Celebrating a couple of grandsons – and bemoaning my allergies

 

Here’s my oldest grandson, Sawyer, just turned seventeen, with his new car. Pretty fancy wheels for a kid, but not at all what he wanted at first. A chance encounter led to a great bargain on the car. The previous owner wanted to trade for Sawyer’s dad’s Jeep. Dad was not interested—they were standing in a take-out line at a restaurant—but the guy really wanted to sell or trade this Mercedes. So, they investigated, found it a real bargain compared to what they thought they’d spend on a car for Sawyer, and now he has a Mercedes. I haven’t had a chance to ask him, but I suspect he thought of it at first as a stodgy old-man’s car. Now, he apparently likes it, and his mom, my Megan, says she loves having him driving because he’ll willingly go on errands for her.

I’m really proud of Sawyer this summer anyway. He’s our music kid—studies with Austin School of Rock (guitar and vocals) and plays in a garage band that does well. When this kid found guitar, he really found himself. Now he’s taking an online course in music production and hopes to intern with an Austin producer for part of the summer. I love it when kids find their focus.

And here’s a grinning Jacob, in the car after being picked up from a ten-day camping experience. Jordan and Jacob picked him up in Van in East Texas, but he actually camped in Colorado—a long bus ride away. (Jacob is the one who described it as long and other, less happy terms). He thoroughly enjoyed it, he says, met new friends, played poker (this is what he went to a church camp for?), etc. But no golf, and Jacob is the golfer in the family. He got home last night and spent most of today on a golf course so he could get the “feel” of it—he plays in a tournament in Dallas tomorrow. Another kid whose found his focus.

I wouldn’t want my other two grandsons to feel slighted—Ford, in Austin, and Kegan, in Tomball, are both sports minded and exceedingly good at their chosen sports, but more about them another time. The Tomball Alters are in New York City right now, and the Austin folks will go to Belize to scuba dive next week. Love my family’s travel adventures, as long as I can enjoy them vicariously.

Meanwhile I’m sitting at home nursing allergies—at least that’s what I think it is. I never was allergic to anything until I was in my fifties. One day I felt so awful I dragged myself to the doctor, who cheerfully announced I was suffering from allergies. I was indignant and demanded, “What am I allergic to?” His reply? “Texas.”

Well I guess there’s something in our Texas air the last couple of days because it sure has gotten me in the late afternoon and early evening. My nose runs like the proverbial faucet, my throat is dry, I cough a lot, and I am so sleepy I can’t stand it—and a bit sick to my stomach. Yuck. But by 9:30 or 10:00 I’m back to normal and all is well. I hope this is something fleeting.

I attended a Zoom neighborhood meeting tonight and learned a lesson: when you cough, the camera focuses on you because it apparently doesn’t distinguish between a cough and speech. I quickly muted the audio, but I’m sure my neighbors loved the picture of me with my ever-present Kleenex.

I’m at loose ends, never a good place for me to be. Waiting on a couple of editors to respond to a proposal; waiting on someone else to come back from vacation so I can get access to a file; waiting on a new book to come out in September; waiting to figure out how to edit my new Wikipedia page (more about that another time). I need a new project and am weighing several ideas—a collection of significant blogs, with some gourmet blogs thrown in--do I flatter myself that any are significant?; a new cookbook, though I need a theme—maybe plagiarized recipes (no, I don’t really mean that); reviewing a couple of false starts on mysteries. I recently, inadvertently did some editing and realized how much I like that—shades of my former life. But I have no clients.

Tomorrow I plan to do one of those pro and con list of my options—and to do some serious meal planning for the family, somehow fitting family meals into increasingly busy schedules—Christian’s work is busy, Jordan’s business is rapidly picking up as people begin to travel again, and Jacob has all those golf commitments. I was spoiled during quarantine—they were here every night for supper.

I think I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop—it will, and it will be the right thing. I just don’t know when or what.

Sweet dream, everyone!

 

A ho-hum day

 

Even in quarantine, there’s usually something to distinguish one day from another—a patio visit from a friend, a new recipe, a Zoom meeting. Something to break the monotony of the day. Today there was none. And once again a rainy, chilly, dull morning greeted me.

I piddled, spent too long on Facebook, which I find I do a lot these days because of the political news—no, not the opinion pieces, but the hard news sources that report on there. Of course I am frustrated by the paywalls on the New York Times, the Washingto Post, and our local Star-Telegram. I should subscribe to one national paper that I respect, but I find I don’t like to read newspapers on line. My difficulty in getting print copies is a whole different story, and I won’t go into it now.

But the result today, as in many days recently, is too much time spent browsing the web for news, election updates, etc. It’s self-defeating, because all it does is increase my anxiety—and believe me, I see physical signs of anxiety in me. I explained to Jordan that I probably wouldn’t be much good for the next week, and she promptly said I need a new project. Huh, me? With too many projects on my desk already? She had in mind cooking desserts. I will take that under consideration, but meantime she has an array of meals laid out for me to cook.

