Phoenix Rising

Sunday night's blog on Monday morning.

Jordan and Christian cooked a real “company meal” tonight for Jay and Susan to thank them for all they did to help us through the great hailstorm and the massive move that followed—and for always being ready to help, especially with Jay’s truck.

Susan talked about how much she likes looking out and seeing my cottage ablaze with lights in the evening, and indeed it is like living in a compound. But tonight, was her first look at the main house since Jordan and Christian have moved in, arranged their furniture (much different from mine), and made it their own.

We dined on some fine English china that my mom and an aunt began collecting for me when I was in high schools—Golden Grapevine, with an elaborate gold pattern (no, not dishwasher safe). With it Jordan used the gold flatware I had to go with the Imari china I since gave to one of the other kids. Jordan had also found wine glasses with gold patterns, and she was excited to set this elegant table.

The menu was roulade—layered flattened pork tenderloin, topped with flattened chicken breast meat and then prosciutto—sort of like making a turducken at Thanksgiving only much easier. In between the layers you put a sauce of chopped parsley and basil, anchovies, and oils. Roll the whole thing up, brown it, and bake. It’s an elegant dish but complicated to prepare, and Christian did an excellent job. Jordan served goat cheese mashed potatoes and a wonderful green salad as accompaniments—and oven-fried a few slices of potato for me since goat cheese is not on my diet list—nor is the decadent chocolate cream pie she served for dessert.

Susan at one point said it was like seeing new rise out of the remnants of the old, like Phoenix rising, and she’s right. The old, thank goodness, has not been gotten rid of but simply moved off center stage, while the new—Jordan and Christian’s makeover of my house—moves on to center stage.

Susan asked if that thought made me said, and I said not at all. I think tonight was the fourth time I’ve been in the house since I moved out, and I haven’t missed it. Nor does it make me feel sad to see it with different furniture and a different look and feel. I retreat to the cottage, which looks and feels like my house always did. They have their space, and I have mine, and it is time for the order to change.

A sad note to my post about the white dog: the dog at Animal Control is not our white dog. It’s an owner surrender and has never nursed a litter of pups. So we don’t know where our white dog is, and we can only wish her godspeed where life takes her next.

I knew I shouldn’t have given her a name.