I am bored right now. I recently read in a blog post somewhere that boredom was a helpful ingredient to inspire one to write. To that end, I am lucky. But my mind is not focused around the idea right now. I guess that’s why I started a blog: to have a platform to write, without necessarily having a point. 20110724-103731.jpgApologies to anyone reading this pointless entry.

I watched Julie and Julia again last night. It makes me want to write a better blog. It also makes me want to cook, but it does not make me want to combine the two (to be honest, in a way I have as so many of my entries are about recipes I am working on… but my style of cooking, and my tiny no window kitchenette are hardly the ingredients of a well-formulated goal-oriented blog like in the movie).

I can never pin down the mood that makes me want to write. The most writing I ever did was after college. I commuted to NYC via the LIRR for about a year, and packed four or five journals with my thoughts each night on the ride home. After that, I took a writing course and tried to build all of those genius thoughts I had into a marketable story. I actually have a full-length screen-play, must be more than ten years old. However,while I am proud of the exercise, I was never happy with the resulting story, thinking that it is not good enough yet to be the kind of movie I would love to have my name attached. I think about it from time-to-time, always with the belief that I will come back to it someday, improve it, finish it.

But writing for me has so often been about expressing feelings that I didn’t want to express any other way. Watching the events in the world, I don’t feel like expressing much. I can’t begin to understand simple politics of why people vote against their own best interest, I certainly can’t understand killing sprees, massacres, war. So writing for me becomes about the world around me, or the world I want to see around me. Like what I am cooking tonight, my cat.

20110724-103635.jpgSo, yesterday, I freshened up my container garden on my balcony. I don’t really have a full-fledged “container” garden, as it is really comprised of average size planters. My dream is to have a house with a garden but if I continue apartment living I would like to get much larger containers for growing some really fun stuff. Earlier this season, planted basil, parsley, and my favorite, cilantro. The basil never really grew, I wonder if there was not enough space in the planter, the parsley wilted and the cilantro spiked almost immediately. I also had a sun flower that died.

Much like writing, I’ve been having a hard time motivating myself to take time to take care of the things that I know I enjoy. Yesterday, I finally found motivation. I got some more basil (it’s just too easy to get and grow to not make it part of the garden), but since cilantro is not available now I decided to get creative.

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I am growing celeriac, which makes me very excited, because I use it to make soup. I don’t know how much space celeriac requires to grow, I put two bulbs into a medium pot. Even if it does not grow full size, I am pretty certain I can make use of it.

I also bought poireau, which I believe is leek. I have some vague intuition that tells me I do not have enough space to properly grow leeks, but again, I figure, even if it doesn’t grow to its full size, it seems like something I could use like a scallion.

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And we love scallions. The balcony looks so nice with healthy plants, it is one my biggest pleasures.

OK, I actually don’t feel so bored right now. It’s the balcony. It’s inspiring. Not sure it’s inspiring more than this blog post and my mood, but in the end I would say that is more than enough.

 

 

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