The night I dreaded

 

Our salmon celebration dinner

For weeks now, I’ve been so passionately concerned, worried, hopeful about the midterms, that I thought I couldn’t face election night. I considered going to bed at six and putting a pillow over my head. But Jordan announced we would have a celebration dinner to distract us, and to a large extent it worked.

I fixed baked potatoes in the British method that I’m so enamored of. To me, there are few things better than a baked potato loaded with butter and sour cream. No bacon tonight, because the strong flavor of bacon would not be compatible with the delicate flavor of the salmon. I had gotten a lb. of Scottish salmon on sale that was billed as buttery. And it was so good. Christian grilled it with rosemary and lemon, and he nailed it, cooking it just right so that it was moist and flavorful. Absolutely delicious. I had some haricot vert (those tiny French green beans) that I boiled and then quickly cooled. Great dinner.

It's way too early to comment on the election results. This morning Jacob came out to the cottage for something and asked when we would know. When I said probably two weeks, he was crestfallen. But I think that’s true—Republicans are set to challenge any and all outcomes, lots of states take a while to count mail-in votes—what we learn tonight, especially this early (8:30 CST) is definitely just the tip of the iceberg. Still, I am encouraged by some of the Democratic returns. Don’t want to say more for fear of jinxing the outcome. It will be a late night, but not for me. I’ll probably go to bed earlier than usual, just because I can’t stand the tension. Already the early results are flipping and changing.

But there isn’t the much talked about red wave—the media does it again, falls for the hype. An old friend, a former boss, asked me recently, on Facebook, why I feel so strongly about the border crisis, and I replied that I guessed it’s my humanitarian instincts. I am so blessed that I want others to share in that blessing, and I am horrified by the hardships the immigrants suffer.

And maybe that humanitarian aspect explains my devotion to the Democratic Party because I find them much more caring about individuals and the welfare of all, not just the rich. Democrats care about those of us who live on social security or depend on Medicare and Medicaid. In Texas, the governor has cut access to those federal funds, leaving many to live below the poverty line. Does he care? Apparently not.

I don’t want to get into a rant about Abbott here, though I could easily do that. But instead what I want to say in explanation of my liberal beliefs is that deep in my soul, I am offended by corruption, lies, deceit, all the things that have characterized the conservatives in this country in recent decades. I heard today that in his last rant, trump promised if president again he would imprison lots of reporters and execute drug dealers by firing squad within two hours of their arrest and send the bullet to their families. What kind of mentally ill man is this? Why is half the country following him and accepting such bizarre statements. It goes without saying he cannot do those things, but only a twisted, sick mind would suggest them.

Or the Republican reaction to the attack on Nancy Pelosi’s husband. Have these people no compassion? No feelings. Or take what trump said recently about John Fetterman, that his brain is mush. Those of us who care about people admire Fetterman for the progress he’s made since his stroke and for continuing his campaign in difficult situations. As a Facebook meme says, “In January Fetterman will be better. Dr. Oz will still be a fraud and a charlatan.”

I won’t belabor examples. It’s enough to say that I admire courage, honesty, and compassion. And I despise lies, selfishness, corruption (how many trump associates have gone too prison?), and deceit. I’m not talking history or economics, though it is a proven fact historically that the economy does better under Democrats. I’m not even talking international relations, although President Biden has done a masterful job of restoring diplomatic relationships that trump tore asunder. It’s not policies and politics—it’s the basic attitudes of the different parties. One dwells on anger, hate, and revenge—listen to Gym Jordan or Kevin McCarthy—and the other focuses on compassion, helping, solving problems, moving the country ahead. Listen to Biden’s dream for the future. What a stark contrast.

I know. My answer went far beyond the question I was asked. But I guess I wanted to share why I am so passionate. And whatever happens tonight, or within the next two weeks, I’m not changing my mind

Computer woes

 

The computer gods are against me today. Nothing, but nothing, I touched went right. It started when I tried to upload a book to Amazon. The book, Skeleton in a Dead Space, is something like twelve years old, and Amazon shows it for sale in paperback. But when I went to my dashboard to order a discounted copy, it said it needed to be uploaded. So I dutifully entered all the information again but was stymied when the form called or a PDF of the cover and I only had a jpeg. So I sent the cover to a designer friend and asked her to send it to me as a PDF. She did, but it took me four times to figure out how to save it—I’m sure my friend began to rethink her initial wiling patience. I finally got it saved, had to do a lot of figuring and experimenting to figure out how to go from the saved download to the Amazon upload, but I got it done. So Amazon said in effect “Yay! All done. Now preview it.” But the preview wouldn’t launch because my browser window isn’t big enough. I cannot tell you how many books I’ve uploaded to Amazon without this becoming an issue. I have no idea what to do about it, but Colin will be working from home tomorrow and will help me with it. He can remotely take over my computer.

I made a doctor’s appointment and went to put it on my calendar, only to discover the calendar had somehow switched its format and would allow only one skinny line per hour. That would never do, so I set about changing it—and in the process totally messed up the way Outlook displays email. I maybe could live with the calendar wonky, but I must have my email in a format where I can manage it. I probably spent forty-five minutes trying to fix it. Finally, something I did worked, and it once again displayed the Favorites bar that had disappeared into cyberspace. Now I can’t tell you what I did.

Next I checked notifications on Facebook, something I can really do fairly quickly because a lot are just viewers liking something I’ve posted. Notifications, for the uninitiated or the multitudes who hate Facebook, have a blue dot next to them; when you’ve clicked on one, the blue dot goes away. Only today it didn’t go away, so I had a wealth of messages and couldn’t tell what I’d read and what I hadn’t. I should have rebooted at that point, but I was lazy. I did let the computer rest while I napped, and apparently it collected itself because when I came back to it, the blue dots were gone.

