Rain and company and dogs

 

Kegan (left) and Colin in Fayetteville, Arkansas.
Kegan is visiting the University of Arkansas.
I love the angle of this picture--and the view.

Rain gauges all over the city probably varied, but I heard we got anywhere from three to five inches of rain yesterday. It was, to my delight, an all-day, rolling thunder kind of rain—sometimes fairly heavy, sometimes slower so that it would soak in. The sun never peeked at us, and sometimes it was as dark as evening. I wouldn’t want a steady diet, don’t think I could live in the Pacific Northwest, but occasionally, such a day is a welcome break. The wonderful Zenaida cleaned my cottage, I did some cooking, and had a great nap—rainy days inspire naps! Yesterday, I outdid myself—my afternoon nap was followed by a long evening nap, from nine to eleven. I then spent over an hour looking at dog pictures and went to bed at twelve-thirty. Had the best, soundest sleep in forever.

About five-thirty yesterday my friend Katie made her way up the soggy driveway, reporting that traffic was a mess, she was wearing her old clothes and no make-up, and she was wet. It’s lovely to have friends who know they can come to your home without fussing over their appearance. I didn’t invite Katie to look at her and how she was dressed, but to talk to her and pick her mind. And pick I did the minute she walked in. She’s knowledgeable about plants so I thought she could tell me what my great yellow wildflowers are. She said she thought—wait a minute? Thought? She wasn’t certain? —they were cosmos. We looked at cosmos online, and it comes in many forms, so it’s easy to say that’s what I have. That’s my story from now on. I had already identified the coreopsis tucked in next to the taller cosmos.

Our talk was not limited to gardening, though we did touch on composting—which her grandson is doing. I said I don’t care if we ever use my compost as fertilizer—I’m just glad not to be throwing all those scraps into the trash and eventually the landfill. It’s remarkable to me how much composting is lessening my footprint on the earth. Speaking of fertilizer, though, I did read a neat hint today: when potting a new plant, put a raw egg on a small bed of dirt in the bottom of the pot. It will disintegrate and is wonderful fertilizer. Also save the water when you boil eggs—it’s rich in calcium and good for your plants.

As usual, Katie and I caught up on grandchildren and talked a lot about dogs and some about the Episcopalian church in Fort Worth—she is the assistant to the bishop. Katie is also an activist, so we did discuss politics, especially local—there’s one onerous Republican official whose ears should have been burning. Somehow, we missed the news of the day which seems historic to me now: the bipartisan passage in the House of the three separate foreign aid bills. It’s almost like Speaker Mike Johnson, who had been castigated by many for refusing to bring such a bill to the floor, pulled a rabbit out of a hat and became a magician. However he did it, my hat’s off to him, although I know we have vast political differences. Like most of us, I was anxious to get supplies and help to Ukraine, though I have my doubts about how much we should continue to support Israel, and I know little of the Taiwanese situation, less about TikTok. I do know however that the bipartisan effort was significant and a resounding defeat for trump and his MAGA supporters of Putin.

It being the weekend, I did cook: last night we had a combination of chopped chicken, mushrooms, green onion, and cream cheese baked in crescent roll dough and served with a tossed salad, with a store-bought blueberry pie for dessert—the latter was a sudden impulse buy and now I’m left wondering what to do with all that pie. Tonight I made a baked goat cheese dip—so rich and so good—when dear friend Betty and her daughter, Dana, came for an early happy hour. Another joyous visit, this with a lot of cooking talk, with Dana paying tribute to her mom for all she taught her. Later in the evening, Christian grilled his terrific hamburgers for us. Are we spoiled?

Much of my weekend has been devoted to the study of dogs. Colin and Lisa went to meet the dog I thought sounded just right and reported that he was calm, sweet, easy with new people—all good, but they sensed health problems. I texted the owners that if they met certain conditions—a health certificate, long overdue neutering—I would take the dog. I have not heard from them, so I guess that’s a no, and I am back to looking at endless pictures of available dogs. Picked out a couple to call about tomorrow. This dog business is a huge problem for me, and I want to settle with a new companion. Patience is not my strong suit, and I do not like being without a dog. For one thing, I’ve taken to setting my alarm system at night.

