An absolute bummer of a day

 

I awoke this morning to a stunningly quiet cottage. It took me a moment to realize there was no hum of the refrigerator, no white sound from the HVAC unit. None of the appliances had their little lights lit to show they were functioning. I looked across the yard at Jordan’s house and saw there were no lights. Then I found she had texted me that an accident at the stoplight, a block and a half away, had taken out an electric pole. It would be fixed by nine-thirty, according to the power company.

There is not much I can do in the cottage without power—no cup of tea, because I have nothing to heat the water; no hot water (good thing I didn’t want to wash my hair); even the bidet wouldn’t work. I had thought my computer would work on battery, but no such luck. No TV. No reading, because I read on my computer. Oh sure, I could do some of that on my phone, but it’s tiny and both my old fingers and old eyes are not happy working on it.

Besides, last night, having had I guess all the sleep I needed, I was awake and at my computer at midnight, making a list of things to do today, like cancelling tomorrow’s dental appointment, making sure the Book Ladies knew I’d cancelled the group happy hour tomorrow (I still am afraid one will show up, appetizer in hand). I wanted to check if the church would have charitable turkey dinners, and I needed to check on a neighbor. Little stuff, and the world wouldn’t end if I didn’t get it down, but a lot of it was locked in my computer.

Nine-thirty came and went, then ten-thirty. At eleven groceries were delivered, and I ate a banana. An email told me the power company now said three to four hours. I went back to bed, but I was restless, my body achy from having spent too much time in bed. The power came on about three, and I worked like a demon until seven-thirty. With all emails read and dealt with, my to-do list considerably shortened with only one of two things postponed until tomorrow, I took a nap. Woke feeling so cozy and comfortable, I debated getting up. But I did.

Now, at nine-thirty I’m about to go back to bed. I think my Covid is better, but neither Jordan nor I are ready to charge out into the world. Tomorrow is the last day of quarantine. I’m counting on a better day.

I have a message for anti-vaxxers (of course, none will read my blog): get up to date on vaccines. At my age, Covid could have turned into something severe. As it is, it was like an annoying, bad head cold, with a persistent cough (now mostly gone). I feel very lucky but also grateful that I had good medical advice and kept up my vaccinations. Of course I’m not completely out of the woods yet, so maybe I’m too smug.

A sign I’m feeling much better: I ate the leftover tuna salad tonight, and I am again enjoying looking at recipes. So guess what I found tonight? A recipe for an appetizer, of a Spam cubes (yes, you heard me), Gruyere, coarse mustard, and a cornichon. It would either be interesting or appalling. I am amused at the combination of what you might call a low-class food—Spam—with a gourmet cheese like Gruyere. I also found a recipe for updated stuffed celery. I remember that from my childhood.

And a Facebook me that hit home, because I thought I was having such a bad day: “If you think you’re having a bad day, remember that the Salzburg airport has an entire counter for folks who flew to Austria thinking they were flying to Australia.”

‘Night folks. Sweet dreams.

In the dark of the night

 

I had forgotten how black dark can be until we lost power about eleven o’clock last night. All evening I heard reports of rain nearby, some of it heavy, but our immediate area seemed dry and clear. Until about ten o’clock when I heard that first clap of thunder and, suddenly, Sophie was under my desk at my feet.

The wind rose, thunder rolled occasionally, and then we got one of those amazing light shows—spectacular to watch. But then one big strike, a loud noise, and the world went black. I was already securely locked in for the night, sitting at my desk with my “go to sleep” glass of wine, my hand on my phone. When I looked straight ahead, I could see a little out the windows, but behind me, deep in the cottage, it was all black, impenetrable.

Pretty soon Christian came out to check on me, so without a light I made it to the patio door and let him in. He put away the meat that was defrosting, fetched my flashlight from the bedroom, and settled on the floor to comfort Sophie who was not as all right as I was. I lit my electric candles, and we had a nice visit, talking mostly about politics. After a while Jordan called to say their beloved Cricket was freaking out and sleeping in her arms. She wanted Christian back in the house.

Sophie and I went to bed, though I slept fitfully. If I didn’t’ mind the dark so much, I minded the heat a lot. It hadn’t occurred to me until Christian and I were talking that the a/c would be off too. I shed blankets and layers, but I was still uncomfortable.

