Weekend wallop

 

Sophie telling me she wants her dinner.
She did not care if I was sick or not.
"Give me food!"

Life walloped me this weekend. I woke up in the early hours of Saturday with stomach pains. Except that the pain was on the wrong side and I no longer have an appendix, I’d have sworn it was appendicitis. I dragged around the cottage and finally the pain subsided. About noon I was on my computer with Colin, who had remote control, trying to figure out why I cannot access the Central Market website (I hope they appreciate what a dedicated customer I am to go to all this trouble—talking to a tech the other day I joked I could just start shopping elsewhere; she didn’t think it was funny.) Anyway, I suddenly told Colin I had to go to bed. Lethargic would cover it.

This morning, capricious as that connection is, I could order from Central Market—but I didn’t need anything. Mid-day I couldn’t get in again, but Colin and I figured something out: if I turn the computer off and reboot, I can get into Central Market and Act Blue, the Democratic donation website—which is really what I was looking for this afternoon. I wanted to send money to Ralph Warnock—if you have extra pennies, do support him. His re-election to the Senate is one hope for codifying Roe vs Wade so that women can make their own decisions about their bodies.

Back to my wallop: I spent much of the rest of the day and evening dozing. Got up about four, went back to bed at six; got up at nine, went back to bed at eleven. I worried that I would be wakeful in the night but not so at all. My problem though was Sophie. She is used to being outside in the evenings, but I never leave her out if I’m not up and around the cottage where I can keep an eye on her. Besides, it was too cold last night, but she didn’t know that.

We had several discussions, some sweet and loving, some with raised voice and loud barking. Whether she understands it or not, I always try to use that parenting technique that says make it clear you love the child (or dog) but not the behavior. Sometimes it works, sometimes not. I think in the end she was a bit cowed. When I got up at nine, she was hesitant to come to me until I proved my good intentions.

I had cancelled the supper for Jean—will cook it tonight. And I had intended to turn the TCU football game on because she is a fan. As it was, I just got up in time to see that they’d won. There was too much media hype around this game—reporters trying to inflame the intense feeling that surround the firing of Gary Patterson, some predicting he’d trash his former team. That didn’t happen. And I read that he covered his UT colors with a gray jacket and told some team members he’d be there if they go to playoffs. I’m not such a non-fan that I don’t rejoice in TCU’s winning streak, but I still think the entire episode around the firing of Patterson is a blot on TCU’s history.

This morning, back “at myself,” I’ve written a letter to the Star-Telegram editor because I was so offended at a “teaser” email that had six or eight headlines, all of them either praising the Republican victory in Texas or dumping on Democrats. I was particularly offended by Nicole Russell’s offensive suggestion that Beto just go away. He won’t, and I’m glad. But what journalism has become offends me—from such strong partisan bias to the attempt to get more drama than usual going about the TCU/UT football game. The Star-Telegram won’t listen, but I feel better for having expressed myself. These days I feel journalists make no effort to distinguish between straight, unbiased reporting and opinion.

I’m also trying to enlist help for chores—seasoning a cast iron pan which I can do but it intimidates me; photographing some mobility devices that I want to sell cheap and clear out some space in my bedroom and installing outdoor lights that throw tiny bits of red and green on the white wall across the patio. The lights I’ve had for several years no longer work.

Tonight’s menu, which was to have been last night’s dinner, brought more accolades from Jean than I expected. Turkey burger slides that she liked better than I did. It was a recipe I’d made before. Called for a cup of Monterey Jack shredded; I knew there was some in my cheese drawer so didn’t order it. Wrong! It was Mozarella and it expired last July. Got to clean that drawer more often! But we both liked the pinto bean salad (I might add a bit more lime juice to the leftovers) and the creamy cucumber salad with dill. Living at Trinity Terrace, Jean eats upscale restaurant-style meals most nights and says she is tired of dishes with sauces and creams and the like. So she appreciated the down-home food tonight.

And I call that a wrap. I’m still a bit sleepy from yesterday and doubt I’ll last as late as usual. A bit of reading, and I’m off to sleep. Got to get with Irene tomorrow.

