Family fun and a bit of nostalgia

 

Jamie, me, Jacob, and Jordan

Jordan’s selfies often have us all at such angles that we look tipsy. We weren’t, but we were having a great time at Pacific Table last night. Jamie said he’d be in town early, but when I tracked him, all day, he was at Clearfork. Since he’s in charge of sales for an international toy company, all I could think was that he was selling lots of toys to Neiman’s. Not so. He has a company office space at WeWork, which enables him to work at any of several locations. He knew, rightly, that if he came here, he would be distracted, so he appeared on my doorstep about five, and I promptly put him to work installing iPassword on my computer. Successful installation, but we were unable to figure out how to use it. Waiting for advice from the two other sons who advised me to get it.

Jamie, Jordan, Jacob, and I went to dinner at Pacific Table—Christian was at a work event. Jamie had carefully made reservations for the patio, since I’m leery about sitting in a packed restaurant right now. But when we got there, the patio was closed—staffing problems, which are apparently common in the restaurant business these days. But it was okay especially on a Monday night. Few people there, and we had a corner table, way off by ourselves. All the staff were masked, although our wait person’s mask hung just below her nose. None of the patrons were masked. Sigh.

Fun to think Jacob, our picky eater, is sophisticated enough to order California roll—and then eat what Jamie didn’t want of his. I debated trout Almondine and fried oysters with Caesar, but Jordan decided for me by pointing out I can cook trout at home but probably won’t cook oysters. And the Caesar salad was delicious—it may be my favorite in town.

Dinner was the high point of a good day. I finished the first edit/rewrite of my work in progress. Managed to add six thousand words, fix lots of typos, and make Henny, the heroine, a bit feistier, which is her trademark characteristic. I’m hoping to do one more read-through and then send it to Fred, who reads and critiques everything I write. He saw me through the TCU English doctoral program fifty-plus years ago and remains my good friend and teacher. How lucky am I!

Scooby and a tiny Sophie
He tolerated everything except when she tried to steal his treats

This morning this picture popped up on my memories on One Drive. It must be a new Microsoft thing, but they send me memories every day. This one struck close to my heart. Scooby was wild and crazy, the result of having been an ignored back-yard dog and sometimes abused, the first third of his life. We had a rough time getting used to each other but eventually both were devoted, and he was perhaps the sweetest dog I’ve ever had (shhh! Don’t tell Sophie!). He slept by my desk so much that the floor in his spot is worn down to bare wood, and he slept by my bed every night. When Sophie came along, he taught her manners—with medium success. I will always miss Scoob.

I swear some day I’m going to write something about dogs I have known and loved, be it a longish essay or a short book. I probably have the closest emotional relationship with Soph, because she is the dog of my retirement—spoiled enough that she thinks I should be here all the time with her. And protective enough that she barks frantically at many things, including the yard guys last night which nearly drove Jamie crazy. But each dog, going back to early childhood, was special, a character in its own way. Telling their stories is on my bucket list.

Tonight, I’m going to try to breeze through the last of that novel I’ve been reading about replacement of Japanese citizens in Chicago.