Odd inconveniences, a good dinner, and Omigosh! What are Republicans doing to poor Ukraine

 

This morning I woke to a gray, dull day that seemed to threaten rain at any moment. Stretching and lying in bed enjoying the moment, I thought a day of reading and napping sounded just perfect. Of course, that’s not what happened. Jordan and I were out the door at 9:15 for a doctor’s appointment for me. All is well, and I got a good report, including praise for doing all the things I should—vaccinations, mammograms, etc. But I will have to take a swallow test because I’ve been having difficulty swallowing large pills lately, pills that I’ve taken for years with no problem. My doctor explained I would drink barium and they would x-ray it going down—yuck! It’s been over thirty years since I had to drink barium and I still have not-so-pleasant memories. What struck this osteopathic child was that my doctor did not palpate my throat (he said if it were thyroid there’d be a big and visible mass) and he didn’t look down my throat. He knew, without touching me, what the problem was—almost certainly not serious—and how to deal with it. But I grew up in the old days when a doctor laid hands on. I guess, like many things, I have to learn to adapt. He did come in physical contact to listen to hear and lungs and examine the healing lesion on my scalp.

When we left the doctor’s office, the sun was peeking out, and the day ultimately turned out to be pretty. I meant to get someone to take pictures of my wildflowers but didn’t get it done. But we came home to no water—it’s not as though the whole block was cut off. It was just our house. Christian called the water department, and they said it was probably a problem with our meter. They would have someone out to fix it today. Fortunately, I had leftovers in the fridge for lunch, but it was a bit frustrating to leave the unrinsed decision in the sink. To say nothing of not flushing the toilet. My nap came in handy because when I woke up, the water was back on. I don’t say this often, so here’s a cheer for the Fort Worth Water Department.

Christian fixed chicken piccata tonight following a Southern Living recipe and I made cheese grits from the same source, plus we had the cucumber salad I made earlier in the week. A really good dinner, if a bit lemony. After all these years, Southern Living is still my go-to.

Tonight I shared Dan Rather’s daily column on my Facebook page. I hope you’ll take time to read it. Rather, whom I admire a great deal, points out that by stalling aid to Ukraine Republicans in the House are fulfilling Putin’s every wish. Ukraine, which has already suffered so badly in the name of democracy for all of us, is losing territory (and men) in the eastern part of the country. MAGA Republicans don’t seem to get it through their thick heads that the freedom of Europe is a stake, and if Europe falls America is at best isolated, at the worst without trade partners and vulnerable to miliary takeover. To me, it’s as simple as teaching math to a first grader—two plus two equals Russia steamrolls across Europe. Marjorie Taylor Greene, the dimmest bulb in Congress, says Putin claims he wants no more land, just Ukraine, and she believes him. I have a bridge in Arizona to sell her. As Rather says, men like Mike Johnson are playing politics with people’s lives. Is Johnson stalling because he’s afraid of losing his speakership? I cannot tell. It’s too late to hold his caucus together—that ship sailed long ago. I suspect his motivation lies in his recent trips to Mar-a-Largo, and the idea that trump is pulling political strings to get back in the presidency, as the cost of man’s lives on the battlefield, is so abhorrent I’m speechless. And I can’t even begin to contemplate what would happen to poor Ukraine if trump weaseled his way back into the Whie House.

Please do whatever you can—write your congressman, your senator, anyone who can put pressure on Johnson. I suspect Democrats will swallow hard and support him because they simply don’t want the upheaval of having to choose another speaker, poor choice though he is. Without saying that, maybe reassure him. We’ve got to raise our voices and get the off dead center. It’s unconscionable.

Seems rather silly after that to say, “Sweet Dreams,” but that’s my wish for you. And maybe positive thoughts about the world situation.

Birthdays, pubs, and corned beef

 

Jordan and Christian on their pub crawl

Ever since she was a little girl, Jordan has known exactly how and when she wanted to celebrate her St. Patrick’s Day birthday. She is, as I posted earlier, my St. Paddy’s leprechaun without an ounce of Irish in her. But oh can she wear the green!

