A wonderful weekend

 

Megan, who loves dogs but does not like to be licked;
Benji, who loves to lick.

Four grown children, one terrific son-in-law, one grandson, a new dog, and fifty or sixty people that one way or another make my world go around. What more could I ask for? Sunday, Jordan and Christian did their usual great job of hosting and invited family and friends to celebrate Jacob’s high school graduation. These days at such events I get parked in the living room, but there was a visitor’s chair next to me, and I had a constant stream of guests to talk with. I like to take a bit of credit for Jordan’s hostess skills—after all I did throw those huge Christmas parties for years, and she was at my elbow helping every minute. She knows how to set a pretty table, decorate the house, and, most of all, make everyone feel they are the special guest of the day. There was lots of picture-taking, a TV basketball game for folks to watch, visiting on the front porch. The party started at three—I think the last guest departed about ten-thirty, though I had long since retreated to the cottage. Next morning, Jordan said to me, “Was that not the best part we’ve ever done?” and I agreed.

Special entertainment at the party was a trip to the back yard to watch Benji, who knew he had an audience and tossed his rope toy with class and a lot of little leaps. General consensus was that he is a great dog. The family certainly approves, and Colin kept offering to take him home and keep him for a while, an offer I declined.

Of course a bonus for me was having my other three kids home. Colin slept on the couch in the cottage for two nights, which I loved even though it meant he made my cottage cold as a meat locker. Megan was on the front couch in the house and Jamie in Jacob’s room since Jacob sleeps in the TV room these days. Talk about musical beds! Once my kids were grown and began to scatter, it was always special to me to have them all four once again under my roof. For a while, when the grands were younger, I could even accommodate most of the young families. But in recent years as our numbers have grown and we’ve absorbed a couple of boyfriends, there’s no way. The kids generally find nearby hotel accommodations. So it was a real treat to have my four all under my roof again—I am not sure why that pleases me so much, because if anybody is protecting or looking out for someone, it’s a reversal from childhood. When they are here, they wait on my hand and foot. But still I guess it’s the feeling that I know where they are and they are all safe for the night. We missed some spouses and the other grands, but it was still a highlight weekend.

Saturday we had take-out Railhead barbecue—Megan questioned why we weren’t going to Angelo’s, the shrine she remembers from childhood, and I answered proximity—Railhead is blocks away while Angelo’s is across town. And we’ve come to think Railhead is just as good. Since I’m supposed to eat soft food that goes down easily, there was some question, but I convinced them that I could eat a chopped sandwich. I did, no problem, and enjoyed it thoroughly. Still catering to my cravings, Colin went to Carshon’s Deli Monday before he left and got me the chopped liver I had been wanting—full of protein and soft so it goes down easily (he also got himself a Rebecca, his favorite sandwich, for his long drive back to Tomball).

The happy weekend ended with a crash. Sunday morning, early, Christian’s father texted that he was in the hospital with gall bladder troubles. We presume he drove himself to the hospital, which scares everybody. Surgery was scheduled for last night, but they postponed it until this morning—I am always in favor of morning surgery when both doctor and patient are well rested (we hope).

Monday afternoon Megan rushed me off to an unexpected appointment with an oral surgeon, only to find I will have four molars pulled before the radiation treatment. To me, that procedure may be the worst part of the whole ordeal. I am, to be honest, a dental phobic, a carryover from my long-ago childhood when dental work on a pre-teen with bad teeth was pretty brutal.

By early afternoon Monday, the children were gone—Jamie had flown back to Denver on a standby basis late Sunday night and, fortunately, got on the flight. Colin left after his Carshon’s run, and Megan headed to Austin after the dental appointment. So we are back to reality. The next two weeks will be filled with appointments, not a peasant prospect. But I also have lots of work on my desk, which is a good thing. Today I hope to wrap up the neighborhood newsletter for June, and then I have proofing corrections to key in for Irene in a Ghost Kitchen. I still have my eye on that late June publication date. I am counting my blessings and saying my prayers.

Arguing with myself

 

University Christian Church
Fort Worth

Today, my church, University Christian, celebrated its 150th anniversary with one huge service instead of the four separate services of a usual Sunday. The music was spectacular. Hymns and anthems from our traditional services blended with guitar accompaniment to “How Firm a Foundation: and “His Eye is on the Sparrow”; a powerful group of wind instruments contrasted with the folk-music feel of guitar; and a full choir soared to the high notes. Every minister on staff was involved in the service in some way, but the highlight was a dialogue between senior minister Russ Peterman and former senior minister Scott Colglazier on the future of the church, what the church of the next 150 years needs to be about. Visiting dignitaries made brief appearances—the mayor of Fort Worth, the president of TCU, the regional Disciples minister, and a representative of the national headquarters of the church. The congregational turnout was huge and enthusiastic. Even in these glum days, an air of optimism and gratitude and grace elevated the service. Afterward there was a celebratory reception with food and fellowship, and a lot of people I would have liked to see.

