Living your best life

 

Morgan and her parents

My small writing circle has been exploring the question of why so many of us, as senior citizens (a euphemism if I ever hard one), continue to write, and most of us concluded that we write because we cannot not write. As one said, “To breathe is to write” or was it “To write is to breathe?” Anyway you get the point. My contribution was that given my age and where I am physically, I’m living my best life.

When I think of someone living their best life, I think of my youngest granddaughter. Morgan is a senior in high school, getting good grades, accepted into the National Honor Society, active in her outstanding and highly competitive marching band, already accepted to the university her boyfriend attends this year. And she’s a good cook. When her mom posts pictures of her, Morgan fairly glows—she is indeed living her best life for where she is in life now.

I think I’ve gone through life feeling that I was living my best life most of the time. Of course there were bumps in the road—some pretty big ones, like the failure of my marriage, the deaths of my parents, some surgeries I’d have avoided if possible, a couple of loves lost and a couple of friends who inexplicably cut me out of their lives. But mostly my mantra has been, “How blessed I am.” The years that brought bumps also brought four wonderful children, seven grandchildren, a career that I loved and had moderate success at, a wide and fascinating circle of friends, and an active social life. Sure, I might have wished for a couple of things—a lasting intimate relationship, a New York Times bestseller, even less anxiety and better balance. But I have so much more than so many people that I really think it’s my obligation to do whatever I can to make the world a little better—for one person, for groups of people (I am staying away from politics in this post).

Today there’s no denying I am what the world calls elderly (ageism is another topic for another day but it is currently one of my hot-button issues). But unlike many my age, I have a comfortable home where I am semi-independent, family that I love and that are so good to me, a smaller circle of friends than once but still friendships that I treasure (shoot, I even have a few reading fans and blog followers), and a dog I adore. I am active, still writing, still enjoying cooking, and I can buy the few things I want. Unlike many of my friends, I have no wish to wander and roam—I’m comfortable at home (forgive the accidental rhyme).

A friend once suggested people should keep gratitude jars—any big, old jar will do. Each day, on a slip of paper, write something that you’re grateful for that day. Forget what’s troubling you or what you wish was different—write what you’re grateful for. I tried but kept forgetting to write something. I do try, however, to thank the Lord each night for the things in my life for which I’m grateful.

My daily question to a young neighbor is, “Are you walking on the sunny side of the street today?” Amazing what a difference it makes.

How about you? Are you walking on the sunny side? Are you living your best life?

A St. Patrick’s Day surprise

With Jamie and Eden

This is yesterday's blog today because we thought my phone had died. It didn't--I guess it just needed a vacation. Anyway today I could get to the picture Jamie texted me of our supper last night, which involved a lovely surprise—Jamie’s younger daughter, Eden, my second grandchild now a high school senior, met us at Pacific Table. Drove all the way from Frisco to surprise her grandmother. She had told me a week or two ago that she could now hug me since she had covid in January and had lots of antibodies, but I didn’t expect her to put it into action. I was so glad to see her and hear about all that’s going on—she got her acceptance today to UC Santa Barbara, so she has been accepted several prestigious places but is still waiting on a couple of others. Meantime she, once a shy kid, now sparkles with self-confidence—and long, light lilac fingernails. I simply adore her.

Eden is a vegetarian, has been for years, so Pacific Table was perfect—she had a grilled artichoke, sushi, and cucumber salad; I had the fried oysters with Caesar salad; and Jamie—frown—had a hamburger. Who goes to a fish place and orders hamburger? He said it was good though—and half of it came home, along with his jalapeno cole slaw. Best part: we had a wonderful visit.

So that was why we had our St. Patrick’s Day dinner a day early, because Jamie knew that Eden was planning to “surprise” me tonight. Last night we were Irish to the core with a delicious and bountiful supper—corned beef, potatoes, and carrots, the meat simmered most of the day and the vegetables added judiciously throughout (it doesn’t take baby carrots long to cook but oh, my, did they soak up flavor!). Jamie proved to be masterful at sautéing cabbage. I chopped up what I thought was a goodly amount, and he scoffed, “That will cook down to nothing.” Though I swear I remember adding sour cream, he wanted nothing but butter, a lot of it, and salt and pepper. The result was cabbage sweet and good beyond imagining! I thought my plate looked over-filled, but I ate every bite and am looking forward to leftovers.

We did have the predicted storms last night, about three a.m. Lots of rolling thunder, a bit of lightning, a bit of rain, and, thank goodness, no hail. The wind blew and blew, and I sat for a few minutes watching the patio umbrella—it was unfurled, but still wobbling in the wind. My spray of green pinpoint lights, a Christmas holdover, is still on at three in the morning, and sometimes I get mesmerized just looking at it in my half-sleep state. Spooked by the weather, Sophie parked herself right by the bed and stayed there, except when I went to the bathroom, in which case she followed me so closely I was in danger of tripping.

