My “Megan weekend”

 

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Me, having just unwrapped the painting of my children.

I have long maintained that when you have four children, having them all together is pure bliss, but also when you have time with one of them alone, it’s very special. I had that with Megan this weekend and enjoyed it thoroughly. When she visits, she’s always alert to taking care of me—probably more than I need, but it’s a nice, safe feeling. She’s cheerful, great company, and willing to indulge in odd requests.

After a semi-family dinner at Joe T. Garcia’s Friday night, Megan slept in at the hotel in the Stockyards where she and a friend stayed. And I spent Saturday morning working, which was fine, even good. But about noon, Megan moved here for Saturday night. She brought my belated Christmas present—a painting made from a photo of my four children. The artist is a friend of Megan and Brandon. I have met her several times and seen her work more often, including a Christmas card she did of Megan’s family. I had asked Megan to inquire about commissioning a painting of my four, but she never said much, and I sort of put it aside. So the gift was a wonderful surprise. It now hangs in my combination living area/office for everybody who comes to the cottage to see. I am beyond delighted with it and catch myself frequently turning to look at it.

Megan and me at Central Market
Thanks to a kind passerby
for taking the picture.

I got an early nap and then we went to Central Market for my weekly shopping. That’s a real treat for me, because my shopping is usually curbside pickup—Jordan doesn’t have time for my lingering shopping, and she hates the parking at either Central Market or Trader Joe’s. Megan had no deadline, so we shopped and browsed and took pictures and laughed a lot.

Jordan had left for a work trip to Hawaii (poor dear!) but we had happy hour with Christian and then had dinner at Don Artemio’s. We’d been there before and really toyed with the idea of one of the other interesting restaurants where we’ve not been, but we decided to go back to Don Artemio’s. Dinner was terrific—tongue tacos for me and tuna tartare for Meg, preceded by the guacamole with bits of roast beef. The staff was courteous and kind about my transport chair and our waiter friendly, chatting about wine. He introduced me to a wine from the oldest winery in North America—from Mexico, of course. A bit too acidic for me, so I settled for a chenin blanc/chardonnay blend. Back home, a late-night visit with Christian, and we all stayed up too late.

This morning, I’m ashamed to say, it came down to biscuits and gravy or church. Megan and I went to Hot Box Biscuits to pick up and came back to the cottage to attend church online. She had been pleased when our minister, Dr Russ Peterman, gave the invocation at the rodeo Friday afternoon and wanted to hear more. As for the biscuits, it was fun to drive downtown with Megan, because it’s almost like she never lived here—she is totally lost and has no sense of direction. So we drove down South Main so she could see the development, the restaurants and other small businesses. She said she really needs to come home and drive around the city, and I told her I’d love to do that. I am so settled in my cottage, that when I get out it’s sometimes a foreign world—when did they build that? And who tore down the house that was there?

Finished sandwich

Building a sandwich

Tonight I cooked for Christian and Jacob—Dagwood sandwiches. Who remembers Dagwood
and his famous sandwiches? He was a character in the long-running comic strip, “Blondie,” and he was noted for his multi-layered sandwiches with a variety of meats and condiments Tonight mine had turkey, ham, bacon, provolone, cheddar, onion, pickle, mayo, honey mustard dressing, and horseradish sauce. Delicious, and fun to build. If it looks a little lopsided in the picture, that’s because my cottage slants ever so slightly to the north, and the sandwich shifted in the oven as the cheeses melted. Tasted great nonetheless, rich, but great.

I’m pleased to report Sophie is back in almost full steam—we decided the proof came when she stole a biscuit and gravy off Megan’s plate on the coffee table this morning! But there are other signs—she’s very demanding about what she wants, and she’s been barking at squirrels. She is ravenous all the time, and we can tell she’s gained weight. Her personality has returned, and although she can be a pain, we are all delighted. She’s our favorite pain!

