What do you do on weekends?

 

I know a lot who read this blog are, like me, retired, so I think a question is relevant that came up in a small online group I belong to: how is the weekend any different. I mean, if you can set your own schedule all week long, what if anything sets Saturday or Sunday apart?

I particularly thought about it today because it was a long, lazy day. The guests I expected tonight came last night accidentally, so I had nothing to do to prepare. Sophie somehow senses weekends—she still gets me up at 7:00 promptly for what we are calling her first breakfast. Actually she tried for it at 6:30, but I gave her a piece of cheese and told her to hang on for half an hour. She did. But then, after she had eaten and gone outside briefly, she let me sleep until nine. This is a boon because the shot-givers in the house don’t like to get up early on Saturday, but Sophie has to have her shot within an hour of her second breakfast. All worked out fine.

Jordan was in and out of the cottage all morning, mostly raiding my fridge. She had five sleeping teenage boys and a party mess in the house, but they cleaned it up promptly once they were awake. She armed herself with leftover lunch meat, chip and dip makings, and the like, but I don’t think they ever came back after the TCU game. This evening when I wanted to fix my supper, I had to ask for several pans. But I was glad for her occasional company. She and Christian apparently watched the TCU game—I checked the score occasionally—and then tonight, with guests, the Baylor game. They are a house of divided loyalties, as is Megan’s house in Austin.

Meanwhile, I read emails, checked on the daily news—there was a lot that upset me today, mostly about ways Republicans were scheming to take away more freedoms and benefits. In Texas somehow in connection with the anti-abortion law they are targeting highways. Not sure how that works but soon if we’re not diligent it will be illegal to drive a car with a pregnant woman in it. Some days I read the news from various sources and don’t share much; other days I share every third thing I read. Today was one of the latter.

I was almost through a novel which had an interesting concept, though it too often wandered into introspection. Anyway, I was determined to finish it today so I could write a brief report for a writers' group that had expressed interest. The novel was inspired by the iconic Dorothea Lange Depression photograph, “Migrant Mother,” as was my award-winning short story, “Sue Ellen Learns to Dance,” and so I was comparing the handling of the core material in the two pieces. Glad to get it done.

Saturdays are often cooking days for me, and today was no exception. But I ran into a couple of roadblocks. I always have packages of frozen petite peas on hand, so I put one out to thaw for pea salad. Only after about an hour I discovered what I thought was peas was lima beans. I think I must have bought them by mistake, because I don’t particularly care for them. Fortunately, I had an almost full package of peas. Often if I’m eating alone on a grocery delivery day, I order one serving of fresh fish, so today I ordered a quarter lb. of Dover sole—and got a whole pound. After some deliberation I cooked the whole thing, figuring leftovers will make lunch. It’s such a delicate fish—in taste and texture—that every time I sauté it, I end with fish hash. Tonight, I baked it, and it was delicious and held together better, though I still didn't get a perfect filet.

So here I am, on a Saturday night, me and my computer. It’s been a good day, not a lot different from many of my days, and yet I had the sense all day long that it was Saturday, a day set apart. One thing jolted me tonight: at 5:30 I turned the TV on to see what Channel 5 reported on the day’s news—and got a football game. Suddenly I realized it’s that season again—football will pre-empt the news programs I look forward to. That does not brighten my Saturdays, though I know at least half the rest of the world is delighted.

What about you? Are Saturdays different?

My quarantine funk

 

I, who haven’t minded quarantine and indeed sometimes enjoyed it, woke up yesterday in a funk for no good reason. It just seemed to me that yet another long day stretched before me, with nothing different than the day before or the day to come. One of my sons always answers my calls with, “What’s up?” and lately my reply is “Nothin’.” That’s how I felt.

Things didn’t get better. I locked myself out of a computer account and had to call for help. That was an omen for a day when I got nothing done. Oh, I posted to my cooking blog and I sent an Angelo’s roast to our Jewish brother-in-law/uncle as a Hanukah present from all the Texas Alters. But it seemed like I got nothing done and spent to much time putzing around on the computer.

I tried a recipe I’ve been saving—actually it was a non-recipe, posted on the New York Times Cooking Community Facebook page by a chef/friend of mine. It’s one of those that seemed complicated because I’d never done it before. And because I should have had the ingredients all ready before I started. The result was creamed spinach with flavors of onion, garlic, and chicken broth. I’ll do it again.

And late last night I wrote 500 words on my novel. A prolific and famous writer recently confessed that 500 words a day is her goal. If she makes that, she’s happy; if she makes a thousand, it’s a bonus and she rejoices.

