A day out of sorts

I didn’t get squat done today. Gray and a bit depressing, it has been a day of bad news and interruptions, one of those days when the ordinary pattern of life falls apart. I was up earlier than usual because of a minor doctor’s appointment at 9:15, but barely past eight Christian and Jordan converged on the cottage to tell me the son of one of her childhood friends is in the hospital with a brain tumor. Jordan had already been to the hospital and back and was on stand-by for the rest of the day and presumably the rest of the week.

Cancer right now seems all around us. The mother of one of Jordan’s friends—a friend since elementary school and a mother I knew and liked—is hospitalized with what looks like a severe form, and the brother of a friend has been diagnosed with a brain tumor. It cannot but help shake your faith.

We went to my appointment (blood work) and then by her office to get paperwork so she could work from home. By the time we got home, I was already behind myself and more than a bit discombobulated—and with several emails and phone calls to make before I could settle down.

Bless Jordan for insight that I lacked. While I have worried about Sophie for days and bothered the vet almost daily, after one in-person visit I accepted his remote advice that allergies were causing her coughing, snuffling, and huffing. The medicine he gave her and diet change helped her stomach. But last night, Jordan was not satisfied. She was worried enough to announce she would take her to the vet. Because the vet was booked today, she dropped Sophie off to be seen whenever. The good part about that is maybe she would exhibit that awful cough for them (she didn’t until the last half hour she was there). The bad part was that I missed her. She goes in and out twenty-eleven times a day, and when inside she sleeps in a chair and, too often, wheezes. I missed all that, and I missed being able to talk to her. Tonight the news is that she has an inflammation (I’m not sure of what) and her x-rays are going to a radiologist tomorrow. Meanwhile she is on antibiotics and a cough suppressant. I hope we’re making progress, because the poor baby has been miserable. And so have I in the middle of the night.

Trying to listen to the vet on the phone I realized that I couldn’t hear him, and he couldn’t hear me. Jordan finally straightened it all out, and Jacob came out tonight to see what I had done to my phone. Truth was, it was my hearing aids, and I think it had to do with keeping them charged, a problem I’ve had for a while. The rechargeable batteries are apparently giving out (and they weren’t cheap) and the company no longer makes them. Damn! Back to changing batteries all the time. I may call the company and complain, for all the good that will do me. Typical of the day—one thing after another.

Then Jordan got word of the suicide of a young woman she didn’t know but who was good friends with some of Jord’s best pals. So we are worried, as always in those cases, about those left behind to grieve.

Christian had a difficult day at the office, and I appealed our tax appraisal, only to get it reduced by a measly thousand dollars. So I protested, but I have no idea what can of worms I opened. I am trusting Christian to see me through this. Seems like all day it was just one little thing after another.

A big thing that lurks in the background of this down day is the leak from SCOTUS—too appalling to think about, but I do have thoughts, and I’ll share them another night. Perhaps when I’m feeling more optimistic.

The bright note in the day, I think, is that I fixed a really good supper. Sheet pan chicken with vegetables. Trying to please everyone, I cooked carrots, potatoes, and sweet onion. With broccoli on the side for Jacob who, of course, ate while out with friends. But he did eat a bowl of broccoli when he came home. Jordan and Christian were enthusiastic about the dinner—Christian about the skin on the chicken (crispy and so good) and the potatoes, soaked in chicken drippings; Jordan appeared to like the whole thing, though she doesn’t eat potatoes. I hope she ate the carrots which I thought were wonderful. (See this Gourmet on a Hot Plate column for the way I cooked the dinner: Gourmet on a Hot Plate: Chicken thighs and sheet pan cooking

Sweet dreams, everyone. Sometimes life just comes at you in a hard rush, and the only way I know to get through it is to believe tomorrow will be better and to pray a lot for those who need our prayers. So that’s my thought for the night.

Another day, but not another dollar

It's what's for supper:

White bean and roasted tomato stew

Even for a quarantine day, this one started off badly. For one thing I got up an hour earlier than I meant to and that makes for a long day. I’ve never figured out how to set the clock next to my bed, so I always have to calculate that if it says it’s 6:57, it’s really 7:57. This morning I must have misread 5:57 for 6:57. (I must get Christian of Jacob to fix that for me—Jordan can’t figure it out either.) I did think it was unusually dark outside, but I saw the patio was wet and reasoned it was cloudy.