Some years her birthday lasted two weeks or more. This year it’s down to a modest half-week, beginning with a lovely lunch Subie Green hosted at the Fort Worth Club for the two of us. But it was today that Jordan really looked forward to—another friend has a birthday today and suggested they go on a pub crawl. Jordan told everyone, “I’ve never done that,” in a tone that made it sound like all the rest of us have done countless crawls and she alone has been left out. Truth is I’ve never thought about going on a pub crawl, let alone missed it. But we all know Jordan loves a good party.

They started with lunch at Trinity College, a pub near downtown Fort Worth. She sent me a menu, and I admit I drooled a bit: fish and chips, bangers and mash, shepherd’s pie. And of course green beer. I’m not sure where else they went, though I said they should go to Gilligaskins for the famous Irish nachos. They ended on Hulen  but I’m not sure at what restaurant.

Tomorrow night the fun continues with a diverse group for dinner—David (who is her brother from another mother) and his wife, Kelly, Gary, Christian’s college friend from Dallas who has become my good friend because he likes me retro cooking, Jay and Sarah, to whom Jordan has many ties, and my friend Jean who has become one of Jordan’s favorites. Originally, I was to cook chicken divan for Gary—next on his wish list after the tuna casserole I fixed some months back. I am a little overwhelmed by chicken divan for that many people, but tomorrow will be devoted to cooking three pounds of chicken breast, three bags of broccoli, and a double recipe of the cream sauce. Cross your fingers for me. I have already made the smoky salmon spread she wanted as an appetizer.

My St. Patrick's dinner

And today I cooked a good, old-fashioned Irish dinner—corned beef and cabbage, with potatoes, onion (which sort of disappeared), and carrots. I followed a recipe for doing it in a slow cooker, but I used my old-fashioned soup pot. I have no room in my tiny kitchen for a slow cooker or an InstaPot and the latter has too steep a learning curve for me. I just get along the old way. I did use pickling spices (which made me cough a lot) and a lot of ale, plus a bit of vinegar and a tsp of sugar. I checked a couple of recipes for the old way to cook an almost-three-pound corned beef, and then cooked it longer.

Jean came to eat with me, and we both voted that the meat was tender and flavorful. There were leftovers, and I’m already savoring a home-made Reuben with some really good sauerkraut I have in the fridge. Kudos to Mary Dulle for finding the corned beef at a more-than-reasonable price and for turning me on to Sauvern kraut. I had considered sauteeing the cabbage separately because it’s so good that way but was deterred mostly by the idea of one more pan to wash. As it turned out, the cabbage—cooked for the last forty-five minutes in the pot likker—was flavorful and delicious. I’m a bit proud of myself—or my cooking—tonight.

I even started the day well, with a doctor’s appointment. A couple of issues had me concerned, but I was told they were nothing, and the doctor was pleased with my overall state, from Afib to swollen legs, which he said are not unusual. When I moaned I used to have pretty legs, he said, “Well, now you’re just going to have to get by on your sparkling personality.” It’s a good day when a doctor’s appointment makes you feel better about yourself! 

Good news and a good day

Too content and sleepy to post last night, but it was a good day.

The sweetest words you ever hear from a doctor: “See you in a year.” That’s what my cardiologist said to me yesterday. I had been apprehensive about the visit because my cell phone had alerted me to some heartbeat irregularities, and I ended up wearing a monitor for twenty-four hours. But the doctor said I was doing great, and better yet, he explained everything in detail, answering a few questions that had puzzled me. We ended up talking quite a bit about cell phone technology and how much smarter the next generation is. 

I'm on a roll with doctors' appointments. This morning my family medicine guy told me he'd see me in six months, and he's been seeing me every three months forever. His waiting room had an alarming number of people wearing masks. Made Jordan nervous, and she kept saying, "Don't touch anything." I came home and washed my hands thoroughly.

