Momentous moments

 

My new driver. I hasten to add we were parked,
and, yes, he was checking his phone.

Heavy thoughts on my mind tonight because of a gun control bill that didn’t go far enough and an abortion bill that not only went too far, but never should have seen the light of day. And I’m doubly sad that all this comes on a day when I had good news to share. So let me start with the momentous moments.

Yesterday, I signed the contract with Texas Tech University Press for the study of Helen Corbitt. I’ve worked hard all week to clear my desk—written my own newsletter, finished the neighborhood newsletter, organized an update to my web page, and I will tonight finish the third pass on the final proof of the Irene in Chicago Mystery, Finding Florence. I really itch to get at that Corbitt project.

And yesterday too, I paid off the note that allowed us to convert a one-car garage and much-used, shabby guest quarters into the charming cottage I call home. I consider that a small triumph—or maybe a big one.

And as the picture above shows, I have a new driver. Jacob and I took off this morning for the first of the errands for which I have promised to hire him and pay what should be national minimum wage (not what is in Texas). We went to my cardiology check-up (all good) and to the grocery store where to Jacob’s mingled amusement and chagrin I took out not one but two displays. I’m sure it was not all my fault, because their aisles are narrow and they clog them with free-standing displays. Jacob was good about repairing the damage I caused. Plus, the mobility cart I was careening through the store in suddenly began to moan and groan, and we had to pause for store personnel to bring me a new one. All good though. We got the groceries, had some good visiting, and a few laughs (mostly at my expense). He is a good driver, better than I was with the cart,  and was careful both of me and his driving. A successful adventure.

I have a lot of thoughts on abortion, probably none of them original. We are being bombarded with news and opinions tonight. But the thing that most distresses me is the women who will lose their lives because of science denial. I read yesterday of a woman who was vacationing in Malta, where abortion is forbidden. She began to hemorrhage and had an incomplete spontaneous abortion—I’ll spare you the medical details—but the important thing is that if she didn’t get immediate surgery, she would develop a fatal infection. She was airlifted to a location where she had the life-saving surgery. The fetus, of course, was long since nonviable—so why not permit the abortion? These old white men who pass unreasonable laws refuse to listen to medical science. It’s ignorant on their part. There are so many cases where the mother’s life is at stake, or the infant is severely deformed and doomed to a vegetative state. One size does not fit all, and I am horrified at the callousness.

A smaller indignation: Sean Hannity has revealed that when President Biden spoke to the nation today, he had a note in his hand that told him where to go and what to do. Hannity’s inference of course is that Biden is mentally impaired. My daughter is not an instinctive cook, and even when she cooks a recipe she’s done many times, she wants the directions, printed, in her hand. Telling her won’t do. I’m sure Biden has many things on his mind—including the forceful words he was about to deliver—and was grateful for a reminder of the arrangements that had been made. He did deliver a powerful speech, but trust Hannity to distort. I wish I could say no one listens to him but, alas, the deplorables do (Yes, I like Hillary’s word these days).

And PS: take a look on the internet at Merrick Garland’s strong statement of condemnation of the ruling on behalf of the Department of Justice. Senator Cornyn expressed his dismay that Garland just didn’t say, “It’s the law of the land now.” I express my dismay that it is a flawed judgement from a rogue court, based on disproven and outdated concept (a discredited eighteenth-century scholar if I remember correctly), and flies in the face of precedent. Thanks, John, for once again standing up for the people.

The next days and weeks are going to be interesting, folks. Hang on to your hat and be sure to vote blue in the fall. This old world needs some humanity.

All work and no play….

That’s me this week—a dull girl due to all work and, mostly, no play. I’ve been working on my work-in-progress and finding it slow and painful, like pulling teeth. But each day I add a few hundred words, though rarely the thousand words a day with which I often sail through manuscripts. It’s fun, even though painful, and I find each day when I quit, I know where I must go the next day. So I plug on.

And a new project came my way yesterday. An author on one of the lists I follow asked for an author who was a chef. Taking my courage in hand, I wrote that I was a wannabe chef with some cookbooks to my credit. We talked. It seems she wanted someone to develop a month-long online course—12 lectures with in-between q&a sessions—on creating a fictional chef. I did a little background study before I talked with her, so by the phone conversation I had some ideas to present. We decided on a deal. It’s easy to commit to something that is fifteen months away—yep, October 2020.

