Some days are really rare

Some days are ho-hum, with work and that’s sort of it, but some days are really rare. Yesterday was one of the latter for me.

I worked in the morning, but about eleven Jacob, who did not have school, came out to the cottage and we ran errands. He helped me take review copies of the cookbook to the post office to mail for an upcoming blog tour. Then we went to PetSmart for dog food. First big problem: I know Sophie eats ProPlan but Christian usually gets it, and I was unprepared for a thousand choices of flavors and target ages and consistency. (An aside: a long time ago I sent Christian to PetSmart with a request to find ProChoice dog food—he called me perplexed because there was nothing by that name!) Jacob had no doubts—“My dad gets this brown bag,” he insisted. So we got 35 lbs. of shredded dog food—shredded? Sophie eats kibble. He insisted. (It turned out to be a bigger kibble than usual, and she loves it.) He also chose a new treat since they didn’t seem to have the Purina Dental Chews which are a staple of her life and which I usually get on line but had run out of. He insisted again, and we came away with a large bag of Beggin’ Strips—some sort of faux bacon that the label said was real meat. She liked them so much I have to keep them hidden.

Jacob often doesn’t talk a lot on such trips, but on the way home I did my usual back-roads thing, weaving through neighborhoods to avoid congestion on major streets, and we got into a discussion about which houses we liked. He tends toward the stark and modern, while I love old houses. But it was great fun to pick out a house and pass judgement on it.

And then last night I went with neighbors Margaret and Dennis to a dinner party to meet Carol Coffee Reposa, the 2018 Poet Laureate of Texas. I had met Carol’s daughter, Ruth, and her husband, Scott at a holiday dinner party, and we’d talked about getting the mothers together. Ruth and Scott hosted the small dinner party, and I simply could not have had a better time. Carol and I had lots to talk about—turns out we met in the ‘90s at a conference in San Angelo TCU Press is publishing a book of her poetry this spring, and we know a lot of people in common. Fun to catch up.

Ruth is an obstetrician and, to my surprise, attended the Texas College of Osteopathic Medicine, once my stomping grounds and home to a lot of people I knew and liked. So we too compared friends and talked of the new medical school at TCU and the effect it will have on the osteopathic school. We plan to continue the discussion soon. Scott cooked an absolutely wonderful meal—pork tenderloin with citrus/ginger sauce, seasoned tiny new potatoes, green beans, and Caesar salad. The wine flowed freely.

A bonus: they have two of the most wonderful dogs—shh! Don’t tell Sophie. One is a cross of an Aussie with a poodle. He’s Willie Nelson, and he’s about the same size as my beloved Scooby with the same blue merle markings. And, as all Aussie dogs are, a real sweetheart. I was instantly in love. Then came a shaggy white dog, slightly bigger—she is a Golden Doodle, though I’ve never seen a white one, nor one with as straight a coat. But they were both friendly and well behaved—sat at the table, under our feet, while we dined.

Scandal! I didn’t get home until 10:30, and Jordan immediately came to the cottage to say that she and Jacob had waited up for me. When she tried to get Jacob to go to bed, he said, “I’m not going to bed. Juju isn’t even home yet.”

From the doghouse to the Nativity

Sophie and I are both in the doghouse this evening, though I am more acutely aware of it than she is. In fact, she seems not to care. This morning a friend and I sat sipping coffee and remarking that Sophie was having the time of her life chasing squirrels, running at border collie-speed across the yard but, mercifully, not barking except for an occasional yip. We talked about what a high time she was having without bothering anyone..

Wrong! Jordan came in at noon, and I could immediately tell that someone was in trouble. She announced that it didn’t maker her happy to buy lights and string them on the fence only to have them torn down as Sophie jumped against them in her unending quest for a squirrel or two. She had ripped them and, yes, tonight two tiny sections light but not the glorious string of previous nights.

Tomorrow, I’ll buy replacement lights, and Jordan will hang them on the outside of the fence. But a bit of the joy was dimmed today.

And Sophie wasn’t through. I let her out tonight, and she began jumping at the fence again, so I noisily put out her food. She came skidding in, stepped in the bowl of food, and scattered it to the four winds. I swept it into a pile, but before I could get it in the dustpan, she began to eat it. It was a slow process, so I swept the remainder into her dish, and she ate half, just finished it tonight when I came home after an evening out.

I went with friends to the opening of the nativity scene exhibit at the Museum of the Americas in Weatherford. We had a delicious dinner before at the Fire Oak Grill—wedge salad, scallops, and mashed potatoes. Good food, good wine, good conversation.

The museum features native work from North and South America, so there was a range of nativity scenes, an entire room full of them. I marveled at individual creches, from semi-life size to tiny and intricate, each with full explanatory signage. What an undertaking it was to do all that signage. Some were bright and colorful, others more somber. The scene that attracted the most attention was a nativity of bunnies—no other animals except a couple of sheep. By Santa Fe artist Jose Ortega. Fascinating, though I had to ponder a bit about replacing the holy figures with bunnies, essentially comic figures--not sure I got the joke.

But as a practicing Christian, I sat in the only chair in the room and soaked up the idea that the birth of Christ inspired so much art, so varied in approach and theme. It was overwhelming, and I just let the idea roll over me, bringing a certain peace. In these troubled times, we foresee the end of things…and yet the story of Christ’s birth has been with us for centuries, and nativity scenes since the Middle Ages, according to a plaque in the room. It’s a comforting thought and a nice one to carry with me into this holiday season when we’re beset by sex scandals and nuclear threats and selfish politicians who would tax us to death.

Thanks to Harold and Elizabeth Lawrence for once again welcoming us to their museum and a super exhibit. If you’re in the Metroplex and haven’t visited this small, private museum, make it a point to do so.

Tired tonight, and glad to be home, but feeling peaceful and refreshed. May the Lord shine the light of his face upon you. And so we head into December--can you believe it?