Doctor’s appointment yesterday was followed by lunch at Press Café with good friend Mary. I like the food there, but it is always so noisy that conversation is impossible for me and my hearing aids. Yesterday we were early enough it wasn’t that noisy—we could mostly hear each other. But we were seated by the door. Despite the high side of a booth between us and the door, we froze every time someone came in or out. I had the deconstructed tuna salad—a lovely plate with tuna salad, cantaloupe and pineapple, and sliced tomatoes and cheese, the latter with a really good salad dressing. Mary’s hamburger looked delicious but was huge.

It was an eating day, because Jean and I went to Clay Pigeon for supper, with our minds and taste buds firmly set on bone marrow. I am delighted to find that one of my friends likes it as much as I do. No, I wouldn’t want it once a week, but it’s a terrific occasional treat. For Christmas, DIL Lisa gave me a marrow spoon—yes, I found it on Amazon and sent her the link. Last night was the first time I used it, and it really is efficient, much better than the regular spoon the restaurant gives you. Our waiter, however, did not look impressed when I showed it to him.

My marrow spoon

When I got home from supper, Jordan came out to the cottage, and we talked a good, long while. One of the lovely benefits of living within yards of one of my children. But the evening got away from me, and I didn’t blog and didn’t post my weekly comments about readings lists to a small online writing group. Next chore on my desk, and then I’ll update my web page. Someday soon, I promise myself, I’m going to sort tax information!

The joy of a good doctor’s report

Me, almost two years ago, when I got to go home from rehab

Two years ago this month I had massive hip surgery—it wasn’t just that my hip needs to be replaced. The hip had deteriorated to the point there really was no joint left. Dr. Jeffrey McGowen had to invent the surgery he did, so that I now have lots of metal parts in a join that looks like no other.

Hospitals don’t let you lollygag around these days. I’ve known hip surgery patients who went home the next day. I stayed five days and then, over my weepy loud protests, went to a care facility where I spent ten endless days feeling sorry for myself. But the therapist there was wonderful, and by the time I left I was using a walker—baby steps at first but a little better each day. My joy at being home didn’t last long—I had around the clock nurses and physical therapy in my cottage three times a week for two months. I guess I always knew recovery would be an ordeal—I just didn’t realize how much of an ordeal.

Round the clock care was an experience in itself—we had such a wild variety of women through my door to care for me. Some were wonderful; some not so much so. As my oldest daughter said of one, “Something’s wrong when you know more about the caregiver’s symptoms than the patient’s.” Another complained that our food was bland and went foraging in the fridge to see how she could liven it up. One young woman seemed to have a magic touch—she was gentle and encouraging, and in the doctor’s office, she knew exactly how to get me to stand when the nurses couldn’t. Personal troubles kept her from her schedule to often that we finally gave up on her. Son Jamie confessed recently that some of my caretakers were so taken with my dog, he feared Sophie might be taken by one of them.

After some weeks, I could spend days alone but was coerced to having someone with me at night. Then, finally, came the night I could stay alone. The independence was a great triumph for me. A couple of months later, the physical therapist, whom I liked a lot though she was a taskmaster, stopped coming. I exercised on my own and didn’t realize how far I still had to go.

My next big milestone was driving my car. It had sat unused for two years and required a lot of work to get it in running condition again. I had to demonstrate to each of my children that I could get myself and my walker in and out of the car alone and that my driving skills had not flown away. Today I run a lot of errands by myself but have promised Jordan that I will always have someone help me in and out of the car—if nothing more than standing by to see that I don’t fall or get mugged. You’d be amazed at how helpful people are, how willing to give curbside service.

A milestone I’ve not reached and am not striving for: walking unassisted. My walker is almost a permanent attachment. Dr. McGowen says it’s much preferable to falling, which could render me permanently bedridden.

I saw Dr.McGowen today. A year ago, when he said, “See you in a year,” I rejoiced. Today, he said all the parts of my new hip are permanently in place and won’t move around, so he’ll treat me like a regular hip replacement patient and see me in five years. He said, and I quote, “I couldn’t be happier with the way things have turned out.” Me too, Doctor, me too. Dr. McGowen turned my life around. The first day he saw me in his office I was in severe pain, couldn’t walk, was over-medicated (both prescription and self-medication) and was generally losing my life or at least any quality it had.