The wind is still blowing tonight and the temperature falling—not cold, but with the wind a bit brisk. A good workday for me: I sent off the Handbook of Texas entry on socialite/sculptor Electra Waggoner Biggs and I did some semi-coherent writing about Helen Corbitt, of Neiman-Marcus fame. Also reviewed the publicly available images on Corbitt through the Texas History Portal—lots of good recipes. How can I ever cook them all? That project may yet take shape in my mind.

Happy hour with Jacob

Trying to take a spontaneous picture with my Fort Worth family is an impossibility—they all three take wonderful pictures, and they can’t resist posing. Tonight I missed the action shot I wanted. So here’s a posed picture in which Jacob looks quite glum about the artichoke his mother is pointing too. A few seconds earlier, when I didn’t have the phone in my hand, he was laughing and saying, “It’s really good.”

The amuse bouche

While Christian labored over a hot stove, Jordan, Jacob and I had a happy hour. Jacob had another assignment to cook something French for his language class. Previously he did a credible croque monsieur, and for tonight we found directions for an amuse bouche that was nothing more than goat cheese rolled into a ball and then rolled in chives. Somehow that didn’t translate—and it ended up goat cheese with chives mixed in and then spread on baguettes slices. Good, but not I think what a true French chef would serve.

I had gotten an artichoke with my Saturday groceries—and what looked like the smallest container ever of hollandaise (not cheap—I really must master making it at home again; I used to do it beautifully, but now I don’t have a blender nor the confidence). Christian doesn’t eat artichokes, so we added that to our happy hour.

When Jacob was little, I bought bottle after bottle of “kid wine,” carbonated white grape juice. I thought he had long outgrown it, but tonight he asked plaintively if we couldn’t have kid wine again. Jordan objected that it’s too sweet but guess what—it will go in my shopping cart next week. That’s what grandmothers are for.

The amuse bouche was good, but the artichoke was a learning experience. Jacob went from refusal to try it, to trying one leaf without the Hollandaise, to trying the sauce and then, with a sheepish grin, said, “It’s really good.” After Jordan extricated the heart and divided it, Jacob recorded on his phone that hereafter he gets the entire heart every time. We did not agree to that. But I have added another artichoke to my Tuesday order for imperfect veggies.

What most delighted me was that Jacob, not at all an adventuresome eater, tried something new and ended up liking it. I’m afraid I’ll badger him with this incident every time I want him to try something new. I can hear myself harping, “Remember the artichoke!”

I was grown before I ever had an artichoke. I remember my mother and I once tried to cook a package of frozen baby ones—but we didn’t know to put Hollandaise on them, and we didn’t know what to do with them. I suspect they ended in the trash. I’m not sure who taught me to like fresh ones—it may have been my brother’s ex-wife. But now I think they’re a wonderful treat, though I admit they are in part a vehicle for the Hollandaise.

I told Jordan we’ve done a bad thing, teaching Jacob to like them. My mother didn’t encourage me to eat avocadoes for a long time, because she didn’t want to share (my dad didn’t eat them). Now we have to share, but he cannot have the whole heart. I’ll stomp and throw a hissy fit.

As long as we're talking about food, here's our dinner tonight: pork tenderloin in a cream/mustard sauce, wonderful roasted potatoes with chives and Parmesan, and a green salad. Christian outdid himself as usual. The potatoes particularly hit home with me.

Another gloomy day, and Sophie is reacting to the weather by snuffling, sneezing, and spitting up. Ah, spring in Texas.

My world today.

Jacob

McLean Middle School beat Stripling Middle School tonight

Sophie looking ladylike and

belying the fact that she's a wild ruffian

Where I spent my day

A Day of Family Milestones

Madison Lane Alter, my oldest grandchild is eighteen today, and Megan Alter Hudgeons, my oldest daughter, celebrates a twenty-year anniversary of her graduation from law school this weekend. I am so proud of both I’m busting my buttons, buy a corner of me is crying, wanting to hold on to the past.

Maddie was a magical child, the first grandchild and adored by six aunts and uncles on my side of the family and an uncle on her mother’s side. We were all sure we’d never seen a more beautiful child. She was sweet and smart, more than a bit willful, but she knew how to enjoy life. We worried about how she would adjust to a sibling but when her sister, Eden, came along, they loved each other—and still do. Spats, yes, but I’ve never seen an outright fight, and I’ve seen lots of sharing. Eventually five cousins followed, some in a cluster, and Maddie was patient, loving and kind with them. They adored her, and it appeared mutual.

