Oh, to be young again!

 

Jacob and his date

Kegan and his date

It’s Homecoming weekend across Texas, and two of my grandsons—one in Tomball and one in Fort Worth—got all gussied up for the dance. I did have a moment of laughter—Jordan sent me a picture of Jacob and his date, he in a sport coat and she is one of those skimpy dresses that all the girls wear now. But the first picture Colin sent me of Kegan and his date showed them in shorts and T-shirts, she holding a basketball (I think) and he holding a bunch of cut flowers. I laughed and told Colin the homecoming dances must have been very different in nature. Pretty soon he sent pictures of them wearing their traditional mums and then dressed for the dance, she in a skimpy dress and he in a suit.

Of course I did an immediate grandmother thing and, in my mind, went back to the days when they were littles together. At one point, about fifteen years ago, I had a bunch of littles around me. Now I have all these teenagers and young adults. Kegan is the youngest (and the tallest) of my seven grandchildren, and Jacob is the third from youngest. I think I don’t mind growing old myself as much as I mind them aging out of childhood. Of course, they’re neat teens and young adults, and I love them dearly. But there’s a lot of nostalgia there.

Otherwise a quiet, pleasant day. We didn’t go to church today—Christian had projects on his mind, and it turned out I was relieved because I hear there’s a lot of Covid going around. I know that last week, half the choir was out, and we learned later it was because of Covid. They even cancelled an upcoming choir concert. I went to church virtually and did see a few people, both in the choir and in the congregation, wearing masks. I’m afraid we may be headed back to a lot of us wearing masks.

Covid still seems to loom over us, even though many have sort of brushed it off. Maybe it’s my age, but having never had it, I am still quite afraid of it. When I had that whatever stomach thing one night last week, I briefly convinced myself that it was Covid. An easy thing to do alone in the dark at three o’clock in the morning. Three o’clock seems to be the witching hour. I hate to confess how many times I am awake at the time, with a wide variety of scary thoughts. I have had to learn to tell myself, “That’s a three o’clock thought. It will be better in the morning.”

Late this afternoon, thunder teased us, rolling around the sky. We even had one good, strong clap right overhead which sent Miss Sophie to barking angrily. Despite all that, we got perhaps five scattered drops of rain. Jordan and Christian were on their way to deliver a sympathy meal to a sick friend in Arlington, and she says they were caught in such driving rain that they couldn’t see the road, and she urged Christian to pull over. I don’t need driving rain, but a bit more than five drops would be helpful.

Tonight Jordan made the iconic dish that is our family signature—and certainly my signature. Doris’ casserole has been in cookbooks, articles, and blogs; it was served once by food service at TCU and is routinely served on special occasions at our home. The Burtons made a double batch today—one to deliver and one for us. And we all agreed, we hadn’t had it in a while, and it was so good.

I first ate Doris’ at a small dinner party in the late sixties, when my then-husband was a resident in surgery. The wife of the anesthesiology resident fixed it for us. It was called Mrs. America Beef Casserole or some such, but for us, because Doris served it that night, it has always been Doris’ casserole. One friend calls it American lasagna—it has a meat layer, the noodle layer, and a grated cheese topping. I know I’ve posted it before, but it may soon be time again.

And last night I had the first of what will be many “home-alone” dinners this fall. Splurged and bought myself scallops—three nice, fat ones. Cooked a small batch of baby spinach, and then sauteed the scallops in butter—didn’t get the crust I wanted, but they were a bit browned and still soft. Squeezed a half lemon over them, plated them on the bed of spinach, and poured the lemon butter over. Felt like royalty.

May the coming week bring you health, good food, and blessed gentle rain.

Dogs, family, and work

 

Obi at my feet

Neighbor Amy brought her new pup to visit tonight. He’s an 11-month-old British Golden Retriever, which means he’s white, not golden. He is one of the rare ones, however, that has one big black spot on his side. I’d love to know the story behind that. He’s sort of not named yet—in fact, Amy alternated between calling him No-Name and Obi, because she says his name is to be Obi as in Obi Kenobi. I think she should start calling him by that name to get him used to it, but it’s not my business. At any rate, Obi seemed to like me, and several times ended up under my chair At one point, he gave one of my feet a thorough licking cleaning. He also didn’t seem to like the steps up to the deck, so he’d stumble through the pentas—which did neither him nor the pentas any good. Once he got stuck halfway onto the deck and looked for a minute like he was just going to relax in that position and forget about going anywhere. I love Sophie, but I do miss big dogs.

My family is home tonight. They’ve been in Granbury for two nights. Rented a lake house with a pool, scooped up two of Jacob’s buddies, and went off to celebrate his fifteenth birthday. The boys swam, fished, and prowled nearby parts of the lake in a paddleboat.

Boys paddleboating on Lake Granbury
The way a fifteen-year-old should celebrate his birthday

The paddleboat brings back memories, because my boys spent hours fishing from one in a friend’s lake in East Texas. Jordan sent one idyllic picture of the deck at daybreak when she sat, quiet and alone, having a cup of coffee. It made me wish I was with them.

Jordan's quiet, early morning moment on the deck

When they’re gone, I always feel like I’m not quite relaxing, not putting my full weight down, and I’m glad when they come home. Tonight, I thought we’d all have supper together—the plan was to order our favorite sub sandwiches from Great Outdoors. A bit of disappointment when Jacob brought my sandwich out to me, and I realized I was not going to have company for supper. Shoot! I had more company when they were out of town.

Otherwise, an unremarkable day. I finally got the neighborhood newsletter off to the designer and printer. Somehow this time that stretched into a three- or four-day project, when it usually takes a day or a bit more. But I did also rough out an essay I want to submit for a volume of Mystery Readers Journal that will be devoted to Texas Mysteries. So I feel I have accomplished some things today. No cooking, which was a relief for a change.

After a one-day respite, we are back to hot and humid weather—so still that when I felt the least stirring in the air and said, “Oh, there’s a bit of a breeze,” the kids laughed at me.

Stay cool, everyone. If you’re in Texas, staying cooler is a bit easier if you turn off as many lights as possible. We’re still, supposedly, protecting our fragile electric grid.