My first thought about that date was what an election frenzy we’ll be in by then. But my second thought was that gives me a lot of time to work up those lectures. I will be away from home for a few days this summer at least once, maybe twice—trips on which I can take my computer but not all the research books I need for the work-in-progress. So maybe I can work on those lectures, where all the material is online—or in my head.

My isolation has been broken two evenings in a row by welcome happy hour visits from neighbors—good talk, a bit of gossip, a pleasant time. I have made a batch of creamy jalapeno/cilantro dressing—I think it will be the Gourmet on a Hot Plate column this week—so I’ve been serving that with the wonderful potato chips we get from Trader Joe’s. It is so good but so addictive—I think because of the salts in the ranch dressing packet which goes into it. Like eating Buffalo Chips at Hoffbrau—you can’t stop and then you wish you had. Tonight, Mary and I deliberately put the dip out of reach after having more than we should. I surprised myself by eating a large salad and then deciding I also need a piece of meatloaf.

Running errands today also broke up my isolation. I went to the gas station where they told me if I parked by a pump, with my handicap sticker hanging from the rear-view mirror, they would come out and pump my gas. So I did that—and no one came. Finally I drove around to the mechanic’s bay where I could inquire and was told that the trick was to honk—which would have seemed rude to me. But I did and it worked—and they fell all over themselves saying they would get used to me, would recognize my car, for me to please be patient. Then on to the cleaners, where I get cheerful curbside service, and to the Speech and Hearing Clinic at TCU where someone comes out to make sure I get in safely. Got a new battery for one aid which was acting iffy, but some minor repair and cleaning made the old battery take on new life. Nice to hear with both ears.

Jordan is due home tonight from five days with friends in Key Largo. I am perfectly self-sufficient, but I do miss her when she’s gone.

Feeling old

You know the feeling you get when someone you remember as a youngster is suddenly in middle age? I’ve been having that a lot lately. A man I remember as a kid in footed pajamas wrote me, and in the course of our correspondence, I found out he’s now sixty-one! And today a girl who babysat my kids when she was in high school came to visit.

Kathy brought her younger sister, Tracy. Both girls were at our house a lot when they were young, and I was at theirs. Their mom was a good friend of mine, and Kathy became a regular babysitter. I think now both are in their fifties—how did that happen? We had a great visit, reliving old times, catching up on our lives, their family, my kids. Kathy and her mom and husband have lived in the Denver area for years, but we’ve kept in touch, mostly through Facebook. Their mom is a terrific cook, and over the years I’ve gotten lots of great recipes from her.

It was a sociability day for me. Started early with the Book Ladies monthly breakfast, which I always enjoy. One of the women had on a striking dress—loose, plain, but classy, and we all commented on it. Turns out she saw a dress she liked in a store, went home and got tape measure and whatever else she needed, went back and took the dress to a dressing room, laid it out flat, and measured to make her own pattern. We were all in awe of such talent. They may call themselves Book Ladies, but the conversation ranges far and wide. I’ve probably been meeting with this group for thirty years, but far as I can tell there’s only one other original member. Over the years people have come and gone.

After breakfast, Jacob and I ran a couple of errands. It’s much easier for me to run errands with him along as he can get the walker in and out of the car with more ease and can carry things. Today we took three different things to a pack-and-mail station (one of them something Jacob ordered by mistake) and went to the hardware for a nozzle and watering can his mom has been wanting. Made me feel good because I love to check things off my to-do list, and these days that list is long. Tomorrow I’ll chip away at the list by making follow-up calls to people I haven’t had a response from.

And tonight was regular happy hour with Mary who generously brought leftovers from a dinner party she had—maple-mustard salmon, pulled pork, parmesan crisps, two kinds of pie, and cream puffs. Happy hour was dinner—and delicious

But I didn’t get much work done today, and I can feel it piling up on me. Tomorrow’s assignment to myself—some background reading for a sidebar on native tribes in Texas. Good thing I really like that kind of stuff.

Jordan Appreciation Day

      

Jordan called it Mom Appreciation Day, but it was really Mom appreciating Jordan for all the little (and big) things she does for me. On Mothers’ Day, we forgot my leftovers as we exited the restaurant amidst a flurry of hugs and goodbyes. I just assumed she had them, because she knows I can’t carry a to-go box with my walker. But she set them down—and forgot. When we got home and discovered the faux pas, she said, “I just wish Christian and Jacob would help me take care of you.”

