Delights: June 23 to June 29

June 23: Years ago, on the sidewalk outside a theatre, an actor stopped me. “Weren’t you sitting in the second row of the show? I kept looking at you because you had such a friendly face.” Apparently I still do. Last night, I was sitting in the second row at a concert in celebration of Juneteenth, when the chorus leader introduced the next song. “Imagine you’re part of the Civil Rights Movement. Imagine you’re at a mass meeting in a church and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., has just moved you to action. You’re ready to sing that song you learned in church and — “ 

To my shock, the chorus leader interrupted herself and started talking right to me. “You! You know what song we’re about to sing. And you are just chomping at the bit to get started!” I did and I was. This Little Light of Mine? I let it shine. 

Bonus: My blogger friend Anita recently posted this splendid photo of Khmer Temple in Cambodia. It reminds me of my own 2018 visit to Siem Reap in Cambodia, where I too saw the Bayon temple Anita photographed, except my photos reflect the tourist-pleasing whimsey of my guide. Look at Anita’s photo for beauty and mine for a giggle.  

June 24: High winds or fierce storms or, perhaps, nudges from our overeager troupe of deer — whatever the cause, the fountain of our wee pond tipped over. Like the Little Engine That Could, it huffed and puffed on its steep incline. And, before we noticed its labors, it had dutifully pumped half of the water out of the pond. 

Moreover, the remaining water was a muddy mess. So this morning I grabbed and flung fistfuls of sediment, scooped and flung buckets of water, and eventually scrubbed and cleaned the empty pond lining. You know me pretty well by now. Will I tell of finding a missing ring? Or a personable frog? (We had one, but he left us for more reliable hosts.) Maybe a pretty whelk sea shell submerged in the muck?

Nope. Today my quiet pleasure lies simply in the renewed splash of the fountain and an engineered solution that I hope will thwart the snouts of curious deer.

June 25: Every year, my cousins Donna and Michael would come to our house for Christmas. For twenty courteous minutes we’d hang out with my parents, their parents (Aunt May and Uncle Joe) and Dad’s and Uncle Joe’s sisters, Aunt Gerry and Aunt Honey. Then, finally, we’d scramble up to my sister’s and my bedroom, where the real holiday began.

“I remember the Ouija Board,” Donna said. “You pushed it,” I insisted. “No, you did,” she replied. She’s probably right. What’s certainly right is my joy in seeing Donna and Michael again, joined by Michael’s wife Meg. Meg and Michael recently moved to Delaware from Florida, and I’ve already seen them four times in five months. 

I don’t need a planchette to predict a future of rekindled friendship. (But if the planchette doesn’t get there on its own, I think we’ll all push it.)

Bonus: My blogger friend Mr. Platypus recently posted this fascinating tribute to Orkney’s Italian Chapel in northern Scotland. The chapel’s beauty is matched by its improbable and inspiring story.

June 26: Thanks to a Summer Reading Bingo sponsored by my local bookstore, I just finished — and adored — a book I thought I’d never choose. The book, “Light from Uncommon Stars,” by Ryka Aoki, imagines a trans teenage runaway who is also a self-taught violin prodigy, the Queen of Hell (damned souls and all) who becomes her loving teacher, and the Queen’s girlfriend, an alien starship captain who runs a California donut shop. 

Confused? Don’t be: this poignant, generous, hilarious story truly makes as much sense as hot fudge on ice cream. Don’t think about it; just read it.  

Bonus: To entice you, here’s Starship Captain Lan Tran rejecting her daughter’s pleas to get to know Shizuka Satomi, the Queen of Hell: “Anyway, what would we talk about? Music? There’s no time for silliness. We have a donut to calibrate.”

June 27: If it’s not Alma Thomas (hi, Mr. P.!), it’s John Singer Sargent. Today, amid coffee and cooling breezes, I caught up with a friend I hadn’t seen in years. Somehow, conversation turned to glass blowing, recent art exhibits and John Singer Sargent. “I’ve seen one, you know, in [so-and-so’s] home.” Wait, what?

“Yes,” my friend said, “before [so-and-so] and her husband took the painting to Christies [my mouth is agape], they had giclee prints made for the five siblings. Then the family sold the Sargent.” 

It turns out that the husband’s great-grandfather was the First Secretary to the American Embassy in London, as well as the next door neighbor of John Singer Sargent. [More gaping.] Sargent made a portrait of the diplomat’s daughter, Mildred, and presented it as a gift. [What?!] Mildred eventually married the man who would become the 5^th Earl of Gosford. [My jaw dropped again; this time I had to use my hands to close it.]

The portrait made its way to Virginia and passed through the generations until the giclee — nestling between the windows of our friend’s dining room — stunned my companion, who recognized Sargent’s colors and artistry. 

I love John Singer Sargent. In May, I made a failed trip to the Boston Museum of Fine Arts (oops, closed Tuesdays) to bask in them. I chase him around Washington DC art museums. Now, I just need to invite myself to our friend’s house for tea: I’ll provide the cookies, you provide the masterpiece.

Bonus: Read more about Mildred, Countess of Gosford, and see her portrait here. 

June 28: By the end, I could summon a trembling smile, but I couldn’t tilt my chin high enough to catch my reflection. Just a trim, I’d said. I really like what you did last time, I’d said. 

I was growing my hair out a bit: softer, brushed to the side, requiring a comb. Last time, my hairdresser had helped me get there. But today I didn’t give any guidance. And, gee, the hair trimmer felt so nice massaging my scalp. 

Eventually, eyeglasses on, I saw my hairdresser’s work: my old haircut, snipped so short you could almost see the freckles. I settled back in the chair, despondent. I wear a hat most of the time anyway, I told myself. It’ll grow back by October, I told myself.

I removed my hat as I entered the house. Kevin spotted me. “Hey,” he said, “Great haircut!” 

Oh, Kevin, I told myself, you are so special to me. And now, my dear, I’m telling you.

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