Megan's pot of chili
I am not a happy camper now
that the temperature is in the low forties. I have been shivering in my boots
all day, despite extra layers of clothing and a fleece jacket I refuse to be
parted from. Sophie on the other hand is delighted by the weather and begs—uh,
demands!—to go outside every minute.
In the proper spirit of
Halloween and the arrival of cold weather, Christian made a large pot of chili
tonight—does indeed warm the bones. My day was also brightened by talking by
phone with my two sons and by text with Megan, who was also making a big pot of
chili. In her house, Brandon is the king of chili, but he was out of town, and
Megan explained they would need chili tomorrow when the high in Austin is to be
in the low forties. Brandon will no doubt have something to say about her usurping
his role.
Jamie gave me a Facetime tour
of his new apartment in Denver—all glass and modern, in downtown Denver with
the South Platte River right outside his window—well, a few stories down. Today
it had the added beauty of brand new snow covering everything. I honestly think
sometimes that kind of cold feels better than what we are having. Jame says he
enjoyed running in it yesterday. Today he too cooked for the weather—not chili
but a big pot of soup.
Busy weekend around here.
Yesterday Christian went to a watch party for the Baylor game—oops, I haven’t
even asked who won. Jordan went to a John Mayer concert in Dallas last night.
When I asked Christian this morning if she enjoyed it, he said “Jordan could
listen to John Mayer burp for two hours and be happy.” I replied she is one of
thousands of women in their forties and fifties. Jordan and Megan have been
known to go as far as Chicago for one of his concerts—or was that an excuse to
go to Chicago?
I first heard of Mayer several
years ago when I was editing a novel by the late Holly Gilliatt. I think the
title was ‘Til St. Patrick’s Day, and it was built around a Mayer song
by that title. The gist of it was that you don’t want to break up with your
significant other in October or November because the holiday season is right
ahead and nobody wants to be alone for Thanksgiving or Christmas. And then of
course there’s New Year’s Eve, for which it’s essential to have a sweetie, and
nobody wants a lonely Valentine’s Day. But St. Patrick’s Day? It’s okay.
Nothing special. That’s the time to reassess. Holly tried hard to get
permission to quote the lyrics but learned a stiff lesson in the ways of music
copyright. I think Mayer agreed but his producers did not. Holly must have been
in the early wave of John Mayer fans. I’ve heard a song or two and he’s okay,
nice, soft music, but I wouldn’t go to Dallas on a cold night for one of his
concerts, let alone Chicago.
Covid has me in its grip still—or
the aftereffects do. I cough and sneeze and blow my nose a lot, and I still don’t
have much ambition. I did absolutely nothing worthwhile yesterday but did
manage to go to church virtually and do some editing today. I am hoping to get
back to a real schedule and routine tomorrow. The trick, I keep telling myself,
is to stop thinking I’m sick. Today I began to wonder if it might not be better
to admit I don’t feel a hundred percent and just take to my bed. But then, of
course, I’d be itchy about the things I’m not getting down.
Stay warm and safe everyone. I’m
about to go try to convince Soph it’s time to come in for the evening.
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