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Sophie lost her chew toy last night
Cricket and June Bug proclaim innocence, but if you look
between Juney's paws, on the right, you'll see the purloined chew
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Last night I was
in a funk, and I didn’t know whether to attribute it to the weather (a good
possibility), a lack of major excitement in my life at the moment, or a couple
of awkward social encounters. When I talked to dinner pal Betty tonight, she
had the same complaint. We decided we were blessed with each other as longtime
friends and we’ll keep it that way.
Betty and I went
exploring to a new restaurant tonight, Tina’s on the Bluff. We turned off
Weatherford too early, didn’t realize Bluff doesn’t go all the way through, and
wandered aimlessly for a bit. I was astounded by all the new apartment
construction—where do all these people come from? A friend told me 40 families
a day move to Fort Worth—they must all move into brand new apartments, because
they are going up everywhere.
After a telephone
call and some scribbled notes, we finally found Tina’s. No parking lot, only on
the street, so it was a bit of a rough access for me on my walker. Once in the
courtyard, I was confronted by three round steps—until Betty spotted the ramp.
We ate on the
patio. Typical Tex-Mex menu, but what I liked about it was that it wasn’t
overwhelming with tons of dishes. Just the standards (wish they had spinach
enchiladas). We each had a sour cream chicken enchilada and sides of guacamole
and refried beans. All good.
We ate in the
patio. Somehow, when I saw an article about restaurants with patios, I got the
notion this was near that new Uptown development and had a river view. Well, it’s
close to Uptown but the river is too far away, and the patio, enclosed by
arched brick walls, doesn’t have much view.
But it was good,
solid food, wait staff was pleasant, and now that we know how to find it, we’ll
go back. Betty thinks it would especially be a great place for lunch.
The Colonial golf
tournament has started just a mile or so from our house—it has a fancier name,
for the corporate sponsor, but it changes from year to year and it’s easier just
to say Colonial. For me, in past years, it has always meant avoiding the
terrible traffic congestion. When the children were little and we’d drive by, I’d
say, “Look at the silly men chasing a little white ball.” Golf is not my game.
For Jordan,
Colonial means party time. She will be there all day every day, Christian
would, but he and Jacob leave on a 5:30 a.m. bus for Jacob’s two-day fifth-grade
trip to San Antonio. Jacob is excited that his dad is one of the dads on the
trip, and I told Christian to treasure it because it won’t be long before Jacob
will be appalled that one of his parents is going on an activity with him.
Back to Colonial—Jordan
has been preparing for this as though she’s going out of town and leaving me
alone for a month. I’ve had advice to stock up on groceries (well, I mostly do
that anyway but Betty will shop for a few things Friday), arrange social
engagements (I do that anyway, and now two happy-hour visitors are roped into
helping feed dogs), lock the doors and turn on the alarm (I do that anyway). Of
course, there will be something we’ve both forgotten, but bless her for taking
such good care of me. I think I’ll survive quite nicely. And, no, I won’t watch
it on TV.
