Another family day

 

Jacob and his mom

Totally out of my routine today—no church, no work, no cooking. Usually, the weekend finds me deep in a new recipe to try for an unsuspecting guest. Not so today, and, truly, it was nice to take a break.

After a leisurely cup of tea and a scroll through emails, my daughters both came out with coffee cups. We visited for a while, they picked out “go to brunch” clothes for me (sure way to forestall wardrobe criticisms), and we finished planting herbs in the raised garden—mostly

Gardening with Megan

I shook them out of their little containers, and Megan dug the holes for them But it looked pretty good when we were through. Jordan supervised. She will get the chore of keeping them watered.

Poor Meg. When she’s here, she’s kind of torn between being in the house with her sister or in the cottage with me, but she does an admirable job of balancing, so I had her company for much of the morning. But by noon we were dressed and ready to go to brunch. Jacob even went with us, which was a treat. We went to Pacific Table, sat in that way-back, hidden table they have.

Christian, who is careful about what he eats, finally confessed that he had tried an artichoke and liked it, after years of scorning them. So nothing would do but we had the charred artichokes! So good but so greasy and messy to eat. At one point, Christian seemed puzzled about what to do about the heart, so Jordan reached over to cut it for him. I couldn’t resist taking a picture. I’m in a rut at Pacific Table and had the Caesar again, though this time with scallops instead of oysters. Megan and Jordan had sea bass, and Jacob had sushi and French fries—an odd combination to me. Christian stuck to his hamburger.

Christian's artichoke

After brunch/lunch we split—the girls to Trader Joe’s and who know where else, Jacob and Christian to shop for jeans for Jacob, and me to spend some computer time and then nap.

But today was a big deal (shh! Don’t say I put it that way) in the Burton family. Jacob had been invited to a Canwick dance by a girl he went through grade school with—Canwick is a girls’ dance/social club. I don’t remember as much about it as I do Cotillion, which I think my kids attended. Anyway, since this was a girl-invite-boy affair I asked if it was Daisy Mae and Jacob said blankly, “I don’t know what that is.” Of course, I got Lil Abner mixed up—I meant a Sadie Hawkins dance. Jacob still wouldn’t have known. Anyway, it was apparently as big a deal in other households as well because an army of boys and girls gathered on the lawn of Colonial Country Club for a photo shoot. Of course, Jordan, Christian, and Megan had to be there to watch and take photos. Then the kids were off to dinner and the dance.

Jacob and his buddies
ready to dance
my, how times have changed

The weary adults in my family went to get take-out at Joe T.’s and brought it home. By the time they got here—after 7:00 p.m.—everyone was tired. We sort of sat around looking at each other, until I was reminded of that old joke, “Must be twenty minutes after.” (Did I just give my age away?)

Now it’s nine, and they’ve all gone to bed, except Jordan who will sit up and wait for Jacob to come home. The first, I’m sure, of many such nights. I remember them well. I laughed to myself because tonight it seemed such a big deal that the boy-child had a date with a  girl, but in a year it will be routine. And gradually he’ll be out later, and eventually Jordan will stop waiting up, though if she’s like me, she'll never sleep soundly until he comes in.

And so another week begins, for me a busy one with something planned every evening. All good stuff. And work to do during the day. Life is good. I hope for you too.

A day with my daughters

Jordan at the Jewel Charity Ball

Today was another Saturday that broke the mold of my usual Saturdays. My daughters and I had brunch at the Taste Project, with them laughing because I said I usually eat tuna salad and cottage cheese on Saturday mid-day.

Maybe you’ve been to this unique restaurant that’s part of the revitalization of South Main in Fort Worth. If not, let me tell you about it. The idea is that you pay what you can afford for the meal. Menu items have a price, and they do give you a check after you finish your meal. But if you can’t afford to pay anything, no problem—and I’m pretty sure I saw some homeless folks looking for a free meal. Perhaps some people pay what they can, to show good faith, even if they can’t afford the meal. And some, like us, overpay because we think it’s such a wonderful contribution to the community.

This was the second time I’ve been there. Jordan and I went—she thinks a year ago for her March birthday. I remember we had lamb burgers which were terrific but too much. We should have split one. Jordan wanted to take half home to Jacob, but no deal. That’s one unusual aspect of this creative restaurant: no doggie bags. Can’t eat all your meal? Too bad. You can’t take it with you. Serving the underserved as they do, you can see the logic behind this rule.

I initially started to order a meatloaf sandwich, one of my all-time favorites. I thought I'd take half home, but then I realized I couldn't do that. So I turned down the meatloaf and the chicken salad sandwich which also caught my attention, in favor of a salad, which I knew I could finish.

