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.
One more party and
my birthday is over. Whew! I feel older.
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