me by when it happened. I’d thought to catch up with her all week but it’s only now I’m sitting down to savor. She always starts with something gentle. Something I am not familiar with, a feat I allow myself to consider reasonably impressive. Do you know William Orbit and his number, “Adagio for Strings?” Good. Me neither. The Archie Schepp that follows is wonderfully familiar. Soon, very soon if we’re not to be late, we’re off and up to Rhinebeck to dine with my mom and my stepdad at the lovely Sri Lankan joint Cinnamon. My older one has presented me with a lovely oil painting of a male cardinal before a moody purple sky and the little one figured I could use a key lime pie and it’s a fine day to be born on. Perhaps I’ll think of it when I pluck an apple from one of these trees, someday far off in the future, when this will all seem achingly precious and inaccessible.
Monday, 04/19/21
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