A day of celebration tinged, for me, with a bit of nostalgia

 

Jacob Burton, Lexi Nader, Caroline Russell,  and Colin Russell

Friends and family gathered at Joe T. Garcia’s late this afternoon to celebrate four high school graduates. Tonight, as I am writing, they are walking across the stage at TCU Schollmaier Arena, collecting their diplomas. That’s right, I’m the grandmother, and I’m not there. Apparently, each graduate got few tickets. Plus Jordan reasoned it would be a madhouse and a long evening, so we celebrated beforehand. If I’m not mistaken, Jacob has gone to school with these kids since kindergarten. Jacob and Lexi will go to Arkansas; I don’t believe at this writing I know where the Russell twins are going—except they will not go to the same school.

To see Jacob graduate from high school—even if I’m not there—is a real moment of nostalgia for me. For his first five years at Sweet Lily B. Clayton Elementary across from my house, I was the daytime caretaker. We did homework, though he would sometimes say, “Juju, I think we should wait for my dad on this one”—that almost always referred to math. We cooked meals and dodged thunderstorms and had lots of sleepovers. There was the night he put a chair, a glass of wine, a book and a flashlight in the closet for me, blankets and a game for him, and insisted we stay there until the storm passed. Lots of good memories of his school years. It wasn’t until sixth grade, when he was ten, that we moved me to the cottage, and he 
and his family moved into the main house.

Renee Hoke, Jordan, Marge Martinez (whose daughter graduated from Keller High
earlier this week), and me

The weather was perfect for Joe T.’s tonight—sunny and in the low eighties. We’ve had so much rain, we were all afraid the heavens would let loose again this afternoon, but they didn’t. It rained this morning, and I think will rain again tonight, but the gods favored us. I saw a meme of a man yelling, “For God’s sake, stop raining!” and my first thought was never say that in Texas. The day will come when we all pray for more rain.

Joe T.’s is tricky for someone on a soft diet: I had an order of guacamole, but one can only eat so much guac, good as it is. While the Burtons hurried off to TCU, Renee brought me home, and I had a small bowl of applesauce.

The other big bit of nostalgia: my twenty-year-old, VW Bug convertible went away today; Three years ago when I gave up my license—driving a Bug while using a walker doesn’t really work well—I gave control of the car to Christian, hoping he could sell it for something special for Jacob to use for college. That didn’t happen, but Jordan drove it occasionally (not with as much joy as I had). Then it wouldn’t pass inspection, and then it wouldn’t start. So it sat in the driveway, a kind of grim reminder of a life I’d given up. Still, it was a comfort to me to see it there. For sixteen or seventeen years, my identity was closely tied to that car. People all over the city knew where I’d been and what I’d been doing because they saw not me, but the car. One of my great joys when the Burtons lived in Hulen Bend was to put an Alex Beaton tape on (that’s how old the car was—a cassette), put the top down, and drive home from their house through the park, belting out Scottish songs as loudly as I could. (I’m loud, but I don’t carry a tune well at all). So there went another chunk of my active life. I tried hard not to see it as symbolic, and Colin encouraged me to see it as a relief. I know Jordan was ecstatic to get it out of the driveway. What’s next for my Bug? I have no idea. The body is worn, but the engine has under 40K miles on it.

Me and the best car I ever owned.

So a mixed day, and one that confused me all day—I was sure today was Saturday.

Sweet dreams, my friends.

 

Quintessential Fort Worth

 

Today was rodeo day for my daughters. Megan came in from Austin and brought a friend with her. They are staying tonight at the new Drover Hotel on Mule Alley in the Stockyards, and this afternoon Jordan and neighbor Amy Russell met them for the matinee performance at the rodeo. Then Christian, Jacob, and I joined them for supper at Joe T. Garcia’s.

We ate outdoors by the swimming pool, kept comfortable for the most part by giant heaters closely spaced on the patio. It really wasn’t that cool—probably sixty when we got there—but there was a breeze, and the heaters were welcome. Later the wind picked up, and I was glad I had followed Jordan’s rather unusual advice to bring a blanket. I took a thermal blanket that stuffs easily into a small casing—Megan gave it to me during pandemic when all my entertaining was on the patio, sometimes in quite chilly evenings. Tonight that blanket proved its worth.

