A new word, gratitude, and hot water

 

Sometimes my experiments go awry. This is salmon with horseradish sauce.
I did not save the recipe. Enough said.

A quiet day for me, spent mostly at my computer. I said to Jordan it was awfully cold, but she replied, “Not as bad as the other day.” A friend pointed out, however, that what we in Texas are feeling now is Rocky Mountain northern cold, not the southern cold we are used to—a distinction I’d never thought about (and am still not sure I get). But when Sophie comes in leaving the door open, it feels cold to me, southern or northern be darned. I had let up on my “really cold weather” precautions and taken the extra cover off the bed. So of course in the middle of the night I had to get up and prowl in the closet for my mom’s crochet afghan. And this morning, I decided I’d wash my hair just to be safe if the hot water goes out again. There was—eventually—hot water, but it sputtered and spit and never came on in a strong steam, which gives me cause to worry. Tonight, though, I could scald my hands washing dishes if not careful.

I heard from friends in Omaha today, which gave me a bit of misguided schadenfreude—they are buried in snow and have had temperatures well below zero and wind chill factors down to -40^o. Even while I am rejoicing that I am not there, I do worry about them. They both have had Covid over Christmas, he a fairly heavy case and she a milder case but fearing complications due to some ongoing health problems. It shows me once again that I must be grateful for the blessings of my life which include fairly good health for a woman of my age.

My small online writing circle uses Fridays to “brag” about how we spent the week. The woman who starts us off on Friday, my friend Stephanie, used today to talk about what we are grateful for, and I used that prompt to think about gratitude and my life. I’ve been a bit out of sorts, maybe due to the restrictions of cold weather and related problems, about all the things that haven’t been done—starting to use my new composter (my kitchen sink cannister is officially full tonight and a bit smelly), my new battery-powered electric blanket isn’t hooked up, my new cuckoo clock needs to be hung and started—it plays bird songs, so I have to get into the instructions and  see if I can figure out how to choose a song. I’m not optimistic about my ability, and I am woefully ignorant about recognizing bird songs, so I figure this will give me an education. I think my mattress needs to be turned—remember when your mom did that at least once a month and all by herself? Amazes me yet. But there is a deep hole where I sit every day to change clothes. Colin told me to Google it, and I did—found the mattress is supposed to inflate. I sent him a picture of the hole, hoping he’ll find a magic solution from a distance.

These delayed chores or whatever depressed me. So did the fact that Zenaida, who cheerfully cleans the cottage and does my laundry every two weeks, hasn’t been here since before Christmas, and I am expecting company three nights this coming week—to a house that badly needs the thorough cleaning I can’t do. I had a little pity party, feeling frustrated because I am so dependent on others. But Stephanie’s reminder jogged me into gratitude. I think for a woman of eighty-five who needs assistance walking, I manage quite a lot on my own. Some days I want to make a list so I can say to Jordan, “Look what I did all by self (a phrase from my kids childhood) today!” I will have to continue to send myself that message—and be grateful for hot water and other blessings.

My new word: my youngest grandson had surgery two days ago for a torn shoulder (this is the third time soccer has gotten him—two earlier broken bones). We sent him Tiff Treats (ice cream and cookies) and when he texted his thanks, he wrote, “Thank you, shawties.” Well, of course that sent me to the online dictionary. It’s slang term of generalized affection, African American in origin. But sometimes it’s more specific, referring to a beautiful young woman. Was that sweet boy being sarcastic with his aunt and grandmother? If so, he’s a sly one. I was impressed one way or another that he knew the word, although I can’t figure a way to work it into my conversation or my writing. I guess for the nonce sharing it with you will have to do.

Good night, shawties! Sleep tight, sweet dreams.

 

The world was too much with me today …

 

Well, I may not mean it exactly the way Wordsworth did, though I appreciate his ideas about the healing aspects of the natural world, but it was the world humans, not nature, shaped that was too much with me today.

There was a piece of good news: Henny James was featured in Dru’s Book Musings, talking about Irene Deep in Texas Trouble and her premonition that Irene Foxgloves would ruin the James’ family Christmas in Fort Worth. Henny proved to be right, but not in a way she ever dreamed of. You can read it here if you want: https://drusbookmusing.com/henny-james-2023/

Then on to the real world. I started the day with a longer list of “busy-ness” chores than I liked, and I still haven’t conquered some of them. I ordered a product online, something I’ve been using for at least thirty years—and got the wrong thing. So I “chatted” with an AI person (he really did have a name though I can’t remember it). He (that AI person) was pleasant and efficient, and I got a refund, but then I went to order the correct item, ran into a real person who I couldn’t understand and who insisted he couldn’t help me. I have yet to order what I wanted.

