Game Day and other things

 

 

 

Megan and grandson Ford at the game

I suspect that almost anyone who reads my blog is watching the TCU/Georgia championship game at this moment. As I write, it’s halftime and not looking good for TCU. On the other hand, they have pulled off some amazing second-half recoveries this season, and it’s not over until it’s over. Jordan and Christian are at a watch party, Megan and grandson Ford are actually at the game, and Colin said he’d be watching. Jamie is like me—it’s on in the background.

I forgot to ask what channel it would be on, so I texted Jordan just before the game began. She gave me directions which did not work at all. So she said Christian was coming home at half-time to feed the dogs and would show me. Meantime, I pulled up what the Star-Telegram said would be streaming coverage. It was just that, full of yards and downs and passes and things this lukewarm fan has never learned to master. So occasionally I pull up a page that says simply, “TCU football” and check the score.

A former TCU football team member, years ago, recalled on Facebook the time he played, when paying football players got you in big trouble with the NCAA, when there weren’t so many bowls and a bowl invitation had meaning, before schools realized the financial benefits of a winning team, and football was a Saturday afternoon thing. Yes, I remember those days at TCU too, and our win record was abysmal, but still I cling to the idea that that is the way college football should be. Color me a curmudgeon.

On to other things. I wrote 1200 words in a flurry this morning, because it was something I’d been writing in my head for days—came quickly and easily. Then tonight, I struggled to get not quite 800 words on a blog possibility that just came my way today and has to be in by Saturday. Whole different process. I’ve now put the blog away for tonight and will revisit it tomorrow. Maybe it will sound better then.

Sophie is still improving but not quite ready to come home yet. Jordan is right that we don’t want to bring her home, only to have to take her back. But the cottage has a hollow feeling to it, an emptiness. And sometimes I hear noises that if she were here, I would attribute to her rooting around in the rug or turning in her crate or something. Without her I have no explanation for things that go bump in the night. It’s both lonely and unnerving.

My good news for the day is that I went to the cardiologist for a routine appointment, and he said they don’t need to see me for a year. Jordan thinks it’s because life in the cottage agrees with me, and I think she may well be right. Which means I have a big debt of gratitude to all my children but especially to Jordan and Christian who get twenty-four-hour responsibility. I try to be as independent as I can, but there’s no longer the possibility of driving myself to doctors’ appointments. So Jordan and I had a bit of together time today.

Christian has gotten the game on my TV or me—he pressed the same buttons I did, but for him it worked. I will never understand why that happens with phones, TV, computer, etc. My touch is sometimes electronic death.

Do I really want to watch this?

A pajama day

 

Pajama days, I firmly believe, are good for the soul. I’d been planning this one for several days. Sophie appears to be on the mend, I had no obligations, social or otherwise—the only thing on my calendar was virtual church, and God understands if you don’t get out of your pjs. It’s what’s in your heart, not on your body.

So I was lazy. Slept late, ate leftovers, wrote a few emails, went to church, napped, and finished the Jessica Fletcher Murder, She Wrote mystery I’ve been reading. That Jessica, she sure is one smart sleuth. As I scrolled through Facebook for an idle bit, a friend kept posting links to songs by my favorite singers—Judy Collins, Joan Baez, Joni Mitchell. Lovely way to spend some time on a pajama day.

Tomorrow, I vow I will get back to serious work, but that’s a vow I’ve been making for several Mondays. Somehow life gets in the way—first it was the holidays, then Sophie. Tomorrow is not off to a good start because I have a routine doctor’s appointment at ten-thirty, right in the middle of my best working time. Tuesday, it’s a haircut but fortunately at lunchtime, and Friday another appointment, this with the podiatrist. Plus Thursday I plan to cook a big birthday dinner that may take me more than one day. Is it just at my age or does life always get in the way of the serious things you want to do?

Serious as I think the chaos in the House of Representatives is, I have been amused at the humor on the internet. Two of my favorites: a post that congratulates Kevin McCarthy on his quinceanera, and one that says, “It’s like selling your soul, only the check bounced.”

For my lazy day, I scrambled some eggs tonight—my go-to supper. Only this time I tried a fancy new method. I like soft scrambled, really soft, and this method promised “velvety” eggs. Of course, I cut the recipe in half and substituted ingredients—okay, I didn’t have cream, so I used buttermilk, not a successful substitution. My advice: go on scrambling the way you always do that works for you. That, however, is the fun of experimental cooking—you find some things that work, some that don’t.

My Megan from Austin is on her way to LA tonight for the big game, with her younger son Ford (older son Sawyer does not care one whit about football, which makes him a child after my own heart). Unfortunately there is a ninety-six percent chance of rain tomorrow in Santa Monica, with severe storms predicted for Tuesday. I’ll be glad when Megan and Ford are safely home again.

Last night at a dinner party, everyone was astounded when I said no, I probably wouldn’t watch the game, but I would check the score occasionally. Tonight Fort Worth is truly a purple city—lights on the Seventh Street bridge and several of the downtown buildings, streetlights in several area of town, houses decorated with purple and white (did they just take down red and green and replace?). I do have my TCU T-shirt all ready to wear tomorrow, so I’m at least a bit patriotic.

Here's to sweet, purple dreams tonight, a victory tomorrow night, and a good week as we truly move into 2023. My pajama day has refreshed me, and I am eager to head into the week and attack the projects on my desk. I wish for you the same positive attitude.

 

 

 

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.

