It’s Christmastime in the city

 

Lovely evening tonight. Jean picked me up and we went to Trinity Terrace, the high-rise retirement community where she lives. In the formal dining room, we met longtime special friend, Jeannie Chaffee, and the three of us gabbed and gossiped hrough dinner, covering everything from TCU’s football record to Harry and Meghan’s documentary. Nice that we are all pretty much on the same page on these subjects—TCU priorities are out of whack for a university and higher echelons salaries are an embarrassment compared to faculty and staff salaries at all levels. Meghan and Harry should be ashamed of themselves for dishing on the monarchy—they seem to want the privileges without the obligations, and they need to be told firmly they can’t have it both ways. Telling dirty secrets is really low life.

I had Caesar salad with salmon for supper—we haven’t had salads lately at home, for whatever reason. Perhaps we are all busy, perhaps there’s always a catastrophe, like the leaning Christmas tree, but I was all set for a huge salad tonight—and that’s what I had. Enough in the fridge for my lunch tomorrow.

After supper, Jean drove me on a tour of Christmas lights. We went through my neighborhood where displays were spotty—there were some over-the-top displays, some totally dark houses, and some sort of halfway efforts. I pointed out to Jean that we have some elderly residents who have lived here for decades and are now probably without the energy to string lights. I remember past years when the lights were more uniform and much more imaginative—or am I just getting old and letting nostalgia distort my memory? Proud to say that Christian’s efforts on our house are the best and stand out on a mostly dark street. (Plus tonight when I came home, I saw that he had covered some of the plants, including my herb garden).

But the prize for spectacular light displays goes to Cook Children’s Hospital with the most lavish lighting I’ve seen—trees are bathed in rotating red, green, and gold, teddy bears and rabbits and hobby horses sparkle with lights, and Santa himself is there with a pair of the oddest spectacles. The display covers the roundabout in front of the hospital and one block to the west of the main building. There is seating (if you’re brave enough in these chilly temperatures) and stations that offer photo ops. It’s extravagant, gorgeous, beyond imagining, and it really brings out the Christmas spirit, almost making me, still coughing and never able to carry a tune, want to break out in a Christmas carol

Thanks to Jean for a lovely evening, and a chance to get out of the cottage before the arctic blast hits.

Even Christmas displays bring out the worst. There’s a camera shot of the scum who stole the Baby Jesus from a nativity scene in Sundance Square downtown. The camera even caught him handing the baby off to a cohort, and then they disappeared in a vehicle, also caught on camera. They apparently haven’t been caught, but what in heaven’s name do they intend to do with the (probably plastic) Baby Jesus? I doubt ransom is a possibility. And then there was an ad for over-size all-white nativity scene figures made of interlocking pieces, so you just snap them together. Somehow that strikes me as crassly commercial.

Meanwhile, our resident big coyote must be feeling the Berkeley spirit. He was back today, boldly napping in the same yard where he was caught on camera a couple of days ago. I applaud the homeowner who said she doesn’t want to cause his demise but does wish Fort Worth Animal Control would trap him and take him for a good long ride. I lamented in a small online group that I didn’t know what I’d do if a coyote attacked Sophie in the night, and a friend suggested an airhorn but said she guessed I couldn’t do that in the city. Of course I can if necessary to save my dog’s life—I just need the air horn. Her second suggestion was a wooden spoon and a pot—when I tried that tonight, Sophie came running as though offered a treat.

The weather forecast is grim, starting at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. Temperatures may get as low as 10^o F. Even though it was in the fifties tonight, the forecasts had us all thinking cold and bundling up. When we came out of Trinity Terrace tonight, we did note that the wind had picked up—it’s supposed to be strong for the next three days, driving the chill factor even lower. Texans remember shivering through the power outages of 2021 amid the horrifically cold temps, and we are on alert to see if the grid will hold.

I for one plan to stay in the cottage, as safe and warm as I can be. And it’s not just Texas—the cold is to hit all over the country except, as one friend pointed out, southern California where she expects temperatures in the seventies. The rest of you stay warm and safe.

Big bad critters, a leaning tree, and some baking

 

The bold coyote in a neighbor's yard.
Photo by Allison Bradford.

The coyote that was sighted two nights ago has become much more real today. There have been several sightings of it in our neighborhood, including one in someone’s back yard where it had the audacity to take a long nap in the afternoon sunshine. It is indeed a big guy. I have tried and tried to explain to Sophie that there is a big, bad coyote out there and no, she doesn’t want to go outside. She remains unconvinced, though she did come in rather quickly when I just let her out. I am vigilante by the window or door when she’s out, but I worry about the Burton dogs because they don’t watch them every minute—and the Cavaliers are smaller, frailer, and much easier pretty. The most recent sighting I heard of was only blocks away, so I feel a bit on edge. Our yard is pretty much fenced with six-foot fencing, but there is one four-foot section I’m sure a coyote could sail over if it wished. Apparently, animal control has been unresponsive to the reports.

