A day with high points and some low ones

I’m really glad and grateful that several of you said wonderful things about my post last night and my evening back in the literary world of Texas. I needed that affirmation because today someone on Facebook told me that I am surely the most ignorant of the ignorant. It had to do with a thread about Beto O’Rourke. At this point I am not promising to support Beto but neither will I criticize him—I’m waiting to see how this overcrowded field shakes out. But I contributed what I thought was a reasonable statement on the fact that he waves his arms and jumps around a lot when addressing a crowd—d.trump also waves his arms a lot. It doesn’t say a lot about either man’s ability to run our country. But, oh boy, was I jumped on. A blazing example of the ugly divisiveness that has engulfed our country, and it makes me feel sad. Two Facebookers, one I know and one I don’t, came to my defense and I appreciate it. I know I have a lot of flaws—ignorance is not one of them.

The highlight of my day was the arrival of Colin and his family for lunch. I had been uncertain if they’d stop on their way home from skiing, but first I heard they would stop for a quick visit. Then came the question: did I want them to bring Railhead for lunch? Of course I did. We had a good visit, and I was reluctant to see them go. And the barbecue was great—I’d been wanting it.

The rest of my day was not so glorious. I went the zoo road to pick up groceries—it was the middle of the day, and I figured zoo people were all in there visiting the animals. I would not get stuck in either arriving or departing traffic—and I didn’t. It’s those one or two drivers who think they can game the system. Zoo or park officials have parking carefully controlled and well managed, but there’s always that person who thinks he or she can evade the rules….and so drives five miles an hour looking for opportunity. How do you tell these people they’d have more time at the zoo if they’d just park in the designated spots and walk there? My frustration level was not great, though I had a lovely conversation with the Central Market employee who brought my groceries—we had North Carolina memories and farm fresh eggs in common.

I went my way, picked up my eggs, and came home—it’s no easy task to get two bags of groceries in while using a walker, but I did it and thought I’d just check email before a well-deserved nap. Someone in the neighborhood had sent me pictures for the newsletter, but every time I tried to copy them my computer crashed and getting it rebooted was touch and go, a long, slow process—I was actually proud of myself that I worked through it. I finally erased the email pictures and suggested she send them straight to the designer.

Then I napped but couldn’t sleep. Just not my day.

Tonight, Jordan and her boys came home from two days at a neighbor’s lake house, only to find the carbon monoxide detector going off. The firemen came, said the detector was probably old, get a new one and call them if the new one went off. They also told them all kinds of symptoms to watch for. So Christian and Jacob set off to get a new detector, and I’ve heard no more. I presume they’re okay.

Just that kind of day. We all have them.

Sleepless Nights and Better Days

Although so many people rave about the pleasure of reading in bed, I never could do it, never could get comfortable. But then my kids encouraged me to get a Sleep Numbers mattress where I can raise and lower the head and/or the foot (it proved important after my hip surgery). Now I’m addicted to bedtime reading. It’s often when I indulge in mysteries, while I confine my daytime reading to meatier subjects (not always). Right now, night and day, I’m reading Sara Paretsky’s Fallout, a V. I. Warshawksi novel. No matter the quality, most books put me to sleep in five pages.

But last night, as I took the cell phone out of its pocket on my walker, I must have done something wrong. It went to huge letters and wouldn’t let me move around nor would it let me turn it off. I gave up and got up for the iPad, which was out of charge. Had to rely on my imagination to put me to sleep.

In a half doze, I remembered words I read to the effect that the president is enraged that a Russian cloud still hangs over his presidency and is further enraged that Donald Jr has revealed the emails. Wouldn’t you love to have been a fly on the wall when senior confronted junior? Anyway, the thought of an enraged president, who I already think is unhinged, roaming the White House alone at 3 a.m., red telephone in hand, came to me, and I was suddenly terrified—really truly terrified. I must have fallen asleep—I dreamt of being alone at night and so terrified I couldn’t sleep so I was up changing the bed linen (don’t ask why—I have no clue), checking that lights worked, turning on TVs, and wishing it was morning. I was relieved to awaken about an hour later and realize I was safely in my bed, the cottage was intact, and the world pretty much was going around on its own. I slept fitfully all night.

This morning, Jordan declared that what was wrong with my phone was that I had gone “clackety-clack.” I protested innocence, and we had a testy moment. Then Jacob tried and announced, “Your phone is broke. Take it to the Apple store,” as though I could just jump up and go. I called the Apple store, was connected to a distance tech who said my email didn’t pull up/ She couldn’t wrap her mind around the server name—tcu. First clue she wasn’t in Fort Worth. Finally, she gave up, asked what the problem was, and quickly told me how to fix it. If you need to know: simultaneously hold down the volume and power buttons for at least 30 seconds. Magic!

After that the day went better; I took care of some detail work, including banking, answered a bunch of emails, roughed out a newsletter, and wrote my daily thousand words on the novel in progress. This evening, I’m free to prowl through a cache of recipes I found in my closet. To me, that’s bliss.

