That’s sort of my theme these days—how lucky I am. Jordan came home from the grocery yesterday with a lovely bouquet or yellow roses. They were so upright and straight that when I watched her walk from her back door to my cottage, I thought they were tulips. I said something like “Tulips in October?” and she was a bit affronted. “They’re roses,” she said. And so they are—beautiful, bright yellow roses.
I love
yellow flowers because they speak to me of sunshine and happiness. The roses
are matched by wonderful, lush mums in front of the deck outside my window—five
big full bush-like plants. When John, who owns the lawn service, said he was
ordering pansies, I quickly said, “No, not yet. I haven’t had time to enjoy the
mums!”
As for
being lucky, blessed, I recently had two wonderful dinners. One night, Jean
took me to The Blue Spire, the fine dining facility on the thirteenth floor of Trinity
Terrace. We looked north over the city—a marvelous view. I’m not much on
height, but it’s like water, as long as I’m safely inside, I love to look at
it. Jean invited me specially because roast marrow bones were on the menu, and
she knows I love them. Also, I think, because we made her part of our family
during quarantine when she was alone, and we have followed every minute of her
move from lovely semi-suburban home to sophisticated apartment. Also, I hope,
the invitation was because she enjoys my company, as I do hers.
After
dinner, we went up to her apartment on the seventeenth floor. Huge windows with
that same north-facing view over the city, spectacular at night when the cit is
lit (don’t think about light pollution just for a moment). There’s still
unpacking to be done, but I can see the bones of what it will look like. Her
bedroom and kitchen are complete, and in the living room she has long, lighted
bookshelves, many of which display her late husband’s folk art. Lots of
antiques. I’m sure her apartment is distinctive among the retirement apartments
around her.
Last
night was different—on my own, so I had the first “freezer soup” night. The day
was extraordinarily windy—gusts up to 60 mph—a great soup night. Everything
came out of the freezer except one can of diced tomatoes.—Cream of celery soup
opened by mistake (It’s hard to find in the store, and we have a favorite
recipe that uses it so we stock up, but more than once I’ve reached blindly for
cream of mushroom and gotten cream of celery). There was a bit of tomato sauce
and something that looked like chicken broth with maybe a tiny bit of chicken.
But my freezer holds lots of frozen vegetables, so the soup was thick with
chopped spinach, peas, and corn. If I ever ask Jordan to buy frozen corn, she
has permission to slap me. I have two and a half bags left, even after the
soup. May be a corn pudding in our future.
My how
lucky I am mantra was tested today. Jacob brought out an armful of packages that
took me a long time to open. One puzzled me—a nice enough looking shirt but not
something I ordered. I spent a lot of time prowling through Amazon orders to
see if I’d ordered something and forgotten it. Finally read the enclosed
material, and it was something Christian ordered. It will look great on him.
More
serious to me was a missed Central Market order. Jordan meant to pick it up at
noon when she left her office—except I didn’t remind her, and she forgot it
until it was too late. It had the Dover sole I intended for dinner and the
broccoflower I meant to brine tonight for dinner tomorrow night. She’ll get it
tomorrow, and we’ll adjust. But I’ll have to freeze the fish, which dismays me
a bit. I had scrambled eggs for dinner, but I brightened them with cream
cheese, diced smoked salmon, and a sliced green onion.
Life
is still good.
