Day of simple riches

Every now and again a rainbow-like day comes along, one of those phenomena that reminds us of what real wealth is all about.

The choir did a lot of singing this morning—the whole chivaree was quite a songfest, lots of Rutter and some rather challenging chant. Very fun.

Escaping from the church, I met M’hijito for lunch. We went to an old stand-by, a place that bills itself as a “bistro” but which is really salad, sandwich, and pizza joint. The food is always good there.

His roommate having announced, at last, that he is moving on, M’hijito grows more interested in getting a dog. We dropped by the Humane Society, where we saw nothing that interested him, but a dog that I thought was enchanting. The keepers there, who tend to the imaginative in designating breeds, claimed he was a bloodhound. Well, I’ve seen bloodhounds, and fer sure that was not one of them. He looked like he might have some hound in him, not a sight-hound, but I’d say he was more lab than hound. Probably Heinz 57 is the right brand name for this guy. He was mellow and sweet and handsome. If I had been in the market for a medium-sized to large dog, I’d have grabbed him in an instant.

But M’hijito is the one who has to live with this proposed animal.

At my house, M’hijito noticed to his amazement that the Christmas cactus is blooming. It’s the first Christmas cactus plant I’ve ever managed to keep alive—I bought it about five years ago as part of the “staging” of the house I sold then. Astonishingly, it has not only survived my ministrations but has blossomed three times since then. He took photos of the amazing ornament-like flowers:

Later, I grabbed the camera and climbed under the plant, backlighting the blossoms with the sun pouring in through the skylight:

He had to go to the office, unfortunately—not the best of all possible things to do with a spectacular Sunday afternoon.

And spectacular it was. After M’hijito left, Cassie the Corgi and I headed for the North Mountain Preserve. No flowers yet, but the hillsides are green with alien grasses brought to the Southwest by generations of Europeans, the seeds blown evenly across the terrain by the wind. Any good rain, such as the recent products of El Niño that have visited us, will green up the desert mountains and eventually produce poppies and mallow and lupine and vast numbers of yellow things. The air still crystalline after the rains, the mountains to the south stood like violet paper cutouts behind the downtown cityscape.

You couldn’t buy a life like this.