What am I interested in, then, and what do I do: what might this blog eventually chronicle? I’m slowly learning to cook and garden, that’s something. I read—less than I should, but a blog of book reviews could give me some motivation. Film is my real passion, but I’ve almost got that blog into shape. Oh, I have a nice family, and friends, and I take trips here and there when I can. I have a cozy little life. Between this blog, and terrific little camera I just brought home, I suppose what I want is some reassurance that that cozy little life is worth recording and remembering somehow.

I’ve designed sites and blogs, and I’ve been known to fuss over the quality of my writing, but whatever becomes of this space, this time I want it to be… spare, and easy. A place to jot down a thought should I have one; nothing elaborate. I’ll use an out-of-the-box template; I’ll not strain for literary prose. (EB White quarreled with his wife on the score that all prose is literary. But I take her point that there is literary prose contra scientific prose, contra whatever I naturally do… but to please him and myself we can call it prose, plain and simple.) I hope to illustrate it with pictures as often as possible, but speaking of that terrific little camera, I bought the one that seemed most capable of making its own clever decisions without any input from me, so there will be no attempts at artistic merit there, either. Still, I suppose I’ll learn something as I go.

Anyhow, what better way to mark a new beginning than with some new blooms? This fetish for flowers is a new one, and I am fumbling about with it happily and half-informed. Did I mention the Whites? Well, I’ve a fetish for the Whites, too, and it was Katharine who planted this seed (I’m sorry) in my mind with her charming garden writing. Through sheer luck, I think, my first plants have been doing quite well under my care. Meet my babies:

My African violet is flourishing. Aren’t they supposed to be delicate and difficult?

Well, Home Depot just called it Foliage #6. My mother says it’s a Wandering Jew. Per Wikipedia it’s a type of spiderwort; is it a Tradescantia zebrina? Mine hasn’t flowered.

My peace lily. I don’t have a lot of sunlight in my rooms, and these are supposed to do all right with very little. So far she looks healthy, though her flowers are taking an age to open. I enjoy pronouncing the Latin names. Spathiphyllum.

Rubs, my first plant! He’s eager and happy.

Primrose has faced adversity but still flowers away. My cat found her to be delicious, and I came home one day to find all her blooms and several of her leaves chomped clean off. I nursed her back to health and new blooms sprouted valiantly in days. Then this morning, I found those same blooms slumped in the dirt, given up. A little water and they perked right back up again. It is mystifying to me, these real living things I have on my hands.

Now I have no idea what this strange thing is, nor does my mother, a florist of 20 years and a gardener of many more. She believes it is a succulent, and when I first bought it it had these deep purple flowers—or are they? A week later the purple flowers sprouted red flowers! Please, what in the world is this thing? It’s quite glorious, and seems to enjoy its new home.

Finally, and far from least, my lovely cyclamen, which I find to be another odd creature. It blooms upside down, and I didn’t realize this until I nipped off what I thought was a dead stem only to find a healthy if seemingly inverted bud in my hand! Very upset with myself for that. Completely intrigued by my hardy cyclamen (which I insist would be a great name for a mountain biking team).