Do you remember chop suey?

 

Christian's so good chop suey--er, stir fry

I have no idea what made me think of chop suey lately, but that dish—the only Chinese fare we knew when I was a child in the Fifties—lodged itself in the memory section of my brain. As I’ve said probably too often, I grew up in a household of British food, the tone set by my dad and willingly followed by my mom. She cooked roast beef and leg of lamb, with potatoes and green salad. We ate on white linen, with linen napkins and napkin rings to save them from one use to another. Clearly, we did not eat chop suey out of those little white cartons that it came in, and I know we never went to the restaurants with chrome tables and Formica tops. And yet I remember it clearly. Perhaps my mom served it when Dad was out of town or some such—that sounds just like her. She liked to experiment; Dad did not much like experiments, though he was usually gracious about it.

So I did a little research. Wikipedia describes it as American Chinese cuisine—which says to me it’s not authentic Asian. Meat—beef, chicken, shrimp, what have you—with assorted vegetables, all cooked quickly and served over rice. Tales of its origins abound, from Chinese workers on the transcontinental railroad in the nineteenth century to a Chinese restaurant, ready to close for the evening, where it was concocted out of leftovers. One story if that a Chinese cook was forced to serve drunken miners and threw it together to avoid a beating. Whatever its origins, it’s probably not from China and not a high-class meal.

Today you can still buy canned chop suey, principally under the La Choy label. But even on the picture on the can, the vegetables look soggy and tired. Then I began to look at recipes online, and the conclusion I finally reached is that the chop suey of my childhood is today’s stir-fry.

So tonight we had chop suey/stir fry. Christian is in his element cooking Asian foods, and he was looking forward to this, even though it required a grocery trip to find oyster sauce—Central Market didn’t have it, and he went all the way to Whole Foods in Waterside. Christian said the hardest thing about it was chopping—carrots, onion, celery, bok choy, water chestnuts, bamboo, a few mushrooms, some snow peas. I’m sure I’m forgetting something, because it was vegetable heavy. And delicious.

It was the chop suey I remember from childhood—looked, smelled, and tasted like it. I’m sure, however, what I remembered did not have all the fresh vegetables this one did. The only thing we forgot—the chow mein noodles I had stashed in my pantry drawer. Oh well, we can use them another time—they are even good on a tossed salad in place of croutons.

I am so grateful to Christian for indulging my memory. And glad it turned out to be a delicious—what if we had all thought it mediocre?

So after dinner I tried to send an email message to someone, only to find out Outlook required my password. Out of the blue! It wasn’t time to change it or anything, but suddenly no messages would go out. Of course, when I entered my password, the system rejected it. Has it ever worked any other way?

My email is through TCU, so I went through the automatic password change procedure, which is designed, I am sure, to drive you to screaming, hair-pulling lunacy. It rejected every combination I tried, telling me that was a word in the dictionary. Well, I hadn’t read carefully—it doesn’t say it must be a dictionary word, it says it cannot be. What the you know what? I have always used grandchildren’s names or words that meant something to me, so that I could remember them, even in combination with the required capitalization, numbers, and symbols. Now I was reduced to random letters—clearly frustrating. I’m sure I tried ten or twelve times before I finally got the blessed message: password updated.

And then, when I sent the picture of dinner from my phone to my computer, auto-correct changed it to chop duet!

So now, fed, happy, and password updated, I am ready to take on the new week. How about you?

Back in the world

I’m back! I have a computer—a new Lenovo, a new remote keyboard, and a large remote screen. I’m in business again and so glad to be!

Several years ago, I had a TIA (mini-stroke) and ended in the emergency room. The doctors mistakenly said I didn’t have a TIA (later demonstrated by MRI) but was in what they called a state of altered consciousness. I’m not certain what medical textbook they got that out of, but the phrase certainly describes how I felt this past week. Without a computer, I was useless and didn’t know what to do with myself. I felt isolated from the world, though I tried to keep up on my cell phone and iPad. But I can’t type fast or accurately on those gadgets, so it was a losing game.