With seven of us at the table, we had all the usual Joe T.’s things—fajitas, “the dinner” with enchiladas, tacos, beans, rice and guacamole. I had the small dinner, which meant I dug into everyone else’s guacamole—one of the things, along with beans, that I think they do a really good job of. And of course, we came home laden with containers of leftovers and chips and who knows what? Christian and Jacob will eat them, and I won’t miss them.

Because it’s rodeo time in Fort Worth or better, Fort Worth Exposition and Livestock Show (shhh—don’t you dare use the old name of Fat Stock Show)—you see more “western” dress than usual at Joe T.’s. I watched parades of men and women in cowboy hats and fur vests (both my daughters) and western wear. Many came to eat early so as to make the eight o’clock rodeo show.

But as I sat there in that garden setting, slightly cool but mostly warmed but heaters so oversized that they were almost outrageous, and as I watched that parade of western wear and ate Tex-Mex food, it dawned on me that this Chicago girl was having the ultimate Fort Worth experience. A smooth blend of cultures and styles that resulted in something you don’t find even anywhere else in Texas. It’s uniquely Fort Worth. Cowtown earns its name.

My reaction may have been sparked by Megan’s description of the Drover Hotel, which she said was thoroughly Fort Worth—cowboy culture, but well done.  Barn doors in the lobby, massive stonework, leather furniture, wood everywhere. And, of course, plenty of people in cowboy hats, jeans and boots. But also, impeccable service, courtesy at every turn, and good food.

Somehow all this mixed in my mind. When I was a kid in Chicago, Texas and cowboys were the farthest things from my mind. Once when my parents traveled to Texas to visit my brother, who was stationed with the Navy at Corpus Christi, I thought they might as well have visited a foreign country, and I was amazed at their report of palm trees and balmy weather. Then my ex traveled to the Panhandle and reported on a barren, born land. What kind of place was this, I wondered, with palm trees and barren land.

Now, all these years later, I have a literary career built around Texas, it’s myths and legends and its reality. I still have to pinch myself sometimes to understand my transition from northerner to Texan. I don’t wear a cowboy hat, I don’t wear boots, and I don’t ride horses, but I am thoroughly a Texan, consumed with the state’s history and mystique (not so much for its present political stance). I can talk much more intelligently about the past than the present, and as I sat there in that garden tonight, eating refried beans (what Chicago girl ever ate such a thing?) it seemed to me that past and present, for me, came together. It was a sweet, nostalgic moment.

 

The party’s over

Party atmosphere at Joe T.'s

It was a wonderful weekend, but now the Austin folks have left, the Burtons have gone to meet his parents for supper (at Joe T.’s again!), and I have put a meatloaf in my toaster oven. Back to routine. It was a real treat to have the Austin family here—they’re building a new house (and living in a two-room garage apartment) in addition to their already-busy lives, so it’s been a while since they’ve been here. If the app on my phone is correct, they are within a block of home as I write.

Had a great time at Joe T.’s last night. I am not sure I have ever seen that always-crowded restaurant so overrun with people. They were milling in the street, packed three deep on the ramp up to the patio. Party atmosphere was happy and celebratory—I suspect most of them were celebrating TCU’s stunning victory over Texas. In our little group, Brandon was the only aggrieved party, and he soon recovered his good spirits. I got to sit next to three grandsons—of course they had their heads buried in their phones.

Today a leisurely date, late breakfast. Christian made baggie omelets—really, you put two eggs in a quart-size freezer baggie, along with whatever else you want—chopped bacon, diced ham, grated cheese, diced scallions—scramble it up and drop into boiling water for 12 minutes. I like eggs

Christian's baggie omelet

not quite so cooked—Christian say I like them runny, but I prefer to say “soft”—so I would cook them a bit less. But the way it turns into an omelet is remarkable. We ate in shifts because you can only boil so many baggies at a time.

