A Day of Daughters and some confusion

            Today started out with unexpected storm warning which I thought a bad omen, but it turned out to be a good day. I had visits from two “daughters” who are part of my extended family. As an adoptive parent, I have long believed that it is less blood than love that ties us to people, so it is, to me, perfectly logical that I have daughters that are not part of my immediate family, daughters that I did not raise.

At noon today I welcomed Kate, my goddaughter, and her significant other, Taran. I have not seen Kate probably in almost twenty years—she was born in Fort Worth, but her family moved away when she was five, and shame on them, shame on me—we barely kept in touch, although we had a few visits. But this spring I had a lovely visit from her mom that rekindled our friendship and made me realize how much I had missed that family.

Kate was in the Metroplex for the wedding of a friend she and Taran know from graduate school, and I was delighted that she put Fort Worth on her agenda. Thirty years old, she works for an international company in niche marketing—something that I try to grasp and can’t. What it means is she focuses on one product. Taran is a follower of the Sikh religion from India but has been here for four years. They met at the Kellogg School of Management at Northwestern University, and today he works for Intuit in the San Francisco area.

Twenty years didn’t make a bit of difference. We reminisced, although her memories of Fort Worth are vague, and we talked about everything from food—Taran did a year in culinary school—to politics—Kate is knowledgeable and passionate on the subject. Both spent a lot of time loving on Sophie and said they wished they had a dog. Their lifestyle intrigues me. Neither one owns a car—in San Francisco there is no need, and they Uber everywhere. When they left today, I asked if they’d called their Uber, and Kate said no, they’d walk around the neighborhood a bit and then tell the Uber where to meet them. They were headed for the Kimbell Museum and then the Stockyards, so Taran could see the Fort Worth herd.

Bright young people, and they brightened my day.

This evening Sue and Teddy came for happy hour, though we got so mixed up on time that I thought they weren’t coming and put away the appetizers just before they arrived. We had miscommunicated about the time. Sue declared me her Fort Worth mom years ago because her mom is in Ottawa, Ontario, so I call her my Canadian daughter. They have just been to Santa Fe and Taos—to my dismay, they didn’t like Santa Fe so well, but they are hikers and outdoors people, and Taos put them closer to the opportunities they wanted. Me? I prefer the shops and restaurants of Santa Fe and told them in half a day they didn’t give the town a fair chance, nor did they get beneath the tourist level. I asked if they’d go back, and they said no, once they visit a place, they strike it off their bucket list and move on to the next place. Again a foreign thought to me—when I’ve been somewhere and liked it, I want to go back. Hence my countless trips to Santa Fe.

After Sue and Teddy headed out to try a new Italian restaurant, the evening fell apart. Volkswagen called to say my car is ready. But I had no way to get it. Jordan was off at the high school graduation of a friend’s son, and Christian had car troubles of his own. He was stranded, waiting for repairs on Jordan’s car to be complete. He had to Uber to pick up the car and then drive to Central Market for my groceries. By then, curbside pickup was closed, and he had some confusion before he finally went into the service counter and asked for my groceries. They handed him two bags but said there was a third bag in the cooler and they didn’t know if it was mine. It had shrimp, so Christian assured them it was not mine—I’m allergic to shrimp. It was almost eight o’clock by the time he got home, and I had given up and eaten my leftover half of a chicken salad croissant for supper. But we had a lovely visit over wine.

We’ll try to get the car first thing in the morning. Meantime, good publishing news, about which I’ll write more later. I’m sort of floating on air and pinching myself tonight.

Loose ends—or as my professor/friend calls them, “brush fires,”—kept me busy all day. I was dealing with transferring some funds to a more conservative site which meant talking to Colin frequently and to the broker, hashing out details, reminding the broker that I have four beneficiaries, not three, and my estate is all planned. Then I had to set up an online account with the brokerage company—a nice young lady talked me through that.

Next on my list was what to do with my mother’s dressing table. Doesn’t sound like a big problem, does it—but it is. My brother has it, decided it doesn’t fit in their house, put it in the garage, but is reluctant to sell it. Yikes! Of course, I don’t want to sell it—it matches my bed and the marble-topped buffet squeezed into my bedroom. But there’s no room in the cottage—or wait. Is there? If I moved Mom’s sewing cabinet to storage and my childhood rocker, maybe it could go next to my bed. But it might crowd the room visually. I called and asked Cindy to measure it, having previously asked her to send a picture so I could share with the kids. She laughs at all this, but I don’t think she understands how serious we all are about my mom’s stuff. So, having done all that, Colin calls and says he might take it. That meant I had to figure out why I had the wrong email address for my oldest child—and re-send the pictures.

Besides, I had another problem on my mind to share with him, and he had momentous news of his own. More on all that later.

As I sat at my desk checking emails, etc., this morning, I was aware that I could hear Sophie breathing. You know that wet sound when a child is all stuffed up? That’s how she sounded. I went back and forth, trying to catch the vet between patients. Finally got him, and he prescribed a new medication that I will pick up tomorrow. Meanwhile Sophie seems some better, but I have seen these temporary resurgences before. I’ll get the medicine tomorrow.

My car is in the shop, mostly for cosmetic repair which really turned out to be repair of damage done by the environment, by commercial car washes, etc.  The shop owner who was detailing it called this morning and said he had to rotate the tires and get an oil filter for it. Then he called this afternoon to say the car has wheel locks and where is the key? I should know? I didn’t even know what wheel locks are, and I sure don’t have a key. Spent some time on the phone tracking down a solution but, as always with a VW, I landed back at the dealership. They will sell me equipment for removing the locked lugs and replacing them. “You can do it yourself,” a cheery voice said. Did she know she was talking to an eighty-year-old woman on a walker? But when I investigated further, asking about having them change out the lugs and rotate the tires, she began to talk about labor charges. Volkswagen is notorious for their labor charges, plus I would have to wait at least an hour and a half while the work is done, since I’m not mobile enough for their shuttle. I opted to pick up the parts and have the same mechanic do it. Please pray that I do not have a flat between now and then.

My left hearing aid won’t keep a charge. I’ve been experimenting with it for days, hoping to pinpoint the problem. I was to see the audiologist at 12:45 tomorrow—until I found out I wouldn’t have my car. I asked to reschedule. Then I found out I would have the car, albeit without tires rotated. I reinstated the appointment. And the hearing aid quit about one o’clock.

To cap the day off, I went to dinner with friends. The Tavern has absolutely the best hamburgers I’ve had in forever, and I enjoyed my meal and the companionship, though it was noisy. Until I realized I came home without my debit card. So add that to my errands for tomorrow.

My brain is still whirling, and I’m tired. No wonder.

A rant and a rave

A day of extremes. Neighbor Mary Dulle went with me, in a Lyft, to get my car from the trim shop. Jordan still doesn’t want me to drive alone, though I think she’s most worried about the getting in and getting out rather than the driving per se. Anyway, Mary was my co-pilot, and she said I done good. I can’t say enough nice things about Joe at West Side Trim—super nice guy.

On the way home, we detoured to CVS to pick up two prescriptions—one for an inexpensive antacid medication and one for gosh-awful expensive eye drops. We went last night, and they weren’t ready. When I got home, I called to sort things out, and they said the one was ready. No telling how it got ready in the five minutes it took us to get home.

A few days ago, they told me since I’m in the dreaded donut hole, the eye drops would be $280. I balked, called the doctor’s office, and was told yes, I need them, but I could find a coupon on the drug’s web page and get them for $50. Found no such coupon but did find one promising 75% savings.

When I asked for the drops today I was told $180 (not sure where we dropped $100) and I said confidently that I had a coupon, which I presented. With the coupon the cost was $500+. It seems the $180 was still with my insurance, while the coupon reverts to the manufacturer’s price. I went with the $180—and the $4 antacid.

Got home to find the eye drop package contained not one but three containers! I didn’t want three, certainly didn’t want to pay for them! Called, and CVS will take the two untouched ones back. Is your head spinning yet? Mine still is.

Tonight’s dinner made up for the angst of the eye drops. Betty, Jean and I went to a funky new place called La Zona/Hotel Madrid. Open only for a month, it’s in an aged building the waiter told us used to be a barber shop, but I think I remember a used car lot. The small interior was literally decorated with broad brush strokes. Tables are long and communal. A full-service bar takes up a large portion of the space.

The menu has a selection of traditional tapas, several pizzas, large shared salads, and three dessert items. Betty and Jean shared a chicken/pesto pizza, but I ordered the marinated white anchovies—a favorite of mine. We split a wonderful salad, the Sophie, three ways—it has apple and avocado, mixed greens, and a good dressing. Betty had the wedding cake for dessert—dressed with an apricot brandy sauce—and I had flan. Good food, fun décor, a bit noisy but bearable.

There’s a large patio that would be great on a cooler night, and a small building where churros are served. I call it one of the more fun additions to Magnolia Avenue.

A whole day spent reading

Sophie at her leisure

This pose always cracks me up, 

but it means that she' feels perfectly safe and relaxed

It’s not quite as decadent as the header sounds. I was not reading Silver Screen and eating bonbons—references that may be too old for many of you but always signified the useless, idle life to me. I was reading a novel, one of four books on my desk to be read for a competition by July 15. I was slow getting started on them, picked up one and couldn’t get into it, feeling daunted by the idea of four books. So I chose a different starting point.

A third of the way in, it dawned on my I’m reading a romance—me, who’s used to the tensions of mysteries. Granted, this is a romance set against WWII in England and could stand more tension, but it’s about people and their feelings and eventually I was hooked. So now I’m avidly reading. Since the contest is involved, I consider this work. Soothes my Puritanical conscience to look at it that way.

I did take one giant leap forward on my own work this morning. Formatted, to the best of my pitiful ability, the manuscript for Contract for Chaos, the next Kelly O’Connell Mystery due out September 20, this year. Submitted it to CreateSpace for publication on Amazon and am awaiting their always helpful critique and suggestions. I think by now I’m an old pro at submissions, but it took me four or five tries before I got the details right. And I don’t even know if I did then.

Also, and this is a biggie, I took my car for the final repair today—gluing the back window to the canvas convertible top. They tell me it probably won’t last. They have to do it on a hot day and stretch the canvas. In winter, when things shrink with the cold, it will pop loose. But I figure by then I’ll know how much I drive and whether or not it’s worth popping for a whole new top. Jordan went with me this morning, because she still doesn’t want me driving alone. The driving part is okay, but the business of getting out of the cottage with walker, to the car, folding the walker, and getting settled to drive still needs practice and work. Baby steps. I’ll get there.

Naughty Sophie! Tonight, I put a piece of good sourdough out to thaw, so I could toast it for my dinner. I made a large batch of salmon dip for two parties over the weekend and was going to have leftovers on toast with asparagus on top. But when I went to fix my supper, the bread was gone. I looked in the toaster oven—no, I hadn’t put it there. Finally, it dawned on me the only possible answer was that I left it too close to the edge of my butcher block, and she got it. She did not have the grace to look one bit guilty.

Going back to my book. ‘Night all.

Last Day of School, and dogs and cars

Maddie's selfie at lunch

Remember when you were a kid what a big deal the last day of school was each year? It made me a bit nostalgic today. Jacob and his buddies got out early and had a pool party. Then there was an after-party at another house. Ah, to be twelve and have life be a series of parties. We’re raising those kids in a bubble I fear.

For my part, it was a lovely day. Jamie and Maddie came to visit. Maddie is my oldest grandchild, just finished with her freshman year at Colorado University. They are the only two people I know who can take two hours to drive from Frisco to Fort Worth (he forgot his wallet, started back home, changed his mind and came on) and then half an hour to get out of their car once it was in the driveway (he was on a business call). But we had a lovely day.

Surprise! They brought a new puppy with them—a nine-week-old Pomeranian named Cosmo. Jamie had the dog that was probably the canine love of his life—Mosby, a chocolate lab. Mosby was a wonderful dog—loyal to Jamie, following him on the cross-country runs he did, but also a family dog who let the girls, when little, roll all over him. Sweet beyond measure, but as he aged he grew arthritic and anxious. Finally, maybe a month ago, they reluctantly helped him cross the rainbow bridge.

Cosmo

But I never thought Jame would get a small dog—they already have one four-pound Smorkie (Yorkie and I forget what else). Jamie explained that it’s a cat thing—he loves cats but won’t have another because of the litter box issue, so having a small dog is like having a cat (not sure I follow that logic, but I’d take the dog any day). All puppies that age are cute, but this one really is adorable. And I was so proud of Sophie—she played with him but after her initial enthusiastic curiosity was gentle. Of course, we gave her lots of extra love and praise,

I confess I had a Jamie list—when I told him that yesterday, he said I didn’t have to fix anything special for him. I told him he misunderstood—it was a “honey do” list—lower my walker, find out why my phone won’t take messages, give Soph her medications, and help me get my car to a place I thought my fix the top.

We had a nice, lazy lunch, and the major outing was to take my car to a trim shop. The back window is loose from its moorings. The VW place recommended an auto glass place they said would repair it in my driveway. Not so. The auto glass place recommended a trim shop in—wait for it! —south Euless, a long way from here. But I dutifully called them and over the phone, sight unseen, a rather brusque woman said I’d need an entire new top. Yikes! Expense plus terrible inconvenience of getting there.

Fortunately, a friend who reads the blog suggested a local detailing shop, and the owner in turn suggested a local trim shop, told me to use his name. So today we saw Joe at Westside Trim, after trying hard to navigate the construction on White Settlement. It’s nearly impossible to get to this place. The verdict is iffy. I can have it repaired at a much-reduced cost, but it probably won’t hold. Still I think that’s what I’ll do.