 

Missing church, a frustrating day, and a fun dinner

 

Brinner

For the first time in forever, I didn’t make online church this morning, and I suppose it wasn’t even for a very good reason. I hope the Lord understands. I was frustrated with the computer world.

All day yesterday I tried to order online from Central Market and always got an “Access Denied” response with security cited as the issue. I’ve had this problem before and customer service has been responsive and quick. Not so today. I think the lady lost patience with me because I told her I was hard of hearing and elderly—so she thought “dementia.” She was helpful but not very. So then I called son Colin who took over my computer and spent an hour figuring things out. Finally, he made Central Market a trusted site, and I was in.

But meantime I ordered by phone, which has its own perils. Dealt with a nice woman who really tried, but now I have God’s quantity of ground rosemary—don’t ask!—and an equal amount of dried parsley flakes, which I will eventually use if I live long enough. I got most of what I want, but ground turkey instead of beef—oh well, turkey burgers will be good one night.

In fixing Central Market, Colin left other problems, a couple of which I finally solved. But there was a huge blank white screen in the middle of my screen saver and I couldn’t get into Twitter, which I know should not be a huge problem these days when people are bowing out of Twitter in droves. But there are some left-leaning columnists I like—David Corn, David Frum, Rick Wilson. Tonight, after yet another session with Colin these seem to be solved. Wish all of life’s problems were so easily fixed. But the whole things left me exhausted.

Tonight we had brinner—breakfast for dinner, a potluck affair with three sets of friends. We used to do this more often before pandemic, so it was fun to rehook. And we had an amazing supper—sausage and cheese on a biscuit, potato casserole, baked egg casserole, bacon and sausage, French toast casserole. Not the meal if you’re struggling with your waistline. Conversation tended to be mostly about food, both cooking it at home and restaurants. At one point, neighbor Jay (the good looking one) asked, “After we’ve had such an amazing meal, why are we talking about where to eat next?” But in a big way, it was talk about keeping up with how much our city has changed and grown, even since pandemic.

Sophie and I survived the first night of standard time. She slept until six, daylight savings time, which means she ate at five, which she often does. I had dreaded the thought of a four o’clock demand for food. (Why do we do that? For a few days after a time change, we measure everything against the time it “should have been”—five o’clock a.m. is really six o’clock, etc.) I also survived—slept until 8:15 (new time, with several interruptions), had a good nap, but now I’m so sleepy.

The week ahead brings a dinner guest, a doctor’s appointment, and, I hope, a lot of time for Irene’s adventures. I keep living them in my head, particularly when I sleep, so I really need to get them on paper.

What about you? How are you handing the switch from daylight to standard time?

The holidays have begun

 

A rainy, drizzly day in Fort Worth. We were grateful for the half-inch we got, would have liked more, but are thankful the severe thunderstorms, large hail, and possible tornadoes did not materialize. Not a day to inspire great creativity, and I kind of noodled my way through the morning. Mary and I had planned to go to the Holiday Kickoff Sample Stroll at Central Market in the early evening but decided we’d watch the weather. It was warm, humid—the right conditions for severe weather—and to Sophie’s dismay it thundered all afternoon. But about four the thunder gave a last gasp, moved east, and the sun came out. We decided we could go.

When we left the cottage, it was warm but oh so windy. Central Market is west of us and though it’s not particularly flat around it, I’ve always noticed the wind was stronger there. And tonight it was, kept blowing the jacket off my shoulders. We found the #1 handicapped parking spot, and Mary pushed me in my new chariot. I knew it would be crowded and was afraid to try to navigate the motorized grocery cart with that many people. Turned out that was the better part of wisdom. As it was Mary bumped a a few people and was profuse in her apologies.

We had been to this eveny several years go and found it so-so. But tonight, they had really upped their game. Admission was free, though we had followed their request to register online. When we got there, it didn’t matter. Tasting stations were scattered throughout the star, and a greeter at the door gave us maps and coupons. Everything in the store was reduced, all a good bargain, but I couldn’t wrap my head around shopping. I have a long list, but I will order online and ask Jacob to get it Sunday.

Mary, however, had a short list and some impulse buys, all of which ended in a green basket in my lap. I accused her of deliberately picking heavy items—celery, a great bunch of bananas, two jars of peanut butter, and a bottle of some kind of juice. After that I told her she was cut off. The grapes and muffin cups were okay.

