The Great Storm—and the dissolution of dinner

 

Snowy scene out the front door

Everybody in Texas—and elsewhere—has their storm story today. Here’s mine: the temperature in the cottage was 48 when I got up about 7:30 with Sophie. She didn’t stay long, and I went back to huddle under the covers. The cavalry arrived in the form of Jordan bearing a second space heater and a heating pad. With two space heaters plus my two ceiling-hung heating and cooling units, the temperature got up to the recommended 68 by noon, and I was fairly comfortable working all morning. Of course, I won’t leave space heaters on all night, so it will plunge again tonight. With extra covers, I was mostly comfortable all night.

I have no hot water. I understand its common for tankless water heaters to freeze, and I’ll call the plumber tomorrow to see if I should do anything but wait and keep the faucets off. I did my lunch dishes in cold water and considered scalding them, as my mom did at our cabin in the Indiana Dunes in summers. But I hadn’t had anything greasy and worked extra hard to make sure they were clean. May scald dinner dishes.

And there goes dinner—for almost a year, the Burtons have come out here most nights for dinner, and either Jordan or I have cooked in the cottage. It may be boredom with routine, or the extraordinary cold, or chili—but the custom is falling apart. In truth, I think it’s a pot of chili that Christian made last week—a big pot. All my life I have loved a good bowl of chili, with cheese and sour cream, but when my digestion rebelled a month or so ago, chili was one of the things that I just couldn’t eat. And the memory lingers. So when they’re eating leftover chili, I am cooking some of the things I want. Had scrambled eggs one night, salmon patties another (I do love the leftovers), and tonight will be the creamed chipped beef that I talked about and never made a while back. And if they’re heating chili inside for leftovers, it’s silly to carry it out here in bowls. So I will dine alone. I usually did that before pandemic, but now it seems a bit lonely to me. Jordan comes and goes frequently, and almost always watches the evening news and has a glass of wine with me, but supper is the only time I catch up with Christian and Jacob.

Our meal planning went awry anyway because we couldn’t get some of the things we wanted at Central Market this week—notably a pork butt for carnitas. So I guess we have to review the entire menu plan for the week.

Those who survived the great heat spell of 1980—29 days of record-setting high temps, including 117 in Wichita Falls—will remember the T-shirts that said, “I survived the summer of 1980.” Now we all need new T-shirts, but I can’t decide if they should say, “I survived the Pandemic” or “I survived the winter of 2021.” Maybe one thing on the front and the other on the back.

Stay warm and safe at home, folks. It isn’t over yet. New storm coming tomorrow, and no thaw until Friday.

 

 

Pity parties, dogs, and car batteries—what a mix!

My tireless squirrel chaser

I threw myself a party today—a pity party. My annoying cold turned into misery in the middle of last night, and, after sleepless hours and wild dreams when I slept, I woke exhausted. Jordan and I were going with neighbor Mary to explore the HEB superstore in nearby Hudson Oaks this morning, but I cancelled. I didn’t have the oomph to do it.

That trip has become almost a joke. The first time we were to go, Mary was sick; then Jordan was sick; so today I said it was my turn! We will try to go Tuesday; pray God I feel better. I don’t feel bad, but I don’t feel good—ever been there?

Sophie, on the other hand, had a delightful morning. The squirrel population in our yard quadrupled overnight—they were everywhere, in the trees, on the roofs, darting here and there. Sophie could not contain herself. At first, I thought it was fine because she was working off energy, but that shrill barking became annoying even to me and I had no doubt what the neighbors thought.

Jordan and I both tried several times to lure her inside with cheese, usually a surefire solution, but she absolutely ignored us. I’m not sure she even heard us. In the late morning, I noticed her slowing down, lying on the grass to stare at the squirrels. At some point, she snuck into Jordan’s house and drank two bowls of water—which explains why she didn’t come to the cottage for water. That’s one way I often capture her.

Her morning workout was so strenuous that the sidewalk in the back yard is covered with muddy prints, and when she finally came in—after lunch—she panted heavily for a good twenty minutes. The rest of the day she’s slept, apparently tired out by it all. So am I, and I slept for two and a half hours this afternoon.

A bright note; the other day I set out to do some errands, only to find that my car wouldn’t start. The battery was dead. I am the original little old lady from Pasadena who only drives her car to church—I don’t even do that. We have tried to remember to start it occasionally, but apparently, we weren’t consistent enough. My insurance said they had a policy rider that covers that for only $6 a year—but I didn’t have it (I do now). Finally I called the folks down the street--J&N Auto Services. And yay for them!

I called one day when they were busy in the morning, and I was going to be out of pocket in the afternoon, so I said I’d call the next morning. I didn’t have to—they called me at 8:00 a.m. and asked, “Is this a good time?” I said “Of course,” and a young man was here within minutes. When I asked if I could call the office to give them my credit card, he said, “You don’t have to pay. It’s just down the street.” Wonderful neighborhood business, and I hope many will patronize them.

Tomorrow will be a better day! I just know it.