That rocked me on my heels. I know I need help with some big things, but even with the walker I think of myself as fairly independent. She made me realize there are a lot of small things I cannot do for myself, from getting clothes down off the hanging bar to mopping up the face powder I spilled in the bathroom—and carrying the doggie bag. Yes, I can cook, get myself to bed at night and up in the morning, work at my desk, go out with friends, drive on some limited errands, but as someone once said, it’s the little things that make life rich. And Jordan does those for me, often anticipating what I need before I realize it.

Tonight I drove my car to the VW dealership for some minor (I hope) repairs. I told Jordan I’d leave well before she got home with Jacob because I was going one of my devious back roads to avoid rush hour traffic. I thought I made good time, but I had barely begun talking with the service rep when she appeared. When I commented, she simply said, “VIP service.”

So today I took her to lunch at Rise, the restaurant that specializes in souffles. She swore she’d never had one, and I’m quite sure I never tried to make one. Now it’s one of the few things I really couldn’t do in my tiny kitchen. A toaster oven won’t quite accommodate a souffle. I have been to Rise several times—both in Fort Worth and Dallas—but it was new to Jordan, and she loved all of it. The rustic French décor, plates, serving pieces, linen—it’s all of a well-coordinated piece.

We decided to split, which worked out unevenly. We shared the marshmallow soup that Christian raves about—perhaps I heard too much hype, but I wasn’t blown away. Then we had a truffle-infused mushroom souffle and a baguette sandwich with jambon, gruyere, and cornichons. Both excellent (I just ate the other half of the sandwich for supper). Of course, chardonnay with our lunch.

Besides our elegant lunch, we ran errands—the grocery, the vet twice (because I wasn’t clear about what I needed), the cleaners, Trader Joe’s—sort of exhausting. I came home to take my usual nap. My mom used to say “There’s no rest for the weary”—or was it the wicked? I must be both weary and wicked, because yesterday when I napped, our lawn guys noisily did their job; today it was the neighbor’s lawn guys, who are just as noisy and sound just as close. Perhaps tomorrow shall be a day of peace and quiet.

Tomorrow shall also be a day of work. I’ve been lollygagging while I wait for copy edits on the Alamo and, I hope, a new contract. But tonight I decided to take matters into my own hands, and I’ve made a list of things I could and should do. Admittedly, some are cooking—I want to pickle a red onion and read the new Bon Appetit—but I also need to put new plants in my indoor garden, and I think I’ll look at an old manuscript, once published in the Fort Worth Star-Telegram and see how I feel about reprinting it. Anticipating a good day—and I’ll be so glad to have the wheel locks off my car. Just maybe I can also find out when they’ll replace my bedroom flooring. Life comes at you with unexpected problems, but I always figure I can handle them.

Gratitude

After two years of not being able to drive and another six months of “supervised” driving while the kids made sure I still knew how to do it, it’s a great joy to take off on my own and run errands—and save Jordan some bothersome trips on my behalf. Today I went to the podiatrist—seems like every time I go to the doctor there’s some new wrinkle, something “that is concerning” or “we just have to check it out.” So it was a delight to go to a doctor who said, “You’re doing so much better than so many people I see.” When asked if my shoes were okay, he countered with “Are they comfortable.” I said yes, and he said “Then wear them. All you need is something to cushion the bottom of your feet.” What a lovely man!

Next, I went to the only gas station around that does full service. I’m sure the attendant thought I was a dotty old lady—I couldn’t find full service, and when I did it had a cone in front of it. So I pulled up to the cone, and this nice young man said, “Ma’am, you’re going to have to pull up farther—the hose won’t reach your gas tank.” I said, “But the cone,” and he advised me to pull up next to it. By then I guess I was a bit flustered—he had to patiently ask me to turn off the engine, unlock the gas cap. I didn’t really need gas, but I got it, so I could get my tires checked which someone told me looked soft. The attendant gently said, “Just so you know, ma’am, we have a $20 minimum on full service.” I assured him I’d pay $20 for my $15 worth of gas, tire check, and clean windshield, but he brushed it away. Next time I go back there, I’ll be much smarter about the protocol.

Finally, I went to pick up a sweater at the cleaners. The owner himself brought it out and said, “Hey, Mrs. Alter. Written any new books lately?” So we talked a bit. He went to school with my oldest son.

So my gratitude is for people who are so kind about my wanting curbside service and for living in a neighborhood where people are so friendly. How lucky am I!

