Russian Strawberries

When Olga and I walked down to the Overground station on Sunday, on our fruitless quest for a train to take us to Hampstead Heath, I noticed that the little cafe across the street now has a brightly painted security gate. (I'm assuming this is by arrangement with the artist, Festa.) It looks much better than it did previously.

Dave came home yesterday morning as planned. He was exhausted from his long flights, first from Indianapolis to Atlanta and then on to London. We looked around the garden and re-watched our episode of "Gardener's World" from a few weeks ago. I know he's glad to be back on his home turf, and I'm relieved he's safe and sound.

After the garden tour he climbed into his chair and promptly fell asleep for several hours, joined by the equally exhausted Olga (who apparently needed the security of her tennis ball during her nap).

So, yeah, back to life as usual around here! I don't know if I can stand the excitement.

I even made dinner last night, a scrambled egg concoction with shallots, olives and sun-dried tomatoes, which happened to be just about all we had left in the refrigerator. I was pretty impressed with my food ingenuity during his absence. I can make a meal out of almost anything.

The Russians have gone on vacation for a few weeks, and before she left, Mrs. Russia asked me to take care of her strawberry seedlings (above). She handed me these pots covered with plastic wrap, with instructions to mist them regularly. I've never grown strawberries and I'm a little terrified I will kill them, but after reading about them online I took the plastic wrap off. I think they need more light and air than that mini-greenhouse provides. I hope I'm not wrong about this, but it's been a few days and they seem healthy enough. Oh, the burden of responsibility!

I should probably put them in the dining room, which gets morning sun. I just did a massive cleaning of the windowsill in there, treating all the orchids for scale (with rubbing alcohol) and wiping and washing everything, and now there's a little extra space.

I forgot to mention my movie of choice on Sunday night: "Against All Odds," with Jeff Bridges and Rachel Ward. I've written before about my soft spot for this film, even though it's not the greatest. The ever-incisive Roger Ebert said it best: "There is a lot of plot in this movie -- probably too much. The best thing to do is to accept the plot, and then disregard it, and pay attention to the scenes of passion. They really work." I also love the footage of Mexico, early '80s Cozumel and the Mayan ruins at Tulum and Chichen Itza.

Last night I watched "Pray Away," an interesting Netflix documentary about gay conversion therapy and the fact that many leaders of the movement have since renounced it and resumed their gay lives. I'd been saving it to watch with Dave, but of course he fell asleep -- poor guy!