Today, I feel better physically than I have in years, and I am probably happier than at any time in my life, except maybe when my babies were young. I am not just tolerating aging, I am enjoying it, finding new interests, new strengths. And pretty much I owe it all to Dr. McGowen.

Want to see a video about my recovery and my visits to Dr. McGowen? See it here: https://www.thpg.org/texas-hip-knee-center/pages/about-us/doctors/dr-jeffrey-mcgowen.aspx  (It’s not the most flattering picture of me, and I look a whole lot better and younger these days because that was when I was still recovering, but the video shows you what a wonderful thing Dr. McGowen did for me.)

This isn’t a testimonial. It’s a plain, public thank you, and a statement of gratitude on my part that I have my life back.

Disappointing rain

Thunder rumbled all around us this most of the late afternoon, and Sophie stuck right by my side, both things giving me hope that good storm was on the way. No such luck. I suspect it did rain everywhere but on us—it may even have rained next door. But our poor thirsty back yard remained bone dry.

Jordan, Christian, and Jacob have been gone all week, so it was nice to welcome them home today. Only four days, but of course I had a list of things to talk to them about. They took Jacob and a friend to Lost Pines, a resort near Bastrop or Smithville or somewhere in Central Texas. Said the boys had a blast. I gather the adults did too.

My big adventure of the day was driving to the doctor. Jordan insists I have someone come out to walk me in and, when I’m finished, walk me out. Last night, after a severe and very public episode of nausea I thought I couldn’t drive myself, but I did just fine. The doctor thinks my ongoing nausea is a medication problem, drew bloodwork, adjusted some meds, and said I should be better by Monday. There go my weekend plans for dinner with friends—I still can’t face the thought of much food, though I think I feel better tonight just knowing that help is on the way and that I'm not wasting away--I've gained four lbs. through determination to eat in spite of this. Had fruit and wine for dinner.

And just now I answered the phone to hear the familiar and dear voice of an old friend that I’ve been missing for several years. He and I both have hearing aids now, so we weren’t much good on cell phones, but I did bring him up to speed on my kids and their families. I’d been trying to contact him by email for some time but got this strange little “I can’t answer right now” and had about given up. So nice to catch up with him!

My spirits are up—maybe it’s feeling better, maybe it’s the friend, God willing maybe it’s the rain. But I feel quite optimistic tonight. Time to get seriously back to work. Why do I keep thinking this is Friday night?

Pray for rain, folks. And for peace.

A radio interview, a travel book, and a nothing day

I did it! After striking out twice I did a successful (at least I think it was) radio interview today with Barbara Hodges on Red River Radio. I shared the spotlight with fellow mystery writer, S. L. Smith, and as soon as we finished I ordered the first of S.L.’s Culnane and Tierney mysteries. The interview lasted an hour and covered everything from how we came to write up to marketing. Lots of fun. You can listen to it here: http://www.blogtalkradio.com/rrradio/2017/09/19/red-river-radios-no-limits-with-barbara-m-hodges

              Pat Bean is one of many delightful friends I treasure but have never met in person. We’re internet pals, this time through Story Circle Network. Pat has recently published a travel memoir, appropriately titled Travels with Maggie, and reading it I found out she is my kind of traveler. Having spent too many years of my life with a man who thought the point of road trips was to see how fast you can get from point A to point B, I was delighted to read about her meandering travels. And in awe of the courage, bravery, wanderlust, whatever it took for a woman “of a certain age” to set off alone, driving an RV, with only a canine companion, for a six-month trip of some 7000 miles. She stopped where she wanted to—state parks, RV sites, but never a motel or hotel—and if she liked it, she might stay two or three days. Some days her travel was only 60 miles, but she went as far as she wanted. As a reader, you get to travel from Arkansas to Maine and back to Texas, sharing stops in Mark Twain country, Carthage Missouri (takeoff point for the Mormons headed west), Niagara Falls. You can get lost with Pat in Logan Airport, picking up her son, and take a commuter train into NYC, a place she’s “always eager to visit and always eager to leave.” Me too.

