Another family milestone, a cooking day, and the heat goes on

 

The Tomball Alters: Lisa, standing behind her mom,
who is seated next to Morgan, then Colin, and high school junior Kegan.
A fine family.

Morgan Helene Alter of Tomball celebrated her eighteenth birthday by going off to college, which strikes me as particularly appropriate. Specifically, she and her parents drove to Lubbock where she will be a freshman at Texas Tech and where a special guy was waiting for her to join him. Morgan is the third and last of my granddaughters—the other two are Maddie, who has graduated and is working at a genius bar in Denver and Eden who begins her junior year at UCLA. I’m so proud of these girls, and so sure their boy cousins will catch up soon. To show how much things have changed since my day: Morgan’s parents, Colin and Lisa, drove her in Morgan’s car. They’ll fly back home tomorrow.

We had a visitor just now—a possum. All summer I’ve known there is a possum who likes our property. If a garbage bag gets left out overnight, it’s chewed and its contents scattered. Sophie has occasionally let loose with her “There’s a critter bark.” Tonight, she gave two little yelps, but then I saw Jordan bustling around on the deck. She sent me pictures of our guy, who looks cautious but not particularly scared. I am delighted to have him as a resident because he eats ticks and fleas and mosquitoes and other worrisome insects. I think he needs a name, and for no good reason Charlie comes to mind.

Charlie, the possum.

Today was again a cooking Saturday, but I may have bitten off more than I wanted to chew. I’d been prowling through old recipes—a file I’d stuck away in a cabinet in my closet when I downsized. This was a recipe for a chicken casserole with tomatillo sauce—and the sauce nearly did me in. Cooking two lbs. tomatillos in chicken broth was no problem, nor was chopping two cups green onions and two cups cilantro. Or even peeling ten garlic cloves. All tedious but easily done. But when it came to putting that whole mess in the processor, I stumbled.

By trial and error and mistake, I realized I couldn’t put ingredients in the processor bowl and then add the blade—it wouldn’t go down to be properly seated. Duh! Should have taken me half a minute to figure that out. I did realize that I would have to process the sauce in two batches, so I used a fork to pitch half the tortillas in. But then I had to add half the liquid and other ingredients, which meany standing up to dump them in and risking losing my balance because I need one hand to steady myself on something—or sitting and raising the bowl far over my head, which was a pain. I finally got it done, with only one major spill. I call that a triumph, but my arms are sore from stretching and lifting.

The casserole was delicious, and we have enough left for at least one more meal, which is a good thing because I warned the Burtons I would not be making it soon again. The good thing is there was a lot of tomatillo sauce left which is now hardening in my freezer, and we can use it on chicken breasts.

I have always been a believer in the extreme threat posed to our earth by climate change, and in this summer, which is unbearably hot even for Texas, I think the danger signs are clear. We must act yesterday—I applaud President Biden’s efforts in that direction and decry idiots like Senator Tommy Tubervlle who said he’s seen it hot on the football field and this is just summer. That’s what you get when you elected a  coach to the Senate. (Don’t get me started on Tuberville and his hold on military promotions—what a grandstanding idiot.)

Eastern Canada had huge fires earlier in the summer, and now British Columbia is fighting large wildfires. The world is still stunned by the destruction of Lahaina on Maui. Granted, the investigation of that fire is not complete and won’t be for a while, but it may well turn out that human error and mismanagement were part of the cause, if not for igniting it then for the inability to control it. That certainly has been the case with some destructive fires in California. I saw a meme today that said in effect while the earth burns, we may thank these people: and it listed, with pictures, millionaire CEOs of fossil fuel industries. Reading that, it struck me that the world really may disappear by fire. And so, tonight, I leave you with Robert Frost’s poem, “Fire and Ice.”

“Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire,
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.”

 

Bragging on a grand and some good writing

 

Morgan Alter on the left

So proud of Morgan Alter, my Tomball granddaughter. She and her team placed first in the food innovation regional competition of FCCLA (Family, Career, and Community Leaders of America). Now they go to the state competition. They had to prepare a lunchbox meal modeled on such delivered-to-your-door dinners as Hello Fresh. They came up with their own recipes, did taste tests, and did marketing research. Morgan, a high school junior, has been cooking for years, a big help to both Mom and Dad. On Father’s Day, she always fixes Colin’s dinner—last year was Beef Wellington. She’s more ambitious than I am, but I’m so glad to see a grand take up my foodie interests. Proud of her.