One long line snaked its way through the store, and we found it best just to go from station to station following the line, though we frequently pulled out of line because as Mary said you can’t push and eat at the same time. Samples were delivered in tiny paper baskets with napkins and tiny spoons. Wine was served in the tiniest of cups—about two small sips. But the choices were wide.

We were offered red wine, sauvignon blanc, chardonnay, champagne, a mocktail of prosecco and blood orange juice. And the amuse bouche—madeira mushrooms that were delicious (I wished for that recipe—some stations offered them, others did not). Probably my favorite was a schmear of lavender goat cheese on a white chocolate apricot crisp—I don’t need a recipe for that and will duplicate it at home. There was four-cheese lobster and mac (so rich!), butter boards (I’m through with them), sushi, lamb kofta meatballs, whipped ricotta with blistered cherry tomatoes on sourdough, brie en croute. One dessert I loved but Mary thought too sweet was brown butter maple blondies topped with vanilla bean gelato—for me, the gelato cut the sweetness. I do love maple and don’t get it often, don’t think to fix things with it. Remember maple sugar candy when you were a kid?

By the time we’d run the course, I had eaten way too much cheese, wasn’t hungry, but thought I’d need something. I brought home a twice-baked potato. Mary grabbed a crab cake dinner for two—Joe loves crab cake apparently,

When we went into the store, the temperature was in the high seventies, warm though windy. When we came out, it had fallen, in one hour, to the high fifties. We were both grateful for the sweaters we’d really thought unnecessary. I came home and switched from a/c to heat. Sophie greeted us by trying to sneak past my walker and out the door. We stopped her, but I was surprised—I really though t she had outgrown that. Mary said she was just trying to get to me, but I think Mary ascribes too high a motive to her.

At any rate, here I am, settled at home and glad to be. Mary and Joe have gone furniture shopping as their move from huge house to apartment looms ever closer, and I am at my desk. Just ate that potato—Central Market does a good job on them.

So it’s the weekend. Irene will have to wait while I write a column and make some more dipping spice to get ready for a dinner guest next week. Life is good.

Weird weekend

 

Jordan and Christian at the Cattleman's Ball in Dalls

Weird. No other term for it. The Burtons have had major social engagements, and after a busy week, I have had none. So I’ve been sort of isolated out here in my cottage. Good thing I have Sophie to talk to, though she’s sometimes puzzled. In truth, I don’t mind the isolation. All week I felt pushed and rushed by deadlines—the neighborhood newsletter, the lessons for the online writing class I’m taking, blogs, etc. Now, momentarily, I’m caught up and can look ahead to some of the things that aren’t quite so pressing.

Highlight of my week: the launch of The Most Land, the Best Cattle: The Waggoners of Texas. With the kind permission of some administrators, I’ve posted an announcement on several web pages, plus my own, and have so far gotten close to 300 hits. Color me happy. I welcome any chance to talk about the content with anyone.

Tonight’s dinner was good—another one where I learned a lesson. It was a salmon bowl, adapted from a New York Times recipe. I think it will be the subject of next week’s post on the “Gourmet on a Hot Plate” blog, so watch for it on Thursday. The adaptations a tiny kitchen requires have been much on my mind lately, along with some lessons learned.

Salmon bowl

Last night’s dinner was a comedy of errors. Sometimes I get a notion in my head and there’s no talking me out of it—until I do that myself. Having posted the recipe for Sloppy Joe on Thursday, I decided yesterday I would make a batch for myself, even if no one else wants it. No problem, because Jordan was picking up groceries at Central Market, and I ordered a lb. of hamburger. Only when I unpacked the groceries, there was no hamburger. I called, they were sorry, did I want to come pick it up? No, I didn’t—at this point I have neither car nor driver’s license, and Jordan and Christian were busily putting on outrageous costumes for Monster Mash. I joked, asking the curbside person I was talking to what I should eat for supper. She talked to her manager, and they agreed to deliver it between six and seven. I was prepared to write a huge shout-out of gratitude for their outstanding service.

