Confusion—and a new phone

 

I really miss the days of the littles.

Why is nothing ever simple? Christian found time today to go get me a new phone. Of course, he ran into trouble because he wasn’t listed on my account, but they finally agreed to deal with him since he had the password and all. Next, the old phone had no value. Meantime, my computer reminded me that Rosa was coming to cut my hair at two o’clock. I hadn’t heard from her in the weeks since we made that appointment, so I reached for my phone to call and confirm. Oops! No phone. Rosa meantime was texting to tell me she’d be late. So Christian was trying to read her text, email me, and get it all straightened out. He emailed me that she was coming, but when she hadn’t gotten here by two-thirty I decided she’d run into trouble of some kind and wasn’t coming. I was ready for a nap. Rosa meantime was texting that the gate was closed, and Christian was emailing to tell me to open the gate—it was already open, and I never did figure out what that was about.

Long story short: tonight I have a new haircut and a new phone. I’m not sure if Christian has linked the hearing aids to the hone or not—that was the whole point of this. And some apps haven’t downloaded yet, though I suspect they are apps that we recently eliminated. I had a whole lot of junk on there I never use.

Next confusion: Subie and Phil arrived for happy hour earlier than I thought they were coming, so I was scrambling to get out appetizers. And Sophie decided if there was company, it must be time for her supper—and began to bark incessantly. Phil has recently developed a real sensitivity to her barking, so I was trying to quiet her, fix the food, serve the appetizers, and hang on to my own sanity. Yes, she is spoiled. Jordan walked into the middle of all that and began to talk about multitasking. I considered smacking her.

We have discovered a new bit of Sophie magic. She is bad about barking when there is company. It’s partly to get attention, but she also wants treats. I maintain she has learned that if she barks, she gets a treat to quiet her—I attribute this partly to Jordan who threatens to leave if the barking continues, a threat Phil now echoes. I maintain I can’t keep giving her treats. Ever since her diagnosis of diabetes, Sophie is ravenous all the time and that’s not her fault, not anything to scold her for—Jean tells me it’s that infinitesimal bit of prednisone she takes daily. By accident one night recently, I discovered that when she’s in a barking spell, if I put her leash on her, she settles down and is fairly docile. So I did that tonight, and she spent a bit of time curled up on the sofa next to Subie. Meanwhile, Phil’s seeing-eye dog wanted to stay in the yard, wouldn’t come in. Jordan’s theory was that he was on a work break. Christian tried to entice him in and said the dog looked at him like, “I don’t have to mind you.” When Phil called him, he came right in.

In other news around the cottage, Jacob has been playing in a golf tournament this week. Monday, his tee time was early which was a blessing, but today it was eleven o’clock which would put him on the course in the hottest part of the day. His whole team withdrew from the tournament. Good for them! I know the tournament was probably scheduled long before this unbearable heat was on the horizon, but one wonders that the entire thing wasn’t cancelled Monday.

I read tonight that a cool front will arrive Friday evening. It didn’t say how cool but indicated temperatures would be close to normal. That sounds like a relief to me. And perfect timing. The whole family is arriving Friday, and there will be fifteen of us for dinner on the patio at Joe T.’s. Pray any possible thunderstorms hold off. I am as one would expect greatly excited about having all of us together—we will be missing Maddie, the oldest grandchild, who couldn’t get off work because she had just taken time off to go to Italy for a wedding. I can understand her priorities but am really sorry she won’t be with us. It will still be a glorious occasion.

The grands are all big now, with the youngest at sixteen and the oldest, twenty-three. I do miss the days when we had all those littles around us, as the picture above testifies. It popped up on my computer this morning, and I remember distinctly it was a mid-summer get-together when the Burtons lived on Mesa Drive and had a lovely, kid-friendly backyard—must have been about 2008. When the grands were little and I lived in the main house, I could sleep everyone here (except the Burtons who had their own house nearby), what with the cottage, which was then a guest apartment, the playroom in the back of the house, and a proper guest room. Now they will scatter to motels and getting them back together in the morning will be like herding cats. But we will have a wonderful weekend.

Oops. I just looked up that cool front—Saturday the temperature will be in the high nineties and then back up over a hundred. One relatively hot day, as compared to blisteringly hot, is not much relief. Stay cool folks and drink that water.

 

 

A day of trivia—and one big thing

 

So nice to wake up to sunshine this morning. No rain forecast until sometime next week. Everybody seemed to like the better weather--the yard guys came, having been delayed for two days by the rain, and Sophie stayed outside much of the day. The only glitch came when Jean came for happy hour. I put together a cheese tray with the Hunter cheese and Port Salut I bought at Central Market yesterday and the herbed goat cheese spread I made. Jean carried everything out on the patio but soon had to carry it back in. There were flies everywhere! I had little covers on the wine glasses, and we put a sheet of wax paper over the cheeses, but it was hugely ineffective. So we ended up inside. I do hope this is not the end of patio weather, though I admit it was pretty steamy out there this evening. The humidity is still high, even if it has stopped raining.