A soliloquy on winter mornings

Winter, for me, somehow seems most heartless in the mornings. Growing up in Chicago, winter mornings were cold with deep snow. When I was quite young, I didn’t think much about cold mornings but anticipated going sledding. We lived in a park with a small hill that was just right for a five- or six=year-old to sled.  By the time the neighbor children and I reached ten or eleven, we were bored with the hill’s smallness.

My mom used to save statistics she found in the newspaper about how much soot fell per square foot in Chicago during the winter. I was young long enough ago that many households still used coal for heat. We did at least until I was in my teens, and my dad would get up extra early to light the furnace and shovel coal. And snow never stayed white for long—all that burning coal turned it a dirty gray.

In Missouri, where I was in graduate school in the small town of Kirksville,  winter mornings were even worse. Everyone in that town burned coal, and I remember waking up and looking out the window and wishing just once I could see something over than that vast expanse of gray snow.

I think I found the kind of winter mornings I dreamt of in Santa Fe when the children, as teens and older, and I would go for Christmas. Eventually those became ski vacations, though I never went near the slopes—couldn’t bear the thought of the ski lift nor of standing on top of a mountain and plunging down it. But the snow was clean and deep, and the air was that crisp cold.

By contrast, winter mornings in Texas should be easy, but I have let myself become spoiled. I have pushed those extreme cold memories so far back that I moan and groan on mornings like we had today. Thirty-seven and wet, dismal, damp, bone-chilling. Today, it set the mood for a stay-at-home day, and I cancelled plans to go to a breakfast meeting. Of course by noon, things changed, and the sun came out, though it’s been cold all day. But we didn’t get the snow that had been promised—and I am just as glad.

When my children were little, we had a beloved housekeeper who used to predict cheerfully that it would “fair off,” and sure enough today, it faired off enough that I felt guilty about not doing my errands. But I’ll do them tomorrow when it’s supposed to be warmer.

Even Sophie with her thick curly coat doesn’t like the cold. Tonight she doesn’t want to go outside, though I have tried to explain  that she needs to go pee now, because we aren’t going at three in the morning. She is curled up in a chair, regarding me with baleful eyes. I’ll have to resort to bribery with a piece of cheese.

I’ve been feeling sorry for myself even before the weather turned, because I’ve been fighting off a cold. A couple of nights ago I couldn’t sleep because a scratchiness in my throat kept making me cough. It turned briefly into a sore throat, then just a tightness in my throat, and tonight I am left with just an annoying cough. Wish I knew what I did with that abundant supply of cough drops I used to have.

Jordan and I had a lunch fiasco which didn’t brighten the day. I opened one of those boxes of tomato soup from Trader Joe’s. It turned out that the foil covering was punctured before I opened it, and I had stored the soup in the pantry, not the refrigerator, We didn’t figure all this out until I’d taken several spoons full and found it quite good. But discussion led us to figure out that neither of us opened it, and that was a bad thing. Jordan refused to eat it, and I threw out mine, hers, and the remainder. I hate to waste food!

Sophie has just gone outside and quickly come back in, and Jacob has brought me some cough drops. All is well with the world—I hope it is in your world too.

Wintry weather

Cold and wet, a day for soup and chili. I had both today—what a treat. Neighbors Margaret and Dennis took me to the deli for lunch—we all had soup and shared a bottle of wine. Lovely treat at lunch. Good company, soothing food—I was a happy camper and came home to take a nice nap, while Dennis kindly included my groceries on his planned run to Central Market.

Jordan’s back had been bothering her for several days, but she finished it off with a real wrench last night and was incapacitated this morning, to put it mildly. She slowly got better as the day went on but she announced chicken soup or chili would be good for supper, and finally decided on chili. I rescheduled dinner plans and checked my pantry, pulling out two cans of diced tomatoes—only one turned out to be tomato sauce, so I had sauce aplenty but not much tomato (as I reread the recipe I realize it didn’t call for diced tomatoes and I was mentally mixing in my ubiquitous recipe for Doris’ Casserole). Chili is forgiving, and it was good anyway. Margaret and I talked about what we put in chili, and I forgot to tell her the essential ingredient: beer.

Not too many years ago, I wrote a book on chili, its history, the chili festivals—the big ones were held just last week in Terlingua, and lots of recipes ranging from the ridiculous to the really hot and complicated. I included my own recipe, which is also in my memoir/cookbook, Cooking My Way Through Life with Kids and Books.

I call my chili Judy’s mild and tentative chili—no chiles, etc. but you can embellish it as you wish. And, yes, I put beans in my chili. Heresy, I know. Here’s the basic recipe.

Judy’s mild and tentative chili

1 lb. ground beef

Enough oil to sauté onion, garlic and beef

1 medium onion, chopped

2 cloves garlic, chopped

1 8-oz. can tomato sauce

1 cup beer

4 tsp. chili powder or to taste

½ tsp. Tabasco (optional)

2 tsp. salt

2 c. canned beans, rinsed (I prefer pintos)

Note: the diced tomatoes didn’t hurt; go ahead and add them if you wish.