My own cooking was only so-so over the weekend. Last night Jean came over for an early supper, and I made my very first frittata—broccoli and mushroom. Between us, Jean and I cooked it too long. The flavor was good, but the texture should have been softer. Lesson learned. I tried to interest Jordan, because she likes her eggs cooked like concrete, but she didn’t want it for her lunch.

Tonight, I’m going to experiment—you’d think I’d learn that is not a good idea. Jordan brought me some smoked salmon, which I adore, and I’m going to try a pasta with a creamy sauce of cream cheese and sour cream, some green onions, maybe those hearts of palm in the fridge. I’ll get all that cooked and only then add the salmon because cooking it changes the taste and texture to me.

Tomorrow night I’ll get back to cooking for the family—baked cod with a buttery crumb topping. I think I’ll make a lemon sauce recipe I found on my favorite new food website—Kitchn. (Note there is no “e” in that!)

The snow has melted, the sun was bright today, and I’m just sure this will be a better week. I made good progress last week on the mystery I’m writing and yesterday I realized I was almost but not quite to the point of having half a novel. I was also to the point where I was about to go off the rails and needed to stop before I just kept adding words. (I swore this time I wasn’t going to write by word count, but it’s a hard habit to break.) So today I started reading at the beginning, filling in descriptions and other bits, correcting typos but that was only incidental. I am more concerned now with the structure of the story. And as I read each chapter, I construct an outline. I’m calling it a retrospective outline.

There's been a long thread about structure on a listserv I follow, with many people advocating various approaches, including one nice summary of the classic hero’s journey. But to my mind it all comes down to the basic Shakespearean plan—an instigating event, rising action (takes you into Act IV), climax—the high point where thing cannot get any worse or more complicated, and then the denouement, with its sharp drop-off in tension, the resolution of whatever has happened.

So far, I’ve only gotten three chapters into my manuscript, but I am pleased to see the complicating factors that I’ve scattered along the way. I may be ready to send it to one of my beta readers for an early look-through.

I guess my grad school studies are showing with my reference to Shakespeare. Last night I complained to Jean that I had to memorize Beowulf in grad school. She countered that she had to memorize it in high school and could still recite. Whereupon she began, “Whan that Aprilles with his shoures suite ….”

“That’s Chaucer,” I said. “Canterbury Tales.”

She decided she’s never read Beowulf, and I told her she was lucky.

I was distracted a bit today when at my desk because the yard guys came to take out all the dead stuff in the back yard—I left the front for Christian. It’s his domain. But they took the dead hyacinth grape vines off the fence (I really hated tooking at that), cut back the oak leaf hydrangea, pulled up the dead fountain grass, and took out the mums that were so gorgeous in the fall. It’s still a bare, brown winter landscape, but it’s not as straggly. And I figure it’s a step toward spring.

“If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?”—Percy Bysshe Shelley.

Okay, this English major is signing off.

Happy days

Big Mac Salad.

Every Tuesday night two of our neighbors come for happy hour with Jordan and me—except this week, we got our schedules all mixed up. I went out to supper on Tuesday, so they came tonight—but Jordan had already made plans to entertain someone from her work for happy hour. But still the three of us sat on the patio and visited for a quick hour. Afterward, Prudence email enthusiastically about how great it was to see everyone so happy.

She was happy  because she has reconciled herself to staying in an online  graduate program with which she is not entirely satisfied because she can finish more quickly and go on to specialized studies. Mary was happy because she felt she finally made progress in “gentling” the feral kitty they’ve been housing for several weeks—she can now do a bit of petting and was rewarded with the first real, deep purr. And I was happy because I’d had that nice dinner out with friends—although I have to say I looked at that picture and realized I can tell (maybe no one else can) that I am still on steroids from the hospital stay. My face is puffy—surely I don’t look that way all the time. Supposedly we are tapering me off them—I thought we did that a while ago, but apparently not.

