Blue Monday?

Like everyone else, we embraced the dawn of 2021 with hope and relief—that is, until we heard the “find the votes” rant from DT to Raffensperger, or recognized the $900 billion stimulus package was only a drop in a leaky bucket, or perhaps worst of all, that we depleted every episode of BRIDGERTON, TED LASSO and DERRY GIRLS and now we have to watch them all over again.

This first week of January wasn’t exactly what we thought it would be. After reading the NY Times, Washington Post, listening to NPR and BBC World Service it’s time to appreciate the tiny little things that give us some illusion of control, like home projects.

Here’s Alexandra with a nineteen pound Long Island Cheese squash—a Thanksgiving gift from our friend Lauri. Just as democracy is being dismantled and turned into something unrecognizable, we extended that same theme to this pumpkin.
Waldemar matched the right tool for the job…click on the video below.

Now, on to the unrecognizable part.

There’s nothing more American than Italian. Alexandra made GF Squash Pasta with sage and bacon.
I celebrated America’s recent immigrant past with duck broth Pho soup.

What was left became Pumpkin cupcakes with persimmons, pecans and prunesyes, I have trouble avoiding alliteration.

If I’m honest, Long Island can keep their cheesy squash. It wasn’t as deeply thrilling as a Kabocha or an acorn. I quickly tired of adding in flavor and trying to give away big hunks to hesitant friends. It really was the same as Democracy, to make it work you had to keep adding contemporary ideas, stay creative and avoid giving it away to other countries who have their own way of doing things.

Alas, as I write this, Atlanta is a frenzy and the Senate is devouring itself—I mourn for the Republic. Time to take emotional action. I went to the backyard to gave thanks that I still had a backyard (for now).

(Warning: don’t watch MIDNIGHT SKY while you’re leafing through seed catalogues for Spring planting, since according to George Clooney, there will be no Spring. )

Our first cymbidium orchids came with the original house (built 1953). The owners planted a Hawaiian fantasy backyard and then forgot about it. By the time we arrived in 1984, I didn’t know there was any backyard—only a jade tree jungle waiting for a Prince to slash his way through to Sleeping Beauty. We reconfigured it, but never gave up on the orchids.
This is perhaps the first winter I really took the time to look at flowers that modestly, silently and miraculously raised their heads in the short dark days.

And then I brought them indoors.

While we wait for the Atlanta results and the Senate to unblock the Electoral College certification and start serving WE THE PEOPLE, let’s take a moment to eat a pint of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream, a five gallon bucket of popcorn and the remnants of a nineteen pound pumpkin.

Fingers crossed for Democracy in 2021.