The gradual disappearance of quarantine

 

Quarantine seems to be slowly disappearing at our house, and it has nothing to do with Governor Abbott’s ill-advised announcement, though I predict, unhappily, that is what will happen in Texas--gradually we'll just move away from any and all social distancing and mask wearing. And it's a damn shame that our governor is so determined to go counter to science and all the best advice out there. I admire those businesses that say they will stick to the CDC protocols, but I wonder how long that will last. IF you're in Fort Worth, you might want to look at a Facebook group titled Fort Worth Save Food and Shopping.

Closer to home, I've noticed that we have fewer family dinners in the cottage and more “leftovers” or “dinner on your own” nights. Several things account for this: Jordan’s allergies have really been bothering her and tonight, for instance, she said she had no interest in the Norwegian hamburgers I had said I’d make (leaves me with a chore for morning, since the hamburger is defrosted and needs to be cooked); Christian seems to have a few more evening events as part of his work than he did in the early days when he scheduled absolutely no social events; some nights, when we’ve cooked for several days, we really do need to eat leftovers and clear the decks.

Tonight was not one of those nights of plentiful leftovers, and I was getting ready to fix myself creamed tuna when Jordan called to say Christian would pick up dinner. He brought sandwiches from our favorite place—Great Outdoors—and guess what? I ate that whole big chocolate chip cookie.

But I miss the company when we don’t have family dinner, miss catching up with what’s going on, talking about current events—yes, we do that a lot, and Abbott’s ears should have been burning this week. After a longish day of working at my computer, I look forward to the companionship, so I’m going to work to see that family dinners don’t go away completely. One tool in my arsenal is recipes. Tonight I found a Tater Tot casserole, and I think I heard Jordan say that Christian was interested in such.

On the flip side, I did get a lot done this week—finished proofing Libbie and wrote a blurb for a book I’d earlier critiqued for the publisher. The book was an interesting study of a loosely organized group of Houston housewives who were artists and sold their work from members gardens in the 1970s. They were part of the Silent Generation (@1924 – 1942) as am I. These women, caught between the traditions of the past and the imminent onslaught of feminism, found their voices through art, which was especially remarkable because in that day women and art were not thought to mix. If a woman painted, it was a hobby to keep her busy and produce craft-y things for her house—nothing to be taken seriously as art. Yet in one remarkable day, these women sold $10 thousand worth of paintings. I found their individual stories particularly fascinating, and I labored a bit over getting the blurb just right.

Today I wrote my monthly column for Lone Star Literary Life, the online newsletter with everything about Texas books. My column is technically about mysteries, but I can sometimes push the boundaries a bit. Today I included a shout-out to Gabrielle and Leon Hale. It’s not every day that a husband and wife publish simultaneously. Leon’s book, See You on Down the Road, chronicles his retirement from his long-running column in the Houston Chronicle, begun in 2014 when he was ninety-three. It’s full of his wry observations on life as he approaches his hundredth birthday this spring. Babette’s A Wall of Bright Dead Feathers is a collection of short stories about ordinary people caught in transformative moments in life. And it has one of the most spectacular covers I’ve seen on a book in recent memory.

One might think at my age and with a solid list of publications, if not bestsellers, to my credit, I would be beyond needing writing classes. But I have signed up for a class on memoir. For several years—a good number really—I’ve danced up close to the idea of memoir and then backed away. I can’t seem to wrap my head around it, despite several folders of notes and excerpts squirreled away on my computer. So I thought this class might help me organize my thoughts, figure out what I want to say, find some way to assess the meaning of my long career. I have been so blessed to work with books—writing them, publishing those by others—and I somehow want to tie it all together. Now I have to read some more memoir, though when I went through the titles on my Kindle, I found there were quite a few. Not surprisingly, many were culinary memoirs, with maybe Ruth Reichl as my favorite author.

One benefit of my long evenings alone is that I get to do a lot more reading. I’m reading and enjoying a culinary mystery (no surprise) titled Hummus and Homicide, by Tina Kashian, set in a Mediterranean restaurant in a tourist town on the Jersey shore. Excuse me, but I’m going back to my book.