Meanwhile, I had begged the quarter cup of red wine that goes in my recipe from Christian but forgot to get the ketchup which had migrated into the house. Texted Jacob, who said he’d be home soon. His idea of soon is not mine, but he did eventually appear with the ketchup. And I had all the ingredients laid out, the seasonings in the wine, the beans (yes, pinto beans) rinsed and ready.

But by 7:45 the hamburger meat had not arrived. I was suddenly, instantly ravenous and didn’t care a fig about Sloppy Joe. I ate a ham sandwich on a slider bun.  Then I looked at a text. Despite clear directions about the back house and an open gate, the delivery person had merely dropped it on the front porch. Jacob was still home and retrieved it for me—and that’s how I came to make Sloppy Joe at nine o’clock last night. Not my usual hour for cooking, but it sure was good for lunch today. And I had to bother Jacob one more time for an icebox dish to store it in. I’m sure he went out just to get away from my requests.

If I want to give a shot-out to Central Market for service (delivery person aside), I want to send a big raspberry to the USPS. We’ve heard for a long time that trump put DeJoy in charge to de-stabilize the service, make it bankrupt, and privatize it. (Why do Republicans want to privatize everything? Look at how well that worked with the Texas energy grid!). Back to the postal service, I ordered stamps at the beginning of the month and have never gotten them. Today I got mail from the USPS. My first thought was better late than never, but how did they fit stamps into that #11 business envelope? It was not stamps but a letter informing me that I had been specially chosen to fill out a questionnaire about my recent transaction with the post office. You can bet I gave them a blistering answer. My understanding is that Biden cannot replace DeJoy without board approval, and he’s waiting for the term of some trump appointees to run out. The trump effect will continue to haunt us in a myriad of small ways for decades.

And there, that’s it, my rant. Unless you want me to start in on anti-vaxxers, Steve Bannon and the congressional members compliant in the insurrection, the paring down of Biden’s Build Back Better plan instead of going bold, and the apparent backing away from redoing trump’s enormous and foolish tax cut for the rich. Other than all those things, life is hunky-dory, and I’m a happy camper. Hope you are too.

When the grocery store is the highlight of your day

Tonight’s supper: a lamb chop with zucchini sticks. I sautéed the zucchini in butter and soy, and then cooked the lamb chop in the same pan. After it was done, I made a sauce of a bit more butter with a touch of anchovy paste. I guarantee two weeks ago I wouldn’t have eaten that, and I am delighted to have most of my appetite back.

Central Market is having their celebration of all things British, and I persuaded Jordan we should go there for our weekly shopping. She really doesn’t like to shop there, finds it too crowded and confusing. I on the other hand love it, but I do recognize there are things I can’t get there. Like baggies and napkins. But today it was worth it—I think. I got a good British cheddar called Rockers. Jordan tried another and made the most awful face before she declared we were not buying that. Apparently, it was strong with horseradish.

I bought some spices for the spaghetti sauce I’ll make tomorrow and ground meat—it’s really the only place I trust the ground meat, and spices are such an amazing bargain in the bulk section—why pay five dollars for a jar of marjoram you’ll never use when you can buy enough for one recipe for a quarter. But I also wanted one of their mini meat loaves—had my taste all set for meat loaf sandwich for lunch—and the crab cakes with smoked salmon that were advertised as part of the UK week. When we got to the deli carousal, it was crowded, the servers were impatient, and some woman was yelling at me, “Ma’am, ma’am,” because Jordan was trying to get my attention to say that they had neither meat loaf nor crab cakes. I was studying the British counter, wondering about getting bangers, thinking my shepherd pie was probably better than theirs. But I wanted to linger, not be rushed into a decision so I said no I didn’t want anything. And got into the car disappointed and cranky.

I called later—the crab cakes were in the seafood counter. Who knew? They’re usually in the carousel. I doubt I’ll get back there tomorrow, and it’s hardly practical to pay the curbside delivery fee for a couple of crab cakes. By the time we finished the regular shopping, Jordan was in a rush because she had other obligations. So I didn’t ask, didn’t explore. Guess I’ll buy some smoked salmon, but crab cakes are not among the things I do well—and crab is so expensive. You can’t buy enough for one cake but must buy a pound and, unlike most seafood at CM, it’s frozen.

