Learning to like my own company

 

My "on your own" dinner tonight
a loin lamb chop and asparagus with a sour cream/lemon/crumb topping
Yes, I know, white wine with red meat,
but that's what I like.

The Burtons are home tonight, after spending several days at Lost Pines, a resort down near Bastrop where they can lounge by the pool (sounds so boring to me), Jacob can golf and fish. They do this every August as a family vacation, always taking along a neighborhood buddy for Jacob.

For quite a few years—fifteen or more—I lived alone, although Jordan periodically returned until she married. Still, essentially, I was alone and used to it. But five years ago when I first moved into the cottage and was frail after several health problems, including a major surgery, I quickly got used to not living alone. So the first year they went to Lost Pines, I was almost aghast: They’re leaving me alone? I orchestrated a tight schedule of people to visit me or take me to dinner or do anything to keep me from being afraid of being alone.

This year was totally different. Yes, I planned a schedule, but it pretty much fell apart—my Friday night dinner companion (we were going to Lucile’s) was exposed to Covid and went into quarantine, and my Saturday night company suddenly found she would be out of town Saturday night. Only then she wasn’t, and she came over on Friday night when neighbors also walked down for happy hour. And of course there was dinner at the Drover and before that a visit from my Canadian daughter and her husband. So I had plenty of company, except Saturday night and that was just fine.

But I learned several things. One is that when they go on vacation, I somehow think I am on vacation too. I sleep later, nap longer, and generally take it easier. So one morning I slept until eight-thirty, which is pretty unheard of for me, and I wouldn’t have gotten up then but Sophie was pretty insistent, and my conscience pricked me—there’s something about staying in bed too late that conflicts with my work-ethic upbringing. Still, I tell myself I can sleep late even if they are all in the house and getting ready for the day.

Another lesson I learned is one I’ve known a long time: when they are gone, I cook the things they won’t eat. I actually didn’t do as much of that as I thought this week. I stuffed a large zucchini one night with a tuna/cheddar/crumb mixture of my own invention. It was really good and fed me one night and two lunches. I was out to dinner that one night and had leftovers the next day for lunch. Friday night I fixed the Great Outdoors-style sandwich that Jordan and I are loving—and so is Jacob. Saturday night I made a lifelong favorite—salmon croquettes—and had cucumber salad and avocado salad with it. The cucumber salad is a recipe I found for “refrigerator pickles” but when I read it I thought that’s marinated cucumber, not pickles. (The cucumber is sliced, as are the onions—my mom kept a version of that in the fridge all summer, but this had a bit of sugar to soften it).

Now home and heading into a new school/work year, Jordan is going on a rather strict eating regimen which cuts out a lot of the things I like to eat. Having done so well eating on my own, I decided I will cook for the family when they want things I can agree on, but there may be more nights I want to cook for myself. Like cube steak with onion soup gravy or fish tacos with lime/cilantro crema. Or scrambled eggs with corn, goat cheese, and tomatoes—does that not sound wonderful?

So tonight, we batted out a week’s menu—we will only dine together three or four nights, and on the menu are flank steak, baked fish filets, and a roasted soy chicken—an old recipe of mine that I remember fondly. One night my niece is coming with her two daughters, and I’ll make finger sandwiches, but Jordan will eat with Christian because she can’t have the bread in the sandwiches. Not that Christian couldn't have the sandwiches, but just that I'm sure he will opt out.

But I digress from the lessons I learned. The biggest one was that I like my own company. I was just fine Saturday when I woke up knowing I would not see another human all day—after all, I had Sophie for company, didn’t I? I actually looked forward to the day—wrote on my work-in-progress, read a novel, fixed my salmon patties. A good day. And now I know I can do that again. No, I don’t want to go a week without human companionship, but a day or two is just fine. So I guess the lesson is that I am going to be a bit more independent now. Swell, just when we are looking at having to semi-quarantine and mask up again!