Today, the girls split avocado toast, which came topped with scrambled eggs, and a vegetable omelet. One of those items was topped with ricotta, but I’m not sure which, and there was an accompaniment of home-style fries. I had a blood orange salad with blood orange dressing and roasted beets. All of it was delicious.

The décor is industrial modern—clean and neat, open and airy. Many of the workers are volunteers. In fact, one young man wore a TCOM T-shirt, and I couldn’t resist telling him I’d been part of the osteopathic college when it first opened, gasp! fifty years ago.

All in all, it was a lovely experience, and I’m anxious to go back. Parking is a problem, especially for me with my walker, but we were able to get a place close to the front door.

Megan took a one o’clock bus back to Austin, Jordan went hunting for a ball gown, and I had a nap. Tonight, I had that tuna and cottage cheese they teased me about. Jordan and Christian are off to the Jewel Charity Ball, dining and dancing in high cotton. She looks lovely in her sparkly black gown. I am ready to settle down and finish the novel I’m reading, but I’m waiting for Jacob to decide he wants the burrito I have for his dinner. Back to routine tonight, after a nice break.                                                                                           

A brunch adventure

            While half the world was clogging the streets to get to the Schwab golf tournament (hard for me to call it anything but Colonial) and the Fort Worth Zoo, Subie, Phil, and I headed in another direction for an adventure. We went to Magdalena’s for brunch.

I haven’t had time to get used to the concept of food trucks yet and along come pop-up restaurants. Just like the pop-up stores we’ve seen in the last few years, these restaurants are temporary, sometimes renting buildings, sometimes using quarters owned by other chefs, often providing a new and ambitious chef a start-the-career location. Having said that, Magdalen’s is none of those things, although its full meal offerings are much like the pop-up concept.

Magdalena’s on Fort Worth’s North Side (across from Oakwood Cemetery) is the creation of Chef Juan Rodriguez, formerly executive chef at Reata. He left Reata in 2015 to open his own catering service and supper club. Brunch is served occasionally (it’s a good idea to be on the mailing list so you can make those necessary reservations) and the supper club dinners are on weekends only.

We went to brunch filled with curiosity, no idea what we’d find. What we found was a delightful experience. Brunch was served in an industrial-modern building. About thirty of us sat at several long tables, so you got to know your neighbors while you dined. We sat at the end of a table—easiest for my walker and Phil’s guide dog. The couple next to us, from Arlington, proved delightful, and we talked about everything from restaurants (this was their second pop-up experience) to their two young children, the business climate (he works for a corporation hit by the tariffs), and nursing professionals—her field. (It was noisy but not so loud that I, with hearing problems, couldn’t understand most if not all.) The meals at Magdalena’s are BYOB, and they had brought a bottle of pre-mixed Manhattans, which they generously shared with Phil. Subie and I had declined to bring wine—10:30 seemed a little early in the day—but as I looked down the table I saw lots of champagne bottles. Next time I’ll bring wine, because the food deserves it.

This was one of the most creative meals I’ve ever been served. The menus at Magdalena’s reflect Chef Juan’s preference for Mexican and Spanish cuisine—as a child he often visited his grandmother in Mexico and absorbed her love for and skill with food.

We began with an appetizer—a mini Monte Cristo sandwich topped with a spoonful of picked strawberry jam. Delicious but a bit filling, and I thought I wouldn’t be hungry after that. Not to worry. A kale salad with lemon vinaigrette, cotija cheese, midnight mushrooms (new to me) followed. The main course was a cornbread waffle topped with barbacoa, pickled onions, a poached egg, avocado crema, and micro greens. (I didn’t get the menu memorized and may have missed a couple of ingredients, but you get the idea). All this was served on attractive crockery, with cups and serving bowls featuring Mexican motifs. The color, design, texture combination, and taste of the food we simply wonderful.

I think as we headed out this morning, we were a bit tentative about our adventure. Now we’re filled with enthusiasm and want to go back for dinner.

One Early Easter Morning

We wouldn't let them change out of church clothes

until they posed for a picture

When I was maybe ten or twelve I was actively involved in an inner-city church on the south side of Chicago. Although I can’t carry a tune and never could, I sang in the choir. One Easter, we sang an anthem that began,

One early Easter morning/

I wakened with the birds/

And all around lay silence/

Too deep for earthly words

One of my best friends from those days has remained a constant in my life ever since, though we are separated by distance and have maybe seen each other ten times since we both left Chicago and New Mexico, where she moved and married, and I visited. But over the years we have agreed that on Easter morning, we awaken with that melody and those words on our brains.