When I turned on my computer this morning, the first thing I saw was Richard Rohr’s meditation for the day: “Clearly, what this world absolutely needs is more love.” Anyone else hearing the Beatles in your head? There’s your earworm for the day. Speaking of earworms, the other day I woke up with “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” repeating in my mind. I have no idea why, but I, who these days can only do the first verse from memory in church, could clearly remember all the verses. My childhood must have been coming back to me.

More trivia: my new word for the day: collocation. I was writing my once-a-month column for Lone Star Literary Lifestyle and found myself writing about a woman who calls herself an authorpreneur. She referred to a collocation, so I looked it up—being able to do that at the computer is such a blessing to me—and found it means the repeated use of two words cobbled together to make one word. This woman used the collocation because she is an author and a publisher—the indie imprint under which she publishes her books is Black Mare Books. (She once had a black mare mustang.) Well, shoot, my imprint for indie published mysteries is Alter Ego Press. I just never thought of calling myself an authorpreneur, but now I am grateful for the word.

On Wednesdays, in a small online writers’ group, my tradition is to ask where everyone’s bookmark is. Of course, I have to start off with my own, and this week I had a rather weak explanation that I hadn’t settled on a book for over a week but had been toe-dipping in several. I forgot to explain that I picked up a Scottish mystery solely because the housekeeper in a castle is the amateur female detective. Her name is Alice MacBain—my mom’s name, even spelled the same way. The clan is usually McBean, but my dad changed his spelling to what he thought was more authentic. The book unfortunately was a spoof that didn’t quite come off—a closed room murder in a castle, and all the family members were snobs. I didn’t get very far.

I also tried Anthony Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential, figuring that a foodie like me should read some Bourdain and that title is probably his classic. He has an incredibly sensual way of describing food—like his first encounter, as a young boy, with a raw oyster. But as one critic said of his writing, “It’s too masculine.” There was all that testosterone fueling the dialog. It quickly became too much for me, too in-your-face. I know that will not sit well with Bourdain’s many fans, and I truly recognize that he earned his place as an icon in today’s world of chefs. I just don’t want to read about it.

So now I’m going to explore Killing in a Koi Pond, by Jessica Fletcher and Terrie  Moran. Terrie is a friend, recently anointed the latest collaborator on the long-running series, and I’m anxious to see how she handles stepping into those very big shoes. And I really want to cheer for her. And then, I want to read While Justice Sleeps, by Stacey Abrams. I wanted to see if she does as well at writing mystery as she does in getting out the vote.

But the big excitement for me today was a haircut. I’d been thinking about this for some time, and when Rosa came this morning for our appointment, I told her we needed to talk. She knew instantly what I wanted to talk about, and we reminisced about the days when I had short hair and lamented my present shagginess. Next thing I knew I had a new, short haircut. I admit I didn’t look in the mirror for some time after she left, but when I did, I was pleased. Rosa has been doing my hair for over seventeen years, and she’s pretty tuned to what I want and need. And she long ago told me when I couldn’t come to her, she would come to me. I am so blessed.

Sweet dreams, everyone. Dream of sunny skies for a few days.

 

 

The New Me and the Old Sophie

I am a new person today—I went to the dentist yesterday and got my hair cut today. Makes such a difference in my attitude. As you may have picked up, I’ve been chewing on the dentist problem since April—that was when my appointment for a cleaning was. I cancelled, because of quarantine. But I worried, afraid to go, afraid not to go. The last time I missed going for several months, due to surgery, I had to have a lot of dental work done, and I didn’t want a repeat of that. (Yes, I am more than a little dental phobic!)

Finally in June I made this appointment—you know how easy it is to commit to something that’s a ways in the future. But then came the surge of virus cases, and I began to have doubts. I admit that my doubts were exaggerated by my general dislike of going to the dentist’s office. My hygienist is a really nice person and I like her a lot, just don’t like what she does, as I told her yesterday. I called and inquired about precautions—sounded good, and I was ready to go. But then I began hearing about people who were hesitant. Finally day before yesterday I thought, “I have to go and get it off my mind.”

Turned out to be a pleasant surprise. I saw exactly three people—two in the reception area and the hygienist. They were all masked. I used a clean pen to sign in and when I tried to hand it back the receptionist held out a piece of paper for me to set it on. They take your temperature and ask you if you’ve been exposed, etc. The hygienist explained that she can’t use the electric pick because it sprays water and they are avoiding aerosol contamination. I told her I was delighted because I hate that thing—reminds me of the drill.

Best bonus of all—my teeth were in better shape than any previous visit, and she said if I keep taking such good care of them, she can avoid the electric thing. And my blood pressure was extraordinarily good. Win, win!

The haircut is a win too. Last time, I told Rosa how I wanted it cut—my own fault I spent five weeks looking dutchy, literally. So today I asked her to ignore me and cut it the way she thought best. Now it’s short, has some shape, and I keep feeling the back of my head because it feels good to have the hair trimmed back there. I am blessed that Rosa comes to the cottage on her way to the salon. And she takes every precaution—even swept the floor and then wiped down the broom.

