Sophie lost her chew toy last night
Cricket and June Bug proclaim innocence, but if you look
between Juney's paws, on the right, you'll see the purloined chew
Last night I was in a funk, and I didn’t know whether to attribute it to the weather (a good possibility), a lack of major excitement in my life at the moment, or a couple of awkward social encounters. When I talked to dinner pal Betty tonight, she had the same complaint. We decided we were blessed with each other as longtime friends and we’ll keep it that way.
Betty and I went exploring to a new restaurant tonight, Tina’s on the Bluff. We turned off Weatherford too early, didn’t realize Bluff doesn’t go all the way through, and wandered aimlessly for a bit. I was astounded by all the new apartment construction—where do all these people come from? A friend told me 40 families a day move to Fort Worth—they must all move into brand new apartments, because they are going up everywhere.
After a telephone call and some scribbled notes, we finally found Tina’s. No parking lot, only on the street, so it was a bit of a rough access for me on my walker. Once in the courtyard, I was confronted by three round steps—until Betty spotted the ramp.
We ate on the patio. Typical Tex-Mex menu, but what I liked about it was that it wasn’t overwhelming with tons of dishes. Just the standards (wish they had spinach enchiladas). We each had a sour cream chicken enchilada and sides of guacamole and refried beans. All good.
We ate in the patio. Somehow, when I saw an article about restaurants with patios, I got the notion this was near that new Uptown development and had a river view. Well, it’s close to Uptown but the river is too far away, and the patio, enclosed by arched brick walls, doesn’t have much view.
But it was good, solid food, wait staff was pleasant, and now that we know how to find it, we’ll go back. Betty thinks it would especially be a great place for lunch.
The Colonial golf tournament has started just a mile or so from our house—it has a fancier name, for the corporate sponsor, but it changes from year to year and it’s easier just to say Colonial. For me, in past years, it has always meant avoiding the terrible traffic congestion. When the children were little and we’d drive by, I’d say, “Look at the silly men chasing a little white ball.” Golf is not my game.
For Jordan, Colonial means party time. She will be there all day every day, Christian would, but he and Jacob leave on a 5:30 a.m. bus for Jacob’s two-day fifth-grade trip to San Antonio. Jacob is excited that his dad is one of the dads on the trip, and I told Christian to treasure it because it won’t be long before Jacob will be appalled that one of his parents is going on an activity with him.
Back to Colonial—Jordan has been preparing for this as though she’s going out of town and leaving me alone for a month. I’ve had advice to stock up on groceries (well, I mostly do that anyway but Betty will shop for a few things Friday), arrange social engagements (I do that anyway, and now two happy-hour visitors are roped into helping feed dogs), lock the doors and turn on the alarm (I do that anyway). Of course, there will be something we’ve both forgotten, but bless her for taking such good care of me. I think I’ll survive quite nicely. And, no, I won’t watch it on TV.