Learning to adjust

It’s hard for me to believe, but I have now lived in the cottage for three and a half years. I still love it, am so glad my family made this move possible. But I’ve had to learn to make some adjustments. One of them is that I am now pretty much dependent on other people’s schedules, mostly Jordan.

Jordan doesn’t like me to go to public places—i.e., the grocery store—alone, because she’s afraid I’ll fall getting in and out of the car or that my attention will be so much on getting the walker out and set up that I won’t be aware of my surroundings—and I’ll be mugged. Add to that, the fact that I am not much liking to drive these days. It’s an old fear that I thought I had conquered but has now come back to haunt me, and it’s complicated by the fact that I know my reactions at my age are not what they were twenty years ago. That pretty much means that Jordan takes me to the grocery, although I do curbside pickup at Central Market alone.

We try to make Friday morning our grocery shopping morning, but her business as a luxury travel assistant has gotten busier, and she often has appointments that we work around. One problem, for me, with such indefinite timing is that if I know I’m going to be interrupted sometime but don’t know when, it’s hard for me to settle down to work. Before I can get serious about research or writing I need to know I have a block of time. So on “waiting” mornings, I spend way too much time on Facebook.

Today though it was a momentous occasion—she had to register Jacob for his first year of high school. High school? That kid who used to crawl into my bed to keep me safe from storms? He’s now almost as tall as I am and has this deep voice that I’m still learning to recognize. Yep, he’s going to high school.

As I expected, the process took longer than anticipated. So I waited patiently, knowing she’d come get me when she was through. Oops—she went out to eat, where I thought we’d go  to Local Foods and get tuna for our lunch. (If my kids are smart, they will disable “Find your friends” on my phone—for me, it’s “Find your kids.”) I ate cottage cheese.

We went to Local Foods about 12:30, height of  the lunch rush. Got something for dinner tonight and headed to Central Market, where she realized she had forgotten to get chicken for Jacob’s supper. Got my groceries from curbside pickup and came home.

I have a bit of an ordering problem with Central Market. The website says, for instance, lemons are two for $1, so I thought hitting “Add to cart” put two in my basket. Not so—more than once I’ve gotten one lemon. So today, ordering four chicken thighs for a family dinner, I hit it four times. And ended up with four four-packs of chicken thighs—sixteen thighs is a bit much for an elderly woman who lives alone! Guess what Jacob is getting for dinner tonight while we have turkey burgers with pesto. Central Market was gracious when I called, handled it to my complete satisfaction, and gave me a hint about using the notes section to specify quantity.

Tonight we had a festive Valentine’s supper in the house with a proper table setting, as opposed to eating off the coffee table in the cottage. Jordan used red chargers and water goblets and added a bouquet of red, white, and pink daisies that Christian had brought her. Lots of chocolate for each of us, and Christian and Jacob had a great time guessing what was in various pieces. We found out Jordan does not like coconut!

I’m learning to adjust, and in the long run it was a good Valentines day. And, hey, the sun was shining today. Pretty cold, but it’s sunny.

Flag Day--and a flurry of construction

 

Wallpaper discovered on a piece of wall in the existing cottage
Sort of charming, don't you think

In these troubled times in our nation, it’s comforting to see the flag waving today on a pole by my driveway. Fort Worth’s Rotary South puts these flags out on holidays—you have to subscribe to the program as lots of people do in my neighborhood. It’s nice to see a street of flags.

That said, a pickup belonging to one of the workers almost took my flag out today. I watched, holding my breath, as it came inches from the flag when the driver was trying to back into the driveway. There were hundreds—okay, maybe ten—trucks here today as workers got busy on the cottage. They’re making great progress, although I know the slow work comes later. But still I’m encouraged.

I’m also jealous. I’m forbidden to go out there—pratfalls and cords wait to trip me, and of course I can’t walk so it’s a moot issue. We talked today about a ramp to get me in and out of house and car for doctor’s appointments, but we cannot legally do it—if they put a ramp at the legal angle by the side steps of my porch, it would end in the middle of my bedroom. We are talking about a “just in case” ramp from the cottage to the back door, but that’s in the future. I’m hoping by the time I can move into the apartment, I can also use a walker.

Meantime, we spent the day waiting for calls about home health care, an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon, and a wheelchair. A rental chair is to be delivered tomorrow, but it turns out that friends Subie and Phil have a wheelchair in their attic. So either way, I’ll get one tomorrow. Not sure it will be any easier to get in and out of than the walker, but at least a wheelchair goes forward and is more comfortable. We’ll see how it works.

My big goof of the day: we were waiting to hear from a home health care service. They didn’t call, but in early afternoon my doctor’s office called to ask, “Did you refuse home health care?” I did not, would not, but I got to thinking. I had a call that I thought offered me HVAC service, and I assured them we were remodeling and that was all in place. Suppose how crazy that sounded if, as I suspect, it was a call about home health care. Jordan was most disappointed, but it didn’t matter—the company called back to say they don’t take my insurance. So another thing to worry about.

another day in what I suspect will be a long string of long days. I’m not sure why but I am so sleep early in the evening. Perhaps it’s a reaction to the long days. Anyway, good night al.