I spent the first of the morning watching the Judiciary Committee again—no wonder I don’t get much done. But it’s riveting. One of my new heroes: Senator Klobuchar. And Christine Blasey-Ford. I’m on the fence about Jeff Flake—he’s been one way, then the other, and I wish he’d decided sooner, but I’m glad he did what he did. Turns out the future could be decided, at least for now, by one man. And blessings on those anonymous women who confronted him in the elevator.

This whole thing has been a lesson in politics, if not democracy. It’s not the way democracy should work, but it’s the way politics works today. I like to think Democrats would handle power differently, but who knows.

Tidbits from a day gone mostly right

March 23, 2018

I’m here to testify weather does make a difference in your disposition. Up earlier than usual this morning, partly because I couldn’t sleep and mostly because I suspected Jordan would want to leave early for our Friday morning shopping trip. She did, and while I wouldn’t say we were either one grumpy, we weren’t exactly happy and chatty. We dropped Jacob at school at went on our way.

By ten o’clock, I was back home, having been to the grocery and the nursery and checked out a site that worried me—found out the latter will be a piece of cake. More about that another time. Grocery shopping was fine, but the nursery was a joy, if expensive. We got two large ferns to put by the “front” door to the cottage, a geranium and two pots of fountain grass for the patio. Tomorrow is planting day Jordan tells me. It’s a joy to know that spring is settled in enough that we can put these plants out, clean the patio, and move into the “summer living room.” Got to do something about mosquito control this year! Next: coreopsis for the bed under my office window--it's the first thing you see when you drive in the driveway.

The rest of the morning I put off a call that I thought would result in hours of computer research for me, checking on ISBN numbers for my books. Every book has a unique number (International Standard Book Number), one for digital, one for print, one for audio. One company that I was dealing with told me I could neither correct one nor post a new book because the number was already in use. A ten-minute phone call solved three problems—they retrieved the information from their stored files, posted my books, and all is well. So a shout-out to Draft2Digital, a company that posts books on various digital platforms for indie authros, doesn’t charge their authors but takes a cut of the sales. It’s such a pleasure to do business with a company where you are not put on hold, shifted from one tech to another, and they solve your problem quickly—and, oh yes, the tech spoke clear English. I love dealing with them.

And I placed my first order for curbside pick-up from Central Market. It was an adventure. List in hand, I called, prepared to discuss my specific preferences etc.—did I want my bananas green or ripe, my avocadoes soft or hard (actually neither were on my list). Turns out you can only order online. So I checked into the site and proceeded. Like any new site, it was a bit confusing, and it took me two phone calls, but I got it done and next time will be easy. I ordered two cheeses, some ground lamb, cottage cheese, and dried thyme. The latter was my biggest problem—I didn’t know how much an ounce is so I ordered two. I now have enough leaf thyme to last a lifetime. But still a lot cheaper than buying dried out thyme in a jar at the regular grocery. I put my generous bag in the fridge to keep it fresh.

I learned as I went. For instance, I started out browsing dairy, but I really didn’t need to browse all the many dairy items to find cottage cheese. So I figured out you can go to product and type in the specific item you want. Cheese, for instance, is offered in blocks of a specific weight—need more? Order two. There is even a place for you to add a note for your personal shopper—about those hard avocadoes, for instance. I opened a new account which earned me four pickups free of the $4.95 service fee.

I’m not a grocery snob, but there are simply some things I can get at Central Market that I can’t get at Tom Thumb, Kroger’s, or Albertson’s, like ground lamb, pecorino, and the bulk spices. You pay through credit card when you order, so the order was easy for Christian to pick up on his way home from work. Warning: order at least four hours or the day before you want to pick it up—or better the day before.

So it was a good day of groceries and work and learning lessons—and spring, glorious springs. Turning my attention to a menu for Easter brunch.

Haste makes waste

Remember the most famous line from the prose poem, Desiderata: “Go placidly amidst the noise and the haste . . .” Most days, now that I’m retired and only semi-mobile, that’s what I feel I do. I see others, even my retired contemporaries, who are always behind, always worrying about being overloaded, always stressed. I set my own deadlines, so the only pressure is self-imposed, and I’m good at avoiding that. Usually.

