Random thoughts from the cottage

 

Looking at Jordan, like,
Where are you taking me?

Sophie went to the vet yesterday. Poor dear leads a sheltered life. She’s either in the cottage or in our relatively small backyard, but at least she can come and go between the two at will.
Still, she gets excited when we bring out her leash, and a car ride is a real joy. Somehow she

Looking at the world

never figures out that the vet is at the end of the ride. But she got a good bill of health yesterday, some new medicines—ear drops which she acts like are the most painful things in the world, an anti-bacteria pill for an unhealed sore. Jordan took some cut pictures of her in the car (why wasn’t my daughter’s attention on driving? Maybe these were all at stoplights.)

Resting, all is well.
We're going home.

Some odd food notes: today from my favorite grocery store I saw an ad for personal watermelons. Stopped me short—I can’t think of what they are unless they are individual-sized watermelons, and I’ve never seen such. In other food news, for the past two nights we had happy hour company and never really had a proper supper. Last night I wasn’t hungry but thought I should have something solid and substantial, so I decided on scrambled eggs—my go-to. I had watched a video of Jamie Oliver’s foolproof technique for making an omelet, so I thought I’d try it, even if I wasn’t going to put any cheese in the middle. Major fail convinced me I will order omelets out and give up trying to do one at home.

Not an omelet

Tonight I made lamb burgers and put lettuce, mayo, and feta in the buns. So good. And satisfied my longing for a substantial meal. Added a cucumber salad with a yogurt dressing that had, of all things, a bit of mustard. You couldn’t taste the mustard, and it was really good.

But speaking of food, a friend emailed today and wondered if Irene ever made clafouti, the French dessert of fruit, traditionally black cherries, covered with a flan-like batter and baked, then dusted with powdered sugar. After all, she reasoned, it’s French so Irene must have made it. The subject came up because I said pitting cherries is too much trouble, and I intend to make a blueberry dump cake. I don’t even want to imagine what Irene would say about a dump cake (fruit, cake mix, and butter) but I have promised to mention clafouti to her. (In France, it’s called calfoutis.) And by the by, don’t plan a trip to France for your clafoutis—they are having serious problems with too many tourists.

Big news at the cottage today is that we got new sod in the backyard—a variety of Bermuda called TurfTen I think. It was fun to watch the guys install it—they scraped out the old, dead, beat the new into place and affixed it with a huge roller thing, a much more complicated process than I never thought planting grass was. Grass in our back  yard is a sore subject—we have tried everything—zoysia, St. Augustine, winter rye. And I always end up having to replace it. The part of the yard that is grass is relatively small, and I’d be all for decorative grasses and ground cover, but the dogs need someplace to poop and pee. And that, of course, is what kills our grass. I don’t expect it to improve a lot now that we have only two dogs instead of three, but my lawn service friend assures me this should come back next spring (if it survives this summer).

I read today that in thirty years it will not be uncommon for the Texas temperature to hit 125^o.  I am advocating for replacing the front lawn with native plants but am stopped by cost and lack of knowledge. Christian showed me one such front yard in a nearby neighborhood that he said was the only way he would do it—plants grouped by variety and still a bit of grass. I would like a wilder look. Probably a pipe dream since I am hit with vet bills, hearing aid bills, and other big expenses. At this point in my life, the odds of making a fortune with a bestselling book are pretty slim.

Take heart, my friends. Tomorrow is supposed to be a tad better but still pretty hot. After that, though, we begin to head down into the nineties, which I find reasonable, and there’s the promise of a breeze and a hint of possible rain next week. I keep remembering a year when Colin and Lisa came for the fourth—at least twenty years ago—and it was downright cold. Guess climate change has made that unlikely to happen ever again.

Stay cool and safe.