My get-up-and-go has went

Carnitas for supper

It’s a dull, overcast day, the kind that could easily throw me into depression if I let it. We’re promised rain, and it’s all around us, but by mid-day not a drop. I swear though you can smell it in the air.

I have no ambition. Spent too much of the morning on email lists and Facebook. I still have it in mind to spend time on the New York Times Cooking Community page.,I did make out a menu/grocery list—all trivial stuff. It’s not that I don’t have work to do. But I feel no sense of urgency, which I’ve felt for weeks now, trying to manage the last phases of my novel. Most of my deadlines are self-imposed, so I suppose it’s good for me to have a do-nothing day without even pressure from me.

Even Sophie feels the lethargy and has spent the morning sleeping, perhaps saving up energy for happy hour which is her favorite time of day. She begins to bark softly or give me low “friendly” growls—sort of like she’s clearing her throat—about five fifteen. Either Jordan or I put her food out and give her a pre-dinner chew. A little after that she tries for my attention again. If I ask her, “Is it time?” she picks up her chew and bolts out the door. Then she stands and stares at the door, waiting for me and usually Jordan to come out. If we’re too slow, she runs back inside, gives us a “talking to” and then runs outside again.

Once we’re both outside, she sits and stares at the gate, as if to ask, “Who is coming tonight?” More often than not, she is rewarded with the arrival of a masked friend. Our happy hour guests—a handful we know have been quarantining strictly—bring their own wine and glasses and we all sit a respectful six feet apart. Tonight our regular Tuesday night guests, two neighbors, will be here unless the rain materializes. We are not yet at the point of inviting people into the cottage.

Cooking once again proved my salvation today. I ground up some leftover rotisseries chicken for chicken salad for lunch—my little counter processor didn’t grind it as fine as I’d like, so that was only a medium success. But with cottage cheese and yogurt, it made an okay lunch.

In the late afternoon I put pork butt and seasonings on to boil dry for carnitas. Somehow got a bit too much salt into the mixture, but nobody but me minded, and it did taste good. Plus made a pretty plate. One of Christian’s favorite meals. We served it with guacamole, sour cream, black beans, and a small salad of lettuce, tomatoes, and onion.

Happy hour was happy, though we seemed stuck for a bit on a depressing discussion of death and final resting places, all prompted because I asked the neighbors to witness the signing of my will. We did this two or three weeks ago, but the lawyer said I didn’t sign correctly—didn’t initial pages, etc. He insisted we had to start over with new documents, so we did. This process has, I swear, taken a year—and I was never even sure the will I had before wasn’t okay. But my kids convinced me I had to update it—changes in who would get my house, etc., since I moved into the cottage. Drawing up the new will has been characterized by long delays, partly pandemic caused and partly I don’t know what. But I am ready to be through with it, through with the expensive lawyer. I have my obituary mostly written and notes for a memorial service—and I don’t want to think about death anymore! But I know several people who are seriously working on their wills and other end-of-life plans. What times we live in!

And the rain? Never happened.