This morning when I got up the first thing I did was to email Barbara and say I was thinking of her this early Easter morning with all its silence. Thought I was so smart, but when I read my email, she had already sent a similar message to me.

Among the many things I am thankful for this blessed day is a binding friendship that has celebrated many shared joys, including large families, and endured divorce and death. The tie that has bound us for nearly seventy years is strong—an unusual gift in this day and age.

We went to the nine o’clock service at Fort Worth’s University Christian Church. It was, as I expected, glorious and inspiring, with music that almost overwhelmed. This church has a tradition of following the Easter benediction with the Hallelujah Chorus, and it was as always spellbinding. Our church has gone through ministers at a fairly rapid rate in recent years, and now we have Dr Russ Peterman, who has been with us since December. He is a man of great enthusiasm and spirit, and when he says from the pulpit that he is so excited by the renewed energy he senses in the church, I want to stand up and shout, “It’s you! You brought your energy to us. You’ve recreated the church.” Someday I may get a chance to say it directly to him. Meantime, I’m silently grateful and filled with joy.

A brief lull and then we had brunch—twelve people, three of them pre-teens. Jordan needn’t have worried that we didn’t have enough food—a Spanish omelet (Christian made it but decided he just doesn’t like cooked spinach; the rest of us liked it a lot), my leek/ricotta/pesto pie (served cold though Christian tried hard to convince me to heat it), sausages, fruit, biscuits, and hot cross buns. The latter led to several renditions of the nursery rhyme which I remember vaguely but not well. Our company included three grandmothers (besides me—we were definitely in the preponderance), two middle-aged couples (shhh! They don’t recognize that term as applying to them), and one grandfather.

A lovely warm and wonderful day, though not so warm outside. The temperature has dropped slightly but steadily all day.

Easter has come, given us renewed hope, and now the long haul until summer. It’s too bad we live our lives in anticipation of the next “biggie.”

           

Losing my starch

Wonderful brunch today with good friends and some visitors. Sixteen of us all very jovial, great food—everybody contributed but the hostess prepared a cheese/chorizo/chilies strata for the main dish. Had a great time, practiced my walking and received a lot of “Look at you!” compliments. But wine and heavy food at mid-day took the starch right out of me. Came home and slept for an hour and a half.

I had to leave for brunch in the middle of editing the last chapter of my work-in-progress, and I did finish going through it when I got home. I still have to fix two minor problems for plot and character consistency. One is that I introduced a cool new character and then couldn’t figure out how to get her back in the action. I think she’ll be prominent in a future book, but I’m at a loss as to what to do with her in this one. I did bring her back for a brief appearance, but I need to insert her again toward the end, and she doesn’t seem to fit anywhere. Maybe my beta reader will help.

I also have to add a title page and copyright page to the front and an author’s bio at the back. Housekeeping chores that I can easily do tomorrow before I send it to beta reader (via a print shop) and editor. Not going to tackle them tonight, because, you know—that starch that I lost.

I laughed at myself, because even in the midst of enjoying the company at brunch I had the feeling I couldn’t wait to get back to the book. And then I had to remind myself that I wrote it, so I know what’s going to happen. It isn’t as though I haven’t read it a half dozen times. Someone suggested to me my feeling of being caught up in it is a good thing, bodes well for other readers.

The book’s title has been problematic too—I’ve settled on Pigface and the Perfect Dog. My small online writers group approves though one person pointed out that it could easily be a y/a title, which it isn’t. I explained the cover art would have to carry the burden of making the genre clear. That and the blurb—oh, dear, blurb. Something else I forgot. When you think you’re through with a novel, you’re not!

I think it’s time to sit on the patio and chill, enjoying the evening. Supper? No, thank you I couldn’t.

Festivities and rainy clouds

With Maddie, her mom Mel, and sister Eden

Cloudy rainy day, the kind that’s good for a book and a long nap. It’s not cold—in the 70s—but I have felt chilled all day, and curling up in a comforter was a treat.

Last night the Burtons and I went to Frisco for granddaughter Maddie’s graduation party.  Love having even most of my family together—we were missing the Tomball Alters, but Megan, Brandon, Sawyer and Ford arrived there shortly after we did. Burgers by the pool, good company, and lots of happiness for Maddie who heads to Colorado University (Boulder) in the fall. This summer, she’ll work and do an internship.