I wasn’t there. I watched the almost two-hour service online, which has some advantages: I could hear everything better than I often did in the sanctuary, and when the ministers were talking, it was as though they were sitting across my desk talking directly to me. I almost had an urge to reach out to Scott and say, “Hi, nice to see you again.” During his pastorate, I was most active in the church. My good friend and the director of music, Betty Boles, could always find things she thought I ought to do. And I did them willingly and happily. It’s a part of my life I miss now.

I argued with myself all week about going to this service. When I first heard about the plans I was excited, ready to be in the congregation. Since I don’t leave the cottage often, I think I should never miss an opportunity. But the more I thought about it, the more I questioned the wisdom of going. Christian would push me in the transport chair, but if it was as crowded as I expected it would be awkward and difficult. I didn’t want to go the reception because when you’re in a wheelchair at a reception where people, all standing, are milling around, you somehow seem to shrink. Been there, done that, felt like a child among giants.

So I attended virtually, and it turned out to be the right decision. When I heard one minister mention parking difficulties and the senior minister urge the congregation to used the exterior sidewalks to get to the reception and avoid traffic jams, I knew I’d made the right decision. Not only did I avoid what might have ranged from awkward to difficult, but I got full benefit out of the service—and yes, some inspiration. Jordan tells me she and Jean and Jeannie talked about how good it was that I wasn’t there. Sounds funny, but it was true.

And I was still in my pajamas the entire time.

There’s something about intuition, about listening to your gut. I find that more often than not my instincts are right, if I just have the courage to follow them. This was one of those days. To quote one of the ministers out of context, “Thanks be to God.”

And so we begin another week. Pray for peace.

A birthday dinner and some thoughts on Herschel Walker

 

My Scottish dinnerware

Lovely birthday dinner tonight for Subie. Recently the group of four who celebrate birthdays together had a belated dinner for a September birthday, and someone said, “We might as well celebrate Subie’s December birthday too.” We did, but Subie later told me that a December birthday meant all her life her birthday celebration was combined with something else. She wanted just one time to have a party that was all about her. So Jordan and I decided to give it to her!

Dinner was served on some dinner plates I didn’t know I had. When I downsized from house to cottage, I must have given away four sets of china. But the other day Jordan surprised me by pulling out the plaid plates I had—I just assumed they too were gone. They aren’t really Christmas-y and they aren’t the MacBain plaid (the clan I belong to) but they are close on both counts, and I was thrilled to see them in use again. But then I realized she had only brought out eight salad plates. A little investigation revealed that the dinner plates and matching mugs are on Colin’s closet shelf in Tomball. He has promised to bring them next time he comes, and I will ask Jordan to make room for them. It makes me incredibly happy to have them back.

We had a delicious dinner and a jolly gathering. Without exception, I would cook for a dear friend’s birthday—except tonight. Jon Bonnell’s roadside warriors’ dinner last night was tenderloin Stroganoff, green beans, salad, rolls, and brownies. We ordered a double batch, and still have half left over. It was so good—and so easy. Jordan had thrown her back out, but Christian was wonderful about cleaning the kitchen. I just did the last little bit, and all is in order for Zenaida to clean tomorrow.

In an abrupt change of subject, Herschel Walker is on my mind this evening, maybe because I just read a brilliant line by former President Barack Obama to the effect that Walker is talking to Georgians about issue that really matter to them, like whether it is better to be a wolf or a werewolf. Obama said that was a debate he’d had with himself too—when he was seven years old!

More likely, Walker is on my mind because I read Republicans do not now send him out without a handler—Lindsey Graham, Rick Scott, or Ted Cruz (the idea of those three as handlers or pillars of respectability sends me into howling laughter). These men know that they are shamefully using Walker.

Regardless of lack of qualification and violent history plus probably tax fraud, they picked a sports hero who would, they hoped, appeal to black Georgia voters. They are so desperate for that Senate seat they will do anything to get it, without thinking of the chaos Walker could cause in the Senate. I am appalled by their lack of concern for the operation of our government, but I am also really upset at the way they would use another human being. If he loses the election, which of course I hope he will, he may be surprised at how quickly all these “friends” drop him.

Every time you think Republican moral standard could go no lower, they surprise us.

And on that note, good night, sweet dreams, and pray for Raphael Warnock to triumph on Tuesday.

Happy day with good news

Friends, I had an appointment with the orthopedic surgeon today, and I cannot tell you how anxious I was about it. I had so many warnings about dire consequences if I put weight on my broken ankle at all. There are of course instances where you can’t help but put a little weight on it, like the night I nearly fell between my walker and the bed and decided it was best to use the foot instead of ending up on the floor.

So please rejoice with me that the doctor said “it’s not any worse.” No, he didn’t mention healing, etc., but he’s apparently not an effusive person. I thought this was the best I could hope for, couple with his prescription to continue what I’ve been doing for three weeks and then go back to see him.

So tonight, I breathed a huge sigh of relief and a celebratory dinner—meatloaf, green beans, and mashed potatoes with cream gravy. I’ve been eating light—tuna salad, etc.—but tonight I found myself hungry. Probably a good sign.

That’s all, folks. It’s my good news of the day.