At happy hour I served the dipping spices I’d made, and Mary Dulle was so taken with them she asked for the recipe. No problem, I’d scan and send it to her. Except the printer would say it had scanned when it hadn’t and then ask me if I had something else to scan. Yes, I did—the original scan. I tried auto feed, and I tried putting the recipe on the glass plate. Nothing worked. I still haven’t solved that one and may end up typing the recipe—and it’s not a short one. Lots of spices.

My woes weren’t confined to the computer but apparently included all electronics. I mentioned that the wonderful display of colored, pinpoint lights that shows on my neighbors white wall had suddenly gone all red. Jordan said I had pushed a button I shouldn’t have (I haven’t touched the remote in months) and there is a multicolor button. I pushed it. Nothing, but it was daylight. So I pushed the on button. Nothing. Jordan said wait until dark. Once dark came, she tried, announced the on/off button doesn’t work, and when the lights come on, I should push the multicolor button. Now, nearing ten o’clock, the lights haven’t come on yet. I’m sure she thinks I broke it.

Jordan says my trouble is I got clickety-click all over the place too quickly. She took the mouse, dragged it down somehow, and sort of semi-fixed the calendar. Her advice was to leave it alone for now.

So maybe tomorrow, after a reboot, all my troubles will be over. Ha! Do I really believer that? Meantime the only really good thing I did today was to cook a pork tenderloin with tiny new potatoes around it. I served it with raspberry/peach/chipotle sauce—so good—and Christian did Brussel sprouts, shaved, with lemon and butter. Jordan announced that meal must be in our regular rotation.

I’d blame my woes on the computer—and maybe it will fix itself—but when so much goes wrong, you can’t avoid user error. I think many of us are so tense right now about the imminent midterms, that we are losing our grip. I’m not sure what I’ll do election night although Jordan said we’ll have dinner as usual and watch returns. I’m not sure, and already we’re hearing about decisions that will probably come down “after midterms.” It’s as though the whole world is holding its breath. One of the Halloween guests, a political consultant, said to me that Tarrant County Democrats weren’t voting in the numbers hoped for. I brushed by and said I didn’t even want to hear it.

Sunday night and all is well

Veal schnitzel.

Or is all really well? I am at the point I refuse to think about the midterms, refuse to open all those “bedwetter” messages of doom and gloom. I have done my best to support the candidates I believe would best serve Texas and the nation, and I am frankly worn out. It’s not that I don’t care—I do care, passionately. Perhaps that’s why I am worn out. I can only imagine how the candidates must feel. I still have my heroes—John Fetterman, who has shown remarkable courage in staging a campaign while recovering from a stroke; Charlie Crist, who has taken on a formidable would-be dictator; Raphael Warnock, who runs against a well-funded opponent who is so openly unsuited for government that it boggles the mind. Those and others are on my wish list and in my prayers.

I get constant appeals to volunteer to be a poll watcher, which I would do in a heartbeat if I were mobile. But all those do is make me want to shout, “Stop bugging me.” When this is over and the Democrats have crested the blue wave, I have lots of suggestions for campaigning, probably all of which will be countered by more seasoned campaigners. But I will still have my say.

Meanwhile, in my own little world, it is indeed Sunday, and all is well. After a day of lollygagging, I got my act together and was quite efficient about dinner. The problem was that I had committed (to myself; Christian wouldn’t have minded if I changed my mind) to make schnitzel, with its complicated dipping required—first in flour, then in egg, and finally in panko mixed with mayonnaise and olive oil. Friends were coming for happy hour—if I’d know that days ago, I probably would have changed the menu to something easier. But I felt committed.

So mid-afternoon, after an abbreviated nap, I bustled around, put away clean dishes, got out what I’d need for supper, washed lettuce for salad, and got out cheese and crackers for happy hour. For dinner, I cancelled my plan to do oven potatoes and Brussel sprouts. Simplify was my guiding word. We would have schnitzel and salad. Jacob was not home tonight—it was Canwick, the annual dance where girls invite the guys. So supper was just Christian and me.

We had a good visit with Sue and Teddy—for some reason much of the talk centered on dogs, with each of us recounting the story of when we lost beloved pets. A bit ghoulish. But we did have other topics, and it was good to visit with them. I had scheduled happy hour earlier than they usually do because that darn schnitzel loomed over my mind.

As it was, it was a bit after eight before we had supper. But I surprised myself with the schnitzel. Once again, I followed the directions step by step—well, almost, and it turned out to be much easier than I anticipated, although it was messy. Sophie had a feast from the floor—panko seasoned with mayo and olive oil. Still, the meat was ready to go in the oven sooner than expected. While it cooked, I washed the cooking dishes—once again a huge number of things—tossed a salad and set out dinner plates. It turned out to be a lovey dinner.

And, by the by, last night’s white bean soup, good then, was superspecial for lunch today. But I realized that all that work only made four servings of soup. I think at my age it’s time for me to learn to stop thinking in terms of big-batch meals and start thinking of cooking for four.

Jordan arrived home from Costa Rica just before ten tonight. I had thought I was making enough salad that there would be some left for her, since she had emailed that the food was good, lots of fish, but she was ready for a blue cheese salad. When I looked at the bowl after we ate it had three lonely leaves of lettuce and some dressing. I could have added more lettuce, but she really wasn’t interested, asked if we could save it for tomorrow. We’ll just have to start from scratch tomorrow.

And I’ll start again tomorrow, not from scratch, but midway in my novel-in-progress. I say that every Monday, and I let myself get distracted by too many other things. But each week my resolve is firm We’ll see what happens.

What’s your plan for the week ahead/