I had been straightening and sorting files the other day and found one in which I had saved Maddie’s very early artwork—those scribbled pictures, first attempts at writing, “I love you, Juju,” and especially an essay she did for TAAS on why her grandmother was a role model for her. That folder was her graduation present, and she seemed pleased as she grinned and leafed through it, promised to study the contents more carefully when she had time. I’m afraid it’s the sort of thing you do for first grandchildren, and I don’t have similar folders for the six still to come along through high school.

Always so proud of my grandchildren—they really are wonderful. But boys will be boys—Ford and Jacob were throwing a baseball on the front lawn when Ford missed the ball, it hit a curbside brick mailbox, ricocheted and gave him a black left eye with considerable swelling. This morning it didn’t look as bad as we all anticipated, but it hurt him to open it. He wore sunglasses to brunch and, with his long, lank build and blonde hair, looked very much the incognito child movie star.

We had a late brunch at one of my favorite restaurants, but it was freezing cold. I had brought a jacket, but Meg went out to the car for a blanket to wrap around herself, and we think we saw a party leave without ordering because they were so cold. Wish restaurants would get that message. I know wait staff hurries and scurries and gets hot, but I think they’re about pleasing customers, aren’t they? The long season of cold restaurants is just about to begin.

Megan and family left for the drive back to Austin, Jordan and family went to the golf tournament, and I settled down for that book and nap. For dinner, I’ll sauté a lamb cop and some zucchini. A good day.

Tonight, a flag flies at the foot of my driveway, courtesy the Fort Worth South Side Rotary. Let us all stop our busy lives long enough to honor those who have given their lives for our country.

A Warm and Wonderful Reunion

Life is funny. Friends come and go in your life. I read somewhere—maybe Anne Lamott—that when a friend disappears from your life it’s because their part in your life story is done. I had a wonderful brunch today with three friends whose part in my life story is definitely not over, much to my joy.

Gayla Christiansen, marketing manager at Texas A&M University Press, Frank Vick, former director of UNT Press, author, past president of Texas State Historical and Texas Institute of Letters, and Fran’s daughter, Karen, were in Fort Worth for a meeting yesterday, came to see my cottage and take me to brunch.

When I was at TCU Press, I was in almost daily contact with Fran and Gayla. They were my “go to” people in publishing, and when I turned seventy they presented me with a certificate about the three world-problem-solving publishing women of Texas. Retirement and life in general has taken us in different directions, though we are sporadically in touch.

Today, over a marvelous lunch of eggs Benedict and roast brisket hash, we picked right up where we left off—catching up with publishing, health, gossip, families, you name it. We lingered over a long brunch—well over two hours. And we’d still be there probably if Gayla, our hostess, hadn’t announced she needed to head for College Station.

I came home on wings of air, much buoyed up to still be a part of the Texas publishing scene. The rest of my day has been a lazy Saturday. Spent much of the afternoon exploring Scotland—how I wish it was in person, but, alas, it was on the internet. Found I had sent a “blatant self-promotion” article to my clan newsletter, The MacBean Clan Register (after all, if you don’t toot your own horn, who will?). In the early early stages of exploring the possibility of a novel set in Scotland. Of course, I’m sure it would require in-person research.

I’ve set myself a goal tonight of finishing a book I’m reading for evaluation for an organization I belong to, so I’m off to bury my nose in the book.

Daylight Savings Time…and winter temperatures

Waiting for six o’clock dinner guests and wondering why it wasn’t dark yet. Duh, forgot about DST. When I realized that, I had a happy little sigh. I love DST and don’t understand the people who complain about it. Yes, one time would be nice, but I’d want it to be daylight savings, and I always heard that farmers, etc., want early morning light. Looked up a bit of history and found farmers had nothing to do with it. Daylight savings time began as a fuel-saving measure way be in WWI—the first to experiment with it were Germans. So much for thinking America invent everything.

But to many of us,, summer is vacation and picnics and beaches and all kind of good things that are done in the late afternoon, especially here in Texas where mid-day is too hot. Dark closing in at six o’clock would be depressing in the summer. This argument has been waged for years without any change, so I don’t expect action. Just putting my two cents in.

With all the lovely evening sunlight, it was too cool for the patio. Neighbors Jaimie, Greg and Jay came for supper. Jay brought spinach crostini rich with garlic, and I had made a marinara sauce and salad. Found out I had to ask Jay to cook the supper—I cannot fill a pan with water and transfer to my one-burner stove while in a wheelchair, and I’m not good enough at walking to do it without the chair. So he ended up doing it all. Everyone said it was a good dinner; I would have preferred more sauce in proportion to the pasta.

