A sudden burst of winter

 

Megan's pot of chili

I am not a happy camper now that the temperature is in the low forties. I have been shivering in my boots all day, despite extra layers of clothing and a fleece jacket I refuse to be parted from. Sophie on the other hand is delighted by the weather and begs—uh, demands!—to go outside every minute.

In the proper spirit of Halloween and the arrival of cold weather, Christian made a large pot of chili tonight—does indeed warm the bones. My day was also brightened by talking by phone with my two sons and by text with Megan, who was also making a big pot of chili. In her house, Brandon is the king of chili, but he was out of town, and Megan explained they would need chili tomorrow when the high in Austin is to be in the low forties. Brandon will no doubt have something to say about her usurping his role.

Jamie gave me a Facetime tour of his new apartment in Denver—all glass and modern, in downtown Denver with the South Platte River right outside his window—well, a few stories down. Today it had the added beauty of brand new snow covering everything. I honestly think sometimes that kind of cold feels better than what we are having. Jame says he enjoyed running in it yesterday. Today he too cooked for the weather—not chili but a big pot of soup.

Busy weekend around here. Yesterday Christian went to a watch party for the Baylor game—oops, I haven’t even asked who won. Jordan went to a John Mayer concert in Dallas last night. When I asked Christian this morning if she enjoyed it, he said “Jordan could listen to John Mayer burp for two hours and be happy.” I replied she is one of thousands of women in their forties and fifties. Jordan and Megan have been known to go as far as Chicago for one of his concerts—or was that an excuse to go to Chicago?

I first heard of Mayer several years ago when I was editing a novel by the late Holly Gilliatt. I think the title was ‘Til St. Patrick’s Day, and it was built around a Mayer song by that title. The gist of it was that you don’t want to break up with your significant other in October or November because the holiday season is right ahead and nobody wants to be alone for Thanksgiving or Christmas. And then of course there’s New Year’s Eve, for which it’s essential to have a sweetie, and nobody wants a lonely Valentine’s Day. But St. Patrick’s Day? It’s okay. Nothing special. That’s the time to reassess. Holly tried hard to get permission to quote the lyrics but learned a stiff lesson in the ways of music copyright. I think Mayer agreed but his producers did not. Holly must have been in the early wave of John Mayer fans. I’ve heard a song or two and he’s okay, nice, soft music, but I wouldn’t go to Dallas on a cold night for one of his concerts, let alone Chicago.

Covid has me in its grip still—or the aftereffects do. I cough and sneeze and blow my nose a lot, and I still don’t have much ambition. I did absolutely nothing worthwhile yesterday but did manage to go to church virtually and do some editing today. I am hoping to get back to a real schedule and routine tomorrow. The trick, I keep telling myself, is to stop thinking I’m sick. Today I began to wonder if it might not be better to admit I don’t feel a hundred percent and just take to my bed. But then, of course, I’d be itchy about the things I’m not getting down.

Stay warm and safe everyone. I’m about to go try to convince Soph it’s time to come in for the evening.

The importance of neighbors and a big anniversary for me

 

I'm going home!

This morning I was in that delicious space between thinking about getting up and actually doing it, when my phone rang. Not a familiar number, so I ignored it, although it nagged at me. When I turned on my computer, I found that neighbor Polly Hooper had called because Marissa Shuffield on Weatherbe Street had posted on her neighborhood listserv (next neighborhood over from ours) that a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel had wandered into her back yard. Polly was checking on Jordan’s dogs.

I couldn’t see how “the girls” could have gotten out, but I texted and called, left a message. No response, and I figured since we were snowed in, they were sleeping late. Wrong! Jordan finally called. Their front door blew open in the night (that alone scares me) and the dogs had wandered. Cricket on her little, short legs had gone over two long blocks in the cold, on snow-covered ice. When she called, Jordan had JuneBug and Christian had gone to retrieve Cricket. We are so grateful to Marissa and Polly—“the girls” are tiny and elderly and things could have been a lot worse without neighborly intervention.

"The girls," with Cricket on the left, JuneBug on the right

It was that kind of a week. I almost had a triple whammy—isolation due to covid exposure, ice and snow, and no internet. I had been “talking” to ATT all week, as I posted, and I got truly tired of that mechanical voice telling me to go to the web site when I had just told him I had no connection! Finally, twice, I talked to a real person: first one was a girl who said she cleared the connection, and it should be fine; it was briefly, and then out again. Finally a gentleman believed me that Smart Home Manager, for a monthly fee, was not going to do it. He would send a new router. Meantime, I had no Wi-Fi. It’s one thing to be isolated but quite another to be cut off from what is a rather active internet life. I was even afraid to write much because my computer gave me dire warnings about not being able to save. Who want to labor over a scene and then have it disappear into thin air?