My particular favorite stop was Chesterton, Indiana, and the Indiana Dunes. I spent many a youthful summer there and still treasure memories of Lake Michigan, especially when roiled by a storm, the woods, the dunes, the swamp (okay marsh, but we called it a swamp).

Birding is a big part of this travel book, and I, not a birder, learned a lot as Pat listed the birds she’d seen. I’d have liked to see more about Maggie the dog, but it comforted me to know she was there.

Writing a book about her experience is another act of bravery. Our travel literature is full of the adventures of men—Paul Theroux, John Steinbeck, Bill Bryson, William Least Heat Moon, Charles Kurault. Joining that all-male club didn’t faze Pat Bean for one second.

Let’s hear it for adventuresome women and their dogs!

Other than the radio interview and writing the above book review I didn’t accomplish much today. A visit to my doctor assured me that I am doing well and not malingering—comforting but also time consuming. I’d say I’m going to charge around and set the world in order tomorrow, but, alas, I have a dental appointment. Too late tonight for writing, but I do have a neighborhood newsletter to put together. Whoever taught me that idle hands are the devil’s work sure did a good job of instilling that lesson.

Food, friendship, and the doctor

Let me start with the doctor. I had a good appointment with my surgeon today—lots of praise, but I came away feeling a little let down. I asked if I was where I should be, given what my condition was pre-surgery, and he said “Absolutely.” Pointed out my hip had been deteriorating for a long time, I had a major bone deformity, and I hadn’t really walked for six months before surgery. He was, he said with restraint, pleased with my progress. As we left, he, not an effusive man, said, “You’re beautiful today,” and I know he wasn’t referring to my looks. He was saying I’ve made beautiful progress.

But I think I went in there thinking I was healed, this surgery stuff could be behind me, and it’s simply not so. He said he expects full recovery for me to take at least a year—and I’m only six months in. No, I cannot cross my legs. If I bend from a sitting position, I am to do it slowly, with my left hip bent open, because I’m still in danger of dislocating it (x-ray shows it is perfectly in place right now).

And the biggie: he was lukewarm about letting me drive, especially since I drive a VW Bug, with a lower seat than a traditional car. He demonstrated how I’d have to get in and out, a technique I don’t really remember. On the way home, Jordan said every instinct in her was opposed to my driving, so I will wait.

I guess I’m not as invincible as I thought. Lesson learned

Other than that, a pleasant day of working and eating, mostly the latter. My daughters and I went to Pacific Table for lunch. A splurge lunch of crab salad (with avocado, Manchego, tomatoes, sautéed shallot, and a good vinaigrette) plus a dessert of sinful ice cream sandwiches  

Tonight, a friend from the seventies came for happy hour with me, Jordan, and Megan. Nancy’s three children and mine grew up as family friends, so it was great for my girls to get to visit with her. Turns out Megan often distance-works with the husband of one of Nancy’s daughters—small world.

Jordan fixed a magnificent spread, which was our dinner. My contribution was the salmon spread. We talked about everything from kids and surgery to murder and had a delightful time.

Now two boys are out here practicing their cursive writing. I never knew it would be the occasion for such hilarity—old-fashioned, uncontrollable giggles.

Living High on the Hog

My daughters are enjoying a girls-only trip to Chicago, primarily to hear a John Mayer concert, but they took in a little of the high life. Dinner last night at RPM Steaks—we ate at RPM Italian in September and loved it.

I reminded them that today is my mother’s birthday. Jordan remembered one year when we headed to the cemetery but to my dismay she insisted on stopping at 7-Eleven. I demanded to know why, and she said, “Grandmother loved it when I brought her blow pops.” So, she apparently bought a blow pop and sent this picture.

Meantime, back in Fort Worth, I was living the high life too. Breakfast with Book Ladies this morning at Old Neighborhood Grill. Book Ladies is a group of women, mostly retired, whose work and lives have centered around books. One other woman and I are the only members of the original group that met over 25 years ago, when we were all far from retired. This morning there were at least 12 women at the table—too many for me to easily follow any conversation over the noise of the ladies and the background noise of the restaurant. But I had one egg over easy, toast, and hash browns, the latter a luxury I’ve only recently begun to allow myself. And it’s lovely to see this happy, vibrant group together, going strong after all these years. I think I can rightfully call myself a founder.

