The Welsh weather we're enjoying is certainly conducive to sleep. We both rested very well and arose this morning with clear eyes. The sun was burning an orange stripe into the eastern sky, partially concealed by the clouds.
The line "All the clouds that lowered o'er us" just came to mind. This is from Shakespeare's dark historical play, Richard III. The lines are with me because I recently watched a documentary on Al Pacino as he filmed scattershot scenes from this play. It's called Looking For Richard. From what I could tell, these selected scenes were revolting, and for many reasons. The most striking reason was Pacino himself. I know the postmodern mind thinks of this fellow as a "great actor," but I am in disagreement. His early roles (Serpico, Dog Day Afternoon, Godfather I and II) showed him to be a typical Method mumbler, with fixed zombie stare and perpetually whiny delivery. His later years have seen him morph into a shouter - he now shouts most of his dialogue in a phlegmy, rattling bellow. The way he delivered the Bard's beautiful, sinister lines was tragic...and I don't mean that in a complimentary, theatrical sense. He butchered the beauty of the poetry, and made it very "urban." In other words, he defaced it. It's intentionally ugly. Verbal grafitti. And the fact that vapid fishwraps like Rolling Stone gave it glowing reviews is enough to confirm my evaluation.
Even more notable was the footage showing Pacino in meetings, discussions, and rehearsals as the movie was made. My favorite part was watching Pacino walk through the streets of New York City wearing a black trench coat, three days worth of beard, and...a backwards baseball cap. He looked precisely like a homeless hustler.
Now if the sunrise can get me on a rant like that, imagine what sunset might do.
Speaking of which...last night's was eerie and lovely. The incendiary power waning as it slipped below the outline of gravestones up on the western hill...
MeeMaw has been baking some of the best bread I've ever eaten. We have a half of her most recent loaf left, and will enjoy it along with a bowl of homemade stew (which is bubbling on the stove at this moment).
Before she went in to work yesterday, MeeMaw took Miss Connie to lunch at Shoney's, and they had a very nice, very deep talk. I think those two ladies prize each other as much as any two friends could. And when MeeMaw arrived home last night, she had a gift for me, a gift from Miss Connie. It was a very old book on beekeeping. When she was here at Possum Cough for supper recently, Miss Connie and I talked about my plans to start a beehive in the spring. She remembered the conversation and decided to make a gift of one of Papa Gene's books on beekeeping. She also gave me a USDA book on ths same topic. These are precious to me.
And speaking of bees, there has been a solitary honeybee (a drone) on our French doors for the last 24 hours. He's likely sick or elderly, because he moves very little. He must be starving, since he's been there nonstop for a day now.
If I approach him, he moves his antennae a bit, and moves his body a little, but he seems to be drawing near his own particular apian end. I hate to see him go, mainly because I fret that he may be infected with the dread colony collapse disorder. But I am trying to be optimistic and choose instead to believe that he is elderly and is dying of natural causes. An elderly bee would be one that is about two weeks old, I believe. Their life span is incredibly short, as they burn themselves out with ceaseless activity. They cannot be accused of busywork, however. Nor can they be said to do their work for acclamation or fame or the tissue-paper opinions of man. They do what they do because they are commissioned to do so.I'm waiting for MeeMaw to name the bee. Along with the two stray potential barn cats we've been feeding on the back deck every evening.
I've been painting all day, and am now taking a small break. The soft pink shade that MeeMaw selected for the family room and one half of the foyer is going to look very good. It's subtle and soft. The word that we keep using is "pleasant." That's what it is. Pleasant.
MeeMaw thinks I should get Purps (my old pickup truck) painted someday, for fear that it may begin to rust. I may do that...but I rather like her decrepit paint job. She looks like a veteran of many miles, which she is. Besides, I've invested a lot of work in her. Just yesterday, I put a new, high-tech lock on the driver's side door.
If I ever do get her repainted, I may go whole-hog and invest in refurbishing the interior. I have always wanted a cupholder in there, since I keep water with me all the time. But the only ones I have found in the Tri-Cities area are not for sale.
Speaking of the Tri-Cities, MeeMaw has found some nifty little antique geegaws in her travels. I'll get her to post some photos of them on here. In the meantime, here's one of the antiques I wanted her to buy, but she flatly refused. I believe my bride is predjudiced against candelabra. Perhaps she feels that to have a candelabra would be putting on airs of affluence that are pretentious and misleading. All I can say is that a classic accessory can find its place in any home.