An old trick surfaced in my mind, and I did a hard boot. Magic! It has worked ever since with a few brief interruptions that I was able to fix. I decided a hard boot is like a kick in the pants to the computer.

The ice and snow were pretty, even if I did feel trapped in a white world. We did not lose power, but I hear as many as fifty thousand households across Texas did. When I let Soph out Thursday morning, she left no footprints, so I knew it was ice and sleet. The snow came mid-morning, beginning with large, wet flakes and then becoming tiny, wind-blown ones. I’d eyeball it and say we got an inch. Sophie seemed to like it and spent some time lying on her belly on the patio—I’d have thought she be freezing, but apparently not.

I bet half the households in Texas had chili for supper last night. Christian made a big pot—his chili is always delicious, though he’s constantly looking for new ways to do it. And Jordan made chocolate chip cookies, so we ate well. The night before Christian was to be gone, so I planned to make scratch mushroom soup. But when Jordan heard mushrooms, she asked for stuffed mushrooms the way her grandmother used to do them. So that’s what she and I had for supper. I’m sure Jacob fed himself something else. So now I have a half pound of mushrooms left—trying to decide between a really tiny batch of soup or a frittata. Hemm. There’s that broccoli in the fridge ….

This is an important anniversary for me: five years ago today I got to come home from the rehab unit where I’d gone after my extensive hip surgery. My hip problem was unorthodox—I don’t think the surgeon had seen it before, and he had to invent his repair technic. When a nurse wheeled me down the hall people would look and say, “Oh, you’re ‘the hip.’ Nice to have any kind of fame, I guess. There was some doubt about the extent of recovery. So I am grateful to Dr. Jeffrey McGowan, and to the rehab people for all the progress I made, and I am beyond thankful that I am as mobile as I am (I do need assistance to walk, and I refer to my walker as my chariot). The people at the rehab facility were skilled and kind, but I felt like I was in a nursing home like my grandmother was in when I was a child. I was desperate to be home. So it was a happy day for me.

Chuckle for the day: why would someone post a comment on my blog that is a sales pitch for girls’ hoverboards. Do I look like I would ever get on a hoverboard? I remember one Christmas when all the grandkids got them, and we adults were in danger of being run down by an out-of-control hoverboard. But that was years ago, and I’ve heard nothing about them for a long time.

And the bright idea of the day: a high school in Arkansas has installed a vending machine—it dispenses books. A local bookstore keeps it stocked. When the battle lines over books in schools are so clear, I find this truly cheering.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hoverboard on blog

 

Pictures: five years ago, day pass and home from rehab my beautiful girls

Chili on a chilly night

Jordan has it firmly fixed in her mind that there’s a connection between wintry weather and chili. Let there be the slightest forecast of snow, ice, sleet, even freezing rain, and she issues a call for chili. So far, today’s predicted storm has missed us, though it’s darn cold and damp. In the TCU area, we had a sudden burst of rain early this morning and a slight brush with sleet in the late afternoon. But storm or no, all the chili fixin’s are on my worktable.

Christian usually makes our chili. He’s an excellent cook and, unlike me, studiously follows a recipe. He likes to experiment to the point that I’m not sure he’s used the same chili recipe twice. But Christian is entertaining clients at the rodeo every night this week, so I am the default chili maker.

Me? I just make it the way I always have. No recipe—just onion, garlic, ground meat (I’d love to have chili-grind venison but that is not to be), diced tomatoes, beer, and chili powder. If we need more, I’ll just add some more tomatoes or tomato sauce. Oh, and beans, added just before serving but given enough time to heat.  We like to garnish it with chopped red onion, grated cheddar, and sour cream. Terlingua folks would shake their heads in despair at my chili which violates all kinds of rules.

I do know about Terlingua chili. My neighbor goes to the Original Chili Cookoff every year, even judges some events, and is a chili purist. He has criticized my chili mercilessly, calling it “stew, not chili.” But I can one-up him, because I have written a whole book about chili.

Texas is Chili Country explores the origin of chili—no, it’s not Mexican. In fact, food scholars in Mexico are fairly disparaging of it. Truth is it probably traces back to Native American cooking and the pemmican they made using what they could forage. Today’s Texas chili probably originated at some trail drive chuck wagon where the cook or cousie, as he was called, threw some peppers into the stew. The first public appearance of chili came in the 1880s when the chili queens of San Antonio sold their wares on various plazas in that city.