Finally baked that gingerbread today and learned a toaster-oven lesson—things with baking soda that rise don’t do well. The gingerbread rose beautifully—and burned the top. But we cut away the burned and doused it with the ginger/brown sugar whipping cream I’d made—delicious. And not too hard. Because I get mixed up on ordering spices by weight, however, I now have a lifetime supply of ground ginger. Anybody?

Neighbor Mary Dulle brought fresh homemade applesauce tonight, and I discovered that it too goes wonderfully with gingerbread—complimentary flavors. And she brought dried morel mushrooms—I will have to research to find out what to do with them.

And should you want to watch an interview with me, here’s a link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ndFlUpusk88 .  This was done this fall by the marketing manager at TCU Press—she came to the cottage, and I cleared my desk, as you can see.

Happy anniversary—sort of

How nice that John Mayer joined the anniversary party

For those that don't know, he's a singer and my daughters

are dippy about him. Not at all sure how Christian feels about sharing the anniversary.

This is a shout-out to my Fort Worth kids who celebrated their fourteenth anniversary last night. Since they were hosts for the son of friends, a good buddy of Jacob, they planned a romantic dinner for two at home. They’d feed the boys, and then enjoy steak and champagne by candlelight. It didn’t quite work out that way.

They came out to the cottage, so a couple of neighbors and I could toast their anniversary—and we bored the neighbors, I’m sure, with our detailed recall of that magic night fourteen years ago. But then Jacob appeared to announce that the house guest was sick and throwing up. I never saw a party break up so quickly—Jordan and Christian bolted for the house, and the neighbors made a hasty exit. Jordan came out in a bit to suggested I not count on the pork tenderloin she had promised me (I had scrambled eggs for supper). It seems the guest was still sick.

The way I got the story, Jordan came to the romantic dinner table in her pjs, and her toast was to “Poop and vomit, failed air conditioners and broken timing belts.” Christian raised his glass and said, “I can’t think of a better way to spend our anniversary.” Is that not gallant? I am so proud of their adaptability and open hearts—if that little boy had to get sick away from home, he couldn’t have chosen a better home in which to do it.

A postscript to the story: the house guest went to school, but Jordan had to go get him mid-day and take him to a doctor. There went the thousand errands she had to do today. She does so much for me, I was glad I could step in and run a couple of errands—to the bank, where I am now a failure at the drive-through because I can’t get close enough to reach (my reach does not exceed my grasp) and my feet get tangled trying to get out of the car in front of the machine—no room for maneuvering. I’m sure the teller thought I would sit in that lane all evening.

Then I went to Central Market for curbside delivery, so Jordan can bake cakes tonight that she needs for tomorrow. First time I’ve gotten the wrong thing—I despise parmesan in the green shaker and wanted the fresh grated from the cheesemonger—but I got that blasted green thing. And I had just assured a friend that curbside delivery never disappoints—me and my big mouth.

I’ve enjoyed a couple of celebratory holiday meals with friends this week. Monday night with two (the third was sick) to Michael’s, where I had Mac’s Salad, the real deal. The internet and even the Star-Telegram has offered various recipes over the years, and I’ve tried many of them and found they weren’t right. I even ordered blue cheese powder, which one recipe said was essential. Not so. But this was the real thing and so good. We had a delightful meal in a quiet dining room (I prize the quiet) in front of a fire.

Today I had lunch with three other friends at Ellerbe’s, a wonderful kraut and beef sandwich on marbled rye and a candy cane chocolate cake rich with buttercream and whipped cream for dessert. Just roll me out of the restaurant and point me toward a nap!

Love this season—and, yes, I try to keep my heart and mind open to the reason for the season.

Busy days, beautiful weather, and peanut butter

Peanut butter, mayonnaise, and lettuce

Have you ever tried it?

I have been overwhelmed, in a nice way, with projects that landed on my desk—the ongoing, bit project is the Alamo book, but I’ve also been trying to promote Gourmet on a Hot Plate, write a book review, make Christmas plans and wrap some presents, and get ready to pack for a few days at one of my sons’ houses. All this is a left-handed way of apologizing because I haven’t blogged regularly. I hope it will get better, but the days ahead look hectic—and lots of fun.

And so much for Jacob who asked if I just sit out here at my desk and scroll through Facebook all day. Or Christian, who suggested that the reason I worry about weeds, etc., is because I have more time on my hands to think about such things. I told him no. I’ve always been that way.

