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| Mary and Jordan with Mary's decadent coconut pie. Photo by Prudence Zavala. |
Tonight the four of us who gather on Tuesday night on my patio (or inside if it’s cold and now that we’re unmasked) went to Pacific Table to celebrate Mary’s birthday—and made gluttons of ourselves. Mary loves oysters on the half shell, so she had a dozen while the rest of us shared the appetizer I call a fish spread. Jordan says that is a most unappealing name for it, but whatever you want to call it, it’s very good. Pru ate her first oyster (okay, she tried it at twenty and didn’t like the texture). Tonight she liked it. I had one, and the cocktail sauce about blew me away. I like horseradish, but all things in moderation.
We
enjoyed our dinners. I came home with a crab cake for lunch tomorrow, one that
was mostly crab and little filler. Crab cakes are such an iffy thing—every restaurant
has their own version and it’s always a bit of a chance. But I knew at Pacific
Table they would be good.
We
lingered over too much wine and finally made our exit. Having sat in a special,
private booth (Pru makes good reservations), we walked the length of the
restaurant and came across a table of thirty-year friends, not close friends
but special people. Jordan and David both laugh (without a lot of humor) when I
describe it this way but way back in high school, David was her first boyfriend,
and even after they “broke up,” he was around a lot. I began to claim him as my
fifth son.
So
tonight it was his parents that we ran into. Got lots of warm greetings and hugs.
They have always been so good to us. I remember a Mother’s Day when Jordan and
I were alone, and the Barnes invited us for dinner, complete with small gifts
of sweet potato plants. First I knew of those ubiquitous lovely green things. I
was grateful for the warm family feelings.
When
David married (he waited for a good long while) I was included in the rehearsal
dinner because, as his parents said, “you helped raise him.” I don’t know about
that, but we still consider him family. Now that he’s happily married to a lovely
girl, we don’t see him as much, but I understand they will join us when we
celebrate Jordan’s birthday in a week or so.
My
point in all this is that this is the kind of town Fort Worth is—you have
friends you’ve known for years, and you run into them at the oddest moment when
you’re not expecting it. That brief encounter warmed my heart almost as much as
the birthday dinner did.
So now
I’m home, overfed with a tad extra wine and not inclined to work. I did write a
small bit today but made a momentous change. New title for the current Irene
adventure: instead of Irene Keeps a Secret, it is now Finding
Florence, which I hope is a nice parallel to the first book in the series, Saving
Grace.
I went
out tonight all bundled in a lovely, voluminous gray sweater that Megan gave
me, only to find it isn’t nearly as cold as it was yesterday. But apparently it
is to get cold later tonight, and by Thursday we may have freezing rain and
sleet. I am beginning to think of this as the never-ending winter. I huddled
inside all day, unable to get really warm. Looking forward to my cozy bed
tonight.
Sweet dreams
everyone. And say a prayer for the people of Ukraine and the ordinary citizens
of Russia—and all of us. We live in a global world. Remember the shot that was
heard round the world? The first was at Concord when British troops and
American revolutionaries met. Someone fired a shot, and the battle was on.
Americans may have won the war eventually, but they lost that battle. Perhaps the
more famous shot heard round the world was in 1914 when Austria’s Archduke Franz
Ferdinand was shot at Sarajevo. That shot triggered the start of World War I.
That’s how I feel about Ukraine—that first shot was heard round the world and
continues to reverberate. I pray it is not the beginning of World War III.
Please join me in prayer, whatever your faith.
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