Worst of all I had projects and deadlines that required a computer. My online class on creating a fictional chef began last Thursday with me missing in action; on Saturday I was on a Zoom panel for the Boerne (TX) Book Festival—managed that on Christian’s computer. A calendar note popped up reminding me I had a deadline for a guest post about Saving Irene—I did a rough draft on Christian’s computer. Jordan was a magician and set me up on that with my email account and Word program. Wonder of wonders, when I opened Word on the new computer, that file was there. The internet world continues to amaze me.

This morning, in addition to going to church online I played catch up—answered emails, apologized to some for my absence and failure to congratulate on some good news, thanked my youngest son who spent three hours last evening setting all this up. I wouldn’t have had the faintest idea where to begin. I have been working on a computer since they first came into common use—probably the late eighties. Remember those ancient slow machines with two big floppy disks? One for the program and one for the document you were working on? So give me thirty-plus years, and I’m still techy challenged. I think it’s less me than the fact that technology changes so rapidly. And I’m glad it does—today’s streamlined computers are such an improvement. And in a year, my new one will already be dated!

The grocery list was a big frustration of my week of isolation. I keep a running list on my computer—with items for both households, at least for our dinners. Thursday Jordan had to go to the store with a list reconstructed from memory and as we planned meals for this week, she kept a list by hand. I’m pleased to say we got most of what was on last week’s list, and I’ll send a new order to Central Market tonight.

I had a grand time on the book festival panel, talking with authors Sarah Bird (Daughter of a Daughter of a Queen) and Elizabeth Wetmore (Valentine) about strong Texas women. My first Zoom panel so I was a little intimidated, but I found I felt quite at ease—more so than when appearing onstage in person—and plenty to contribute to the discussion. A wonderful hour. Thanks to Caren Creech of the Patrick Hearth Public Library for putting the program together—and most of the festival, I think. We got good response online from people who had watched it. Zoom is going to be a good thing for me, enabling me to attend meetings that, if they were held in person, I couldn’t make. So this Thursday I’m going to “zoom attend” the meeting of the Tarrant County Historical Society.

In the category of it’s always something, a critter—probably rat or squirrel—has died under the kitchen of the main house, and the odor is apparently unbearable. So in a sudden reverse, Christian is not fixing us supper—who wants to cook in a kitchen that smells that foul? So I’ve fixed chicken pot pie—my own recipe and one of the few things I cook that Jacob really likes. I caught him once scraping up the last of the sauce with a strawberry.

I am certainly looking forward to this week as a change from last. Cheers, everyone!

 

 

 

The one-trick pony

 

  

I”ve just had a lesson in—what? Humility? Practicality? I’ve learned that I’m like the pony who knows only one trick. Take away that trick, and the pony has nothing. My lesson came when my computer refused to boot yesterday morning. In the interest of full disclosure, I admit I had spilled half a late-night glass of wine on my desk—not on the computer, but some seeped under it and apparently shorted it out.

Frantic, I sent messages to son-in-law, Brandon, a software engineer, and son Jamie, who was instantly ready to rush out and buy a new computer. In fact, he was gleeful at the thought. Brandon advised some steps to take, which I followed after a few wrong turns. Am I the only one who disconnects the remote keyboard and then tries to use it? His best advice was to let it sit. It could “come back to itself” as it dried out. Jamie added the advice to put it out in the sun. I would have been leery on a hot summer day, but this was five o’clock on a pleasant evening with a gentle sun. Still, nothing worked.

I had spent a long, useless day, wondering what to do next. You see, take away my computer, and I honestly don’t know what to do with myself. I fretted because I had an audition tape to listen to, an online class coming up to teach, and a Zoom call today with a book festival panel next weekend, although I couldn’t imagine going the whole week without a computer.

There were little things too—trying to log in to various sites on my iPad was impossible because I didn’t have the passwords; on my computer, those sites come up automatically. Jordan wanted to check our planned menus so I could place a Central Market order—couldn’t get to those files. I wanted to call our dog sitter for a grooming reference, but I could only remember her first name. Needed to go into the files to find her business name.

So I spent the day reading a mystery  But even ordering a book was difficult on the iPad. I missed my remote monitor with its nice big screen, my remote keyboard on which my fingers can fly.

