By I.Z. Josephson
The rose is hid by prickly thorn,
Behind each night there lurks a morn,
Amidst most threat'ning sombre skies
The many colored rainbow lies.
No night was e'er so hopeless black
That it at least one star did lack;
So pleasure lies conceal'd midst pain
And joy is found in sorrow's train.
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I had both lunch and dinner plans on Wednesday, but late on Tuesday we suffered from the return of the tire pressure light that plagued us on Sunday, at which point we decided the van really needed to go in so we could find out whether it had a leak in a tire that we couldn't detect or an electrical problem that was turning on the wrong lights. Turns out that it was the latter -- plus there was something wrong with the gasket and I forget what else -- so more than a few dollars and many hours later, in the early evening after I had missed both lunch and dinner with friends, I finally got the van back, hopefully without any further mechanical issues.
Since I was stuck at home, I folded the laundry and watched Elizabeth: The Golden Age, which I enjoyed as much as the first time I saw it (so you may stop laughing, I did not ONLY watch it because of Geoffrey Rush). We had grilled cheese for dinner because it was fast, and spent the evening watching Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country, which I need to review (and don't like very much -- the much-maligned Final Frontier is vastly preferable to me), plus National Geographic's Britain's Nazi King? which must have been made before The King's Speech but seems like a direct reply to various journalists who seemed to believe it would bolster The Social Network's chances of winning an Oscar by trying to paint George VI as a Hitler supporter or an anti-Semite (conclusion: thank whatever power you wish that Bertie and not his older brother ended up on the throne).
Longwood Gardens hibiscus and roses:
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