Milkweed of Zenith
Jun. 11th, 2021 10:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ismoWe're rewatching the Nero Wolfe shows that are a thing Timothy Hutton did before "Leverage," with Maury Chaikin, who is to Wolfe as Jeremy Brett is to Holmes--in my opinion. It's a very clever show, because it's a repertory company. Some of the actors play the same role every time, but others perform a shifting panoply of bystanders, victims, and villains. There's also a very cool late-40s, early-50s aesthetic of sets, colors, and costumes that makes it a pleasure to watch. I could die for some of Archie Goodwin's hats and outfits, not to mention the things that the women get to wear.
I mention this partly as a prologue to my statement that I'm a lot like Wolfe--big vocabulary, tendency to use said vocabulary to rant in an orotund fashion, and bouts of melancholy that alas, cannot be alleviated by an afternoon in the orchid room--since I seem to be killing everything I plant. Those tomatoes are definitely in hospice now. Only the weeds proliferate grandly. And it's too hot and sticky for me to go out and pull them up. Like Wolfe, I prefer not to leave the house. Also alas, I have no Fritz to confer with in the kitchen. I have only myself to argue with. At least I have the Sparrowhawk to be my Archie.
Wolfe and Fritz would both scorn my food offerings, I suspect. Luckily both Archie and my Archie-analog aren't as picky. Tonight it was just too hot. I made another batch of chicken salad out of the last of the leftover chicken, this time with cherries and pecans in it. I amused myself with the cherry pitter that I unearthed in my utensil drawer. It shot the pits all around the kitchen like little BBs. For the Sparrowhawk, I cut up some leftover bratwurst with rice (and let him choose the condiments himself--he likes both hoisin and this terrible peanut sauce) and then steamed some broccoli and made a chopped salad for both of us to add ad lib.
I've created a new file: "Chapter Titles for My Memoir." Unfortunately, I've forgotten most of the really good ones I've thought of. "Other People's Gardens" is the latest. It will tell about all the wondrous articles and photos I saw that I thought I could surely duplicate if I followed a few simple instructions--but no. My plants live only long enough to torment me. I also wrote down "Late to My Mother's Funeral," although it's not too likely I'll forget that one. Then there's "My Dear, It's Common Knowledge," which will discuss how my father seemed to know an awful lot of people who were in the CIA. Of course, I'll never WRITE any of these chapters, you understand. But it will be an accomplishment just to keep a running list so the memoir can exist in some parallel world. In several volumes.
I mention this partly as a prologue to my statement that I'm a lot like Wolfe--big vocabulary, tendency to use said vocabulary to rant in an orotund fashion, and bouts of melancholy that alas, cannot be alleviated by an afternoon in the orchid room--since I seem to be killing everything I plant. Those tomatoes are definitely in hospice now. Only the weeds proliferate grandly. And it's too hot and sticky for me to go out and pull them up. Like Wolfe, I prefer not to leave the house. Also alas, I have no Fritz to confer with in the kitchen. I have only myself to argue with. At least I have the Sparrowhawk to be my Archie.
Wolfe and Fritz would both scorn my food offerings, I suspect. Luckily both Archie and my Archie-analog aren't as picky. Tonight it was just too hot. I made another batch of chicken salad out of the last of the leftover chicken, this time with cherries and pecans in it. I amused myself with the cherry pitter that I unearthed in my utensil drawer. It shot the pits all around the kitchen like little BBs. For the Sparrowhawk, I cut up some leftover bratwurst with rice (and let him choose the condiments himself--he likes both hoisin and this terrible peanut sauce) and then steamed some broccoli and made a chopped salad for both of us to add ad lib.
I've created a new file: "Chapter Titles for My Memoir." Unfortunately, I've forgotten most of the really good ones I've thought of. "Other People's Gardens" is the latest. It will tell about all the wondrous articles and photos I saw that I thought I could surely duplicate if I followed a few simple instructions--but no. My plants live only long enough to torment me. I also wrote down "Late to My Mother's Funeral," although it's not too likely I'll forget that one. Then there's "My Dear, It's Common Knowledge," which will discuss how my father seemed to know an awful lot of people who were in the CIA. Of course, I'll never WRITE any of these chapters, you understand. But it will be an accomplishment just to keep a running list so the memoir can exist in some parallel world. In several volumes.
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Date: 2021-06-13 12:43 am (UTC)