Rain turns into sunshine

 

Once again, we woke, early, to heavy rain and loud thunder. Sophie cowered by my bed, and evening gray seemed reluctant to turn to daylight. But If I thought we were in for another rainy day, I was mistaken. By ten o’clock, the sun was shining, and the world was beginning to dry out. Now they tell us we’re pretty much through with rain. Not sure I trust that, but we’ll see.

The physical therapist came this morning. I thought it was his last day, but he said no, he would be here again Thursday. Nothing personal, because he is a nice guy, but I was a little let down. I have to get up and going earlier than I like on the days he comes. Still, I can tell that I am much stronger since we’ve been doing the exercises. I am fairly religious about doing them on the days he doesn’t come.

My upright walker is finally assembled, and I will admit it looks like a giant insect of something in my bedroom. I fully expect nightmares. Jordan does not like it, does not trust it, did not want me to try it tonight. It’s been a long day, and I am tired, so I readily agreed to wait until Dan the PT man comes on Thursday.

My busy schedule of appointments—Dan today, a haircut tomorrow, Dan again Thursday, the home health nurse on Friday—means that I open the driveway gate most days, at least for a while. It becomes a problem only because the tiny dog next door has discovered she can crawl under the fence. But then she finds herself in our driveway, bewildered, without any idea of what to do next. It’s only a danger when the gate is open and we don’t notice, because she could go wandering off into the world. Thank heaven, Sophie seems to have outgrown that urge. Soph knows she has a pretty good deal where she is.

The highlight of my day was a trip to Central Market, courtesy neighbor Mary Dulle. First time I’ve been in a grocery store since March 2020 when quarantine began. Just being there, looking at all the produce and grocery items and meat in the butcher counter, was a treat. I had a long list, Mary not so much, but she was so good about getting things I could not reach from the handicap cart which I drove. I must admit I love driving that cart, me who does not particularly like to drive a car. I’m good at maneuvering the cart, even backing it up. I spent way too much this morning, simply because I saw things I couldn’t resist—the biggest, most beautiful beefsteak tomato ever, chocolate truffles, a wedge of Port Salut cheese. What I didn’t buy: Wagyu steak that looked three inches high.

I was delighted that the store requires masks—if you don’t have one, there is a lady just inside the door with a supply. A few customers were unmasked, but not many. We went at ten-thirty, which appears to be an ideal time—very few other customers, no need to maneuver crowded aisles, etc. A great outing, and each time I leave the cottage, whether to dine or grocery shop, makes me more comfortable about getting out in the world. I wouldn’t say I have a case of pandemic anxiety, but I would definitely admit I’ve been way too comfortable staying at home.

Tonight we had a wonderful happy hour spread—the Port Salut I bought along with a cheese that is cheddar with strips of blue embedded (can’t remember the name) and an herbed goat cheese spread that I made this morning. Mary came to enjoy that with us. And then what amounted to a picnic supper—chicken burgers with a lemon basil sauce on potato buns with a slice of that huge tomato from today’s shopping, and a black bean/corn/feta salad. I am full and happy.

Though I have another confession: I didn’t sleep well last night for worrying about balancing the time schedule today. Dan was coming at 8:45, Mary at 10:30. I wanted to get the goat cheese spread into the fridge so the flavors would blend, and the bean salad was to chill at least six hours. In the wee hours of the morning I told myself over and over that the world would not end if none of that was done. But I couldn’t turn my mind away from it. And, of course, I got it all done in good time, read all my emails, did a little bit of business work, and had a good nap. I really need to master this compulsive, middle-of-the-night worrying. It’s only occasional but so annoying when it visits.

Sunshine all day tomorrow. Hooray!

 

Pushing back my boundaries

Yesterday was, for me, a busy day, though ten years ago I’d have probably thought it was an easy day. Jordan, neighbor Mary, and I went to an HEB superstore—really called HEB Plus—some twenty miles away and then out to lunch. I was home long enough to sort of catch up on the day’s emails and make sure all at my desk was in order. Then a quick nap, put together an antipasto try to take to a party, and was off to a small gathering with longtime friends—didn’t get home until after nine, which is late for me to be out. Lesson learned from the day: I rely on my desk time to keep my world in order, and if I’m too long away I feel I’m losing control. I loved everything I did yesterday but always felt sort of out of kilter. Does that make sense, or does it sound like the lunatic ravings of a recluse in the making?

