Peonies

My topsy-turvy world is right-side-up again, My world is in order again, which is mostly good though a tad bittersweet. Megan and Ford left Saturday mid-day to return to Austin. I do so love to have them here—Megan and I had some good visits, Ford and Jacob picked up their close buddy relationship without a pause, Christian came out to the cottage several times to visit with Megan, she and I both got some work done—all wonderful. Friday night we took both boys to Pacific Table, and I was proud as I could be to have my two grandsons with me. Meant to get a picture but didn’t.

Last evening, Jordan came home in time for supper, and dug right in helping me make a giant stuffed hamburger for dinner and one of her classic tossed salads. The hamburger is the size of a pie, with traditional bread stuffing between two layers of hamburger meat. We put it in a grill basket, and Christian cooked it on the grill. So good. 

Jordan brought a West Texas cactus for my coffee table arrangement

 My computer woes are fixed, but it was a long two days with spotty, unreliable Wi-Fi connections. I called Jamie Saturday morning, and he told me to run diagnostics. I did and it told me the problem was fixed. Well, sort of—it just got a bit better. Then Megan called Brandon who has a degree in computer software. He said it was router trouble. Megan had unplugged the router and re-plugged it but apparently it needed a hard boot. Saturday afternoon the connection was again timely and worked perfectly. Saturday night I was up too late, getting my neighborhood newsletter together so I could send it to the designer. This morning it is proofed and finished and off to the printer—off my mind for another month. 

Christian went to a friend’s party Saturday night, had such a good time he stayed longer than he planned. When he came home, he came out to the cottage and we had a good visit, once again talking about local politics which seems to be a frequent topic. I’ll be glad June 1 when the run-off is settled.

While he was often partying, I had a guest for supper, a minister from church whom I’ve come to count as a good friend. As usual I fixed something the kids won’t eat: tuna Florentine. Jordan doesn’t like cooked tuna, Christian doesn’t like tuna period, and neither of them like cooked spinach, though he is more adamant than she. It was so good, and I sent a piece home with Renee. The rain kept us inside—so nice these days not to feel you have to be distanced on the patio. We visited about everything from grandchildren to theology, and of course we solved the world’s problems. If only Biden and Netanyahu and a few others would listen to us! 

I had a lesson this weekend in the dangers of my joking about being a recluse. People take me too seriously. One good friend thought I am still staying in because of Covid. I’m not. I’m fully vaccinated, most of my friends are, and I’m comfortable going out, especially to restaurants where they are careful. If I find myself in a crowd, I’ll wear a mask—always have one in my purse. But quarantine made me lazy. I’m not used to the extra effort it takes to get me and my walker out, and sometimes it just seems easier to stay home. I’m perfectly happy in the cottage, especially when I have a lot of desk work and friends to visit. It’s a tempting trap, and I’m working to avoid it because I’ve always thought of myself as a people person. One of my goals: to get Jordan to take me to Central Market to browse. We do curbside pickup once a week, but I want to go inside, up and down the aisles. 

So here we are, at the foot of another week, wondering what lies ahead. Even with my own little world back in order, it sometimes seems to me chaos is all around—from international happenings to local. What I take from church most Sundays is that we must love each other, and we are all in this together. I cling to those beliefs.

A last look at West Texas

Watching the land change

I probably haven’t been west of Weatherford in years, but today we drove west and west, to Abilene and beyond, with Ruidoso our destination. Left behind poor Sophie, who with dog sense knew we were leaving her. In fact, she’s known for days. But she has a dogsitter, so she and the houses are in good hands.

I’d forgotten how interesting the land is beyond Abilene—scrubby, yes, with lots of mesquite, but rolling plains with occasional wonderful views. Great clumps of prickly pear line the roadway for long stretches, and the bare trees hosted lots of mistletoe. When we got beyond Abilene we were in West Texas, that flat land that stretches forever. Endless cotton fields with the cotton now bundled and covered in tarps, waiting for someone to pick them up. I wondered who comes to collect all that cotton, or do the farmers take it somewhere? Isolated houses dot those now-plowed fields, with one or two trees and sometimes a whole cluster. There may be a single house or an old one and a newer one, and I wondered which generation lived in which house. I love to wonder about the lives of the people in these farmhouses and small towns—what are their lives like? Are they happy with them? And then there are those deserted houses, many of them literally falling down.

West Texas also has countless wind farms. Today those giant turbines moved slowly, apparently making do with little wind. I know people go up in them for maintenance, but it puzzled me that there was room for an elevator, and even for people. I saw towns that I’ve heard of but never seen, and towns that had connections for me—Sweetwater, Post, Snyder. Refreshed my memory about Albany and tried to remember which town has the first ever Hilton Hotel (it was Cisco, Texas).

We swung north into New Mexico, and somewhere along there in Texas and New Mexico we came into a land of vineyards, some small, some extensive, but they all looked like young vines. We also passed several orchards, the trees now bare, and I wondered what trees they were.

I’m sorry, but there’s not much good to say about southern New Mexico. It’s just there. But then we turned west and gradually came into the rounded foothills and then the mountains. Hondo Valley stretches like one long, stringy town between Roswell and Ruidoso. We went through San Patricio, and though I’d seen a weather-beaten sign for Hurd Gallery, I had no idea where Peter Hurd and Henrietta Wyeth Hurd had their fabled artistic getaway.

Watching the changing topography and the crops was fascinating. I sort of traced the history in my mind and gave Jordan and Christian mini-history lessons. They were polite bu I don’t know how interested they really were.

Now we’re in a huge two-story log cabin in the woods, all sixteen of us. We saw deer the first thing—a doe came right up to the cabin. Obviously she’d been fed from here before, so Christian rewarded her with a turkey and cheese sandwich. Everybody is exhausted from a long day of driving, but we’re blessed and grateful to be together.

Blessings on you and yours this holiday!