Today was a beautiful day, and I set out to do a grocery curbside pickup. Such a pretty day I went my usual route on the zoo road—just when the zoo was disgorging all the people who had spent the lovely day there. Gridlock. Then I went to a drive-in to pick up a barbecue sandwich for supper—and got behind an SUV of people who didn’t know what they wanted and spent way too long studying the billboard menu, holding up the whole line. And I swear I hit every long red light—me, who goes back roads to avoid red lights! It was an exercise in patience, but I’m glad to report patience won.

My exciting discovery of the day came when I found an article certifying the peanut butter, mayonnaise, and lettuce sandwich as a southern food. It was like the sandwich which I’ve eaten all my life had suddenly been given legitimacy. So the story goes, the sandwich was developed during the Depression when meat was dear and scarce. Peanut butter provided needed protein. I remember an internist telling me he’d rather I ate peanut butter than steak because I’d eat so much less.

A local food historian told me today that she believes there are some foods that southerners tend to eat more of—pimiento cheese, for instance—but she doesn’t think there are any distinctly southern foods. Still, the internet disagrees with her and has labeled the sandwich southern. I grew up in Chicago eating such sandwiches—one of my sons loves them, but the other kids turn up their noses, and I haven’t tried it on grandkids.

Making the sandwich should be a no-brainer, but if you need directions, you can find them here: https://www.allrecipes.com/recipe/136568/peanut-butter-mayonnaise-and-lettuce-sandwich/

Ever have those middle of the night thoughts? The other night I thought of two things I wanted to check on the computer. I’m not the kind to pop up at three a.m. and check the internet. Besides I told myself I’d remember. Next morning, I did remember one of the things—a book for one of my sons. But the other eluded me—and still does. It was a word, a noun I’m sure, and it began with an H, I think. But all I can come up with is Hanratty—he was a famous murderer, so I don’t think that was it. I’ll keep thinking.

Cold tomorrow. Bundle up if you go to church.

Armistice Day and family moments

Flags are flying. In France they held a commemorative ceremony marking the centennial of the end of World War I. Having flown to France for the occasion, the occupant of the White House didn’t attend because of rain—I suppose he was worried about his hair, but Germany’s Angela Merkel and France’s  Emmanuel Macron stood bare-headed in the rain, while Justin Trudeau talked of the day at Dieppe when it rained not rain but bullets. President Obama walked in the rain through a military cemetery with the graves of those lost in Afghanistan and Iraq. And I am confused.

In my mind, November 11 is Armistice Day. The eleventh minute of the eleventh hour of the eleventh day. We all stand for one minute facing east. But that’s tomorrow. Has someone passed a law that we cannot mark Armistice Day on Sunday? Will the Rotary flag at my curb still be there tomorrow? I wish they’d quite messing with the dates of national days of celebration and memorial all for the sake of commercialism.

Nonetheless, our pretender-president has shown us again how fragile he is. Between dodging a few raindrops and attacking Jim Acosta, he’s not coming off as a man of self-confidence. General Bone Spurs rides again.

On a personal level, today held some of those family moments you take for granted at the time and later realize are to be treasured. Last night I asked Jacob if he would run some errands with me this morning. In return, I promised him a sausage and biscuit sandwich for breakfast. He dutifully appeared this morning, ate his breakfast, and we went on our way. I can do the pharmacy drive-in and the cleaners, where I would request curb service to turn in my metal hangers for recycling. But the post office to mail a package and the grocery are difficult me with the walker.

Slowly Jacob warmed to the task. By the grocery, he was whipping out my walker for me, and he carried it while I drove the motorized shopping cart. As he remarked, “You only hit one thing, Juju, and that wasn’t a hard hit.” I do wish stores would quit crowding their aisles with dumps. Somewhere in our travels, he said, “Last night when you asked me, I thought I didn’t want to do this. But it hasn’t been bad.” Be still my heart—from a twelve-year-old that’s as close as we can come to praise, but I told him it was called a left-handed compliment. He also said my car didn’t smell bad—he has for a long time said it smells of old leather, maybe because it’s an old car—and he did not say one word about my driving frightening him. I considered the whole outing a success.

This afternoon, the Burton family went to have their pictures taken for a Christmas card. For the first time I was asked to come along—they wanted me in some pictures. Flattering. As I told Christian, I even washed my hair. We took pictures at the shelter at the old site of Shakespeare in the Park—endless shots it seemed, and a long walk for me to and from the car. Then Christian walked me back to the car, where I sat and read while they did family pictures on the levee, with the downtown skyline as a backdrop. Then on to the duck pond where they did more pictures, and I read some more but watched with one eye.

