DQ and nostalgia

When I was about twelve, my mom took me to buy a new dog, the collie I’d longed for ever since reading Albert Payson Terhune. My memory is not clear, but I know we went to a kennel in the country (maybe even Indiana from Chicago), and I clearly remember we stopped at a Dairy Queen and I had my first Soft-Serv. I thought it was wonderful. We went on and got an adorable pup. Mom was horrified that the kennel owners said they didn’t feed on Sundays—they didn’t do any of their other chores, so they didn’t feed the dogs. Poor dogs. Sophie would never stand for that. Mom’s gone now, so I can’t ask her why we named that sweet puppy Sister, but we did, and she was the delight of my folks’ life in retirement, long after I had left home and moved on.

But DQ, not dogs, is my subject tonight. When I left home, I lived in a small college town in Missouri, and I remember we were delighted when a DQ came to the outskirts of town. We went not just for Soft-Serv but for hamburgers when we couldn’t afford anything better. I have wonderful memories of visits to the DQ.

Now a major DQ franchisee is closing several stores, I think twenty in small Texas towns. It makes me sad. Oh, I know those towns have What-a-Burger and maybe even Chick-Fil-A, but it’s like another chink in the passing of a way of life. I didn’t want to live in a small town, but I enjoyed it while I was there, and I hate to see towns across Texas change. Maybe it’s inevitable, and my sadness is yet another sign of aging. The franchisee blames it on poor oil prices, because the sites are in oil country. Who knows?

I think I’d like a Soft-Serve cone right now!

There are other things I regret as I age. Cursive handwriting is one of them. My summer campaign to get Jacob and his cousin writing and reading cursive faded to naught, and once school started there was no parental concern.

Maybe I’m just being nostalgic tonight, but I even had a throw-back-in-time supper. My mom fixed a lot of things on toast—asparagus, mushrooms, never beans which I understand is a Texas thing. I think vegetables on toast is quite British, so it would make sense that my German mom fixed it to please my Canadian father, who was very much an Anglophile.

Anyway, tonight I had mushrooms sautéed in butter, with a shake of garlic powder, a few drops of Worcestershire, and a splash of white wine. Put them on toasted sourdough bread—so good I was too full to eat the leftover beet salad from last night. But it made me think of my mom.

Nostalgia is, I think, a good thing. It reminds us of the richness of our lives.

So pleasant out tonight that Jordan and I sat on the patio with wine and had a good visit. Not exactly nostalgic, but still treasured.

Summer camp, recalcitrant dogs, and a lovely dinner

Jacob left for two weeks at Sky Ranch today. This will be his fourth year at the camp, and he loves it. I’m happy for him, but of course will miss him. The neat thing: he gave me not one but two goodbye hugs—and they were tight hugs, not what I had been calling his passive hugs where he kind of leaned into me and let me hug him. He came out to say goodbye, hugged me, and I said the usual things about having fun and being careful. Then he hung around the driveway, waiting for his parents to be ready to leave. When they appeared, he came back in and announced another hug. Both times, he also had lingering farewells with Sophie who didn’t understand but welcomed his love. I told him to just imagine how ecstatic she’ll be to see him after two weeks, and he grinned.

He’s been practicing his cursive again a bit, and announced last night that he really wanted to write a letter in cursive from camp. I’m assuming, and hoping, that letter will be addressed to me.

Friends Teddy and Sue, knowing I would be alone tonight, invited me for supper. Teddy came to pick me up and help feed the dogs—his part of the job was to go in the house and bring the dogs out. Easier said than done. Those two balked at coming into the cottage; when we finally got them both inside, we closed the door so they couldn’t wander out. Then they just looked at their food. In frustration, Teddy and I poured small glasses of wine and sipped while we cajoled. After what seemed forever, both dogs ate out of the same bowl and ignored the other one. Sophie, who scarfed down her food immediately, kept looking like, “What’s the holdup here? I want my treat.” Getting the Cavaliers back into the house and their crate was another painful project. I finally gave Teddy small milk bones to lure them.

Lovely evening with good conversation. We talked about everything from friends and family to politics, people they recently met, my work, religion, you name it, and we lingered a long time at the dinner table—the best kind of dinner party. I don’t get steak very often, so steak that Teddy grilled to perfection (quite rare) was a treat.I brought maybe a third of my steak home—lunch for tomorrow.

I am so grateful for the continuing friendship of these two. Sue lived next door to me when her two children were quite young—the oldest is now a senior at the University of Arkansas and the youngest, a high school senior. She was then newly single. Since then she has built herself a strong career as a writer and marketing professional to major international law firms. Sue is Canadian, and her parents are in Ottawa—a long way away—so she named me her Fort Worth mom, a title that honors me. Teddy came on the scene maybe six years ago or so, and is perhaps the best thing she’s found in forever. I adore him.

A bonus: we took my walker, but only in case I had to go to the loo, one place Teddy wouldn’t walk me. I walked from my house to the car, up a medium long sidewalk at their house, from kitchen to dining table, and, at evening’s end, back to the car. Teddy’s strong arm made me confident, and he told me to hold my wrist firm. He’s a chiropractor and said he could feel the bones in my wrist popping. He predicted trouble in that right wrist if I didn’t start holding it straight, so I did. That made me put more weight on my legs, which was good. I was full, happy, and proud of my walking when I got home.

A good day—with lots of work done despite the big events.

Food, friendship, and the doctor

Let me start with the doctor. I had a good appointment with my surgeon today—lots of praise, but I came away feeling a little let down. I asked if I was where I should be, given what my condition was pre-surgery, and he said “Absolutely.” Pointed out my hip had been deteriorating for a long time, I had a major bone deformity, and I hadn’t really walked for six months before surgery. He was, he said with restraint, pleased with my progress. As we left, he, not an effusive man, said, “You’re beautiful today,” and I know he wasn’t referring to my looks. He was saying I’ve made beautiful progress.

But I think I went in there thinking I was healed, this surgery stuff could be behind me, and it’s simply not so. He said he expects full recovery for me to take at least a year—and I’m only six months in. No, I cannot cross my legs. If I bend from a sitting position, I am to do it slowly, with my left hip bent open, because I’m still in danger of dislocating it (x-ray shows it is perfectly in place right now).

And the biggie: he was lukewarm about letting me drive, especially since I drive a VW Bug, with a lower seat than a traditional car. He demonstrated how I’d have to get in and out, a technique I don’t really remember. On the way home, Jordan said every instinct in her was opposed to my driving, so I will wait.

I guess I’m not as invincible as I thought. Lesson learned

Other than that, a pleasant day of working and eating, mostly the latter. My daughters and I went to Pacific Table for lunch. A splurge lunch of crab salad (with avocado, Manchego, tomatoes, sautéed shallot, and a good vinaigrette) plus a dessert of sinful ice cream sandwiches  

Tonight, a friend from the seventies came for happy hour with me, Jordan, and Megan. Nancy’s three children and mine grew up as family friends, so it was great for my girls to get to visit with her. Turns out Megan often distance-works with the husband of one of Nancy’s daughters—small world.

Jordan fixed a magnificent spread, which was our dinner. My contribution was the salmon spread. We talked about everything from kids and surgery to murder and had a delightful time.

Now two boys are out here practicing their cursive writing. I never knew it would be the occasion for such hilarity—old-fashioned, uncontrollable giggles.