Stay safe everyone.

Adjusting to standard time

Don’t count me as among those grateful for another hour of sleep. Even as a teenager, I never could sleep late. Nine o’clock was a record for me, and when I had teenage kids of my own I was astounded that they could and did sleep till noon. These days I never set an alarm clock, but I’m almost always up by eight.

Last night Megan spent the night on the couch—her boys were all in the house. She pulls every blind on every window and turns out all lights. The result is that the cottage is a dark cave, even when the sun comes up. I was acutely aware of not wanting to disturb her, so I managed to doze until 7:45 the new time. But then I’d had it. I crept around, making a cup of tea as quietly as I could and turning on my computer. Finally, one of her boys came out to ask something and woke her. Then the world started to turn as it should.

We had biscuits and sausage gravy for brunch—delicious, though Jacob passed on the gravy and wanted honey. His two cousins thought he was crazy. Then everyone sat and talked for a while, and the Hudgeons family was off to Austin by eleven. At one point, Jordan said, “It’s only ten o’clock. I’m loving this.”

I came back to the cottage and worked a bit, but I was off my stride, and my body had definitely not adjusted. At one o’clock—which would have been two o’clock, I was unbearably sleepy. Napped, but that meant I got up with a long afternoon ahead of me. Somehow, lying there, I scolded myself for being lazy and unmotivated, so boy have I gotten a lot done.

Hung up several days accumulation of clothes, tried on some shoes I ordered and discovered as I suspected they were narrow, not the extra wide my feet have demanded since surgery (sob, the days of thin feet and trim ankles are forever gone). Took me the better part of an hour to arrange the exchange, print out the label, and package up the shoes for return. Washed dishes. Talked to the son of an old friend about a complicated family matter for a long time. And wrote my requisite thousand words for the day. I’m beginning to feel my way slowly with a new novel—very slowly.

The world goes on its shaky way—the shooting in Texas has everyone horrified, and I’m with those who are tired of prayers and hugs. We need action, but most of all we need to overcome the divisions in our nation, the sanction that’s been given to hate and anger. Who knows what makes people snap, but who can doubt that the uncertainty of our world contributes.

I was scolding one of my grandsons for talking about hating someone, and Brandon popped up with, “I hate Donald Trump, and I’m enjoying it.” I said that was like drinking a cup of poison and expecting Trump to die, but he denied it. Said his insides were not in a turmoil—he was just enjoying the hate. I doubt that’s a fair assessment. My brother said tonight a friend had said, “Oh, woe is me. I just found out one of my sons is a liberal.” When I asked how anyone could be anything else these days, he cut the conversation off. My sneaking suspicion is he won’t talk about Trump and Republicans because he knows how cruel and wrong they are.

What triggers anxiety?

I didn't sleep well last night for several reasons. I think I had worked myself into anxiety because I had Jacob overnight, had to get him to day camp and get myself out the door by 8:30 for a doctor's appointment. Then I had a small grocery store run to make, a luncheon appointment, and a happy hour scheduled. It all seemed overwhelming, but anticipation is the great ally of anxiety. When push came to shove, it all worked out fine.
Jacob was at day camp shortly after eight--teeth brushed, mouthwash used, breakfast eaten, lunch in a paper sack because they were going on a field trip. Never mind that he had on the same shorts he'd worn yesterday and refused to brush his hair--it's curly and looks a mess when he wakes up. He would wear a hat, he said. I suppose I would be more strict if I were the parent, but I'm not--I'm the grandmother. Jordan looks at me and demands, "What's wrong with you? You never would have let me do that!"
I also didn't sleep well because something has scared Jacob in the back room where his bed is, and he  slept in my bed. Like sleeping with a churning furnace and occasionally realizing there was a hand poised over my face, sort of like a spider.
Not sleeping, I was up early--watered plants, fixed his lunch, was terribly efficient. Got him to day camp, went to my doctor apt. (I feel an opus on osteopathic manipulative medicine coming up! I feel so much better!), did my quick Central Market shopping--all with the company of my good friend  Betty, who acted like Central Market was a foreign country. Got home in plenty of time for my lunch appointment--even got some work done.
Happy hour as really a chance for me to see Jacob one more time before he goes to camp--he was unimpressed by the sentimental occasion. And then I was home alone, did some work, and am so sleepy I'm going to bed much earlier than usual.
But anxiety is what intrigues me about the day, because about six in the morning I thought I needed to take an anti-anxiety pill. Was it Jacob? The schedule? The doctor appointment? One can never tell, but I sure worked myself into a state. Once I was up, moving, into my morning routine I was much better. Every time that happens to me, I tell myself I should recognize the signs and override them--but it ain't easy at three a.m. when you can't sleep and there's a whirling dervish next to you in the bed. Surely he'll realize soon that he's too old to sleep with his grandmother--on the other hand, as a friend said this afternoon, there's something sweet about it. Except now when I say, "Night, Jacob. Sweet dreams," he says, "Scoot over. And give me some covers." I think he's really growing up.