Always a good student, Maddie demonstrated several interests as she went through school—voice and guitar, theater, basketball. She learned sign language, and in her junior year in high school she earned her certificate as a Certified Nurses’ Assistant. She’ll go to Boulder, the University of Colorado, in the fall. No telling, but she’s likely to end in some form of health care—she has in the past expressed interest in working with children, particularly those who are hearing challenged.

Maddie drives a Jeep, works after school, has a busy social life, and is the all-around kid. We’re all excited for her future, which looks rosy.

Megan and Brandon

When Megan was a child, I told her she’d be a lawyer because she argued with everything I said. “Mom,” she’d protest, “don’t program me.” But my prediction came true After graduating with honors from TCU, she worked as an admin for a Texas legislator for a couple of sessions, and then enrolled in the UT Law School, where she met fellow student Brandon. This fall, she will mark twenty years with the international law firm, Norton Rose Fulbright and Jaworski.

We always say once a child gets in Austin, you can’t blast them out. Megan and Brandon live in Austin. They’re raising two fine sons, Sawyer and Ford, and are gradually redoing an older house.

Megan with her sister, Jordan

Like all my children and grandchildren, these two bring light and life to my days.

Odds, Ends, and Leftovers

Sophie guarding her sleeping boy

My Saturday night sleepover guest was not really talkative. He came in from playing with a friend about 8:45 and did not say three words to me—just got in his bed and on his I-pad. Next time I looked at him, he was sound asleep. He had made me promise earlier to make the room as cold as I could so when I went to bed, I turned on the a/c. In the morning when he woke up, he complained, “Juju, it’s so cold in here.” Today he is down with a sinus infection, and even though I know rationally that a chill doesn't cause that, I'm feeling a tad guilty.

It’s been that kind of weather though, where you want a/c one minute and heat the next. I turn everything off at night but often use a little heat in the morning. Bless my super-duper heat/cooling units up at the ceiling. They are efficient and apparently low energy. Plus they’re out of the way. Yet when I have the a/c on, I can feel it blow down the hallway by the bathroom.

Today I got up ready to edit my novella. Just a few chores first. Hah! Have you ever tried to track down a bank transfer that didn’t make it, a merchandise return for which you don’t have credit, an order that has not been received? Plus just a couple of emails that I had to make—yeah, sure. That stuff can take all morning—and practically did. Plus I had last-minute things to deal with on the neighborhood newsletter before I got it off to the designer. Finally did edit one chapter of the novella, but odds and ends still hang heavy on my desk—a return with the wrong tracking number, another pair of shoes I need to return. Tomorrow is another day.

Food on my mind: last night, Christian made miso chicken. As I’ve written before, I’m fascinated by miso, especially since I had some wonderful miso salmon at a local restaurant. Christian’s chicken was delicious, though he confessed that it was swimming in butter. I fixed an orzo side dish with directions from a friend who is a chef—but I deviated. My grocery shoppers didn’t find crème fraiche and my attempt at homemade failed. So at the suggestion of my chef/friend I tried cream cheese—worked like a charm. I left the artichoke hearts out of the original dish because Christian really doesn’t like them, but I included the chiffonier spinach. And the feta. I thought it was good, but today for lunch I added more feta—and it went from good to great.

Now Christian wants to grill salmon with miso. I’ve found two recipes for him to consider.

Saturday night I had fixed myself some creamed chicken on toast—some will turn their nose up at that, but I like it. Toast however gets kind of tough and hard to cut. Tonight I put it over a medium-sized boiled potato—really good. I just make a cream sauce of butter and flour. Add milk and wine to get it to the right thickness; dump in chopped scallions, frozen green peas, and diced leftover chicken. Season with salt and pepper. Can’t beat it.

Tomorrow is another day to track down those missing shoes I returned and edit the last chapter of the novella. Who am I fooling? Edit, as in totally rewrite.

Life’s Milestones and Other Matters

A milestone in Jacob’s life tonight: his first Cotillion. I’m not sure he recognized the significance and I hear it was “great” from his mom, but I am waiting for a full report. All week he groused about going but above he looks pretty happy or pleased with his new clothes. His aunt, uncles, and mom went to Cotillion. Colin hated it, used every excuse to sneak out early, etc. There as some problem about making sure Megan was included—I don’t remember what and she did go but it was another instance when I was inept as a mother (when we went to Santa Fe and they wanted to ski, I had no idea how to make that work—the kids had to figure out about renting skis, ,etc.). But if all her friends were going to Cotillion, there was no way Megan was going to miss it. Jamie was in his element at Cotillion and came home one night referring to himself as the “party animal.”

Jacob’s buddies were also all going tonight so I’ll be curious to hear if they banded together or circulated nicely. Do you suppose Jacob will dance with me?

