Coping with summer

Chicken stir-fry

Texas heat shouldn’t be a problem since we’re all quarantining anyway, right? Wrong. It doesn’t work that way. The other night, as we ate supper, Jordan glanced at the wall thermometer which is supposed to tell indoor/outdoor temperatures and announced it was 82 in the cottage. It does no good for me to tell her that thermometer has given up totally on the outdoor temperature and is wildly inaccurate about the indoor. Besides, I didn’t have a counterargument. It truly was hot.

It’s an old battle between us. I swear she has Mediterranean blood somewhere, and I lean toward my Scottish ancestors of the Highlands—Celtic and all that, but thin-blooded. I am cold all the time. I like my patio door open so that I feel a bit like I’m in the outdoors or bring the outdoors in to me and also so that Sophie can come and go as she pleases—mostly these hot days she pleases to stay inside. Jordan wants the a/co on and the door closed, which in summer makes me feel closed in.

Between them, Jordan and Christian “fixed” my living room a/c unit—the kind that sits up by the ceiling. I never can think what they’re called, but it’s both a/c and, in winter, a heating unit. Jordan washed the filters, a much overdue job, and Christian moved the fan from the first notch to the highest setting. Please do not ask why I didn’t think of that. And last night I also turned on the unit in my bedroom.

The result was that the cottage was at a chilly 70 degrees this morning, and I was chilly—not cold, just a bit uncomfortable—all morning. I kept the door closed in the afternoon but opened it again this evening for company on the patio. Tonight, the unreliable thermometer says its 81 in here, but I am quite comfortable. Jordan is engaged with a guest on her front porch, so I don’t have her take on the temperature.

We haven’t been cooking “dinner” much, since when dinnertime rolled around Jordan said she was too hot to think about food. So last night I had a hot dog, and tonight it’s tuna salad with cottage cheese. Tomorrow night, though, we plan to do salmon—I bet we do it in the oven, rather than asking Christian to grill.

We always try to make Sunday night dinner special, and last Sunday we had chicken stir-fry. When I suggested it, Jordan said, “Oh, good, Christian loves to stir-fry.” Later Christian said, “I’ve never made stir-fry before.” But he gamely found a recipe, followed it, and created a truly wonderful dinner for us. Monday night I fixed steak fingers, something I used to fix for my kids all the time. Had a hard time making Jordan and the butcher figure out what I wanted—minute steaks or cube steaks. With some surprise, after I’d blown a fuse trying to cook supper, Christian said, “The meat is good, Juju.” Watch for these recipes in an upcoming “Gourmet on a Hot Plate” blog. Along with two easy sides, which I’ll feature tomorrow.

I am knee deep in fixing edits on my WIP. The editor was kind, but some of her edits make me feel really dumb to have made such mistakes or omissions. She skewers me on two points—misogyny, for directing cooking instructions at housewives when in truth, a lot of career women and men cook these days. I know that, because both my sons are terrific cooks.

The other, which I am sure will delight Jacob, is that she suggests I use old-fashioned language. I’m trying to correct, because I realize thirty=somethings won’t talk like I do. But Jordan, bless her heart, said tonight, “You’re the least old-fashioned person I know.” Made my day. If I asked you “THE” question about a relationship with a previous partner, what would you think? Yeah, that’s what Jordan thought too.

Stay cool, safe, and well.