Sophie, however, is not a new dog—she’s up to old tricks. The other night she got me up at 1:30 because she wanted to go out. She’s so well housebroken that when she does that, I assume she needs to pee. Wrong! She went out, laid on the deck, and stared at me—insolently. No matter how I called, pleaded, bribed, she remained unmoved. This went on for at least 45 minutes—and I’d been sleeping so soundly. I can’t go back to bed when she’s out at night. I think she’s big enough (30 lbs.) to avoid predators—except the human kind. Our neighborhood has night-time visitors who try car doors to find an unlocked car. What if one came up our driveway, saw this cute dog, and decided to take her? The electric gate is no barrier for people with bad intentions. Usually I give her some serious talk about coming right back in, but I was too sleepy. Learned my lesson. Right now she’s crawled into her crate, on her own, and is sleeping the sleep of the innocent. I know better.

Just had my favorite sandwich for lunch—chicken, mayo and blue cheese on rye bread. Cannot be beat. Something I learned in school in rural Iowa of all places.

Happy Friday, folks!

A week of moments

Junie Bug amidst the flowers

Sophie woke up this morning—early, sigh!--full of the joy of life and energy, itching to go after the squirrels. She went out, did her business, came back in, and did a dance by my bed, clicking her nails on the wood floor. I watched for signs my neighbor was up before I let her out, but finally I couldn’t contain her. I gave her a stern and strict talking to that had to do with no barking. She stared at me, tail wagging, impatient. And so began her morning outdoors. She ran, top speed, from one end of the yard to the other, from one side to the other. Occasionally I’d see her tail, raised in joy, swing by my patio door so I knew she was all right. But she didn’t bark. Ever. She squeaked occasionally in excitement. But no barking. Finally I called her in about two o’clock, and she voluntarily went into her crate and slept soundly all afternoon. She is such good company—except early in the morning.

It has been a week of moments—we began to stretch the limits of our quarantine, ever so tentatively. A big moment for me—I got my hair cut. The wonderful stylist/friend who cuts it came to the house, masked and armed with all kinds of sanitizers. I told Jordan she looks careless next to the precautions Rosa took.

Then that same night, I left my own property for the second time since March 12. We went to friends for a distanced happy hour on their patio. As one said, it’s a whole new way of entertainment—everyone brings their own wine, glasses, ice, and snacks. The friends we visited, Phil and Green, have a large and beautiful yard. Highlight for me was a tree I’d never heard of—the Vitek. Two of them in fact. Also known as Abraham’s balm or a chaste tree, it is a bushy tree similar in shape to crape myrtles. But the Vitek has lush and plentiful lavender or white blooms with a slight fragrance.

One day my memorable moment was that I took a holiday from the novel I’m writing. I wrote a cooking blog, cleaned my desk and organized a pile of papers that had accumulated, indulged in the luxury of lingering over recipe magazines—Food & Wine and Southern Living. I’m a compulsive recipe clipper, but these days I am trying to be sensible about. With steely resolve, I pass by a lot of things that sound wonderful to me—things I know my family won’t eat (like wonderful summer fruit desserts), things that in another life I would have served to dinner guests. When the pandemic quiets down, if ever, I hope I can get back to entertaining.

In site of all this activity, I added 6400 words to the novel. It’s coming close to an end—I’ve got to tie up all the ends and figure out who did what.

The weekend looms and with it cooking, good meals, patio time, some company. Hard times but good times. I am grateful.

A banner day in quarantine

Preparing sack lunches for the homeless

As quarantine days go, yesterday was a banner day. It began when Jordan cut my hair in the morning. She didn’t really cut it, just trimmed. But it was not a decision I reached lightly. For one thing, she seemed too eager to try it. But the ends were getting wispy. I called Rosa, who has styled my hair for almost twenty years, and she encouraged me to do it. So we did. And  you know what? It looks pretty darn good. There’s one spot I want her to trim just a bit more. But I feel better.

In the afternoon, Jordan and Jacob packed 20 sack lunches to go to the Presbyterian Night Shelter, through University Christian Church. I had intended to be part of this project. The food was all stored in my closet—snacks, energy bars, sacks, napkins, etc.  (Anything Jordan doesn’t know where to put, she stores in my closet which is ample, but not that big!). Turkey and cheese were in my fridge. But Jordan thought it would be easiest if they laid it all out on the dining table in the house. And they wanted to do it just when I usually nap. So I hope the church and the homeless know that my heart was in it, even if my hands were part of the preparation.

In the evening, Polly Hooper came to take our porch portrait. Polly is a longtime Berkeley resident who told us, as of last night, she had done 52 such portraits—and she had four scheduled last night. She knows all the tricks about posing—one foot in front of the other, weight on the back foot. Lean in a little bit. Move forward some. We were obedient. It’s unsettling to be photographed with the Burtons, because they are all three very photogenic—and I am not. Haven’t seen the pictures yet.

Polly has what I think is a super plan—to get each family to write something about their pandemic experience and then publish photos and text as a book. Sort of “How one neighborhood experienced the pandemic.”