Another week, and I have much I want to get done. I bet you do too. Sweet dreams.

What I ate today—or how boring is that?

Sauerkraut skillet supper tasted a lot better than it looked.
Besides, I forgot the picture until I'd eaten half the sausage.
But it's here for the algorithms

Sometimes I feel, especially on dull days of which there are a lot, that this blog deteriorates into “and then I did this …. And then I did that … and then I ate that.” Especially the “what I ate” part because so much of my focus seems to be on food. But tonight I have to say I nailed it with a dish that I cooked off the top of my head, with suggestions from an anonymous friend who apparently wrote me a note about it.

When I was a child, my mom made a skillet supper of ground sausage and apples. I remember liking it a lot. But when I tried to duplicate it recently, it didn’t work. The dish had no cohesion, nothing held it together. It was just two separate things cooked in the same skillet. Along the same line, my brother’s ex-wife used to caramelize sauerkraut—I can see her yet with a sugar bowl in her hand, patiently shaking a bit at a time into the skillet, while turning the kraut endlessly—it was wonderful to us, two kids whose German mother despised sauerkraut and never ever served it. I didn’t taste it until I was grown and out of the house. But we could never duplicate what John’s ex did.

Recently I came across a recipe for a sausage, apple, and sauerkraut skillet supper. I must have mentioned it to someone because I have some notes about how someone else did it. Meantime, Mary V. who comes for supper occasionally and is a willing subject for my experiments—she told Jordan tonight that she really enjoys dinners of all the things my kids won’t eat—was scheduled for supper. I wrote and asked if she eats sauerkraut (sometimes it is best to ask these things ahead of time rather than have an unpleasant surprise). She wrote back that she loves sauerkraut. But then weather interfered—the night she was to come was one of those when it got down to ten degrees, and she didn’t want to venture out. I was left with a lb. container (a plastic tub, not a glass jar) of kraut in the fridge, and four lovely plump veal and pork sausages in the freezer.

Our schedules didn’t mesh, and tonight, almost three weeks later, we had the skillet supper. Here’s what I did: I browned two sausages in plenty of butter in the skillet and then added thinly sliced onion, peeled apple slices (I think they were McIntosh), and several forkfuls of drained (but not squeezed) sauerkraut. I poured white wine over all and stirred in about two Tbsp. dark browns sugar. I started to simmer this with the lid on but realized all that liquid needed to cook off if things were to caramelize, so I set the lid aside. And that’s exactly what happened—after about half an hour on a 220^o burner (knowing the temperature is an advantage of an induction hot plate), the liquid was gone and the kraut, apples, and onions nicely caramelized. I turned it off, put the lid on, and let it sit.

Mary arrived, Jordan came out to drink a glass of wine, and we visited. Finally I turned the burner on for about ten minutes and served supper. (Jordan left at this point lest the kraut jumped out of the pan at her.) The caramelized things were terrific, the sausage mild and good with a bit of Dijon. I think maybe Mary liked it better than any supper I’ve given her, and I liked it a lot myself. When I was heaping apples and onions and kraut into the skillet, I thought I was making enough for Coxie’s Army and would have leftovers no one wanted, but they do cook down dramatically, and between the two of us we ate it all. So that’s what I ate.

A word about gratitude—and groceries. Every week I place a fairly lengthy order to be delivered from Central Market (you have no idea how I long to be able to shop there in person). This Saturday, as I was unpacking five paper sacks and thinking what a boring, exasperating chore it was, I suddenly realized how many people in this world would feel so blessed to have so many groceries. My attitude changed immediately. And so tonight, I am grateful for the good food we ate, the company of friends with whom I often dine, and the comfort of my cottage.

May you all enjoy good meals and the bounty of God’s blessings.

The Perils of Isolation

A friend came to visit today, bringing a delicious zucchini muffin and some goodies, plus her pleasant company. But she’s soft-spoken, and I kept asking her to repeat or speak up. Finally she whirled on me and said, “Did you know that if you don’t wear your hearing aids,  you run a greater chance of dementia?” I went and put my hearing aids in. I know that if you take them in and out it’s hard for the brain to adjust, but dementia? I chewed on that all afternoon and decided that it’s because –and a if you don’t wear them, you can’t hear and are therefore isolated from what’s going on around you. You have no stimulation—and a brain without stimulations atrophies.