So there I was up, reading the day’s news and mail while drinking my tea, when the eight o’clock segment of TODAY came on. Wait a minute! It should have been the third hour, the one that starts at nine. Nope, my computer confirmed that it was only eight.

Then our new neighbor decided to power wash something, presumably the large deck in his back yard. Only he didn’t have one of those hand-held power washers like we have which only spit out a small stream. He rented some kind of commercial thing that came with a separate remote generator. I left out the key adjective—it was a noisy generator. And it went on for about an hour. Annoying is the word that comes to mind.

Then I was trying to send my monthly column to Lone Star Literary Life. Took me three times before I remembered to attach the darn thing after I wrote an email. If you don’t subscribe to that, you might want to look into it. A free newsletter about Texas and books.

The good thing that happened was I discovered what I was doing wrong about Blogger.com. I thought they had changed the format, and if I’d known who to complain to, I would have. Last night I could not figure out how to post my blog. Finally, nearing midnight I gave up and went to bed. This morning, first thing, I found a link that said, “Return to conventional Blogger.” And there it was—the screen I am familiar with.

So by nine o’clock, I had posted my blog for the night before, gotten past the glitches of the early morning and had the whole day before me. So what did I do? I wasted the time. I was like Alice following all those rabbit holes. Eleven came and went, and I still hadn’t done my thousand words for the day. I won’t labor you with details, but I did finally write my words.

I also came to a conclusion. I have not been carving out enough time to read. Perhaps it’s my ongoing feeling that I must speak out about the situation in our country or maybe my relatively new obsession with writing the novel I’m working on. Then again, it may be just sheer laziness and the need to nap. At any rate, my TBR (to be read) list is growing out of bounds. I resolved to make more time. Right now I’m reading Provence 1970 by Luke Barr, nephew of food writer MFK Fisher. It is about the year when major figures in American cookery—Julia Child, MFK Fisher, Richard Olney, editor Judith Jones, James Beard, and others--came together in Provence and realized that they must turn their sights from France to America, from the old traditional to new ways with food. It was time to look at American food. I’m enjoying it, and today I’ve spent quite a bit of time reading.

And this evening, I spent time cooking a recipe I’ve wanted to try for some time, a stew of roasted tomatoes and cannelloni or white kidney beans. I ate in solitary splendor, as the Burtons had gone to a front-lawn, distanced supper with neighbors. My dinner was good—the first time I’d fixed it, and next time I’d cut back a bit on garlic and salt (both may be the problem of halving a recipe) and I might add grated Pecorino or Parmesan over the top. But It was good, and I enjoyed it. I have enough left over for lunch, and then the remains will go into the freezer for a soup pot.

So now I’m watching the second installment of the PBS special on the George W. Bush presidency. Tonight, with focus on the Iraq War, it brings up a whole lot of anger that I’d like to leave behind me.

Nice end to a day of woes

TCU Press has published Deep in the Art of Texas, edited by Michael Duty with an essay by Ron Tyler, and gorgeous reproductions of Texas art, primarily from between 1850 and 1950. Tonight I attended a reception at the Amon Carter--brief remarks by Duty and Tyler and a welcome from co-sponsor of the project, Mary Volcansek representing the Center of Texas Studies at TCU. In his comments, Duty said this is in no way a definitive volume but one that draws back the curtain just a bit to demonstrate that Texas has produced high-quality art. I remember years ago when I was doing research at the Carter for my dissertation. I mentioned that research to an English faculty member, and he joked, "You mean they have art there?" It wasn't funny. This book does much to document the art of Texas and is a project any academic press in Texas would be proud to add to its list. In fact, it made me wish for just a flash of a minute that I was still there--I wanted to be part of such an exciting production. And, the food and wine were excellent tonight. We came out of the Carter to a glorious evening, brisk but nice temperatures and a fresh breeze.
It almost compensated for a bad day. I somehow bruised the side of my foot--noticed last night that it was sore and it was worse this morning. Put on my good, sturdy walking shoes, and it's better tonight. The computer ate two of the images for the chili book--I cannot find them anywhere and will have to go back through that voluminous file to reconstruct the acquisitions process. And neither Jacob nor I were happy with each other, though tonight he went off with Phil Green for hamburgers at Tommy's while I was at the reception--and came back quite pleased with his evening. He adores Phil and his seeing-eye dog Santiago.
The things that went wrong today will work themselves out, and I know that. So I'll concentrate on the pleasant evening. Tomorrow I get a haircut first thing in the morning and that always makes for a bright day.