So as I walked around the house with Steve’s Japanese wooden sword draped over my shoulder, I thought of the warriors in Akira Kurosawa’s The Seven Samurai. I especially thought of the character played by actor Toshiro Mifune who carried his scabbarded metal sword that way, walking sometimes with a drunken gait. Growing up I was big into action movies, the good ones like The Seven Samurai, the bad ones and everything in between. Interest has waxed and waned over the years but in recent times Steve and I had been watching the occasional martial arts movie via the streaming services.
About six or so years ago, after completing treatment for cancer, Steve and I impulsively walked into a martial arts studio and he resumed his studies begun in youth. Less about defense, as the focus may have been when he’d been a young man, but more so a focus on improving balance, strength building, increasing range of motion, etc. The cancer had impacted his eyesight as well as other things and there were many exercises, including with the sword, to help body and brain rewire to deal with new deficits in motion and vision.
Steve was always very mindful when he was swinging the sword around the house. He’d say, “Don’t get too close behind me and don’t stand on my left where I can’t see you.” Now I thought he was being overly cautious but I do realize, in hind sight, that one of my blind spots with Steve is that I never perceived how tall he was and therefore how long his reach. I appreciate that he found many ways to look out for me.
As for the sword, I took a few big swings mimicking some moves I’d seen in movies. After a few “Ow!” I decided, if I choose to keep it, I should probably get in touch with Steve’s teacher to get some proper training. 🙂
I must say that it is hard to eat these days. No worries. I’m not wasting away. My survival instinct is pretty strong and when I need to eat I most definitely track down some food. What seems to resonate most right now is intensity of flavor. I’ve been disappointed a few times of late when I order something spicy and it is not spicy to me. I’ve been reading how taste buds, as well as appetite, can be affected by grief/loss. Mostly I cope at present by thinking about food creatively. I look out on the porch and see what’s there. The basil I gifted but the jalepenos I’m using. And then there’s the hot and spicy oregano. I’m trying out a marinade of oregano, garlic, olive oil, lemon juice and so on on some salmon tonight. We’ll see.
Given events of late I did not fertilize the tomatoes on the porch enough. Lots of foliage that smells wonderful but not much fruit. Just one ripe one so far and I decided today to purposefully slice and drizzle it with olive oil and white wine vinegar and some sea salt and black pepper. You see what I mean? Intense flavor. It was a lovely appetizer. And yes I know it was only one small tomato but the exercise I think helps to reawaken the taste buds.
Didn’t photograph the baked salmon but the portion I had was good. Needed more hot and spicy oregano and maybe some lemon. On the porch the pepper plant still flowers, there are tomatoes that are small and green and I will endeavor to give them a bit more love. Tarragon, rosemary, thyme and the various oreganos. As the summer season progresses I think there will be plenty of opportunities to be creative and stir the tastebuds … and still to gift on occasion. 🙂
Now growing up in southern Virginia, fishing was pretty common. All the male members of my family fished though somehow they neglected to take me along. So it wasn’t until I moved to Boston and met this quirky fellow who loved fishing that I finally held a fishing pole. That’s right, I held it. But to Steve’s consternation I didn’t move it. He tried to explain standing there with the line in the water watching the sunlight play upon the lake was not the same as actively trying to catch a fish. I told him, “I think I’m into the zen of fishing.” He just shook his head. Luckily for Steve, a good friend connected him with a group of men who’d been fishing together for decades since they were children. A spot opened up and Steve fit. About every two years they’d gather and make their way to a fishing hole in Canada. It was probably one of the most joyous experiences Steve looked forward to later in life. One of the gentlemen shared this photo with me in his memory.
… it is probably best to do some good weeding before hitting multiple nurseries in one day. Didn’t pick up much but what I did I love. Let’s see if I can keep the strawflowers alive.
I’m doing my best this morning to channel Steve as I pinch the basil. My first thought when I looked out on the porch this morning was, “What the hell am I going to do with all this basil?” I’m certainly not in the mood or mode to make pesto though he taught me well. Clearly the pots needed pinching, stems growing long and tall toward the sun. Some were beginning to feel firm to the touch, getting barky. No flowers yet so this was a good moment theoretically to dive right in.
