Big doings and lots of rain

 

Colman and Marge and their daughter, Eva.
Jacob, Jordan, and Christian

Big doings around our house this weekend. Yesterday, close friends of Jordan and Christian gave a mid-day celebration for Jacob and one other graduate, Eva, whom he’s known almost this entire life. In fact—shhh! Don’t say I told you!—they used to bathe together. As they went to separate schools they saw less of each other over the years, but they were always together for Easter Egg Hunts and brunch at my house, a tradition that continues to this day, except for the egg-hunting part. Now, by serendipity they are both off to the University of Arkansas where, for a brief time, it even looked like they might end up on the same floor in one dormitory—I’m not sure how that worked out.

The pictures and reports from the brunch were wonderful. It was apparently a gala, happy affair. I was feeling  a bit under the weather and decided to stay home, so I was sorry to miss all the gaiety, but as Jacob assured me today, there will be other opportunities to celebrate. Meanwhile I enjoyed a  quiet day alone at home, with Benji for company—slept a lot, ate very carefully, and felt better than I had toward the end of the week. Now I guess I’ve got my groove back. A medical appointment looms Tuesday which I’m dreading a bit, but which should provide some reassuring answers.

Jordan and Christian went straight from the graduation celebration to a huge Kentucky Derby Party, given as a fundraiser for the American Cancer Society. Christian is once again co-chair of the annual Cowtown Ball, a major fundraiser (it’s his fourth or fifth year so I think, despite protestations, he likes doing it). Yesterday’s Derby party was a fundraiser for the Cowtown Ball, so both he and Jordan were heavily involved. They report it was a success, with about 150 people gathered to watch the run for the roses.

I am not a horse racing fun and am of fact in the school that thinks it’s cruel to push horses to their extreme limit – the 2023 Derby was run in the middle of a disastrous two-week period marked by multiple race-track horse deaths. This year, however, the 250th running of the race, went off smoothly. I do like to watch the parade of horses to the gate, though I never pick a favorite. I was surprised to learn that several friends “research” the horses before the race. Whether or not they placed bets, and whether or not they won anything, I don’t know. The actual race goes by so fast I can never tell who’s winning.

Because I’m kind of a nut for traditions and ceremonies, I always like the award presentation ceremony with the wreath of roses around the horse’s neck, but I am annoyed by all the folderol and filling of time between the race and the ceremony. This year, I had the TV on but only glanced at it from time to time—and must have missed the ceremony. After more than an hour of commercials and other stuff, I turned it off.

Nobody will be surprised that the food traditionally associated with the Derby interests me. I almost never drink hard liquor (wine is my choice) but I do love a good bourbon, so yesterday I had a bit of longing for a mint julep. I remember once going to a derby party years ago, drinking two mint juleps, and being home in bed by six o’clock, so it was perhaps best I didn’t have the makings. I’ve made Kentucky Hot Brown sandwiches for the family, and we liked them a lot—I may do it again soon. And pecan pie with bourbon is not to be missed. Pimiento cheese tea sandwiches and devilled eggs sound pretty good too. Then there’s something called a Benedictine spread—cream cheese, sour cream, green onions, and cucumber. I’m going to have to try that soon. Meantime, with all that glorious food, I was home eating a baked egg with toast and cheese!

Seems every morning lately Benji and I have awakened to a wet world. For different reasons, we both love it. He is not at all afraid of storms, and he loves to dig in the mud—to my dismay when he comes in and jumps on my upholstered furniture.  I enjoy a rainy day and am particularly grateful for the sake of our gardens. My cosmos and coreopsis get beaten down with all this heavy rain. Even the oak leaf hydrangea bends under the pounding. They work their way back up but never quite as tall and upright. It’s okay—come late July, we’ll be so grateful for whatever moisture remains in the ground.

I’m going to spend this evening reading a book I just started: The Paris Novel, by food critic Ruth Reichl. So far, it fulfills its promise of lush Paris scenes, odd characters, and lots of French food. I’ll feel Irene looking over my shoulder.

Hope the upcoming week is good to everyone.