t’s been a rough two days for Jacob. Yesterday, at the age of almost-eleven, he got braces. I worried, but he was perfectly happy when he came home from the dentist, said it didn’t hurt at all. By last night, his mouth was sore and he requested oatmeal. Tonight, he turned down strawberries, said he couldn’t eat them because they’re too rough.
Today he was playing with friends in the schoolyard across the street, fell, and got a royal scrap across a good section of his thigh. The doctor next door put something on it—antibiotic? Steroid? I don’t know—and wrapped it. Jacob limped, but thought he would recover. I won’t post a picture, because it was fairly bloody.
Meantime I had a cooking day. Spent the morning making southwestern tuna salad—not your usual tuna, this has chilies, cumin, and chili powder. I haven’t made it in years but liked it a lot. Then I made a chocolate Bundt cake for a brunch tomorrow. I had put the ingredients out on the cooking area last night—cake mix and pudding mix—but this morning found the pudding mix still in my pantry drawer. A second look confirmed I had put sardines out with the cake mix—a weird combination. Of course, then nothing would do but that I find a recipe for a sardine spread sort of like the one I remember from years ago and make that for my lunch,
But I did get the cake put together and into a prepared pan. Problem: I have no oven, so had to rely on Jordan to bake it. She was for a while the queen of Bundt cakes, had several recipes she used with great success. But this morning, she sounded vague about how long and what temperature to bake it. So, being a worrier, I worried. First that there was too long a gap between getting the cake made and then getting it into the oven. Then I worried she didn’t understand the crucial nature of letting it cool five minutes—no less, no longer—and taking it out. She assured me this evening it’s perfect.
Friends Subie and Phil came for happy hour before they kindly “carried” me to an engagement party tonight—for the doctors next door. Since we were uncertain about the food to be served, I gave them fruit and the tuna salad I’d made. I don’t eat fresh fruit often and yet when I do I’m overwhelmed by how good it is. That happened tonight, but now I have fruit left in the fridge, so maybe I’ll be good about eating it.
The party, for our neighbors, was at the wine bar down the street. The party room is up a steep flight of stairs that Susan, my neighbor and the hostess, described as climbing Mt. something or other. No way I could have made it, and I think Phil, who has little sight, would have had a hard time. So we sat downstairs and a few of the party came to us.
It turns out there was sumptuous food—lollipop lamb chops, dates stuffed with blue cheese, hummus, and other goodies. I am well fed and content tonight. Ready to go to bed with my book. And I’ve cooked a lot in the past week. May give it up for a while. Then again, there’s that pasta carbonara I may make for my supper tomorrow.