Well, it started all right. i mean, this morning i was up and at ’em, ready to take on the world…okay, okay, maybe not the world but i had a lot of things on my plate.
But i slowed down somewhere around nine and started piddling. i’m good at piddling. Perhaps it is the weather. For this year up to now, Southern California ain’t. Record rains in the winter, the usual thirty days of clouds with traces of rain compared to what we had back home stretched from January to March and never really went away, including clouding up the first days of May, one of my favorite times of the year out here, all the way into “May Gray” and i’m afraid continuing through “June Gloom.”
But that’s seaport weather and shouldn’t put me in a funk. After all, it’s pleasant playing golf in cloudy cool weather, even with a mist. And it reminds me of the myriad of ports into which i sailed over the years: clouds, mist, small white caps on the seas, with mountains inland warmed by shawls of clouds over their shoulders like Mount Miguel yesterday morning.
Which led me to thinking of Newport which led me to thinking of shipmates. One in particular came back into mind when Maureen and i wandered over to North Park in the early evening yesterday for an early supper at one of our favorite spots, The Rose Wine Bar where we shared their delicious salad, a margarita pizza, and their rather incredible strawberry shortcake with the ice cream made right there. We liked it. Rather than show you the lovely display when served, i give you what it looked like before we made the bartender take it back.
But that wasn’t what made me think of Andrew Nemethy, whom i have written about before. Maureen tasted several wines, white and rosé. i, however, saw a red listed, the fourth on the list, with the description ending in “Hu.” To be sure i asked the bartender if that meant it was from Hungary. Well, i gotta tell you, Andrew, the Kardaka ’17 was spectacular. This is the second glass and it didn’t last long either.
Not like anything i had at the Black Pearl Tavern on the pier in Newport, Rhode Island, but then, i usually had beer with the best Boston Clam Chowder ever while listening to Jody sing folk songs with the parrot squawking not quite in tune. But that was another time, another place where what i called spring rolling through in late May yet better than the two days i felt spring in late June in Watertown, New York, but that too was another time, another place, long ago.
So i woke up this morning, raring to go, or at least raring for someone who passed three quarters of a century about four months ago. And what did i find for my work outside? Yup. Another one of those cloudy and dank days with sprinkles of rain daring me to finish my work on my trellis. But you know, it is what you make it, and when i walked around the backyard, it was sort of pretty in its own, peaceful way:
That’s about when i started piddling.