Being housebound as I am for now, I don’t have much stimulation from the outside world, except the newspaper, TV, and Facebook. Sometimes it’s hard for me to blog about much except what goes on in my own life—and that can make for fairly dull reading. “And then I did this….and then I did that.”

But I am fortunate that I have visitors—today there was that morning visit from a friend; the woman who has cut my hair for probably the last 15 years and of whom I’m very fond, made a house call to give me a much-needed haircut. And another friend brought me chicken soup for supper and stayed to visit over a glass of wine. I am beyond grateful for these visits. Now I’m waiting for Jordan, Jacob and Christian to arrive—it’s Jacob’s 10^th birthday and they’ve been to Joe T.’s for a festive dinner but stopping here on the way home because I still have the birthday present. I was sad not to be at the dinner, but it would have been hard to get me in and out of the car and restaurant, and if I sat outside for almost three hours I’d have been really weary.

Tomorrow I see the trauma reconstructive orthopedic surgeon, one who specializes in ankles. Jordan, John and Cindy will go with me. To say I’m apprehensive, would be to understate the case. But I will keep you all posted. And would appreciate a word or two of prayer.

Lovely weekend--and a rant

Potatoes with dirt clinging to them became wonderful mashed potatoes
Jordan is magic

Plenty of company this weekend, which delights me. Jordan, Christian, and Jacob were here for Friday night supper. Jordan has taken to setting a proper table--another thing that delights me. We had mashed potatoes—from my neighbor’s garden—and chicken sausage with a green salad. Saturday Sue and Teddy brought sandwiches and stayed for lunch and a visit—I so appreciate them. Sat.. night after Jacob’s birthday party at Main Event, Jordan, Christian and SuperDave were here for supper---chicken fingers and potato salad. We sat and talked so late that I didn’t get a blog done. When you’re a prisoner in your own house, you really don’t have that much to say anyway. Tonight Jordan is coming for supper while Christian works on their yard. He’s put so much effort into restoring where the foundation work destroyed. And tomorrow we’re back in the regular week.

Big on my mind is my appointment with the trauma reconstructive surgeon on Tuesday—I fully expect him to say surgery and soon, with screws and plates. Really really dread this but you do what you have to do. And I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in a wheelchair or scooting backwards on a walker. Last night I happened to read a warning label on the walker that says, “Do not move Rollaater while seated,” which of course is exactly what I’ve been doing. I tell myself that’s for the elderly who might fall out of it. I’m actually getting pretty good at maneuvering the thing.

I do have something to say tonight, in spite of my housebound status. I am out of patience with people who post on Facebook that Obama is a sleeper for Isis, he is a Muslim, and his sole goal is to destroy the USA. His record certainly indicates that he wants destruction—NOT. I feel sorry for these people. They must live with blind hate and prejudice. One even asked of we could do a citizens’ arrest. Good luck with that.

President Obama receives many more accolades that he does accusations. I have seen the idea floated that he will go down in history as one of our great presidents, and I’m all for it. I’m not good at listing accomplishments, but I do know that the country and individuals are in much better shape than when he took office almost eight years ago. And more secure. If he wanted to destroy us, he certainly waited until the eleventh hour. I refer you to this web site: http://www.washingtonmonthly.com/magazine/march_april_2012/features/the_incomplete_greatness_of_ba035754.php

He is also one of the most sincere, genuine people I’ve had the privilege to observe. Look at the pictures of him with young kids. Does that look like a sleeper for Isis.

My opinion is that he and his family are a class act, a role model for families, and we are blessed to have him for a leader. Give up the hate, those of you who harbor it, and ask what you can do for our country as we move into a new administration.

Ankle Report

 If you’re interested, I think my ankle, foot, leg or whatever is gradually getting better. The foot is still swollen but not near as much and not as red. I can briefly put weight on it now without the excruciating pain of a week ago. Still can’t walk on it except maybe two steps holding on to something, so I scoot around the house on the seat of my walker, using my feet to propel. It’s awkward because the walker is designed to go the other direction, but I am getting pretty good at going through the house backward.

