Reflective moments

My dinner companions

Dinner last night with two old and dear friends—both, like me, former doctors’ wives, one divorced, as I am, and one widowed. We talked of ex-husbands and good times and people we knew and now wonder about and those halcyon days when we thought we had the world on a strong. It’s been a long fifty years since we met, and our paths have diverged, but I am so grateful that we can still remember and laugh and mourn together—and toast our good fortune. The talk got me reflecting back on my life and marriage—when my husband left, I was devastated, afraid I could not raise four children on my own. But he gave me the greatest gift, besides giving me the four children. I found out I could do it and with some degree of success—they are all happy with good careers and families of their own, and I am so proud of them and so sorry he never shared in the joy of watching them mature and never was part of the “family” we became. And I am grateful that he freed me to pursue a career of my own, instead of focusing my life on being a doctor’s wife. I may not have hit the bestseller list or overseen publication of a work that shook the halls of academia, but it’s been a good and rewarding career.

Another reflective moment: Jacob was an acolyte at church today, probably his last stint in

that role. He’s aged out. Generally, children do it in fifth or sixth grade or through their twelfth year, which means he could do it until spring. But I think he’s done, so it was a bittersweet moment—and a different experience since the church was set up for the Boar’s Head Festival and he had to improvise a bit on the candle lighting and snuffing. In honor of the occasion, lots of pictures, including one with the senior minister. But I like the one with his grandmother best.

And tonight, a small gathering of people I care about for Twelfth Night. When I was a kid, my neighbor/adopted aunt always had a Twelfth Night ceremony whereby you threw a branch of the tree into the fire and made a wish. The kids and I have continued the tradition for years. With Jordan, it’s grown beyond family to something we share with others. She did her usual magic job of entertaining tonight, with a happy hour spread and plentiful wine. The night was slightly chilly but we all gathered around the fire pit to throw our greens and make our wishes and enjoy the warmth of the fire. Christian had gotten some pinion to burn with the firewood, and it smelled wonderful, even if smoke did get into our eyes and hair. One of those moments when I felt so blessed. And no, I’m not telling what my

wish was—that would ruin the whole thing.

Now I’m inside, hearing voice from Jordan, Christian, and a friend who lingered and seeing the flames. Next year we need Graham crackers and Hershey bars and marshmallows.

What a lovely morning

 This morning, on a Sunday when I usually look forward to lounging and reading the paper, I was up at 7:00, ready to go at 8:15. Jacob was an acolyte in early church; friends were going to join us at church and then brunch. I decided it was all too important to miss by lounging in bed.

Jacob was solemn as he walked down the aisle with his—whatever you call the thing that lights the candles. But when the congregation stood for the recitation of the blessing, he looked at me, I smiled, and he smiled back. A wonderful Sunday morning gift. The rest of the service he had his solemn look on.

The friends with us were a longtime friend of Jordan’s, her fiancé, and her mother. We went to a local bistro, and I had a half order of delicious Eggs Florentine—the whole order is two eggs, but that was too much. And we had a great treat--beignets. Made me think of rice cakes I used to let “rise” with yeast on the counter overnight and then fry. I guess because they’re both New Orleans specials.

The highlight of the morning came when Julia’s fiancé said to Jacob: “I need two things. I need a cake guard, and I need an usher. Will you do those?” Jacob readily agreed, and I think he was pleased. At the June wedding, I’ll be sure my grandson escorts me down the aisle. As for guarding the cake, it struck me at first as asking the fox to guard the henhouse. But I know Jacob better than that. Given a responsibility he will do it.

Speaking of predators, there’s a lot of Facebook buzz about bobcats and coyotes in our area. I didn’t leave Sophie out long at all tonight. And may have to start standing guard when she is out. A friend lost a large feral cat to a bobcat, and I’ve been leery ever since.

Had a long nap until Soph decided it was time to wake me. She’d napped at the foot of the bed herself. But I was too warm and cozy to get up for a long time. I had planned an Italian tuna sandwich, complete with flavors I love such as pesto, anchovies, and capers—but suddenly it sounded, well, wrong. I wanted the comfort of creamed tuna. And oh my it was good. I once suggested Jordan make a white sauce and she fixed me with a withering look. But here’s how I did it for one:

Sauté a couple of scallions in one Tbsp. butter (I would have added celery but I didn’t have any). Add a Tbsp. of flour and stir to make a roux. Thin with white wine and a good dollop of sour cream. Add ½ a 7 oz. can of good white albacore tuna (maybe the other half will be that sandwich tomorrow). Salt and pepper to taste and serve on toast. I used the wonderful Parmesan bread I get from Central Market but its cheesy goodness got lost in the other flavors. An afterthought: I should have put in some frozen petite peas. But it was good.

