Stuff

When I write my kids emails I often just put "stuff" in the subject line--it means not much, a whole lot of nothing, whatever.
Yesterday morning, I had a rude awakening. Scooby wanted to go out at 6:30, so I thought I'd let him out and crawl back to bed for 15 minutes. But when I turned the alarm off, it acted funny, and when I got to the back door, it was open and the dog was already outside. The bolt was turned in the door and the key in the lock. My first thought was to make sure no one was hiding in the house, so I called for Scooby to come back in. He looked at me as though to say, "I've got a Milk Bone and I have to pee and I don't think so!" I finally convinced him with another bone and took him through the house, although everywhere we went he was dancing in anticipation of another treat. As I truly thought, no one lingered in a closet. So I put him back out and remembered the cat--he hadn't greeted me as usual. So I went out the back door--barefoot in the cold--calling, "Wywy, Wywy!" A meow from the other side of the fence, and an impatient wait at the gate. I wanted to tell him he'd gotten over the darn fence, and he could very well get back over it. But I struggled with the lock, with Scoob dancing around me. Wywy went right to the back door and looked at me like, "What's taking you so long?" Animals! I did finally figure it out, I think--the night before Scoob and I had gotten tangled when he came in for his night treat--I had the box top in my hand along with the small dog bones and got mixed up in getting the right thing to him. I must have closed the door but not tightly and then not paid attention when I turned on the alarm. Lesson learned--from now on, I test the door and watch to see that the alarm kicks in.
I've been riding my stationary bike harder than usual--got the resistance up to the third level for four or five minutes and my pulse to 126. Result? A shin splint. So I'm off the bike for a few days. If it isn't one thing . . . .
I got an email from Sara Paretsky today, and I'll treasure it as I do the few signed letters I have from famous authors. I read her Writing in an Age of Silence--as I mentioned in a previous blog. I wrote to tell her how much of an impression it made on me, a child of the South Side, a publisher and author who appreciated her clear explanation of New York publishing today, and a liberal who deplores what's done with the Patriot Act. Although she's on tour, she wrote back a gracious and kind note. I was thrilled. A year or so ago I had a chance to have a quick glass of iced tea with another "big name" mystery author who is one of my favorites--I found her abrupt, unsympathetic, and unfriendly, though I later learned she was carrying on her lecture tour in spite of great family tragedy. That night, onstage, she was charming and funny. But I sure didn't find her that way in person. So I was glad Ms. Paretsky turned out to be so human.
I seem to be in a food-writing mood on this blog in recent days, but tonight I had an "invented" dinner. I saw a recipe for stuffing manicotti with chicken strips and then making a sauce of cream of chicken soup and Velveeta. Well, it just happens I had Velveeta left over from Christmas (a chili/cheese dip) and no idea what to do with it. It's not something I would ordinarily cook with. But I am not about to stuff manicotti for one person. So I roasted a half chicken breast, boiled some spinach noodles that were in the cupboard, cooked a part of a bag of chopped broccoli, and made a sauce of chicken soup, white wine (well, the recipe called for water--how dull!) and Velveeta, and baked the whole thing. After a while I stirred it to mix in the lumps of now-melted Velveeta and then topped it with Parmesan. Really good if I do say so, but I probably have two more meals left over.
Jordan didn't eat the Brussells sprouts last night. Even the smell turned her off. But Jacob loved the tiny bits of her lamb chop she gave him.
We are under a winter weather watch, with possible--probable?--freezing rain in the morning. Hope it doesn't happen. I have too much to do, including a trip to the grocery to buy ground buffalo for a meatloaf for company on Saturday. Knowing that such weather--"Stock Show weather, we call it in Fort Worth"--is coming makes me feel colder just hearing about it. Maybe, like so many other predictions, it will come to nothing. Then again . . . .
Back to my book on surgery. I'm almost finished. My problem now is too many words!