And then suddenly, about three o’clock, power returned and the cottage was ablaze with lights. I turned off the computer and lights, filled Sophie’s water dish, and went gratefully back to bed. At five-thirty, Sophie wanted to go out. At six-thirty, she thought it was time for breakfast. I told her firmly it was too early. At seven-thirty, she insisted, so I gave her first breakfast, let her out, and once more went back to bed with that feeling that I hadn’t had my full sleep. Praise be, we slept until nine o’clock.

But the dark blackness of the night stayed on my mind because I’d been thinking how little most Texans understand about what is going on in our world. They are in the dark.  Start with the Paxton impeachment proceedings: his lawyers keep protesting that he is the people’s choice, they elected him knowing all the accusations against him. Truth is, he won by a slim majority, not the major turnout you would expect for an established Republican officeholder in Texas. And polls have shown most Texans had no idea that he has been under indictment for fraud for seven years, that his own office staff reported him to the FBI for bribery and other irregularities, that he had a notorious extramarital affair. The information has always been public—but apparently Texans didn’t read, didn’t care. Maybe now they do.

In Fort Worth, some millions of federal funding for pandemic recovery has gone unused, so the county commissioners have decided to transfer the funds from encouragement of low income housing and other services to the underserved to boost law enforcement, including increased use of a private prison over a hundred miles away. Among many things wrong with that plan, like the wrongness of private prisons to begin with, is that many families, counselors, and lawyers will find it difficult to travel that far to visit and serve inmates. As for low-income housing, one commissioner brushed it off with slight regret and, “It is what it is.” Doesn’t sound pro-active to me, especially since homelessness is on the rise. But most Texans don’t know this.

And then there’s Clearfork—the upscale shopping/residential/office area on the city’s southwest side. And I do mean upscale. Neiman Marcus, Burberry, Gucci, Johnny Was, Louis Vitton, Tiffany—you get the idea. Restaurants match the shops, and who knows how much those upstairs housing units cost. The City of Fort Worth is getting ready to sink millions into an expansion of Clearfork, including an upscale automobile dealer. Without a nod to the need for low-income housing. But most Fort Worthians, let alone most Texans, don’t realize this.

I have a feeling I’m preaching to the choir here, but I don’t know how much or what else I can do to get Texans to wake up and realize the importance of knowing what’s going on, in depth, in our city, our state, our country. We hear repeatedly that the atmosphere in this country resembles the thirties in Nazi Germany, and I think it terms of public apathy, ignorance, call it what you will, it’s an apt comparison.

Folks, the power’s not going to come on magically. We have already seen drastic controls on voting, on women’s rights over their own bodies, on freedom to love who we want, on what books our children read, what version of history they are taught.

Oops sorry. I got preachy. But I am so appalled by the darkness. The literal darkness didn’t scare me; the metaphorical darkness scares the heebie-jeebies out of me. Please help me spread the word that we must all pay close attention—and not stay silent.

Enjoy this cooler weather. Only in Texas is it cooler in the upper eighties. I love living in free Texas. I hope you do too.

How Not to Start the Day

 

Image of Sophie because i needed 
something light-hearted for a somber post.
I refuse to post a picture of an assault weapon.

Well, that was exciting. I’m here to tell you that at 6:10 or so in the morning, it is still very dark. As in pitch-black, feel-your-way-around dark. This morning Sophie and I were up at 5:00 because she was acting strange and staring at the kitchen door. I got up prepared to catch night visitors in the act of vandalizing our cars. I peeped under a shade on the kitchen door. Nothing. Was that movement behind Jacob’s SUV? Was the back of his SUV open? Hard to tell in the total dark.

I decided it was nothing and went back to sleep, only to be startled awake a little after six. Confused at first, I couldn’t figure out where I was nor why I was awake. Then I realized there were no lights. I sleep with a lamp on in my living room and yard lights blazing. I feel guilty about the latter, because I now it disturbs the daily cycles of birds and night critters, but I trade the guilt for a feeling of being safe against night visitors and other unsavory characters.

