Warm temperatures, sunshine…and happy hour

 

What do you have for supper when Texas weather turns warm?
Why, taco salad, of course.

Last week seems to be fading like a bad dream—or was it? Too many people are still without water, and I heard of people who lost their power tonight. How frustrating—when you think it’s over and you’re finally headed back to livable if not normal, catastrophe strikes again. Still, for many of us, life in Texas is gradually picking up its pace. We wait now to see what will come from lawsuits and investigations—the family of the twelve-year-old boy who froze to death in an unheated trailer has sued ERCOT for $100 million, everyone from the legislature to Abbot and Paxton have instigated investigations into the power failure. It’s far from over, and it’s going to be interesting.

But today was Texas at its best—warm, sunny, inviting. My friend Jean came for happy hour. I’ll tell you how long it’s been since I’ve seen her—her birthday was January 12, and we just tonight gave her the small gift we had for her. We sat on the patio and talked of food and doctors (what else for old ladies?) and haircuts and travel and anything but the power failure, which we only briefly touched on.

The back yard is quite brown today, and frozen plants still droop in a few pots. Jordan has done a great job of cleaning up, but there is more to be done. Most of my kale survived, but the chard which was supposed to provide a tall, deep purple background for the lower kale plants now looks like a limp, overcooked green. The mowing crew came today, and I was going to ask them to clean it out until I read that critters hide in those now-dead plants. The plants become their winter refuge, and the article urged that we let spring cleaning of beds go until much farther into the spring. It is, after all, still only February.

Another sign of returning to life after our forced week of isolation—Jordan swore she wasn’t going to the grocery, but our list grew longer, and she went to the local Albertson’s today. The store where she goes for canned goods, cleaning, supplies, etc. She came home with some treasures—individual, fruit-flavored Greek Gods yogurt which we’ve never seen before (a doctor once recommended Greek Gods as the best brand, even for lactose intolerant people, and I just like the taste and texture better)—but reported such odd shortages: no frozen hash browns, no cherry tomatoes, no eggs. Lots of cleaning supplies, just when you’d think people were having to scrub their houses inside and out. She is going to try a quick run to Central Market tomorrow, early, to see what she can get.

And then, sigh, she’ll be home to take me to the dentist. I’m a bit of a dental phobe, and I’m worried that I couldn’t care for my teeth properly while in the hospital, so I’m apprehensive. After that, though, we hope to treat ourselves to smoked chicken salad sandwiches—Texas Monthly says they are a new invention of Fort Worth BBQ places. I read of one place where they use one-fourth smoked to three-fourths roast chicken so as not to overwhelm. And today I read of a place that sells smoked meatloaf. What won’t they smoke next? Anyway, I will report on the sandwiches.

In the “It’s always something” department: Sophie is limping and lethargic tonight. At one o’clock, she was full of energy, barking her head off and running indignantly from one end of the cottage to the other because the yard guys were here. But when she woke up from her afternoon nap (yes, she naps while I do) she wouldn’t put weight on her left rear leg. After a few steps it got better, but as we sat on the patio, I’d notice her favoring it again, and she was not her lively self, begging for attention. We couldn’t find anything in the paw, and tonight she is walking on it but slowly and tentatively. I’ll see what she’s like in the morning before calling the vet. But she was not too pitiful to respond when I tested her with a piece of cheese tonight. Times when we wish dogs could talk.

Sweet dreams, everyone. There’s good news abroad tonight. Things that cheer me: Merrick Garland’s performance at his first hearing today, President Biden’s courtesy visit to former Senator Bob Dole, the SCOTUS release of trump’s tax returns. Maybe this old world will right itself yet. And the most cheering thing? The return of Texas sunshine.

Christmas is blooming at the Burtons.

The Burton Christmas tree is done! Huzzah! Every year, Christian spends days and nights meticulously putting lights on each and every branch. No casual flinging of strands for him. Only when it is done to his satisfaction can Jordan and Jacob come in and decorate the tree. The bows, including the big one at the top, are saved from their wedding.

Those wedding bows are particularly fitting as they celebrate their sixteenth wedding anniversary tonight. A romantic evening, with filets done on the grill, twice-baked potatoes, lobster tail. Jacob and I ate hot dogs and beans in the cottage. But, the disparity in dinners aside, it made me teary—happy tears—to remember that wonderful evening sixteen years ago. A large wedding at our church with the full choir singing. For me, the shining moment was when both Jordan’s brothers walked her down the aisle and, just before handing her to their father who was mobility impaired, kissed her on each cheek. As one of my more cynical friends said, “Be still my heart.”

But then it was dancing and dining at the Fort Worth Club, with almost all the people we care about, including most of the New York Alters. Uncle Mark managed to lead a late-night version of havah niglia, and Maddie, then only six or seven, was the belle of the ball. Such good memories.