Terry Shames and the Samuel Craddock Series

Please welcome my Wednesday guest, Terry Shames. Terry's first novel, A Killing at Cotton Hill, debuted a year ago this month to resounding reviews and was named one of the top five debut novels by Mystery People. She followed it quickly with The Last Death of Jack Harbin, and the third novel in the series, featuring retired sheriff Samuel Craddock, launches soon. Although she now lives in California, Terry grew up in Texas, in a small town on which her fictional Jarrett Creek is modeled...and she captures the essence of small-town Texas to a T. Here's Terry, talking about how her life has changed in the past year.

****

 

July 16 will be the one-year birthday of my debut novel, A Killing at Cotton Hill, and I’m taking stock of what the year has meant. Here are a few changes I’ve experienced:

1)    I’m not nearly as organized as I used to be. I used to be able to keep things in my head, but no more. If it isn’t written down, it doesn’t happen—in fact sometimes, it doesn’t happen even if it is written down. It’s hard for me to understand that this is a good thing. It means I’m super busy with readings and promotion and writing the next book, in addition to trying to have a social life.

2)    I’ve discovered a new side of my husband. Who would have guessed that I could tell David that not only am I too busy to go buy groceries, but too busy to go out for dinner and that he would respond by going to the grocery store and buying things for me to cook? Also, I would never have guessed that he would be so excited by the success of my first book and would quietly go about making things work in the background when I did a book reading. I didn’t know he knew how to set out wine and cheese! I guess all the years I spoiled him have come back to me in kind.

3)    I’m having a lot of fun. I’ve always been a mixture of introvert and extrovert. That has stood me in good stead as I have to work on future books and at the same time promote my books. I love being in my office, working because my series is moving forward and I feel celebrated as an author for the first time. And I also love being out and about at book signings and conferences, talking about my books and writing.

4)    It’s not all roses! As an unpublished writer, I could do as I pleased. If I was stuck on a project, I’d start another one or mess around with a short story and maybr not come back to the book for a long time. That luxury is gone. Please don’t think I’m complaining. It’s just different.

 5)    I want to stretch my wings a little bit. I’ve recently begun thinking of writing a book other than one in the Samuel Craddock series. Can I possibly write a thriller? One of those hefty books of intrigue that I love to read? Or maybe try my hand at a “big” historical novel? Stay tuned. I’m dipping my toe in, and I’ll see where it leads.

 

My second book, The Last Death of Jack Harbin, came out in January to fine reviews. And in October, Dead Broke in Jarrett Creek launches. In this one, the town of Jarrett Creek goes bankrupt because of the mayor’s poor judgment…or is that the reason? Could it also be because of nefarious backroom deals that backfired? How will all this affect Samuel Craddock? Read it and find out. You can pre-order it! And here’s the cover: