More cooking experiments. And a clear look at myself

Tonight, I ran into more of the disadvantages of downsizing, mainly that you downsize yourself out of everything you’re used to having on hand. Who lives in a kitchen without baking soda? Apparently, I do and so does my daughter. I wanted to soak chickpeas overnight and cook them in the morning to make hummus. First problem with that was we couldn’t find chickpeas in the large dried bean section at Central Market. Duh! A foodie reminded us they’re garbanzos, and we bought twice as many as I needed for my initial experiment.

Then I didn’t think I had a pot big enough to cook them in 10 cups of water. Jordan unearthed one that works on my magic hotplate, so tonight the peas/gabanzos are soaking in salt water. But in the morning, I need to cook them with ¼ tsp. baking soda. My kingdom for a tsp. of baking soda.

Tomorrow I hope to cook the peas, make the hummus, and make homemade tabbouleh—a big order, since we only did the “exotic” shopping today and still have a long list for the “ordinary” grocery store, plus Jamie says he’ll be here at elevnish—read two or three, but it will be so good to see him and Eden. I hope to let the day unroll as it will. The cooking projects don’t have to be done until the next day or the next. I’m trying to learn that lesson—or unlearn all the compulsive lessons that I carry with me as baggage.

Today, after our trip to Central Market, we picked up Jacob at a friend’s house in a nearby neighborhood, one of seventies and eighties ranch style houses and huge trees, all lovely and comfortable. But people are tearing down original structures and building McMansions that stick out like sore thumbs. Apparently, no thought is given to fitting into the neighborhood. There are neighborhoods in this city where McMansions fit the general style, but not the one we visited this morning and certainly not mine. It distresses me.

But with Jacob in the back seat, monosyllabic as young boys can be, I listened to myself criticizing the big houses and realized how negative I sounded. I fear I do that about other things that don’t fit my standard of how things should be, from frozen hamburger to people (a big leap). I made myself then and there a promise to be more positive and less critical. I can keep those critical thoughts to myself.

I remembered something Colin said to me when I mentioned that the stream of visitors to the cottage had slowed down drastically. He suggested maybe I don’t always make people welcome. Sometimes I’m so wrapped up in my work that maybe I’m not fun. Another critical look at myself and another resolution.

Lord, I hope I can live up to all this. Meantime, I’m happy to report I had a wonderful and simple supper tonight. Fresh corn on the cob, steamed asparagus, and filet of sole. I used to have an awful time cooking sole because it fell apart. I dusted this with flour, and it browned perfectly and came out of the pan easily. Such a mild but good fish. Color me happy.

Mood swings—we all have them

Sophie lost her chew toy last night

Cricket and June Bug proclaim innocence, but if you look

between Juney's paws, on the right, you'll see the purloined chew

Last night I was in a funk, and I didn’t know whether to attribute it to the weather (a good possibility), a lack of major excitement in my life at the moment, or a couple of awkward social encounters. When I talked to dinner pal Betty tonight, she had the same complaint. We decided we were blessed with each other as longtime friends and we’ll keep it that way.

Betty and I went exploring to a new restaurant tonight, Tina’s on the Bluff. We turned off Weatherford too early, didn’t realize Bluff doesn’t go all the way through, and wandered aimlessly for a bit. I was astounded by all the new apartment construction—where do all these people come from? A friend told me 40 families a day move to Fort Worth—they must all move into brand new apartments, because they are going up everywhere.

After a telephone call and some scribbled notes, we finally found Tina’s. No parking lot, only on the street, so it was a bit of a rough access for me on my walker. Once in the courtyard, I was confronted by three round steps—until Betty spotted the ramp.

We ate on the patio. Typical Tex-Mex menu, but what I liked about it was that it wasn’t overwhelming with tons of dishes. Just the standards (wish they had spinach enchiladas). We each had a sour cream chicken enchilada and sides of guacamole and refried beans. All good.

We ate in the patio. Somehow, when I saw an article about restaurants with patios, I got the notion this was near that new Uptown development and had a river view. Well, it’s close to Uptown but the river is too far away, and the patio, enclosed by arched brick walls, doesn’t have much view.

But it was good, solid food, wait staff was pleasant, and now that we know how to find it, we’ll go back. Betty thinks it would especially be a great place for lunch.

