An almost perfect day

 

No high drama, no hilariously funny situations, no exhilarating moments—just a day spent quietly at home with my nose in a book. It’s cold outside, Christian is fixing supper, I had leftovers for lunch, and nothing demanded my immediate attention. I even indulged in eggnog for breakfast—a habit I picked up in Santa Fe over Christmas, and I know better than to let it become regular. But there’s that big bottle Jordan bought staring at me every time I open the fridge.

Yes, I slept late, and yes, I “went” to church on my computer. And yes, I had a long afternoon nap. The only other thing I did of any consequence was to proofread the forthcoming edition of my neighborhood newsletter—at midnight last night, I was still scrambling to get last-minute articles and changes to the designed, so today I feel pleased that there weren’t more corrections than the scattered ones I found.

I’m reading Death at Bishop’s Keep, by Robin Paige, a pseudonym for my friend Susan Wittig Albert and her husband, Bill. They team wrote it, which is of great interest to me because I can’t imagine letting anyone else into my imagination as I crafted a novel. Susan tells me they edited each other’s work but, eventually, there had to be one editorial voice to achieve a consistent narrative style. She was the final voice editor.

Bishops Keep was published just after the first few of Susan’s signature China Bayles series, which intrigues me because I would think her writing style—the way she uses words—would have changed over thirty years. Critics often use the word “matured,” but that isn’t quite it—her style was never immature, but I think perhaps today it has a bit more subtlety. Part of that, of course, has to do with subject matter. It is perhaps easier to be subtle about current manners and ways than it is to go back over a century and recreate the social atmosphere of which most readers are innocent. And which sometimes now seem so—what? Trivial? Useless?

The time of Bishop’s Keep is late nineteenth-century England, the dwindling down of the Victorian era. Essex, to be specific. The book is a lot of things that don’t ordinarily attract me—British for one thing, life and restrictions among the landed gentry for another, the upstairs/downstairs/below stairs conflicts. But Kate Ardleigh, an American heroine—outspoken, independent, intelligent, and bent on being an author, which was unheard of in the day, especially in England—wipes out all my objections. Sir Charles—the English nobleman who dabbles in crime detection and the new science of photography—intrigues Kate to the point that she occasionally thinks maybe spinsterhood isn’t for her after all. It’s almost all standard Agatha Christie stuff (albeit a bit earlier) but it has me hooked, and I have spent a happy day mostly buried in the goings on at the Keep, surely a troubled household. My fascination is in large part due to Susan’s skill with character, even British, and structure.

These days I find I am more and more selective about what I read. Thanks to Amazon’s sample reading program, I often dip my bookmark into three or four books and withdraw it in disappointment. I long for that book that calls me back, tempts me away from the work I should be doing, keeps me up late at night. That’s probably why I read so much mystery, but even within the genre, I find disappointment. So I rejoice when I find such a book. Granted, that enchantment doesn’t always happen in the first twenty pages—you must persevere.

Bishop’s Keep is the first of, I think, twelve novels, and I’ll probably go on and read some of the remaining ones, though I'll not commit to all--maybe that's what happens to most series. (China Bayles, with twenty-seven books in print, is an exception). Once I am hooked on characters and their fictional world, I want to stay with them. So thanks, Susan, for a good reading experience and a lovely, self-indulgent day.

What about you, dear reader? What book has simply carried you away from your ordinary world, captivated you so that you crave every reading minute?

Lazy Sunday and the end of the cruise

 

At a waterfall on Iceland's Golden Circle

If Sunday is the day the Lord intended for rest, it really worked out today. After getting up with Sophie twice, I dawdled my way through the morning. It was a day when I had good leftovers for lunch—no need to wonder what to fix—and Christian was fixing the dinner, from one of those prepared meal kits Jamie sent. This was southwestern beef and macaroni—unusual seasonings but good and what was supposed to feed four looked like it would feed eight. My contribution to the meal—and the most cooking I did all day—was to cut up and toss a salad.

For me, much of the day was spent in anger and rebellion at our governor’s reaction to the most recent mass shooting. Governor Abbott is getting a lot of feedback of the negative sort—okay, criticism—for his statement that the killings would not change gun laws. Texas, he said, is going after mental health problems, as though he had just invented the thought. It’s not sitting well with his constituents, but that’s a post for another evening because I think we need to flood the governor with critical emails. His position is untenable.

But meantime, at the Alter/Burton compound, we await Jordan’s return from her grand adventure in Paris, onboard the cruise ship, and then in Reykjavik. Somehow, I have lost some of the pictures, but I’ll try to give a picture tour. What stands out is that Jordan had lovely meals and glasses of wine—or maybe those were the pictures she took because she knows her mother is a foodie. But at every turn, she was having a scrumptious meal, many of them based on fish. That does and doesn’t surprise me—she’s always been a good fish eater, but she’s wanted other things besides. This trip she ate mostly whitefish, though there were the eggs Benedict. And she ate everywhere from the captain’s table to the deck of the ship to a tomato farm.

