Day 125: Small Pleasures

Shelter in Place, San Francisco, California, July 20, 2020

This lovely Madeira Crested Violet (Argyranthemum frutescens), also known as Paris or margarite daisy, outdid itself this spring, nearly doubling in size and rewarding us for weeks on end with a lovely mound of pink that proved a focal point along the patio’s edge. I dead-headed the flowers as they faded in hopes that new ones would take their place, but slowly the daisy’s branches bared and the plant faded into background. Now, weeks later, one single bloom has reappeared among the cut-off stems. Are there more to come? I’m hoping. But even if this is the single one to grace our garden in a second round, I’m grateful. It’s the small things - the little miracles - we notice these days, the ones we cannot count on or control anymore, but which brighten our days if even for a moment. This daisy is a sign of life, a second chance, a metaphor for those small pleasures we once took for granted.

Day 121: Summer Blues

Shelter in Place, San Francisco, California, July 16

It seems like yesterday that the agapanthus bulbs were opening like fireworks all around the garden. Their bright blue accent among abundant green cheered me up immensely, and I’m sad to see them getting to the other side of fresh. With a Covid sense of time, it’s hard to track the weeks these days, and though you’d think that such doldrums would slow things down, they seems to make it all go faster. Hence, my surprise this morning at seeing not a single agapanthus flower without a drooping bud.

I remember decades ago when my Minnesota father-in-law growled on the fourth of July that summer was nearly over. I thought it funny at the time. But this year, I imagine that teachers, parents and students must all be feeling a terrible dread as decisions about the fate of school semesters hit the headlines every morning. Knowing educators as I do, they are frantically working out the safest way to handle things IF politicians insist on opening, and they’ll put their own safety to the side; parents are calculating and recalculating every day the danger to their kids. And this year both are probably joining the students of every age in wishing that the summer would slow down.

Day 119: Running Out

Shelter in Place, San Francisco, California

This is the newest and last blooming orchid in the house and it’s about to drop its petals. The lovely, subtle arch of color has been blooming since before the pandemic began, but very soon we will be orchid-less, at least for the foreseeable future. Seven more flowerless ones rest in various stages of slow rejuvenation on window ledges around the house, just beyond sun’s reach. But though I’ve had some luck in encouraging them all to repeat bloom before, we’re in a dry spell now that looks to last a while. Ordinarily, I’d go out and get another fully flowering orchid to fill the gap (that’s how I ended up with the seven that are resting now) but I haven’t gone anywhere near a store for months and it doesn't feel the time to do it now.

This orchid is not the only thing that’s sheltered with us since the beginning but is finally running out. We realized on a run to the doctor’s office today that we are still on the same tank of gas we had when the mayor closed the city down in March; at this rate, we may have to refill sometime in August. Only last week did I finally spend the last of the small stash of twenties I happened to have in my wallet when the quarantine began. And, alas, we’re nearing the final episodes of several of our favorite video diversions, with no new seasons in the works. 

I wish these were all signs that our self-isolation is nearly behind us, but I’m not expecting that. More likely, I’ll cut the orchid back and set it on the shelf beside the others, make a quick trip to the cash machine for a just-in-case resupply, and look for something else - perhaps less satisfying - to stream tonight.