All is well in the cottage tonight, and I will have sweet dreams, putting aside for the time all the troubles that beset our world. My current peeve is that I am weary of people who say things will never change—guns everywhere, police brutality, etc. It will change if we make it—and we must.

I hope you have sweet dreams too.

The fun of communal cooking

 

Our fancy--and oh so rich!--pasta dinner

Jordan and I team-cooked supper tonight and had such a good time. I think it’s a particularly blessing of the mother/daughter relationship. Christian announced he had a work event and would at the least be late and perhaps not home for supper at all. While we love him dearly and miss him on these nights, we welcome the occasional evening when we can cook things he doesn’t like. Last night we were going over recipes, and he happened to look at the one we planned for tonight—pasta with artichokes hearts and goat cheese. He looked alarmed, “It has no meat! And it has artichoke hearts!” See why we like occasional “just us” meals?

The recipe was rich—farfelle, a bit of green onion and garlic, a lot of pasta water, cream cheese, goat cheese, mozzarella, French fried onions (I thought that odd—they were stirred into the sauce—but they turned out to be a good addition). Dill, parsley, salt and pepper, red pepper (which we omitted—the black pepper gave it just the right pep). When you combined it all in a casserole dish, you topped it with more onion rings and Parmesan and served it sprinkled with green onion tops. See what I mean about rich? All those cheeses. But so very good. In truth, though, it was a bit complicated, and I'm not sure I would have done it if left alone.

It’s been a pleasant if unremarkable couple of days. I survived the dental appointment yesterday and even came away with praise for taking good care of my teeth. I certainly had worked myself into a snit of worry by the time I got to the office, but as I later explained to Jordan, dentistry when I was a kid was a much different thing, and I had bad teeth—lots of cavities so I suffered a lot with the old, slow, bumbling dental drills. The teeth are thanks, I think, to my dad from whom I inherited that little problem. After the appointment, Jordan and I went to far west Fort Worth to pick up Jacob, and it was a treat for me to be out driving around—see what pandemic has done?

Yesterday evening our Tuesday night happy hour celebrated Mary Dulle’s forthcoming birthday with flowers, snacks, Prosecco, and, of course, cupcakes—strawberry because that’s her favorite. Forgot to take pictures, but it was lovely to sit on the patio in such pleasant weather and such good company. We are blessed with neighbors.

We were all worried about Sophie though—she clearly was not herself. So lethargic, and as I explained to the vet tech this morning via phone she is not by nature a lethargic dog. She didn’t walk to the gate to greet people nor escort them out; when Christian came out, she stayed on the deck instead of jumping wildly off it and racing to beat him to the cottage as she usually does. Finally, when he called, she came hesitantly down the steps, which led him to say, “I’ve never seen her use the steps before.” She also did not get up in her favorite chair to sleep, which made me think she had tweaked a muscle. When the vet called today, that was his diagnosis.

I spent a restless night worrying about her, getting up to check on her. Each time, her tail drooped, and she looked at me with big, pitiful eyes—talk about “Be still my heart.” It was a reminder to me of how much our lives are entwined with our animals—I really, in a bizarre moment, wondered what I would do if she died in her sleep.

Of course, she didn’t—and she seems much better today. Her tail is up over her back most of the time, she forgot she couldn’t jump and got on the couch in anger at the dog behind us, and she generally seems happier. Still slept a lot. I’ll check in with the vet again tomorrow.

And tonight I am in a spanking clean cottage. So glad to have the wonderful Zenaida come and reach all those corners, high up and down low, that I can’t. She makes the bed better than anyone I ever met, and her visits brighten my days. So I’m a happy camper tonight. And a busy one—proofreading 302 pages of my 1995 novel, Libbie (about Elizabeth Bacon Custer). The reprint will be out in June. More about that another time.

We’re in for a “cold front”—in the upper fifties. After last week, that is laughable, but it’s also supposed to bring welcome rain. No patio weather for a while, but that’s okay.  I have work to do—which is a good feeling.

Stay safe, everyone.