I went to the hospital for pre-op pre-admission today. They have all this down to a science and sometimes ask the most minute questions—very thorough. But it’s a smooth process. We saw an admissions clerk and two nurses and were at the hospital an hour and a half.  So far the personnel we’ve met have all been extremely friendly and helpful. The hospital is new—it was privately built, went into bankruptcy and was bought by Teas Health; if I understand orrectly it is an orthopedic hospital. It’s all open and sleek and thoroughly modern but with clearly Texan touches—one area was partitioned off by a panel of upright untreated tree branches bound together, like fences you see around jacals in South Texas. I’m not anxious to have this surgery, but Clearfork seems a good place for it. I feel I’ll be comfortable and in caring hands.

Tonight an old friend came for supper—my idea of entertaining is sending her to pick up sandwiches at a local upscale bakery. We both had croissants with turkey, goat cheese and vinaigrette. Good and really filling. We topped them off with huge chocolate chip cookies. Nancy and I have known each other over forty-five years although we lost touch for many of those years. Today, the nice thing when we get together is that we don’t dwell on our past lives (both married to physicians) but talk about our lives, our city, and our kids today. We both have rich and full lives, and I much appreciate that we don’t dwell on the past.

A long, lazy weekend stretches ahead of me, after a week that has been filled with doctor and hospital visits. I hope to make real progress on my novel—and to do some pleasure reading. Looking forward to it. My life is neither busy nor hectic, so it strikes me as funny that I am glad for a lazy weekend.

My Circadian rhythms are out of whack

My Circadian rhythms—those almost 24-hour patterns that control all animal and plant life—out of whack, and I suspect I know why. After I slept the clock around Friday night, I couldn’t go to sleep last night. I’m sure I dozed but I watched much of the night go by. Having a restless nine-year-old in the bed didn’t help. This morning I said to him that I didn’t sleep well last night, and he said, “Neither did I.” I said, “Of course you did. I watched you all night.” He grinned and said, “Just kidding.” I’m about to offer him my side of the bed, which he seems to edge toward. Actually he prefers the middle. Once I turned over, looked at him and saw that his face was “in my face,” with his head buried in the pillows. If I hadn’t felt his regular breathing, I’d have worried about him suffocating.

In the long dark hours of a sleepless night, which doesn’t happen to me often, I’m capable of the most bizarre thoughts—like, “I’m having another TIA” or “This is an omen—something bad is going to happen.” I thought my foot was swelling again, and I’d have to go to the ER. All kinds of fears can raise their ugly heads at three in the morning. I tried relaxation, deep breathing, every technique I knew. I read a question somewhere, probably on Facebook, that asked, “What is it with people who fall right asleep? Don’t they have thoughts?” I outlined a new book, which may eventually lead to something but it falls wide of the mark now; I solved some of the problems in my friends’ lives—which I’d never have the nerve to tell them. I thought of all those emails I should have sent yesterday—they took me five minutes total when I finally did them this morning. I got leg cramps; I had to pee an inordinate number of times; I twisted and turned from back to side and fought off that encroaching child who once gave me such a good whack on the arm I was sure I’d have a bruise. Finally, at 7:30, I gave up, got up, and started my day.

My mom was quite cavalier about sleepless nights when I was a child. I remember complaining that I couldn’t go to sleep because I itched all over. “That,” she said serenely, “is a sign you’re about to go to sleep.” If I complained that I hadn’t slept at all, she’d say, “You did. It just seems like you didn’t.” I did have a few, brief, weird dreams last night and sometimes saw messages and words that made no sense—origin of my fear that I was having a TIA.

This morning, all was sunshine. I went about my routine, fed Jacob, did some work at my computer, did some kitchen work. Okay, don’t look at all the unfolded laundry by the washing machine.

Now I’m sleepy. Jacob has gone to brunch with his parents, and Sophie is curled up in her chair. Company coming at 5:30. I may not be ready, because I’m going to take a long nap (I hope).

P.S. Nice nap. Crockpot barbecue was good. And two important dinner guests are shown above. The younger one is serving as a seeing-eye dog for my friend; the older one is retired. Sophie loves these boys!

A nine-year-old caretaker

This morning I had errands to run, but increasingly since my hip/back problem developed, I’ve been reluctant to venture out of the house. I think I’m paralyzed by the fear of falling again. So today I had Jacob as backup…and he was as good as gold.

First we walked down the driveway from the front porch—I haven’t done that since I feel in the driveway last March. I’ve developed an alternative way of going to the car—out the back door and through the dog gate. Jacob held my hand the few steps until we got to the fence where I felt safe—he did say, “You’re holding on awful tight.” Then when I was walking on my own, he said, “You’re walking awfully fast.” I told him fast was better than slow.

