A thousand points of light

You probably know about trump dissing on Former President George H. W. Bush’s program that he dubbed, “A Thousand Points of Light.” The sitting president said he never got that, but Bush’s granddaughter, Jenna Bush Hager, sure did, and she let trump know in clear terms that it referred to people volunteering, people caring for others. So important at this time in our history.

I see stories and hear them of people caring, taking the extra step, going out of their way to help other people. Look how the world has responded to the saga of the children in cages and the trapped soccer team in Thailand. It reassures me to hear these stories, just as it reassures me when people step back and hold the door for me and my walker. There really are good people in this world, and I believe they will triumph

I like to think of President Bush when I look at my own thousand points of light. When I was out of town for Thanksgiving last fall, Jordan worked hard to make a fairyland of the backyard I look out on every day and night. She festooned the deck and driveway fence with lights. But the biggest thing, to me, was the device she put on the half-wall outside my patio doors. It projects at least a thousand tiny points of green light. Last winter, when the trees were bare, the lights landed on the wall of the guest house next door, though our neighbor said some jumped the single-story building and mysteriously showed up on the other side.

Now that it’s summer, though, these lights cluster on a small herb just beside the projector and then land in q wonderful random pattern on the leaves of the pecan tree that shelters the patio. Someone a few red dots are sprinkled in with the green. It’s all truly magical, and I wish I could take a picture of the scene. I never remember to turn the lights on, but they have a mind of their own and come on at dusk. I have to remember to turn them off before I go to bed. If I forget and wake in the night, I can see them clearly from my bedroom. Cool beans, as the saying goes. And yes, Mr. President, I get it.

So tired of everything looking droopy in the yard. We water and water, but it’s an uphill battle. I worried about the fig tree, so Christian put a donut sprinkler on it, and it looks better. Tonight, the turk’s cap looks droopy, and the basil is a lost cause—planted from seed, and I think the weather got hot before the plant got strong enough. At any rate, as Christian says, it’s committing suicide.

Report on the Irish coddle: really good, except that the ring sausage we bought had red pepper in it and is too spicy for me. We also made enough for Coxie’s Army—will be eating it forever. But we have voted the recipe a keeper.

It’s dusk, and my thousand points of light just came on. Sweet dreams, everyone.