Back to real life

 

 

Jordan and Sophie
Twelve years ago, plus

Sophie seems to be on the mend, so it’s back to real life at our compound. Tomorrow is Jordan’s birthday—my St. Patrick’s baby. I won’t say what birthday it is, but here’s a hint: next year is a biggie. She has an all-day come-and-go party planned for tomorrow at a local hamburger joint/sports bar (I’m sort of guessing what it is, because it’s not on my circuit). None of my friends have been included—as she said tonight, “No adults.” I reminded her that she and her friends are adults now, many of them in their fifties. But I get that mindset and it’s okay, Anyway I will not be at this all-day celebration (and miss my nap? No way). As she pointed out, it will be everything I don’t like—loud, noisy, crowded. So tonight, we had her birthday dinner, the same dinner she’s requested since she was old enough to request: tacos.

There’s a bit of a story behind that menu choice. For the first forty-seven years of her life, Jordan thought she was half Hispanic. That’s what we’d been told by the Edna Gladney Home, and we dutifully set about keeping her informed of her heritage, just as we did for Jamie with his half-Chinese background. For years, Jordan resisted any kind of genetic testing, but a few years ago she broke down and did 23andMe. The results showed that she is almost a hundred per cent northern European. She admitted it came as quite a shock after thinking of herself as Hispanic all these years. So while she might have asked for bangers and mash or shepherd’s pie for her birthday, she stuck with tacos.

Christian was out of town all day and late to our taco party. He had stopped, per my request, at the store to get things needed for the tacos but by the time he arrived we had eaten, so now I have two heads of leaf lettuce, a bag of Fritos, and I don’t know what else that I won’t use. The sharp cheddar I will always use. I thought the meat was dry, but Christian pointed out that sour cream, cheese, and guac hide a multitude of faults.

No cake. Jordan didn’t want one, so I had chocolate bonbons after they went inside.

In the spirit of getting back to reality, I wrote a thousand words on my Irene novel last night—so close to the end and yet so far; it is tantalizing to have it in sight. Except that just when I thought I could wrap things up, the mystery solved, the bad person caught, a new plot twist plopped into my mind and won’t go away. I only have one sentence in my mind, and I have no idea where it will lead me. Also, last night, I blogged and finished the novel I was being slow about reading. So I feel all caught up and a bit righteous.

Last night’s dinner guest, my good friend Jean, cancelled because she had a cold. I didn’t open the can of sardines in preserved lemon that I intended to serve, but I did make myself a good-sized panzanella (Italian bread salad)—so good. Tomorrow night, when the kids are celebrating all day (a concept I struggle to understand) neighbors are to come for happy hour, but now that is uncertain because the wife injured her hand badly enough for an hours-long, middle-of-the-night ER visit. I’m just letting that be on hold.

And the day’s Sophie report: she was responsive this morning and obviously happy to have Jordan pet her, but I thought just a bit more lethargic. The tech explained there had been a problem with a catheter and fixing it had probably worn her out, plus she had just been for a walk an hour earlier. So maybe she was tired, which her panting would indicate. When we were ready to leave, she obviously wanted to go with us and stood before the door to the lobby. When the tech urged her out the door leading to the kennel, she braced her feet and resisted for a moment, but then went docilely along. She is a good girl, but I think she is ready to go home. My heart and my pocketbook are ready to have her home. Apparently, they don’t welcome visitors nor ever discharge patients on Sunday, so we are on hold. Our vet, who I like a whole lot, will be back on Monday, and I am hoping we can move this along.

Meantime, I leave you with a quote. There is a Tyler Farr folksong chorus that goes:

I wish love wasn't so hard.
I wish people could stay together.
I wish girls couldn't break hearts.
And dogs could live forever.

But I have seen another version, and I can’t quote the early lines, but the end is: “I wish dogs lived forever and chocolate cake wasn’t fattening.” I love that, and if I ever come across it again, I’ll share.

Meantime, sweet dreams, happy days, and thanks for being my friends.