Today has been much less eventful. Jordan went to a friend’s garage to celebrate a birthday—the friend lives alone and is strictly self-isolating, but Jordan wanted her to have birthday company. So she took her own wine, and Amye set a chair out in the garage for her. Amye stayed in the house, and they were separated by a small space of lawn. I was mostly at my desk and dined alone--scrambled eggs with lox, tomato, and scallion. And raspberry chocolate for dessert. Decadent.

Texas began to open up today, though it didn’t make much difference in my little world. I have heard of offices that are opening on a rotating basis—employees who have been working from home are given time slots when they may come to the office, so not too many are there at any one time. And they must wear masks. Now that is sensible. Rushing off to the mall or one of the restaurants that opened is sheer folly to me. I won’t be going for a long time.

My moral outrage grows by the day. A picture on the internet shows a protestor yelling, his mouth open, his expression grossly angry, right in the face of a law enforcement officer in the Lansing (Michigan) capitol building. Fortunately, the officers were all wearing masks. But to think that this man would yell in someone’s face, knowing what we do about transmission, is beyond my understanding. It’s sub-human behavior. And all those assault weapons—if it weren’t such a depredation, I’d be laughing at those heavily armed men. They look ridiculous in the halls of state—scruffily  dressed but armed to fight a major battle they know they’re not going to get. I think it’s true that those big guns compensate for something small.

I am often a critic of police brutality, but in this case, I think the police should arrest them. They're domestic terrorists, but when push comes to shove, I doubt many would use their weapons. And if one protestor got shot, it might teach the others a lesson. These protests are about guns, not about freedom to live without safety precautions. And no, mr. trump, these are not “very good people.”

Oops. I got carried away on a rant.

Breaking the routine

A banner day! For the first time in almost five weeks, I left the cottage. And my car had an outing too. I told Jordan some time ago that I wanted to try the chicken salad from Chicken Salad Chicks, but she stalled. She is leery of take-out food, especially in combination with chicken salad which, as she pointed out, “Someone has to cut up by hand.” But then someone raved about it to her, so she decided we should try it. And I got to go along for the pick-up ride. Nice to be out. I had seen how green everything is in my yard, but it was lovely to drive down University, between the park and the Botanical Garden, and see everything greened up for spring. Chicken salad was good. I think I like my own better.

Going on that short errand at eleven o’clock broke up the routine of my day, because late morning is when I get the most done. By noon I didn’t want to start anything new—rationalization supreme!—and went back to the mystery I am reading. That makes two days I’ve postponed that bit of research I’d mapped out for myself. I guess procrastination also reigns supreme. But I have no deadlines, so it’s okay if I take a day off. Darn my Puritanical work ethic!

Filled out the census form today, which was a puzzler because I thought I’d already done it. Two or three weeks ago I got a short form in the mail requesting information about residents at our address. So I filled it out for all four of us and returned it. Yesterday, I got a much longer form, addressed more narrowly to 2115A Back which I assumed is just my cottage. So I filled it out for just me—online, which was super easy and quick. But now I’m worried Jordan, Christian, and Jacob won’t be counted—or they’ll be counted twice. I am not sure about the accuracy of the census. Besides, I hear they were going to delay it.

This was also the day that my hair reached the tipping point. Looks fine on the left side of my head but ridiculous on the right—must have something to do with sleeping patterns. Today I threatened to have Jordan cut it, and to my surprise she was not at all hesitant. Said, “I can’t mess it up that badly.” I’m going to write the friend who usually cuts it and ask for advice.

Dinner tonight was a sort-of stir fry—lost my stir fry pan in the great downsizing and worried tonight about the cookware for my hot plate. It’s coated, and I wasn’t wild about using really high heat—so I didn’t. Turned out great. Ground pork, asparagus, ginger, scallions, garlic,  soy and sherry. A hit with all the family. Lesson learned—and I think it’s not the first time I learned it: fresh ginger is hard to mince. Now I have a huge piece in the fridge. Someone on the NYTimes Cooking Community said her husband had shopped for her and brought home way too much ginger—like eight pieces. She showed a picture, and someone else responded that would be gone in three weeks in her house. I don’t know what she does with it, but I couldn’t help commenting that it would be a lifetime supply for me. That one piece I have will probably wither before I use it, but Jordan points out it is really good for you.

Frost warning tonight, at least to the north of us. What has happened to the weather?

A birthday some dilemmas, and a puzzle

Today is my baby daughter’s birthday—Jordan, the youngest of my four. I won’t tell you how old she is because she’s a mite touchy about that, but I will say that it’s not a decade-changing birthday but still one that she considers significant. I cannot believe my kids are as old as they are.

Jordan loves to celebrate birthdays and is known for stretching hers out to two weeks or more. This year, it’s a rather subdued celebration. We reluctantly cancelled a birthday luncheon Subie was to host yesterday, and the Bass Hall performance, featuring our church choir and an original composition, scheduled for tonight, has been rescheduled for September. Jordan was excited that she and Christian were going to take Jacob. I suppose they’ll go in September, but that’s cold compensation for a birthday night on the town.

