The fun of communal cooking

 

Our fancy--and oh so rich!--pasta dinner

Jordan and I team-cooked supper tonight and had such a good time. I think it’s a particularly blessing of the mother/daughter relationship. Christian announced he had a work event and would at the least be late and perhaps not home for supper at all. While we love him dearly and miss him on these nights, we welcome the occasional evening when we can cook things he doesn’t like. Last night we were going over recipes, and he happened to look at the one we planned for tonight—pasta with artichokes hearts and goat cheese. He looked alarmed, “It has no meat! And it has artichoke hearts!” See why we like occasional “just us” meals?

The recipe was rich—farfelle, a bit of green onion and garlic, a lot of pasta water, cream cheese, goat cheese, mozzarella, French fried onions (I thought that odd—they were stirred into the sauce—but they turned out to be a good addition). Dill, parsley, salt and pepper, red pepper (which we omitted—the black pepper gave it just the right pep). When you combined it all in a casserole dish, you topped it with more onion rings and Parmesan and served it sprinkled with green onion tops. See what I mean about rich? All those cheeses. But so very good. In truth, though, it was a bit complicated, and I'm not sure I would have done it if left alone.

It’s been a pleasant if unremarkable couple of days. I survived the dental appointment yesterday and even came away with praise for taking good care of my teeth. I certainly had worked myself into a snit of worry by the time I got to the office, but as I later explained to Jordan, dentistry when I was a kid was a much different thing, and I had bad teeth—lots of cavities so I suffered a lot with the old, slow, bumbling dental drills. The teeth are thanks, I think, to my dad from whom I inherited that little problem. After the appointment, Jordan and I went to far west Fort Worth to pick up Jacob, and it was a treat for me to be out driving around—see what pandemic has done?

Yesterday evening our Tuesday night happy hour celebrated Mary Dulle’s forthcoming birthday with flowers, snacks, Prosecco, and, of course, cupcakes—strawberry because that’s her favorite. Forgot to take pictures, but it was lovely to sit on the patio in such pleasant weather and such good company. We are blessed with neighbors.

We were all worried about Sophie though—she clearly was not herself. So lethargic, and as I explained to the vet tech this morning via phone she is not by nature a lethargic dog. She didn’t walk to the gate to greet people nor escort them out; when Christian came out, she stayed on the deck instead of jumping wildly off it and racing to beat him to the cottage as she usually does. Finally, when he called, she came hesitantly down the steps, which led him to say, “I’ve never seen her use the steps before.” She also did not get up in her favorite chair to sleep, which made me think she had tweaked a muscle. When the vet called today, that was his diagnosis.

I spent a restless night worrying about her, getting up to check on her. Each time, her tail drooped, and she looked at me with big, pitiful eyes—talk about “Be still my heart.” It was a reminder to me of how much our lives are entwined with our animals—I really, in a bizarre moment, wondered what I would do if she died in her sleep.

Of course, she didn’t—and she seems much better today. Her tail is up over her back most of the time, she forgot she couldn’t jump and got on the couch in anger at the dog behind us, and she generally seems happier. Still slept a lot. I’ll check in with the vet again tomorrow.

And tonight I am in a spanking clean cottage. So glad to have the wonderful Zenaida come and reach all those corners, high up and down low, that I can’t. She makes the bed better than anyone I ever met, and her visits brighten my days. So I’m a happy camper tonight. And a busy one—proofreading 302 pages of my 1995 novel, Libbie (about Elizabeth Bacon Custer). The reprint will be out in June. More about that another time.

We’re in for a “cold front”—in the upper fifties. After last week, that is laughable, but it’s also supposed to bring welcome rain. No patio weather for a while, but that’s okay.  I have work to do—which is a good feeling.

Stay safe, everyone.

 

 

A clean sweep

 

My favorite Christmas elf

Nothing like starting out Christmas week all clean and sparkly. We had a cleaning trifecta today—the house and the cottage got a thorough cleaning, Sophie and one of the Cavaliers got baths, and the yard guys cleaned up the leaves. I noticed last week not many leaves had fallen, although the oak trees still had lots of brown leaves on their branches. Then this weekend, all of a sudden, they came swirling down in a torrent. So it was good to get them all blown away (yes, they do bag them and don’t just blow them into the street) and to have the lawn mowed so that some leaves turned into mulch. Tomorrow is supposed to be the nicest day all week, and we will have neighbors for happy hour around the fire pit.

We haven’t had our houses cleaned regularly since pandemic started, in spite of our absolute love for Zenaida Martinez who cleans them. At first during that strict lockdown we were afraid; then Jacob was at home weekdays doing virtual school—hard for Zenaida to clean around him. And she didn’t often have Saturdays free. But today, Jacob had no school, and she was free by late morning, so we juggled and adjusted. Since Jordan keeps me in strict isolation, I can no longer work at my desk while Zenaida cleans, though we both used to much enjoy the visit. Now I am exiled to the house, where I finally wailed, “I want to go home,” echoing Sophie’s perpetual wish to go home. She is always excited to get in the main house but then pretty soon she gets antsy, and if Jordan asks, “Do you want to go home?” she bolts to the back door.

I do my best to keep the cottage clean, but it had been a long time between deep cleanings this time, and it really needed Zenaida’s fine touch. When she was through, we passed like ships in the night, with masked wishes for happy holidays, and I opened my door to a cottage that smelled wonderful, so fresh and clean. The shower, which had temporarily served as a greenhouse, was once again sparkling white; I had fresh linen on my bed, and all the furniture glowed with new polish. Sophie, who adores Zenaida, had been out here while she cleaned and seemed to take pride in showing off our clean quarters.

Sophie’s bath was the final part of our cleanup. We have recently switched to a new grooming service, and none of us can say enough good bout Aussie Westoplex Mobile Groomers. They do an outstanding job. Soph didn’t get a haircut this time, but she came back smelling sweet and her coat all fluffy and soft, her nails trimmed, etc. The groomer, whom I’ve not met and don’t know her name, also bathed June Bug, for whom bathing is a traumatic experience, and managed to tease all the mats out of Cricket’s ears.

Sophie patiently waiting her turn

Sophie was third in line for her turn with the groomer, and Jordan took her in the house a bit early. She seemed to know what was going on and sat patiently staring at the front door, waiting for her turn. Bathing may be traumatic to some dogs, but Soph apparently loves it.

Somehow it seems a good omen to me to start the holiday week so cleaned up, as though we’re all ready and waiting for the arrival of Baby Jesus. May your holidays be merry and bright--and clean! 

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.