Chili was sold in solid bricks in the early twentieth century and was popular because it was filling and inexpensive. But it was also damned as the devil’s food in some areas, specifically McKinney, Texas. Then came canned chili. True aficionados denounce canned chili but even chili guru the late Frank Tolbert found a few brands acceptable. The most famous of them all is Wolf Brand, and the fascinating story behind it includes real wolves and the fact that a Spanish-speaking grocer saw the wolf on the label and thought it was dog food.

Chili really came into prominence in this country with the development of cook-offs, a development directly credited to Tolbert, although there had been low-key cookoffs before he planned the 1967 event at Terlingua. You see, Tolbert had a new book, A Bowl of Red, and the first cookoff was a publicity stunt for the book. It was also a circus, with outrageous characters in costume and debatable judging. It's gotten better over the years.

Cookoffs are now big business nationally, with strict entry qualifications—participants must win local contests to qualify. Two rival organizations sponsor annual events—the Chili Appreciation Society International and the International Chili Society. For fifty-four years, the Tolbert family has organized the “Original Terlingua International Championship Chili Cook-off.” The other one, they claim, is a johnny-0come-lately. 

But fully half the book is taken up with recipes that I collected from sources far and wide, and if the Terlingua folks are upset about the beans in my chili, I hope they don’t read these. Cincinnati chili is served over spaghetti; Skyline, an eastern brand that markets several prepared packages, incorporates cream cheese; one recipe includes three kinds of chiles, espresso, dark chocolate, and anchovy fillets among other ingredients. Greaseless chili is for those watching their cholesterol, and Zen chili is for those… uh, with Zen inclinations. You can make white chili, lamb chili, low-cal, vegetarian. And there are recipes for related dishes like chili pie and Coney dogs. There’s no end to the possibilities.

But you know what? Our plain and basic chili tonight was darn good.

Something’s awry in the world

Oh, I don’t mean the big stuff that has obviously gone wrong in our world—impeachment, DACA, Jimmy Carter having brains surgery, all the corruption being revealed, climate change is destroying the planet. It’s enough to boggle the mind, but little things are amiss, I blame it on the cold front.

Yesterday Jordan brought her morning tea out to sit for a minute in the cottage, as she often does. I can tell you precisely when the cold front hit. When she came in and saw me bundled in a sweater and lap robe, in anticipation, she said, “Mom, it’s not cold yet.” When she left my patio doors it still wasn’t cold, but by the time she got to her back door—and, folks, this is not a big back yard—the wind was ferocious, her hair was blowing in all directions, leaves were swirling around her, and she could barely get the big sun umbrella down. For those who haven’t lived in Texas, the answer is yes, that’s how quickly our weather can change when a blue norther blows in.

Last night we were to have happy hour company—parents of a girl Jordan was close friends with in grade school and has re-hooked with in the last couple of years. I always liked the parents, and when Jordan suggested we invite them, I happily agreed. Jordan came out to straighten, as she always does when I’m having “special” company, and then left to get Jacob, asking me to put out some appetizers (we keep a drawer full of cheese, sausage, etc. for happy hour visitors). A little before they were due, I put out crackers in a basket, got out the cheese board, and was just unwrapping sausage and cranberry-coated goat cheese (does that not sound wonderful?), when she called to say they were re-scheduling. So there I was—wrapping cheese and sausage up, storing crackers and hoping they didn’t go stale. And I was all dressed up with no place to go, no one to impress. Christian saved the evening with  pot of chili, so good on a cold night, and the four of us had a happy supper in the cottage.

This morning Sophie began to dance round at, heaven help me! 6:30. I could hear her nails clicking on the wood floor. She was also coughing quite a bit, not unusual for her in the morning. I ignored it for a bit, because the house was chilly—it was 24 outside—and I was cozy in my blankets. Then I decided I’d give her a Benadryl and she’d sleep—wrong! At 7:20, she made it clear she had to go outside. She came right back in, but by eight she wanted to go again, and I gave up, got up.

This morning, when I should have been working, I had to fight with bill collectors. The security system sent me a dunning email, even though I had given them updated automatic deduction information last week. Got that straightened out with a cheerful representative, but it was the long wait until I got to her that frustrated me. Then I had to check the automatic deduction for my household/automobile insurance because the premium has gone up (of course).

All that out of the way, the world looks a little better tonight. It’s still cold, but the sun shone bravely today, and the future of DACA recipients is still uncertain—can you imagine living with that cloud over you?—but Jimmy Carter is recovering, public impeachment hearings begin tomorrow, and we had our usual Tuesday happy hour with neighbor Mary tonight. I told her I hoped she saw it as a compliment that we called it, “It’s just Mary,” and served leftovers—a bit of this piece of cheese and that, some herring left in the jar, a few Parmesan crisps—gosh, they are so good!