Today, as far as I know, she floated through the day, doing whatever struck her, but all at home. Tonight they are welcoming a very few close friends to the front porch. I was invited, but I won’t go it—I am convinced the fewer people I see, the better. I understand I will eventually get dinner from that gathering, but it’s almost seven and I have fortified myself with pimiento cheese on Ritz crackers—and wine, of course.

Current dilemmas: can I have the dog groomer come to the house? I can just hand the leash out the door and spray it when I get it back. Poor Sophie hasn’t had a haircut since late January—how did I do that?—and she’s shaggy and smells a bit doggy. One good note: she jumped up on a chair today and on the couch at Jacob’s urging. I have been worried because she hasn’t slept in her favorite chairs since she developed the urinary tract infection. Vet thinks it’s unrelated, and she probably has some arthritis—oh swell, another pill to give her.

My other dilemma: I will get shaggy myself and need a haircut soon. Can I have my much-loved Rosa come to the house? I have infinite faith in her cleanliness—she’s a protective mom of two boys—but who knows whose hair she’s been cutting. Jordan’s advice about everything is wait two weeks.

My pet peeve on this fifth day of social distancing—really social isolation—is people who say they don’t want to stay home. They want to eat in restaurants and go out as they please. What in heaven’s name do they think is going on? One woman posted that Queen Elizabeth is still going about her subjects, and she wanted to be just like the Queen. I replied that is all well and good for the Queen, but does this woman not realize that by disregarding all the strong recommendations that come from national, state, and local officials, she is endangering all of us. I told her as an at-risk citizen, I resented her attitude, and three people backed me up. It’s one thing to  have to explain this to Jacob, but we should have to spell it out for adults.

And a puzzle: A few days ago I shared a post from The Atlantic titled “The Trump Presidency is Over.” I said in the comment that we can’t blame trump for the pandemic, but this was a balanced review of the subject and his handling of it. It’s been since shared several times by others. Tonight I get an email that it violates Facebook’s community standards and I have the option to withdraw it or be unable to tag others or something—it was a bit confusing. I withdrew it, figuring it had already had quite a nice audience, but it’s left me mulling over the prevailing feeling that Facebook is politically motivated in its censorship judgments. I have seen blatant outright lies from the right. I guess someone on the right objected, and that’s why they took action. Now I have to learn to protest untrue postings. I have a Facebook friend (never met him) who says he reported several today.

I said it last night, and I’ll say it again: nerves are fraught and tense these days, and one thing we all most do it maintain our emotional equilibrium.

Sweet dreams, my friends.

Haircuts, tigers, and the Alamo

The difference a haircut makes is amazing. This morning, it was still chilly although sunny, and I was in a bit of a funk, reluctant to get started on a long day of work broken only by a two o’clock haircut and dinner with a friend. But then Rosa, the wonderful lady who keeps me from looking shaggy, called to say she could come by around nine instead of two. I managed to get my hair washed but she found me lazy otherwise—bed unmade, dishes in the sink. But that haircut turned my attitude around, and the whole day was better than I expected.

Sophie got a haircut a week or so ago. She had been having terrible allergies, and I could hear her wheeze and that wet breathing that scares you when you hear it in a child and worried me for my dog. She was also sleeping a lot. But after the haircut, she is a new dog—lively, allergy-free. I truly believe she was carrying around dust and pollen in that shaggy coat.

So in my next life I’m either going to be a hair stylist or a dog groomer. Such a good service they do for us.

Something appalling that I read this morning: there are only 3,000 tigers in the wild, while there are 5,000 in captivity. No, most of them are not in zoos and wildlife preserves. They are in people’s back yards. Estimate is that 2,000 are in Texas yards. Sorry, folks, but that’s an atrocity. Those magnificent creatures deserve to run free and should not live their lives in cages in back yards. Thank goodness, zoos are doing a better job these days of keeping animals in a so-called natural environment, but even that is less than ideal. The virtue of zoos is their breeding programs, which save many animals from extinction. I can’t begin to understand why someone would want a tiger in a cage in their backyard. Probably people who think life isn’t complete without an AR15.

Today is the 183^rd anniversary of the fall of the Alamo, which means, among many other more significant things, my book about the Alamo should be out by this time next year. I’ve seen several posts about this anniversary, and they all show pictures of the chapel. But that is not where the battle was. It took place in a building, now restored, adjacent to the chapel, called the long barracks. In the public mind, though, Davy Crockett and Jim Bowie swung their rifles in hand-to-hand combat on the roof of the chapel. Truth is, the chapel was in such disrepair at the time of the siege that it had no roof. When the U.S. Army occupied the building as a storage depot, in 1847, they put in the roof and added the familiar rounded arch or hip at the center.

Today I read an article that demonstrated how popular that style is in commercial and residential properties in Fort Worth, many dating back a century but probably few if any pre-dating the Alamo roof. So the assumption is that loyal Texans copied that feature, probably as a tribute or way or honoring the history. If you’re in Fort Worth, take a look, for instance at the Livestock Exchange. I suppose the same imitative style can be found in other Texas cities.

