Lazy Sunday and the end of the cruise

 

At a waterfall on Iceland's Golden Circle

If Sunday is the day the Lord intended for rest, it really worked out today. After getting up with Sophie twice, I dawdled my way through the morning. It was a day when I had good leftovers for lunch—no need to wonder what to fix—and Christian was fixing the dinner, from one of those prepared meal kits Jamie sent. This was southwestern beef and macaroni—unusual seasonings but good and what was supposed to feed four looked like it would feed eight. My contribution to the meal—and the most cooking I did all day—was to cut up and toss a salad.

For me, much of the day was spent in anger and rebellion at our governor’s reaction to the most recent mass shooting. Governor Abbott is getting a lot of feedback of the negative sort—okay, criticism—for his statement that the killings would not change gun laws. Texas, he said, is going after mental health problems, as though he had just invented the thought. It’s not sitting well with his constituents, but that’s a post for another evening because I think we need to flood the governor with critical emails. His position is untenable.

But meantime, at the Alter/Burton compound, we await Jordan’s return from her grand adventure in Paris, onboard the cruise ship, and then in Reykjavik. Somehow, I have lost some of the pictures, but I’ll try to give a picture tour. What stands out is that Jordan had lovely meals and glasses of wine—or maybe those were the pictures she took because she knows her mother is a foodie. But at every turn, she was having a scrumptious meal, many of them based on fish. That does and doesn’t surprise me—she’s always been a good fish eater, but she’s wanted other things besides. This trip she ate mostly whitefish, though there were the eggs Benedict. And she ate everywhere from the captain’s table to the deck of the ship to a tomato farm.

Tomato lunch

Two of her Reykjavik adventures that struck me as most interesting were a visit to one of Iceland’s large tomato farms—who knew? Apparently since the climate is not conducive to growing tomatoes outdoors, Icelanders grow them in huge hothouses! Jordan apparently toured one and had a spectacular meal. The other excursion that interested me was to Golden Circle, one of Iceland’s most popular tourist attractions, a circular route that visits geysers, waterfalls, hot
springs, and volcanic craters.

Great presentation at the
tomato farm

From scattered pictures that I saw, Reykjavik appears to be a city of modern buildings, many painted in warm and wild colors, perhaps to warm the people through long, cold nights? And for her last night there, Jordan had a spectacular meal.

Reykjavik

Now she has texted that she’s landed at DFW, although she’s still at the airport, presumably going through customs. It’s just shy of nine o’clock, and she’s been up since one a.m. our time. I don’t expect a detailed report tonight, but I will be glad to have her home and a bit in awe of her adventure.

Last dinner - scallops

Whitefish followed the 
scalops

Iceland, here they come—and thoughts on retirement life

 

Shipboard duck dinner

The tour report is not much today—pictures of yesterday’s dinner which consisted of two plates, one of duck and one of lobster. Both were “continental” size servings, though taken together they probably made a substantial meal. I could not tell how the lobster was fixed. Today’s dinner was lamb, Brussel sprouts, potato, vegetable quiche—much more substantial. Jordan reports that they are in the main crossing now, whatever that means.

I finally had to look at a map to see where my child is going. It was not easy to find—oh, I found lots of maps of Iceland, but few that showed its physical relation to other countries and some that did were in foreign languages. I have finally figured it out though—Iceland is quite a way north and to the west of England, closer to Greenland and kind of between the Scandinavian countries and Greenland. The ship now must be in the open water between England and Iceland. I’m not sure when they reach Reykjavik. As I looked, I was reminded of horrendous statistics about what Americans don’t know about world geography, and I plead guilty.

Closer to home, while Jordan was eating those European-style gourmet meals, I was fixing King Ranch casserole, a dish I’ve been making for well over fifty years and can do in my sleep. It’s not even Tex-Mex—the only claim to southwestern cuisine is the half can or however much Rotel you put in. But it’s good. I made it for two friends who came for supper because we couldn’t go out—due to temporary health problems, neither of them can lift my walker in and out of a car, so the only solution was to eat here. Usually with these two, Subie joins us, but she could not tonight. She got a good laugh, however, out of the fact that we couldn’t go without her. I said it may not be too long before I can never go out to dinner because all my friends have gotten too old to lift my walker!

We did have a good visit—Kathie brought great guac, and Carol cleaned the kitchen, put away the food, did everything but wash the dishes, which I accomplished in no time after they left. Like many of my friends, their lives revolve around the Trinity Terrace retirement community—Carol and her husband have just moved in, and while Kathie has a condo in nearby Arlington, her gentleman friend lives at TT and she dines there with him every night, or so I gathered.

Despite the fact that so many of my friends live there, I am still much happier in my cottage, though I often feel a bit defensive about it. Sometimes what I hear about retirement community life reminds me of a college dorm, and I never did like dorm life. I am also claustrophobic enough that I would not want to have to do elevators alone, and I surely would not want to have to take an elevator down to the dog park every time Sophie wanted to go out. She is in and out ten times a day, and it’s much easier just to open the French doors. These lovely spring days, the door is open all the time, with a free-hanging screen over it, and she can come and go as she pleases.

Tonight’s dinner demonstrates another aspect of life in the cottage that I truly value—my kitchen, and the fact that I cook. Residents at Trinity Terrace—and most other retirement communities—have to buy a meal plan and use a certain number of meal points in the community dining areas each month. No matter how much I’ve heard several say they intend to continue to cook, they end up eating in either the cafeteria or the upscale, white linen tablecloth dining room. I’ve eaten there several times and thoroughly enjoyed it—but I would soon tire of it if I ate there every night. Sort of like the pre-packaged meals Jamie so sweetly sent me—I want to do my own meal planning.

And so I did tonight—making a grocery list for the coronation dinner I’ll fix Saturday night—so far just Jean and me, but we’ll have smoked salmon and coronation chicken salad and green pea salad. And then I planned meals that Jordan might like her first couple of nights at home—chicken dishes but not casseroles! —and a dinner for the adventuresome eater who dines with me about once a month and will be here later in the week.

Plus tomorrow is the day for my weekly cooking column, so I considered recipes for that. Want to know about cacio e peppe and why it is considered the ultimate test of an Italian chef? Read about it tomorrow.

Tonight my desk is full of projects—a couple of articles to be pulled from the Corbitt manuscript, a guest blog to write, that memoir to think about. I’m a happy camper. But I also downloaded the newest in the Country Club Murders series, so that’s my project for what’s left of the evening. Color me happy. How about you? Where are you on the scale of happiness?