 

A day of waiting

I spent the day at home today—waiting. Waiting for the floor people to finish installing the new wood floor in the sunroom. They were wonderful people to work with, and I scarcely knew they were in the house. Waiting for Socorro to do what she could about cleaning this house which is still stacked with cartons of books—neither Jordan nor I have the heart to tackle them. Waiting for the restoration company to return my couch—which they didn’t, which is probably good. Monday I’ll be waiting on painters. I seriously doubt my house will get back to normal until I’m settled in the cottage—and we don’t even have a building permit for that yet. This makes four trips to City Hall and about six weeks or more. Life is full of waiting.

And worrying. I was afraid the couch would arrive while the sunroom was still full of flooring equipment. I worried that Jacob’s grandparents would block the roofing people into the driveway when they came to pick him up from school. If I’m going to have to do all this waiting, I need to learn to worry less.

A bright note: I have a lovely new file cabinet, four-drawer, oak—a treat to me from me. But now I have to fill it with the files I sorted out of the old metal cabinet. We put it out on the curb and it was gone almost instantly. Lewis explained to me it’s recyclable which is a nice thought. I’d start filling it but the files I want to start with are at the bottom of a pile of boxes in the shower stall in my office. Boxes everywhere in this house.

I wasn’t idle. Lots of work on my desk, and I was busy all day. Excited about Monday’s launch day of The Gilded Cage and yet afraid to check pre-orders. What if there aren’t any?

Looking forward to a quick visit from Megan and her youngest son, Ford. They’re coming for a Sunday baseball game which I’m afraid will be rained out. But we’ll have a good visit, and Jacob and Ford will be delighted to be together.

Just set myself a goal. Unpack two boxes of books tonight. Sweet dreams everyone.

 

Time on My Hands

I read today somewhere that readers aren’t interested in blogs about writing—those only appeal to other writers, and few of them at that. But I thought you should know that much of the writing life consists of waiting. At least, that’s where I am now. I’ve sent off the proposal for the Chicago novel and this week, nudged the publisher by following up with a marvelous endorsement from a major Chicago author. Waiting to hear.

At the first of the week—or was it the last of the previous week?—I gave the mystery manuscript, “Murder at the Peacock Mansion,” to a reader. He promised to return before the end of the month, so I’m waiting. After all, that’s not so long.

The editor of the chili book wrote yesterday with three questions, which she swore were the last. So until it’s time to promote, there’s little for me to do. And Texas Tech seems to be such an efficient press, that I’m sure they’ll guide me through promotion. And so I wait.

This week, there was suddenly some renewed interested in a children’s history of Fort Worth, a project I’ve been trying to push one way or another for thirty years and in the last ten years Carol Roark and I have collaborated on—she will do image research to accompany my text, which is drafted. So I sent the manuscript off to the interested publisher…and we wait.

Most people who are as OCD as I am would promptly get busy on another project and, indeed, I have one awaiting my attention. I have 30,000 words drafted on the second Oak Grove Mystery (following Susan Hogan in The Perfect Coed). It’s timely in our era of gun violence because it deals with open carry. But I’m reluctant to get into the middle of that when other things might call me away.

I’m well aware that a month from today school starts, and I will give up long, lazy lunches with friends followed by long lazy naps. I should enjoy this time while I have it, and to a great extent I am. For one thing I’m reading mysteries that I have let backpile—Julie Hyzy’s Grace Calls Uncle, which I reviewed on this blog recently. Now I’m reading Terrie Moran’s Caught Read-Handed, the excellent sequel to her Well Read, Then Dead. But reading is always a luxury to me…and I suffer from the itchy feeling I should be doing something more productive.

I suspect this uncomfortable waiting periods come to most writers, though many probably handle them better than I do. Meantime, I know this too shall pass. And I have a bit of cooking to do.

 

Anticipation

Tonight is a night of waiting, anticipation. There are apparently huge storms to the west of us and news reports vary widely--we might get a few drops of rain; on the other hand, we might get one of Texas' spring storms, which can be strong and scary. Jacob is to be here tonight, and he's terrified of storms. So I have my comforting talk all ready.
But that's my other anticipation. He went to a birthday party in my neighborhood at four--for one of his best friends, Collin. Collin's mom said she'd call me about 6:30 so I could pick him up. It's almost 8:30 and he's not home yet. I called about seven and left a message; called again at seven-fifteen and said I was headed that way--she mentioned something about bring him home, and I didn't want to grab him away. So I ate supper on the front porch, had a glass of wine, and sat out there a long time reading. There is an occasional breeze that might hint of a storm to come but no serious green sky or anything.
We sit on the deck so much I forget how lovely the front porch is--trees lush and green all around, traffic slow at this time of the night. A neighbor out playing with his toddler son, who used to wave at me but now has become shy. I half read half looked at the trees and enjoyed the breeze.
Jacob  is now home, full of himself, telling me how things are going to be done. Comforting talk be darned. I had to remind him, rather firmly, that I am the boss and he is taking a shower at nine o'clock. He smells of a swimming pool, but he had a wonderful evening. Lots more fun than staying home with his grandmother.