Houseguest, dogs, spills, and happy days

 

Nothing better than a houseguest who sends me flowers, especially when that guest is one of my sons. I’m enjoying a couple days’ visit from Jamie, and today when I woke up from a nap, there was an arrangement of spring flowers on my desk with a note he thought I’d enjoy them in the cottage. When he comes out for supper, I’ll tell him I like the flowers but what I really enjoy is him in the cottage.

Jamie makes these visits periodically, and I treasure them. We cross paths briefly in the morning and then each go our own way. He is international sales manager for a large toy manufacturer (talk about a guy who found his niche—he’s a natural at both toys and sales!) and works from home. When he’s here, he finds a quiet corner in the house to work, and I work at my desk.

Jamie comes accompanied by Kosmo, his two-and-a-half-year-old Pomeranian who, I must say,

Kosmo

is a bit spoiled. He seems to eat only what Jame hand feeds him, but Jamie points out that tiny dog can run 15 miles with him. Jamie went from a big, old chocolate lab, perhaps the sweetest dog I’ve ever known, a dog that practically raised Jamie and Mel’s daughters for them, to this little feisty dog. When I asked why, he explained it was the closest he could come to a cat without the litter box. Go figure! Sophie takes it well, because Kosmo seems to recognize that she rules this corner of the world. So now, she has three dogs to keep in line—the two Cavaliers and Kosmo. She is up to the responsibility.

For me, one of the benefits of having Jamie visit is I get to cook some things that he will eat with me and the resident family will not. Last night, we had Chicken Divan, a recipe I haven’t made in years—while Jacob loves broccoli, his parents have an aversion. But that rich wine sauce—bon appetit! Tonight, in honor of St. Patrick’s Day, we’re having corned beef and cabbage, though we will chop the cabbage and sauté it in butter and sour cream rather than boil it. If you’re Irish and offended by that, please try to look away. I think tomorrow night Jame wants to go out to supper, so I am thinking about safe places with large patios. Will call about safety restrictions before we go.

Meantime, I am a mess. I have twice knocked over wine on the credenza where I keep the files I refer to often—finally figured out that if I swing my desk chair around, the arms can catch a wine glass just right. I banished wine from the desk because I ruined my last computer buy letting it sit in an undiscovered pool of wine.

As if wine isn’t enough, there’s a meat juice problem. I dislike meat encased in cryovac—which the corned beef was. Naturally, I dripped juice on my pants. I sponged it off with wet paper towels, but Jamie was quick to tell me that if he had done that as a kid, I’d have sent him to change immediately. Then I had a nosebleed on my clean T-shirt. So now, I’m “dressed” for supper, and I plan to ask him to carve the corner beef. Like too many other things, it was a curbside misunderstanding—I was delighted to find a one-lb. corned beef for $9.99, perfect for two people, and ordered it. What I got was three lbs. for $30, but just now when I chunked some potatoes into it, I noticed it had shrunk remarkably.

I think Mother Nature is fooling us into thinking Spring has arrived. For the past few days I’ve kept the French doors open—Sophie can come and go as she pleases. Of course, June Bug does too, which is a problem because her house manners are not reliable, and she ignores me, with a befuddled look, when I tell her to go home. She constantly looks like Winston Churchill, asking, “What fresh hell is this?” Only maybe she’s saying, “Why is that old woman yelling at me?”

Anyway, I know March 15 is the traditional Texas date beyond which you don’t expect a freeze, but I never trust it. And while the days are pleasant, a chill creeps into the air once the sun is gone. Nope, it’s not true Spring yet. But the kale in the garden has grown long and leggy, the dried grasses need something (not sure what), and I’m waiting for the ground cover to perk up. As someone said, it’s still a brown season. Storms possible tonight. Stay safe, my friends.