Monday all day long

You kno that Facebook thread "View from my window"
People add their lovely, scenic views that are seeing them through quarantine
So I thought I'd add the view from my kitchen window today
Rest assured the view from my desk windows is a flower-filled delight

At the Alter-Burton compound, Monday started early Sunday morning, like three a.m. I thought I heard wind but dismissed the thought—surely not in July, with no storms predicted. All we had was oppressively hot and humid weather. I did think, as I went from bathroom back to bed, that the patio umbrella was down, but I reasoned it could wait until morning. Back to bed.

Next morning, I saw more destruction. Jacob’s basketball hoop and golf net were down in a tangled mess in the driveway, and a hydrangea from the deck had landed plop! In the bed of pintas. The basketball hoop was a particular concern—it’s really heavy on its own, but it had also been weighted with concrete blocks to keep it from blowing over. So much for that. The saving grace was that it fell straight forward, narrowly missing the cottage, the fence, and my car, which it would have gotten had it gone in any other direction. Tonight, it’s still on the ground—awaiting its fate, I do believe.

So this morning Jordan took Sophie for her annual checkup. Soph, thinking she was going for a joyous walk, bolted out the door, nearly dragging Jordan down and succeeding in making her drop her mega-size glass of ice water all over my kitchen floor. So while I held Sophie’s leash, Jordan was on the floor, mopping up water and ice cubes with my hair-washing towel. It’s best at moments like that to keep quiet, and I did.

In the car, Soph must have figured out that she was going to the vet and not for the anticipated walk, because she pooped—I won’t get graphic except to say it was not easily cleaned up. Sophie never ever does that, so conditions were extreme. At the vet, they didn’t have a room ready, so Jordan had to wait outside with a poopy-bottomed dog. When they did let her in, they were wonderful about cleaning Sophie and giving Jordan stuff to clean the car. When all was said and done, I get back a very subdued dog but with a good health report. Oh, except they couldn’t get a urine sample, probably because she’s peed from nervousness twice while waiting outside. So they sent Jordan home with a kit to take a sample. She says she might be ready to think about that in two days.

So tonight I was going to cook steak fingers like I used to fix for my kids—cube or minute steaks cut into fingers, coated with flour, salt, and pepper, and sautéed, served with lemon juice. I decided I should not crowd the skillet but would do it in two batches, keeping the first batch warm in the toaster oven. So I lost my mind, turned on the skillet, and started the oven heating. And the lights went off, the hot plate and oven both went dead. The breaker box is where I cannot get to it, so I had to call for Jordan. She couldn’t fix it. Thinking we’d solve first things first, I asked if she’d take the meat inside and sauté it. With a sigh she agreed.

She was almost instantly back. “The plastic bag you sent?” she said. “It has no form.” I begged her pardon and said I didn’t have any idea what she was talking about. “It’s not pieces of meat like you said. It’s one big lump, and it looks like brains.” I assured her it was pieces—I had cut them myself this morning, while the meat was still partially frozen—makes easier cutting. “How many pieces?” she demanded. I had to confess that I didn’t count.

Finally she got the breaker fixed and my kitchen was once again active. She brought the meat back out, and I cooked the pieces—in two batches. And made drippings out of the crusty brown parts left in the skillet. It was a good dinner—the meat was flavorful, the potatoes good and better with pan drippings on them, and the salad, as always, wonderful—she has a way with salad.

Okay, I figure we’ve survived Monday and should be home free. But tomorrow she takes my car for its inspection sticker. I don’t even want to think about what could go wrong.

Sweet dreams, y’all.

Let’s reboot this day

tuna salad and squash casserole

an odd pairing but really good

No kidding. About noon today, I thought, “Judy Alter wants to recall this day,” so I could start over. It wasn’t anything really bad, just a lot of stuff.

My oldest daughter had surgery in Austin this morning. Routine stuff, all went textbook well, she is doing fine, her husband is taking good care of her and keeping us informed. Despite all that, there’s that maternal feeling that I should be there. I was there when both her boys were born, and I should be there now. And I’m not.