I’ve been tracking family members today. Jamie, my younger son, did a half Ironman in Waco today. His daughter reports that he finished, and all is well. A mother does worry about these things. My phone tells me they are in Hillsboro, on their way back to Frisco. More worrisome—my children’s half-sister had to evacuate the family farm in the hills above Santa Rosa, CA. Prayers going her way.

            So now I have an evening to read the mystery I’m half through and prowl through the newest issue of Bon Appetit. Sophie is snoozing—all the people this weekend wore her out. Oops—my timer just went off. Meatloaf’s done!

My resolve for the week: get down to serious work. I’ve been lollygagging. Hope everyone has a great week.

The Kindness of People

Melinda, my longtime pal and production manager at TCU Press, had the great idea that we should go to Joe T.’s for lunch today. Perfect weather to sit on the beautiful patio and enjoy just the slightest of breezes. We chattered, caught up with each other’s families and professional lives, laughed a lot, had a bit of wine for me and a margarita for her, and it was all delightful. There were obvious groups of tourists there—big clusters of people who oohed and aahed when they saw the gardens, and I thought how lucky we are to have that available all the time (okay, all the time if you will stand in line).

But Joe T.’s is not an easy access place for me. We parked around the corner from the patio entrance, so I had to walk a bit. Then I opted for stairs rather than the long, sloping ramp. Melinda took the walker up the stairs and prepared to come back to help me, when a man came up, asked, “Need help?” and held out his arm. He helped me to the top and saw me firmly reunited with my walker. I sat on a low bench, while Melinda went back to the ramp and stood in line for our table. (I realized later my helper was with one of the tourist groups.)

The paths at Joe T.’s, so scenic, are not great for a walker—flagstone and pavers, lots of cracks to catch the wheels. When we got on a smooth patch and I said, “Now I can go like the wind,” the young man showing us to our table grinned big-time.     

All that difficult walking makes me breathless, and when we left, I asked Melinda if I could sit on the low bench while she went to bring the car around. She did, and this time when we started down the stairs, she said she could carry the walker with one hand and help me with the other. A man started up the stairs and asked, “You need help?” but she assured him we were all right. I wanted to tell Melinda never turn down a willing arm, but I didn’t. The woman behind him said, “Let me take that walker,” and she took it down the stairs and opened it up for me.

It’s what I’ve noticed all along—most people go out of their way to be helpful and kind when they see the walker. Would I rather be walking on my own two feet? You bet! But it is what it is, and there are some saving graces. I didn’t realize it, but my hip was deteriorating for years before I had surgery. Between that and the neuropathy, my balance—and sense of security as I walked—sunk to nothing. I needed railings, walls, something to give me security. Walk across an empty parking lot alone? Not me!

The walker has given me back my sense of security. I go places now with confidence that I wouldn’t have gone before. It does mean that walking takes more effort—got to push, lift, and drag that walker, lightweight as it is—and I run out of breath and tire easily because o my atrial fibrillation. But still I am grateful—I am much more mobile than I was three years ago, I am once again out in the world, and I am not in pain.

Occasionally I see people who are so unsteady they need a walker or even those who fall frequently, but it’s a point of pride not to use assistance when they walk. I want to say, “Get over it!”

And to repeat, people are so kind and helpful. There’s only one longtime friend that I’ve lost over the walker—and I’m not sure that’s the reason, but I think it is because his desire to go to lunch with me cooled (after years of happy lunches) after the first time we went with me on a walker. I’m sorry for the loss but I am much too busy to worry about it, too busy appreciating the wonderful support I get from family, friends, and strangers.

God is good, and so is the world. And, hey, Melinda, let’s do it again soon.

A Blue Monday--not!

Today was all the good things that Monday should be--a day to recuperate and gather myself after a great weekend. Went out to breakfast with a friend (as she said, breakfast out seems almost decadent), came home and dug into the things I need to do--lists and emails and putting away dishes and folding the laundry that's been in the dryer for four days. Linda said at breakfast that her mother once said if she ever built a house, it would have two dishwashers--one for clean and one for dirty. And no shelves. Sometimes it sounds good. Wish somebody would invent a dryer that folds clothes.
A wonderful weekend--three of my four children and four of my seven grandchildren were here. The Austin bunch came for the last TCU game and, as is almost ritual, insisted on dinner at Joe T.'s. So Jamie and his oldest daughter, Maddie, drove from Frisco--with Maddie proudly driving her brand new red Jeep. Talk about growing up too quickly! She's sophisticated but sweet and can sure hold her own in a teasing conversation. We missed her mom and younger sister, who wasn't feeling well.
I learned a trick about eating at Joe T.'s--take my hearing aids out. It cuts the background noise, and I can pretty much hear those sitting close to me. Had fajitas but I think next time I'll go back to "the dinner." Our good times continued too late Sat. when we came home. In the morning, with the Austin folks at Jordan's house and Jamie and Maddie in the guest apartment, my house was blissfully quiet.
We were among the many sorry that neither TCU nor Baylor made the playoffs but even so, TCU had a stunning season and we're proud of the Frogs. Much much talk about football at my house yesterday. I had to remind everyone it was Pearl Harbor Day which is, at my age, emblazoned on my memory from childhood--I was three at the time and don't remember the actual day but for the years of my growing up it is a huge memory.
In the evening I had a few friends in for happy hour and appetizers--people that Jamie and Megan haven't seen in years and were glad to see. Friend Linda from Granbury spent the night so she could enjoy the evening and not worry about the drive back. She has known the kids almost all of their lives and has funny stories to tell about them. So proud of my children now that they're grown and can greet old family friends as adults. The little boys--in this case, Jacob and Ford--vanished from our sight after eating hot dogs, but Sawyer, now ten,  hung out some with the adults.
In other words, folks, my cup runneth over and I'm taking today to be thankful and get back in my routine. Even made a little progress on the chili books. So close to the end!

The good times are rolling

Well, I had a funny picture to post, with everyone raising a toast at Joe T.'s and two earnest little boys raising their soft drinks--but it didn't transmit from my daughter's phone to my computer. My oldest daughter and her husband and two boys came to town today for the TCU football game. Meg is a loyal Frog alum, roots for them all season, and wanted to come for the last game. Somehow when my family is all here they think they should eat at Joe T.'s, which is okay with me but I would like to introduce a little more variety into their restaurant choices. Still, I had a lesson tonight is what kids remember from childhood--so my grandchildren will all remember Joe T.'s.
Jamie and his oldest, Maddie, met us for dinner, but his wife Mel and youngest Eden stayed behind in Frisco. Eden has been having stomach issues and they were bothering her today. Jordan's husband, Christian, ever a bear fan, is in Waco for Baylor's game. Still we were a jolly crew--Jordan and Jacob, Jamie and Maddie, and Megan and her family. Part of our happiness came from TCU's smashing victory today but there was endless speculation on who would rank where and who would go to what bowl game. My children are amazed that for once I know a smidgeon of what they're talking about. I'm not a football fan but TCU is so on fire this season that even I have been dragged in.
Everyone gathered back at my house for a brief while, and Jamie pulled up notes he's made on their childhood. Apparently he notes these things on his iPhone as he thinks of them, because his list was endless. Most of them set off hysterical giggles but there were some less than pleasant memories in there too. The grandchildren listened attentively, surprised I think to hear this side of their parents. Jamie remembered the Christmas they got a giant Tinker Toy set, and the years they peeked at their Christmas gifts, and times their father disciplined them for not doing the chore he'd sent them to do. And lots of other things. I added some memories too. Nice to recall the good times.
But for me, the good times are now. I sit and watch my children and grandchildren in awe at how wonderful they are, how much they enjoy being together and how much they love each other. Dysfunctional families are common these days, and we hear stories of how a dysfunctional family hampers an adult who is unable to put that behind. My family was and is fully functional. My kids had several strikes against them--they're adopted, which means someone gave them up; they suffered irrational and harsh discipline at times (their father was raised that way, though I did everything I could to be a buffer--the person I am today would have done more); and they lived through divorce and being raised by a single mom from the time most of them were young. I've never heard a one say a negative word about their childhood--except in jest: Jamie swears he's suing because we didn't care enough to make them wear seatbelts (in an era went seatbelts were generally ignored). I am so proud of those kids and so blessed. This time of year makes it even more poignant to me.