Tomato lunch

Two of her Reykjavik adventures that struck me as most interesting were a visit to one of Iceland’s large tomato farms—who knew? Apparently since the climate is not conducive to growing tomatoes outdoors, Icelanders grow them in huge hothouses! Jordan apparently toured one and had a spectacular meal. The other excursion that interested me was to Golden Circle, one of Iceland’s most popular tourist attractions, a circular route that visits geysers, waterfalls, hot
springs, and volcanic craters.

Great presentation at the
tomato farm

From scattered pictures that I saw, Reykjavik appears to be a city of modern buildings, many painted in warm and wild colors, perhaps to warm the people through long, cold nights? And for her last night there, Jordan had a spectacular meal.

Reykjavik

Now she has texted that she’s landed at DFW, although she’s still at the airport, presumably going through customs. It’s just shy of nine o’clock, and she’s been up since one a.m. our time. I don’t expect a detailed report tonight, but I will be glad to have her home and a bit in awe of her adventure.

Last dinner - scallops

Whitefish followed the 
scalops

What Sunday should be—with a minor crisis

 

My chicken dinner from Drew's Place

I looked forward to Sunday for several days. It was shaping up to be the kind of day I love—no pressure, and I could float through the day. I could sleep late, I had leftovers for lunch, and I’d worry about supper when the time came. I had a book to read, and a friend gave me an idea about something I wanted to write. To top it off, I finally ended with fried chicken leftovers—perfect supper.

Last night, we took fried chicken from Drew’s Place to Joe and Mary Dulle. They’ve had a meal train feeding them while Mary recovers from surgery, but the meal train had made its final stop. Jordan and I always said when that happened, we’d go to a restaurant near their new apartment famed for the fried chicken and take it to them; as it turned out, the classic lunch place, Drew’s, was much more reasonable. So, chicken in hand, we arrived for a tour of the apartment, a glass of wine, and a good visit. Great to see Mary looking so well, and now I can visualize them in their apartment. We came home, each nibbled on our chicken—of course we bought some for ourselves!—and gathered on the patio when the Burtons’ friends Sarah and Jay came over. Lovely evening, but it eventually got too chilly for me.

Yesterday morning Jordan, Sarah, and I had gone plant shopping. I know it’s a pain for Jordan, but it’s delight for me to be rolled through all those aisles in a transport chair instead of having to concentrate on my walker and my footing. This way I could focus on the plants. We bought things I’d never heard of, like optic grass, and old familiars like sweet potato vine, coleus—not sure why I can’t think of the others, but it was a hefty bill, so we got lots more.

Going to the nursery and then to visit the Dulles meant I was off the property twice in one day—as Christian said, a wild day for me. I don’t think it’s age so much as it is the breaking of my routine that tires me, but I was tired last night. When we came home from the Dulles, we found that Sophie doesn’t like her routine disturbed either—kt was a bit late for her dinner, and she had strewn dinner bowls on my bedroom floor, water bowl in the kitchen, and Pill Pockets (she couldn’t open it) in the living room. Sweet spoiled baby!

The back yard is beginning to look like summer. Jordan has most of the pots filled, but we need new grass—the winter rye was really awful this year and has huge, ugly bare patches. Somehow the lawn guys took out my mums a couple of months ago—I had wanted them left until time for spring flowers, but now there’s unslightly barren ground in front of the deck. Instead of pentas, which were a disaster last year, I’m going to put in native plants. Lots of bright yellow with black-eyed susans, gallardia, coreopsis, and the like.

So back to today, Christian and I collaborated on matzo brei (I had sold it to him as like migas, but he pointed out migas have pico and seasonings). The matzo brei tasted like matzo (big surprise) and was good, maybe a bit bland and a lot heavy.

Jordan went to the grocery but was gone an extraordinarily long time. She came home to tell us she had a flat, had to go get Fix-a-Flat and fix it herself. That left a quandary: they couldn’t drive to Coppell on that tire, they couldn’t drive Jacob’s SUV because it goes in tomorrow for brake pads, and they wouldn’t drive the VW. Jordan saw it as yet another sign the gods are picking on them; I saw it as an unfortunate incident. They ended not going to have dinner with Christian’s dad but going to a friends’ fiftieth birthday party.

So now I’m about to heat the potatoes and green beans that came with my chicken and have a lovely dinner—still have fried chicken. And a book I’m enjoying. Can life get any better?

Hope everyone has a great week.

A rough day

 

Jordan welcoming Jacob home from camp.
Yesterday, but I didn't get the picture in time for last night's blog.
Love it, love the smile on his face.