I did listen to four chapters of the audio version of Saving Irene, and I’m gradually getting ahead of that project. I am now well over halfway through the book. I did some good email business—a letter of recommendation for a friend, some marketing posts for Saving Irene—have you tried the hamburger Stroganoff recipe? Emails to a couple of old friends, including some in Omaha where trump left his followers in frigid weather with no transportation. Such a caring man!

But overall, I accomplished little. I napped, of course, and when I woke up, I thought since we were not having family dinner—leftovers, and we were each eating on our own—I’d just stay in my jammies. But a voice in the back of my mind said to get dressed—for my own sake, not for the family. I do usually work in jammies until after I nap and then I “freshen” myself ad put on new clothes. So today I did that anyway—Jordan who came out for happy hour was the only beneficiary of my spiffed-up self.

With leftovers for dinner, I didn’t even have cooking to pull me out of my doldrums. But Jordan did—last night she undertook what she thought would be a huge process and found out it wasn’t that big a deal—she made pesto out of the large bunch of basil neighbor Mary had given us. So now we have a bunch of basil in the fridge, and Jordan is planning spaghetti with basil sauce and chicken for election night supper.

I think she is already beyond cooking that night. I am beyond worried about how to make the night pass—a lot of wine and early to bed? In truth, I may be less anxious about election night than the days the immediately follow

I did find an event outside my cottage tonight—a Zoom meeting of our neighborhood association. I haven’t attended meetings because, in truth, I don’t want to get out after supper, especially when they moved the meeting to eight. But now it’s back at seven and I could go from the comfort of my desk, so I was a wiling participant, though all I did was listen. I hope they keepe the Zoom meetings even after we don’t have to quarantine.

This afternoon, late, the sun came out a bit—an encouraging sign. And the temperature is to creep up the next few days until we reach Saturday which is to be pleasant and in the seventies. Maybe the world will be all right.

Lots of cooking, a Zoom reminder, and the wine bar of my dreams

Lamb Ragu

We had a domestic invasion of sorts this past week. Some critter died either under the kitchen in the main house or in the wall. The result was an insufferable odor that lingered for days. And made Christian reluctant to cook when he came home in the evening. So I’ve fixed dinner several nights, fixing one old favorite and trying out three new recipes.

One night we had chicken pot pie, mostly because I remembered Jacob liked it so well once before that he used a strawberry to wipe up the sauce. When we told him that this time, his response was predictable: “That’s gross.” Another night, chicken piccata. Jacob loves his dad’s version, and I was hoping he would like mine as well. Actually I ignored the recipe I’ve used for years and tried one I found online. Because I can’t fit four chicken tenderloins into my skillet at once and because I was afraid the amount of meat was a bit skimpy, I cut it into chunks and browned it in two separate batches, then combined it to reheat in the sauce. Jacob liked it well enough to claim the small bit leftover.

One night we had a quick and easy lamb ragu—that’s what the recipe said, but when I cook these days, mostly seated in my walker, nothing is quick. And things get spilled a lot. But the recipe was fairly straightforward, so the easy part was true. And it came out with a velvety texture that I really liked.

My tour de force was a deviant version of skillet spanakopita, and if you read last night’s blog, you know about it. If not, you can check it out at https://gourmetonahotplate.blogspot.com/. I don’t want to repeat myself. I posted the picture of it on the Facebook page for the New York Times Cooking Community and so far I got 170 likes and about 20 comments. I am in danger of getting the swelled head, except I probably have to credit Jordan’s photography as much as my cooking.

Tonight’s potato salad is already in the fridge, and Christian will grill our salmon.  One thing about quarantine—we are eating well, and so blessed.

Last night was leftovers or, as we call it, dinner on your own, because I wanted to Zoom attend a 6:30 meeting of the Tarrant County Historical Society. I connected to the meeting without a problem—I really am getting better at this—but couldn’t figure out why my picture didn’t show. A few minutes in, I was gobsmacked—isn’t that a wonderful word?—to realize I hadn’t pulled out my laptop. There’s obviously no camera on my remote monitor, so to participate I have to open the laptop so the camera can see me! It’s a bit of a problem with my new computer set-up, but I will figure it out and remember this learning lesson for when I’m on a panel next week for a big national mystery fan convention.

And the bar—I’ve not been to many bars in my life. Back when I was single and head over heels about my first love, they were still called cocktail lounges. I can still see one in my mind—dark, soft music, leather booths with high backs for privacy. But bars? The crowded, raucous kind authorities want to keep closed these virus days? Not for me, though my grown kids more than once suggested I might meet an eligible man in one. Eligible? At any rate, I’ve found online a bar that intrigues me. It’s the Bookbar in Denver—a wine/book bar. When you belly up to the bar, you find yourself at a long, chest-high bookcase crammed with books. My idea of heaven—books and wine. I tried to copy the picture, but the internet didn’t cooperate. So here I sit with a new book on my Kindle and a glass of wine at hand. Almost Heaven. (My friend Linda will get that if she reads this.)