Nothing would do but we stop at Omaha Army Surplus—a childhood dream place for Jame—and then at Autobahn to investigate a new VW, which I don’t need and can’t afford. Jamie thought I could lease a new one and cover it by the trade-in on mine, but mine though lower mileage, is twelve years old. The salesman said, “I can’t do a trade in. I don’t want to insult you, but ... . “

Now, Jamie and Maddie have gone home, I’ve had a sandwich and washed the dishes, and am ready to read. A great day with people I adore. The only downside? I didn’t get my nap today!

Reubens, friendship, and getting out of the house

 Do you love a Reuben sandwich as much as I do? I make a Reuben dip that son-in-law Christian loves—and yet if you confronted him with sauerkraut (God forbid!) or even a Reuben sandwich, he’d probably turn away. Tonight a friend of forty years came in from Granbury and brought a Reuben casserole because she was worried about my mobility. She apparently often wakes at three in the morning, goes to her computer, and reads my blog first thing. When she read about my “adventure on the floor,” she was horrified and wanted to bring dinner. Betty, my dining out companion and now Linda’s good friend, joined us, and we ate on the deck. A lovely evening. Linda was in Philadelphia when the Pope was and out of three tries got one fairly close up look at him. So we talked about how awe-inspiring he was and is. At the time he was here I truly felt a spirit of good fellowship spreading across the nation, but I fear it has already begun to dissipate. He is so awesome with his love of humanity that I wish we could all carry that feeling in our hearts…and I can’t help but contrast it to American politics today and shake my head in dismay,

My big adventure of the day was to get out of the house and go retrieve my car from Volkswagen where they replaced the battery. I had it jumped last week, and Christian started it a couple of days when I couldn’t, but we let it go one day and it was dead when he went to drive it to Sears. So I took what probably is the more expensive route but the more efficient—I had it towed to Autobahn VW where my car has always been serviced. If we had tried to coordinate having it jumped with having someone available to take to for a new battery, I might have been without a car for a week or more. And until today I didn’t feel capable of doing it. As is, I have towing insurance and a VW discount, so it wasn’t all that bad. And they checked the car. When I called they said it was up in the air now, and I wanted to ask why it was up in the air to have the battery replaced. But I think they check everything with their sophisticated computer system. Since my car was in twice (at some cost) over the summer, I would have been dismayed—and cynical—if they reported problems. But they said all it needed was a new battery. Okay, the car is eleven years old, and I’ve never put a battery in it. Guess it was time.

So tomorrow, the grocery store…and after that, maybe the world. I’m on a roll.

Gratitudes for small successes--or maybe not so small

Today was a different kind of day. That pesky “Check Engine” light on my car had been staring at me for a week, so I finally decided it wouldn’t go away by itself and took the car in. My local car repair shop couldn’t do anything, because the VW people have the computers and equipment to check, and of course they found several niggly naggly things—a purge clamp which necessitated resetting the engine, a headlight out with the harness also burnt out, and torn air pump mounts, whatever that means.

In the meantime I drove home in a 2015 4-door Volvo—lovely and comfortable, and I could probably get very used to it. But I couldn’t change the FM station (it was on a sports station) and when I got back in it, I couldn’t figure out how to increase the a/c fan. I was glad to get back into my bug late this afternoon, even if those niggly naggly things cost over $800. Yikes!

Jacob and I came home from one excitement to another—we went to interview a dog. Years ago my friend Gayla in College Station wanted a dog, and I knew of a collie that needed a home. She asked me to interview the dog—how do you do that? She came up, got the dog, and it was a love match made in heaven. Then Gayla’s neighbor died and she took in Jake, a collie/Aussie mix, who was equally beautiful, loved, and sweet. She lost Eppi a couple of years ago and Jake in May and is finally ready for a dog.

Serendipity: on the neighborhood email this morning, a family was reluctantly giving up their dog because he growled at their infant. He is otherwise the perfect dog—trained, sweet, up to date on shots and flea and tick medication, neutered, comes complete with crate and toys. Jacob, Jay and I went to visit this afternoon and fell in love with him—absolutely a sweetheart. Upshot of all this is Gayla will come tomorrow afternoon and hope to spend some time with Uno (so named because one ear flops and the other stands straight up), then we’ll go to supper, and Thursday morning she’ll take Uno back to College Station. I love stories that work out this way.

Dinner at the Old Neighborhood Grill with neighbors was almost anticlimactic, except Jacob forswore the grilled cheese for the first time ever in favor of a cheese quesadilla.

I read somewhere that having a positive attitude relies on gratitude, and we should practice a month of gratitude for the little things in our lives. I may try it—no I won’t burden you with each gratitude—but tonight I’m grateful for the story of Uno.