Next was the plumber: I had a couple of small plumbing problems in the cottage that could have waited a while, especially if Colin was coming soon. But then an outdoor spigot on the front porch began leaking big time. A plumber is coming tomorrow, but to my dismay the man I have used for twenty years has retired.

There were other small calls—reminders about things we needed to order, appointments to be made, and the like. Then mid-morning my alarm system began to beep at me. It told me that the battery in the bedroom window was low. Now, there is only one window in the bedroom, and because of the configuration of the room (once a parking bay), the arrangement of furniture is a bit awkward. Part of the six-foot headboard on my antique board overlaps the window, and there is a bedside table (my mom’s old sewing cabinet) in front of it. The window shade is never up, the window never opened (yes, I wish it had worked out differently, but you take what you have). I asked if we could bypass it, and the tech said I’d have to do it individually each time. Cancel that. She did bypass the warning alarm for several days so that it was silent and sent me a video on how to replace the battery. She was efficient, bright, and personable, but she might as well have been talking Greek to me in that video. I’m hoping Christian can understand it.

A couple of times in the morning I thought I heard Sophie banging around in her crate. She can come and go at will, but she’s usually not that noisy about it. About noon I looked out the window, and she was standing on the grass, shaking hard. When she tried to move, she stumbled and fell. Fortunately Jordan was home and came flying out the door when I called her. We flew around in a panic, Jordan issuing order like call Christian, call the vet, open the gate. Margaret from across the street came and walked Sophie in the driveway while Jordan collected car keys, etc. By then Sophie was walking okay, though Margaret said she seemed a bit out of it. And off they went to the vet.

Long story short, Sophie’s blood sugar had dropped dramatically. I know how perilous this is from a friend who has brittle diabetes. Once Soph was home, the vet told me to feed her immediately, and he adjusted her medications. By mid-afternoon, she was just fine. Barked furiously at the yard guys, demanded her dinner, all normal behavior for my Soph. I am so relieved and if it happens again, I know immediate food is the answer. Even before calling the vet. I had horrific thoughts of seizures and TIAs and all I could think was that surely we hadn’t gone through all that we had only to have her develop something else. She’s getting a few extra treats tonight.

Needless to say, I did not get much work done today, and I still have miles to go before I sleep, with apologies to Robert Frost. Good night, sweet dreams, and I hope for a better day tomorrow—for you too if you need it.

A lazy morning, a lovely evening

Antipasto

Saturday morning, and I was reluctant to get up. Let Sophie out early and headed back to bed, but she is ever quicker than I am, and we disagreed about who should get the warm spot I’d just vacated. I won, and she pouted off to the living room. By 8:30 I was browsing the news but reluctant to face the chores I’d laid out last night—cooking chicken for tomorrow night’s casserole and making a batch of oatmeal/raisin cookie dough, since Jacob said he loves those cookies.

About ten-thirty, I took Jordan to meet a friend to watch the TCU/Baylor game—managed to avoid the traffic jam by going back streets. Some will tell you I’m the queen of back streets in south and west Fort Worth—my preferred routes, which always makes me think of an older friend, many years ago, who tut-tutted at me that a straight line was the shortest distance between two points. She didn’t think about traffic jams and stoplights.

Back home I dug in and spent the rest of the morning doing those chores—by one o’clock I had the kitchen clean, cookie dough and cooked chicken in the fridge, and lunch eaten. Prowled the New York Times Cooking Community Facebook page—what do you say to a woman who begins a post with “I hate hamburger. So bland and tasteless,” and then asks for recipes. I wouldn’t dare make a suggestion. Printed off a full color picture of a charcuterie platter with all  the ingredients labeled—good guide for us sometime, since Jordan and I loved to do those platters. And I even jotted down some good Christmas ideas and found a bright red outfit I think I want. I reluctantly parted this fall with the red plaid velvet shirt I’ve worn every Christmas Eve for years. Nap time!

Tonight, Jordan, Christian, and  I went to a lovely dinner party to celebrate the seventieth birthday of the husband of my Canadian daughter (explanation for those who don’t know: Sue and her two children, now well grown but young then, lived next door to me for several years; she moved on, bought a house, fell in love with a guy from California and enticed him to Fort Worth; she calls me her Fort Worth mom because her mom is far away in Ottawa, Ontario). We absolutely adore Teddy and were honored to be able to celebrate with him. I'm only sorry we didn't get a picture of him. He did single me out as the only person in the room a year older than him, and I reminded him it's a bit more than one year.

Dinner was at Nonna Tata, a tiny charming restaurant that serves country Italian food and seats at most 22—that’s how many there were tonight.  Wonderful food—antipasto, two pasta dishes, salad, rosemary bread, chicken and capers in what seemed like a yogurt sauce and was absolutely delicious, and an apple something for dessert. Great food, twice as much as I needed, and that much wine too. Good company, and a happy atmosphere. Lovely evening.