And another catastrophe—Jordan was hanging ornaments outside and came into the house for just a minute when out of the corner of her eye, she saw their elaborately decorated Christmas tree listing at a dangerous angle. It had come loose from the moorings that were supposed to hold it up straight. She propped it up with a chair (good thinking, Jordan!) and called Christian but had to wait for him to come home because it was, she said, a three-person job. Last report I had was that tempers were short, and the atmosphere was not Christmas-like. I’m not sure about the status of the tree. I guess this is not the time to ask Christian to reboot the router to see if that will help with my problem accessing the Central Market website.

For supper, we were going to have the great subway-style sandwiches Jordan makes with French dressing, oregano, Parmesan, etc. I ended up with a bit of salami and a slice of provolone and some mayo on a slider bun—not quite the same. And Sophie gnawed on the one slider bun I’d put out to defrost—my fault for leaving it to close to the edge of the work surface. She didn’t actually get it down, but she got in some good licks, and I decided on a fresh bun. I gave her another lecture on love the dog but not the behavior—she was unmoved and, I’m sure, regretted missing the bun.

The Christmas cooking bug has hit me belatedly. In days gone by, I started baking in November. In recent years, it’s been more of a last-minute thing, but I did plan ahead. Somehow this year, I dropped the ball completely—I think I told myself I was too busy writing. But then I decided, for various reasons beyond explaining, that I was going to put all my writing, except blogs, on hold and suddenly I had time to fix some Christmas gifts. I must add to this that baking is not my forte—I make pretty good main dishes and sides, but I usually forget desserts and fruit-like things.

But last year I made some cranberry/apricot chutney, and Jean liked it so well I thought I should make her some again this year. And of course, you don’t just make one jar of chutney, so I have several small jars of chutney. I tasted it, and it’s pretty good. But I have a whole lot of dried apricots left over—I guess I neglected to tell Jordan the smallest bit she could buy, so she got almost a lb. I hate to think what that cost. But I went online and prowled—guess what, there aren’t a lot of recipes that use small amounts of dried apricots. But I found one for jam—and that is tomorrow’s project.

Tonight, I made a cranberry cake—the recipe came from a neighbor a couple of years ago for publication in the newsletter I edit. Turned out the neighbor is an old friend from way back, but that’s another story. The cake was delicious, so tonight I dug out the recipe and made it again. I think I’ll make another in a day or two, so I can send bits home with folks who come for a drink. I’m kind of enjoying this bit of Christmas cooking. It's all I’ll do until Christmas day when I’ll be responsible for dressing and green bean casserole.

It feels a lot like Christmas to me these days. And I suppose it will even more so in a couple of days when the big freeze hits us. Shades of my Chicago childhood, except we won’t have snow. Meantime, today Megan posted a picture of her (well actually just her foot and a beach drink) lounging on a beach in Belize with that blue, blue water beyond. That wouldn’t feel so much like Christmas to me.

Wild critters, cold weather, latkes, and a moment in history

 

The gorgeous, lush poinsettia given me by a neighbor.
It occupies a place of honor on the bookcase.

Gosh, what a lot has gone on in the last twenty-four hours! For me, it started last night about eight when I read a post by someone who had seen a “large” coyote heading into our neighborhood. Truth be told, I think we have coyotes all the time, situated as we are above the zoo and the river. But when someone sends out an alert, you feel obligated—or at least I did—to take it more seriously. And what did the poster mean by “large”? How many coyotes had she seen for reference. I worry not only about Sophie, but about the little dogs in the house—and that stray yellow cat that I keep spotting in the back yard. I kept Sophie in as much as I could, much to her disgust, and was on high alert when she was out. What would I do? Not much I could, except to push my walker outside and charge the animal, yelling and screaming. I go on the theory that they are more scared of us than we are of them. Glad that so far, I haven’t had to put it to a test.

We are living with threats of sub-freezing weather and extreme wind chill. In Texas, bad weather doesn’t just happen—we like to worry over its approach for days and milk it for all its worth. But Thursday, the high is to be 35, with strong wind chill. That’s the day Jordan and Christian are going to the Baylor bowl game in the TCU stadium, but Christian tells me they will have access to indoor seating. Not sure how that works, but I have my fingers crossed. It’s supposed to be bitterly cold through Christmas Day. A test to see if the grid really will work or not. Memories of Snowmaggedon are still strong with Texans.

When my kids were little and we celebrated Hannukah, we had an annual latkes dinner with a family I knew from graduate school. I remember that making latkes was a complicated, labor-intensive thing, but I didn’t worry much about it because the men took over. We served egg and tuna salad on the side, which strikes me as strange now. The other thing I remember was that my friend’s father and mother were always in town for the holiday, and he kept a roll of dollar bills in his pocket—held together by Scotch tape, I presume. He would peel them off one at a time and distribute to the children, who were in awe. I know they remember it to this day.

