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| Panzanella (Italian salad) |
Shh! Don’t tell Jean, but that
dinner I was too tired to cook for her last night—white bean soup and panzanella
salad—was delicious tonight. Like my mom’s migraines, my ennui of yesterday was
a one-day affair, and while I won’t say I bounced back, I think I sort of hopped—awkwardly.
And thanks to Jean, I had a loaded baked potato for lunch—the one she brought
from Jason’s last night was huge, and I was not yet ready to eat heartily then.
Today I was ravenous. (I just took a picture of the panzanella and sent it from
my phone to my computer—it arrived with the captions, “pan smells.”
Slept late this morning, went
to church online, made croutons for the salad (not as difficult as I anticipated,
but the crust on Central Market sourdough is so good but so tough), and made
the soup. Then I had to have a nap, but that’s not unusual for me.
Church was interesting. Russ
Peterman has been preaching sermons based on various hymns, which delighted me
because I can still recite the word of the old hymns I remember from childhood and
in my mind I can hear the melody (somehow it doesn’t come out well when I try
to sing, and I am in awe of choir members my age who lift their voices in
praise). Today’s hymn was “How Great is Thy Faithfulness,” which I don’t
remember but I learned today is a beautiful, soaring piece of music. The sermon
dwelt on the fact that we are not promised eternal happiness on earth, but we
are sure of God’s faithful love when tragedy strikes.
I remembered a tsunami that killed
thousands one year in this century. A friend who was a nonbeliever asked me how
I could believe in a good god who let such happen, and I posed the question to
our then-minister. He said, “Shit happens, but when it does, God is there to
help us.” That was essentially this morning’s message, and since this year a
lot of “sh*t” has happened to those I love, I found it meaningful.
Just as I finished making the
soup this morning, my induction hot plate began to sing to me—an ominous sign. It
had gone berserk. In the six years since I have relied on one, this is the
second to fall apart. It leaves me without a way to cook, except the toaster
oven. Fortunately tonight Jordan took the soup pot inside and heated it. I have
ordered a new hot plate—it should arrive Tuesday. I understand a good friend is
already pledged to bring us dinner tomorrow night—good timing.
Tonight I discovered a dog
rescue group I didn’t know existed: Doodle Rock Rescue intrigued me. It seems
to me yesterday but I am sure is a lot longer that labradoodles were new to the
dog world, expensive and rare. Now they and all the designer variations have
become so common that they are a glut on the market and many need rescue. It
speaks to a lot of things to me—prime among them owners who do not take dog
ownership seriously, not recognizing dogs a living beings who love, hunger,
know pain and fear.
Of course I would love another
doodle—Sophie is a bordoodle, a deliberate cross of a border collie and a
miniature poodle. I don’t think she would take well to another dog, and after
the recent expensive adventure with her health, I don’t think I can afford
another dog right now. But I am so glad there is an active rescue organization
for these dogs. This overbreeding, if that’s what it is, has apparently not
affected the price of kennel-bred dogs—I just checked the kennel where I got
Sophie eleven years ago, and the price has tripled—it was high enough then.
My good friends Sue and Teddy
got a Bernadoodle (Bernese mountain dog/standard poodle) about a year ago. Mina
is a lovely girl, full of energy, happy, and loving. Just this week, looking
for a buddy or Mina, they rescued a labradoodle, almost a year old, a male who
has the same high energy and loving disposition. He was raised in a loving home
but the owner was unable to care for him because of illness. Sue, Teddy, and Mina
are over the moon with joy and I’m a wee bit jealous.
Springfield doodles
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