But on to Christmas. Jordan has done a mighty job on the front of the house. She doesn’t like this picture—says it’s not clear enough—but I think it shows how spectacular the lights are. She learned some unforgettable lessons about holly bushes in the process of lighting up the house.

I stay in the back in my cottage, where inside and out, it is festively lit, but it’s a joy for me to see these “front of the house” decorations. I will, of course, get into the main house several times between now and Christmas. Jordan has even suggested one night soon we sip eggnog (yep, the kind with nog in it) in front of the fire while enjoying the glow of the tree. And at least one night we’re going to go chasing Christmas lights in the city, something I did years ago with the children.

It goes without saying that this has been a hard year for everyone, between pandemic and the worst, drawn-out election battle that none of us ever imagined would happen. There is good news on the latter front tonight in that the Supreme Court has refused to hear Ken Paxton’s frivolous suit against the major states that went for Biden. But still, trump will keep appealing wherever he can, stirring up trouble among his most rabid followers, and the threat of violence lingers. And our friends, neighbors, relatives are dying at an alarming rate.

In the face of all that, it would be easy to give up, throw our hands up in the air, and cancel the holiday season. I can’t speak for Hanukkah and Kwanza and other seasonal holidays, but I can say that is strictly counter to the meaning of Christmas, which brings us hope in the darkest of winters. And this year there is hope—a vaccine, a new presidential administration.

I am proud of Jordan for her determination to keep the spirit of Christmas, to make it festive for all of us. And I am doing my darndest to keep up with her spirit. I hear people all around me say they just can’t quite get the spirit this year, and, even though I was known to say it myself, I think how wrong that is. We need Christmas this year more than most years. Rejoice!

 

COVID-19 creeps closer

When the pandemic first started and we were all strictly quarantined, the change in our lives was very real—but to me, in my bubble in my cottage, the disease seemed distant. I remember a friend who thought my family was being over-cautious asked, “Do you know anyone who has had it?” I didn’t, although I heard that a neighbor a block away had been hospitalized and recovered.

But now it’s coming closer. The wonderful woman who helps me with the housework I can no longer do called to say her son had been diagnosed. One woman he worked with in a small team refused to wear a mask, although the others were all properly masked. Now all five team members have the virus. Shows you what one noncompliant person can do. And I worry that she and other family members may get it.

And the other night a friend of Jordan’s called. Her daughter had seen her boyfriend over the weekend, before Jordan and the friend went for a long walk together. Because they were outside and staying six feet apart, neither wore a mask. (A doctor friend has since told Jordan that when you exercise outside you should stay twenty-five feet apart, because with exercise you exerting more energy and expelling more air.) In effect, Jordan was exposed to a person who was exposed to someone who was exposed to someone who came down with the virus. See how distant the connection can be? It was enough to send Jordan yesterday to be tested. Our doctor’s office told her that the instant test has an accuracy rate of ten percent; the longer test, where results don’t come in for twenty-four hours, has an accuracy rate of eighty percent. So although we’re quite sure Jordan is all right, she and I are keeping a distance until she get confirmation.

Seems like it’s always something. This morning I woke with the sure conviction that those shooting pains on the left side of my face had organized and settled into a toothache. Fearing it would worsen over the weekend, I called the dentist’s office—haven’t had a call back yet, but I’m not supposed to get in a car with Jordan until she’s cleared so I have no way to get there. Life can get complicated.

And yet another complication—Wednesday night I placed a curbside pick-up order with Central Market, to be picked up at eleven yesterday morning. The day went south because of Jordan’s COVID test, and it was five o’clock before Christian went to pick it up. They had no order. I booted up my computer and found a three o’clock message confirming cancellation of the order. I thought maybe they had a new policy and automatically cancelled if you were late, but no—they told Christian the cancellation came from my computer. Here’s the rub—at three o’clock, when I supposedly cancelled the order, I was sound asleep. All I can think is that a poltergeist got to my computer. Hoping the order will be there this afternoon.

Today wasn’t through with me yet. I got an email from the organization that manages my TCU benefits, asking that I deposit the check they recently sent me. I do not keep checks lying around—if I got it, I deposited it. There were directions for fixing it online. But the web site “couldn’t locate my records” and I couldn’t log in. So I called. Of course, they had to transfer me two times; the woman I ended up talking to didn’t seem to understand what I was saying, told me to hit “Forgot my password.” The site promised an email, which never arrived. We played this game for a while, until I bowed out and decided my aching tooth and I needed a nap Tried again later, and the web site was down. Color me frustrated.

But there is good news tonight, Charlie Brown. Jordan’s COVID test came back negative, the groceries were waiting at Central Market, and I sent off the files for an audio version of Saving Irene. Proud of myself for figuring out the submission process to ACX—it wasn’t easy. As for Jordan, she confesses in retrospect that she’s much relieved—although she had assured me she was not concerned. I will get my hair cut tomorrow morning, which will make me feel much better, and while I may have a bad weekend, my tooth will be treated early next week. I’m looking on the bright side!