My “be still my heart” moment of the week: 18-year-old granddaughter Eden texted from Kansas City where she is with friends to say she was eating a salad of hearts of palm, and it made her think of my because she used to eat them out of the jar from my refrigerator. I asked about the salad and she said it also had artichoke hearts and Parmesan—I’m about ready to head to Kansas City just to get that. She also wrote that now she has had covid and recovered—I didn’t know that—she can hug me because she has antibodies and hopes to do so soon.

Good day for me because I took a step to reactivate my study of Helen Corbitt, the diva of food service at Neiman’s in the 1960s, and also explored writing another biographical entry in the Handbook of Texas, this on some people I knew years ago which would make it more fun. More on that later. And there’s a mystery floating around in my mind, though it sure hasn’t surfaced except for stray ideas. Still, it’s nice to have projects on my desk and on my mind.

Balmy days, so much so that we had a salad dinner. Big Mac Salad—all the ingredients of a Big Mac at McDonald’s except in a salad and with homemade Thousand Island dressing—lettuce, tomato, pickle, ground beef, grated cheese. Good and refreshing. Jacob had a golf tournament today which means he got up at 5:30 a.m., so he slept through dinner, and Christian was at a late meeting, so Jordan and I dined together and enjoyed it. She fed them salad later.

All in all, I agree with Prudence. There is happiness—and spring—in the air. We don’t have to find a reason—just enjoy! Hope everyone else feels it.

 

A fireplace in summer

The granddaughter who just turned twenty-one

If you read this blog often, you know I love my tiny cottage. It has everything I’ve ever wanted—except a fireplace. There simply isn’t space in my 600 square feet. On cold mornings, I longed for the heat of a fireplace and the comfort of flickering flames.

Fast forward: today is my oldest granddaughter’s birthday. Sweet Maddie Moo is 21 today. With social distancing the family couldn’t gather to celebrate. And Maddie is in quarantine with her family in Frisco, so no celebrating with her friends at Colorado University. And though she planned to test out her new legal drinking age, she had to study for a remote final tomorrow. A grim way to celebrate your twenty-first, but she followed through with her usual cheerful attitude.

This afternoon Jordan and Jacob drove to Frisco to do a drive-by birthday celebration. They ended sitting on the front lawn, at appropriate distances, for about half an hour. When they came home, Jordan said, “Jamie sent  you a present.”

It turned out to be a desk fireplace! Just the thing I needed. It provides the image, and, should you want it—which I do not right now—it gives off some heat. In February, it will be great. I’m really excited about it—even as I turn on the air conditioner.

Other than that, it was an ordinary day. I laughed today when I saw a headline in the Fort Worth Star-Telegram that proclaimed tomorrow is Cinco de Mayo and urged readers to let them help plan the day. What’s to plan, I wondered? We’re quarantined, and one day blends into the next. No planning required. And that’s how my day went—1550 words on the work-in-progress, a nap, leftovers for supper. Chicken enchiladas and the remnants of a taco salad. So good—but a heaping plate that I forgot to take a picture of.

Tonight I’m watching a PBS special on the presidency of George W. Bush. I’ve been intrigued by Facebook threads since Bush made his statement last weekend urging the country to unite to fight the corona virus. “We are all in this together.” That release inspired a lot of comments. Many cannot and never will forgive him the disasters of his presidency—the Iraqi war, the devastating financial recession, the poor reaction to Katrina.

But others, and I am one of them, like Bush a lot better now that he is  not making bad decisions for the country. Perhaps it is that he has grown in character; perhaps it is that he is away from the malignant influence of Dick Cheney. He has taken up painting and done a series of portraits of wounded warriors, a series that exhibits compassion and caring. And it was not something that came easily to him—he worked at his art, he studied with artists.

Today, if you turn away from his presidency, he is usually regarded as a genuinely nice guy, comfortable, no pretense. His statement this past weekend demonstrated the man that he is today, who has perhaps put his political career behind him in retirement.

Here it comes: the story of “my encounter with a celebrity.” In this case, it’s Bush. At a Texas Book Festival in Austin, I attended a breakfast for authors in the governor’s mansion. I was at the time writing a book on strong Texas women and hoped to include Laura Bush. She was everything I expected—crisp, disciplined, organized (the profile of her never did work out). But she introduced me to her husband, who looked like he had just pulled his shirt out of the dryer and ducked his head shyly when he shook my hand.

Shows how our impressions of people change.