Then there’s the fact that I have not gotten one lick of work done, not read one word of the manuscript I’m editing. Spent a whole lot of the morning working on meal plans and grocery shopping—there seems to be a general sense of “We’re heading back into the school year, and we have to get organized.” And we got our family schedule mixed up. Jacob was going to the store with me, since Jordan wants someone on hand when I get in and out of the car and since there are grocery items it’s awkward for me to reach. But when Jacob would be available—he’s dog-sitting—was problematic.

I finally tried something I’ve been meaning to: ordered from Tom Thumb through Instacart. But then that bound me to the cottage to await delivery. All worked out, and delivery by a nice young man was fairly prompt. But they left out the Fritos I’ve tried three times to get—can’t make Frito pie without.

Then, in a rush, Jacob had to be driven up to the school to pick up his spirit shirts—only he couldn’t find the right person, said there was no spirit store, and returned to the car empty handed. This did not please his mother, who thought he hadn’t listened to her instructions, and he countered that she had it wrong—and there I was in the middle. Everyone lived happily ever after.

By the time lunch (sardine salad) had come and gone, I needed a nap. But refreshed, I went to pick up more groceries at Central Market. I remind myself of my mom—she used to get somethings at one store and others at another. I remain committed to Central Market for meat, fish, and produce but won’t buy household staples like toilet paper there. So I went to get my weekly order from Curbside Pickup.

And on the way home I went by our local mechanic, and he put a new light bulb in my right turn signal. That rapid clicking that indicates a burnt-out bulb is so annoying, and besides, I think it leaves you liable for a ticket, if not being rear-ended.

So those are three good things today, despite the negative atmosphere—Megan is doing fine, I found I can use Instacart successfully, and I got that darn right-turn signal fixed.

Tonight, after a pleasant happy hour with Jordan and Christian, I fixed a squash casserole and paired it with tuna salad from Central Market. Maybe tomorrow the world will be back in order.

From haute cuisine, sort of, to tuna casserole

Last night I wrote a middling long blog post, went to save it, hit the wrong button, and the whole thing vanished into thin air. I had to reconstruct it, and I can only hope it was better the second time around. Right after that, I rolled my walker into Sophie’s dish of kibble and sent bits of dog food flying everywhere. She declined to eat it piece by piece, but June Bug, one of the Cavaliers, came visiting and vacuumed it all up for me. Let me assure you a walker, a broom, and a dustpan is not an easy combination, so I was grateful to the visiting dog.

A banner day—I wrote 1800 words this morning, most of them words I felt good about, and was still ready when friend Subie came to get me for lunch at 11:30. We explored yet another new restaurant in the Shops at Clearfork—Twigs Bistro and Martini Bar. Needless to say, we passed on the martinis at lunch (I think they taste like drinking perfume would), but we did each have a nice glass of white wine. I had a wonderful pear and beet salad with gorgonzola, and Subie had the orange chicken, an Oriental version of grilled chicken salad. We were each delighted with our choices.

The restaurant is ultra-modern—lots and lots of glass so that for a moment you have a time differentiating windows and doors. I kind of got turned around inside but was pleased to see a sheet of flames—like a long gas-burning fireplace—at what I thought was the back of the restaurant. When we were seated, it turned out to be on one side. Anyway, it was a lovely touch on a chilly and wet day.

Subie remarked that it’s beginning to seem less awe-inspiring to go to Clearfork, as we all learn our way around and feel more comfortable going back there. I have now eaten at three restaurants—Twigs, Fixe, and Rise (what odd names when you put them all together)—and have my sights on the wine bar, Cru. I have not eaten in the Neiman’s restaurant because I hear it’s expensive and noisy, but those popovers and the demitasse of bouillon are like a siren’s call to me.

From the sophisticated to the mundane: my neighbor, Margaret, brought me a tuna casserole tonight. She does this annually, I thought for Lent though she’s a little early this year. Talk about comfort food. I am so looking forward to it and can smell it now as it heats in the toaster oven.

Life is good, even out of one eye.