The guard has changed

 

Me and Megan at Don Artemio.
I should have taken pictures of the food.

The Burtons are home, exhilarated but a wee bit fatigued, Megan is on her way to Austin, and routine has settled over our compound. I’m about to fix tuna salad for lunch—what could be more routine?

My week of kids ended with a dining adventure last night. Megan and I went to Don Artemio, the new, upscale steakhouse and tequila bar that has Fort Worth agog. I am by no means knowledgeable enough to critique food from central Mexico (the only other Don Artemio is in Saltillo, near San Miguel), but I can tell you what I liked and what I was uncertain about.

Megan was absolutely fascinated by the décor and the “feel” of the restaurant, especially the thousands of hand-made Saltillo bricks that make up walls, deliberately just a kilter off. The industrial ceiling with its ducts is dark gray, and the colors throughout are muted, perfect foil for the blue-and-white molcajete that several dishes are served in. At one end of the large space, sound is baffled by an intriguing installation of yarn and wood that looks a little like one loom after another.

We split the guacamole with chicharrones of ribeye, and it was wonderful. Megan loves hot, spicy things; me, not so much. In fact, not at all. So for me the guacamole was perfect—creamy, smooth, and flavorful without a bite but a perfect contrast in texture and taste to the tiny bits of delicious steak. I am also always cautious about ceviche because it often contains shrimp, and I’m allergic. But this was salmon and whitefish in pungent lime sauce. Tasty, but the fish was diced so fine! I’d like the pieces a bit larger.

Megan had a salad of grilled hearts of palm, tomato, avocado, and panela cheese, which proved to be a solid block of a mild cheese—all with a chili vinaigrette. Most people scorn tongue, but I grew up eating it and like it, though my acquaintance is almost entirely with corned beef tongue, as served in our local deli. The menu last night offered tongue tacos (Taco de Lengua) with salsa verde and tequila-cured tomato, onion, and cilantro. I asked the server about the dish, and she said it was one of their most popular. Belatedly, it occurred to me that was probably a clever way for her to encourage me to order it. At any rate I did, and it was superb—rich tasting. The meat had been braised overnight. The salsa was too hot for me, but I put some of the tomato on one of my three tacos and later wished I’d put it inside.

A most satisfying experience. We were too full to even consider tres leches cake or ice cream, but I had a second glass of good chardonnay and Megan had another margarita. Then we drove around the Monticello neighborhood a bit, with Megan remarking that she knew the part of Fort Worth she grew up in and the area around her high school, but there are large chunks of the city that are strange to her. We had planned to do a quick drive to Mule Alley because she wanted to see the Drover Hotel and other developments in the stockyards, but we ran out of time. Megan’s a lawyer and got stuck on a call so we barely made it to the restaurant for our reservation. I told her that tour is a good reason for her to come back soon.

The Burtons were here when we got home, demanding to know why we’d been out so late (nine o’clock). They were full of stories of Cabo with a crowd of birthday celebrants. Megan and Jordan pored over pictures (I figure I’ll see them later) and laughed as they always do when they’re together. Christian gave up and went inside, and I soon announced I was going to bed. This morning there was no sign of life from the house—oh I did see Christian let a dog out—until ten o’clock when Megan came out. The two sisters had sat on the front porch and finished the bottle of wine Megan brought.

Happy times—and now I hear Helen Corbitt calling me.

Soph says goodnight.
A girl needs a pillow for her head.

Adventure on a wasted day

At the doctor's office

Tonight sitting on the patio with a glass of wine, I decided I could either consider this day an adventure or a wasted day. In terms of the work projects on my desk, the day was a total loss. I got not one thing done. I did spend a lot of time on Facebook, because it kept me occupied while waiting and gnashing my teeth.

Long story short I have been worrying with a skin infection on my leg. Yesterday, Jordan pointed out it was badly swollen, and the doctors in my family decreed it was time to see my primary care physician. I am fortunate that he is in a network, so I can communicate directly with him. So last night, I sent him an email detailing the problem, along with pictures of the leg.

No response. I couldn’t concentrate on work this morning, while I was hoping he would email any minute. Finally, about ten-thirty I called the office only to be told he does not see patients on Fridays. Stymied. And more waiting, looking up emergency care clinics—found a mobile one, which sounded great because they would come to me. But turns out they don’t treat patients over seventy-five, so that ruled that one out. While Jordan and I were trying to figure out what to do next, I got a most welcome email from my doctor. Even on Friday, he wanted to see me and my leg. I wrote back with gratitude and asked what time.

No answer. More waiting and wondering and gnashing my teeth. I didn’t want to miss him and go the whole long weekend worrying about my leg. I could see on the Web site that no one had looked at my last email, so at one, when they opened after lunch, I called. Complete confusion was followed by a long time on hold, but finally someone came on and said they would call the doctor and call me back. I anticipated another long wait, but they called right back and asked if I could be there at three. Of course I could.

The doctor did an exam, an office ultrasound, and offered some encouraging words, but he said he wanted to send me for a more extensive procedure at an imaging office. Another long wait ensued while they made arrangements, but then we got word I had a five o’clock appointment at an office in far southwest Fort Worth.

I had forgotten how windy that part of Fort Worth can be—it almost literally knocked me off my feet. Jordan had on a dress, and the wind threatened her modesty. She had a frustrating time trying to get my walker out of the back seat—all the while raining curses on my car because it’s so small and the new walker is a bit bulky.

The actual sonogram was fine—a bit uncomfortable but nothing to worry about, and by a little after five-thirty we were on our way home. The tech said my doctor will get a report tonight, but the general impression I get is that no one thinks it’s a blood clot. What it is, is more complicated—and I don’t know for sure—but details don’t belong here. Enough to say that I feel fine and am not in pain. We will see.

This was my third trip off my own property since March 12, a date firmly fixed in my mind. I couldn’t help saying, “Oh, look, there’s a whole wide world out here.” As we drove familiar roads, I saw new buildings and other things I’d never noticed before. I found it a bit tiring to be out in the world, and I longed for the moment I would be home again in my cocoon. I either have to get out more or resign myself to being a recluse—which isn’t all bad.

I was grateful to note that everywhere we went, everyone was masked and observing social distance. I thought maybe that was because we were in the health care system, but a friend wrote today that two days ago she went to the grocery and hardly anyone was masked; today she sat in the car while her husband ran an errand in Walgreen’s, and she said everyone was masked. A wonderful change. We may lick this thing yet. Of  course, Governor Abbott should have issued a statewide directive a week ago.

Stay safe and well, everyone.