Out and About

My dinner pal, Betty, and I went out to dinner tonight—first time I’ve been off the “compound” since last weekend when I went for two short drives with Jordan. We ended up with Jacob as a companion tonight—his parents were going out, something I found only at the last minute. That governs where we go. I had actually picked out a local wine bistro—I want to try their tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwich. Talk about retro.

But I couldn’t see that Jacob would be comfortable there or find much he wanted on the menu, so we went to the Tavern where he likes the mac and cheese. He’s at the age where he always has an objection first to everything. This time it was that it’s always so cold in that restaurant—and I will agree with him. But then he said, “No, it’s fine,” and we gave up asking about other options, etc. It wasn’t as cold as usual, though my suggestion we eat on the patio fell on deaf ears.

Betty and I waffled from hamburger (they are soooo good there) to steak salad and ended with fried chicken, which turned out to be like chicken-fried chicken—two pieces of breast meat, so we split it. Good, but it might better have had cream gravy on it.

Dinner with an eleven-year-old is interesting. I am grateful that cell phones weren’t yet in use when my kids were that age. Betty has been eating supper with Jacob since the days when he, still a baby, spoke gibberish. He had the inflection of sentences down, but the sounds made no sense. I’d answer in perfectly normal English, and he’s reply in his own secret language. He obviously had a lot to tell. It sent Betty into hysterics.

Today, Jacob doesn’t have that much to tell. Left alone, he’ll ignore us and stare at his phone—who knows what games he was looking at. But when we once engaged him in conversation he was polite and talkative about where he wants to go to high school and college. Then Betty asked something about math, and he was off asking us about improper fractions. Say what? I proved to be a total failure at converting them to numbers. (First he had to remind me what an improper fraction is.) I am so glad I’m not in school and having to take math classes. After a bit I think he decided we were hopeless and went back to his phone. I suspect he’s not allowed to bring his phone to the table at home, but if I enforced that in a restaurant he’d be bored to tears by the things Betty and I talk about.

All in all, it was a pleasant evening, and I was delighted to be out and about in the world, but also glad to get home to the book I’m reading.

I tried a couple of experimental steps today without the walker and without holding on to anything. The good news is I didn’t fall; the not-so-good, my hip seemed to buckle, as it did when I first could put full weight on the walker. Guess I have to keep at it.

Reading out loud

Do you have any idea how hard it is to read your own writing aloud? Some people do it with easy grace, but I am not one of them. I’m to do a radio interview tomorrow that includes at least ten minutes of me reading from Pigface and the Perfect Dog. I’ve chosen two passages—one the opening scene and the other a chase scene, sort of—and printed out the passages in large type. And I’ve practiced three times—each time, I stumble in a new and different place. I’ve decided I’ll just have to laugh off the stumbles. I’ve practiced breathing at appropriate intervals. I’m not sure what else to do in preparation except be nervous.

Years ago, I remember when a Texas college was going to pay me handsomely to read an entire, long short story (oxymoron) to an audience. Shyness and anxiety overcame me, but I practiced on a friend who had a theater background. Her important advice was to slow down, way down. When we read too fast, the pitch of our voices can become unpleasantly high. So that’s another thing I kept in mind in my practice sessions.

My track record with radio shows is not great. The last one, I forgot about the time difference between Texas and Florida and was late, very late, in calling in. They graciously put me on in the second half of the show, but there was so much static on the line I couldn’t understand the questions and managed bumbling answers at best. I checked the time of this show carefully, and the instruction sheet says 11 a.m. CDT, 9 a.m. PDT, which makes me think the show is in California. Wish me luck, please.

This was the first day of my new, take-it-easy policy, and I felt like I was malingering. I was not rushed in checking emails and Facebook this morning, fixing myself some breakfast, taking my time. I caught up on some banking information—really keeping track of tax information. I practiced reading, and I dealt with a few odds and ends that landed on my desk. And I napped this afternoon with no sense of urgency to wake up and get back to work.

I’ve decided for the time being to limit myself to one outing a day—so I cancelled my dermatology appointment and went to dinner with Betty. No problem guessing where my priorities are. We ate at a wine bistro and shared appetizers—deviled eggs and mac and cheese with truffles. Good and small portions, even if the mac and cheese was rich.

Now to spend the rest of the evening reading. This lazy life might become a habit.

Life is always interesting

I expected a dull weekend but it didn’t happen that way, and I struggled to get in my 1,000 words a day. But it was a happy struggle, although the things that distracted me weren’t always happy.

