A banking failure, a cooking almost-failure, and Sunday is Sunday

 

You learn something every day, but sometimes it’s not fun. My latest lesson has involved the intricacies of banking. Last week I had two unauthorized charges on a bank account—one to an “aesthetics” business in Ottawa, Ontario, and the other from an author I’d never heard of who ordered me several of her books, though I never saw them. The only thing I could figure out was that Jacob had used my debit card to order  a hamburger, and somehow it was compromised. Except the charges were made on different debit cards.

Our bank is on top of things though and notified me of the suspicious charges. So we closed that account, opened a new one, and they said a new card would be held at the bank for me. But then I asked for a second card to go to Jordan, since she does grocery shopping and other errands. They could not issue two cards on one account number, but they could give her a second card with a different ending. I asked for that, and then we got all mixed up.

The new card wasn’t at the bank, mostly because they were confused by my name as cardholder and Jordan’s name as my daughter. Many phone calls ensued, and a new card was mailed. I got the first card that had been mailed, originally for Jordan, which left her without a card. So today, for a grocery trip, she took mine. Are you confused yet, because I sure was.

She called from the grocery store, not a happy camper: the pin didn’t work. I had no idea what the new pin was/is. I do not remember a thing about changing it, etc., though you’d think I would have made a record. While she went to the back of the cashier’s line, I changed the pin, called and told her what it was, and she eventually brought groceries home. Even in a good mood. Meantime I had locked myself out of the bank for too many log-in tries (don’t ask how because I have no idea).

Tonight, we have it all straightened out (I hope and pray), I have a new pin, there are no more fraudulent charges on the account, the second card is in the mail, and we have needed groceries. Whew!

Menu tonight was some chicken/spinach/feta sausages I like from Central Market, asparagus, and potatoes. Not being interested in boiled potatoes, I suggested I make scalloped. I must have forgotten that I’ve never successfully made scalloped potatoes. They are either undercooked or soupy. As a precaution, I used a recipe billed as easy that was like nothing I’d ever seen: you boiled everything together—potatoes, half and half, garlic, salt, pepper, butter. Then you simmered until the mixture began to thicken—only it never did. Finally, I spooned the potatoes and much of the liquid into a baking dish, put it in the oven, and turned the whole thing over to Jordan. She eventually added the rest of the liquid and topped the casserole with Parmesan.

Result was potatoes with really good flavor but no eye appeal—the Parmesan browned, I had used just the right amount of salt and pepper, but the creamy sauce lay in little clumps on the soft and mushy potatoes (that texture was not a bad thing). I still have to master scalloped potatoes, but so much for a recipe that promised 15 minutes prep and an hour cooking. I started peeling and slicing a little before 5:30—we ate at 7:45.

Otherwise it was Sunday all day. I went to church, at my computer, alone, and contemplated going back to in-person church. I am not afraid of covid contamination, but I am afraid that getting into the church and up the long aisle will require a longer walk than I could do. Like a lot of other things, it was not a problem before quarantine. But now I find my stamina so reduced. Or is it my confidence in my stamina?

I finished PT this week—again. But I have a feeling I’ll be seeing those folks again. Meantime, I try to keep up with the exercises, and Jordan promises me that once end-of-school activities are over, we’ll talk seriously about the best way to get back to church.

Meantime, may the good Lord hold you in the palm of his hand. Sweet dreams, everyone.

 

Worn Out and Plumb Tired

That’s how I feel tonight—worn out and plumb tired. Ever feel that way? I tried to reconstruct my day to see why I’m so tired. Went first thing this morning to the bank to sign the loan papers for the remodeling of the cottage—no we still don’t have a permit. I signed on the dotted line for what is to me a whole lot of money, so maybe that in itself was tiring.

Then Amy, my travel companion, and I ran errands—mailed eight packages, which took a lot of time standing on my feet, and then went to Staples for file folders, hanging folders, and the like so I can start loading my new file cabinet—a task in itself which seems daunting. By then, my ankle was beginning to bother me—it is now swollen and a rainbow of colors, with bruises up my calf and down my toes. Staples has rearranged yet again—I wish stores wouldn’t do that. So I sat in the office furniture section while Amy scoured the store for what we needed. The one clerk we asked must have been new—he didn’t have a clue. But we got what I needed eventually.

Came home to eat an early lunch and take a long nap. Jordan emailed all her plans for organizing things this afternoon, and that convinced me further that I needed a long nap. She comes in bustling with energy—not sure how she does that after a full day of work. But she arranged my office pretty much to her satisfaction, brought all the bed linens in from the cottage to be washed, started on books in the dining room. I mostly sat and watched, though while she worked in the office I put together a flyer for her private book sale. Other than that I watched.

And now I’ve piddled away the evening and am ready to go to sleep.

Long text exchange between my children. Last year we went to Lubbock—just the five of us—for my induction into the Western Writers Hall of Fame. There was some talk of a similar family trip to Chicago but I thought it had faded away. Now it’s come up again with a certain dedication. I had been content to let it fade away, not sure I felt up to the trip. But tonight I scolded myself—go now or never. And with the kids I feel I can be dependent. This time around, at least until my ankle heals, I have no objection to a wheelchair or walker. (That’s a huge admission!) And I know I’ll be in good hands.

So I’m thinking of places I want to go, things I want to show them. One is the architectural tour of Chicago from the Chicago river. The University of Chicago; the hospital (now condos) that was the center of our lives. The house where I grew up; the nearby house President Obama owns. The Lake Shore—although I think Lake Shore Drive has changed so much I’d be lost. I don’t care so much about Marshall Field’s but I’d like to eat at Berghoff’s. And of course tour Hyde Park and Kenwood with the wonderful architecture, and the grounds of the Columbian Exposition. Oh, my. I’m getting excited just thinking about it.

Maye I just got my second wind, but tomorrow will come too soon. Sweet dreams, everyone.