For lunch, friend Carol and I went to the Modern Art Museum, where a former student of mine is sous chef—I guess that’s her title. On Tuesdays, the kitchen is hers and she is responsible for the special. I asked in advance what it was and could we have a window table on the water. We had the table, and I had the special—lamb chops, orzo with artichoke heart pieces, spinach, feta and a wee bit of crème fraiche to hold it all together. Absolutely delightful! I plan to try to duplicate it. The plate was brightened with a small salad—tomatoes, cuke, and endive. Hats off to Heather Hogan Holt—I’m still sorry she didn’t follow her original leaning toward a bookish career, but she sure makes a great chef (and good friend).

Saw the doctor about my lactose intolerance (after all that feta and crème fraiche) and was told I was doing so well he didn’t need to see me again unless I need him. I’m to go back to my primary care physician. Love those words from a doc, “You’re doing so well, I don’t need to see you!”

In between all that I wrote 938 words on my work-in-progress—sixty-two words to go to reach my daily word count.

Tonight? I’m tired and headed for another evening of reading.

A typical retirement day NOT

Retirement is so boring—at least that’s what I feared, though everyone said I’d be so busy I wouldn’t know what to do. Boy, were they right. Today was a whirlwind.

Doctor’s appointment mid-morning. I went on my walker which in itself is a big accomplishment. He praised my progress, relieved my worries about the hip buckling and a couple of other minor things and decreed I was doing so well he doesn’t need to see me for three months.

Home to fix lunch. Elizabeth, who lived in my garage apartment for a year, was coming. The world calls her Beth but I stubbornly call her Elizabeth because 20-some years ago, as a work-study student in my office, that’s how she introduced herself. She moved in several years ago for three weeks and it stretched into a year—we had a wonderful time. At one point she looked at me and asked, “What if I never again have this much fun in my life?” But she went off to be with the love of her life in Pennsylvania—yuck, snow and cold—and is perfectly happy but we look forward to visits on her trips to see her family and teach some yoga classes.

Today we had salad plates—I remember the things she likes—tuna salad, ham salad, cucumber slices, avocado slices, cherry tomatoes and tiny dill pickles plus Frango mints for dessert. So good! And such a good visit. I’m delighted to hear that her life is going so well. Jordan took her through the house which, in her day, had been my house, and they had a good visit.

By the time I did dishes, my nap was calling. Slept soundly with weird dreams. Then at 5:00 a TCU colleague came by—she’s dean of the library, and I had sent one of my books there. It’s still in transit but when we talked about it she said she’d come by, and she was full of praise for my new living quarters—inside and out. It was good to hear news of the library and the ever-changing academic scene, plus TCU Press which falls under her umbrella. We had wine and snacks on the patio—lovely tonight, though it’s supposed to rain tomorrow.

Rain is okay. I have lots of work on my desk to keep me busy. And it’s been another good day.

The Good, the Bad, but no Ugly

The Good: I went to see my family doctor this morning. He said I was making better progress than he expected and than many patients with less complicated surgeries. He raved (well, as much as doctors rave) about how good I look. When I stood on the scale—yes, I stood without holding on—his nurse said, “I haven’t seen you do that in months and months.” All in all I enjoyed a great reception. And found in spite of my ravenous appetite I’ve lost another two lbs.—although we don’t know how accurate the first weighing was. I told Jordan I wanted to stop for doughnuts on the way home.

The Bad: When we came home, as is custom, Jordan went to let Sophie out so she wouldn’t try to escape as we maneuvered the wheelchair in. She came back saying, “Wait until you see your house. She’s trashed it.” Sophie has never been like those dogs you see on Facebook who strew garbage from one end of the house, tear up furniture, etc., so I couldn’t imagine.