Not today. To begin, my day started much earlier than usual, well before seven in the morning. I was to be ready to leave at 8:30 for the school run to drop Jacob off, then a hurried grocery trip to Central Market, all in time to make a 10:15 doctor appointment. It started off badly because, though I was ready, we didn’t leave until 8:50. Jordan’s missing wallet caused the delay, but it was finally located. Then we hit every red light, every snarl of school traffic.

Got to Central Market and Jordan started to pull a motorized cart out where it would be easier for me to get into. It was a new model, and she couldn’t make it work. Frustrated, she tried one of the older models, but it dragged the newer one with it. Conquered that, headed for the vegetables, and I almost ran down the same lady twice. Somehow that lady and Jordan reached for new potatoes simultaneously or something. Next thing I knew, I was watching the two of them picking up tiny potatoes from everywhere. While I sat.

At this point, Jordan turned to me and said, “I believe the Lord is telling us to slow down.”

Our frantic shopping came to a grinding halt when my motorized cart ran out of juice. There I was, stranded in the cheese department. The cheese monger called for a new cart, but I sat there in solitary splendor for a while. Central Market profited just a bit, because I impulse-bought some salami and cheese that was handy to where I was. A new cart arrived, and we finished our shopping.

The doctor appointment was one of those where you wait for the doctor to ask what’s bothering you, you say nothing, and he says everything’s fine and he’ll see you in three months. And you’ve spent an hour and a half waiting to hear that.

Believe me I was glad to get back to my cottage, away from the noise and haste.

Tonight, a peaceful, relaxing dinner with an old friend, both of us ex-wives of osteopathic physicians, both of us mothers of kids who grew up together. But these days we don’t talk old times much. Our talks are blessedly forward looking, and I am grateful for that. A pleasant evening. And, oops, I forgot all about the lemon juice when I served the lentil soup. It was still good. I put a dollop of sour cream in mine.

Peace, my friends.

October Sunday

Hard to believe that it’s October already but the signs are all around us—Halloween decorations. Someone posted on Facebook that she’d seen Christmas in some stores and it was too early. Shoot! I thought it was too early for Halloween when Jordan brought home pumpkins last week. But tonight her house is awash with skeletons and Halloween drapes that are, I suppose, meant to look like Spanish moss or something creepy. There are Halloween cocktail napkins in the container on my coffee table, a lit pumpkin (no candles, thank you—a plastic pumpkin with electric lights—what is the world coming to?) outside my patio doors, and a lit ghost by my front door. I guess the whole month will be dedicated to the ghostly tradition.

Lazy day today, writing in the morning with a side trip to Central Market. Still looking for a house plant. I appreciate the suggestion of Mike’s Garden Shop or whatever—I’ve been there and like it, but Jordan is not likely to take on an errand that far out of our beaten path. I’m still looking, but came away with some smoked salmon and pickled herring—prizes from Central Market! Also a beautiful, full white mum for a pot outside the front door. I love to shop there—Jordan not so much so, but she was pleased with the mums..

The big day brightener today was the arrival of my oldest child, Colin David. He’s here on business for two days but will take time to visit with us—he’s sleeping on my couch as I write—and to solve a couple of my financial dilemmas. We had a jolly dinner—chicken enchiladas and a new corn recipe with sour cream, cilantro, and red onion.

Welcoming a child home no matter their age is always a special treat, and I am delighted to have him here. I looked forward to long, heartfelt talks—but he retreated to his bed early and declared he’s not much good after 8:30 at night. A child half my age, who wears out before I do! Still I’m delighted to have him here. Every once in a while, I glance over to make sure he’s really here.

I wrote a good bit today—almost but not quite up to my daily goal. Resolve (once again): new routine tomorrow. Exercise followed by desk chores followed by writing. One thing I’m aware that I really need to work on is being more active. Pushing the rollator around the cottage instead of sitting in it is a good start.

Have a happy week everyone.

