A new daughter sort of, chicken salad, and politics, always politics

Sophie during happy hour 

If everyone else has treats, she should too

As we all knew, since we took heroic precautions to protect plants and cars against the predicted huge hailstorm---there was no hail. Lots of rain—two inches, I’m told—and wonderful thunder to fall asleep by. The thunder drove Sophie up onto my bed. She usually makes a quick visit, as though checking to see that I am still in there and then jumps off, but last night she burrowed in for quite a while. I love a good storm and found the thunder sort of comforting. Jordan and her sister, Dylan, apparently sat on the front porch talking until the wee hours, and they report spectacular lightning, but I missed that.

We are much enjoying Dylan’s visit. She is the child of my ex-husband/s second marriage, so I am always at a loss to describe succinctly my relationship to her. I’m thinking step-daughter sounds appropriate, but I would have to ask her permission for that. Meantime she is, and has been since she was a teen, my friend. We have politics and cooking in common, and we can talk endlessly about either subject.

Today was a particularly appropriate time for us to be together, with the release of the heavily-redacted Mueller report—and AG William Barr’s cover-up speech beforehand. Dylan and I have rubbed our hands in glee and satisfaction as more and more comments emerge pretty much revealing the trump administration’s willingness to collude (such an odd word) with Russia and to obstruct justice. They just weren’t successful enough at it that they can be charged. We are both fascinated to watch this play out, particularly in the Southern District of New York. It may take longer than we wish, but I think karma will triumph and justice will be served.

Meantime, my laugh for the day came from a prediction that the latest date for the rapture has now been moved to April 23—just five days hence. I know it’s a relief to Mike Pence that he will be raptured up before he can be prosecuted for his part in the trump campaign and administration.

Jordan decided we would take Dylan to lunch at Lili’s Bistro. My last understanding was that we would go at one o’clock, so as to avoid the lunch crowd. So I was a bit taken aback when she came to the cottage at 11:20 and asked why I wasn’t dressed? I doubt you’ve ever seen an old lady throw on make-up and clothes as fast as I did. But we did beat the crowd.

Foodie that she is, Dylan loved the gorgonzola fries. Everyone had hamburgers except me—I had chicken salad and the house wedge salad. Too much food. I brought most of the chicken salad home. We ran errands—picked up Jacob from school, went to Trader Joe’s and Walgreen’s, and then home. Late this afternoon Jordan came to me and said there had been a problem: she gave the chicken salad to Jacob to bring out to me, and he set it on the deck while he practiced casting in anticipation of fishing this weekend.  And then he forgot it.  So the chicken salad sat out in the sun most of the afternoon. There goes that.

We had fajitas for supper, though I had really been counting on that chicken salad. I’m not a big fan of fajitas, though I like all the things that go into them. So I had what Dylan described as a

deconstructed fajita for dinner. So good.

I have given up being a writer for the time being. Next week is time enough to get serious. Meantime, I’m enjoying Dylan’s visit and looking forward to seeing more family this weekend.