View from the Cottage

Daughters

June 23, 2018

One of my sons is, as I write, researching some stuff for me to help me with investments and a medical alert band of some kind. Since he’s devoting part of his Saturday to that, I’m hesitant to diss on sons, and yet this week I’ve thought several times of that old refrain, “A son is a son/ Until he takes a wife/A daughter is a daughter/All of her life.” I’ve so enjoyed having both my daughters around this week.

Of course, Jordan and I see more of each other than probably either one of us need, though it’s a good relationship. Oh, we have our moments, but mostly we laugh and share, and I am blessed that if I need a caretaker, she’s it. But Megan’s visits from Austin are a treat. She was here from Saturday to Wednesday, flew to Houston Wednesday night and back Friday night to retrieve her youngest child. This morning they left for Austin to celebrate older son, Sawyer, and his fourteenth birthday. Fourteen? Really? I remember when she oh so tentatively told me she was pregnant. My first clue? We were at my favorite upscale Italian restaurant in Austin, and she declined a glass of wine. What, I wondered, is wrong with that child?

A confession that my daughters may not welcome. It takes me a day or two to adjust to having them here together. I so delight in their company, and they shower me with love and caring. But there’s also a bit of criticism—why is your hair towel in the kitchen (because I wash my hair in the sink), that’s not the way I cut an avocado (well, it’s the way I do it). Little things. They don’t amount to jack. But I’m sort of aware they’re watching me, looking out to make sure I’m stylishly dressed, stuff like that. And so I’m straining to be on my best behavior, showing them how great I am for my age. It’s like there’s an unspoken elephant in the room (that darn elephant sure gets around).

Driving was part of it this time. Megan was comfortable with my driving but worried about my getting in and out of the cottage and the car by myself. A legitimate worry. So one day she watched, and I did fine. Friday, Jordan agreed that I could pick up a friend for lunch—big adventure. I drove us to a restaurant, parallel parked on a busy street, did just fine. Baby steps but I felt good about it.

We didn’t get the lunches out that I enjoy this time, nor the closet cleaning that Megan is so good at (Jordan is too but she doesn’t have the time). Megan, with a new law firm, had to work at her computer all day every day. But we had lovely dinners and evenings.

In July my whole family will be here (big birthday), and my kids and I will be together in Chicago over Labor Day. So I can’t complain I don’t see them much. But I am particularly grateful for Megan’s fairly frequent visits.

And, of course, for Jordan’s constant and steadying presence. How lucky, blessed, whatever I am.

Tonight I settled down with a good book and a wonderful dinner—zucchini cut in wedges and sautéed in butter, a sautéed lamb chop doused with anchovy butter. Delicious, but a bit sloppy to eat.

A bit of food trivia I just learned: do you love the wasabi at a sushi place? It’s probably (we hope) made from a root vegetable. But what you buy in a tube in the grocery has none of the root. It’s basically horseradish, mustard, and green food coloring. And oh my! Is it potent! I about killed myself with a cheese spread last night. I put wasabi in the middle of a log of goat cheese, rolled the reconstructed log in toasted sesame seeds, and splashed it with soy. But the wasabi burned my throat, my nose, and my eyes. Whew! And I usually love it with sushi.

That’s the kind of trivia or hint you’ll find in my forthcoming cookbook, Gourmet on a Hot Plate, due out in early November so you can use it for Christmas gifts.

Night, all!