Megan, my oldest daughter, drove up from Austin on Saturday with Ford, her youngest son, now ten. Ford is a confirmed TCU baseball fan—absolutely loves it. So Saturday, because they couldn’t leave Austin until Ford’s soccer game was over, they went straight to TCU and ended here about 5:30. So glad to see them. Missed the family daddy, Brandon, and older brother Sawyer, but I’ll settle for what I can get.

A couple of friends dropped by for happy hour, and one went with us for dinner. We tried Press Café, hoping to eat outside, but the wait was long. We went to the Tavern, ate on the patio—I’d always thought I didn’t want to sit on the patio because of its closeness to busy Hulen, but we were unaware of the traffic. I was, on the other hand, acutely aware of the blasted loudspeaker, though both Megan and Ford said they didn’t notice it. And the conversation level was loud—as a result, I could hear Megan but nobody else (she has always spoken loudly and clearly—great for the lawyer she is!).

Home and in bed by ten, shades pulled, lights out. Jordan came home by a little before ten to visit with her sister and was dismayed to find everything dark.

Despite the happiness of a surprise visit, it was not a joyous weekend. My neighbor, Susan, lost her 93-year-old father suddenly, and her husband was out of town, couldn’t get back for over 24 hours. We knew and loved and admired her dad, David. We spent Friday evening with Susan, alternating between tears and laughter as we remembered him, an unusual man and a true gentleman.

Sunday we cooked a casserole for the family’s dinner, but it didn’t go quite as planned. I had this happy little vision of me cooking and Jordan and Christian doing all the necessary chopping, of which there was quite a bit. So I was astounded to wake from a nap and find Christian had deposited some but not all of the ingredients in my kitchen. Called Jordan and she said she’d be home shortly. I set about chopping two large onions, three ribs of celery, and grating three large carrots. Unbeknownst to me, she came home, started the hamburger to brown, and came out to say, “I need the vegetables.” I said I was the scullery maid in the auxiliary kitchen, but she didn’t find it funny—until late tonight when she came out and said, “It smells like onion in here.” Nice joke, Jordan.

We got the casserole fixed and delivered, dined ourselves on roast chicken and asparagus, and wrapped up the evening. One of those weekends when you’re grateful for family in several different ways and pleased to squeeze in bits of time for your own business.

Ready for a new week, though it will be broken with a doctor appointment, the visitation and funeral for Susan’s dad, and some lunch and dinner dates. Life isn’t quiet and dull even when it’s not totally happy.

Dining Out in Tomball

 

Tomball isn’t exactly a metropolis yet, though it may be headed that way. It’s a small, sleepy town that suddenly folks discovered, and it had a growth spurt. The main highway through town is lined with all the chains you’d expect. I saw the old part of town and it’s charming—I remember having ice cream at a sweet shop there. But not a lot beckons you to dine in a restaurant.

Last week, we generally ate at home. I’m of the pick-up, leftover variety for lunch, and Lisa cooked us such good suppers that we stayed home—chicken piccata, chicken parmesan, hamburgers on the grill, cheese enchiladas. But we did venture out twice for lunch.

The first time was to Goodson’s, a chicken-fried-steak place I’d heard was renowned. They do toot their own horn, calling it the best CFS in Texas. It was a funky place with a plastic cow in the lobby, lots of stuff on the wall, etc. The steak was good—batter terrific and generous, serving large (and we ordered small) but the meat was tough. Colin and I agreed that the CFS at the Star Café in Fort Worth is better. The Star, where Colin briefly waited tables, is owned by good friends but don’t think we’re prejudiced—our choice was a carefully considered decision. The sides at Goodson’s were great and leftovers made a good meal the next night.

The second place was the Classic Café in Hempstead. Colin kept saying it was my kind of place—and he was right. Talk about funk! In the front there’s an antique/junk store, and the lunchroom is behind it. You approach through a garden that is a jumble of blooming, vibrant native flowers—the kind of garden I always wish I had enough sun for but, alas, I don’t. The menu was equally pleasing—sandwiches, wraps, a few entrees, a couple of soups. Lisa had a caprese sandwich (I never heard of making that salad into a sandwich), Colin had a chicken pesto wrap on what looked to be a spinach enchilada, and I had an open-faced turkey, melted brie and cranberry relish. It was delicious, though I itch to try it with real turkey and not lunch meat. But it was the kind of restaurant where the waitress chats with you. You can take home a pan of lasagna, King Ranch Chicken, and a couple of other casseroles. Down home at its best.

            Tomball has other restaurants, one I’ve been to several times—Mexican food at Julio’s, which is funny because Colin once worked at Uncle Julio’s in Fort Worth. And the kids mentioned a hamburger joint I’d like and one other. I don’t need to go back to Goodson’s, though I’ll go to Classic Café again. And I’ll let the kids lead me to other explorations. Good times.