About eleven last night I thought I’d give it one more try. Voila! It came on, without any of the externals, but the laptop was working. I went to bed happy, This morning, after a bit of trial, error, and patience, the keyboard and remote mouse began working but not the monitor. Jamie suggested the port was damaged, and I began to wonder if they can replace a port. Then the monitor flashed on; after a bit later it stayed on for a minute or two, but if I lowered the lid to the laptop, it went blank. And then, a miracle—it came on and stayed, just in time to “attend” church.

I’ve learned several lessons—just updated my list of passwords and printed it out to be hidden in a safe place. Cleared a place on the credenza so I could have tea or water or wine handy without risking more spills. The one I didn’t learn—find something else to do with my time. I am not a TV fan, and I can only cook so much, but I can spend the entire day at my computer. And today, I’m thanks for narrow escapes—or miracles.

Little excitements

We had little excitements last night, little that is if you weren’t the visiting possum. I was at my desk, reading, about 8:30 when Sophie tore out the door and began barking frantically. Not a squirrel bark but something much more intense. I finally looked up just in time to see a possum scurry across the patio. I hurried to take my phone to the door for a picture but didn’t make it. The possum had taken shelter under a small table, and Sophie was gleefully dancing around the table, almost sticking her nose under it, barking all the while. If that possum had an ounce of courage, it would have taken a swipe at her nose.

What to do? I didn’t think it wise for me and my walker to charge out there, and I knew Jordan had gone with Jacob to the neighbors’ pool, because he wanted a swim. I called Christian, who sounded a tad reluctant, saying, “I’ll come, but I don’t know what I can do.” He came after several minutes, armed with—wait for it!—his phone.

By that time, Sophie had miraculously come bounding into the cottage, and I slammed the door. Sophie then was jumping around, wanting me to open the door, which I refused. Christian was taking pictures of the possum, and it beat a hasty retreat.

After a few minutes, Jordan came out, armed with—wait for it again!—a broom. I asked what she intended to do with it, and she replied she was just going to encourage the critter away. Fortunately, it was gone. We opened the door and Sophie bolted out to search the yard fruitlessly.

I had to explain to my two nature-loving protectors that possums are neither harmful nor vicious. They eat tons of all those bugs we want to get rid of—mosquitoes, chiggers, ticks. They are our friends, although I doubt if that particular friend will ever venture back into my yard.

I’d had a moment of excitement earlier, when Christian stood by my desk and said, “I can’t believe Jacob all of a sudden wants to go swimming.” I promise, I had my hearing aids in but what I heard was, “I can’t believe Jacob all of a sudden lost his sense of smell.” Panic! I managed to say it calmly, “I hope he doesn’t have the virus.” Christian looked at me as though he thought I had clearly gone round the bend this time.

I even had little excitements this morning. Either my computer or I have been saving files under the wrong name—this morning, when I opened a short biography I’d written for an essay submission, it turned out to be last night’s blog. Yesterday, I “lost” the entire text of my new novel—what popped up was the header and one sentence from a column in the neighborhood newsletter—both in Dropbox and on the pc. Fortunately I had sent it to the formatter, and she supplied a copy which I saved very carefully.  Lesson learned—I think I get in a rush and don’t notice that the computer is saving things under the title of whatever was last saved. Scared me though.

One other bit of bad excitement—my car wouldn’t start for Jacob last night. He is tasked with starting it occasionally and asked last night if he could back it up just a bit. It was dead, though it had been started last weekend. Jordan was all for selling it immediately, but with Christian’s advice, I ordered a car battery starter. It’s not parked so that we can put another car next to it and jump it.

That’s enough excitement for one day. Peace, y’all, and be safe and well.

This, that, and a sunny moment in the day

   

A gorgeous day in North Texas—sunny and bright and clear, and after a coldish start to the day, pleasant temperatures in the afternoon. In fact, so pleasant that Megan, my Austin daughter, complained about how hot it was in the cottage. I do wish the girls could understand that my metabolism is not what theirs is with me at eighty and they in their forties, and when I sit all day at my desk, I easily get cold. As it was Megan threw open the patio door and went outside to cool herself.

