Sunday, January 8, 2012


E mails are beginning to become a fertile source for posts.

This is one I sent to a friend of Mysti’s and mine recently.

After how many years?  The orchid you and Tom gave us for our anniversary is finally deciding to bloom again.

A friend of mine has five or six orchids that are always blooming.  She lives in Portland, and one time recently when I was visiting I had almost brought this orchid to see if her magic could make it  bloom.

I decided to wait.  I had not long before adopted her method of watering.  Once a week she puts each orchid in the sink and gives the plant – leaves and all – a deep water bath with the spray attachment.

After adopting that method I thought I was seeing something – different – forming down in on of the vortices; so I decided to wait and see.

As a scientist I’m glad I did.

Apparently that watering method is the magic, not the person doing it.  If I had brought the thing to Portland I would have been saddled with one more baseless superstition.

the orchid

Thursday, January 5, 2012

Five January 2012

Mysti and Morgan have just returned from a cat sitting job in London.

Morgan just sent me an email about the adventures she and her mother had there.

I decided to reply with the following.

I am going back to Seattle in the morning.  To that end, after 18 days here, I spent most of the day cleaning the house.  it looks pretty good.  Bert hasn’t pissed on the floor yet, so the kitchen – I did the floor – is still in pretty good shape except for the cat litter that Bert has already managed to track around.

I had fish and chips at the Galley tonight.  There were a number of young families in the place and an amazing number of children.  I have no idea how a young couple thinks they can afford four children – and there was one of those and a couple more with three.

Having said that, those kids have  my vote for being the hope of the future; and their parents are the obvious reason.

First, none of the kids – ages 3 to maybe 10 or 11 – were anything but model citizens.  There was no whining; there were no tantrums; the older members of the kid families took, obviously loving, care of the younger.

And then the real show began.

Members of the various groups of children began to go to the tables of the other groups of children.  They all obviously know one another and they all obviously like one another.  They all engaged in conversation, just like little adults. 

Their parents exchanged peasantries and the kids just kept mixing and talking, and laughing – just like real human beings.  Occasionally a parent would feel the need the ask a kid to do something, and – damn – the kid would just do it.

Lopez Island may be the hope of civilization.