This, I decided, would be a lazy Sunday. No work. I would read the book that will be discussed in a group tomorrow and I should have read much earlier—getting something accomplished but not really working, not pushing myself. These hot days are hard on all of us. Even my cottage gets hot, and that almost never happens.

So the day went as planned until about one-thirty, when two things happened simultaneously: Jordan came out, obviously upset, because a strange man rang the doorbell and stayed on the front porch a long time. She and Christian were home but didn’t dare move about the house because the front door has glass panes and no covering. Christian was trapped in the room off the living room, and she in the bedroom. Jacob had just driven home, saw the man, called, and she told him not to come in because she didn’t want the man to follow or attack him. So Jacob drove “surveillance.” I dutifully called the police and then put it on the neighborhood listserv. The man went up and down the street, apparently stealing a bike and a package, stood in the middle of the street waving at our house, walked up the driveway we share with out neighbor. Clearly he needed help. He was here about an hour, and we never saw the police. Jacob thought he was probably on drugs.

Meantime, Jordan had been out to the cottage earlier and done something at the kitchen sink. I saw water on the floor, figured she’d splashed a bit, and put a paper towel over it. When I looked again the paper towel was soggy. I’ve had trouble, too much trouble with that faucet, and the last couple of days I noticed I had to push hard on the handle to keep it from dripping. So I intended to call the plumber in the morning. Now I called in the house, and Jordan sent Christian out—who found that everything under the sink was wet. He cleaned it up and turned off the water.

So now I have no water in the kitchen. You don’t realize how many times you start to wash your hands or rinse something. Tomorrow night I have company coming for a light supper—and a discussion of the Supreme Court—and I planned to cook in the morning. Plumber gets the first call. And we’re going to talk about a totally new fixture instead of repair. This is not the first flood I’ve had.

So dinner in the house tonight—steak and baked potatoes. I tried the British method of baking potatoes, as I mentioned last night—cut a cross in the top instead of poking holes all over, bake two hours at 400, take out of oven and deepen the cross, and bake ten more minutes. They were fluffy and good—and I do love a good baked potato. Steak as flavorful and cooked just right—Christian is so good at grilling. They announced that this summer Jacob should learn to grill—Jacob look uncertain about that, but I think it’s probably a great idea.

So tonight I’m going to finish off what should have been a lazy day by reading that book! Stay safe, everyone.

I went to church in my nightshirt

 

We’ve been going to church in pajamas and whatever since quarantine began, so it’s not that unusual, but I decided early this morning my clothes would set the tone for the day. I’d had lots of excitement with Colin and his family here Friday night and part of yesterday, and today the Burtons were driving to East Texas to take Jacob ot camp. A chill day for me—I wouldn’t wash my hair, get dressed, etc.(My Puritan conscience kicked in—I did make the bed.)

But what I did do, even before church, was to empty the garbage, sort out laundry, put away the dishes from last night, and generally do a straightening job in the cottage. You wouldn’t know it, because laundry, in various piles, is strewn across my big coffee table, waiting for Jordan to return tonight.

But the other thing I did that pleases me is less tangible—I revised and rewrote a short essay that has been on my desk for a week. As my friend Fred says, the short pieces are the hardest. This one, which I will submit for a volume on Texas mysteries, has a limit of 1,500 words. I’d written it and sent it to Fred for review; to my surprise he rejected my thesis and suggested an alternative—well, he suggested I modify the piece. It all has to do with agrarian or rural literature vs city or urban. I have never in a long writing career disagreed with Fred—and he reads everything I write (except blogs!). But the more I chewed on it, the more I wanted to stick to my original point.

Today I reached sort of a compromise, and I wrote to the end—1,300+ words. Tomorrow I’ll read it again, edit as needed, and with some temerity send it to Fred again. I hope he’s not tired of reading it. He was the prof in graduate school who shepherded me through the Ph.D. program, championed me when I faltered, and has read my work since. He is also a treasured friend.

But I am ready for this to be off my desk, so I can move on to what I am now thinking of as the “novel in waiting.” So that’s my plan.

Meanwhile, Sophie and I have had a quiet, lazy day—long naps, a gentle rain this afternoon, and cool temperatures. If we can trust the weather forecast, I just found online, we are in for a week of cooler temperatures and rain! Hooray! I had leftover steak and squash casserole for lunch; my dinner menu is leftover steak and mashed potatoes.

The steak and mashed potatoes were a special celebratory, send-off meal for Jacob before his departure for camp. But he woke sick yesterday morning—temperature, sore throat, etc. Jordan took him to Urgent Care where they found nothing beyond the symptoms of a summer cold. But he slept most of the day away, including missing dinner, and I suspect that cured him. I also suspect it was allergies. But late last night, I saw him in the family room folding clothes, no doubt doing some last-minute packing. I am delighted to eat his leftovers.

