Not much of anything and a whole lot of nothing

 

You may have missed it when I posted earlier, but Story Circle Network published a short piece of mine on their blog today. (For those who didn't know him, this is a picture of my ex, Joel Alter, after he finished a marathon, around 1980; I should mention that I was in the picture but got cropped out--perhaps a metaphor). Written some ten years ago, the piece is about my feelings the night Joel died. It was a piece that I found when I was scrabbling through notes and bits and pieces for a memoir. I posted a link to the piece on Facebook this morning and was highly flattered by the responses.  (https://www.storycircle.org/december-12-numb-and-puzzling-grief/) I’m thinking there is indeed a memoir in my future. Two projects remain between me and a memoir—Irene Deep in Texas Trouble—I’m almost at the end of the first draft now—and then my Helen Corbitt project. I have no idea how long it will take me, but it’s nice to have projects lined up before me.

Before I retired, I used to worry a lot about retirement, afraid that I would wake up in the morning and think, “What in the world will I do today?” So far, that has been far from the truth. I often wake up with my mind whirling with the things I have to get done. This week, it’s finish the Irene adventure and wrap Christmas gifts—two totally unrelated activities. Any Christmas cooking that can be done ahead is already done, though I may decide at the last minute to do something for extra gifts.

Blog writing is hard these days. My mind wants to be filled with Christmas trivia and goodies and music and all that goes with the season. But for this child of the Midwest, it’s just not looking a lot like Christmas. Today the yard guys came with mowers and blowers and when they finished the thick carpet of leaves was gone from the driveway and yard. But it took them forever to do it, with Sophie barking her displeasure all the time. Although we’ve had just occasional rain, it’s been so damp—and the leaves so wet—that there is mold growing on the patio. I hesitate to use bleach because of the dogs. Storms are predicted for tonight and a freeze highly possible for this weekend. A little snow would sure make it feel a lot more like Christmas.

Another blog problem: I don’t for right now feel the intensity of the political atmosphere that finally really culminated in Raphael Warnock’s re-election to the Senate. Fund-raisers are already pointing us toward 2024 with dire warnings that the Democrats need big war chests (I suppose the Republicans do too, but I don’t get those emails except in rare instances of misdirected mail—I do not want to hear from the likes of Newt Gingrich, thank you).

A few issues do spark my interest. The return home of Brittainy Griner is one of them (who knew she’s a Baylor alum?). I am continually incensed at columns and comments to the effect that she hates America. She proudly brought home two gold medals for her country—funny kind of hate. Even more objectionable are comments that she should have been left behind and Paul Whelan brought home. As several have pointed out, our country suddenly has a wealth of armchair hostage negotiators who know exactly what should have been done. They completely overlook the fact that Whelan’s freedom wasn’t offered, was never on the table. They think it makes a good story to embarrass President Biden who, to his everlasting credit, seems beyond embarrassment as he quietly goes about his job of doing good for the country.

Another issue that interests me is the fight for leadership in the Republican House caucus. I think McCarthy’s days are numbered, and I’m not at all sorry. He apparently has a poor grasp of government issues, and his lust for the speakership overrides any good sense he may once have had. I am afraid, though if he is defeated, someone really awful will take over—like MTG who once again this weekend, at  national Republican youth gala, demonstrated that she has not an ounce of decorum about her. Just don’t ask her about what she saw for sale at Target.

Today was a blah day for me, not that I regret it. I slept late, worked all morning and part of the afternoon, had leftovers for supper (who can quarrel with steak and a twice-baked potato filled with cream cheese?), worked some more in the evening, wrapped some packages. I’ll read a bit and go to bed. But above you see where my mind goes when I have nothing else to offer for the day. If I miss a few days of blogging in the upcoming days, please forgive me. I don’t want to take your time with, “And then I did this, and then I did that.”

Thanks to all who have expressed concern about my cold. I know I whine like a baby but I’m not often sick, and so I take it seriously when I am. Maybe that’s another blog topic. Meantime, it is getting better, and I feel okay—not sure however that my cough would be acceptable in a restaurant or a party, so social plans are on hold.

Night all. I’m going to quit babbling.

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.

 

Hurry Up and Wait

Colin and Morgan at home in the cottage

My oldest son, Colin, and his eleven-year-old daughter, Morgan, have come for the weekend with the explicit goals of figuring out my finances yet again!, figuring out what to do about my car and driving, and a couple of other things. They arrived about noon, and we had an enjoyable visit until two. Then Colin announced it was time for my nap, and they would run errands. Just before six, Morgan was here but we had no idea where Colin was. He finally came in a bit later and when I asked about my car, he said, “I went by to look at it but errands ran away with the day.” I didn’t ask why he waited to do errands until he got up here. But there it was—six o’clock—and we/d done nothing except have a nice visit.

Before I retired that would have driven me wild. I would have complained about the errands and called him two or three times to ask when he’d be home. The new me took a long nap and decided he was the one who had come up here with a plan and he’d get to it sooner or later.

Meantime, Jordan and Christian hosted a formal dinner party tonight—well, at least as formal as they get. Colin, Morgan, and I stayed in the cottage, though folks came out to see us. Jordan sweetly served us dinner—best steak we’ve had in forever. I couldn’t eat the mashed potatoes, to my dismay, because they had cream cheese in them. But we are full and happy.

And we’ve pretty much brought Colin’s files on my business up to date—Colin will be the executor someday and is now my unofficial financial consultant so it’s important for him to keep up.

Tomorrow he’ll get my car out of Subie’s driveway and bring it up to my driveway. We’ll sit in it and talk about how I feel—can I react fast enough to get my foot from gas to brake in an emergency? Does the inflexible brace allow me enough ankle movement to react and control the car? Will the walker fit in the back seat? If I talk the walker and go somewhere alone am I in more danger of falling getting it in and out? So many questions. A friend offered me an appropriate amount for the car, but Colin’s wife said if I’m to sell it, I should sell it to them. So many questions but fortunately we don’t have to decide tomorrow. Part of that lesson I learned.

Meantime I will sleep happily tonight knowing that I have one child and one grandchild under my cottage roof.