Note: This was supposed to be a Monday night post, but Blogger and I had a disagreement. "Twas late, and I was beyond figuroring it out, so I put it off until morning. Amazing how things that are complicated at midnight work out at eight in the morning.

Last Day of School, and dogs and cars

Maddie's selfie at lunch

Remember when you were a kid what a big deal the last day of school was each year? It made me a bit nostalgic today. Jacob and his buddies got out early and had a pool party. Then there was an after-party at another house. Ah, to be twelve and have life be a series of parties. We’re raising those kids in a bubble I fear.

For my part, it was a lovely day. Jamie and Maddie came to visit. Maddie is my oldest grandchild, just finished with her freshman year at Colorado University. They are the only two people I know who can take two hours to drive from Frisco to Fort Worth (he forgot his wallet, started back home, changed his mind and came on) and then half an hour to get out of their car once it was in the driveway (he was on a business call). But we had a lovely day.

Surprise! They brought a new puppy with them—a nine-week-old Pomeranian named Cosmo. Jamie had the dog that was probably the canine love of his life—Mosby, a chocolate lab. Mosby was a wonderful dog—loyal to Jamie, following him on the cross-country runs he did, but also a family dog who let the girls, when little, roll all over him. Sweet beyond measure, but as he aged he grew arthritic and anxious. Finally, maybe a month ago, they reluctantly helped him cross the rainbow bridge.

Cosmo

But I never thought Jame would get a small dog—they already have one four-pound Smorkie (Yorkie and I forget what else). Jamie explained that it’s a cat thing—he loves cats but won’t have another because of the litter box issue, so having a small dog is like having a cat (not sure I follow that logic, but I’d take the dog any day). All puppies that age are cute, but this one really is adorable. And I was so proud of Sophie—she played with him but after her initial enthusiastic curiosity was gentle. Of course, we gave her lots of extra love and praise,

I confess I had a Jamie list—when I told him that yesterday, he said I didn’t have to fix anything special for him. I told him he misunderstood—it was a “honey do” list—lower my walker, find out why my phone won’t take messages, give Soph her medications, and help me get my car to a place I thought my fix the top.

We had a nice, lazy lunch, and the major outing was to take my car to a trim shop. The back window is loose from its moorings. The VW place recommended an auto glass place they said would repair it in my driveway. Not so. The auto glass place recommended a trim shop in—wait for it! —south Euless, a long way from here. But I dutifully called them and over the phone, sight unseen, a rather brusque woman said I’d need an entire new top. Yikes! Expense plus terrible inconvenience of getting there.

Fortunately, a friend who reads the blog suggested a local detailing shop, and the owner in turn suggested a local trim shop, told me to use his name. So today we saw Joe at Westside Trim, after trying hard to navigate the construction on White Settlement. It’s nearly impossible to get to this place. The verdict is iffy. I can have it repaired at a much-reduced cost, but it probably won’t hold. Still I think that’s what I’ll do.

Nothing would do but we stop at Omaha Army Surplus—a childhood dream place for Jame—and then at Autobahn to investigate a new VW, which I don’t need and can’t afford. Jamie thought I could lease a new one and cover it by the trade-in on mine, but mine though lower mileage, is twelve years old. The salesman said, “I can’t do a trade in. I don’t want to insult you, but ... . “

Now, Jamie and Maddie have gone home, I’ve had a sandwich and washed the dishes, and am ready to read. A great day with people I adore. The only downside? I didn’t get my nap today!

A Special Milestone

My oldest granddaughter is college-bound, and I had been fairly vocal about wanting a Maddie hug before she leaves the nest. She drove over from Frisco to have supper with me last night. It’s the first time she’s driven here by herself, and the first one-on-one visit we’ve had since the days I used to babysit with her when she was an only grandchild—now there are seven of them. When she walked in the door, I said I viewed the visit as a milestone, and she was all grins as she agreed.

I asked what she wanted for dinner, and she remembered the Italian restaurant where we’d had good food and an unfortunate waiter several months ago—no reflection on the restaurant and kudos to them for quickly correcting the situation. We went to Bravo, sat on the empty patio with the evening breeze just beginning to stir, and had a lovely time.

