Lazy Sunday, sort of

           

The northern-style bread-stuffing I made today

Jordan and Christian are off to take Jacob to Sky Ranch, and I have the “compound” to myself. When Jacob came out to tell me goodbye, I discovered his education has been severely lacking. I found a wishbone I’d tucked away to dry and held it out to him, thinking we would each make a wish before he left. He looked blank and asked, ‘What is that? What am I supposed to do with ii?” I crooked my finger around one end and indicated he should do the same. This was sort of difficult because it was from a rotisserie chicken and was tiny. As soon as he got his finger around it, he pulled, and it flew out of my hand. So I explained, we made silent wishes, and pulled. He won, and I really hope his wish comes true.

I’m still cleaning drawers in preparation for having the furniture moved out of my bedroom while they put new floors in. Amazing the things you find that you have no place for and yet don’t want to get rid of. A small oil of an ocean/wave scene, done in shades of brown instead of blue—it has a small three-corner tear in the beige sky that I never had repaired, but I always loved the painting. It’s signed, but I don’t know a thing about the artist. A dish towel with various places in Scotland shown on it. A bunch of half slips—ladies, remember when we wore those? (I did get rid of them.) Lots of winter-weight pants and jeans—now I have to inventory the closet and decide which to keep, which to donate. I do not need five pairs of jeans! Found my wool beret, scarf, and leather-palmed gloves, just in case we have sleet and snow ever again.

The summer issue of my “only occasional” newsletter went out Friday, and it’s had an unexpected side benefit—I’ve heard from several old friends in reaction to it, including a former boss at the university who said something unfortunate about my age bracket. I know he meant it as a compliment, but it caught me up short for a moment. Two local friends that I lost touch with responded, and I am hoping we can have lunch one day soon.

I’ve asked for turkey for my birthday dinner, because my mom always fixed it when I was a kid—served cold with potato salad—and because we’re always gone for turkey holidays and never get leftovers. We will not serve it cold but will make a casserole of my invention. Wish me luck.

So this morning I made old-fashioned, northern-style bread dressing. It was a by-guess and by-gosh process, because I couldn’t really find a recipe on line—some called for sausage, others for eggs, the one I used as a sort of guide called for eight stalks of celery which I thought excessive. And not a one told you how much bread in usable terms—a loaf didn’t help when I was using odd bits of baguettes in the freezer. I tried to remember how my mom did it, and I imagined her looking over my shoulder, making suggestions—that’s how I learned to cook. The taste I tried was pretty good, but we will serve this to people used to cornbread stuffing. We’ll see.

It’s late afternoon, and I plan to devote the rest of the day to reading a novel. With a big salad and a glass of wine for dinner—and a piece of the mousse cake we cut into last night. Might as well spoil myself.