Busy night, busy day

This cute witch greeted trick-or-treaters

at our house

Omigosh, what a busy twenty-four hours. Halloween was hectic as it should be—lots of polite little kids in cute costumes. I had the perfect seat—inside the front door where I could see all the kids but wasn’t out in the cold. And I could snack on all the goodies laid out, mostly a re-run of the night before but I added a chili-cheese dip. When a friend wanted the recipe, I said it was awfully difficult: mix equal parts of canned chili (preferably Wolf brand, with beans) and Velveeta (get the 1 lb.box, not the big 2 lb. one). Don’t let it boil, because it will get a funny texture, and don’t let it scorch—Velveeta will burn. Serve warm and reheat as needed.

After a while, I’d had enough and retired to the cottage—one of the great advantages of my living arrangement. But maybe it was the chili, or I don’t know what. I had such a busy night. I have always had vivid, four-color dreams that stay with me in the morning. Sometimes I have a dream that persists—if I wake and want to get out of a dream that for some reason makes me unhappy, I can’t get rid of it. Takes a real effort.

That didn’t happen last night, but in my eight hours or so of sleep I did a lot of work on the project that I’m considering for my next after I finish the one I’m working on (I know, I should finish this one and stop thinking ahead); I wrote a juvenile story about a green dinosaur that stole a hamburger from the Star Café, owned by good friends Betty and Don Boles—somehow, dimly, I realized that here had to be more character development for a walking talking dinosaur if he was at the center of the story, and why the heck did he steal the hamburger anyway. Gave that one up fortunately. I also attended a convention of Western Writers of America—for years I was active in that group, on the board, president for a term, but I haven’t been in years, the travel having discouraged me. Finally, I dabbled in real estate—walking through large apartments in the Caverswall, a building down the street from the house I grew up in. Where that mishmash came from, I have no idea.

Instead of waking up tired, I woke with all kinds of plans for the day—and I’ve accomplished most of them. Some good work on the book I should be focusing on, stringed that pound of green beans I forgot I had in the fridge, froze the rest of the meatloaf, feeling it had lingered in the refrigerator long enough; took a sweater to the cleaners. But all my efficiency crashed when I started to make chocolate chip cookie dough—I had only defrosted half the butter needed. Now I’m waiting for a frozen stick to defrost.

Next on my ambitious list is supper. I will make shirred eggs. I could have said a baked egg, but shirred sounds so much more like a gourmet. I’ll put a slice of buttered sourdough toast in a ramekin, cover it with a bit of chopped spinach and then grated cheese, top with a raw egg and cover that in a bit of milk.

I’m worn out. Guess I’ll bake cookies tomorrow.

No patience for computer woes

I woke up this morning prepared to stare at the TV and the hurricane devastation. I was not prepared for the computer troubles that descended on me. Actually, they began yesterday when Microsoft suddenly declared my Office subscription had expire.s—you’d think they’d give you a little warning. That froze Word and Outlook, two programs without which I cannot operate. I thought I had solved it—used my credit card to renew, but every time I tried to open either program I got the same reactivate message.

This I bungled through, going to whatever web sites I was directed to, changing passwords so often that I am hopelessly confused. Finally, I “chatted” with a tech who informed me the payment had not gone through—no idea whose fault that was. I asked if she would guarantee me a refund if I paid again and it turned out I was double charged. She promised—how much authority do you think she has?

After about two hours, I seemed to have it straightened out, and I could access Word. Outlook no longer gave me the reactivate message, but it wouldn’t download messages which I knew from my iPhone were waiting. Why does Outlook still work on my phone but not my computer—another puzzlement. This time, I ended up, I’m not sure how, talking live to a woman with a heavy accent. By now I was out of patience and not as polite as I usually like to think I am. I asked for a native English speaker; she sounded offended and promised to talk slowly, which of course she forgot in the heat of conversation.

Picture this: technologically challenged, hearing challenged me trying oh so hard to understand a woman speaking rapid, heavily accented English (either Philippines or India, I’m not sure which). It was getting us nowhere very slowly, and what patience I had left was ebbing. We made a little progress, and she assured me everything was all right; I assured her it wasn’t because the program wasn’t downloading messages. Finally, I gave up. I tried to be polite about having taken too much of her time, but she said oh no, she could spend more time. I couldn’t, and I said a firm thank you and goodbye.

Then it dawned on me in my willy-nilly changing of passwords I had probably changed the TCU password ineffectively and I wasn’t sure what the old one was because I’d already corrected the file. So I went into the TCU Password site, made the change, and lo and behold! It worked. It was now 12:30—a whole morning gone.