But this morning I’m not sure if the power made a noise when it went off or if the sudden dark itself woke me, but suddenly there I was awake and a bit disoriented. I reached for my walker and could only find one handle—that’s was the disorientation you get in true dark until your eyes adjust. Finally I made it to the kitchen and peeked under that same shade. Far as I could tell lights were out in the main house and the houses on both sides. Then I ventured into the living room and saw that the neighbors behind me were also dark.

I sat at my desk and turned on the light on my phone, which was suddenly awfully bright. Couldn’t figure out why I would need it, turned it off, and went back to bed. All this time, Sophie was following close by me, confused I’m sure. I wasn’t back in bed long before the lights came back on.

Later I learned that a driver had died in a one-car accident several blocks away. His car was speeding down Forest Park Boulevard, hit the guard rail, flew across open space, hit an electric pole, landed on its side and caught fire. May he rest in peace. Jordan told me the power went off several times, but briefly each time. I guess I slept through the others.

When I finally woke up and made it to my desk, hot tea in hand, I found myself inundated with TV news and analysis of the school shooting in Nashville. Suddenly, I was white hot angry—angry at the shooter, of course, but even angrier at the Republican politicians who tried to brush it off with their tired arguments.

Gym Jordan accuses Democrats of trying to politicize a tragedy. Well, you know what—it is indeed a political issue: Democrats want a ban on assault weapons and reasonable gun control; Republicans want to whine about the second amendment and their rights. (They need to study the second amendment and stop bending it to their wishes.) They want to investigate Hunter Biden and drag queens and Mark Twain’s books, but heaven forbid they should care about let alone protect the lives of America’s children.

Marjorie Taylor Greene, that odious bag of puffery, yells about the gender-bending medications the shooter was taking and how they caused the whole thing. Our children won’t be safe, she claims, until teachers are armed. Oh good job, MTG, what we need is more guns. Does she know how many guns were outside the Uvalde school, waiting while children were slaughtered. A good guy with a gun is not the answer.

Neither can she nor anyone else claim that gender-bending drugs caused this tragedy. Guns did it. Say it out loud: guns killed those children and adults. The shooter was being treated for an emotional problem. Think about this: if assault weapons had been banned, and if strict gun control had kept weapons out of the shooter’s possession because of mental instability, how different would yesterday have been?

With each tragic school shooting, the reasonable among us think maybe this is the one, the one that will galvanize the country, make our leaders and our people realize how wrong this needless slaughter is. How far out of step we are with other civilized nations of the world. And then the furor dies down. Not. This. Time.

I hope every Democrat on every ticket will take courage in hand and campaign on the twin issues of gun control and abortion. Call out the hypocrisy! Call out the callous carelessness about human life, the blind ideas that defy knowledge and studies and medicine. We won years ago with Roe v. Wade, we got an assault weapon ban in 1994, we can do it all again. We just have to be fired up. Please—do whatever you can. Speak out, call  your congressmen. We do not have to live like this.

Amen.

 

Sunshine following storms

 

Controlling the kitchen? Well, maybe

Everyone has their story after last night’s terrific storms swept across Texas and moved on east. Our story is one of incredible gratitude. Texans tend to get a bit blasé about storm warnings—we get them a lot and often they peter out. But there was something different yesterday—a more threatening note. Even the governor began damage control before the storm. TV weatherman tracked it minute by minute, and as it approached we were urged not to wait but to go to a safe spot.

Jordan wanted me to come into the house, especially after she heard that two eighteen-wheeleers had been blown off the highway at Weatherford. I declined, saying I could go to my closet if necessary. “How will you know?” she asked, and I said I’d keep listening to the TV weather reports and I’d look out the window. Because they said to stay away from west-facing windows, I pulled the shades down on the French doors and one window on that side of the cottage. I think the doors are plexiglass and not glass—ought to check on that.

What I didn’t count on and should have was the power outage. The storm hit at 6:00 p.m. and the power went off at 6:01. With the shades pulled, it suddenly got very dark. For a moment, I thought I was trapped in the bathroom, because the walker kept hitting an immoveable object. The flashlight on my phone told me I was trying to plow into the plumbing pipes under the sink!

So there I was, back at my desk—no light, no computer. What does a writer do in that situation? Well, I tried meditating, but I’ve never been very good at that—my mind jumps from subject to subject. Finally I decided I’d crawl into my bed. You guessed it—I fell sound asleep, only to be awakened suddenly when the electricity came on about seven and the cottage lit up. I guess Jordan had turned on all the lights before the storm. We finished the dinner that was in the slow cooker and praised the Lord for no damage.

