I expected a dull weekend but it didn’t happen that way, and I struggled to get in my 1,000 words a day. But it was a happy struggle, although the things that distracted me weren’t always happy.
Megan, my oldest daughter, drove up from Austin on Saturday with Ford, her youngest son, now ten. Ford is a confirmed TCU baseball fan—absolutely loves it. So Saturday, because they couldn’t leave Austin until Ford’s soccer game was over, they went straight to TCU and ended here about 5:30. So glad to see them. Missed the family daddy, Brandon, and older brother Sawyer, but I’ll settle for what I can get.
A couple of friends dropped by for happy hour, and one went with us for dinner. We tried Press Café, hoping to eat outside, but the wait was long. We went to the Tavern, ate on the patio—I’d always thought I didn’t want to sit on the patio because of its closeness to busy Hulen, but we were unaware of the traffic. I was, on the other hand, acutely aware of the blasted loudspeaker, though both Megan and Ford said they didn’t notice it. And the conversation level was loud—as a result, I could hear Megan but nobody else (she has always spoken loudly and clearly—great for the lawyer she is!).
Home and in bed by ten, shades pulled, lights out. Jordan came home by a little before ten to visit with her sister and was dismayed to find everything dark.
Despite the happiness of a surprise visit, it was not a joyous weekend. My neighbor, Susan, lost her 93-year-old father suddenly, and her husband was out of town, couldn’t get back for over 24 hours. We knew and loved and admired her dad, David. We spent Friday evening with Susan, alternating between tears and laughter as we remembered him, an unusual man and a true gentleman.
Sunday we cooked a casserole for the family’s dinner, but it didn’t go quite as planned. I had this happy little vision of me cooking and Jordan and Christian doing all the necessary chopping, of which there was quite a bit. So I was astounded to wake from a nap and find Christian had deposited some but not all of the ingredients in my kitchen. Called Jordan and she said she’d be home shortly. I set about chopping two large onions, three ribs of celery, and grating three large carrots. Unbeknownst to me, she came home, started the hamburger to brown, and came out to say, “I need the vegetables.” I said I was the scullery maid in the auxiliary kitchen, but she didn’t find it funny—until late tonight when she came out and said, “It smells like onion in here.” Nice joke, Jordan.
We got the casserole fixed and delivered, dined ourselves on roast chicken and asparagus, and wrapped up the evening. One of those weekends when you’re grateful for family in several different ways and pleased to squeeze in bits of time for your own business.
Ready for a new week, though it will be broken with a doctor appointment, the visitation and funeral for Susan’s dad, and some lunch and dinner dates. Life isn’t quiet and dull even when it’s not totally happy.