The orphan orchid

A wall of orchids is something that appears in a dream, like King Kong or a wild exodus of doves. But a single orchid is something to desire, an attainable luxury with a singular beauty.

My orchid is real, plucked from the obscurity of a garbage bag on a street in Lower Manhattan. When I found it, on an early summer day last year, its stem was hard and dark green and still attached to a bamboo stake with a green twist-tie. Its thick leaves showed signs of a once-hardy plant that had seen filtered light and appropriate watering. I imagined it had been a Mother’s Day gift whose transient beauty was appreciated, then tossed away with empty cereal boxes when its blossoms faded.

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Demonic barbers and delicious blues

My journey along the High School Musical Trail continued this week as I took in a show at the Monticello Central School. “Sweeney Todd” premiered last Friday night to an SRO crowd of parents, students and theatre buffs.

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