The contemporary compilation of selected recipes by Helen Corbitt.
Those
two things have occupied my thoughts and much of my time the last two days.
Sophie first.
I
know very well that people do not go home from the hospital and instantly pick
up the thread of their active lives. There’s an adjustment or recovery period.
So why should it be any different for dogs? I’ve had one experience with this
just over a year ago when Sophie came home too soon and had to return to the
clinic for a few days. Monday night I thought we were in for something similar.
She wasn’t much interested in eating, sort of moped around the house, not
interested in going out. I was tiptoeing around the cottage and watching her
out of the side of my eye. I decided it was best to give her occasional bits of
affection but pretty much leave her alone to gather herself. Tuesday morning
wasn’t much better, although she did eat about half her breakfast. I was a
failure at getting her medications into her—that dog can lick around a pill
like nothing you’ve ever seen. Hide it in cheese? Forget it. I wouldn’t have
called her lethargic but perhaps passive.
Tuesday
afternoon I heard one sharp bark from her, which was the first sound, and by evening,
when Mary D. came for supper, Soph was more interested in what was going on. She
ate her supper and asked for her dessert—canned green beans, which the vet said
to give her sparingly. And then demanded her little doggie treats. We were back
on familiar ground.
Today
I feel we’ve really made progress—she’s eating, and by feeding her in small
bits, I managed to hide a half pill in each bit and got all three down her.
Christian tried to hide one in cheese, which only made her suspicious of cheese
when I tried to give her a piece mid-day. Same with pill pockets—I tried to
hide her tiny noon pill in one and give it to her—she clamped her mouth shut,
so I left it on the floor, and she ate it, pill and all. Am I winning this war
by any chance? She still lies around the cottage a lot, but hey! She did that
before all this. She’s an elderly dog.
I
so appreciate the concern for her. Fun to be dining out tonight with a friend
and have another friend stop by the table—her first question was, “How’s
Sophie?” and then a conversation about my Sophie and another dog named Sophie,
belonging to a mutual friend, ensued. I had dinner with Carol Roark at Lucile’s,
a restaurant both she and I like (and some of our friends don’t)—we find it’s
comfort food. So tonight we split a chicken-fried steak, and we caught up on
things personal and political. Been too long since we visited. As on every one
of my ventures into the outside world, now that I’m home so much, I saw new
buildings, things I didn’t recognize. I’m always saying, “When did they build
that?” But it was fun to get out.
My
other adventure today was to be on a Zoom program with Mary D. She teaches
cooking classes for the Silver Frogs, TCU’s flourishing senior noncredit
program. She came up with the idea of a two-part class on Helen Corbitt—she would
cook, and I would fill in with background on Corbitt, her career, and her years
at Neiman Marcus. It was fun, though it would have been smoother if we’d done a
dry run before, and Mary had trouble with her power point program. I thought I’d
used almost all my Corbitt stories, which left me worried about what I’d talk
about in the next session a week from today. But since then, I’ve had some good
thoughts.
It
occurs to me that my Food of the Fifties interest could be such a program—I’d
begin by asking folks if they eat meatloaf? Salmon patties? Squash casserole? And
then talk about what a dramatic decade of change the Fifties was in America’s
food history. Which would segue into recipes from that cookbook I’m working on,
which is turning out to be a tribute to my mom. Lots of her good recipes. I’m
not sure where to go with that thought.
So
it’s been a satisfying, good day, and I’m sleepy. Night y’all!
