Sunday night and all is well

Veal schnitzel.

Or is all really well? I am at the point I refuse to think about the midterms, refuse to open all those “bedwetter” messages of doom and gloom. I have done my best to support the candidates I believe would best serve Texas and the nation, and I am frankly worn out. It’s not that I don’t care—I do care, passionately. Perhaps that’s why I am worn out. I can only imagine how the candidates must feel. I still have my heroes—John Fetterman, who has shown remarkable courage in staging a campaign while recovering from a stroke; Charlie Crist, who has taken on a formidable would-be dictator; Raphael Warnock, who runs against a well-funded opponent who is so openly unsuited for government that it boggles the mind. Those and others are on my wish list and in my prayers.

I get constant appeals to volunteer to be a poll watcher, which I would do in a heartbeat if I were mobile. But all those do is make me want to shout, “Stop bugging me.” When this is over and the Democrats have crested the blue wave, I have lots of suggestions for campaigning, probably all of which will be countered by more seasoned campaigners. But I will still have my say.

Meanwhile, in my own little world, it is indeed Sunday, and all is well. After a day of lollygagging, I got my act together and was quite efficient about dinner. The problem was that I had committed (to myself; Christian wouldn’t have minded if I changed my mind) to make schnitzel, with its complicated dipping required—first in flour, then in egg, and finally in panko mixed with mayonnaise and olive oil. Friends were coming for happy hour—if I’d know that days ago, I probably would have changed the menu to something easier. But I felt committed.

So mid-afternoon, after an abbreviated nap, I bustled around, put away clean dishes, got out what I’d need for supper, washed lettuce for salad, and got out cheese and crackers for happy hour. For dinner, I cancelled my plan to do oven potatoes and Brussel sprouts. Simplify was my guiding word. We would have schnitzel and salad. Jacob was not home tonight—it was Canwick, the annual dance where girls invite the guys. So supper was just Christian and me.

We had a good visit with Sue and Teddy—for some reason much of the talk centered on dogs, with each of us recounting the story of when we lost beloved pets. A bit ghoulish. But we did have other topics, and it was good to visit with them. I had scheduled happy hour earlier than they usually do because that darn schnitzel loomed over my mind.

As it was, it was a bit after eight before we had supper. But I surprised myself with the schnitzel. Once again, I followed the directions step by step—well, almost, and it turned out to be much easier than I anticipated, although it was messy. Sophie had a feast from the floor—panko seasoned with mayo and olive oil. Still, the meat was ready to go in the oven sooner than expected. While it cooked, I washed the cooking dishes—once again a huge number of things—tossed a salad and set out dinner plates. It turned out to be a lovey dinner.

And, by the by, last night’s white bean soup, good then, was superspecial for lunch today. But I realized that all that work only made four servings of soup. I think at my age it’s time for me to learn to stop thinking in terms of big-batch meals and start thinking of cooking for four.

Jordan arrived home from Costa Rica just before ten tonight. I had thought I was making enough salad that there would be some left for her, since she had emailed that the food was good, lots of fish, but she was ready for a blue cheese salad. When I looked at the bowl after we ate it had three lonely leaves of lettuce and some dressing. I could have added more lettuce, but she really wasn’t interested, asked if we could save it for tomorrow. We’ll just have to start from scratch tomorrow.

And I’ll start again tomorrow, not from scratch, but midway in my novel-in-progress. I say that every Monday, and I let myself get distracted by too many other things. But each week my resolve is firm We’ll see what happens.

What’s your plan for the week ahead/