And to my credit, I baked the last of the oatmeal cookies, got all the dishes washed, and went through two cooking magazines to pull out the recipes I wanted and throw out the magazines. I need a clear and clean desk. Writing? What’s that?

Winter, chili—and sunshine?

A lifetime in costume jewelry spread out for sorting

We were so prepared for winter last night when it was still ninety degrees. Jordan envisioned chili for dinner, but chef Christian said he refused to cook chili when it was still so hot. Since it was to be rainy and cold today, Jordan ran out and did some grocery shopping yesterday and decreed today would be a stay-at-home-in-your-jammies kind of day. So I had my mind all set for a long, dark and dreary rainy day. Sophie made a hurried trip outside and was back in her crate, where she spent much of the morning gently snoring. A comforting sound.

I spent the morning working at my desk, with my prayer shawl warming my shoulders, even though I had the heat on and kept the patio doors closed. But when I looked up at noon, the sun was shining brightly—still a bit chilly, but so much for rainy and cold. Winter didn’t last very long.

We should be grateful though. In Denver, yesterday, it dropped 64 degrees within 24 hours (naw, there’s no climate change). My oldest granddaughter is in school in Boulder, and her family is visiting her this weekend—I suspect it’s parents weekend or some such. At any rate, I hope they bundled up well.

Tonight, Jordan is getting the pot of chili she wanted last night, but supper will be late. Christian rarely gets home before six and then it takes him a while to make chili. So Jordan unexpectedly busied herself going through old jewelry of mine that had been stashed away. I thought it was from boredom, but it turns out she was looking for an orange necklace to wear to a watch party for the UT/OU game tomorrow. She had already rejected the one orange shirt I own. To my mind, orange is not a flattering color, and I laughed that she thought she would find an orange necklace.

She got caught up in the task, sorting necklaces I haven’t worn in years, earrings without mates, strings of pearls that we couldn’t identify, strange pins that obviously came from clubs or groups of one kind of another. She found three Scottish thistle pins, which she promptly allocated to her sister and Melanie, the Scottish DIL. I don’t suppose I’d wear them, but I thought she might leave me one. She had fun texting her siblings pictures of her finds—a pair of pearl drop earrings elicited from Megan the sarcastic comment that she had been looking for years for a pair just like that. A ring with SAE on it went to Colin—no response yet.

In my working days I was a jewelry freak—big showy necklaces, earrings, and lots of rings. Somehow in retirement I put all that behind me. My hairstyle hides any earrings (I never did successfully pierce my ears and always wore clip-ons), necklaces were just too much trouble, and my fingers seemed to swell so that rings were uncomfortable. Today my fingers are slimmer again, and a friend just urged me to start wearing rings again. Jordan unearthed tonight the old pawn turquoise ring that belonged to her Uncle Bob and that I wore every day. I’m tempted to start wearing it again.

What started as an idle search has now turned into a full-scale obsession. Jordan has gone through several small jewelry boxes, moved on to her home safe, and is talking about looking at the safety deposit box at the bank.

Meanwhile, I’m hungry. Hope the chili is ready soon

Understanding the weather—an impossibility

We did not get the predicted snow flurries or sleet last night, though I understand they showed up east of us. My son Jamie and his family live at the far northeast corner of the Metroplex in Frisco, and I probably live close to the southwestern corner. It’s amazing the difference in the weather we get—theirs is often more severe, and I think they got some kind of precipitation last night. We have another chance, oh joy!, Monday night when wintry weather is forecast.

A couple of patio plants take temporary refuge in my shower when it freezes, and I noticed today that the hydrangea has a bud. We need to put that plant outside where it’s cold and let it re-orient itself to the season!

We did get the perfect dinner last night for a truly cold night—chili. I asked Jordan if I should defrost either chili, left from Christmas, or the kitchen sink soup I’d made. Instead of choosing either, she said, “Maybe Christian will make chili.” And he did. He’s having fun trying different recipes, whereas I always stick to my tried and true. Sometimes Christian prowls through my book, Texas is Chili Country, but yesterday he searched on the web. Some recipes called for chocolate or cinnamon, both of which sounded good to me, but were not in what he ultimately fixed. Whatever it was, it was delicious, and I’ll have leftovers tonight. But I think Christian is usurping my place as the cook in the family. Sometimes I want to yell, “But I want to cook!” Still, I’m delighted he’s having so much fun doing it. Wish Jacob would show an interest in cooking.

Today a quick grocery trip, a pleasant visit with some of Jordan and Christian’s friends—who are also my friends—and I’m back in the cottage, reading more edits for Murder at the Bus Depot. I’ll probably tell this story too often, but credit for the idea behind that novel Post cover on FB, Guppies, etc goes to my friend Linda Preston of Granbury, Texas where they really do have an old, unsolved murder that took place in a bus depot. Some townspeople wanted to tear the old depot down, but Linda, who’s been active in preserving both Granbury history and buildings, held firm and had the depot moved to her property. I’ll have to ask if it’s still there.

Stay warm and safe.

Wintry weather

Cold and wet, a day for soup and chili. I had both today—what a treat. Neighbors Margaret and Dennis took me to the deli for lunch—we all had soup and shared a bottle of wine. Lovely treat at lunch. Good company, soothing food—I was a happy camper and came home to take a nice nap, while Dennis kindly included my groceries on his planned run to Central Market.

Jordan’s back had been bothering her for several days, but she finished it off with a real wrench last night and was incapacitated this morning, to put it mildly. She slowly got better as the day went on but she announced chicken soup or chili would be good for supper, and finally decided on chili. I rescheduled dinner plans and checked my pantry, pulling out two cans of diced tomatoes—only one turned out to be tomato sauce, so I had sauce aplenty but not much tomato (as I reread the recipe I realize it didn’t call for diced tomatoes and I was mentally mixing in my ubiquitous recipe for Doris’ Casserole). Chili is forgiving, and it was good anyway. Margaret and I talked about what we put in chili, and I forgot to tell her the essential ingredient: beer.

Not too many years ago, I wrote a book on chili, its history, the chili festivals—the big ones were held just last week in Terlingua, and lots of recipes ranging from the ridiculous to the really hot and complicated. I included my own recipe, which is also in my memoir/cookbook, Cooking My Way Through Life with Kids and Books.

I call my chili Judy’s mild and tentative chili—no chiles, etc. but you can embellish it as you wish. And, yes, I put beans in my chili. Heresy, I know. Here’s the basic recipe.

Judy’s mild and tentative chili

1 lb. ground beef

Enough oil to sauté onion, garlic and beef

1 medium onion, chopped

2 cloves garlic, chopped

1 8-oz. can tomato sauce

1 cup beer

4 tsp. chili powder or to taste

½ tsp. Tabasco (optional)

2 tsp. salt

2 c. canned beans, rinsed (I prefer pintos)

Note: the diced tomatoes didn’t hurt; go ahead and add them if you wish.

Brown onion and garlic; add hamburger and cook until all pink is gone. Add everything else except beans and simmer for 60 to 90 minutes. Stir occasionally, and add more beer as needed (you’ve got that open warm beer anyway). Taste and add more chili powder as needed. Add beans and heat just before serving.

My family likes to top it with crushed saltines (in your hand, of course), chopped purple onion, and grated cheddar.

Should you be interested, here are some handy buy links (I’m operating on the theory that one should never miss an opportunity to hawk one’s books).

Texas is Chili Country, https://www.amazon.com/Texas-Chili-Country-History-Recipes/dp/089672946X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1510193157&sr=1-1&keywords=Texas+is+Chili+Country+Alter&dpID=617midHQgsL&preST=_SX218_BO1,204,203,200_QL40_&dpSrc=srch

Cooking My Way Through Life with Kids and Books, https://www.amazon.com/Cooking-through-Books-Stars-Texas/dp/1933337338/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1510193215&sr=1-1&keywords=Cooking+My+Way+Through+Life+with+Kids+and+Books&dpID=51CkxYqaq0L&preST=_SX218_BO1,204,203,200_QL40_&dpSrc=srch

Time for chili

There’s a definite fall tinge in the air, a touch of cool in the early morning and even by early evening. I’ve taken to shutting my patio door except in the middle of the day, and I’ve finally mastered turning on the heat so I can take the morning chill off. In the wee hours this morning, we had a storm with good rain and truly impressive thunder. It was okay, because I was protected by one small, black dog who first barked at the thunder to scare it away and then slept right by me to keep me safe.

As we say in Texas, it’s chili weather. Fitting that Christian fixed chili tonight—a recipe he cobbled together from this one and that. I gave him one from the New York Times that is really complicated. Billed as a combination of chili and gumbo—the combination made me curious. Christian said he didn’t have time to do it tonight, and he couldn’t find the one from my book he wanted to do. It’s Dan Hogan’s chili, and I swear it has everything in it but the proverbial kitchen sink. What Christian made, his cobbled together version, was good and hearty with just enough spice. He complained he couldn’t find his red pepper flakes; I told him I was just as glad.