Earlier in the day I had brunch with a friend at Press Café—we got there right after it opened at 11:00 and still it was crowded We found bar seats, where I discovered I can hear better than across the table from someone. Had a breakfast sandwich—ham, egg, cheese, tomato, greens, sauce on a brioche bun. Good but it required a knife and fork. Next time: chicken salad with gorgonzola.

Mid-afternoon a friend who is practicing her portrait skills came to take my picture. I especially like two shots—kids all liked one, my dinner guests another. Dilemma!

A full and delightfully crowded day—no writing, no reading. But hey, it’s spring break. That’s okay!

What about you? Special plans for this week?

Church and the marathon … and an excerpt

The Cowtown Marathon runners went down my street, right in front of my house, this morning. I’m just about at the halfway point. In the long ago, I was enough involved in competitive racing to recognize good form when I see it, so it was fun to watch the early runners, a little after eight this morning. I haven’t heard about a winner or winning time but it’s usually 2 hours plus, so those early easy runners were well on their way to becoming early finishers. It’s also fun to watch the styles—I saw one man who ran stiffly upright, and I thought he’d tire before long; the easy runners are relaxed, giving themselves into their pace.

A group had set up a cheering stand, complete with boom box, across the street from me, in front of the school. They clapped and cheered and yelled for each runner. Eventually they must have seen the runner they were looking for because they packed up and left. A neighbor a couple of blocks over had emailed to ask if it was okay if she left juice for her husband on my steps—she did, and it’s gone tonight. I saw a FB picture of him at the finish line—his 32^nd Cowtown.

By the time Jordan came to get me for church, we had slow runners, some walkers, some groups. She stewed and worried about how to get here and finally didn’t do it the way I would have at all but I kept my mouth shut. We tried to avoid the runners by taking a side street, only to find out that the marathon planners had outfoxed us and routed the runners down a cross street. So we sat and waited for a break to cross the street. Made it to church in plenty of time, and by the time we came home, after lunch, there were no runners. I remember the day when the last marathoner would straggle in about four or five in the afternoon.

After church we had brunch at the small Park Hill Café near my house. Really good—I had quiche and wonderful hash browns—you got a complimentary mimosa which I had about half of and gave the other half to Christian. It’s a café where I like to eat lunch, and I was at first dismayed I couldn’t get my half pimiento sandwich. And they never did bring that small mint/dark chocolate bar they serve with lunch. Still it was fun.

Tonight I’m back to working on my writing projects. And have a big announcement: want to read an excerpt from The Gilded Cage, my April 18 novel about Chicago in the late 19^th Century. Go here:

http://www.judyalter.com/b/GildedCageExcerpt.pdf

 

The temptation to be a recluse

Holiday weekends are sometimes long for people who live alone--friends are busy with families, my local family often has plans (like the PGA tournament this weekend). I had Jacob for company Friday night and part of Saturday, company for brunch Sunday. But my lunch plans for Monday fell through and I didn't have much work on my desk. It looked like a long day inside looking at the rain.
Two things happened: Jordan asked Sunday night if I wanted to go to brunch with them to meet friends (their friends are incredibly nice to me) and several projects, one big, landed on my desk this morning. I decided I'd change my mind about going to brunch and stay home--after all, I was used to being home alone from Saturday and most of Sunday.
But then I thought when you're tempted to stay home is when you should get out of the house. I went with them to Joe T.'s, had huevos ranchero and enjoyed the company, saw Jacob's signed golf ball and pictures of his hat and glove, signed by the winner. Jordan came in for a few minutes when we got home, and then I got back to work.
I find when I stay home a lot, it's hard for me to make myself go out, even for things I enjoy. In fact doing just that after being home sick for a week accounted for my last fall, the one that sent me into physical therapy. It's so easy for me to wrap myself in a cocoon and stay home.
At the same time, I'm a social being by nature, and I need to get out of the house. One friend said I bring people to me rather than going out after them, and that's something I must work on. It's like a lot of things, like my walking exercises--you have to take it one day at a time, and instead of drawing the circle tighter around you, always push at its limits.
The comparison to my physical therapy is apt too. I have too many people willing to help me. Sunday in the rain the newspaper  was in a place that was hard for me to get to. I decided to go down the driveway and approach it from the street, but I had one of those moments--instinct or fear turned me back, and then I was mad at myself. The friends who came for brunch brought my paper in and assured me they were glad I didn't go get it.
Today at Joe T.'s I was walking on a brick walkway--sometimes uneven surfaces make me less certain but this really wasn't bad. But because either Jacob or Jordan were next to me, I held on to them. I've got to learn to think of my cane as the person I'm holding on to. Beating myself up about that one too.
Enough with the confessions.