The Reverend Dr.
Russ Peterman, new senior minister of Fort Worth’s University Christian Church,
must be feeling a bit of extra blessing today. The morning of his formal
installation and acceptance of the call to the church dawned as winter mornings
can—cold and damp, with the threat of a wintry mix hanging over us. Just before
we left for church, the sky began to spit sleet. But when we emerged from that impressive
service, with spectacular music, the sun shone brightly in a clear sky, as if
to join the chorus welcoming Dr. Peterman.
Jacob was privileged
to be an acolyte this morning. Where I sat I had a clear view of him throughout
the service, though I couldn’t get him to look at me, let alone smile. He sat
admirably still without fidgeting through what was a very long service and even
appeared to be paying attention to the sermon. He said afterward he liked that “old
guy” who preached. (We must work on his age sensitivity.) I had to tell the
lectern minister afterward that I was not staring at her. It was that darn cute
acolyte!
Russ Peterman
came to the church in December, a time when there is too much else on the
church calendar to schedule an installation. Having it in February provided a
bright spot in a dull, gray month. There’s just something about winter.
My dad, a doctor,
was also the administrator of the hospital at home. He twisted that old saying,
“A green Christmas means a full churchyard,” to be, “A green Christmas means a
full hospital.” We didn’t often have a green Christmas in Chicago, but Dad felt
personally responsible for the hospital’s daily census, Christmas snow or not.
While he never would have wished ill health on anyone, he was acutely aware
that the institution’s income depended to some degree, probably large, on the
daily census.
Once sitting
quietly at home, he said to me, “Judy, go call the hospital and ask what the
census is.” I drew the line. I could just hear the guffaws if I, then maybe
twelve, called and said prissily, “This is Judy MacBain. Could you tell me the
census?”
Winter or not, Sundays
are often cooking days for me, and today was no exception. Last night I made
salmon cakes for my supper. I’ve been making them all my life but found a new
way—instead of whole eggs, use whipped egg whites. I thought it would make the
cakes light and fluffy. Problem: I have the mixer, but I couldn’t find the
beaters—they must be in the house. So I ended up making cakes the usual way—even
forgot to grate the fresh ginger I’d bought. But as I proved today, there’s
nothing like a cold salmon patty on rye bread with mayo for lunch. Then I
unearthed a bar of dark chocolate with raspberries and ate twice my daily
portion. Terrific lunch.
On to dinner. It
was one of my cooking triumphs in the cottage, though it strained my facilities
to their stretching point. I adjusted a stroganoff recipe to substitute
hamburger for tenderloin—a slight price point difference. The recipe served
six, and Jordan pointed out that I should have halved it. As it is, if you want
leftovers, just call me. But it was really good. Christian baked asparagus, and
I fixed a salad. The hardest things about the stroganoff were adjusting to one
burner, trying to keep the noodles hot while I reheated the meat, so I could
add the sour cream at the last minute, and transferring a huge pot of noodles
from hot plate to sink to drain. I can do it, but tonight Jordan helped me. And
she did the dishes—which in the cottage means hand-washing. Such a good girl.
Stay warm and
have a great week starting tomorrow.
