A not-so-minor explosion

June Bug enjoying happy hour on the patio

You know that big storm we had last night? The one that came up in two minutes flat, turned daylight to immediate dark, and blew so hard I feared for my lovely old oaks? Yes, that one. It was nothing compared to the explosion in the cottage this afternoon.

Let me back up. My younger son, Jamie, is coming over from Frisco this week. Knowing he’s partial to Diet Coke (which makes his mother frown because of the aspartame), Jordan bought a twelve-pack and stocked my fridge. Four cans left over, so I put them on the butcher block and this afternoon was busily transferring them to the bottom shelf.

I dropped one! I’m not sure how, perhaps my hand was wet and slippery. But it fell at my feet, puncturing a hole in the surprisingly fragile can and sending sticky sweet liquid everywhere. I resigned myself to mopping the floor and wiping down some of the other things on the bottom shelf.

Just then Jordan walked in, looked at my desk  (probably five or six feet from the kitchen) and asked, “What happened? It’s all wet?” The more she looked, the more frustrated she became. Long story short, she mopped the floor three times, washed down cabinets and walls, appliances and the fridge and sink, muttering all the while about a forthcoming invasion of ants. She found it in my bedroom (next to the kitchen) and at the other end of the cottage on the coffee table. She was hot and frustrated, and I sat helplessly by. I know better than to get in her way. Worst of it is she had spent an hour and a half yesterday thoroughly cleaning the cottage.

Sophie observed all this with a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty. She watched from the bedroom doorway and then tried to investigate what was on the floor when Jordan pulled out the butcher block. Jordan kept saying, “Out from under my feet!”

Order is restored, and I’m going to cook one of Jordan’s favorite dinners—spinach fettucine with mushrooms, artichoke hearts, green onion, pesto, and lots of lemon and butter. The boys can fend for themselves since they don’t eat mushrooms or artichoke hearts.

I did a bit of creative cooking earlier today. Made gazpacho from a recipe by Texas food and travel writer and cook extraordinaire June Naylor Harris, only I halved it and made it my own by substituting green onion for a red onion and leaving out the serrano chile. I am just not a chile person—I guess it’s because way back when, over fifty-five years ago, I was a northerner, and I’ve just never learned to like spicy. I’m letting it chill until tomorrow, but it smells wonderful.

It was a joy tonight to sit on the patio comfortably. The air is not cool but not oppressively hot, and we had the fan on. Loved being out there again and not cooped up behind closed doors. I wish spring and fall in Texas lasted all year.