In case you all didn’t know, I did a book on chili a few years back. Texas is Chili Country is a history of the dish—no, it’s not from Mexico, an attribution Mexicans consider an insult. It began in the cow camps of West Texas. And no, it doesn’t have beans (Christian’s had beans tonight, and truthfully, I like them).  A lengthy chapter discusses the two chili cookoffs, which are about to take place next weekend in Terlingua, along with the reason that remote spot was chosen. This year is the fiftieth anniversary of the original chili cookoff, started as a publicity stunt by the legendary Frank Tolbert and his sidekick, Wick Fowler. It was more hijinks than serious, but these days chili is serious business—at least in the original cookoff. Not so much at the CASI cookoff. Chili cookoffs are not for amateurs—you have to win local contests to qualify. Anyway, you can read all about it.

And then you can prowl through pages and pages of chili recipes—seems everyone on the planet has their own recipe. These days you can cook fat free chili, vegetarian chili, chili with turkey and other meats alternate to the beef that started the whole thing. Fascinating what peple come up with. Shhh. Don’t say I said it, but chili is one of those dishes you can cook blindfolded without a recipe.

Pardon the sales pitch, but you can find the book on Amazon or from Texas Tech Press

Aside from the hearty chili and an interesting dinnertime discussion of childbirth with Jacob, it was a long Sunday. I so often have a much better social life during the week than on weekends, and sometimes long Sundays lull me into speaking out on Facebook among other things. I did today and found myself embroiled in several discussions. To my delight, my Megan chimed in a couple of times but once it was to second someone’s suggestion that I clear myself of haters. I think it’s a Facebook thing—people I know are not on my “Friends” list respond. Someone suggested they are bots—something else for me to learn about. At any rate, I continue to speak out because I think it’s important. Misused as the term is these days, I think speaking out about our government is patriotic (45 wouldn’t agree).

I did it! I cooked a meal!

Okay, Jordan helped—plus she did most of the dishes. But I really did cook our main—and only—dish. It was a pork and white bean chili recipe that I found in prowling through recipes. It was relatively easy with few ingredients—ground pork, cannellini beans, chicken broth, cumin, salt, green chilies (a poblano chile was optional and we optioned to omit it). On serving, you sprinkled it with shredded Monterrey Jack and lime juice. I bypassed the cheese, but the lime juice makes an enormous difference. We definitely decided the recipe is a keeper, and I did most of the cooking—Jordan did the stirring, adding broth and beans as needed.

For me, a big part of the satisfaction I got was in standing up to cook—and I did. I’m intimidated by weaning myself from my walker, and I am often hesitant to walk because my legs and low back ache—a result, I’m sure, of changes in my structure from wearing the walking boot. I think it’s getting better but it’s slow. So I’m proud of what I did tonight. I try to stand and walk as much as I can, but I realize it’s not enough.

A good day. I had a guest blog on my mind for 24 hours—I knew how it was going to work out, and I thought it would be one of those times when writing is sheer joy. When the words flow, and it just pours out. Not at all how it worked out—each word came like pulling teeth. And it was a subject I am really interested in—the history of the Ferris wheel—an astounding story. The original and only genuine Ferris wheel could carry 38,000 passengers a day. I know enough about writing to know that simply having gotten the draft done I accomplished a lot. The easy part will be tomorrow going back to polish.

So tomorrow I go back to it again—polishing, choosing what I’m writing, studying what to write next. I do it because writing is what I choose to do with my life, and it’s a great life.

The debate? Yes, I’ve got it on. I find Trump subdued tonight, but he goes for the old debate trick: when accused, turn the accusation to your opponent.

A big step forward

Tonight for the first time since my back, leg and balance began bothering me so badly I cooked a family dinner, even tried a new recipe. Granted, I had a lot of help from Jordan, but I got the greens washed for salad, broccoli washed and in the steamer, and made the entrée—chicken breasts in an herbed cheese sauce.

We had a long happy hour before supper—Subie, Phil, Jay, and Jordan’s two friends from Lily B. Elementary, mothers of Jacob’s “besties.” Amy, one of the mothers, brought me a gift of three packages of Boursin, which was just what I needed for the sauce. I had been going to use herbed goat cheese, but this Boursin with garlic and herbs was perfect. Lemon juice, chicken broth, oregano, basil, tarragon and a bit of flour also went into the sauce. My sous chef (Jordan) misunderstood and dumped the flour into the skillet before I was ready but I just hurried and put the broth in—worked fine. Sauce was divine. I really don’t like chicken much unless it has some kind of sauce because it tends to be so dry. Jacob, predictably, didn’t like it at all.