We set out about ten in the morning for HEB. Why go that far for groceries? Because these stores are bigger and offer more than most groceries. Mary pronounced it Central Market only cheaper (they are owned by the same company)—I would add it’s Central Market on steroids. We didn’t actually buy much. The week preceding Christmas is not a good time to shop—none of us planned to cook much at home this week. But I now want to study the recipes I’ve marked to try and go back list in hand. I want to buy some of that delectable fresh bread and study the various salmon cakes. I want to buy fresh gulf oysters and pork that, according to the sign, has no additives, antibiotics, or hormones. Freshly made casserole dinners for two and all manner of fresh salads. Jordan was intrigued by the shredded rotisseries chicken and announced we would soon have chicken enchiladas since she wouldn’t have  to shred the chicken herself. The store has prepared things for the quick cook but an equal offering of basics for those of us who like to do our own preparation.

The evening’s gathering was to be a happy hour with three longtime friends. It turned into a full-fledged meal at which we lingered at the table, exchanging gifts, talking about the holidays, how we came together, and other such. Our hostess served us homemade cauliflower soup with caraway seeds, spiced pumpkin bread, and  a green salad with walnuts and craisins. I planned my antipasto platter for the happy hour several days in advance. I wanted to upgrade the way I serve meat and cheese, piling it in a crowded platter rather than laying out neat slices. I chose salami, mortadella, a  Gouda, and provolone and lightened the platter with tiny tomatoes, baby carrots, cucumber slices, and segments of small sweetie oranges, with a dip of homemade pesto, sour cream and a dab of mayonnaise.

Getting home at 9:30, I barely had time and energy to once again organize my desk, before I fell into bed. This morning I started the day with a list of small chores to be done—and a fresh new haircut. Life is hectic this week, even at my slow pace.

Long but lazy Sunday

Somehow, I found myself up at 6:30 this morning, way before I usually get up. For heaven’s sake, it was still dark! Even Sophie gave a long stretch and looked at me as if to say, “Really?” The thing was that we were going to nine o’clock church, and I have an internal alarm clock that signals me when I have to be someplace early in the morning. It takes two hours for my hair to dry, and I hate to use a hair dryer. Another sacrifice for the cause: as soon as my feet hit the floor, I washed my hair—I usually wait and do that after a cup of tea and an early prowl through the news.

So there I was at eight, all dressed and ready for church. We were even a bit early—unusual for us. The sermon was on discipleship, and the scripture was the story of the loaves and fish. Struck me as particularly appropriate and bittersweet because I had just read of Kansas City officials pouring bleach on food to keep a community organization from serving it to the homeless without a permit. That reminded me of those bracelets that read WWJD—remember them? What would Jesus do? He sure wouldn’t be pouring bleach on food. What kind of people has our country created?

After church, Jordan and I did a quick grocery run. These days we don’t often go to a “regular” grocery—I do a lot of online ordering—but there are some things you really can’t get without actually going to Tom Thumb or Albertson’s or Kroger’s. We went to the old Albertson’s in the neighborhood where we used to live—familiar, and I know the geography of the store, but they put so many dumps in the narrow aisles that it’s hard for me to navigate in the electric grocery cart. I did fine until I got to a rough place in the parking lot, and then I truly thought for a moment I was going to dump over. Didn’t happen, thank goodness.

Tonight we had a strategy meeting with neighbor Margaret, in preparation for the meeting “in the field” with the engineer from the city about the “No Parking” signs in front of our house. I feel we are on solid ground to argue that we are so far from the new “Stop” signs that they are not needed and are a great inconvenience to us as well as a reflection on our property values. Margaret has a Stop sign in front of her house but says if she puts on her mother-of-toddlers hat, she understands (her two boys are both college age). She feels, and I agree, that the school and the city are being disrespectful to the neighbors who have supported the school.

Of course, we couldn’t have a strategy meeting at 5:00 p.m. without happy hour, and Jordan fixed a lovely tray.

Checking in

When the highlight of your day was a trip to the grocery, with your daughter and grandson, and when you don’t want to keep on talking about the awful mess that is our government, you know you have nothing to blog about. And yet, my conscience strikes back at me. The OCD part of me says I usually blog every day, so why am I taking today off?

Why, indeed? Because I have zilch of interest to say.

