False alarm and other matters

Thanks to all for good wishes, but my dental emergency disappeared—does that happen to emergencies? I am crediting it to either the power of prayer or magic—take your pick. This morning, there was no tenderness, no sign of all the unusual stuff going on in my mouth yesterday. Dutifully, being an obedient girl remembering the dentistry of my young years, I called the dentist office. The assistant who answered didn’t seem too interested in making me an appointment. “Well, if you really think . . .” I decided I didn’t really think I needed to see the doctor immediately. I am not fooling myself. I know that it could flare again, but for now, it’s okay.

When I was young, twelve or thirteen, I had a lot of cavities, for which I credit my father. Like him, I  had poor enamel on my teeth. Dentistry then was not what it is today, and the drill was a slow, cumbersome, excruciating thing. My family dentist was a family friend—outside the office he was Uncle Walt—but he was taciturn, which didn’t help my discomfort during many many procedures. Later, I learned to appreciate him with some affection, but to this day I remain sort of dental phobic. Today, at least temporarily, was a huge relief.

So I stayed home, worked, and in a fit of energy, prepared the chicken filling for pocket sandwiches for a lunch guest tomorrow. I’ve had this recipe in my untried repertoire forever, always wanted to try it, decided this was the time. But all the while I thought it was chicken salad in a puff pastry dough. Not until I got into making the filling did I realize it was not salad—it’s a meat filling, like an empanada, only chicken and with more Anglo spicing. By that I mean butter, onion, garlic, mushroom, and thyme. It made the cottage smell incredible, and when Jordan came out hours later, her first words were, “It smells good in here.” So tomorrow I fight with the puff pastry. More wishes of good luck are appreciated.

Tonight, I went to dinner with Jean and good friend Betty Boles. We haven’t seen Betty in a while—she fell, had hip replacement surgery, and various other things, including covid precautions, have kept us apart. But it was good to be back together again. We ate at the newly redesigned Tavern. I’m still not sure about some aspects of the redo, but I love the tile floor—a hostess told us it is marble, which made my mind boggle at the cost. As usual, the food was really good—I had been wanting their meatloaf, and it didn’t disappoint. Besides the mashed potatoes, with a reduction sauce from the meatloaf, were delicious. I ordered knowing I wouldn’t eat it all and came home with a generous doggie bag.

Talk at the dinner table ranged over many subjects. For some reason, Jean and I reminisced about our childhood homes. We moved on, of course, to politics and Beto O’Rourke’s announcement today that he is in the governor’s race. I’ve been waiting months for that word, fearing Abbott was getting the drop on him in campaigning. But I think Beto is wily, knew what he was doing. All evidence now suggests he has a well-thought-out campaign planned and is jumping right into it. An Austin columnist I read tonight quoted an Abbott press-release with fear rhetoric about how all Texans must fight against the dangerous liberalism that Beto represents. No specifics, no policy talk, just vague generalities about threats. Beto on the other hand is already talking about the missed opportunities for expanded medical care for our citizens because Abbott would not accept increased Federal help, the dangers of ignoring the grid and the possibility of another power failure this winter, the danger of having an unlicensed, untrained population carrying  guns anywhere and everywhere, the failure of Abbott to deal efficiently with the pandemic which has resulted in the loss of thousands of Texas lives. Beto has specific talking points; Abbott has vague looming threats of “dangerous liberalism.”

A confession: I took a Pew Research Council survey, and the results showed that six percent of the American population is more liberal than I am. That, of course, leaves ninety-four percent on the other side of the line. Christian said, “That’s about right.” But I think there must have been a mistake. As I rant and rave about injustices and blind stupidity in this world, I think there must be more people who agree with me. If not, please don’t burst my little bubble.

Y’all have a good night. As my mom always said, “Tomorrow is another day.”