Woohoo! Look who was named Player of the Year by the varsity golf team at Paschal High School. Of course it’s Jacob Burton. Second time in a row he’s won that title. So proud of him and his dedication to his golf game. In last year’s picture, he was dressed like the coaches—shorts and a polo shirt. But the night before this year’s dinner he appeared at the cottage door dressed as you see in the picture. He was looking for his mom who was across the street visiting neighbors, but I asked where he was going at that hour of the night all dressed up. He confessed he was trying on what he’d wear to the dinner the next night. Maybe he just wanted to look good—but maybe, also, he had a hint? Who knows. Either way, we are all so proud of him.
Family time around here. The
other night, Jordan brought her phone out to the cottage—my Megan was on the
other end, face-timing. It was their way of surprising me that Megan is coming
for Mother’s Day weekend. They intended not to tell me until she got here, but
Megan’s husband knows me well: “Juju,” he said, “likes to plan. You need to
tell her.” And so they did. And the planning began.
First thing was to decide what
to fix for supper tomorrow night—not as easy a chore as you might imagine. It
depends on who will be here, and who will eat what. I pulled a bunch of recipes
that Jordan and I considered this morning. Most were discarded for one reason
or another—such as did you know that a lb of sea scallops now costs $39.99? I
suspect the most I’ve bought at one time is enough for Jordan and me on a night
when the boys weren’t here so I didn’t get the full impact of the price. Some
things, such as complicated nachos, would be too complicated to cook in the cottage.
And either spatch-cocked chicken or marinated drumettes in the air fryer require
Christian, and we’re not sure he’ll be home. We have finally decided on Cobb
salad—who could object?
I have a secret plan (not so
secret)—I want Jordan and Megan to help organize my closet. We’ll see if that
happens or not. We do plan to go see my brother in the rehab unit.
Company for dinner tonight—my friend
Mary V. who is a retired political science prof. Inevitably our talk is
political, and we both paint Abbott as the villain. I have a list of issues
where he is, from my point of view, hurting not helping Texans, but I’m afraid to
post it since yesterday I posted about the proposal to put bleeding stations in
third-grade classrooms, and Facebook rejected it as not meeting community
standards. But then it showed up without my comments, so maybe it was something
I said. I fixed a quick and easy pasta dish, only to discover after she left
that it created more dirty dishes than some more complicated dinners—and all
the pecorino cheese stuck to pots and plates. A mess.
But now, having said goodnight
to all of you, I can settle down with a good book. Oops, first I must do a
Central Market order.
‘Night, all.
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