Cold weather, a new toy, and homecoming—oh, homecoming

 

Shea, my new dog

You know how people says “it’s going around” meaning a stomach bug or a sore throat? I want to know if a laziness bug is going around, but I won’t be surprised if the answer is yes. The first cool, really cool morning (45 degrees here) does not inspire to energetic action. I did not want to get out of my cozy, comfortable bed this morning, despite the persistent poking of paws as Sophie tried to tell me it was time to get up and stay up! She’d been out half an hour before, but she sometimes just doesn’t want me to sleep. I think she wants company.

I have a new dog. His name is Shea, after one of the most memorable dogs in my life. When my ex and I moved to Texas, we brought with us a magnificent male mahogany tri-color collie (wish I had a picture) named Shea. Truly a beautiful dog and such a gentleman. A friend in Missouri was going on a year-long sabbatical in Europe and asked us to keep the dog. We readily agreed, and so did Shea—when the friend returned, Shea refused to stay at his house and kept coming back to us. As the time for our departure neared, we worried, but finally the owner came to us and said, “I’m hoping you’ll take him with you to Texas.” Huge sigh of relief.

My new Shea is a wooden pull toy made by the late folk artist Jim Clark. When I saw it in his studio, I knew I had to have it as a memory of Jim, a memory of Shea, and a wonderful object that I’ll enjoy having in the cottage. Thanks to Jean Walbridge for parting with it and with a pig-shaped cutting board that reminds me of one my mom had. I will put the cutting board to work in the kitchen—the one we sometimes use is glass, and I don’t think it’s good for the knife blades (which are already too dull).

Big doings this weekend—homecoming at Paschal High School. Unfortunately, Paschal did not win the game against Haltom City, but that didn’t dim any spirits for the dance as far as I could tell. Jacob escorted Violet, who had asked him to the Canwick dance. They dined with a group at a country club and danced, I suppose, somewhere on the TCU campus.

Morgan and her beau with their mums

Jordan and Christian had friends in for a potluck supper, and we were all sitting around the living room when in came this parade of five boys, each wearing a blue jacket and sporting a boutonniere. They made a beeline for Jacob’s room and soon marched back out, wordlessly, carrying athletic shoes and other things to “dress down” for the afterparty. Bunch of good-looking young men. It’s noon on Sunday as I write, so of course I haven’t had a report on how the evening went. I don’t have particularly happy memories of high school dances and the like, so I’m delighted to see Jacob having such a wonderful experience. It was also homecoming for the Tomball two, and here’s a picture of Morgan with her mum—haven’t gotten a report on that one either, but the pre-pictures were pretty handsome.

Kegan, ready for the dance

And my final bit of news is that I start a class tomorrow on writing the culinary mystery. My four Blue Plate Café mysteries sort of count as culinary—Kate Chambers runs her grandmother’s small-town café, serving chicken fried steak, fried chicken, fried catfish, and the like. The Irene in Chicago Culinary Mysteries are more clearly food writing, with a diva chef and her protégé—well at least Irene likes to think Henny is her protégé. I prefer to put Henny in charge.

Anyway I’m about to start a third Irene mystery, so what better time to take a class and sharpen my skills. The class is offered through the Guppy online chapter of Sisters in Crime. Who knows? At the end of two weeks, I may really have a handle on “Irene Saves the Day.”

It’s looking like a great week ahead. I hope for you also.

This and that around the cottage

 

Sophie and neighbor Greg Smith
enjoying the last of patio weather

We are enjoying the last of patio weather. My Canadian daughter and her husband came by the other night because, as she said, she knew cooler weather was coming and she didn’t know how they’d be able to see me once it was too cool for the patio. We have made full use of the relative safety of outdoor entertaining (in tiny bunches) during quarantine. Cooler weather will present a problem. The low table on the patio actually is a fire pit with a wooden, removable top—but with a fire pit, you toast one side and freeze the other. Not conducive to prolonged, casual visits. Christian has seen some outdoor heaters with reflective back panels at Costco and says he’ll come home with one soon. Meantime this evening we are expecting two sets of neighbors.

I keep finding appetizer recipes that intrigue me—like one with anchovies parsley, and mayo—but we have not yet gotten back to chip and dip type dishes. When Jordan does that for friends, she provides individual small spoons—a lot of trouble.

We had an uninvited guest the other night, though we are still puzzled by identity. On Saturday morning, Jordan noticed one of the plants sitting on the deck was nearly destroyed, something had taken out a swatch of the pettas that line the front of the deck, and that same something dug a hole in the deconstructed granite that covers a small strip close to the house where nothing will grow. I suspect either a possum or a coon, but we are puzzled. The yard is fenced, gate closed—if there’s a gap large enough for a coon or possum to get in, that gap is large enough for Sophie to get out (Jordan’s dogs are not inclined to wander and, in truth, Soph is less interested these days—she seems to have decided she should stay put where she has a good thing).

But do possums climb fences? Coons? It’s a four-foot hurricane fence. I presume the critter came in close to the point of its destruction, which would be by the gate, but I always check the gate morning and evening. And to reach that inner gate, they’d need access to the driveway—a six-foot fence and an electric driveway gate. I can imagine a raccoon digging and being destructive, but do possums do that too? We have had possums even traveling along the high wires at the back of the property—hmm, guess that answers my question about them climbing. I work so hard to make folks believe possums are our friends, I’d hate to be disappointed.

