Architectural Digest meets Mad Men

Watching “Mad Men” discuss the architecture of Penn Station; discuss the ruin of Italian beauty to build latrines, of the power of the printed word to change the misguided ambitions of ill-thought forces.

I do not imply that the journalists are right - for if they are really journalists then they report the facts without bias - only that they write the facts; not that they don’t at times overlook some bits of information to focus on the ones that they believe matter.

Evolution means that one species fails while a stronger species survives. Do we abandon survival? Does the evolution of new forms of buildings and structures require the demolition of the foundation upon which they are constructed?

I honestly don’t know. Clearly, some things/species/structures expire. Yet, I am one who loves the rough wood, the glass doorknobs, the wide wood planks of the floor in a house of plaster walls where the insulation is insufficient and the windows panes are watery with age.

I have stood in the Garden of Gethsemane and on the deck of my modern day townhouse. I know which one has substance and staying power. Whatever foundation formed the structure where I now live, I do not think it was sacred, informed, strong, or noteworthy. But I am grateful to stand on the deck, watch the birds, the fox that likes to race through in winter, the budding of the forsythia and the wild dogwoods that thrive just beyond my structure.

If I could build a structure or discover one where I would thrive, the sound of water would be nearby, trees would dress and undress outside my windows, birds would wake me, locking the door would not be a necessity, old buttery wood would rest under my feet, doors would be solid and well-hung, a fireplace or woodstove for winter, and breezes fragrant with pine and jasmine the rest of the seasons. It is most likely impossible to find it all at any given time.

I’ve no care for the size of the closets or cable access or public sewer. I’ve no care for a Starbucks nearby or a shopping mall. When the electricity fails, I am more at home than not.

Sauting my life

Preparing homemade spaghetti sauce; I sauté the ground beef and a bit of ground lamb, chop the garlic (three cloves), chop the beautiful bright orange pepper just purchased today at Super Fresh - but inside the flesh is riddled with black spots and white fuzz. Yes the pepper had looked so healthy and vibrant in the store - three times the size of the itty bitty red pepper dangling from my little pepper plant on my deck. So I put the pretty orange pepper back into the plastic bag and decide to return it tomorrow. So frequently what appears healthy and whole on the exterior can harbor diseased fruit.

On the deck, I snip two deep red peppers - homegrown with soil I selected and roots and growth I attend to daily - and when I cut them open, the are perfect, no imperfections other than they are small, modest.

Basil - the basil on the deck is robust, prolific - so I go back out and snip a whole limb to put into the sauce. My fingertips smell delicious and I think next time I go out, I will rub the basil behind my ears and onto my wrists instead of bottled perfume.

To the sizzling fragrant garlic, sweet red peppers, and basil, I add the ground meat, a can of diced tomatoes, some tomato paste, and oregano. I put on the cover and let the flavors get to know one another. Tomorrow night, I will serve this to Dylan and Sara as we have a final family dinner before Dylan returns to the University of Maryland. So soon, this year of college will end and he will already be halfway through. We are simmering; this family in a state of transition. I am not sure we have ever been anything but transitioning, evolving. The one word that would not be used to describe us is stagnant., but our soil has been rich and we have rained attention when needed.

A bit more routine, some predictability, would not hurt my life. Knowing how much money I will make and when would be welcome. Knowing what courses I might teach next semester and where I might live in a year or so might make my life richer. As I found some stability on the domestic front, the risks could be in my artistic work; with a relief from financial strife, my intellectual resources and attention could be more focused on classes and research and more creative efforts. So as the sauce marries, I wonder at the sauté of my life and how to brew something richer, fuller, meaningful, and delicious.