A friend brought barbecue tonight—turkey, sausage, pulled pork, potato salad, and good slaw made with red cabbage. Jordan and Christian joined us for conversation. A thoroughly pleasant evening.

My Circadian rhythms are out of whack

My Circadian rhythms—those almost 24-hour patterns that control all animal and plant life—out of whack, and I suspect I know why. After I slept the clock around Friday night, I couldn’t go to sleep last night. I’m sure I dozed but I watched much of the night go by. Having a restless nine-year-old in the bed didn’t help. This morning I said to him that I didn’t sleep well last night, and he said, “Neither did I.” I said, “Of course you did. I watched you all night.” He grinned and said, “Just kidding.” I’m about to offer him my side of the bed, which he seems to edge toward. Actually he prefers the middle. Once I turned over, looked at him and saw that his face was “in my face,” with his head buried in the pillows. If I hadn’t felt his regular breathing, I’d have worried about him suffocating.

In the long dark hours of a sleepless night, which doesn’t happen to me often, I’m capable of the most bizarre thoughts—like, “I’m having another TIA” or “This is an omen—something bad is going to happen.” I thought my foot was swelling again, and I’d have to go to the ER. All kinds of fears can raise their ugly heads at three in the morning. I tried relaxation, deep breathing, every technique I knew. I read a question somewhere, probably on Facebook, that asked, “What is it with people who fall right asleep? Don’t they have thoughts?” I outlined a new book, which may eventually lead to something but it falls wide of the mark now; I solved some of the problems in my friends’ lives—which I’d never have the nerve to tell them. I thought of all those emails I should have sent yesterday—they took me five minutes total when I finally did them this morning. I got leg cramps; I had to pee an inordinate number of times; I twisted and turned from back to side and fought off that encroaching child who once gave me such a good whack on the arm I was sure I’d have a bruise. Finally, at 7:30, I gave up, got up, and started my day.

My mom was quite cavalier about sleepless nights when I was a child. I remember complaining that I couldn’t go to sleep because I itched all over. “That,” she said serenely, “is a sign you’re about to go to sleep.” If I complained that I hadn’t slept at all, she’d say, “You did. It just seems like you didn’t.” I did have a few, brief, weird dreams last night and sometimes saw messages and words that made no sense—origin of my fear that I was having a TIA.

This morning, all was sunshine. I went about my routine, fed Jacob, did some work at my computer, did some kitchen work. Okay, don’t look at all the unfolded laundry by the washing machine.

Now I’m sleepy. Jacob has gone to brunch with his parents, and Sophie is curled up in her chair. Company coming at 5:30. I may not be ready, because I’m going to take a long nap (I hope).

P.S. Nice nap. Crockpot barbecue was good. And two important dinner guests are shown above. The younger one is serving as a seeing-eye dog for my friend; the older one is retired. Sophie loves these boys!

Flat Stanley and other tales

If you have children or grandchildren, you probably know about Flat Stanley of the book by that name (I keep wanting to call him Flat Freddy--rolls off the tongue so much more easily). Stanley woke up flat one day and has been sent all over by devoted schoolchildren, who each made their on version. Jacob sent his to Houston and New York relatives who obligingly toured him around and photographed him with all the sights. The New York cousins sent flat versions of two of their children--Ayla and William--so Jordan felt we should show these flat relatives Fort Worth. And one place we had to go was Angelo's BBQ because in his rare visits to Fort Worth from NYC Uncle Mark has eaten tons of Angelo's barbecue. He writes about it, longs for it--in fact, he might come back to FW sometime for the barbecue rather than to see us.
So the other night we took William and Ayla to Angelo's. I haven't been there in years, since a competitor opened up closer to home. But I remember the days when Angelo's had sawdust on the floor--fire department made them stop that. Nothing much had changed except that you no longer pick up your cole slaw and potato salad while waiting in line. The stuffed bear still greets you at the door. Jordan took a picture of William and Ayla with the bear and then the above one of me. (She had looked at me before we went to supper and said, "Colorful. Is that your dinner shirt?" I assured it was and protested, "We're only going to Angelo's.")
Last night's dining adventure was the Kona Grill, which I understand is a chain but new to Fort Worth. In a Hawaiian restaurant, I ordered meatloaf--okay it was called Big Island meatloaf. Good last night, much better cold at lunch today. Betty had a shrimp dish with what looked like glass noodles and declared it delicious. She loves shrimp and delights in eating it in front of me because I'm allergic. But as we went in, she said to me, "I suddenly feel ancient." I think it's a great singles bar, maybe not so cool for two old ladies having dinner.
And tonight's dinner was a bust. A friend who loves pasta came for what I assumed was just a casual weeknight dinner. Turns out today is her birthday, which she doesn't like to celebrate. My pasta dish was, to me, unsuccessful--sauce of butter, garlic, anchovies and fresh tomatoes cooked down. I couldn't taste the garlic or anchovies but sure could taste the fresh parsley--somehow my Italian parsley survived the past winter. Further, the dish was hard to serve and harder to eat, and I got it all over my shirt. One recipe that went into the recycle bin. And I'd so been looking forward to trying it. Oh well, we all have our kitchen mistakes.