A Confluence of Orchids

A vitally important part of convalescence (as I'm finding out) is having the right thing or things to read. You're supposed to be spending a lot of time sitting still, and unless you're a knitter or into making chain mail or somesuch, reading is the way to go.

(My current book discusses the influence of Rene Descartes on the evolution of philosophy, science and religion in the late 17th century. And how that influence resonates in today's society in everything from creationism to stem cell research to radical Islam. It's a wonderful, well written book that I plan to finish sometime after I'm healed. But it's a bit heavy for the current need.)

The books I needed for this time and purpose are sometimes called "page turners" or "pot boilers" and murder mysteries are prominent in this category. And -- voila! -- I rediscovered that Deb and I had a collection of over a dozen Rex Stout mysteries that had been loaned to us over thirty years ago by a dear friend we lost touch with shortly after the loan. So they've been sitting on a bookshelf in our house for over thirty years and I literally haven't touched them in all that time. But they have proven to be the perfect read for now.

Rex Stout's detective is a very heavy gentleman of indiscrimintate age who never (well, hardly ever) leaves his New York brownstone house to solve a case -- or for any other reason. His name is Nero Wolfe. His assistant is a charming young man named Archie Goodwin, who meshes perfectly with his boss -- doing all the things that Wolfe refuses to do -- and the two of them have this perfectly charming chemistry. The books are set in the 1940's and 50's -- and portray New York as the wonderful town that you see in Frank Sinatra movies of that era.

Okay, now the orchids. Every day, from 9:00 to 11:00 AM and 4:00 to 6:00 PM, Nero Wolfe takes the elevator in his house to the top floor, which is a greenouse for thousands of orchids. One does not disturb Mr. Wolfe when he's with his orchids.

So, I've been lying in bed or sitting on the porch for days, transported back to this wonderful time and place and being truly amazed at the inventiveness and great good humor the books' author invests in each story. And reminded of the orchids -- whose beauty (understandably) seems beyond the capacity of Rex Stout to describe. So he doesn't even try.

Right. Now, my sister (whom I love like life itself) and the rest of my family arranged to send flowers to me when I got out of the hospital....

Anyone out there want to guess what kind of flowers she sent? I'll wait...

Okay, if you didn't say "Orchids!!" please re-read this posting. This is the punch line!!

What they selected was the most elegant flower I think I have ever seen. See picture below.

Now, I will grant you that I send Deb orchids twice a year -- once on our wedding anniversary and once again on her birthday -- but neither occasion would have prompted Martha to send me orchids for my recovery or helped me rediscover the delightful world of fictional murder.

So here you have it: My therapeutic reading. My ever-so-thoughtful family. My wonderful wife. Orchids everywhere I look.

Thought you'd like to know...