Memories of an Austin Christmas

 

A Christmas photo of me with my four loves

Before we bid Christmas and 2021 goodbye, I want to share a few thoughts and pictures of a memorable trip to Austin. Jordan, Jacob and I traveled on December 21—Christian followed two days later. Both on the way there and the way back, I was pleased and surprised by how much land in Central Texas is still worked as small farms and ranches, so much open land. (Sure, I’d seen it before, as recently as July, but it really struck me this time.) A wreck outside Leander sent us on a detour and suddenly, we were smack in the city with ticky-tacky boxes all jammed together, each identical to the next. The contrast made me sad, but then I realized I was being judgmental—many people were happy to have those homes. Good lesson in taking another viewpoint. In an unfortunate coincidence, coming home we happened on a wreck between Hico and Glen Rose that had only happened minutes before. As Jordan said, if we hadn’t stopped for a potty break and to buy me some chocolate, we might have been there at just the wrong time. Makes you think—with gratitude.

In Austin we were at daughter Megan’s house—all eighteen of us during the days. The nights were cool, but the kids liked to sit on the patio, so one night I bundled up.

Colin helping me keep warm

On Wednesday, we had lunch with a writer I know from a small online group but had never met—a real treat and a highlight of the trip. Stephanie Raffelock writes about women coming into their own as they age—a message I find most encouraging. Her new book is Creatrix Rising. But we talked mostly about cooking—the turkey we planned and her duck confit. I didn’t even know how confit is pronounced—kän’fē]—but now I am determined to try roasting a duck—I’ll let the confit part wait. In the oven in the main house. I got a new toaster oven for Christmas that will give me much more flexibility and an air fryer, but I don’t think it’s up for a whole duck.

Lunch with author Stephanie Raffelock

One night we all piled into cars and drove the Trail of Lights, an Austin phenomenon once sponsored by the city but now presented by individual sponsors. It is fantastic, best I’ve ever seen. I was particularly impressed by the tunnels of light. This picture hardly does it justice.

Christmas morning was pandemonium, but what can you expect with eighteen people? The old controversy about when to open presents was neatly solved—on Christmas Eve, Jordan gave each of the girls matching pajamas. I posted a picture Christmas night. Christmas morning the gift opening vs. breakfast dilemma was equally well solved—the guests sleeping in an Airbnb and a hotel were so slow to get there, we were all starving. So we had breakfast and opened gifts afterward.

Me and Jordan in our Christmas pajamas

Our Christmas dinner was traditional and delicious. I keep hearing of people who have prime rib and duck confit and even enchiladas, but not my family. Megan, with Melanie’s expert stirring, made the best gravy I think I’ve ever had—a combination of my mom’s technique (shake flour and cold water in a jar really hard) and the addition of Central Market gravy. So flavorful—and plenty of it. I always worry about running out of gravy—probably selfish because I really want it all over everything.

I posted the other night about my grandsons but can’t resist sharing this picture of them. The youngest is the tallest, and the oldest is the shortest. Each so very different and individual, but when together they seem a bonded unit. I alluded to the Beatles before, but that really only applies to Sawyer, the oldest, who is a skilled guitar player. The other three are more into individual sports.

My grandsons--how did they get this big and old?

Hope each and every one of you enjoyed Christmas, whether you celebrate the day or eat Chinese. It’s a special time. And now, into the new year.

The Monday blues

 

Watch for it soon on Gourmet on a Hot plate

Whining about a minor problem: I slept wrong on my left hand. Not sure what I did but this morning it felt like I had either sprained it or had a deep bruise. It hurt to wash my hands, to comb my hair, and, worst of all, to type. In my world, that’s a disaster. It wasn’t till I tried to nap—and was aware the entire time that my hand and shoulder hurt—that I had the good sense to take two Tylenol. Amazing. All better. I did read today that Buddhist practice preaches that it is more healthy to sleep on your left side—the physiological explanation was complicated, but apparently most things in the body drain to the left. I’m in with that, if I could just keep my hand from underneath my head.

But that soreness set the tone for my day. I seem to sing this song too frequently, but I did a lot of work this morning. Just none of it on the novel I keep telling myself I am writing, although scenes go through my head all the time. Want a glimpse into the life of a writer? Try the word procrastination. Right now I am kept busy following various political developments in our country. Some days I’m really optimistic; other days, like yesterday, I feel corruption is winning. It’s sort of like being on a seesaw. But it does take a lot of my time just to keep up.

And today the wonderful lady who cleans my cottage was here, so we had long conversations about whether or not the lettuce in the vegetable bin was ready for the trash—a lot of questionable stuff went out. And we spent a lot of time while she looked all around on my desk and on the floor for a tiny yellow pill that I’d dropped. I didn’t want a dog to eat it. Finally, triumphantly, she produced it from a corner of the bookcase across from my desk which is where I last saw it. I guess I brushed it off, and being light, it flew across the room. I conferred with Jordan—should I brush it off and take it or discard it? This particular pill costs like gold. Her advice: take it.

What I did accomplish today was to proof the neighborhood newsletter and get it off, plus take notes and exchange emails with a friend who has a food-related business that I will feature in an upcoming Gourmet on a Hot Plate blog. Like salsa? Just wait for this one. Thursday is my food blog day, but this week I may just wish everyone Happy Thanksgiving and hold the salsa until next week. Because no, you definitely cannot cook Thanksgiving dinner with a hot plate and a toaster oven. Jordan tells me she will cook at least one side dish in the cottage. She and Christian will be hosting his family.

I, meanwhile, will be in Tomball with Colin and his family. First time I’ve traveled since quarantine began, and while it’s not far (four hours?) it seems a major trip. Sophie will go with me, and one of my projects today was to begin to assemble clothes, etc. It’s remarkable how much stuff it takes for an old lady to travel—and for a writer who cannot go without computer, legal pad, books, etc. My packing list is extensive.

Now we have a new crisis. Jacob just came out to say that his dad disconnected the wifi to reboot it but forgot the reboot part and went with Jordan to visit neighbors. So neither Jacob nor I can do much—and they are not answering their phones. Life’s little distractions.

Ten o’clock, and no, I don’t know where my children are. But I know one grandson is safely inside, and I know the wifi is working again. My hand has stopped hurting. I haven’t solved the problem of Kevin McCarthy and his gang of outrageous Republicans, but hey! Joe Biden is working on that. All seems almost well with the world tonight. Sweet dreams, y’all.