Today dawned a much brighter day—until I tried to give Sophie a Benadryl for her coughing (allergies). The drawer was stuck. The drawer which only incidentally holds Benadryl but also cooking utensils, baggies and the like, and all the everyday dishes. I went back to bed to contemplate this problem. Color me proud—I opened it the half inch it would go, kind of poked around with a spatula, and then gave a good tug. It opened! I think the culprit was an Oxo tool that’s supposed to open jars but doesn’t—I put it in the bottom drawer where it can do almost no harm.

Things didn’t get better. My son sent me some money through a payment service called Zelle, which I knew nothing about. Mind you, this son banks at a branch of the same bank I do, so he could have just transferred funds. Dutifully I tried to register, but it seemed to me I was opening an account with the bank—and I already have several. So I called the bank, and a consultant patiently walked me through the process until we got to where they needed to send me a verification code. It didn’t come, so I tried again. It didn’t come. The consultant consulted her boss and finally decided I should have Jamie cancel it and use PayPal or a direct transfer. It was a whole lot of work and time for forty-two dollars that I didn’t get.

I guess my story isn’t as bad as my friend who had a rat in her house—her first clue was a big bite out of a banana and another out of a sweet potato. Then she actually saw the critter. So she bought a new, modern trap—and caught her finger in it. Had to go to the doctor for antibiotics. Then she called an exterminator. The report this morning is the rat is dead and the finger is better.

The news didn’t add to my day. When my kids were at “that” age I did everything I knew to squelch bathroom humor. And I know today we’re a bitterly divided nation with many of our cultural norms—like common courtesy and good manners—thrown aside. But have we sunk so low that the fact that a lawyer passed gas (you may supply the f-word) in court is a news headline? I am not a fan of Rudy Giuliani, and I think it’s sad that a man who was once admired as a leader has debased himself, but if that happened, I’m sure it was something he couldn’t help and an embarrassment. Ten years ago, everyone would have just looked tactfully away and never mentioned it.

And one final bit of absurdity: I was reading a cooking magazine and came across directions for making a hyper-realistic eggplant cake. Who wants a cake that looks like an eggplant? I want my chocolate cake to look like cake! If I want eggplant, that’s a whole different thing.

I think I should go take a nap and start this day over. Stay warm and safe.

The one-trick pony

 

  

I”ve just had a lesson in—what? Humility? Practicality? I’ve learned that I’m like the pony who knows only one trick. Take away that trick, and the pony has nothing. My lesson came when my computer refused to boot yesterday morning. In the interest of full disclosure, I admit I had spilled half a late-night glass of wine on my desk—not on the computer, but some seeped under it and apparently shorted it out.

Frantic, I sent messages to son-in-law, Brandon, a software engineer, and son Jamie, who was instantly ready to rush out and buy a new computer. In fact, he was gleeful at the thought. Brandon advised some steps to take, which I followed after a few wrong turns. Am I the only one who disconnects the remote keyboard and then tries to use it? His best advice was to let it sit. It could “come back to itself” as it dried out. Jamie added the advice to put it out in the sun. I would have been leery on a hot summer day, but this was five o’clock on a pleasant evening with a gentle sun. Still, nothing worked.

I had spent a long, useless day, wondering what to do next. You see, take away my computer, and I honestly don’t know what to do with myself. I fretted because I had an audition tape to listen to, an online class coming up to teach, and a Zoom call today with a book festival panel next weekend, although I couldn’t imagine going the whole week without a computer.

There were little things too—trying to log in to various sites on my iPad was impossible because I didn’t have the passwords; on my computer, those sites come up automatically. Jordan wanted to check our planned menus so I could place a Central Market order—couldn’t get to those files. I wanted to call our dog sitter for a grooming reference, but I could only remember her first name. Needed to go into the files to find her business name.

So I spent the day reading a mystery  But even ordering a book was difficult on the iPad. I missed my remote monitor with its nice big screen, my remote keyboard on which my fingers can fly.

About eleven last night I thought I’d give it one more try. Voila! It came on, without any of the externals, but the laptop was working. I went to bed happy, This morning, after a bit of trial, error, and patience, the keyboard and remote mouse began working but not the monitor. Jamie suggested the port was damaged, and I began to wonder if they can replace a port. Then the monitor flashed on; after a bit later it stayed on for a minute or two, but if I lowered the lid to the laptop, it went blank. And then, a miracle—it came on and stayed, just in time to “attend” church.

I’ve learned several lessons—just updated my list of passwords and printed it out to be hidden in a safe place. Cleared a place on the credenza so I could have tea or water or wine handy without risking more spills. The one I didn’t learn—find something else to do with my time. I am not a TV fan, and I can only cook so much, but I can spend the entire day at my computer. And today, I’m thanks for narrow escapes—or miracles.