First stop: the gas station, where I had no problem though I told Jacob to undo his seat belt. That’s an old superstition of mine, but I have heard of static electricity causing flame to follow the hose to the car. Jacob’s father scoffs at me, but I hold to it.

Then to Origins, where I buy facial products. Jacob was clearly out of his element but he dutifully held my hand though we didn’t have to walk far. I was surprised at how shaky my legs were.

Then to Central Market, where he brought a basket to me, and with that to hold on to, I was fine, though my cane kept slipping out of the end of the basket and threatened to trip bystanders. Jacob thought that was all fun. Otherwise, he kept asking how many more things were on my list. Actually I had a short list, and we were through in record time—with a record low price for me at that store.

Then home, where he glued on his iPad until time to go with Chandry, our apartment guest, to play with her big dogs at a kennel in Weatherford. I worked and slept—until Jacob rudely woke me up at 5:30. Next time he won’t wake up on a school morning, I’m going to be equally rude! Dinner of buttered noodles (I put capers on mine) and broccoli—Jacob ate prodigious amounts.

And then Chandry and a friend ate dinner on the deck, so we went out to visit. And In between all that, I was trying to make a pot of lasagna soup. No wonder my back hurts tonight, and I am more weary than I remember being in a long time.

                                                     

Outhouses and other inconveniences

The other night when it stormed, I blogged about our family cabin in the Indiana Dunes and how I loved to watch storms roll down the lake and how I treasure the memory of summer times at that cabin. The outhouse was a memory I don't treasure so much. The cabin fronted, high on a dune, to the lake, but out the back windows was woods--lovely, Midwestern woods with lots of undergrowth and tall trees--dark and beautiful during the day but scary at night.
The outhouse was maybe a quarter of a block down the path into the woods--it seemed like a mile. I hated having to go down there in the middle of the night. You never knew what would jump out of the woods at you or what you'd step on or if there was a spider on the seat. Flashlights, always kept at the ready, were minimal help. I was well grown before I stopped making my mom go with me.
Last night I had sort of the same experience. The only working toilet was the one in the guest house. I wakened at three or so and knew I needed to go to the bathroom. Lay there fighting it and considering my alternatives until four. Then in a burst of--I don't know what--I jumped out of bed, grabbed a flashlight and cane, the key to the apartment and my cell phone (I was a Girl Scout--Be Prepared) and went out there as fast as I dared. Came in and slept soundly, congratulating myself on my bravery. I'm not a particularly brave person--in fact, I'd say I scare easily. My balance is bad and gets worse after dark, so this was an especially courageous move for me--or not. Necessity is necessity.
Today the toilets are fixed--well, they were, until Jacob demonstrated accidentally that the tank in the small half bath off my office didn't fill and he couldn't make it flush. Another day with the plumber tomorrow.
I'm in a patch of self-doubt, anxiety, whatever--and one thing I know is I should keep congratulating myself on the things I do instead of dwelling on what goes wrong. The other day I had a difficult time driving to physical therapy, although once I got there I was fine. I have overcome my driving woes--or thought I had. So when I headed home, I considered longer routes but "safer" ones. Then I told myself if I did that once, I'd never go the direct route again, and I can't let anxiety rule my life. I drove fairly calmly, but oh my, was I glad to be home. The dark of the night trip to the apartment falls into that same category. I know my stride is better and my muscles stronger--so why hasn't my self confidence kept pace?
Tonight I went with friends for happy hour at some other friends' new condominium, and I was so awkward about going up the tiny steps or the grassy slope that I made Jacob hold my hand and he complained I was holding too tight. Really miserable. But I enjoyed the camaraderie, and once I was back on familiar territory--the restaurant where we dine every Tuesday--I was just fine.
Another thing I'm trying to tell myself is not to worry about going to physical therapy Thursday. Don't bring that anxiety up here and let it build. Tomorrow? I wait for the plumber, go to the grocery, fetch three little boys from school, and have dinner with Betty. Oh, and there's that next-to-final proof of a manuscript to read. I don't have time for anxiety.