This morning the sun shone brightly and you’d have never known there was a storm unless you turned on the TV. Reports of extensive damage, but blessedly little loss of life, have come in all day. I am particularly distressed for a mom-and-pop greenery whose greenhouses, full of carefully nurtured seedlings, were destroyed.

For me, it was a day of computer troubles. It all started because I couldn’t get into Central Market online to place my grocery order. I called Colin and ended taking way too much of his morning—fortunately he was working at home. He finally installed a new VPN and it seemed to fix the problem, once we minimized the connection map. But it was about two and a half hours of frustration, when I had a lot of work waiting for me. I told myself the situation was beyond my control (and my ability to fix it) and it wasn’t the end of the world. That self-lecture worked—to some extent.

Tonight I have my groceries (Jordan even boned two Rotisserie chickens for me), my computer is working, I’ve made a stab at organizing my tax information, and all seems well with the world. Tonight I’ll proofread—or sort tax receipts.

Some days the world seems so out of control, with partisanship divides in our government, book bans and curriculum censorship, state laws criminalizing abortion (and now drag shows), drug deaths among teens—the list is endless. Yet I found a news brief with a quote that encouraged me. Raghavan Iyer is a cookbook author and teacher who has brought the food of India to thousands of Americans. Now he has been diagnosed with metastatic cancer, and he is using his time to encourage people about comfort food no matter what cuisine it comes from. In an interview, he said, “If I can control the kitchen, I can control my life.” I think I will make it my mantra.

Hope everyone is safe and was as fortunate as we were last night. It’s spring in Texas—sometimes wonderful, sometimes terrifying, always unpredictable.

The frustrations of a power outage

An unwelcome but powerful lesson today in the perils of being electronically dependent. My morning was going smoothly—I was working, someone was cleaning the gutters on the house, someone else was cleaning my cottage, Lewis Bundock fixed the shelf that I had loosened from the wall, and all was well`. Suddenly, the cottage went dark. I suspected the gutter man had tripped something and caught Lewis before he left, thinking he’d go fix the breaker switch. But then Jordan called from the main house—power out inside too. My alarm system alerted me belatedly and then sent me an email that fewer than 5% of houses within a mile were affected. I found that cold comfort.

But there I was—no computer, so I couldn’t work. No TV to distract me. Even my land line didn’t work because it relies on an electric power source. And I hesitated to use the cell phone for fear of using up the charge in the battery. Even the books I’m reading are on the computer. And cooking was out of the question, even cold dishes because I didn’t want to open the refrigerator unnecessarily.

I considered just going back to bed, but the sheets had been stripped and were in the washing machine—wet and soapy. Along with the extra set of sheets because Colin and Morgan slept out here Saturday night. I could file all those papers in my “pending” file, but without light I couldn’t really see the files in the drawer well enough.

I sorted a thick file of recipes and patted myself on the back because I cut its size by half. Did so by making myself realize that I am not going to cook big dishes that feed eight because eight would not be comfortable in the cottage, and the days of burner-to-oven skillet cooking are behind me. I cannot use an iron skillet on my hot plate, and the skillets I must use are not ovenproof. A year and a half into cottage living, I realize that dishes I’ll make out here and send inside to be cooked are few and far between. Many of them don’t fit the diet Jordan and Christian are following, and scheduling is a problem—to send dishes inside I have to choose a time they’re home and not cooking. Few and far between.

Belatedly I realized that I could unhook my computer from the remote monitor, so I could write but nothing else. No connection for internet or email. For some reason, the remote keyboard still worked. Small blessings. So I did a little writing.

Suddenly, after about three hours, it came back on. And from then on, the world seemed to get better. The dealership called about repairing my car (I’d been waiting since Saturday to hear from them); my Austin son-in-law, the computer genius, called and quickly walked me through erasing emails that had been stuck on my cell phone since December—I’d erase them, and they’d come right back. Now they’re gone! He also gave advice on cutting my Kindle backlog. I thought of two niggling things that had been in the back of my mind and dealt with them. I had the inspiration to ask for TV tray tables, nice wooden ones, for my birthday, because I’m really tired of asking guests to hunch over the coffee table to eat. It was like a whole new fresh start.

