A hodgepodge Saturday

 

 

My herb garden, varnished and ready to go.
We have the liner, pebbles for drainage, and dirt, plus
four small plants. I had a vision of winter lettuce, but apparently
there is no such thing. I'll plant seeds in anticipation of
early spring lettuce. 

Bricklayers, I have learned, are quiet—until they are noisy. Yesterday they quietly laid brick all day on the new guesthouse/cabana that neighbors are building, with my blessing, directly behind my cottage. There was one incident at noon when it sounded like they were banging on a kettle drum—I thought maybe they were mixing mortar, but what do I know about what bricklayers do? Otherwise, it was quiet, even though the neighbor warned me there might be construction noise. My one request was: no loud music in the afternoons when I like to sleep.

This morning, being Saturday I was sure they would not work. So wrong. They began hammering and pounding at seven-thirty. What do bricklayers do that requires hammering? Anyway, it’s been fun to watch that wall of green insulation with wires protruding everywhere turn into a smooth brick wall.

These are good neighbors. They came to me for an easement or whatever it’s called before they ever started this project, and they have been careful to keep me informed and be sure I didn’t have any problems with what was going on. Philip Newburn, the architect who designed my cottage, designed this structure too, and he put the windows facing my cottage high up so that they provide light in the new cabana but do not invade my privacy. I call that Texas neighborliness.

I once had a friend who claimed she could be perfectly content watching paint dry. That is so not me, so I had to move on beyond watching them lay brick. Still, it is Saturday, and I fiddled and piddled more than usual, once again drawn into posts about what I am now calling Abbott’s Law—may it go down in history as an example of evil in government.

But I did manage to read the last two chapters of Irene in Danger, checking for typos. And I had fun, as I did yesterday, putting together recipes for the back of the book. So far I have gougères (little cheese-y puff pastries), gibelotte (a rabbit stew—not to worry, I have other suggestions), salade niçoise, Henny’s Mom’s ranch beans, and Henny’s Mom’s potato salad. A nice mix of French and Texas, representative of the food to be served at the wedding of Henny and Patrick—that is, if they ever get to hold that wedding. Wait! Did I just give away a bit of the plot?

Emails kept me involved for a while, especially an exchange with Carol about my updated Handbook of Texas entry on the Waggoner Ranch. Carol is my friend who is an archivist, research librarian, and a walking encyclopedia of Texas history. I was delighted to be able to tell her a few things about the Waggoner family homes that she didn’t know. The Most Land, the Best Cattle: The Waggoners of Texas launches October 1. I need to be doing more advance publicity and checking on what the publisher is doing.

And tonight, Jean and I had our regular Saturday night supper. We usually choose Saturday because the Burtons have other plans, but it has become a running joke that she finds them at home, their plans having changed or cancelled. Almost happened again today when the pool party they thought they were going to was cancelled. But tonight, they are at the seasoner opener for TCU football. TCU is playing DuQuesne, and Jean and I had to look it up to see where the school is located—Pittsburgh, PA. Jean was guessing East Coast, while I thought Davenport, Iowa. Nine minutes into the first quarter TCU was ahead 7-0; too early to predict much.

On tonight’s menu was blonde puttanesca. Puttanesca is commonly known as the whore’s spaghetti. Usually a red sauce, it has the strong flavors of onion, garlic, anchovies, red pepper, and capers—the ladies of the night made it from what they had on hand. I avoid it because it is too spicy, but I thought this blonde version, with tuna, would be good. It was, but it was a bit fishy—a combination of the anchovy and capers. Lemon cut it a bit, but I probably won’t try it again. Jean happily went home with a serving for her lunch tomorrow.

And I’m ready to spend the evening reading. Sleep well and have happy dreams, my friends.