A Fishy Weekend

Smoked salmon, potato salad, and crème fraiche

My friend Linda from Granbury was my houseguest last night--she had an afternoon class at TCU yesterday and a make-up class this afternoon, so she spent the night. I warned her she was in for a fishy weekend--and a cooking weekend for me. Last night we had a smoked salmon/cream cheese/sour cream/anchovy appetizer, followed by pasta in an anchovy sauce--one of those where you make a sauce of olive oil and whatever, dump in the cooked spaghetti and then add egg yolks beaten with water. I love watching that watery mess thicken up to a golden sauce that coats the noodles perfectly. This was particularly good. Jacob dumped his green peas into his pasta (sans sauce) at Linda's suggestion and declared it delicious.
For breakfast Jacob ate two waffles and two scrambled eggs, while Linda and I had cinnamon raisin English muffins. Jacob went home with his dad after church, and Linda and I had Tonino's tuna marinated in olive oil and oregano, on cottage cheese. If you have not discovered Tonino's, and you like tuna, I urge you to look in the canned meat department at Central Market. It comes in small, expensive jars but is so good!
The best thing about the evening was Jacob. When he and I are here alone, we eat in my office and don't talk much. Last night, he ate at the table, didn't ask to be excused early, carried on a great conversation with Linda, and then while I did dishes, they went for a long walk. This morning, first words out of his mouth were, "Where's Linda?" She was in the sunroom reading, so he went back and had a great conversation. When I asked what they wanted for breakfast, he said something about Alexander the Great. I asked what that had to do with breakfast, and he said condescendingly, "We were talking about history." After breakfast, they went for another long walk. Then we went to church, which was particularly inspiring this morning.
Tonight friends Subie and Phil came for supper--more fish. We finished the salmon dip left from last night, and the entrée was a platter of smoked salmon ringing a mound of potato salad (tiny new potatoes), drizzled with crème fraiche seasoned with horseradish, and garnished with liberal sprinklings of chopped dill. Subie pronounced it a very Scandinavian dish--and of course it was: fish, potatoes, and berries (she brought a wonderful fruit dish of raspberries and blueberries). Designed to serve six--we ate every bite. Cocktails on the deck, where it was most pleasant--I hadn't thought about cleaning the table because it was supposed to rain but no rain so far.
So it was a lovely cooking weekend. My back didn't hurt as much as it has, and I enjoyed fixing food--I always do. But maybe the best part was the interaction between Jacob and Linda--he was so grown-up, so gentlemanly, and so polite.
When he was perhaps three, he took Linda on a walk across the street to see Lily B. Clayton Elementary and assured her this was where he was going to school. She asked if he'd talked to his parents about that, but she said he was absolutely sure that was where he would go. And guess what? He's finishing third grade there. I think every child needs a non-family adult who dotes on him--I had that luxury as a child, and Jacob has several, but Linda is special. For her, it fulfills a need to touch and be close to a grandchild--hers live in Cleveland and Philadelphia.
A thoroughly satisfying weekend. No, I didn't write my thousand words today, but I did yesterday.

Breathe in, breathe out

One of the things I like about yoga is that if you can really live in the moment while you're doing it, it does calm you. If I can get dogs and children and telephone squared away and do the poses, repeating breathe in, breathe out, I really do feel different when I finish a half hour. Doesn't happen often enough these days. I've been so busy keeping up with two dogs, that I have done yoga in two weeks...and I miss it. I keep telling myself life will settle down.
Today I woke up with an overwhelming sense of things to be done. Somehow that sense always hits me in the morning, but by evening I feel relaxed and confident about what I accomplished for the day. But Jacob spent the night last night...and I never sleep as well when he's here. In addition, I had to be sure to get up in plenty of time to get him down the block to school on time. This morning it was his iPad that distracted him. After his breakfast I told him to get his clothes and get dressed; he brought his clothes into the living room and then forgot about them until I asked why he was still in his underwear. Then I told him four times to get his lunch money off the kitchen counter. Guess what I found after I saw him off to school. Yep, lunch money. His mom said incredulously, "You let him have his iPad in the morning? What is wrong with you?" Lesson learned.
My lunch plans cancelled--now you know I'm in trouble when that comes as a blessed relief, even with a friend who is especially dear to me. But it meant I got a lot done, and tonight I'm going to start reading a friend's manuscript on the Garden of Eden community--an early African American settlement that survives today, with residents growing vegetables and living off the land as much as is possible in an urban community today.
I'm keeping up with the dog world and falling into a routine. Today, for the first time in who knows how long, I didn't have to be outside with Luke and he didn't escape. Lewis and Jim Bundock fixed the fence yesterday, came back today to reinforce the gate he tore through yesterday afternoon. We may have outwitted him, though I'm not counting on it.
Had an odd dinner tonight. Betty and I did our weekly dinner thing--and split an order of five deviled egg halves. She had clam chowder and I had a great tomato and blue cheese plate. Just the right amount of food. My weight has even gone down about five lbs.--good news!
All of this says to me that life goes on. Problems that seemed insurmountable become but bumps in the road. I'll get back to yoga and breathing in, breathing out. Maybe I'm Pollyanna, but I surely do think life is good. I hope it is for you too.