It’s not entirely foolproof. The chair can move a bit, and one night as I aimed for it getting out of bed, it moved and I was left hanging between bed and walker. Couldn’t pull myself up so I decided the only thing to do was go down and sit on the floor. If I had to call for help, so be it. Lo and behold, a major accomplishment—I got myself back up, even using my sore foot. I’ve learned to use the basket for all kinds of things—except drinks. Not only have I spilled two glasses of wine, but one morning I put my tea in the basket and it must have splashed, because I yelped and thought something had stung me. It was the hot tea.

We’ve developed a nice routine.  I’m home alone with Sophie during the day, though weekdays Lewis Bundock, the contractor, is in and out, and he lets Sophie out for me (today she didn’t go out until 5:00 p.m.). About 4:30 Jordan and Jacob arrive, and soon after I have anywhere from one or two other people to a houseful. Tonight there were three children and eight adults, including Jordan and me. These visits tire me out so that I usually sleep well.

No word on the MRI yet but when people ask how much longer I have to have the boot I say I suppose until I can walk on it. I’m afraid of getting addicted to the walker because I’ve noticed a lot of other small problems don’t worry me—my tremor isn’t as bad, I don’t fear falling (except off the walker).

I’ve both let a lot of housekeeping go and relied far too heavily on Jordan to do other chores. She’s arranged for a private duty care person to come and stand by while I shower twice a week. I admit it’s a great comfort to have someone there, handing me towels, etc.

I sleep a lot, but today I got high behind—sorted my entire appetizer folder of recipes (believe me it was thick) and read 190 pages of a book I’m reading for a competition. So it was a profitable day. Hope tomorrow turns out as well. 

I think I’ve been through depression and cabin fever and come out on the other side. Most of the time, I’m relatively content with my days—but I will be glad to be mobile again. Meantime, life is good.

KIds, dogs, and good times

My house is alive with laughter and shouts and pandemonium tonight. At various times there have been seven adults, five grandchildren, and four dogs. The kids have played ball in front to the point of exhaustion, the dogs have hesitantly gotten acquainted with each other--each of us protective of our own dog(s), and the adults have occasionally risen above the clamor to have a civilized conversation over wine. Dinner was the most haphazard that's ever been served in my house--Colin arrived at three, went down the street to get pizza because he hadn't fed his children lunch; Jordan arrived at 4:30 and put out cheese, crackers, and hummus because Subie and Phil came by to see the kids--I think I scared Phil out of bringing his guide dog. Jamie arrived about 5:30, bringing food from Ernesto's. I didn't want any of that, so Colin went to Railhead and got me a chopped beef sandwich, and ribs for Jamie and himself. I knew in advance there was no sense trying to cook a family meal and seat us all at the table--Jamie and Colin ate their BBQ standing at the kitchen counter. So many many days I miss my parents but today I was glad they weren't here to see their grandchildren's idea of a meal.
The occasion is Jacob's ninth birthday tomorrow. There will be a swimming party at eleven and supper at five--I am bowing out of the swimming party and will pretty much have a quiet day at home. We are missing the Austin branch of the family and their absence--with two more boy cousins--leaves a whole, but they are enjoying Brandon's 25th reunion at Dartmouth.
Colin has now gone to take all five children to Jordan's house to spend the night. We were surprised the older girls (Maddie 16 and Eden 12) wanted to go but they did. I will admit that a nice peacefulness settled over the house when they left. But I will welcome them back tomorrow night.
There's something indescribably wonderful watching these children play together, considering they range in age from sixteen to eight. Maddie, who has often said she wants to work with children, has always been wonderful with each new cousin that came along, and each thinks he's her favorite. She's in that twixt and tween stage-part adult, having driven her own bright red jeep over here from Frisco, and yet playing as hard as any of them. I am not in touch with any cousins, so I marvel at the tight bond between all these children--and pray it holds as they grow.
Someone asked Jacob the other night if he was an only child, and he said, "I have cousins."
It's one of those times when I feel my cup runneth over and all the things that worry me about our world are temporarily banished from my mind.