The first time I watched Steve pinch basil … removing topmost shoots on the plant so that the plant redirects energy to growing bushier and increasing yield … I was horrified. I told him he was scalping the plant to within an inch of its life. He shook his head and said, matter of factly, “This works. You’ll see.” I did.
So this morning with cup of coffee by my side, I sat on the porch and pinched basil. I’ve decided to split the harvest in two. Soon I’ll make my way into work. I hope my two colleagues will be pleasantly surprised by their culinary gifts. Have a good day!
Remember that smile I said I missed? I am gearing up with stories and few hidden handkerchiefs. Steve’s memorial service, a celebration of a unique life will be Saturday August 1st at 10am at Trinity Church Boston. You can read an obit here: https://www.currentobituary.com/member/obit/301653
Two days ago Steve and I sat on the porch, me with a glass of wine and he with a mango cocktail sans alcohol. I have written a lot about Steve over the years even before I knew what he meant to me. What do I write now that I haven’t written before? We sat on the porch that day because he had remarked that he hadn’t been out there in awhile. We sat with me prattling on and then I realized he hadn’t applied sunblock and I needed to get him back inside.
I have been regaling people today about how Steve pursued me even though I didn’t know I was being pursued. Or how he wrapped his long arms around anyone, and I mean anyone, that he thought he could help with no strings attached. He was brilliant and curious and loved to learn even when the various illnesses and chronic pain stripped away some of that motivation and curiosity. Some of what I miss most that was stripped away was his smile and then his voice. His intellect was slowed but not diminished. His love for those close, and those far, never diminished.
I will figure out what more to write in the future, and I hope it will be meaningful. Today I write that this morning Stephen Frederick Horne passed away peacefully in his home with family by his side.
… even as you’re leaving work and making your way back to the hospital to visit your spouse, you take a moment to pop into Trader Joe’s for some wonderfully inexpensive flowers. Not for him. For me! The potted organic basil that was for him. His neighbor this time around in a shared room was a very sweet Greek man who thought I was too skinny and so as I left Steve one day he made me take a piece of his wife’s cheesy cornbread. It was darn tasty as I stood there in the hallway waiting for the elevator to the main lobby.
He is home again, by the way. We have been too often to the hospital this year and we seem to be, ahem, a recognizable pair. Staff at different levels who’ve interacted with us over time, and so they know his journey, say that I am taking good care of him. I don’t know what they’re seeing but I’m happy they see whatever they are seeing. He now rests at home laying in bed listening, as I type, to compositions by Johannes Ockeghem as sung by the group Blue Heron. We used to attend the group’s concerts and we may do so again. I just asked if he might like to attend again one day and he said yes. We’ll see what the future holds. 🙂
… there is no rhyme or reason to the gardening on the porch/patio. It is a riot of colors and styles.
Each morning I rise to peek out and see scattered dirt as the squirrels rise earlier then I do and begin their daily quest for food.
I’ve let the backyard go. The only that will be harvested from down on the ground will be garlic planted last fall. When I look down there is the afternoon light I can see many happy baby bunnies nibbling at all the weeds and things that are overgrown. I do appreciate the perennials that have come back and have no bunny-appeal.
While I do feel bad about the yard, I am glad about the porch. There’s an increasing number of patio-specific fruits and vegetables and its been fun learning about those. And, of course, of course, there is still room for plenty of basil for future pesto making.
… how the chocolate mint wound up in my cart or the strawberry mint. I’m beginning to think one should never go to a garden center when one is hungry. The challenge is that I am not a huge mint fan as I’ve grown older. I’m afraid that if the garden center had had ginger, cinnamon, orange and apple mints, as well, I would have come home with them too! Interesting thing about mint is that it is hardy. So what do I do with it? I think it was nostalgia that made me pick up the plants. Growing up in Virginia I remember wild mint growing and making some tea … after I washed the ants off the plants. Apparently these mints are great for flavoring desserts, teas and cocktails. Steve and I don’t do cocktails but friends and coworkers may be receiving some unexpected gifts. We’ll see. 🙂
Words + Images 