Take a minute too to think of the men who died defending the Alamo. As I’ve found out in my recent research, it’s not the simple heroic story most assume it is, and its ramifications are felt, good and bad, in Texas to this day. History lives on.

The importance of neatness and organization

My living room

cluttered with research

Ever since I’ve been in my tiny cottage, I’ve stressed the importance of keeping a small space free from clutter and mess. Twelve-year-old Jacob has been the particular recipient of my repetitive lectures. So here’s how my space looks these days. My desk is a cluttered mess, and my living/entertaining space not much better.

The problem? Research materials for my latest writing project. Papers are strewn everywhere, as I try to put all these photocopies in meaningful order—important, marginal, probably not useful. The problem is complicated because I inherited someone else’s research—more on that story another time.

Yesterday, friends from TCU Press came to do a podcast, and I felt obliged to make a clean

sweep of my desk, hiding most of the loose papers and stacking the couple of books and magazines in a neat pile. Jordan came along and promptly laid a couple of loose sheets on top, destroying the balance—I incorporated them into the pile. But by last night, my desk looked as you see it in the picture. You’d think I could at least read Bon Appetit and get it out of the way, but it takes me two or three times through a cooking magazine before I can discard it. I must be sure I’m not missing a recipe I can’t live without. And these days I am driven to go through all those research papers in that huge box, so reading fiction or food magazines seems a little frivolous to me.

Typical of my dilemma—yesterday I came across a master’s these that could be central, but it was missing the first forty pages, including the attribution. I wasn’t sure who wrote it, where it might be stored, etc. Then I discovered I have it in digital form on my computer. I run into duplication all over the place. But I keep plugging away—and I’m having fun.

Yesterday was also a day of surprises. I washed my hair early so it would dry before the podcast—and then came an unexpected phone call. Rosa was here two days earlier than expected to cut my hair. I can’t say enough about Rosa, who’s been keeping me trim for years and has become a treasured friend along the way. Since getting out is a bit hard for me, she comes by on her way to the salon about once a month, and we get a good visit while she snips and cuts.

So there I was—trim and neat for the podcast, if not scintillating on camera. I haven’t seen it yet, but I will share when I do. We mostly rehashed my writing career.

Another surprise, less pleasant: when I tried to refill my ice water, the cube dispenser got stuck and sprayed ice cubes all over the kitchen. Not easy to sweep up from a walker. I swept, put the broom and dustpan away, opened the freezer—and sprayed a second batch of cubes all over. Repeat sweeping.

Pleasant to end the day at Pacific Table with Betty—Caesar salad, fried oysters, and a decadent chocolate brownie topped with peanut butter ice cream. I think my appetite is returning.

Haircuts and a spoiled dog

March didn’t exactly roar in like a lion, but neither was it lamblike. Today, while sunny and pretty, was still quite chilly. I was glad to bundle up when I went out. Started the day with a haircut, which is always a nice thing. Makes me feel bouncy somehow. Many thanks to Rosa Estrada who makes house calls for me until I get back on my feet—or at least in my car. She’s been cutting my hair for about sixteen years now and is a dear and valued friend. She gives such a good haircut that one day a woman stopped me in a restaurant, said she used to do haircuts, and it was really difficult to do one like mine well. Whoever cut my hair, she said, had done an excellent job. So, hat’s off to Rosa. Besides, she just ran the full Cowtown, and I’m impressed.

Not so pleasant was my appointment to have my teeth cleaned. I really like my hygienist, Stephanie in the office of Dr. Peter Ku, but I harbor a childhood fear of dental appointments. When I was a kid—all those long years ago—dental techniques were pretty rough, and the drill was laborious and slow. And painful. And I had bad teeth, so I had a lot of dental work. The dentist was a close family friend, close enough that I knew him as an uncle, but he was also a taciturn man, given neither to comfort nor small talk. As an adult, I became very fond of him; as a child, I was frightened, and those memories linger even today. Stephanie did make it painless, and all my dread was for naught.

And I had visitors today, always a welcome break from routine. Jean came for coffee after her yoga workout this morning, and Phil and Subie came for wine this evening. Enjoyed all the visiting, but Sophie was a brat. She loves company, but she wants their attention and mine. This morning, she kept barking and growling at me (not serious growling) and then she jumped at my arm to get my attention—I finally pulled the walker in front of me as a barricade. She wanted a treat, which she does not get in the morning. Jean and I ignored her, though it’s hard to talk over her barking. But finally she settled down, lay on the floor with her paws crossed in a most ladylike manner, and gave us both baleful looks.

Tonight, when she barked, I thought, “Okay, it’s dinner time.” So I gave her a treat; she still barked. I gave her a bowl of dog food, which usually she stares at and doesn’t eat until much later. She ate every bit and barked; I gave her another bowl. Subie and Phil both loved on her, but nothing would quiet her. By some good fortune, I enticed her outside and closed the door firmly. She stood looking like, “Aren’t you going to let me in?”

I think I have a spoiled dog and am going to have to exert my authority. I’m trying, I’m trying. But even if I didn’t write today, I accomplished things—like the haircut and the dentist and some good reading.’