Brown onion and garlic; add hamburger and cook until all pink is gone. Add everything else except beans and simmer for 60 to 90 minutes. Stir occasionally, and add more beer as needed (you’ve got that open warm beer anyway). Taste and add more chili powder as needed. Add beans and heat just before serving.

My family likes to top it with crushed saltines (in your hand, of course), chopped purple onion, and grated cheddar.

Should you be interested, here are some handy buy links (I’m operating on the theory that one should never miss an opportunity to hawk one’s books).

Texas is Chili Country, https://www.amazon.com/Texas-Chili-Country-History-Recipes/dp/089672946X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1510193157&sr=1-1&keywords=Texas+is+Chili+Country+Alter&dpID=617midHQgsL&preST=_SX218_BO1,204,203,200_QL40_&dpSrc=srch

Cooking My Way Through Life with Kids and Books, https://www.amazon.com/Cooking-through-Books-Stars-Texas/dp/1933337338/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1510193215&sr=1-1&keywords=Cooking+My+Way+Through+Life+with+Kids+and+Books&dpID=51CkxYqaq0L&preST=_SX218_BO1,204,203,200_QL40_&dpSrc=srch

Cold and blah

My day started off badly as you may have read in an earlier post. I got up at 5:15 by mistake. I washed my hair and did some other stuff and waited for the 7:00 news, which turned out to be the 6:00 news. What a bummer. I’m pleased to say I did read a project I was reading for someone else and made good use of the time, but I was still out of sorts—and by lunchtime I was sleepy. At least now, thanks to Christian, the clocks in my cottage are all fixed. Probably tomorrow I’ll wake up, look at the clock, and think it’s an hour ahead—then I’ll go back to bed and be an hour late with everything all day!

Today was an appointment with the retina specialist. Every new office insists on doing the full eye exam like you haven’t seen two other doctors in the last two weeks. If anyone comes near me wanting to dilate my eyes, I will probably throw a screaming fit and collapse in a puddle on the floor. Nothing new today, although I liked the doctor and felt confident about him. Long story short is the same old story—I will have surgery, but I don’t know when.

Ever since I’ve been old enough to go to the eye doctor, I’ve dreaded it. Mostly, the doctors I’ve seen have been knowledgeable and kind; one is even an old friend. So I don’t know why I dread it—dilation? Could be. Anyway, an appointment drains me and I’m off kilter for the rest of the day. Today, the combination of too-early-to-rise and the eye appointment really got me, and I slept for two hours in the afternoon. Brightened for happy hour company, a jolly gathering, but still feel sort of out of sorts. Fragile? Not how I like to think of myself.

I am cheered by early voting returns—it appears that the governorships of Virginia and New Jersey have both gone to Democrats. In Virginia, that seems to demonstrate that racist propaganda doesn’t cut it with the voters. What a comforting thought in these times that one minister referred to as our period of darkness.

It’s really not that cold tonight, though I have the heat on. Tomorrow the high will be in the forties. Now that’s winter in Texas. It’s 51 and falling out right now. I view this with mixed feelings—I love keeping the patio door open and bringing the outdoors into the cottage, but honestly, folks, it’s time to get rid of this head.

‘Night. Sweet dream, sleep tight. I’m going to crawl under the comforter with a good book.

How about a vacation day once a week?

Doesn't that picture make you feel cold? I am horrified by pictures of the snow accumulating in the Northeast. I saw one of a fellow author's office with snow packed against the lower panes of two windows. Made me cold to look at it, and I couldn't imagine working while looking at the wall of snow. All those images all over the television screen make me guilty that I whined today about mid-to-upper thirties and rain at the start of the day. It wasn't as bad as predicted--they said rain all day but it quit by mid-morning and got to about 40. Tomorrow a high of 49. Still, today was one of those days that you could set the thermostat at 80 and still be cold. I vowed not to poke my nose out the door and indeed, when I locked up for the night I realized I hadn't opened my front door all day. I took a nap today and was too cold to sleep, woke up wanting nothing more than to be too hot. Tonight, an extra blanket and a pair of socks. It's that damp cold.
The result of the cold though was a wonderfully productive day--I wrote two guest blogs, my daily thousand words on Murder at the Mansion, and finished gathering together all my tax information--a chore I had been putting off for some time. I'll deliver it to the accountant's office later this week, my week being taken up with a furniture delivery and a visit from the exterminator. Sophie has been barking furiously at the ceiling in the hall--not often but enough to make me believe there's a critter in the attic. Somehow the critter always moves, or Soph always hears it when I'm asleep.
I find that when I set my mind to a full day at home alone, I get so much done. It's amazing. I think I ought to declare a vacation one day a week, to catch up on house chores, desk work, whatever. Tomorrow is not supposed to be a lot better, but I will be out and about again in the world.
For my friends in the Northeast, stay warm and safe and don't work too hard shoveling that snow. For everyone, stay warm and cozy.