She had tracked mud all over the house—wood floors, carpet, her sleeping chair. And I was expecting friends for lunch. Jordan did a hurry-up vacuum job and then used a damp towel to get up the worst of the mud. The carpet is beyond hope, and I put Renuzit on the grocery list. Anyone have any better suggestions?

Soph was a pain all along this morning. I left her out for an hour to get some fresh air before we shooed her inside. She spent the entire hour chasing squirrels and barking, that high excited yip of a smallish dog. It wasn’t her fault, mind you—the squirrels were taunting her. What’s a girl to do? I just didn’t realize how muddy it was—my view is all of grass.

More good: I wrote 800 words of fiction today—my first foray into a new project, a novella. It isn’t perfect, but it’s a start, and I can begin to feel the juices flowing. And, yes, Elaine, Keisha and Kelly are there. Fun. More tomorrow.

All in all, the day balances out on the good side, really good. How about your day?

Limp dishrag and other excuses

No blog tonight. I feel like a limp dishrag that someone just wrung out.  I went ‘to the doctor this afternoon and walked much farther with the walker than I am used to. Everyone praised how strong I’m getting, etc., and it would have been music to my ears—except I was concentrating on walking and the pain in my left hip—which has miraculously disappeared again right now. It comes and goes but with no regularity or predictability.

Doctor’s report confirmed what I suspected: I am in excellent health, but I’m lactose intolerant. There go my bowls of cottage cheese for breakfast, my cheese slices on a ham sandwich, my bowls of yogurt. Ice cream is not a problem, and no I won’t substitute tofu, well beaten, for sour cream. I am using almond-free milk with my cereal and it’s fine. This is going to be a learning process, as I find what I can tolerate and what I can’t.

Tonight I really wanted the meatloaf plate from the Grill, so we picked it up and brought it home. Didn’t taste nearly as good as I anticipated but I imagine it will make a good sandwich tomorrow.

To add to my list of semi-disasters, my computer has acted wonky all week and required frequent calls to TCU’s support staff, but I am beginning to suspect what one friend suggested is true—it’s time for a new computer.

I’m off to read a good book and stare at the rapidly changing sunset. No dramatic streaks of red and gold \tonight but patches of a soft rosy pink set against patches of light blue sky—a delicate sunset, calming to the soul.

The Joy of Old Friends

October 5, 2016

….and the trauma of a doctor’s visit. Today I had both those pleasures. I had an afternoon appointment with a gastroenterologist to get to the cause of my ongoing GI problems. Yes, I was nervous about it. The doctor is an old friend who has treated me previously; we have friends in common, and he reminded me that he treated my oldest child and diagnosed his Crohn’s disease. So the appointment should have been a piece of cake, and in many ways it was because I felt at ease to talk with him. But there is no easy solution—he recommended a two-week trial period of lactose restriction, ordered blood work, and told me to come back in three weeks. A step in the right direction.

During his exam, I panicked because I was on a narrow table and was sure I was going to fall off—in fact I thought I was falling. He and the nurse kept assuring me they had me, but I wasn’t convinced. Realized that my fear of falling is strong, and I have to get over it if I’m to be fully mobile again. Kind and gentle as he was, the experience made me feel wrung out and exhausted.

And the no dairy news was not good for me. I used to live on cottage cheese, still eat a lot of it and yogurt and cheese. I had prepared an appetizer array for my guests but realized I couldn’t eat any of it—pimiento cheese, roast salmon with herbed cream cheese, assorted veggies which aren’t yet on my “can’t have” list but the doctor warned against them

I’ve known Bill and Sharon well over forty years, and they came to see my new digs tonight. We had a wonderful visit—lots of laughter. We talked about their kids, my kids, our Chicago trip. They had brought a cold supper—a Mediterranean salad with roasted vegetables and salmon. But we ate so much appetizers, we weren’t hungry—I tasted the eggplant and squash but passed on the tomato and mozzarella. They left, repeating how pleased they were for me, how impressed with my cottage.

It’s a nice night to be cozy in the cottage, and I’m ready to tuck myself in. Sweet dreams, everyone.

