A significant birthday

 

Tulips is a lovely delicate pink shading,
a gift from friends that
brightens my desk

This was to be posted last night. Somehow, that didn't get done. So sorry.

No, it wasn’t my birthday. I will grow another year older soon enough. But yesterday was Jacob Burton’s sixteenth birthday. My bad that I didn’t get this posted last night, but I think he had a full and happy day. It began with that ritual for teenagers, the driving license test. Jacob passed with a score of ninety (parallel parking a suburban cost him a bit), but the way things work these days he has to wait until tomorrow for an appointment at the DPS to get his license. I’m not sure how the rest of his day went—I was home buried in my computer screen—but apparently, he and his parents went to lunch and then he “hung out” with some buddies.

But last night the four of us had dinner at Joe T.’s. Yes, it was hot, but pleasant enough on the patio with a slight breeze. Dinner was as always huge and a big heavy meal for hot weather. Joe T.’s was Jacob’s choice, and I am always glad to go sit on the patio. We sat right near the large fountain which if it didn’t actually cool us, was a source of cooling thoughts.

Then it was back to the cottage for cake and my presents—a check of course. For years I ranted that I did not want to give the grands money or gift cards—I wanted something they could hold in their hands and say, “My grandmother gave me this.” I have given up that battle and, gosh!, does it make Christmas easier with seven grands. But I did give Jacob two books. It’s a joke in the family that I always give books, and by some, like son-in-law Brandon, books are a welcome gift, even the old and unusual ones I find for him. Jacob is not a reader, never has been, but I gave him two books on golf, and he actually seemed interested. One was Harvey Penick’s Little Red Book of Golf, co-authored by the late Bud Shrake, which I understand is a classic that every serious golfer should have and read, and the other was a book on the business of golf. We had that wonderful chocolate mousse cake from Central Market, but I was the only one who ate any. And I’ll eat it again tonight!

Tonight Mary came for happy hour, and I actually put out food—hummus, carrots, snap peas, and crackers. That’s mostly because my friends who were here for the Van Cliburn Competition stayed in an Air BnB and brought me their leftovers which included hummus and a ton of carrots. Leftover chicken queso casserole and a fresh green salad for supper—so good.

I am still finalizing details for the Juy 5^th launch of Finding Florence, and every day I think I will clear my desk and be able to get to the Helen Corbitt digital files that I now have and the start I have on a manuscript. A stack of Helen Corbitt cookbooks stares at me from my coffee table—I haven’t gotten to straightening up the bookcase so that I can fit them in where I can conveniently get to them as I write, but I figure the cookbook section is a ways off. I think once I can focus on that project, it will go easily (am I feeling myself?) and will be lots of fun (I know that will be true).

I admit that politics distracts me these days. With regret, I missed today’s January 6 Committee hearing, though I hear it was pretty damning for trump. A doctor’s appointment kept me from it, but tonight I’ll internet prowl and see what I can find about it. It’s scary times we live in with extremists ready to threaten citizens and take up arms for their cause. But I have a great deal of faith that democracy will triumph. I just hope it’s in my lifespan.

So, goodnight, sweet dreams, keep up with the news, and pray for our country.

Busy day at the cottage

 

Front yard trees
festooned with toilet paper
Not funny.

If you asked me what my occupation was today, I would not have said retiree (I never say that because that’s not what defines me), nor would I have said author (which is the identity I mostly cling to). Today I would have said cook. A friend was coming for lunch, and I had promised “killer tuna salad.” But then I got ambitious and decided to try a recipe for chicken hand pockets that’s been in my file forever. I had it in my head the filling was chicken salad, but when I got to making it I realized it was not salad at all, but a meat filling with mushrooms, onion, broth, flour, crème fraiche, and a bit of thyme.

I was truly leery of rolling out the puff pastry. As you can imagine, I don’t have a lot of rolling out space in the cottage. But it worked well, and my hand pockets went together easily. And they tasted good. I was proud of myself. Enjoyed the visit with a TCU colleague I hadn’t seen since way before covid. And now I’ll try some more things with puff pastry—a great learning lesson.

My first chicken hand pies.
Hopefully, they will get prettier, 
but they tasted delicious

Just before four, Jordan wakened me from a sound nap to tell me a church friend was here, with copies of The Most Land, the Best Cattle: The Waggoners of Texas in hand for me to sign so she could give them for Christmas gifts. It took me a couple of minutes to get myself together, but then we had a delightful visit, and I signed four books. “This,” she said, “is Texas history, and my family needs to read it.” I applauded. My kind of Christmas gift.

She had barely left when Pru and Mary came for our usual Tuesday happy hour. Good, relaxing time. Mary brought tiny mincemeat tartlets from a Zoom class she taught today, along with tomatoes she couldn’t resist buying because they were on sale and the promise of artichokes tomorrow because they too were on sale. I am encouraging her to keep shopping sales!

We had a slight dinner crisis. We had planned to have fish in a piccata sauce. I ordered cod from Central Market, and Jordan picked it up. But she said, “There’s something wrong with the fish.” I thought perhaps it smelled too fishy, a sign it was old. Nope It was one small piece weighing 0.25 lbs. I thought I ordered a lb. Central Market’s online order got me again. It said the fish was sold by the lb. and, thinking Jacob wouldn’t eat it, I ordered a lb. Or thought I did. Apparently is it actually sold by quarter increments of a lb. So what to have for supper? Christian to the rescue: he grilled burgers, Jordan pulled some slider buns out of my freezer, and I washed and snapped the asparagus that really needed to be eaten.

But the day wasn’t done with us yet. While Christian was grilling, Jordan sat on the porch to keep him company. They turned off the bright overhead light, and sat in the dark, with Christian using his phone light to check the burgers. As they sat there, some of Jacob’s friends came by, clearly intent on toilet-papering the trees. They had done this a week or so ago, and Jordan was clearly not ready for a repeat. The boys drove by slowly several times, apparently put off by the presence of parents. When the hamburgers were ready, Jordan and Christian left Jacob on the porch, hiding, with the hose in his hands. 

All for naught. Jacob came out to the cottage to say they were back—I don’t know what happened to the hose—and by the time Jordan and Christian got out there, the front yard was festooned. I know it’s a prank, but frankly I’m angry. It’s not harmless because—it’s bad for the environment, especially our new, delicate tree, and toilet paper is apparently in short supply right now. Plus what are these kids doing out on a school night? And doesn’t it cost them a lot to buy all that toilet paper? Jacob has another cleaning chore ahead of him when he really should be doing homework. A conundrum. For the sake of his social standing, his parents can’t tattle on the boys, but it is a frustration. And me, being old school, would like to box their ears and explain to them why it’s not cute. It’s wrong on so many levels. Besides, I thought it went out of fashion once kids got out of middle school. 

I am going to spend the rest of the evening with a good mystery. And I guess tomorrow I’ll order more fish from Central Market and pay closer attention.