Dating this post July 21 is a bit of a cheat. It was meant for last night, but I was just too tired to write. So I’m playing catch-up fairly early on Saturday morning. If I had posted last night, here’s what I would have written:
Donald Trump can rant and rave and create havoc in our country, Greg Abbott can legislate against trees (how ridiculous is that?), and Dan Patrick can fight all those imaginary rapists lurking in women’s restrooms, but I’ve had evidence once again that the world is full of kind and good people.
When we came home from dinner Thursday night, an anonymous post on my blog told me to look on my front porch. There we found a bottle of white wine, chilling in a small bucket and gaily decorated with ribbons. Three wine glass were set out and waiting on the porch table. But no note, no hint who I should thank. So this is a public thank you to anonymous—we do wish you’d come forward and let me and my daughters acknowledge your thoughtfulness. PS: we got a fourth glass and shared with Christian.
Megan returns to Austin today. She’ll leave a hole that she carved in our daily lives this week as well as leaving her ten-year-old son. With her absence looming, we had family birthday last night. We’re a close family in spirit, but spread out to the point we rarely see some members. My brother, John, and his wife, Cindy, came in from the ranch near Tolar, and my daughter-in-law, Melanie, drove from Frisco with granddaughter Eden. We see them all too infrequently (thought this is my second visit from Edie in a week—such a treat). It’s hard to get John off the ranch, away from his cattle and dogs and beloved country quiet, but he always seems to have a good time when he’s here. We sat telling family stories, some of them pre-dating Christian, but he said he’d heard one at least ten times. We do repeat the stories we love.
Special bonus—longtime (would you believe forty-some years?) friend Linda arrived unannounced in time for happy hour—I thought she was in New Mexico but business called her home to Granbury. She is family to us, and we welcomed her gratefully, overriding her protests about not wanting to intrude.
When I was a kid, I always requested cold turkey and potato salad for my birthday, so that’s what we had last night, via a local barbecue place that serves much better potato salad than the usual bbq version. I made a large salad of marinated vegetables, a family favorite, in deference to those who don’t eat meat—and didn’t eat anyway. The girls ordered roses for the table and my favorite Black Forest cake. A truly festive evening.