I caught up with myself, roughed out a guest blog, picked out a passage to read on a radio interview and practiced it, wrote a review on Amazon of the book I just finished—Marry in Haste, by Susan Van Kirk (I really liked the way she wove history into a contemporary mystery). Napped—needed it by then. Fixed BLT sandwiches for me and Jacob. And there went the rest of the day

Jacob’s parents have been in Missouri for a wedding, but we were both glad to welcome them home tonight. I did enjoy however having that sweet boy sleep on my couch. I am often sad that he’s past that wonderfully cuddly young boy stage—too much a young man these days.

My goof: somehow in last night’s blog I called the storm José Jake—must have been thinking of Jacob, who hates to be called Jake.

Tomorrow is Monday, and I am ready for a clean slate, a fresh start to a new week.

Please keep Houston and the surrounding area in your prayers, as well as all of the southeastern states. For too many of those people the dramatic moments are over or nearly so, but I fear the worst is to come. TV people will pack up their cameras, the devastation will fade from the news, but untold thousands will be dealing with recovery for months, perhaps a lifetime. Pray God’s comfort for them.

Whoopee, Saturday!

 

So proud of Kegan, my youngest grandchild, the Tomball kid. At eight, he was asked to try out for the 11-year-old soccer team and made it. His mom sent this picture, saying Kegan, on the left, doesn’t even realize he’s half the size of #6. He may be physically, but he’s twice the size in spirit.

Today was what every Saturday should be—lazy, no commitments, a genuinely nice day. Jacob is here a lot the next week, because his mom is on a business trip to Alaska—poor thing, a week on a Holland America cruise line. Have a hankering to go to Alaska? Just call Jordan—she will tell you all about it. Being a travel agent isn’t all bad.

Today Jacob and I slept late, and it was well after ten before I got myself in gear to do mundane house chores like make the bed, water plants, do a load of laundry. Jacob’s dad came to get him for lunch, and then they took a buddy to play at their house. I worked—learning to format manuscripts for print and digital production. Steep learning curve, but I’ve been keeping after it. And, yes, I had to have a good nap.

Tonight, I’m still alternating time at my desk with household chores—cutting up chicken for tomorrow night’s casserole, setting the table. I pan roasted the chicken as I usually do—sprinkle with salt, pepper and onion, cover with foil, and let it cook an hour or so.. It produces the most wonderfully flavored gelatin—at least one of my children hates “gelatinous” things. I know it’s not good for us, it’s not good for the dog (who sniffed with utmost curiosity), and I’d probably never make soup out of it. But, gosh, it hurt me to throw it away. The Scotsman in me, I guess. I once asked the owner of a Scottish B&B why they served blood pudding—which is nothing more than oatmeal with blood added and I didn’t think it was much of an addition. He shrugged, “I guess it was part of using everything about the animal.” Sometimes I wish I were that kind of cook.

Unfortunately, tomorrow probably won’t be that lazy. Maybe I got all the laziness out of my system today.

Weekend doings

I so often have a seven-year-old on Saturday night that weekends without him loom long and empty. Frequently I fill them with dinner guests but I decided against that this weekend for several reasons--mostly the diet I'm trying to maintain and my budget, which has already run riot by the fifth of the month. Instead I decided to do a lot of those little things that had been undone, I packaged up and returned two lampshades to Amazon--they didn't fit the lamps, and I learned a lesson about old floor lamps (definitely mine) and uno fittings. Went to the grocery and then to the hardware for a nozzle to replace the one that gave me an unnecessary and unneeded drenching yesterday, Then I buckled down to the chores that had been looking at me--I made some tile and tub cleaner--equal parts white vinegar and Dreft, cleaned the kitchen sink thoroughly, and washed my prayer shawl in it. Tricky part was finding a place to lay the wet shawl out but I cleared enough space of kitchen counter, turned it frequently, and replaced wet towels on which it lay.

Now barely damp, it's on the table in the playroom. Tonight it feels soft and smells wonderfully fresh. Normally it lives on the back of my office chair for chilly nights. Finally I made an all-purpose cleaner, according to a formula I'd found in the neighborhood newsletter--more complicated, it used rubbing alcohol, white vinegar, a bit of laundry soap, a tiny bit of ammonia, and plenty of water. We'll see. They're in spray bottles, labeled as neatly as I can be with a Sharpie.
A friend came to pick me up for lunch, and when I regaled her with all this, she said, "Little Miss Domesticity."
After a good lunch--best tuna salad in town is at Swiss Pastry Shop--the day deteriorated into Facebook, email, and a nap. But tonight I'll write--and savor my feeling of accomplishment.
Tomorrow is supposed to be rainy and, while it won't be cold, I still feel a pot of vegetable soup coming on.