The dog saga continues

Yesterday I took Luke to the vet to be neutered, micro-chipped, and whatever else needing doing. Because I had a book signing--whole different story--last night, I left him at the vet's overnight. It was, I admit, a vacation from having to juggle two dogs. The signing went well, and lots of good friends came and had a jolly time. Jordan and I were exhausted by the time we got home, and I was grateful to have only one dog to deal with.
But this morning early I went to get Luke who was greatly happy to see me. He was wearing what must people call the cone of shame, but I prefer to call an Elizabethan collar--poor dear has to wear it for 10-14 days. But I had the go-ahead to put the dogs together and decided a small space was best for control. So I put them in the office with me. After some initial play, chasing each other, lots of barking on Sophie's part, things settled down. Sophie hid under my desk, and Luke paced though he eventually lay down and watched me.
I put them outside together and they seemed to have a grand time, but they were both running--Sophie can outrun him. Great exercise for her but Luke is not supposed to run until his heartworm treatment is complete--8 weeks. Of course neither dog would listen to my commands to stop, but I happened to grab Luke on the fly-by and put an end to that game. So they still have to go outdoors separately.
The afternoon did not go as well. Jacob got as hyper-excited as the dogs and yelled at me that Luke was biting Sophie. It was play on both their parts, though Sophie sounded pretty ferocious. Still when Luke would back off, she'd go after him. I figure it's a matter of time until they get used to each other, and Luke still has all his puppy enthusiasm.
Luke, who has shown no interest in toys, found a toy he would not be parted from. At first, the cone kept him from picking it up, but Jacob gave it to him. When he got it stuck under the couch, Jacob went down to get it for him--and disaster struck. That sweet loving dog growled and snapped, caught Jacob on the side of the head and the ear. No serious damage, a small bruise, and a tiny bit of blood, but Jacob cried for an hour. We've always told him not to put his face near a dog's face, but he's surrounded by dogs where it doesn't matter, and I guess he didn't even think about it.
Jay came and talked to him, explaining that we don't know the dog and he doesn't know us, plus he's a bundle of anxiety now. Within a short space of time he's gone from roadside stray to kennel to strange new home with new people, had surgery, and is wearing the cone. His nerves are a bit frayed...as are mine as this point.
Jacob had a great story to tell at dinner at the Grill tonight--he'd brightened by then--and I'm sure will tell it tomorrow at school. By the time I took Luke out tonight, Jacob came out on the deck and loved on him. Feelings do mend...and so do ears.
I have faith it will all settle down, but I admit I go to bed much earlier these days and bone weary. Oh, oops, Sophie's still outside. Got to go get her.

The quiet of solitude

Sophie and I are a little lost tonight. We've had Jacob with us for four nights, Granted, he tended to spend the evening in the back of the house in "his room" as he calls the family room, while I was in my office in the front. But I knew he was there, and sometimes I checked on him, took him a drink, and sometimes he came to ask me something or for a treat. Always I knew there was another person in the house. And then there was the business of getting teeth brushed and other nightly rituals and coercing him into bed--"Just five more minutes, Juju!" The hardest part about having Jacob is figuring out what to feed him that he'll eat--I fear he had way too much peanut butter and honey these last few days!
Tonight our "staycation" is over, and he's gone back home. Sophie takes his absence with equanimity--his attention to her is sometimes intense but often sporadic, and now she sleeps peacefully in her chair.
I am enjoying lazy solitude--reading a book that I will probably finish tonight, looking forward to a new copy of Southern Living, and ignoring that "to do" pile on my desk that has to at least be sorted. Like Scarlett, I'll think about that tomorrow.
Have a great weekend everyone!

One good deed begets another

Jacob has a new hero...and it all falls under the heading of paying it forward. Christian found a wallet in the Walmart parking lot last Saturday and rather than leave it for some less honest person he brought it home and called the owner, who turned out to be TCU football player Ju'juan Story. They met to return the wallet Monday afternoon, and Christian arranged to take Jacob with him. Ju'juan brought him an autographed TCU hat and his gloves from last year plus said he might come to Jacob's pool party Saturday--Jacob realizes that is a long shot, but I can tell he's still hoping.
And then his aunt and uncle presented with an NFL autograph football signed by one of the Dallas Cowboys. I do NOT want him to play football, but he is so excited about all this.
Earlier, he went to TCU Baseball camp and loved every minute, said he was liking TCU better all the time. Watch out Baylor, I some divided loyalties at the least, an outright switch as a possibility.
This has been a Jacob-centric week, since I've taken him to a

private swim lesson each morning from ten-thirty to eleven. Hope I'm not repeating myself, but the first day he sat on the end of the diving board, told the instructor which way he was going. She gave him a gentle shove, and he swam to the edge. The very next day he stood on the end of the dividing board, went in (okay it was a belly flop and he said it hurt) and swam the length of the pool. I was astounded. Today he learned the breast stroke which she says is hard to master (I do it on a yoga mat!) He' made progress and had a wonderful week.