Saturday just feels different

Dinner tonight - cheese enchiladas

If you’re quarantining, as my family and I, Saturday’s no different than any other day. Sunday, for us, stands out in the week because we attend virtual church service and we try always to have a special Sunday dinner as a family. But Saturday? No. You get up, do whatever it is you do during these days, eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner, follow your routine. As I’ve confessed more than once, I am a creature of routine, and I do best when I have a set pattern for my days.

Monday through Friday that works just fine. My day includes work, reading, internet activity—yes, I follow social media, usually at the same time each day. But Saturday just feels different. On Saturday, email slows down (I get an extraordinary number a day) and social media isn’t as active. You can’t take care of business details effectively, so I have two follow-ups on my desk for Monday morning. Not as much takes up my time, so this morning, I browsed through the New York Times Cooking Community Facebook page--twice, something I rarely do. Even so I started on my manuscript and wrote my thousand words well before lunch—usually it’s 12:30 before I get there.

No rule says quit at a thousand words and many days I go over, having done as much as 1700 in one day. But today at a precise 1,014 I ended a scene and thought it best to do some thinking and planning before going on. So there I was, not yet noon, and I was through work for the day. I do have a couple of projects that call me, but I had effectively met my goal for today.

My day got a lot more interesting late this afternoon. Good friend Jean came for a distanced happy hour—we laughed about quarantine, but she has been so isolated that she has not had to put gas in her car for over two months. We talked of many things—history and houses—and it was good to take a break from riots and looting and conspiracies and health crises. As our country is in a mess on many fronts, it amazes me that daily life goes on so pleasantly.

Jordan was our chef tonight, and we had chicken/cream cheese enchiladas—a recipe I’d clipped some time ago because of her love of all things with cream cheese. The enchiladas were rich and delicious, and the recipe madelots—she says we have 300 left. She made a huge salad with blue cheese dressing, and we feasted.

So another Saturday down. I just counted. This is twelfth Saturday I’ve spent in quarantine. No wonder I’m tired of them. It feels good to be opening up just a tiny bit from quarantine—we are only seeing people, no more than two at a time, who we know have been as careful about quarantine as we have. Still, it’s a bit scary since asymptomatic people can spread the virus. I read today that twenty-four states have uncontrolled outbreaks of COVID-19, and Texas leads the list. To me, it’s due to two things: a lack of strong national leadership and a large section of the populace who is non-compliant. I wonder what outbreaks there will be after this weekend of protests.

Be safe out there, folks. It’s still scary.

The downside of a rainy day, some encouraging news, and advice from Jesus

Rainy, chilly, damp and dark in North Texas today, and frankly I was bored. I find that a whiney admission on my part, some sort of lack of character, but nothing engaged me, and time dragged. I am doing photo research but was stymied—one curator is out of the office for an indeterminate time, as in months, and not a single other soul can help me; another was just out today, so I suppose I can call her Monday; and a third office is only open Monday through Thursday. I suppose photo research is not considered urgent, but when it’s what’s next on your plate, such lack of response is frustrating. I have emailed a couple of archives twice with no response.

And I finished the cozy mystery, Nobody’s Sweetheart Now, that I was much enjoying. I always hate to finish a book when I’ve gotten absorbed in the story and its world. I didn’t expect to like this one so well—a British cozy set on an estate in the 1920s, very Agatha Christie-like with the houseguests at a Saturday-to-Monday the suspects in the murder. But the hostess, recently widowed Adelaide Compton, is charming, sly and witty behind the naïve and overly kind façade the world sees. And when her late husband, a terrible philanderer, reappears in ghostly form, she thinks she is losing her mind. A standard cast of characters, including the dullard nobleman who wants to marry her, but then. .. there’s the handsome inspector of British and Indian descent, so good looking, so…. well, read and find out. It’s all good fun.

One of my new year’s resolutions was to share more positive posts on Facebook, and I’ve been pleased to share several on environmental subjects. From schools in the jungles of Brazil to roads in India made from discarded plastic and from high sales of electric cars in Norway to desert lands reclaimed by using ancient farming methods, it seems to me the world is light years ahead of America, the so-called strongest nation in the world, on saving our physical world. While our government allows pollution of rivers and the use of poisonous pesticide with nary a thought to the consequences, much of the world seems to understand climate change and the desperate need to change our ways. Some days it’s enough to start me fantasizing about moving, though I’m too old for that.

And then there’s this word about Biblical commandments. You have my permission to throw it in the face of the next rigid, righteous Christian you meet. In his daily meditation yesterday, Richard Rohr, a monk well known for his theological writing, pointed out that there are 613 clear commandments in the Bible (do you think he counted them?), but Jesus reduced them to two: Love they God, and love they neighbor as thyself. See? You don’t have to worry about abortion and LGBTQ and other people’s marriages and marijuana and any of those things that send some off into a tizzy. Why did Mike Pence, that walking uptight bundle of repressed emotions, rush into my mind when I read that? I read today he predicts legalized abortion will disappear in this country soon. Talk about rigid ways. But back to Jesus’ two commands, just think if we all, Christian or not, followed those two commandments, what a great world it would be.