The Colonial golf tournament has started just a mile or so from our house—it has a fancier name, for the corporate sponsor, but it changes from year to year and it’s easier just to say Colonial. For me, in past years, it has always meant avoiding the terrible traffic congestion. When the children were little and we’d drive by, I’d say, “Look at the silly men chasing a little white ball.” Golf is not my game.

For Jordan, Colonial means party time. She will be there all day every day, Christian would, but he and Jacob leave on a 5:30 a.m. bus for Jacob’s two-day fifth-grade trip to San Antonio. Jacob is excited that his dad is one of the dads on the trip, and I told Christian to treasure it because it won’t be long before Jacob will be appalled that one of his parents is going on an activity with him.

Back to Colonial—Jordan has been preparing for this as though she’s going out of town and leaving me alone for a month. I’ve had advice to stock up on groceries (well, I mostly do that anyway but Betty will shop for a few things Friday), arrange social engagements (I do that anyway, and now two happy-hour visitors are roped into helping feed dogs), lock the doors and turn on the alarm (I do that anyway). Of course, there will be something we’ve both forgotten, but bless her for taking such good care of me. I think I’ll survive quite nicely. And, no, I won’t watch it on TV.

Is there a spot on the moon?

This week is only two days in so far, but it feels like twenty-two. It's been nothing but a series of missteps, small mistakes, and frustration. Is there a spot on the moon?
Some days I struggle with Jacob and his homework--today I've felt that way about my own homework. I signed up for a course on how to navigate Goodreads. But the course is conducted on a site called CourseSites, a sub-site of Blackboard which is used by many universities for distance learning. I swear I've spent more times learning CourseSites than I have navigating Goodreads.
This weekend, my mistakes were all in the kitchen. I meant to make a salad plate with cold chicken, asparagus, avocado, mango and mango salsa for my guests. Bought two rock-hard mangos on Thursday, figuring they would be ripe by Sunday. Wrong! The one remaining is still rock-hard. So I went back to Central Market on Sunday to buy already cut up mango, and lo! mangos had gone out of season in that brief time--not a one, whole or cut up, in the entire store. We had cantaloupe on our salad plate and cantaloupe salsa. I threw in the blueberries I had on hand, and it was pretty darn good. But I forgot the avocado (which I enjoyed last night). Then I made a tricky Greek flatbread that involves a really hot skillet and a 30% chance of burning yourself--didn't burn myself but forgot to add the half an egg. It was still pretty good.
Friday night I made a ham sandwich casserole--you put rolls stuffed with ham and gruyere in a pan, cover them with butter, Worcestershire, dried onion and Parmesan. I forgot, however, that you're supposed to spread the inside of the top of the rolls with a cream cheese/chive/onion spread. Still good, but now I've got that spread in the icebox. And the idea that I forgot made me angry.
Today I had dinner plans which cancelled because my friend is sick, but I thought that worked out okay. Jordan was coming here for a happy hour with Elizabeth, and I could join them--or so I thought. Turns out Jordan planned the happy hour at her house. I wasn't sweet about giving up my extra evening at home, but I decided I would go. Then she came in a little after four--which I didn't know she was going to do--and she'd had a horrible two days. A difficult problem to work out for clients who are special to her; six bottles of wine that jumped out of the car when she went into her office this morning (only three--all red--broke); meatballs she bought and left in the freezer at work. Jacob was completely in awe of her meltdown, and so was I. When I went out there for happy hour, I was really glad I had--she had changed into an at-home "gown" and spread out a beautiful and eye-appealing array of happy hour foods. I felt bad about ever being reluctant, and I came home in a better mood.
Got to thinking though how much we are impacted, affected, whatever by the mood of those around us, especially if we care about them. Jordan's mood really hit me. This week, Elizabeth leaves us Friday (she'll spend the night with her family and fly out Saturday) and she's living in suspended animation until then--the movers come tomorrow, and she'll really be lost from then on, anticipating that Saturday flight to Pennsylvania. I find that anticipation affecting me so that I too feel in suspended animation. I'm not sure if it's good to be so sensitive to the moods of those around you, or if I should put my chin up and be my own person. Maybe a mix of the two.
Anyway, I do believe in spots on the moon.