I had to stop and sit for a while several times, but it felt good to cook a meal, instead of the thrown-together things I’ve been fixing myself. And I did some housework today—principally laundry, which taught me I cannot fold towels as neatly as Jordan does. A lot of things that we do without thinking to keep house become complicated when you have a cane in one hand—it takes me two trips to get my breakfast banana and tea from the kitchen to my office.

Next on my list: a big pot of chili. The chili book is doing well, getting lots of attention, and it inspires me to fix some of my own “Mild and Tentative Chili.” Of course, it has beans in it, and chili-heads will tell you real chili does not have beans. At the sanctioned cook-offs, no beans or any kind of filler is allowed. There goes chili mac and a Shanghai Jimmy’s chili on rice.

But first I have to make a cheeseball and cranberry relish for Thanksgiving dinner at my brother’s. Project for my lazy Saturday tomorrow.

Sophie apparently enjoyed happy hour too much. Jordan urged us all outside because it’s going to get very cold tonight and was still pleasant at five. We should enjoy the pleasant evening while we could. She made a couple of trips to put food on the deck table and found Sophie, totally on the table, eating cheddar/jalapeño popcorn. She thinks she got to her before she ate much, but quietly, after others had left, she warned me to be alert to digestive problems on Sophie’s part. Oh good, something to look forward to. So far, however, she is exhausted from playing with three other dogs and is sleeping peacefully at my feet.

Sweet dreams, y’all. Don’t even think about cheddar/jalapeño popcorn!

Back to work--hooray!

My writing has sort of been in limbo--oh, I read proof on a reprint of my historical novel about Jessie Benton Frémont (a really interesting story in my mind) and I wrote several guest blogs, but I was treading water. Saturday night I got the first edits back on my novel about the Gilded Age in Chicago--titled now "The Gilded Cage." I plunged in last night and worked at it today. Can't tell you what fun it is to get back into a novel, shaping it, thinking changes through, etc. The editor's comments make so much sense and make the novel so much better--I'm moving ahead with enthusiasm and looking forward to continuing to work on it, though I do have to snatch time for other things.
But I have a busy summer coming up--watch soon for an announcement that Jessie is available on e-book, and I will have the chili book--Texas is Chili Country--in November. When Texas Tech

wrote me about a book booth at the Annual Frank Tolbert/Wick Fowler Original Chili Cookoff in Terlingua this fall, I got wildly excited. I've always been intrigued by Terlingua. I emailed my neighbor who goes every year, and it took him days to reply which made me nervous--he didn't want my company (his wife had already said it's a guy thing and after one or two times she didn't go).
Finally several days later Jay sat me down with a glass of wine and said, "I don't think it's appropriate." Well, of course, that got my dander up! I'm not prudish spinster lady--I can take a little rough and rowdy (truth be told, I probably can't--I don't like it). But his explanation was that it's rough terrain with uncertain footing. Amenities almost don't exist--a mediocre motel some distance away (how would I get my afternoon nap?) and port-a-potties on site, which it would be difficult for me to get to since my footing is uncertain on perfectly flat bare concrete. He dampened my enthusiasm but gently, and TTU Press was completely understanding (I doubt they know much about Terlingua).
The other day at physical therapy, I heard the physical therapist say to another client something about "it's all about chili and beer, which doesn't sound like much fun, and it's way out someplace in West Texas."
"Terlingua?" I asked. He said yes, he thought that was it, and bless his heart he got a long lecture on Terlingua and chili and more than he ever wanted to know.
But I can see some minor cook-offs in my future as the book is published.
Back to my busy summer--there will be a new novel this fall--I'm just not at this point sure which one or when. But I love having all these projects on my desk. So blessed in retirement.

Chili for supper, photo op, and good times

Frito  pie

Good thing it turned chilly over the weekend--no pun intended, but I fixed chili for some friends tonight. Actually the whole dinner was a photo op for my forthcoming (2015) chili book. The appetizer, which almost became the first course, was Frito pie. Everyone raved and ate so much that they didn't have much room left for the entrée. Son-in-law Christian came in after supper and demanded, "Who brought chili pie? I love it!" When I said I made it, he said, "I wish I wasn't already so full." Good on him for recognizing and honoring that feeling.
Jay Mitiguy (you know, my handsome neighbor), who is becoming sort of the unofficial photographer for this book, was here and took pictures, some with my newly rediscovered camera and some with his iPhone. Jordan couldn't find the pictures on my camera, but Jay sent what he took and they are wonderful and clear. I also served a black-eyed pea relish that someone had given me--it was really good but much out-shadowed by the Frito pie.

