My get-up-and-go has went

Carnitas for supper

It’s a dull, overcast day, the kind that could easily throw me into depression if I let it. We’re promised rain, and it’s all around us, but by mid-day not a drop. I swear though you can smell it in the air.

I have no ambition. Spent too much of the morning on email lists and Facebook. I still have it in mind to spend time on the New York Times Cooking Community page.,I did make out a menu/grocery list—all trivial stuff. It’s not that I don’t have work to do. But I feel no sense of urgency, which I’ve felt for weeks now, trying to manage the last phases of my novel. Most of my deadlines are self-imposed, so I suppose it’s good for me to have a do-nothing day without even pressure from me.

Even Sophie feels the lethargy and has spent the morning sleeping, perhaps saving up energy for happy hour which is her favorite time of day. She begins to bark softly or give me low “friendly” growls—sort of like she’s clearing her throat—about five fifteen. Either Jordan or I put her food out and give her a pre-dinner chew. A little after that she tries for my attention again. If I ask her, “Is it time?” she picks up her chew and bolts out the door. Then she stands and stares at the door, waiting for me and usually Jordan to come out. If we’re too slow, she runs back inside, gives us a “talking to” and then runs outside again.

Once we’re both outside, she sits and stares at the gate, as if to ask, “Who is coming tonight?” More often than not, she is rewarded with the arrival of a masked friend. Our happy hour guests—a handful we know have been quarantining strictly—bring their own wine and glasses and we all sit a respectful six feet apart. Tonight our regular Tuesday night guests, two neighbors, will be here unless the rain materializes. We are not yet at the point of inviting people into the cottage.

Cooking once again proved my salvation today. I ground up some leftover rotisseries chicken for chicken salad for lunch—my little counter processor didn’t grind it as fine as I’d like, so that was only a medium success. But with cottage cheese and yogurt, it made an okay lunch.

In the late afternoon I put pork butt and seasonings on to boil dry for carnitas. Somehow got a bit too much salt into the mixture, but nobody but me minded, and it did taste good. Plus made a pretty plate. One of Christian’s favorite meals. We served it with guacamole, sour cream, black beans, and a small salad of lettuce, tomatoes, and onion.

Happy hour was happy, though we seemed stuck for a bit on a depressing discussion of death and final resting places, all prompted because I asked the neighbors to witness the signing of my will. We did this two or three weeks ago, but the lawyer said I didn’t sign correctly—didn’t initial pages, etc. He insisted we had to start over with new documents, so we did. This process has, I swear, taken a year—and I was never even sure the will I had before wasn’t okay. But my kids convinced me I had to update it—changes in who would get my house, etc., since I moved into the cottage. Drawing up the new will has been characterized by long delays, partly pandemic caused and partly I don’t know what. But I am ready to be through with it, through with the expensive lawyer. I have my obituary mostly written and notes for a memorial service—and I don’t want to think about death anymore! But I know several people who are seriously working on their wills and other end-of-life plans. What times we live in!

And the rain? Never happened.

Ho hum! Day number seven.

Jacob, eating Ramen on the patio

By shopping at several stores, his mom managed to get

enough Ramen to keep him happy for a couple of weeks;

it's apparently a high-demand item.

No, I don’t intend to number every day or consciously count them. That way lies madness, I am sure. But today it strikes me that a week ago today I spoke at a women’s luncheon and had supper with a good friend—and I haven’t been away from the house since. Our world has changed remarkably in the short space of seven days.

Rain and thunder again in the night, only I slept through them. My only clues were that the sidewalks were wet and Sophie didn’t want to leave my side. I woke to a dull morning and a temporary bit of the doldrums, which didn’t improve when the sun came out in the late morning. By noon, I was unbearably sleepy and not interested in doing much except either sitting at my desk or crawling back into bed.

I worked—and did some piddly things—but didn’t accomplish as much as I would have liked. I am torn between my natural inclination toward being a compulsive and an underlying sense that there’s no hurry about anything I do—I will have months and months to accomplish it. Add to all that an acute awareness of the danger of lethargy, and I didn’t much like myself this morning. I took a nap about two and swore to wake up a new person.

One of the things I like about myself is that with stern talking to, I can almost always pull myself out of the doldrums. It’s how I got through the long, difficult post-operative period after my hip surgery, and that same attitude stood me in good stead today. I woke up refreshed—dealt with a few things on the computer (my 10-minute census form and cancelling a disputed credit card charge) and swore to fix myself a good supper.

By 4:30 rain was threatening again, and Jordan came out to ask if I wanted to sit on the patio a big before the storm hit. She is determined that I get some vitamin D every day. I did like the idea. (Our patio is growing green algae from all this rain!) Jacob joined us, and we probably stayed 15 minutes before the thunder and threatening skies drove us inside.

I fixed a cheesy/tomato/white bean baked recipe from the NYTimes—glad I cut it in half because it was okay but not great. To go with it, I fixed salmon croquettes, a favorite since childhood—only I make them as patties, rather than the log-shape my mom used to do. While I was cooking, Jordan sat at my desk and compiled a Central Market order, thinking maybe it would be Saturday before it would be ready. Yep—it will be a week from Saturday!

After dinner, despite the reading I already have on my desk, I started a new book: Erik Larson’s The Splendid and the Vile. I am a Larson fan, from reading The Devil in the White City, about the Columbian Exposition, set practically in the Chicago neighborhood in which I grew up, and Isaac’s Storm, about the 1900 hurricane that nearly wiped out the entire coastal city of Galveston. Larson’s new  book is about Churchill and the early days of WWII in England, the days some refer to as “the Gathering Storm.” I am particularly drawn to British history in that time and to Winston Churchill as a historic figure—an interest that makes me feel closer to my father, who was an inordinate fan of  Churchill.

So I salvaged what started out as a lost day and am feeling better about tomorrow. After all, we’ve got a long haul ahead of us—as did the Brits in 1940.

Icebound: Day Two

What else is there to say? It's getting old. It looks like pretty snow, but that's deception. It's ice, through and through. I admire people who walk on it--saw more pedestrians than cars on the street today. But I'm not even setting foot on the front porch.. I do not need a broken hip. When I should be doing things at home, all I can think about is the shopping and errands on my list that I should have done today. Jacob and I have spent the day "doing our own thing"--except for the Baylor game, he's pretty much been watching videos. I've done some work at my computer but nothing is urgent and engages me. I've read a lot and tried to think of meals for a fussy seven-year-old.
My adventure with the furnace this morning was a little harrowing. You may have read on Facebook that the temperature in the house was down to 66 by the time I got phone directions for fixing it.  So far, it's stayed toasty and warm--well as toasty as an old house with lots of old glass windows can be. My printer righted itself too. Both just required turning off and then turning on again, but I never would have dared do that to the furnace without the direction of a professional.
The outlook for the next couple of days is bleak--at best four hours above freezing tomorrow; almost all church services in the city cancelled. Cold temperatures. Monday not a lot better, and it will take warmer temps and some sun to melt all this ice.
Lethargy overtakes me on days like this. There are many thing to do, but somehow I just want to read or curl up in my bed. Hope my energy returns with better weather.
Stay safe and warm, please.