A homecoming, a moment of panic, and a birthday celebration

I’ve been silent for a few days mostly because there has been nothing going on, and I do mean nothing. My family took a three-night vacation to a friend’s lake house and, though I was cordially invited, I elected to stay home, sleep in my own bed, work on my large remote monitor, and even cook a couple of meals I like and they don’t. But I l admit Sophie and I get a bit lonely when they’re all gone. We happily welcomed them home yesterday in the late afternoon.

Jordan missed my moment of panic, although I recounted it to her later. One of the things about being a writer is that sometimes you need to talk to another writer because no one else will really understand what’s you’re saying. And so it was yesterday just before noon. About a year ago I submitted all the materials for my next book—still as far as I know titled The Most Land, the Best Cattle: the Waggoners of Texas and due out in September. In the meantime, the editor I had worked with took a position with another company, and a new editor took her place. So what’s the trauma? The new editor emailed that she couldn’t find any of the files and would I send everything again—text, pictures, permissions. It would have been one thing if I’d had one lovely file with all that, but I didn’t. Text was no problem, but it would have taken days to reassemble the pictures and permissions. As primarily an author of fiction, I have neither the technical expertise nor the computer programs to deal efficiently with high res images. I sent them to the previous editor piecemeal as I received them. For safekeeping! Hah!

After much gnashing of teeth, I hatched a plan. Fortunately, I remembered where the original editor had gone. Looked her up online, shot off an email, and got an instant reply. She had kept a “just in case” set of files. She sent them to the new editor, and last I heard all is well. Still holding my breath, but I should get edited copy to read next week. Who says the life of an author is dull?  

We ended the day with a happy hour celebration for neighbor Prudence’s birthday—our regular Tuesday night patio gathering with a special twist. Fortunately, the weather cooperated beautifully, and both Jordan and Mary brought charcuteries, Mary brought a wonderful cake, and the birthday girl brought champagne. Most festive.                                                                                                                                 

                               

                             

Waking up to a bright new world

It’s a fairly well-known fact that I take a nap every afternoon. I’m religious about it. Friends and family know not to call or come by between two and four. I’ve read a lot about research supporting the healthful aspects of napping, and I’m certainly not one of those who claim to feel worse after a nap then before. It’s a lifelong habit, inherited from my father, and now that I’m retired, I’m free to indulge every afternoon.

By the time two o’clock rolled around today, I was more than ready to sleep. The plumbing saga continued, with a crew of professional diggers who belied the heritage of the gravedigger in Hamlet. These were cheerful fellows—at least four of them—who pushed countless wheelbarrows filled with rock to a waiting truck. But they seemed to laugh and joke among themselves  while they worked. They were not impressed by Sophie, though, and I had to keep her in the house, despite her protests.

The wonderful woman who twice a month cleans my cottage texted to say she had to wait for repairmen at her own home. Jordan and I sort of gave up hope, but a little after one she showed up. I asked for a quick cleaning—laundry, bed linen, vacuum, etc.—but she was two steps ahead of me. She was going to do those things and clean the bedroom, then close me in the bedroom to nap while she cleaned the rest of the cottage. She took it in stride when I said she could not flush the commode but was undone when the plumbers cut off the water. “I can’t clean bathrooms,” she complained.

So that was the state of things when I went to sleep—a dirty house, an unflushed, stopped up commode, and no water. By then, the diggers had finished, and the plumbers had started their repair, which they promised me they could get done today. Sophie was wandering around, still wanting to go outside, a bit bewildered by all that was going on.

I woke up to a new world. Zenaida was gone, but the cottage sparkled and smelled clean and good. The bathroom was clean, the commode had been flushed and cleaned, and the plumbers were gone. I texted my thanks to Zenaida and called the plumbing company, where they said they weren’t quite through—all the dirt they took out has to be replaced and the area cleaned up. But the important repair was done, and Sophie was happily surveying her kingdom in the back yard. I felt like a new person.

Tonight at happy hour we celebrated Mary’s birthday—it’s one of the big ones, and she will  be in New York on the actual day, so we partied a bit ahead with a spread of cheese, pickled herring, blue cheese dip, and hummus. Prudence made chocolate dipped strawberries and strawberry buttercream frosting, which Jordan put on chocolate cupcakes. Can you guess that the birthday girl’s favorites are chocolate and strawberry?

A happy day, though it ended with Jordan and me searching Amazon for the N95 masks recommended when—not if, according to the CDC—the corona virus erupts here. Many affordable versions are “currently not available,” which tells you we are late to the party. But we did order four masks. I have this twisted logic, that I hope is true—if we spend money on the masks, we won’t need them. Still I worry ahead about quarantines and our country’s lack of preparedness.

The birthday fun continues

 

Sophie just had to get in the picture
with me, Carol on the left, and Kathie on the right

So far I haven’t had much time to feel sorry for myself with my foot elevated. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve had enough time to elevate it. But I continue to be spoiled by friends and family. Today Jean came for lunch, and we enjoyed leftover layered salad. Tonight Carol and I were supposed to go to Kathie’s in Arlington for a celebration of our shared birthdays. When I said I really didn’t think I could do that, Kathie packed up a delicious summer supper and brought it to my house. A main dish of layers of rice, black beans, cheese and vegetables, with salad dressing. So delicious. And a fruit tart for dessert. If nothing else my inactivity plus all these kind gestures of food are going to make me fat(ter).

I tried to keep my foot elevated as much as I could. Slept with a pillow under it. Got up about seven to let Sophie out and went back to bed for another hour. I figure this week all I really must do is blog and keep up with email. So about mid-morning I went to the sunroom, sat on the couch with my foot on a large stuffed white tiger, intending to read all the material they sent home with me from the ER. Instead I fell asleep. After lunch and a few more emails, I slept again—wakened only when Subie brought me leftovers from their refrigerator (they’re cleaning out for a remodeling). Then it was Jay, who watered my porch plants and put my new inspection sticker on the car; Jordan, who emptied the dishwasher, put a few new dishes in, and straightened the kitchen; then a friend of Jordan’s who was sweet enough to bring me a tiny Bundt cake. As usual, my house overflowed with happiness at happy hour. And for a while I lay on the couch with three pillows under my foot—Jay insisted it has to be higher than my heart. I couldn’t really take part in conversation from that position, so I finally settled for sitting with the foot on the coffee table again. And then my dinner guests were here. Jay left, outnumbered by women five to one. And Jordan and Chandry left soon after.

Carol, Kathie and I had our usual good time—old friends used to being together, knowing the ups and downs of each others’ lives. We chatted, caught up, Kathie and I told grandchildren stories, and we just had a good time.

Tomorrow I go to the doctor to hear what he says about my foot. It was much less swollen this morning but as I did what little I had to do on my feet, it began to swell more. I have iced it twice and hope for a miracle in the morning.

A quick Jacob story: Jordan was talking to him from the ER, reassuring him I was okay. She handed me the phone.

Jacob: Hi, Juju. Do you have it?
Me: It what?
Jacob: You know, the sickness. My dad told me all about it this morning.
All I can figure is that Christian told him about blood clots, so I assured him I didn’t have one and would be okay. But I loved “the sickness”—sounded like TB or plague or some awful medieval disease.

Sleep well, my friends, and keep your feet elevated.