Cleaning house is not one of my skills, and now that I need the walker, it is beyond me. We had a lovely woman who came every two weeks ever since I’ve been out here, but we’ve stopped that because of COVID. So Saturday she was to come for only the second professional cleaning since last March—bless Jordan who has been doing what’s needed all along. I was going to pack up my computer and work in the main house while she was here, and yes, I was excited. You know that old joke about cleaning the house so the cleaning lady can come? That’s what we did, though I left dishes in the sink because I knew she’d wash them, clothes on the bed because I knew she put them in the laundry, garbage to be carried out. She called in sick with allergies. I cannot tell you how disappointed I am. I so looked forward to that smell of a house that’s just been thoroughly cleaned.

Last weekend with exquisitely poor timing, I made a pot of chili for Sunday supper. It was in the nineties—hardly chili weather. Today on what promises to be the last really hot day, I have made chicken soup. I need to coordinate with the weather forecasters.  I have the patio door open to enjoy the lovely day, and I don’t look forward to keeping it closed. I’ve been coaching Sophie—always in the fall, she forgets she knows how to go in and out if I leave the door open just a crack. She can paw it open to go out, though when she forgets she flings herself against it in frustration, thereby closing it securely.

Guess we all have some adaptation to cooler weather on our horizons. I’d keep it Spring and Fall all day long, with daylight savings time, if I could.

Chaos

They dismantled my bathroom today—took out the commode and sink (now sitting in my driveway by the garage), took out all the drawers from the built-ins (drawers will be rebuilt and re-installed) and disconnected all water. It was relatively painless, though I hear tomorrow and Friday when they pull the tile will be noisy. Meantime, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve started toward that bathroom.

I am now confined to the small—really small—bathroom off my office, which is crowded with all the stuff I cannot live without for one day. Reminds me of when I travel and am appalled at all the cosmetics and stuff a lady of my age carts around. One son-in-law always says, “What have you in here? Books?” Well, maybe that too. But I’m trying to get accustomed to this new arrangement and figure out the best way to place things.

Today, to top it off, I fell. Now, mind you, I was sitting down when I fell. Friend Betty asked how I could do that, and I said I guess only I was capable of it. But my favorite comb fell behind a flimsy wire shelf thing beneath the sink. I sat down on the floor, Indian-style, to retrieve it, reached, didn’t get it, and somehow fell backwards—I guess momentum. But I whacked my head on the closet door, which brought Jacob running. And then I couldn’t get up.

To be fair, there isn’t much maneuvering space in there. I finally worked around until I was on my knees, held on to the sink and the commode, and still couldn’t get my legs to push myself up. Jacob stood watching all this and said, “Juju, if you’re not up in five minutes, I’m calling 911.” I told him no, to call his mother, but I did struggle to my feet.  Truth be told, I was alarmed at how weak I perceived my legs to be, so the incident left me shaken.

Dinner at a nice restaurant with friends cheered me greatly, but then I thought I had trouble getting up from the chair and that discouraged me. Came home, went about my business, and it dawned on me I got up and down from my desk chair several times and from the toilet once without even thinking about it. I’ve got to stop over-thinking this leg thing.

Tell me again, please, why I wanted to redo my bathroom. Too late now though.

Playing like an executive

I don't like to fly--I do it when I really really want to be someplace, but it makes me anxious days in advance. I don't like to drive on the highway. I don't do it. Period. So travel by myself is limited. Yet I have kids in Houston, Austin and Frisco that I'd like to see. Okay, Frisco is close enough that Jamie comes to get me or, as he did the other day, comes to visit. But Houston and Austin are problems.
So, I was delighted that a company named Vonlane has instituted "executive" bus service between Dallas and Houston and Dallas and Austin. Sixteen very comfortable seats that adjust however you want them, complimentary drinks (including wine) and snacks and, if you're traveling at mealtime, a sandwich. Wifi connections and all kinds of other complimentary service, all provided by a solicitous attendant.
There was much discussion in my living room over proper attired for an executive bus. No, I could not wear jeans. No, I could not wear leggings (I did--an outfit with leggings). I saw no men in suits, two that looked like businessmen in slacks and dress shirts. Other than that, all kinds of garb. I needn't have worried.
I took the bus to Houston last Friday. Had a couple glasses of wine, read, napped and the three-and-a-half hours went by quickly. Only problem was my own fault--I went to the restroom in Houston Friday evening stop-and-go traffic, came out and was chatting with the attendant, probably talking with my hands instead of holding on, and when the bus stopped suddenly I fell backward, landing like a turtle on my back. The attendant hovered over me, while a  young man tried to put his arms under my shoulders and pull me up. I said I needed to get on my knees, which I did in spite of the crowded space. Then I could pull myself up, putting one hand in the sink in the service station. My head was a little tender, and for a couple of days my ribs were sore. But I wasn't hurt. A bit embarrassed however.
Jordan, my travel agent daughter, told me an executive with the company called and told her I'd fallen, wanted to know if I was all right. Obviously, he was warding off a lawsuit, but I still thought it was nice attention to detail.
Coming back the bus wasn't full, and I had a double seat to myself. Took a nap, with my shawl wrapped around me--and the attendant came and put a blanket over my lap. Lunch was delicious chicken salad on a croissant. And the bus was really early getting into Dallas.
Did I feel like an executive? No, but I felt luxurious and pampered. I'm a Vonlane fan from now on.