I've found the swim lessons took a chunk out of my day but enjoyed sitting under the trees reading, and I've had Jacob for company Tuesday afternoon and all day today. Tuesday, just after his swimming, the summer program at school was going on a swim field trip. Today they went to the zoo all day--he hasn't mentioned missing the zoo, so I guess it's okay.
Things can only get better. Tomorrow his eighth birthday. He's already close to wheedling me out of his present tonight.

Anticipation

Tonight is a night of waiting, anticipation. There are apparently huge storms to the west of us and news reports vary widely--we might get a few drops of rain; on the other hand, we might get one of Texas' spring storms, which can be strong and scary. Jacob is to be here tonight, and he's terrified of storms. So I have my comforting talk all ready.
But that's my other anticipation. He went to a birthday party in my neighborhood at four--for one of his best friends, Collin. Collin's mom said she'd call me about 6:30 so I could pick him up. It's almost 8:30 and he's not home yet. I called about seven and left a message; called again at seven-fifteen and said I was headed that way--she mentioned something about bring him home, and I didn't want to grab him away. So I ate supper on the front porch, had a glass of wine, and sat out there a long time reading. There is an occasional breeze that might hint of a storm to come but no serious green sky or anything.
We sit on the deck so much I forget how lovely the front porch is--trees lush and green all around, traffic slow at this time of the night. A neighbor out playing with his toddler son, who used to wave at me but now has become shy. I half read half looked at the trees and enjoyed the breeze.
Jacob  is now home, full of himself, telling me how things are going to be done. Comforting talk be darned. I had to remind him, rather firmly, that I am the boss and he is taking a shower at nine o'clock. He smells of a swimming pool, but he had a wonderful evening. Lots more fun than staying home with his grandmother.

Insignificance

This morning as I came through the house in the early daylight I saw a flag at the curb and momentarily wondered—it’s a Wednesday, not a Monday, not a holiday that I could think of. And the flag looked a bit incongruous between two garbage carts. But then I remembered—it’s 9/11. Perhaps the second—or third—day of infamy in our national history, on somewhat of a par with Pearl Harbor and JFK’s assassination. At least those are the moments that stand out in my living memory—and I’m not sure I remember Pearl Harbor, just hearing where I was when the new came.

Like most Americans I remember where I was and what I was doing on September 11, 2001—sitting at the same desk I am now. I’d stayed home from work because a workman (worker man one of my granddaughters used to say) was coming to refinish the bathroom sink (bad idea—just buy a new sink). I was working but had the TODAY show on and remember clearly the first announcement that a plane had flown into of the World Trade Towers. At first, everyone assumed it was a small private plane, seriously off course. The awful truth of course soon was evident. I kept running into the bathroom to update the worker man, who was strangely unmoved by it (he was a taciturn and not very pleasant individual who left a mess behind him). At the end of the morning, I tore myself from the TV, dressed and went to work. My colleague called in to say he couldn’t leave his TV.

The next few days were a blur of unimaginable tragedy and horror, sadness so great I hate to think about it but like our nation I can’t let myself forget—and the flag in front of my house is a poignant reminder.

Today I sat in the same spot, with the TODAY show on until I got serious about working. I wrote almost two thousand words on my work-in-progress—a commendable accomplishment for an author. But somehow it struck me as insignificant to work on a cozy mystery when all around me—especially on Facebook—were strong reminders of what this day means to us as a nation and, tragically, to so many people as individuals who lost loved ones or their health or whose lives were forever changed.

Does it put the Syrian crisis into perspective? I don’t know. I’ve been struggling to find some link, some parallel for the two but so far couldn’t do it. I may have an “Aha” moment later, but for now I’m just relieved that diplomacy has a chance. It’s like the song, “Give peace a chance.”

This afternoon when Jacob came home from school I intended to ask if they talked about 9/11 at school, but on the way up the drive he grabbed the flag pole and said, “Don’t ask me, Juju. I know what this is for. My dad told me on the way to school this morning.” They didn’t talk about it at school, which seemed sad to me.

Today ended as well as any such day can. Elizabeth, Betty and I took Jacob to The Star (the restaurant Betty and her husband own) and had a good dinner. Jacob loves the grilled cheese there. On the way home, we drove through downtown and Jacob marveled at the twinkly lights in the trees. Then, straight ahead, we saw a tall building with the top decorated in red, white and blue…and we were reminded once again of the significance of the day. And I thought about the insignificance of much of what we daily do, in the face of what happened twelve years ago.