Here’s a link to Rohr’s complete meditation for the day. I read his work daily and find it inspiring, pushing me in a direction I need and want to go.

Which reminds me of a joyful note: Tarrant County Republicans voted NOT to unseat the duly elected co-chair because of his Muslim religion. Can you imagine? It should never have been an issue at all, but at least good sense won out. He can worship his God, I can worship mine, and we both can love our neighbors. Great hope for the world.

Tomorrow I plan to avoid boredom. I’ll do a grocery run, make a batch of spaghetti sauce, and think some more about the vague idea for a mystery that is batting around in my mind.

Thoughts on a rainy Saturday

I’m bored. Bored, I tell you! Bored, bored, bored. I had so looked forward to a rainy Saturday. The rain all morning was constant, though I saw scary pictures from around town. A nearby street known for restaurants, bars, and fun was ankle-deep in water that was running fairly fast. And a tragedy on the far east side of the city, where a woman and toddler were swept off the road into thirty feet of water. No way rescue could get to them. Imagine that. Thirty feet. I was glad to stay home, safe and dry, casting an occasional eye at the patio to be sure the water wasn’t threatening to come into the cottage.

Sophie periodically walked to the screen door and peered out, then turned away as if to say in disgust, “Still raining.” She, by the by, has developed the bad habit of wanting to go out between 1:30 and 4:30 a.m. and last night it dawned on me she may not so much want to go out as she wants the bit of cheese she knows I reward her with if she comes right in. Last night she was by the refrigerator awfully quickly. Another reaffirmation of my decision to live in a cottage and not a high-rise retirement community.

I was so much looking forward to the day that I was up and at my computer by 7:30 this morning, enthusiastic about all I could accomplish today. And my goodness, have I accomplished a lot—wrote 1800 words, finished proofing the cookbook (and came to grips with the reality that I have to do an index of recipes), read a bit, followed the day’s happenings on Facebook—and napped, twice. Not because I was sleepy but because on a rainy dull day bed seemed like a good place to be. (Honest, I work out plots in my head when I’m dozing.)

Typical of my day: called my oldest son about 10:15 in the morning to discuss a financial matter. He was riding his bike—stationary I presume—and said his training session would be over in ten minutes and he’d call then. Texted at 2:00 p.m.to inquire if he was still riding and wasn’t he tired yet. He called right away. Emailed my younger son with a computer question, and he answered promptly asking for more info that he needed to answer me. That’s the last I heard from him today. Suppose he fell asleep?

There comes a point when you’ve written all the words you have for the day, you really don’t want to start an index sort of late in the day, and the book you’re reading s good—but not that good. And that’s where I am—bored.

TV? I rarely watch, and tonight I’m afraid as a final insult added to injury football is going to take over the news slot. There is no justice in this world.

Do I feel silly complaining about boredom when I have my dog for company, my cozy cottage, a desk full of work to do? You bet I do. And it’s a rare confession from me. But tomorrow will be better.

Strangely out of sorts

Whine, whine, wine. I've had a wonderful weekend with my family--lots of laughter, silliness, loudness, and a few deep discussions--mostly about how to rearrange my house. The kids ran and played and ate and complained, and it was like any family get-together. The first group left about nine, and the others in a flurry about noon. I fixed brunch, we sat and talked some more, and then they were gone, leaving behind what looked like a messy kitchen but actually took about fifteen minutes to clean and straighten. I caught up on my computer, read the paper, read my book, and napped. Dinner was leftover chicken-fried steak, not as good as last night but still good, and two small slices of roast cabbage. All good.
But now, a long evening stretches before me, and I'm not sure what to do. I don't want to work, but the book I'd been so anxious to get back to in quiet moments isn't quite doing it. Big project for the week is organizing my 2014 tax information but who wants to do that on a Sunday night? (I may sort the stack of papers as a start). No, I'm not a football fan and am not turning on the SuperBowl. Will just be glad when it's over, though I do love this year's Budweiser ad.
Inside and outside, the world seems darker and chillier to me, and my old house seems to creak more. Sophie, who is my barometer, was completely content to sleep in the office all afternoon, so I guess the creaks and cold are my imagination.
Wonder why this mood has come upon me--no doubt, you've had it too. I guess I got wrapped up last week in preparing for the weekend and then all weekend I was either busy or snatching a moment of quiet. And now that I have all the quiet and more, I feel let down.
What's your solution to a mild case of the blues? Guess I'll have a glass of wine and try the book again. Tomorrow, back to business.