 

A Halloween shock

 

Note the parked cars and traffic

Real Halloween, as distinct from last night’s neighborhood festival, was predictably crowded. The best estimates I’ve heard are that we routinely get about 1400 kids, almost all from other neighborhoods, because local kids did their trick-or-treating last night. These kids arrive by the carload, and our streets are lined with parked cars. General routine is for parents to wait at the sidewalk, while the kids come up for their treats. Little ones however are carried and often look bewildered. Costumes range from a black T-shirt to an elaborate (and huge) dinosaur with ghosts, goblins, brides (one so pretty), skeletons, robots—you name it, many very inventive.

Can you find the baby in the basket?

We sat on the porch while Jordan was the main dispenser of candy—she really enjoys it and has a great greeting for each child. The children, in turn, are polite and say thank you, except for one kid who muttered, “More.” Christian had made a pot of tortilla soup, and the plan was everyone was to eat when hungry. I opted to come back to the cottage a little after seven—it was getting chilly—and reheat the leftover vegetable soup I had. But Christian scooped up two of Jordan’s chocolate chip cookies and one brownie for me. No, I didn’t eat it all. The brownie is in a baggie, waiting for tomorrow.

Jordan waiting for the kids

Sophie is a problem on porch party nights. She has an unerring sense of when there’s going to be a party in the house and she, by gosh, is not going to be left out of it. One notable night recently, she snapped at Jordan when she reached for her collar. Tonight, Christian and Jacob both came to get me—one to help me negotiate the stairs and the other to corral Sophie. She knew what was happening. They lured her inside, but she tried to bolt, and Christian was like a football player, dancing to run interference before she escaped. Jacob was reluctant to grab her but did, and we made a not-so-smooth getaway. When Christian walked me back out, she still wanted to go in the house—note she didn’t care where I was. She managed to bolt inside this time, but Jordan brought her back fairly soon. After a few minutes, if you ask her if she wants to go home, she goes to the back door. Now, she’s sleeping peacefully at my feet. Having a spoiled dog is one thing; having one control my behavior to that extent is another, and she’s about to get pulled up short.

Halloween was almost overshadowed on our porch, in the TCU community, and I suspect in the national football community by the sudden announcement this evening of the resignation of Coach Gary Patterson, who has led the football program for twenty-one years, built it to national prominence, been influential on the TCU campus and in campus life in so many other ways, but suffered three bad seasons in a row. To say it’s controversial is an understatement. I am neither a big football fan nor an expert on the politics of football, but I think this will turn out badly for TCU, with a loss of respect and prestige. But maybe not money.

And that’s what I have been hearing over the weekend—winning football teams bring in money and recruit new players. Christian says that’s the way of the world but agrees with me it’s morally wrong. TCU did not fire Patterson; official word is he resigned. But I read somewhere that the AG, a man faceless to me who is named Donati, did not like Patterson’s plans for offseason. They apparently asked him to continue to the end of the season and then take a new role—effectively either a dismissal or demotion. He declined, said it was best for the team if he left now, and met with the players to announce his departure. Good for him. For years, I tired of hearing how financially strapped TCU was, how they would close the press, cut this corner and that, couldn’t afford to have the trees trimmed. This buyout means they owe Patterson and his team a sum so large you can’t even think about it—I only hope it doesn’t come out of funds meant for academic programs.

That’s really more than I know about the matter for sure, so I am, repeat, not qualified to comment. But I do know about loyalty and gratitude, and beyond finances, TCU owes those great debts to Patterson. Somehow, I don’t think they took the high road.

A stripper pole, white anchovies and bowling

My two Austin grandsons, with their younger cousin

Grandpa  "D" is to the right

Trying to show the size and style of this party bus that amazed me

 

That title of this blog pretty much sums up the great weekend I just had in Austin. Went down Friday--my annual trip that used to be for the Texas Book Festival but now is to see my oldest daughter, Megan, and her family--two of my grandsons, one of whom turned seven the day before I got there.
I knew Megan's husband's mother had rented a van, but I was unprepared for a party bus, complete with stripper pole, disco system, black leather banquette seats, black window shades (we pushed them up) and more drink holders than I every imagined. She said when she called they told her about the stripper pole and disco system, and she in turn told them we'd have kids and was that alright? They said sure because they have kids birthday parties in these vans. A riotous time! The bus took us to pick up Meg's brother-n-law and his family and then to Vespaio, probably my favorite restaurant in Austin. I had foods I love--white anchovies, lamb carpaccio, and a marrow bone. Then it was off to a bowling alley, where I was very much spectator. Finally on the way home, Megan, Brandon and their oldest son (nine) were dancing in the aisles and singing loudly to country/western music. An evening like I never expected.
When I had lunch the next day with longtime friends and described the bus, the guy said, at mention of the stripper pole, that something must have been lacking in his education. Nonetheless we had a great visit, and I was so grateful.
Saturday night, that disastrous game for TCU, found Megan and me the only Frog fans in a sea of orange shirts, but there wasn't much for us to cheer about except a huge pot of Brandon's chili. I gave up and went to bed before the game re-started at eleven, and Megan watched the recorded version the next morning. We both knew how it would work out.
Sunday, we went to the book festival, but I'll save that for another post, and spent most of the day "hanging out." I read and napped, and we had chili for dinner.
This morning Melinda, my colleague from TCU Press who traditionally drives on this annual weekend, and I met our favorite designer and good friend, Barbara Whitehead, for breakfast and then hit the road for home. I am glad to be back home, with Sophie, who seemed very glad to see me, but it was a wonderful weekend that made me appreciate all over again the strong bond I have with my oldest daughter. So blessed.