All this photography involved lots of standing, often propping me against a wall or a post so the walker wouldn’t be in the picture—I did clutch Jordan a bit. And one wooden post had nails which caught at my sweater as I moved away. It was by then dusk and growing chilly. Jordan froze on the levee and at the deck pond, and even sitting in the car I was chilled. But it all had a nice family feel to it. I’m waiting for the pictures—hope I wasn’t squinting.

And so tonight I’m going to wrap a few Christmas presents. Don’t judge. I will see some of my family at Thanksgiving—only a week and a half away—and not again before Christmas, so I will have to deliver two families worth of modest gifts then.

Nope, it’s not too early to think about Christmas. As we walked through the super hardware store in our neighborhood shopping center, headed for the post office at the back, we passed all kinds of Christmas things, and Jacob said, “I can’t wait for Christmas.” If a twelve-year-old can admit that, so can I at eighty. Bring it!

Writing is such fun—sometimes

For a week I’ve been carrying the opening scene of a mystery in my head. Me, who thought she might not write another mystery. At first it was a Kelly O’Connell, but I’ve decided it’s a Susan Hogan Oak Grove Mystery. And in this week, it has refined itself, taken on a new shape, added details. What they say about things on the back burner of your brain is definitely true—when you think you’re not working on something, your brain is.

Today was grocery store day which effectively took up my usual best writing time. But after lunch, I deliberately sat down and began to co commit my wandering thoughts to paper. Within less than an hour I wrote almost a thousand words and had such fun doing it. Who knows if the next thousand will come as easily or where the story is going—it’s already surprised me once. But it’s a great feeling to have gotten a start. And I even have a title—but I’m not sharing for a while.

Meantime, back to the cookbook, though I won’t get much done this weekend. Megan and her family will be here in about half an hour, and while I will snatch some time—when they are at baseball games and the like—I won’t have concentrated periods of attention to writing. Which is okay. I’m my own boss, and I do things at my own pace. No deadlines.

Today was a lovely day in North Texas—seventies and sunny. Jordan and I ran errands this morning—which means I sat in the car and she ran into the alterations place, the cleaners, the post office, the school (Jacob forgot his clarinet), the liquor store. But we did the grocery together. Everyone in my family seems to be on a diet, so we didn’t buy much for the upcoming visit, though I did order some cheese and sausage that Christian picked up at curbside at Central Market—we are loving that service.

Tonight, Christian was potting plants on the front porch, and I took a glass of wine out there and sat and visited. . ..

Oops. Pandemonium has just broken loose. The Hudgeons family from Austin has arrived, complete with their miniature poodle, which has Sophie doing her run-in-circles act. ‘Night all. I got to go.

Hurry Up and Wait

Colin and Morgan at home in the cottage

My oldest son, Colin, and his eleven-year-old daughter, Morgan, have come for the weekend with the explicit goals of figuring out my finances yet again!, figuring out what to do about my car and driving, and a couple of other things. They arrived about noon, and we had an enjoyable visit until two. Then Colin announced it was time for my nap, and they would run errands. Just before six, Morgan was here but we had no idea where Colin was. He finally came in a bit later and when I asked about my car, he said, “I went by to look at it but errands ran away with the day.” I didn’t ask why he waited to do errands until he got up here. But there it was—six o’clock—and we/d done nothing except have a nice visit.

Before I retired that would have driven me wild. I would have complained about the errands and called him two or three times to ask when he’d be home. The new me took a long nap and decided he was the one who had come up here with a plan and he’d get to it sooner or later.

Meantime, Jordan and Christian hosted a formal dinner party tonight—well, at least as formal as they get. Colin, Morgan, and I stayed in the cottage, though folks came out to see us. Jordan sweetly served us dinner—best steak we’ve had in forever. I couldn’t eat the mashed potatoes, to my dismay, because they had cream cheese in them. But we are full and happy.

And we’ve pretty much brought Colin’s files on my business up to date—Colin will be the executor someday and is now my unofficial financial consultant so it’s important for him to keep up.

Tomorrow he’ll get my car out of Subie’s driveway and bring it up to my driveway. We’ll sit in it and talk about how I feel—can I react fast enough to get my foot from gas to brake in an emergency? Does the inflexible brace allow me enough ankle movement to react and control the car? Will the walker fit in the back seat? If I talk the walker and go somewhere alone am I in more danger of falling getting it in and out? So many questions. A friend offered me an appropriate amount for the car, but Colin’s wife said if I’m to sell it, I should sell it to them. So many questions but fortunately we don’t have to decide tomorrow. Part of that lesson I learned.

Meantime I will sleep happily tonight knowing that I have one child and one grandchild under my cottage roof.

Worn Out and Plumb Tired

That’s how I feel tonight—worn out and plumb tired. Ever feel that way? I tried to reconstruct my day to see why I’m so tired. Went first thing this morning to the bank to sign the loan papers for the remodeling of the cottage—no we still don’t have a permit. I signed on the dotted line for what is to me a whole lot of money, so maybe that in itself was tiring.

Then Amy, my travel companion, and I ran errands—mailed eight packages, which took a lot of time standing on my feet, and then went to Staples for file folders, hanging folders, and the like so I can start loading my new file cabinet—a task in itself which seems daunting. By then, my ankle was beginning to bother me—it is now swollen and a rainbow of colors, with bruises up my calf and down my toes. Staples has rearranged yet again—I wish stores wouldn’t do that. So I sat in the office furniture section while Amy scoured the store for what we needed. The one clerk we asked must have been new—he didn’t have a clue. But we got what I needed eventually.

Came home to eat an early lunch and take a long nap. Jordan emailed all her plans for organizing things this afternoon, and that convinced me further that I needed a long nap. She comes in bustling with energy—not sure how she does that after a full day of work. But she arranged my office pretty much to her satisfaction, brought all the bed linens in from the cottage to be washed, started on books in the dining room. I mostly sat and watched, though while she worked in the office I put together a flyer for her private book sale. Other than that I watched.

And now I’ve piddled away the evening and am ready to go to sleep.

Long text exchange between my children. Last year we went to Lubbock—just the five of us—for my induction into the Western Writers Hall of Fame. There was some talk of a similar family trip to Chicago but I thought it had faded away. Now it’s come up again with a certain dedication. I had been content to let it fade away, not sure I felt up to the trip. But tonight I scolded myself—go now or never. And with the kids I feel I can be dependent. This time around, at least until my ankle heals, I have no objection to a wheelchair or walker. (That’s a huge admission!) And I know I’ll be in good hands.

So I’m thinking of places I want to go, things I want to show them. One is the architectural tour of Chicago from the Chicago river. The University of Chicago; the hospital (now condos) that was the center of our lives. The house where I grew up; the nearby house President Obama owns. The Lake Shore—although I think Lake Shore Drive has changed so much I’d be lost. I don’t care so much about Marshall Field’s but I’d like to eat at Berghoff’s. And of course tour Hyde Park and Kenwood with the wonderful architecture, and the grounds of the Columbian Exposition. Oh, my. I’m getting excited just thinking about it.

Maye I just got my second wind, but tomorrow will come too soon. Sweet dreams, everyone.

A nine-year-old caretaker

This morning I had errands to run, but increasingly since my hip/back problem developed, I’ve been reluctant to venture out of the house. I think I’m paralyzed by the fear of falling again. So today I had Jacob as backup…and he was as good as gold.

First we walked down the driveway from the front porch—I haven’t done that since I feel in the driveway last March. I’ve developed an alternative way of going to the car—out the back door and through the dog gate. Jacob held my hand the few steps until we got to the fence where I felt safe—he did say, “You’re holding on awful tight.” Then when I was walking on my own, he said, “You’re walking awfully fast.” I told him fast was better than slow.

First stop: the gas station, where I had no problem though I told Jacob to undo his seat belt. That’s an old superstition of mine, but I have heard of static electricity causing flame to follow the hose to the car. Jacob’s father scoffs at me, but I hold to it.

Then to Origins, where I buy facial products. Jacob was clearly out of his element but he dutifully held my hand though we didn’t have to walk far. I was surprised at how shaky my legs were.

Then to Central Market, where he brought a basket to me, and with that to hold on to, I was fine, though my cane kept slipping out of the end of the basket and threatened to trip bystanders. Jacob thought that was all fun. Otherwise, he kept asking how many more things were on my list. Actually I had a short list, and we were through in record time—with a record low price for me at that store.

Then home, where he glued on his iPad until time to go with Chandry, our apartment guest, to play with her big dogs at a kennel in Weatherford. I worked and slept—until Jacob rudely woke me up at 5:30. Next time he won’t wake up on a school morning, I’m going to be equally rude! Dinner of buttered noodles (I put capers on mine) and broccoli—Jacob ate prodigious amounts.

And then Chandry and a friend ate dinner on the deck, so we went out to visit. And In between all that, I was trying to make a pot of lasagna soup. No wonder my back hurts tonight, and I am more weary than I remember being in a long time.

                                                     

Bone-weary tired

This is my not stodgy, not an old person's car--eleven years old with 31,000+ miles!

Bone tired. You  ever feel that way? That's how I feel tonight. I've done a lot of running around this week that I'd rather not do. I'd like to be home at my computer, but I took the dog to the vet for an annual check-up, went to physical therapy which is always tiring, went out to lunch twice and dinner once (all of which I enjoyed), had Jacob overnight three nights (which means I don't sleep as well even though I love having him here--mostly), got a haircut, went to the grocery, took the car to be repaired (predictably it cost four times what I anticipated) and went to a doctor's appointment. Maybe it was the nap I took this afternoon that made me lose my oomph--slept so soundly that the alarm was a great intrusion. Woke up to go get Jacob--who promptly went home to play with a friend. Should have gone back to bed.
The weather doesn't help. By now, everyone knows about the monsoon season we're having--22+ inches, more than all of last year. And it's supposed to rain at least until mid-week. Sometimes a gentle rain is comforting, but we've had sudden heavy downbursts--they don't last long, but they're intense. Plants and lawns are loving it. People not so much. We're beginning to long for sunshine and to feel moldy; crops are dying from too much water. It's been a great drought-breaker, with lakes a year ago almost empty now overflowing.
Texas novelist Elmer Kelton's most significant work was the novel The Time It Never Rained, but he later wrote an article titled "The Time It Always Rained." Writing mostly from sheepmen's point of view, Elmer stressed the difficulty for animal raisers. I wish he were here today to give us his view on this deluge.
To make it worse, this is the weekend of the PGA tournament at Colonial Country Club (sponsors change occasionally and I can't remember what we're calling it this year--it will always be Colonial to me). I don't know much about golf, but I imagine a soggy course is a real problem for golfers. And surely it discourages both real golf fans and those who go to drink beer and ogle the women--a Colonial tradition. However, if traffic is an indicator, it hasn't discouraged many people--traffic is as always a mess anywhere near the golf course. Streets closed, etc. This morning I thought I'd be smart and cut through a shopping village parking lot--blocked off with an official man patrolling. Had to retrace my steps. And my favorite way to come and go to West Fort Worth is blocked. This evening to avoid University Drive, I went almost downtown to get to White Settlement and retrieve my repaired car.
So glad to have my Beetle back. Grateful for the loan of a Passat but it felt stodgy and stiff to me, and I was never comfortable driving it. A friend told me in Germany all the old people drive Passats--oh good, just what I needed to know.
Enough rambling. I'm going to go fix breakfast for dinner--scrambled eggs and bacon. It's one of Jacob's favorites.
 

Weird day

A weird day in which I accomplished almost nothing. Jacob has started private swim lessons--by the time I get him from the summer program he attends, get to the pool, wait half an hour (where could I go in that time?), and return him to Clayton Yes! it takes a little over an hour right out of the middle of my morning, including my usual yoga time. This morning I took my iPad, intending to read in the car, which turned out not to be comfortable. So I sat at a table under some wonderful big trees--shady with a nice breeze. But the trees reflect in the iPad and make reading difficult--whine, whine, whine. I did listen to the instructor's talk with Jacob and heard splashes that indicated he was going off the diving board. At the end of his lesson, he demonstrated--he sits on the end of the board and she gives him a gentle shove--but he goes like a trooper. On the way back he asked why he couldn't just come home with me, and I explained his mom wants him to go to the Clayton Yes program. At my house, he'd just sit and watch TV. Tomorrow he'll do that because the Clayton Yes folks are going swimming at 12:15.
I'm loving my free afternoons, though I do miss him. But late, long naps are great, and I do get some work done after lunch--today it was neighborhood newsletter stuff, but I got a start on the July issue. Slept hard and found myself wandering around the grocery at 5:30, still a bit dazed. I never go to the grocery at 5:30--I watch the news. But I was obsessed with getting the ingredients for the potato salad I have to make for the multitudes Friday night for Jacob's birthday. Now I'm obsessed to get a brass stand from the shop where they polished it--think I can do that before I get Jacob tomorrow if I get up early enough. Wish I'd stop setting these deadlines for myself but I hate loose end! Being compulsive is not always easy; neither is breaking your established routine.
I'll probably adjust to this swimming schedule eventually...and then the week of lessons will be over. Oh me oh my.