A satisfying day

Jamie and Maddie, his oldest daughter who will be 18 before we know it

That maybe is the best thing you can say about a day—it was satisfying. No wild excitement, no bitter disappointment, just middle of the road, steady and even. Satisfying.

Jamie came from Frisco to take me to my family physician’s office this morning. Since he rarely is in Fort Worth, he doesn’t make the blog much, so I’m pasting a picture at the top. James been making an effort to come once a week and take his turn at chauffeuring, baby sitting, whatever I need. Before I’d go long stretches of time without seeing him, so this is one way my broken leg functions to my advantage.

After my doctor’s appointment we went to lunch at the Flying Fish. Jamie likes to eat out but unlike me, he doesn’t like sandwich shops. I was on the verge of ordering grilled trout when he said, “Mom, you always liked oysters.” It doesn’t take much to deter me from healthy eating. I thought oysters on the half shell might not sit well, so I had fried. And cole slaw. And fries which I usually ignore but I craved the blandness of them. Jamie had fried catfish and gumbo, and we lingered over lunch.

I thought however we would never get dinner. Jamie wanted to go out; I did not, given the major effort of getting me down the ramp and into a car. He decided he wanted food from The Mexican Inn; I did not. So he would go get it, and I would eat leftover salads out of the fridge. But Jamie can procrastinate…and he found a hundred distractions before he went to get his dinner. By that time Jordan was home and went with him, though she didn’t want Mexican either.

I had a lovely dinner because two of my four children were at the table with me. Love them so much! Tonight there were serious family talks over dinner—often it’s frivolity. Jamie did get his tricks in pulling me up the ramp—pretending to lose it and letting me slide back down and similar tricks.

No, it wasn’t a day of accomplishment or brilliant insights or any such things. But it was satisfying. I wish the same for each of you.

The Blessing of Friends

Jacob in the wheelchair a friend brought today

News on the health front is encouraging tonight. This morning I had a thorough sponge bath from a private duty care nurse. Do you know how luxurious it is to sit there, hold out your warm, and essentially say, “Here, wish it.” The nurse had recently broken her foot and had a three-month experience in a boot, so she knew where I was and what I was feeling. And I felt so good after my bath.

Jordan’s news was that tomorrow at 2:15 I have an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon—something I’ve been waiting for so we can find out what’s next, what’s the treatment, how long is recovery, all those good things. And she found a home health care service that takes my insurance. A lesson I’ve learned: private duty care people are not necessarily highly trained, and their services are not paid for by Medicare; home health care provides professionals, and Medicare pays the bill. I’m particularly pleased about this their services include a physical therapist when the doctor gives his okay. They also clean your house, do your laundry, really whatever you need. Five weeks after my colossal fall, we may be headed in the right direction.

Today was a lovely day and is perhaps the first day I don’t feel like rushing back to my bed. Friends have really rallied to my side—Linda, who I’ve known for over thirty years, brought lunch—delicious tuna salad. She assembled the sandwiches fresh in my kitchen, so they weren’t soggy or anything. And we had a great visit. Tonight, Amye, a friend of Jordan’s that I’m known for a long time, came for happy hour and brought lovely flowers, and Betty, my longtime dining pal, brought homemade cheeseburgers and fruit.

Efficient supper

Saturday friends Sue and Teddy are bringing lunch, and Monday Sue is bringing supper—it’s Jacob’s birthday and everyone will be off to Joe T.’s to celebrate. I’m sad that I can’t go.

I think Jordan is arranging for someone to come visit every day, and I’m most grateful to her. But I’m also most grateful for the friends who care enough to visit and drink wine and chat and distract me. Some come expecting me to be transformed into a little old bent-over lady and are pleasantly surprised. I am who I’ve always been, and my ankle doesn’t hurt more because of the diagnosis  Monday. Yes, my disposition and outlook took a hit, but they’re back to normal, and I’m as happy a camper as I can be in these circumstances.

If I were isolated here in my house, I’d be really miserable. And without Jordan, I don’t think I’d have made it. The Lord is good to me.