The main course was white chili. When the editorial board of the press met, one member wanted to know why there was no white chili in the book. I pointed out to the director there were four recipes--chicken and turkey. For tonight I fixed a version with chicken and cannellini beans--not much broth, but the chicken was tender and the flavor was great. Not too many leftovers, so they went home with Christian. I saved the Frito pie leftovers in case Jacob would eat them--he's here for the night because there's no school tomorrow (Columbus Day).
Jay, who judges at Terlingua, is a chili purist. He called my personal chili recipe a flavorful stew of beef and beans but not chili. I dreaded to think what he would call this and he said no, he'd had white chili and liked it. At the table, though, he couldn't resist saying, "It's really good stew." Purists of course brook no beans in their chili. This was an easy, low cal recipe.
You just can't have chili without cornbread, but I really ran amuck here. I used a really easy recipe for sweet cornbread--1 cup cornmeal, 1 cup flour, 2/3 cup sugar, 3-1/2 tsp. baking powder, 1 cup milk, and 1 egg. Spray a nine-inch cake pan, scrape in the batter, and bake at 400 for 20 minutes or more. Easy, right? Now I consider myself a seasoned cook but for some unknown reason, the first time I made this I had the oven on broil--cornbread had a lovely brown top but the inside was mushy. Had to make a second batch, but it was really good. I'm well aware that the chili pie and cornbread have "bad" ingredients--although corn chips aren't bad except maybe for sodium but cheese, sugar, etc.--and the chili was healthy--nothing but chicken, beans, onion, chicken broth, and seasonings. What bothered me? There was nothing green with the meal. Didn't seem to bother anyone else.
Dessert? Why ice cream, of course, with a great dark chocolate, salt and caramel sauce one of the guests brought. A feast--and a delight of company. Two of my guests were temporarily without wives, their wives being elsewhere engaged. I invited Jay because I knew he was alone, but I wondered how he'd like my hard-core liberal friends, conservative that he is. He was charming throughout the evening and we steered away from politics. Conversation ranged from religions--one of my guests is a retired Episcopalian priest, his wife and Jay are both fallen away Catholics--to chili and Terlingua and on to all sorts of other topics. What a joy to cook for these people and be surrounded by good friends. Happy Sunday night, y'all. Now I have a sweet eight-year-old (mostly sweet) to spend the night with me.

Chili and dogs--but not chili dogs

 

A little exercise makes anyone friends

Got a draft of a contact in the mail today for my book, tentatively titled Texas is Chili Country, from Texas Tech University Press--and a deadline of November 30. So I'll be busy from now till then, although the book is written and just needs fine tuning. Illustrations are another matter. I'm sure it will all work out, but it means I leave Susan Hogan in mid-crisis in the sequel to The Perfect Coed. No spoilers here--I won't describe the crisis. Perhaps I'll go back to it revitalized, except I was already pretty excited about what I wrote yesterday. I have enjoyed working with TTU before and this project has been a long time in the making, so I'm glad to see it coming to fruition. I'm already busy collecting images, etc., and have planned a chili supper for this weekend.
Good news on the dog front. The vet gave the okay for Sophie and Luke to run and play in the back yard "at this point in the treatment." I didn't even explore what lies ahead, but they ran, played, chased each other until they were quiet and good when they came in this morning. Late this afternoon, some of their eagerness for play was definitely diminished. But in the midst of it, they do sound like they're killing each other, and Sophie barks like an old fishmonger wife scolding her husband.
In addition, Lewis Bundock, who keeps my house together, promises to come tomorrow and make the fence escape proof with more rebar and some wire. Such a relief if I can let Luke outside without fearing he'll escape. Eventually I can let both of them out, which will be good for them and great for my sanity.
And, finally, still worried about the snapping incidents, I connected with another trainer who said aggression correction was not part of her program and recommended someone else. I called that person this morning and talked to her. Next to my vet, she was the most reassuring person I've talked to about this dog. Yes, the cone or collar he was wearing contributed but the main thing she stressed was that this dog has been through amazing trauma--stray, shelter, surgery, vet clinic. He's an emotional mess, so insecure. It will take at least a month, maybe longer, for him to settle in and be sure that he's safe in a stable home. And kids and dogs, she said, are a bad combination. We need to teach Jacob how to approach the dog. Made me realize we need to stop thinking of this whole thing from our point of view and think of the dog's view.
Jacob said tonight that he thought he'd get used to Luke. Tomorrow I'll tell him what we have to worry about is not that but getting Luke used to Jacob.
All in all I'm feeling optimistic tonight. And went with friends to have wonderful barbecue for lunch at a local place where we sat on the patio--beautiful day!
Okay, back to chili.