The grocery store trip kept getting postponed because Jordan didn’t feel well this morning. That was okay with me, because I’d spent the night coughing and blowing and got up feeling tired. We finally set out a bit after eleven, and Jordan announced since the three of us were together and we didn’t often have the opportunity, we should go to lunch. So the great lunch debate ensued: Jacob declared he wasn’t hungry, I didn’t really want the Italian she suggested, and finally I said, “Fuzzy’s.” So, Jordan had a salad, Jacob had a bowl of Mexican rice, and I had tacos. I like them because of the feta they use and because the lettuce is usually nice and crisp.

Then off to Albertson’s where driving the handicapped cart is always a challenge because they put so many dumps in the aisles. Jacob kept deviling me to want to drive the cart, and I pointed out it said no children. He, a stickler for accuracy, pointed out that it really said no children allowed in the grocery basket part. I did not let him drive it. Chaos would have followed.

We did a fairy efficient shopping and were home by 12:30. I put groceries away and did a couple of other chores, worked a bit, had a good long nap. Cough drops were on my grocery list, and they made all the difference. I slept soundly and woke feeling a bit more refreshed. Hope they work again tonight, though I sense the cold is on its way out. What do they say? Seven days? I should have two to go.

The Burtons were all out this evening, so I wrote, read, cooked myself a lamb chop and some spinach, and had a thoroughly enjoyable evening. Now it’s late, and I’m ready for bed. And, look, I got through an entire blog without mentioning Trump of the Republicans. Such restraint!

Somehow that wonderful Molly Ivins quote pops into my mind, so that’s what I’ll end with: “So keep fighting for freedom and justice, beloveds, but don't forget to have fun doin' it. Be outrageous... rejoice in all the oddities that freedom can produce. And when you get through celebrating the sheer joy of a good fight, be sure to tell those who come after how much fun it was!” Good night, all.

Radio star—not!, grocery store, and more rain

Clearly, I am not meant to be a star of talk radio. I had two interviews scheduled this week, and both fizzled. The first was with a station in Ocala, Florida, at 10:10 in the morning. I was to call in a little before that. I was geared up for it, watching the clock—and then I got an email from the publicist who arranged it. They were waiting for me, wondering what happened. I had forgotten about the time difference. I should have called at 9:10.

When I did call they kindly said they’d put me in the second half hour if I’d hold for a few minutes. Of course, I agreed. But when we got on the air, there was so much static at their end I couldn’t understand them. Most of the interview consisted of me saying, “Pardon me?” or “Would you repeat that?” It was an agonizingly long ten minutes, and I think maybe I got in one or two good answers.

This afternoon I was to have a two-hour interview with a host named Barbara. I’ve been on Barbara’s show before, and I kept trying to remember if she gave potty breaks or not. I was remembering a friend who was to have a two-and-a-half-hour video for a job interview and told me she had severely curtailed fluid intake that morning. There’d been an email a week ago from someone named Barbara cancelling a show, but PJ, the publicist, said that was a different deal. This one was still on. Minutes before the allotted time, I found out this is the one that cancelled. I was all geared up for nothing. PJ said it was the fourth radio interview she’d scheduled this week that fizzled, and we decided it was either the eclipse or a spot on the moon.

And it’s been a rainy day. Last night Jordan said if it was pouring rain this morning, she’d go to the grocery with my list and not try to get me out. So I prepared myself for not getting out, didn’t jump out of bed and wash my hair, lazed about breakfast. And it wasn’t raining. She came to say we’d go at nine. I decided I really wanted to go. Grocery shopping not only gets me out of the house, it allows me to choose my own groceries, and I love that. So, not looking my best, I went to the bank—what I wanted in the safe deposit wasn’t there—and the grocery and the lunch take-out place. High point of the day.And the high point of the day was that I walked into the grocery on Jordan's arm, walking like a normal person. I felt like my legs were working well. Now it's my breathing that I worry about, but I am assured that is conditioning, complicated by the humidity I just need to keep walking.

We had another thunderstorm late this afternoon, the kind I thoroughly enjoy except for that one clap of thunder that was directly overhead and set Sophie to barking furiously. Wish I knew went on in that little brain that she thinks barking at thunder is effective. I love storms (without tornadic winds, of course). As a child in the Indiana Dunes, I used to watch them roll down the whole long length of Lake Michigan, and I was reminded again today of my brother’s words that our mother actively encouraged us to like storms.

My own personal moral of the day: you can’t win them all.