Busy week ahead, but I’m looking forward to it. And a dental appointment I’m not looking forward to. Hope y’all have a good week planned.

 

A lovely supper in an old place made new

 

See that teenager? I'm betting one day he plays the Colonial.
Meantime, he and his mom and dad enjoyed being spectators today.

For years there was a Hoffbrau Steak and Grill House on University Drive in Fort Worth—both my daughters worked there at one time or another. What can I say? It was a burger joint, not much ambience, dark, lots of wood, a bar where folks sometimes got noisy, a big wooden deck.

Well now it’s been redone into Maria’s Mexican Kitchen—you wouldn’t recognize the place. The bar area where you enter is upscale, bright with color, clean. We went through a dining area (where the old main dining was but much lighter and cleaner, all that wood gone) to the patio—tiled floor, two small pools, very upscale and modern.

We were given ever consideration from valet to wait staff. Because I must use a walker, I’m always a bit sensitive to that, but the valet made sure I got up the curb, parked the car close to the front; the host showed us the ramp, arranged the chairs to my convenience. I felt downright spoiled.

I was dining with two longtime friends—fifty years we figured out tonight. All of us once married to osteopathic physicians—now widowed and divorced. Did we talk about the past? Not at all. The present had too many wild stories to tell. We tried—okay I failed—to avoid politics, because we are not all on the same page. But children and in-laws and all kinds of stuff.

I was a bit leery of the menu because everything sounded spicy. A conversation with the waitress told me I could substitute crab cakes in sour cream for the spicy sauces. That sounded so good to Linda that she ordered the same thing, and they were wonderful. Nancy had a platter, with a mole enchilada, I think.

Food was good, atmosphere was great, staff was friendly and kind. What more could you ask?

Interesting side note: a woman at the next table was friendly, telling us how good their dinner was. When she left, she looked at me and asked, “Are you Judy?” Turned out to be someone I am Facebook friends with (we share fairly strong political views) and, perhaps more important, we both adore the woman who cuts our hair. Her husband is also a Facebook friend, but he had moved on, talking to someone else. A nice chance encounter that brightened an already pleasant evening.

Other than that, it was a lazy Sunday. I didn’t push myself to get any work done. Coincidentally, the sermon this morning was on keeping the sabbath and not feeling we have to work every minute. That all-consuming focus on work, the minister suggested, is something that intensified during pandemic when so many people worked from home. Today, as usual, I worshipped from home, but we are about ready to go back to the church. Christian talked about it recently, and we’re waiting for the right Sunday.

You know those people who make all kinds of excuses for not being in church? That’s us! Mother’s Day was out because we were getting ready to do lunch for ten. Last week was out because Jordan was out of town—yes, we could have gone without her, but we didn’t. This week was out, because Jordan, Christian, and Jacob were going to the PGA tournament at Colonial Country Club. Who knows what next Sunday will bring? I will say while we have not been there physically, I have been faithful about attending virtual church, and Jordan has joined me most Sundays.

A busy week ahead and one in which I will get out of the cottage more for a variety of errands and appointments. It’s about time.

Sweet dreams, everyone!

 

Gotta Love the Scots

I’m can’t testify to either of these items, though I did see a picture of the flag, but they’re just too good not to share. Apparently when Donald Trump deplaned in Scotland, he was greeted by a mariachi band pushing a wheelbarrow full of bricks. And someone planted a Mexican flag just outside the border of his golf course. Word is he’d been trying, without success, to evict the land owner whose property adjoins the course. I know from family stories that Scots do not easily part with their land.

When Houston MacBain was the MacBain of MacBain (Chief of the Clan) he tried to buy the property that had held the homestead before the Clearances. (I am a registered member of the MacBain/McBean Clan.) The owner reluctantly parted with a small portion of what MacBain wanted—and he had to do with that. So I’m sure Trump has had a hard time wresting property from his neighbor.

I think that means the Scots did not welcome Mr. Trump.

That was my amusement for the day. It was a lazy Sunday, but one in which I got a fair amount of work done—roughed out a newsletter (want to be on the list? Email me at j.alter@tculedu), finished a novel I’m reading, made notes for a novel I want to write, read Facebook and email, and had a good nap—I didn’t sleep well last night.

Tonight neighbors Jay and Susan shared their Sunday night supper with me—tuna salad, chicken salad, potato chips, cherry tomatoes, and good wheat bread. It’s what they eat every Sunday night, and it’s my kind of meal. We had a jolly time, laughing and talking, until I mentioned a political topic—Jay and I immediately clashed as we always do. He takes it in better humor than I do—I want to demand, “How can you be so wrong?” He said, “You and I are going to have an interesting fall.”

I’m really enjoying reading again and am off to start a new book.