A lovely busy day

Looking toward the open kitchen at Fixe

Photo by Sean Green

Today was an extraordinarily busy day for me, with a blend of old and new experiences. Began the day with a haircut. Rosa, who has done my hair for at least fifteen years, comes by the house because I can’t drive. I’m sure she’ll be as relieved as I will when I get my car back, but meantime she has my undying gratitude. We have good visits while she snips and trims.

Went to lunch at a friend’s apartment. She and two other women have their own book club, and they just read my historical novel, The Gilded Cage. So I went to talk to them about the novel, but one of the women had to cancel. The three of us talked about the book and a lot about Chicago. The other woman had also grown up in Chicago, so we had lots to share. Nancy fixed a terrific lunch and had festooned her apartment with hearts. I even came home with a small, heart-shaped box of chocolate. Happy Valentines Day, a bit early.

In the late afternoon, Tracy Hull, associate dean of the TCU Libraries, came by for a visit and a glass of wine. Turns out she not only wanted to take me up on my invitation to visit, she wanted to see the cottage because she is passionately interested in tiny houses. She said many nice things about the cottage but our visit ranged far and wide over a lot of topics and was lots of fun, lots of laughter.

And the really new experience—friends Phil and Subie took me to a new restaurant at the Shops at Clearfork. Turns out tonight was only the second night Fixe was open, so we were treated like royalty. I want to say the restaurant is starkly modern, with the open concept kitchen—but it’s not. The idea behind the food is a southern-style family supper, so the dining space is partitioned to look like a screened-in-porch. But it’s not at all folksy—it’s clean and smooth. Large, heavy and very comfortable leather chairs are almost incongruous, as is the extensive collection of varied china plates that decorates one wall. The idea is that you order a variety of small plates and share. We had the most wonderful biscuits I’ve ever eaten--the owner (at least I guess that’s who he was) said they’re triple fried, but no, no calories. Then deviled eggs, some of the best I’ve eaten; fried chicken; lobster and crawfish pot pie; chilled green bean salad. Every dish was delicious.

The wine list is extensive, but so is the ice tea list, and they brew all their own. Subie had the green tea, but the list of choices was interesting—flavors such as hibiscus. Tea comes in a container they set on a carafe of ice and the tea is released into the carafe. At least once during the meal, they refreshed the tea by pouring it into a fresh carafe of ice. Those little golden touches. I went to the restroom and missed the hot towels. A lovely dining experience and fun to be on the cutting edge with a new restaurant.

I’m one pooped person tonight. For someone who generally spends her days at the computer, that was a busy day. Not much work done at all, but who cares? A lovely day.

Life in a wheelchair

I don’t complain much about being housebound—it’s kept me out of the heat, and I have so many visitors I’m not lonely at all. Today was like Grand Central Station---the physical therapist and the LVN who bathes me both arrived at the same time. I expected sparks to fly because the LVN said, “He’s coming on my time.” They both agreed, however, that it was fortuitous. The therapist, Dan, showed me how I could get in the shower, now that I’m able to put a little weight on my right foot, but he cautioned I need to have someone help me. For a moment there, the therapist and I were in the shower together (I was still dressed)—we seemed to be doing a dance in a small space. But long story short, I got a full shower. Praise be! First time I’ve been in the shower in five weeks. The thing about Home Health Care through Medicare is that you don’t dare tell them it’s inconvenient for them to come or you’re busy—they’ll decide you don’t need them and take you off their list.

They left, and my dear friend Kathie arrived with lunch. Kathie is perhaps the most organized person I know, and when she brings lunch, she brings everything—paper plates, napkins, plastic flatware. And then the lunch-tuna salad, fruit salad, veggies to nibble on, two kinds of muffins (we had a half each—blueberry and goat cheese/berry). Couldn’t decide which was best.

After Kathie left, I busied myself making the filling for salmon pasties. Then Rosa, my hair stylist arrived. Rosa is such a good soul she volunteered to come to the house to cut my hair. I thoroughly enjoy her company—we talk about both kids and politics—and she said she needed to come talk to me with the current political situation.

With my new haircut I took a brief nap. Then up because a friend of Jordan’s came for a glass of wine. Then Betty arrived for supper, and together we put the pasties together and baked them. Not the best I’ve ever made but okay for my first foray back into cooking. A good visit.

I thought she was the last visitor, but Jordan and Christian wandered in. Jordan told me that Christian is excellent at cutting up a cantaloupe, and I had one I’d let sit on the counter and ripen. He cut it up and pronounced it the best ever—not too ripe, not underdone. I like them sweet and soft, and he says this one is.

Whoosh! I’m tired. I loved all the company, but I will enjoy a calm day tomorrow. I’m surely not lonely.

Hectic day

I sort of miss the day of greased doorknobs and other April Fool’s prank when my kids were little. Jacob didn’t seem to acknowledge the day at all. But I really didn’t need pranks to make it a hectic day.