The holidays are upon us

November 6, and the holiday rush has begun. I feel it--shopping, wrapping, cooking to do. I have lists of lists and hope to start loading the freezer this weekend. And I have too long a list of people for whom I need creative gifts.
Tonight our local Ace Hardware had a "Girls Night Out"--wine (the young man wasn't exaggerating when he asked if we'd like a "little bit"), and minimal refreshments. Plus I think everything was discounted. One of the food stands was a demonstration area for some kitchen tools--including a really neat ceramic knife. Cut through tomato quickly and easily. Lifetime warranty. I was tempted, but in my kitchen it would get nicked and dinged, and it's fragile The store has developed quite a nice gift corner--everything from jewelry to toys--and I did pick up some gifts. Trouble is I got gifts for the four daughters in the family. And I already had their gifts. Got to work on the boys, big and little. Lines were long and slow, but it was a fun event and I saw a lot of women I know, many of whom I haven't seen in a while. So much standing though--my back was ready to sit when we got back into the car.
From there we went to Central Market for a "walkabout." There was an admission price with this one, and you got tickets for wine and seafood. The rest of the food was free--and sumptuous. There were sixteen food and drink stands and a map of them, along with a wine glass and a holiday entertaining guide that really urged you to use their products. It was crowded but not as hectic as the hardware, and we walked instead of having to stand in long lines. Saved me a trip to the market tomorrow--I needed few things and bought some I didn't need. Thanks to Mary Dulle for sharing an enjoyable evening--and driving the Boxter top down.
Now to tackle that pile of unwrapped present on the guest bed. Sunday I hope Jordan and Christian will come bring Christmas down from the attic. Busy time of the year. And just when I'm fired up about a writing project. But yes, I do plan ahead--a bit of OCD perhaps? So does Jordan. Megan says she missed that gene.

Central Market and a cooking day

This is my best friend from high school, Barbara Bucknell Ashcraft

If you do the math, that makes us friends for over sixty years

and we still love it.

 

I don't know how much of a hostess I managed to be today, but I took Barbara and her daughter, Amy, to Central Market. I of course had a list, knew where what I wanted was, and was ready to buzz through the store. They wanted to linger over every aisle they went down, and I spent a lot of time either commenting on what they were looking at--those black truffles at $299.99/lb.,-which none of us know what to do with, for instance. They bought special chocolate for a co-worker of Amy's (she's a CCC nurse), one of my favorite chocolate bars for Barbara, and coffee beans because the taste they had was so good--see, marketing techniques really do work. I guess my lack of ability to linger while shopping showed, and they said several times, "Judy's ready to go." But I knew I had a lot to do when I got home.

When we came home, compulsive that I am, I dove right into making the tomatillo sauce for the chicken enchilada casserole I was fixing. Then we had a fine lunch of leftover lasagna soup, leftover bread salad, and pimiento cheese sandwiches. While I cleaned the kitchen and got in a bit of computer time and a quick nap, they went on a long walk around my picturesque neighborhood and then to an antique store--and met a friend of mine, so they had a good chat and Amy bought some small things.

I picked Jacob up at school and we did homework, but he was upset about something that happened and balked at his math. I got him to do part of it, gave him a break, and Amy came in to help him, and he finished it in nothing flat. I suspect he would show me his unhappiness but not share it with her...and he did tell me what bothered him but didn't tell her.

We had a wonderful dinner on the deck--temperature maybe a degree or two cool but really a pleasant evening. I served chicken/tomatillo enchiladas--the kind I love to make because you put the tortillas flat in the pan, and layer chicken, mozzarella, tomatillo sauce--two layers--and top it with cream. None of that frying tortillas and rolling them. Really good if I do say so, though I haven't figured out what the cream adds. With that, we had Jordan's world-famous blue-cheese vinaigrette salad (Barbara and Amy said they make it all the time) and a fruit salad. Best of all, we had a wonderful visit. First time Amy had met Jordan and Christian, and they instantly became fast friends--I guess the sixty-year friendship of mothers passes down. It was a lovely evening, and to cap it off Barbara, Amy and I lit the fireplace and had a last glass of wine while we watched the dogs frolic. It is truly a blessing to feel such a close bond with someone I've known all these years. We're talking about a river cruise together, though we feel we need our daughters to shepherd the old ladies on such a venture. Who knows? We might go by ourselves. At any rate, this too-short visit has been a true blessing and a wonderful brightener in my already bright life. Life is not only good, it's sometimes just plain wonderful.