The food continues to improve, a dilemma, and a prescription for conversation

 

Tonight's supper

I think I’m getting a handle on this soft food business—Jordan said tonight it’s good to see me hungry again, but I think I was always hungry. It was just that the things I thought I could eat had no appeal—I was getting tired of yogurt and applesauce. So for lunch today I had a leftover piece of Dover sole. No one in my family understands that I like cold food as well as hot. Christian would have insisted on heating it, but I ate it out of the fridge. I squeezed more lemon over it, added a layer of mayonnaise, and topped that with grated Pecorino. Served with

fresh watercress because I’m aware I’m not getting good leafy greens but am a bit cautious of salad. Then again, who can resist watercress. It was a delicious lunch, and I have another piece left for tomorrow. Yes, I did offer it to Jordan, but she declined—her loss.

Tonight, though, I fixed the dish I’d been thinking about—eggs scrambled with a diced green onion, diced tiny tomatoes (maybe not a good idea because of skins), smoked salmon, and a huge spoonful of cottage cheese. With more watercress. Tasted so good, and it was nutritious and pretty to look at, though I warn if you try it, the eggs will seep as you eat—it’s the cottage cheese separating and nothing to worry about. And I finished both meals with chocolate bonbons. I am in danger, however, of running out of bonbons. I’m not normally an ice cream devotee, and I think now I’m interested in them mostly for the chocolate covering. I am afraid to try my beloved chocolate-covered salted caramels. All in all, I feel well fed. Now for some ideas for the rest of the week. One day I have to eliminate all good things—meat, dairy, mayo, etc. and eat lots of leafy greens. I can sauté in olive oil, so I’m working on that. Sauteed cabbage sounds good, but no one would eat the rest of the head. This is all for a Pet Scan.

Me with a bob
on a good hair day

Me with short hair
(and Megan)

I am struggling with the dilemma common to older ladies and always ongoing—short hair or long. When I thought I was gaining weight, especially in my face, I let it grow into a bob, which it did fairly rapidly. My thought was that longer hair lengthened my face, and Rosa, my stylist, agreed. But now, my face probably thinner and facing medical matters, I’m thinking short hair might be the better choice. Neither my daughters nor Rosa have been helpful about this, all saying it’s up to me. I think I want someone to step in and make a decisive call. I have until Friday to decide. Rosa, who has been coming to the house to cut my hair ever since I lost the ability to walk unassisted, has set Friday morning for her next visit. Opinions welcome.

Yesterday I took my courage to my computer and sent a memo to friends saying how much I welcome their visits, but that I requested upbeat, cheerful talk—right now I don’t want to hear about illness, medical procedures, other people’s experiences, surgery, funerals, or related topics. I think it was the late Norman Lear who was once very ill and requested that people laugh a lot when with him. It worked wonders toward his healing—and if I’m right about Lear it means he lived a good long life. So I want happy talk—politics is fine because that fascinates me, jokes are good, food is good as long as it’s not steak and the like. The memo had immediate results—I now have guests scheduled for Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. (Friday is Jacob’s high school graduation, and I will be going to the pre- dinner at Joe T.’s but not the graduation—Jacob gets few tickets, and all of us have been to so many graduations; I guess that’s what happens when you’re number five grandchild).

Today’s sermon at church fit nicely with my conversational prescription. Russ Peterman began with the assertion that there is not a soul on earth who doesn’t want to be happy. I’m not sure, because I see a lot of people who make themselves miserable. But following his premise, he went on to say none of us can define happiness. We don’t know what that elusive quality is. Certainly it is not wealth nor success nor fame. Finally the conclusion came that happiness is a byproduct of a life lived for others. It reminds me of one of my writing friends who talks about living life beyond ourselves, concept I truly believe in. But for the time being, until I get through this rough patch, I am going to be living life for myself, with as much attention and care to others as I can muster.

Maybe, just maybe, happiness is having a dog lie next to your desk while you write. If I had moved to get a better picture, he’d have moved. So this is what I see in the evenings, and I know he is there.

Benji on guard