A stomach problem and my aching left leg interrupted my sleep last night, so I didn’t wake feeling exactly well rested. Then my remote keyboard and mouse just quit dead.  I bought new ones, installed them, and they didn’t’ work; took them back to the store, where they assured me they did work. Came home—they didn’t work. Finally neighbor Jay—yeah, the good-looking one—rebooted the computer, which left me feeling the fool. First thing anyone with Microsoft programming should think of.

Meantime, I got a haircut, ran some errands, sneaked in a nap, entertained at happy hour, and was in the midst of Jordan’s bustle to get ready for the garage sale tomorrow. People will begin arriving before daylight, with flashlights, so she’ll be up early to get things out. She’s spending the night here; Christian is going home to care for the dogs but says he has orders to be here by six a.m. I am going to close my door and sleep on.

I have to watch her. Tonight I found a $1.00 sticker on a wicker/straw/whatever shelf that has always hung over the commode in the cottage. Perfect place for extra tp and Kleenex—and a lot cheaper that having shelves specially built. So I “saved” it.

Bless Christian. Just when I thought I might faint from hunger-or too much wine on an empty stomach—he brought barbecue. So good! I fear it’s going to be a weekend of bad eating.

In spite of all, my world seems to me bac in order. Jordan has gone to a friend’s, and I may be carried back to high-school days of lying awake waiting to hear her come home. Meantime I’m enjoying a quiet house.

Oops. Jordan and Christian just came home. Quiet gone.

Widening the Circle

Almost forty years ago I was housebound with phobic fear—technically called agoraphobia and sometimes defined as fear of fear. Today it’s often called chronic anxiety disorder. No matter the name, it leads to unease, anxiety, depression, and too often panic attacks. The end of the driveway was as far as I would go alone, and I wasn’t really comfortable out in the world with other people. I’m not sure what triggered it—perhaps my father’s death, perhaps a lifelong tendency toward fearfulness. A lot of group therapy helped me past that point, but I know too well it’s a question of pushing back on the circles of fear that enclose you.

So today, after a week and a half at home with various back troubles and a bad scare with my back—which isn’t as bad as I initially believed—I am once again beginning to push back the circles. Today was my first venture out in the world—a full day.

It began with a haircut person. Rosa, who has done my hair for at least fifteen years, promised to come out to the car to meet me. I was fiddling with my phone, trying to find her number, when I looked up and she was standing by the car. So I got a cute haircut (if I do say so), Rosa walked me back to my car, and I headed home.

Then I met an old friend I probably haven’t see in twenty-five years for lunch at Carshon’s. I have a favorite space to park there—easy for me to get into the deli—but I was uncertain of footing once in the restaurant. Enjoyed lunch immensely, my friend walked me to the door, and I was headed home again.

One more outing, for supper with friends Sue and Teddy. This time I was truly spoiled—Teddy picked me up, shepherded me when I was at their house, and brought me home, all the while praising the way I was moving about. That’s the kind of positive enforcement I need to hear. Sue fixed a delicious dinner, her teenage son joined us, and we enjoyed good food and great fellowship.

All in all, it was a big day and a giant push outward on those circles. Jordan said she saw great improvement over a week ago. So I’m feeling optimistic tonight. And tired. But, no, I don’t want to be a recluse.

Whining again

Like many of us, my mood waxes and wanes (maybe with the moon), though I hope casual friends don’t sense it. Good friends do, and Betty kept giving me pep talks last night about not expecting to get back to the real me too quickly after the bout with the swollen foot (still swollen a bit) and the fall in the restaurant parking lot. She even brought my garbage cart up because she said I shouldn’t have to do it. One problem with me: I could succumb to that kind of pampering easily. But her reassurances that my funk wasn’t permanent were an enormous help, and I went to sleep last night determined to be happier and more confident today. It worked. I certainly walked better than I had all week.

I’m not sure what caused my funk beyond the lingering foot problems. Monday I was tied in knots when I went to a funeral at a church where I’m unfamiliar with both the building and the worship, but I had a good friend to sort of keep me on an even keel—she too knows me well enough to recognize when I’m tentative, and she cheerfully held out a hand when I stumbled in my self-confidence. Yesterday, when I was in the deepest funk, I stayed home, glued to my computer except for supper. And that may be a part of my problem—I like people around me. Today, however, was another event I dread—a dental cleaning. I need to back off and say I love the hygienist, she never hurts me, she’s cheerful and funny (and thinks I’m funny), and if I’m tentative she’ll walk me back and forth to my car. I came away with a clean bill of dental health—except for those blasted blueberry stains. She laughed aloud when I said blueberries were in season: “As if I couldn’t tell,” she said. I think a childhood fear of the dentist office lingers. Dental technology is so changed and improved, but it’s hard to erase those early memories.

Other people go to funerals and dentists without getting their panties all in a wad, or maybe they fight internal battles that I don’t see. But I wish anxiety would just go away, and then I think of all the people, even in my small world, whose problems are so much greater. I think I should just gut up and forget it.

I’m of two minds about anxiety—the more you think about overcoming it, the worse it gets; on the other hand, it takes a conscious effort to drag yourself to a more positive place. One thing I know: it waxes and wanes. I think it’s waning right now.

Tomorrow? A haircut,  always a cheering event.