Still, her arrival was a bright spot in an otherwise ordinary day. She’s in town just overnight to get together tonight with some of her high school friends. Worried about missing too much work time, she took the Vonlane bus from Austin and got in almost three solid hours of work, in addition to a good lunch. Had everything good to say about Vonlane. I’ve taken it twice before and really liked it—will take it again next weekend to San Antonio.

Meantime, Megan arrived about 2:15 and by 4:30 we had dropped her off at a friend’s house, not expecting to see her again tonight. We will visit tomorrow until one o’clock when her bus departs for Austin. She needs to get home because Sawyer, her guitar-playing son and his band, have a gig tomorrow night.

We did visit while Jordan, Megan, and I did errands—Eatzi’s to get their tuna salad, which I have newly discovered is wonderful. Also got a salmon cake for my supper—very good—and some cheeses for our everlasting happy hours.

Otherwise, the day has not been remarkable. I could not tell you what I did this morning, but the morning disappeared. I did try to figure out how to clear the cache on my computer. I know, I know—it’s something everyone does. Except me. I also tried to rid my computer of some malware, and called Colin, who was with the IT guy from his company. He advised a hard disconnect, so I tried it. No idea if it worked, except the computer refused to stay off and kept rebooting itself. I usually think for a woman of my years I’m pretty computer savvy—this was not one of those days.

Random thoughts: After several years of thinking I was being pure by drinking almond milk, I began to hear that drinking it was destroying the environment. Hard to see that connection, but I finally saw an article that made it clear—sort of: Almond milk has become such a popular health fad that growers are putting in huge orchards of almond trees and contracting with beekeepers to send hives in to pollinate the trees. The trouble is that the bees keep dying—for no reason that science can figure out. Whole colonies are destroyed; in other instances, colonies produce deformed offspring. It’s still a mystery to the almond growers, the beekeepers, and scientists, but be aware that if you drink almond milk you are consigning bees to death. And we need all the bees we can foster.

My other incidental information is that someone has published a book, an entire book, from one of the five remaining major publishers, on the semicolon—when to use it, when not to, what it means. Subtitled The Past, Present, and Future of a Misunderstood Mark, it is billed by Amazon as a  page-turning, existential romp through the life and times of the world’s most polarizing punctuation mark. The blurb suggested that Stephen King, Hemingway, Vonnegut, and Orwell detest it. Herman Melville, Henry James, and Rebecca Solnit love it. But why? When is it effective? Have we been misusing it? Should we even care? My question: who is Rebecca Solnit?

Reminds me of the flap over the Oxford comma, of which I am a big believer (see how adroitly I avoided ending a sentence with a preposition, with a nod to Winston Churchill). I’ll venture an opinion, not having struggled through the delightful romp: the semicolon does not belong in fiction. No one talks that way.

Happy Friday, everyone.

Could you write a sermon?

Another dreary, uninspiring day. I felt sleepy and chilly most of the day but did try to go to church on the computer. Frustrating. Partway into the service, the computer tells you the video has timed out. It has something to do with broadband width, which I don’t understand at all. Last week, it was in the middle of the pastoral prayer. This week the minister was in his sermon and had just made a profound point unknown to me. Did you realize that the “Close Doors” button in elevators Is a placebo? Most of us push it not once but seven or eight times, and then the doors magically close. Not because of all that button-pushing but because it was time for them to close. But since we’re always in a rush, pushing the button makes us feel like we’re doing something.

I didn’t get to hear the rest of the sermon, but it got me to thinking how difficult it would be to write a sermon every week. Like being in graduate school, where I had a professor who loved to command, “Discuss Shakespeare.” Where in the world to begin? With the sermon, clergy, as I understand it, are pretty much given the Scripture for the day. The challenge is to find their own profound interpretation and then write 20 minutes or so worth of copy that is instructive, interesting, even humorous. Go!