We talked about college. She’ll go to Colorado University where, according to her previously announced plan, she’ll major in psychology. This fall she’ll take psychology, philosophy, biology, and American history from 1875. I envy her the history course and reviewed in my mind the things she’d cover—Industrial Revolution, Columbian Exposition if she’s lucky (she would if I were teaching the course), world wars, Korea, Vietnam. She seemed unaware of WWI and WWII and high-fived me when I told her they’d surely be included.

Maddie is a certified nursing assistant, with an eye on an R.N. degree. She’s also young and strong—perfect person to help me with my walking. We walked down the driveway to the car and from the car across the parking lot, into the restaurant, and headed for the patio. We weren’t too far from our goal, when I had to stop and ask for the walker—my stamina had run out. But she said she was very impressed with the improvement I’ve made. I thrive on praise like that.

We talked about the family wedding where she was a flower girl, and I told her stories from her childhood, and we talked about her cousins and family fun. At the end of our meal, I thanked her for coming all the way to see me. She grinned and said, “I was glad to. You’re fun.” What better compliment can you get from an eighteen-year-old?

She’s one of the many blessings in my life.

Welcome visitors

Me, Jamie and Madison

I guess I’m going to have to revise my life plan—I’ve been getting too tired to blog at night and sleeping late in the morning until there’s precious little work time left. I’m hoping I’ll fall back into my routine once in my cottage—about a week and a half away. Meantime, here’s the blog I didn’t write last night.

Jordan is off on a four-day holiday so Jamie, the younger of my two sons, has come to stay with me, bringing, to my delight, my 13-yeear-old granddaughter. I feared she’d be bored, but she has to finish reading The Hobbit for school, so she has a project. And Jamie can work from the dining table.

Last night we went out to dinner—late and ended up closing the restaurant. Got home at ten but had a wonderful visit over dinner. Lucille’s was having its annual Crabfest and Jamie ordered the whole crab. Took him a while to crack the shell and extract the meat, but oh my it was sweet and good. Much better than the lobster on my lobster roll—I could tell the meat had been frozen and thawed. Eden, a vegetarian for several years now, had the angel hair pasta.

We took pictures of course and I realized I’ve gotten so used to going without makeup that I didn’t even put any on to go out to dinner. 

Wonderful father and daughter

This morning everyone was off to a slow start. A colleague from Texas A&M Press is coming for lunch. I hope she understands messy house syndrome, especially with the merge we’re doing (PS She understood and lectured me for worrying about productivity in the midst of chaos). Jordan has taken all clutter from her house and transferred it to mine so that they can show their house. It worked—they have rented their house. Things are moving pretty fast these days.

It's taken me two days to post one blog. Story of my life lately. My computer got a persistent error message. I tried letting it rest but finally had to ask Jamie for help. Now if you’ll excuse me I think I’ll read the morning paper that I haven’t gotten to yet.

Liver, onions, and a birthday hamster

Do you have the childhood memories that my brother and I share of having to eat liver and onions? My mother was a terrific cook who taught me almost everything I know about cooking. I can’t say enough about her innovative and healthy meals, especially since our father was a very British meat and potatoes man. But Mom fell down on liver. It was tough, dry, and tasteless. For years I avoided it like the plague.

Then I began to find recipes for flash frying it, treating it with lemon juice before cooking to remove the gamey taste, serving it with a sauce of lemon butter and sautéed onions. Suddenly I liked liver, though I never could find anyone to eat it with me. I thought about cooking it for myself, but you have to buy a pound and that was a bit much.

When Jean and I went tile shopping, I asked if she ate liver. “Sometimes. I’m not sure I like it. But Jim loves it.” So we settled on Saturday night supper of liver. When I confirmed the date, I asked, “Do you want me to change the menu?” “No, liver.”

So I fixed it tonight, served with German potato salad, green salad that Jean brought, and a fruit salad I cobbled together—peaches and cantaloupe are so sweet and good this time of year. And the liver? It was moist, tasty, delicious. I liked it a lot, but Jean and I split a piece, and I sent Jim home with half a lb. for his dinner tomorrow. Still it was a successful dinner, and I was glad to be cooking again after a hiatus.

Special good wishes to Morgan, my granddaughter who turns ten this week. She desperately wanted a hamster for her birthday, and her father finally relented. I sent some exercise assemblies for the critter, who is black and named, I think, Midnight. Morgan’s picture says it all about how happy she is.