So the other day I found a recipe for latkes done in the air fryer, and Jordan and I decided to try it. I’m sure my Jewish friends, past and present, are scornful—and it turns out they would be right. First, I worried about what to serve. Tuna and egg salad wouldn’t do it with Christian and Jacob, so I settled on meatloaf—which Jacob doesn’t like, so his mom made him a turkey sandwich.

Christian, being the resident air fryer expert, did the latkes, after I grated the potatoes (remind me not to volunteer for that again) and mixed the potato and onion with matzo meal, eggs, salt, and pepper. They were good—and not greasy, which was to me the advantage of the air fryer. Jordan really appreciated the absence of grease, but I missed the greasy, hot, flat cakes of the traditional method. These were potato cakes. I’ll brown a couple in a skillet in the morning and see if I can get a good crust on them. But I consider tonight’s experiment a modest fail.

I’m always struck that my children know so little about JFK’s assassination. It was almost ten years before their birth. So now I’m wondering what my great-grandchildren, as yet unborn, will know and remember about trump. But this country made history today—the first time a congressional committee has ever referred criminal charges against a former president to the Justice Department. When you think about it, that’s an earth-shattering precedent, one that could only be inspired by overwhelming evidence. Now of course it’s up to the DOJ.

And now we will get the armchair experts and the funding appeals. I’ve already gotten those emails pleading for my opinion on whether or not trump should be prosecuted. And I know they will segue into a funding appeal, as though funding a Democratic PAC could influence the DOJ. Last week, when Brittney Griner came home, we suddenly had a nation of armchair hostage negotiators who knew what Biden did wrong, what he could have done better, including bringing Paul Whelan home. Now we’ll have armchair prosecutors who know what and how Merrick Garland should be doing. I’ve already seen an opinion piece titled, “Garland is a failure.” I wish those armchair experts would shut up and let the wheels of justice grind, however slowly. The one thing we know about Garland is that he is slow, careful, and meticulous—and he doesn’t act until he’s sure he has a case. I’m sure, with the special counsel, he’s building an air-tight case. Meantime, I wish the media would pay a little more attention to what a significant moment this is: it shows, once again, that democracy works.

As I said, a day full of interesting stuff. I’m ready for peaceful sleep, with no coyotes.

The Saga of the Coyote and other predators

A coyote was reported to have killed a cat in neighboring Fairmont a couple of nights ago, and last night one wandered on the prowl in our Berkeley neighborhood. The south end of Berkeley has a tree-lined creek, and a drainage ditch, with a lot of shrubbery, runs along the east edge—plenty of habitat for critters. Plus, we’re so close to the zoo and park, they can wander up from there.

So last night the Berkeley Buzz reported a coyote coming out of the creek and headed east—far end of the neighborhood from us, and I thought no more about it. But Jordan came out in a little bit and closed my patio door as a precaution. At first, I wanted to tell her about the people-shy nature of coyotes. I doubt one could breach our fences and gates, and if it did, it certainly would not come waltzing into the cottage after Sophie. But she was right, of course. The point was to keep Sophie inside, not the coyote out.

This morning all is calm, with no report of the predator.

I’m always a bit on a watch for predators in the neighborhood. Four chickens live behind me in a large pen and a coop made out of an old playhouse. I can best see them from the bathroom window, and I peek at them when I’m in there. Did you know chickens are cuddlers? They cuddle or huddle together, even on the hottest day. They’re also pretty—one is a beautiful golden color, another a striking black-and-white pattern.

One day I saw the pen door open and nary a human or a chicken in sight. I panicked, thinking a predator had gotten them. (It happened once before with one chicken and a dog, and I still remember the predator who got all my kids’ rabbits—gory details not necessary; I was much more upset than my children who didn’t like caring for rabbits.) Anyway, I emailed both the dad and mom behind me; turns out the mom was home and let them out for a bit of free range grazing or whatever chickens do.

A friend’s Shih Tzu was grabbed by a predatory bird (hawk, probably). Fortunately, he was too heavy for the bird, and it dropped the dog.  Poor little guy had vicious-looking wounds from the talons, but with antibiotics, he’ll be fine. I don’t worry too much about Sophie and birds, be they hawks or owls, because at thirty pounds I figure she’s too heavy for them to attack. And I suspect she’d put up a good fight—unless her backyard demonstrations are all bark and no bite.

But a coyote—I don’t know. A part of me hopes a coyote just wouldn’t want to try to deal with a dog almost its own size. I think they go for easier prey. But I’ll never bet on it. And the occasional bobcat found in the city—that scares me.

But Sophie mostly prefers to spend her days on the couch (note the head on the pillow). Of course, it’s twilight that worries me, and I don’t let her out unless I’m at my desk with a full view of the yard. I have no idea what I would or could do in case of an attack. You know what they say about adrenaline—I might well abandon the walker and run to the rescue.