There’s a bit of moral instruction I’d like to put into words but am not sure I can articulate. It’s a mix of two of my mom’s favorite aphorisms: “You catch more flies with a teaspoon of sugar than a cup of vinegar” and “Never judge until you have walked a mile in another man’s moccasins.” I like to think of myself as Pollyanna, all sweetness and light, but the truth is I’m hard-headed, and the older I get the more determined I seem to be that my way is the right way. (I’m excluding politics here.) I need to do that mile walk. Each of us has a story that we don’t share with the world, but that story so often shapes our actions and reactions. If we knew more about an individual we’re talking to, we might tailor our response differently.

Now I’ve tangled via email with someone I have to work with if not weekly at least monthly. I made suggestions that he took as me telling him what to do, and he’s probably right because I’m convinced he makes an unnecessary muddle of things. But I was preaching from my high horse, and I know better. I don’t know his story, and I guess neither of us appreciate the other aspects of life pulling at us I thought, by suggesting, I was using sugar. Apparently it came across as vinegar.

There’s a fine line when you try to “make nice” after a misunderstanding like that. I will not fall all over myself with apologies because I do think he should have listened to me and others. Too much sugar. But I don’t want to be the squeaky wheel or cup of vinegar, always causing trouble and turning people away. Where is my mom when I need her? She’d help me write that sermon.

From the lamb chops to hash…

My day was a study contrast when measured against yesterday. I started the day with breakfast with son Jamie at Ol’ South. It’s become a ritual we both enjoy on those rare days he can break away to visit me. He orders a Dutch baby, and I have corned beef hash—no egg, thank you, but lots of ketchup. On the way in we met a church friend—I introduced Jamie, and we chatted a minute. She told Jamie that yesterday I had eaten like a queen, referring to my blog post about my wonderful lamb chop lunch at the Modern Museum. That’s why I almost called this post “From the ridiculous to the sublime…”—I went from a sophisticated and gourmet-like lunch plate to hash for breakfast and loved them both.

Jamie had come to install my new computer, so when I left at almost eleven to go to my neighbor’s funeral with Christian and Jacob, I left him here.

David, Susan’s 93-year-old father, died suddenly last Thursday night. I haven’t been to my church much lately—transportation and mobility problems—but I went on the walker today, with Jacob and Christian. The service was lovely although the congregation was small—I realized that what my mother used to complain about was true of David: he had outlived most of his friends. Our neighborhood group was there though, and several people I knew. The homily was perfect, saying when people heard David died they said, “Why, I just saw him.” Making the point that he will always be with us, the minister said, “David sightings will continue.” The family had chosen two of my favorite hymns: “How Great Thou Art” and “Here I am, Lord.” I realized something that’s been creeping up on me—I can no longer sing the old hymns as robustly as I once did. I attribute this to my hearing aids which distort sound—my voice in my head sounds neither like I think it should nor like the hymn. Easter Sunday I’m going to take the aids out for the hymns and see what happens.

A nice touch: the family did not have the funeral home roll the casket out. The pallbearers—three sons-in-law and three grandsons—carried it. David’s three daughters, arms around each other, walked behind it. Hardly a dry eye in the congregation, certainly not mine.

The rest of the day was quiet—Jamie was busy with distance office work, and I was at my computer. He owns his own toy manufacturers’ representatives company and works from dawn to dark and beyond. It was evening before he worked on my computer and nine o’clock before he headed east to Frisco. He always apologizes for spending a day with me with his nose buried in his computer—or else on the phone—but like any mother, I am simply glad to have him here and grateful for the occasional bits of conversation and the visit over that ritual breakfast.

Tonight, for the first time since I committed to a thousand words a day, I didn’t get it done. I figure the new computer and Jamie’s company are worth it. Tomorrow I’ll get back to what seems to be my routine—my words written by noon, a nap and then odds and ends, and, after supper, reading—oh blessed luxury.

Is There A Gadget Guru in the House?

I’ve been plagued by electronic failures lately—computer, cell phone, bed controls, in-house camera. Clearly, I need a gadget guru. And here, I think, the difference comes in between sons and daughters—or at least mine.

