A really dumb mistake

 

No blog tonight. I was almost done with a brilliant (of course) blog on how to write a mystery. No joke—I knew exactly what I wanted to say, and the words flowed. Then I noticed a funny symbol by the second paragraph and tried to delete it—and deleted the entire rest of the blog. Then spent way too long searching for ways to recover it. Finally located the recycle bin, but it wasn’t there. None of Windows’ helpful hints were helpful. If you want my newfound take on how to write a mystery, you’ll have to wait for another night. I will say that in a long career of writing on computers, this is maybe only the second time I have lost copy. I’m really lucky. But now I’m burnt out and too frustrated—or angry with myself—to rewrite it.

I will content myself with some trivia: one is that my oak leaf hydrangea survived the snowmageddon and is flourishing with big, beautiful blooms. But it is another dark and stormy night in North Texas. Thunder rolling, but we are lucky—the hail all around missed us, and we got a nice rain. I’m grateful the hail didn’t batter those new blooms. Jacob moved the deck plants under the roof overhang, just in case. Now we’re sorry they didn’t get the blessing of the rain, but there’s a better chance tomorrow with a 90% chance of rain—a mixed blessing. I will have to get out in the late afternoon for a medical appointment, and it is the day the neighbors come for happy hour. I have said since we’re all well vaccinated, we can move happy hour indoors if need be.

I had planned to go to dinner at a patio restaurant with friends who live perhaps a mile from me, but we cancelled because of the prospect of rain. She emailed to say she was glad we weren’t there in the lightning, but I honestly did not see any lightning tonight. Sophie for sure heard the thunder though, and it didn’t please her.

The other thing is to post a picture of my second-oldest grandchild and her father (my second son). She was ready for her high school prom, and since graduation will be distanced and limited—we won’t get to go—I am grateful she had the prom experience and an all-night after-party that I am assured was well chaperoned. This is Eden, getting a kiss from her dad, Jamie. Needless to say, I love them both a lot.

G’night all. Maybe tomorrow I’ll share my new secret on how to write a mystery. It’s an untried theory at this point anyway, so you’re not missing much.

A fine food day—and a big oops

Today was a fine food day. A friend and I were going to lunch, wanted some place casual, debated barbecue vs. Swiss Pastry and ended up going to Swiss Pastry, where I had my usual bratwurst, potato salad, and kraut. On the way home, we went through the drive-through at Railhead and I brought home bbq for supper. So good!

Jordan and I had our occasional food talk tonight and settled several thorny issues: what I will fix for a friend who had recent surgery, what we’ll have Sunday night if indeed we have Sunday night supper (may be a version of what I fix for the friend), what we’ll offer Monday when Elizabeth comes to visit—she wants to see a couple of the neighbors, so we’ll invite them for happy hour and then fix sloppy Joe for supper.

Elizabeth is a special friend. More years ago than I care to count—twenty-five, maybe? —she was a work-study student in my office. We clicked and remained friends after she finished her schooling. I saw her through a broken romance, several not-quite-right jobs, and a happy marriage that eventually went sour. After her divorce, she lived in my garage apartment for a year, fixed it up so it was quite cozy. And we had a wonderful year of parties and wine on the deck late at night and long talks about the meaning of life.

She has moved on to a new career and a new partner, happily settled with Brian in the outskirts of Philadelphia where she is a yoga and wellness instructor. But her family and her heart remain in Texas, and she comes back often, combining visits with teaching opportunities. We’re always happy when she fits in time for a visit here, and I think she feels it is a sort of homecoming. For Mother’s Day, she sent me a wonderful card that essentially said she knew I wasn’t her mother but without me she wouldn’t be a functioning human being. I hold that thought close to my heart—I care about her and am so glad I could be there when she needed someone.

So that was a food thing—how to handle Monday night. We’ll fix appetizers for a happy hour with the few neighbors she has asked to see and then sloppy Joe for dinner. It’s heavy for summer, but stretches and everyone likes it. Jordan will make a big salad.

So we settled all our menu things, I upgraded the grocery list and printed off the sloppy Joe recipe—mine uses red wine and is like no other, but that’s another story. Somehow, I saved the wrong file, the recipe instead of the grocery list, which I wiped out. So now I’m trying frantically to reconstruct it. I may not get another shot at groceries for a week and a half, so I’ve got to get it right.Darn.

A saving grace for my goof: I got not one but two food magazines in the mail today-Bon Appetit and Southern Living. Always a good day when I have recipes to prowl through.