No blog last night because I was just too tired after a family visit that lasted later than I thought. My oldest son, Colin, arrived about ten with his two children—Morgan, almost eleven, and Kegan, nine. The cousins were ecstatic to be together, and Christian and Jordan had come to greet everyone--and brought their dogs. So we sat and talked—about their new swimming pool, about our plans for the cottage, about the world in general. At 47, Colin is a handsome man in good shape, and I am so proud of him—and love him dearly and so welcome his infrequent visits. They live in Tomball, northwest of Houston, and this weekend his wife kicked them out of the house (his words) so she could have a girls’ weekend.
Jacob spent the night but was up early for his baseball game. His parents came and collected all three children, while I let Colin feed them and I slept late. He’s an early riser anyway.
were gone, Colin went for a run, and I dressed and piddled at my desk. We headed
out about ten or so to get the x-ray of my hand the doctor had requested—but the
doctor’s orders had not arrived at the x-ray place so no go. Colin was already
confused by this city he’s grown up in—I took him back roads to Hulen to avoid
zoo traffic, and he said, “We’re on Hulen. How did we get here?” Asked where
Old Granbury Road was and I told him not anywhere close. Then I took him across
a new bridge over the Trinity where the land is mostly undeveloped but you know
it will sprout offices and apartments within a year. Apparently Neiman Marcus
is going in out there. Colin said you could tell plans are big because there
were four huge cranes. We circled around by the new Press Café where there’s a
Farmer’s Market on Saturdays, and he said, “Fort Worth is looking just like
Austin.” High compliment.
|Cousins at the baseball game|
Jacob’s game went to ten innings and then they lost by one point—bitter. But we all met for lunch at Carshon’s Deli (Colin won’t come to FW unless he can have a Rebecca sandwich). I had a half Reuben, and everyone got to speculating on why the specialty sandwiches all had girls’ name beginning with R. We forgot to ask but I’m sure there’s a story there.
After lunch Colin and his children headed for Frisco for a visit with Jamie and Eden (Maddie and Melanie were in Boulder); Jacob and his family went home; I worked at my desk and then took a long nap. By the time I got up Jacob was playing with the boys directly behind us, and Jordan had assigned me to order them pizza, which I did.
But now it’s evening, and my foot hurts, and my ambition, enthusiasm, whatever goes downhill in direct proportion. I have powered through fixing myself some pasta and am hoping Jacob will bring all the pizza detritus to the kitchen for me. Hard to carry things with a walker. I have ordered a new one which has a seat, a carrying basket, a hook for my purse, and—greatest of all—a cup holder. It doesn’t exactly say “Wine” on it but I’m sure that’s what it’s meant for.
Last night a friend of Jordan’s was here and in the course of conversation said, “I hope my children take such good care of me.” Tonight my thought, despite my pity party over a painful foot, is how fortunate I am to have children who take such good care of me. With people my age, a broken hip is often the beginning of the trip down the slippery slope, but this is not a hip—it’s a hairline fracture of the fibula—and I am determined to be of good cheer and ride it out. Six weeks in a boot!