I mentioned over the weekend that my computer developed a mind of its own and would not pay any attention to what I wanted it to do. I spent the morning hard booting, unplugging and plugging, all the fixes I’ve ever heard about. Nada. Colin came in about eleven, sat there for a few minutes, hit a few keys, and voila! (like the way I mix Spanish and French?). It worked, although I have not turned it off since, only put it in sleep mode.

The camera is one of two that my kids installed so they could check on me. It’s rather lie having Big Brother watching you—it reports to their cell phone, video and audio. They put one right by my desk and one in the bedroom. Fortunately I am past the age and place in life where bedroom privacy matters. The bedroom one quit working, and Jamie has taken it home to re-program.

I have a sleep numbers bed, which means I can use a remote to raise and lower both the head and the foot. The other night the remote quit in the middle of the night—with the foot in a raised position, (That has been a godsend—my “bad” foot was really swollen after surgery, and it’s still good to sleep with my feet higher than my heart.) Scrambling out of the bed with the foot elevated was not easy with my weak leg, but I figured I’d make it okay the rest of the night. After a few minutes the remote magically turned itself on, but today it gave me a low battery message. I changed the batteries, and it told me there was a connection failure

Jordan got on the floor, checked connections; I took the batteries out and put them in again, making sure they were all the way in and the right way. Nothing. The last time this happened, after she’d crawled around on the floor, Jamie fixed it by touching one button. He’s due here Thursday, so I’ll probably greet him remote in hand. At least, this time, the foot is flat and the head barely elevated.

The same night that remote quit, my cell phone got wonky. When I woke in the night, I checked to see who’d sent me mail—but it wouldn’t let me open the mail. Everything else worked fine. In the clear light of day, I rebooted the phone and felt proud of myself that it worked.

But that’s three—computer, bed control, and phone plus the camera which I put in a different category. Does that mean my jinx is over? I surely hope so, because clearly Jordan and I are not equipped to deal with such catastrophes. And when you’re as dependent as I am on electronics, such failures are truly catastrophic.

I spend all day every day at my computer. If it doesn’t work, I’m not sure what I’d do. I can only read for so long, and I’m not a TV watcher. Got to think this through.

Oh, frabjulous day!

For a writer in these modern days, being without a computer is like a chef being without a stove or a painter being without a brush or charcoal. My computer simply didn't boot yesterday morning--it acted like all was fine, took my password, and then did nothing more. Son-in-law in Austin did what he could over the phone but it didn't work. So I took the computer to Staples, where I was both impressed by the thoroughness of their check-in process and frustrated by the time I stood there. But I left, sans computer, and went to the grocery store.
Then I was home, wondering what to do. I have an iPad and I could answer email and sort of follow Facebook. But it's not easy for me to be as fluent on an iPad keyboard--I am much more conversational on a keyboard. And I had a chapter in my head--or at least a scene--that I wanted to write on my novel-in-progress. I can't tell you how many times I jiggled the mouse, trying to wake my computer. Of course, I was staring at a blank remote screen because there was no computer attached to it. Very frustrating. As I told probably too many people, I was like an addict in withdrawal, and even my daughter worried about what I would do in the evening. No worries, I'm in the midst of reading The Mockingbird Next Door, but there were still emails I wanted to answer more fully, Facebook exploring I wanted to do, and that scene that was playing out in my head.
Today I had several helpful phone calls from the Staples technician, a really nice man named Sean. We established, to his disbelief, that I didn't have an original form of Microsoft Office--it came on the computer which is less than a year old. He told me it was a virus, but he would have it fixed soon.
About five-fifteen he called and said it was ready to go. I said I'd be in tomorrow, though I really wanted it right that minute. But I was having a glass of wine with Jordan and Jay and didn't feel I should jump in the car. Jordan said she'd take me, and off we went. (Jordan wants credit as #1 daughter for this--sorry, Megan; I know you'd have done it if you were closer.)
So tonight I even put dinner off for an hour while I caught up with calendar dates I'd made a note of, password changes,  59 emails, and all that stuff.
And now I'm a really happy camper. Many thanks to Staples and Sean for quick, fast, and efficient services. Amazing what a difference that has made in my outlook on life!