The world was too much with me today …

 

Well, I may not mean it exactly the way Wordsworth did, though I appreciate his ideas about the healing aspects of the natural world, but it was the world humans, not nature, shaped that was too much with me today.

There was a piece of good news: Henny James was featured in Dru’s Book Musings, talking about Irene Deep in Texas Trouble and her premonition that Irene Foxgloves would ruin the James’ family Christmas in Fort Worth. Henny proved to be right, but not in a way she ever dreamed of. You can read it here if you want: https://drusbookmusing.com/henny-james-2023/

Then on to the real world. I started the day with a longer list of “busy-ness” chores than I liked, and I still haven’t conquered some of them. I ordered a product online, something I’ve been using for at least thirty years—and got the wrong thing. So I “chatted” with an AI person (he really did have a name though I can’t remember it). He (that AI person) was pleasant and efficient, and I got a refund, but then I went to order the correct item, ran into a real person who I couldn’t understand and who insisted he couldn’t help me. I have yet to order what I wanted.

Next was the plumber: I had a couple of small plumbing problems in the cottage that could have waited a while, especially if Colin was coming soon. But then an outdoor spigot on the front porch began leaking big time. A plumber is coming tomorrow, but to my dismay the man I have used for twenty years has retired.

There were other small calls—reminders about things we needed to order, appointments to be made, and the like. Then mid-morning my alarm system began to beep at me. It told me that the battery in the bedroom window was low. Now, there is only one window in the bedroom, and because of the configuration of the room (once a parking bay), the arrangement of furniture is a bit awkward. Part of the six-foot headboard on my antique board overlaps the window, and there is a bedside table (my mom’s old sewing cabinet) in front of it. The window shade is never up, the window never opened (yes, I wish it had worked out differently, but you take what you have). I asked if we could bypass it, and the tech said I’d have to do it individually each time. Cancel that. She did bypass the warning alarm for several days so that it was silent and sent me a video on how to replace the battery. She was efficient, bright, and personable, but she might as well have been talking Greek to me in that video. I’m hoping Christian can understand it.

A couple of times in the morning I thought I heard Sophie banging around in her crate. She can come and go at will, but she’s usually not that noisy about it. About noon I looked out the window, and she was standing on the grass, shaking hard. When she tried to move, she stumbled and fell. Fortunately Jordan was home and came flying out the door when I called her. We flew around in a panic, Jordan issuing order like call Christian, call the vet, open the gate. Margaret from across the street came and walked Sophie in the driveway while Jordan collected car keys, etc. By then Sophie was walking okay, though Margaret said she seemed a bit out of it. And off they went to the vet.

Long story short, Sophie’s blood sugar had dropped dramatically. I know how perilous this is from a friend who has brittle diabetes. Once Soph was home, the vet told me to feed her immediately, and he adjusted her medications. By mid-afternoon, she was just fine. Barked furiously at the yard guys, demanded her dinner, all normal behavior for my Soph. I am so relieved and if it happens again, I know immediate food is the answer. Even before calling the vet. I had horrific thoughts of seizures and TIAs and all I could think was that surely we hadn’t gone through all that we had only to have her develop something else. She’s getting a few extra treats tonight.

Needless to say, I did not get much work done today, and I still have miles to go before I sleep, with apologies to Robert Frost. Good night, sweet dreams, and I hope for a better day tomorrow—for you too if you need it.

The sounds of spring

 

I am beset with the noise of high-school athletics. In the house behind me (and my cottage, grandfathered in, sits on the property line), a young man bounces a basketball incessantly. In my own driveway, my grandson whacks golf balls against a new target. I find these sounds comforting—those boys are at home where they belong on a school night. Now dusk has faded into dark, and the neighbor’s dog is barking incessantly (I like that word), the bark of a lonely dog who wants attention and wants to be let in. I wonder if they’ve gone out because the dog doesn’t often bark like that. I’m comforted though that it is not Sophie whose barking is upsetting the neighborhood. Sophie saves her barks for those pesky squirrels who invade her yard, though today she roused herself from a nap long enough to tell the yard guys exactly what she thinks of them.

For all its isolated location, the cottage is a noisy place. All day long, I hear birds singing. Too often, I hear planes and helicopters--we are in the flight path for the city's municipal airport and close to the hospital, so we get air ambulances overhead. And in a strange twist, I often think in the mornings that I hear voices—no, no, it’s not my mind slipping. Today I realized that there were workmen at the house directly behind me (the basketball house) and one of them must have had a radio. They are sometimes just barely outside my back wall, so it’s no wonder it sounds as if they are in the cottage with me. I keep thinking they will finish that major project—building a cabana, pool, and new back porch. But they seem to come back frequently.