So here I am in this bright, new, electronically-restored world. Ah, what to do next? So many opportunities. Life is good. I think I’ll start by charging my phone and iPad.

Christmas Potluck

 

The Burtons and I co-hosted a small potluck Christmas supper tonight foe neighbors—that means Jordan did most of the work. The house looked festive and pretty, and she arranged a lovely antipasto tray with slider buns, cold cuts, cheese, pickles, olives and all that. Somebody brought a big tossed salad and someone else, a blood orange and red onion platter. Another friend had found a sweet potato recipe in the NYT she wanted to try—spiced with a bit of chile. My contribution was a vegetable ring made with Crescent Rolls and stuffed with broccoli, mushrooms, cream cheese, and cheese (okay I forgot the cherry tomatoes but it was too much filling anyway). It didn’t look as pretty as the recipe picture, but I had a fight with one tube of rolls. Could not get the blasted thing to open and in getting desperate, I messed up some of the rectangles. Still everyone ate almost all of it, so I judged it a success and will keep the recipe—with less broccoli and more tomatoes. We were a small group—still noisy, but I could hear and participate more in the conversation than I sometimes can. Sophie considers all these people her best friends and went from one to the other for tummy rubs and love. A thoroughly pleasant evening.

After everyone left, we cleaned up but I’m not very efficient at it. I can carry an item in one hand with my cane in the other, and after a while my back begins to hurt, so I have to sit down. I did sit in the dining room and remember that it hasn’t been too long since I would shoo everyone out and have the kitchen cleaned in fifteen minutes. My goal is to get back to that. Good as she is, Jordan shouldn’t have to do it all.

It’s amazing what a small comment can do for your attitude. Greg, the neighbor who does my lawn and thus visits with me almost every week, said, “You’re feeling better, aren’t you? You look like it.” My spirits were lifted, because in truth I woke from my nap today feeling better and more optimistic than I have in some time. And Sophie chose that time to jump up on the bed and cuddle next to me—and she’s not really a cuddly kind of dog. We lay there happily for twenty minutes or so.

Strange night-time prayer but I’m praying the electricity doesn’t go out tonight. It went out twice yesterday, and then last night was out from 1:30, when the clock stopped, until five or so in the morning. It doesn’t bother me, but it’s strange to wake in the night to total silence and blackness, and when I do wake I Iike to roll over and see what time it is, mostly so I know how much longer I can stay in bed. And it’s a nuisance to keep re-setting clocks and TVs.

You know how you get emails that say “sent from my iPad” or “sent from my phone”? This morning I found one asking about the power outage that said, “sent from my bathroom.” Gave me a good chuckle.

Eating my own words

Had to eat my own words today. Last night I posted about not getting in a flurry about the holidays—sit back, relax, and let the holidays happen. Today I had a whole long day ahead of me—planned to cook a little, wrap some presents, and proofread. And then, about ten or so, the power went off—suddenly, totally, completely. You know of course how helpless that makes you feel. Oncor said it would be restored at noon. Every once in a while it would bleep on momentarily and then go off. Sophie was terrified.

So I set about doing what I could—but even your iPad is out of commission if you don’t have an internet connection. Couldn’t cook because I’d been about to use my hand mixer. Did my physical therapy exercises but couldn’t, obviously, lie on the hot pad—part of my routine. Wrapped a few presents but felt generally trapped.

Jordan arrived, power came back on, and medical alert company called to see if I needed help. Jordan explained about the power which must have triggered the alert when it came on. We started to fix lunch…and the power went out again, but only briefly this time.

Tonight I couldn’t figure out why my Christmas tree and other lights on timers didn’t come on—duh. The timers were behind in time for the intervals without power. All is well now, though Jordan has cautioned me that we expect severe storms tonight and I should sleep with my cell phone next to my bed, along with the flashlight I always keep there. Right now, it’s unseasonably warm and oppressively humid.

Friend and I had dinner at The Tavern tonight, and had a nice visit with the parents of a good friend of Jordan’s—her first boyfriend who is like another son to me. And they, parents of two boys, claim Jordan as a daughter. Those kids are all out tonight celebrating their son’s birthday. Old ties go way back, and that’s nice.