Did some taxes this afternoon and can’t bear anymore. Am reading. Taxes tomorrow. Think I’m getting lazy.

All Saints Day and a baseball jersey crisis--it's all part of the day

Very proud to say Jacob did an outstanding job on his first run at being an acolyte. Suitably serious but didn’t run down the aisle to get it over with, kept the flame lit in its taper, and lit the candle with steady hands. His mom tells me he was really nervous, but it didn’t show. Today was not a traditional service. A special chamber orchestra and the Chancel Choir performed Gabriel Fauré’s Requiem throughout the service—absolutely magnificent music, so wonderful that I sat back and let it wash over me.

But as a result, the acolytes didn’t sit in the chancel. Jacob sat in the first pew right in front of us. I was so proud of him I kept wanting to reach out and ruffle his hair (that would have made him indignant) or just touch him. But he was such a concentrated study in self-control that I restrained myself. Confusion at the end, because the signals to leave weren’t what he’d practiced, and he and the other acolyte ended up carrying their lit tapers through a crowd of people down that long aisle. I had a moment of worry that they’d set someone on fire, but all was well.

The morning started with a phone call from Jordan: where was his baseball jersey? He last saw it in my bedroom, and if we didn’t find it he couldn’t play in the championship game. Great guilt! I looked, even went through the laundry hamper searching for a white jersey. Finally called the woman who had cleaned for me Friday—contrary to what my regular lady told me, this one did not have much English. She promised her son would call in 15 minutes, and he did—between us we worked out that it was indeed in the hamper but was dark blue. I threw it in the washer and hung it out to dry while we were in church. Crisis averted.

After church we wanted a quick lunch. Went to Esperanza’s down the block—wrong move. Sunday after church is their busiest time, and we didn’t finish eating until two. Jordan took off to go to the Cowboy game, and Christian and Jacob and I came back to get the shirt and look for his hat, now also missing. I thought I knew where it was in my office, but it wasn’t there. Christian found it, fallen between the small stand and the floor. Another crisis averted. Life with nine-year-old boys is, well, amusing at the least. As they left Jacob was getting a lecture about not leaving things strewn all over my house but collecting and taking care of his belongings. Wonder how much good that will do?

The rest of the day was a lovely lazy Sunday. I’m reading Susan Elia McNeal’s Mrs. Roosevelt’s Confidante and enjoying it, though as fiction it takes real liberties with fact. Still, the early days of WWII in DC are fascinating and the plot is fast-moving. I’m having fun. A nap, and a bowl of stew from last night in front of the fireplace. What more could one ask on a chilly evening? November is really here.

Hope it’s a good week for everyone.

But it's not Sunday!

 

Jordan took this picture because when she first looked into the darkened sanctuary, her thought was, “But, Mom, it’s not Sunday.” I was there to take Jacob for acolyte training, and while the organist was explaining the chancel, parts of the service, etc. to Jacob, I sat in a far corner pew. There’s something quite comforting about an empty sanctuary with afternoon light streaming through the stained glass. It hadn’t been a good day, and I sat in the silence and talked to the Lord about that, asked for his help.

Jacob kept this appointment only under threats and duress. He was not going to do it. Couldn’t we just not show up (I said his mom was meeting us and he said he didn’t care) and explain Sunday that he didn’t want to do it. I said no. The organist, who walked him through things, was good with him, and by the time he was robed and handed the whatever-it-is that lights the candles, he was quite enjoying himself. His mom came along, and since acolytes usually work in pairs, she was his partner. They walked up and down the center aisle, climbed the steps to the chancel, lit candles, practiced sitting in the correct seats simultaneously. Jordan’s comment after three trips: “That’s really a long aisle.”

There are strict requirements for an acolyte—hair brushed (his curly mop was wild and adorable after a day at school, but he was headed for a haircut), dress shoes (he had on sneakers), and I presume proper clothing under the robe. Through third grade many kids come to church in shorts and a collared shirt but Jordan says fourth grade is a transition year.

I’m proud of Jacob and of his dad, who is now a deacon in the church. When I was growing up on the South Side of Chicago, church was an important part of my life, particularly my social life. I like to see that tradition carried on.