It finally seems to be spring in North Texas—but don’t count on it. We’ve had several false starts this spring. Last night we had a good, old-fashioned thunderstorm with heavy rain which we much needed. It soaked the new sod we’d just had put down in the front and back yards, and the herbs in my portable garden got a good watering.  Things are greening up—the pecan that shades my patio is showing it’s first few leaves, and so is the unknown tree by the side of the main house. Every year I think it’s dead, but I’ve learned that if I am patient, it will leaf out.

This spring has apparently brought a full-blown allergy season. The vet tells me that it is at level five, whatever that means. Sophie has been plagued with long, drawn-out, hard coughing spells. She sounds like she’s trying to clear her throat and can’t. This morning, Jordan came to the cottage for something in the midst of one of those spells and said, “Call the vet.” Tonight Sophie has had a shot that is supposed to last twelve weeks, which should she us out of the season. She is still coughing but not as long and hard, and she slept most of the afternoon. At least she’s stopped eating grass. Christian tells me his allergies have been off the charts.

Today was a nice, at-home day for me. The days this week have been marked by distractions—an interview on Monday which didn’t distract much but still was there on my calendar; a dental appointment Tuesday, which I dreaded and which turned out to be much easier than anticipated. Tomorrow, a big chunk of the morning will be taken up when I go with friends to get our second boosters. We have appointments half an hour apart, but I cannot imagine it will take all that time. Still, it breaks up the morning. Friday I am looking forward to fixing a light supper for friends, and Saturday will be taken up with cooking for Easter—I am to make potato salad and a marinated vegetable salad. Both easy, but the chopping requires time. Oh, and I’m making matzoh crack for dessert.

The reason all these small distractions matter to me is that I can’t settle down to work on my novel unless I have a chunk of time. Granted, sometimes I surprise myself and write more in a half hour than I would in three hours. But I always feel I need that block of time set aside. And now I am so near the end of the first draft that I can practically recite from memory what I intend to write—of course, it never works out that way.

Tonight was dinner on my own. Jordan and Christian are at a meeting—plans for Cowtown Ball are gearing up already, months ahead of the event, and Jacob, I was told, had his own dinner. I always translate that as “Jacob doesn’t really want what you cook.” And tonight he would not have. I scrambled a couple of eggs with butter, sliced green onion, diced tomato, and chopped smoked salmon—an old favorite of mine. Makes me wonder why I don’t keep smoked salmon in the fridge all the time.

Too sleepy to work on those last pages of Finding Irene, so I think I’ll spend the evening reading Cynthia Kuhn’s How to Book a Murder, which I am thoroughly enjoying.

Sweet dreams, y’all.

Procrastination—who me?

Procrastination: the action of delaying or postponing something. Yep, that’s me. I procrastinated for two days—and it’s so unlike me. I am usually compulsive about doing whatever needs to be done right away. I long ago took to heart the wisdom that you should only touch a piece of paper on your desk once—deal with it then.  Don’t put it in a stack and think, “I’ll worry about that later.” Never the words of Scarlet O’Hara, “I’ll think of it tomorrow,” or “After all,  tomorrow is another day.”

But those are all the things I did for two days. I spent too much time on Facebook and outlets with political news, reading every new opinion, pondering every new development; I spent lots of time paging through Bon Appetit and Southern Living, clipping recipes and planning elaborate dishes I may never cook.

Colin, my oldest child, was my biggest—and nicest—distraction. He arrived Monday in time for dinner, so I spent a good chunk of Monday fixing his favorite casserole. Tuesday morning, I fixed him breakfast—I had several choices for him. And he chose lox and cream cheese. Then we window-shopped Apple watches in the Apple store and had an early lunch at Carshon’s deli. He grew up eating there and now thinks no Fort Worth trip is complete unless he gets one of their Rebecca sandwiches.

By 12:30 Tuesday, he was off to an appointment and then headed home to Tomball. And I procrastinated some more—and napped.

This morning I got up with fire in my belly. I was going to work. And I did—900 words on the Alamo book, mostly about Alamo movies and particularly the classic one John Wayne made in 1959. I am learning such fascinating stuff with this project!

Tonight, a nice dinner with friends Betty and Jean at a restaurant called Righteous Foods, which I think is a terrible name for a restaurant. But the food is good. It’s all “righteous” foods, heavy on grains and vegetables and juices and smoothies. But also their version of a BLT (with a fried egg, of course), a hamburger, and several kinds of tacos. We split an order of salmon tacos, but they were so good I don’t think I’ll share next time. And churros for dessert. A wonderful meal.

Tonight I’ll procrastinate some more—and read. But tomorrow I’ll tackle the subject of books about the Alamo. Life is good. I hope for you too.