Storms—and pumpkin carving

Kids hard at work carving pumpkins

In the wee morning hours, deep thunder rumbled and grumbled across North Texas. The gods were having a fine time with their bowling in the heavens above, and I had a furry sleeping companion pressed up close to me. Of course, she was lucky that I allowed her in the bed after her earlier behavior. About one-thirty in the morning she decided she had to bark to go out. It was damp and cold, so I  let her out figuring she’d come right back in.

Not so—she lay on the deck and stared impudently at me. So I decided to fling open the refrigerator with great noise, so she’d know I was getting her cheese. One fling—and an icebox dish full of corn flew out. Corn and buttery juice all over the floor. So there I was—scraping up corn and mopping up juice, which is not easy from a rolling chair, in the early hours of the morning. I finally got her inside by slamming the door, pretending to lock her out. That brought her in a hurry.

Tonight was the annual great pumpkin carve-in, an event Jordan has hosted for several years. I fear, however, it has about run its course. In previous years, when the weather cooperated, it was held on the front porch, and young kids happily carved their pumpkins. Tonight was way too cold and wet to be outside—and those kids are growing up. The carvers were a high schooler, a middle school student, and a fourth grader (I think). Jacob was noticeably not among them, sitting on the couch, focused on getting to the middle school football game.

The snack table

For the adults, the party was a time to feast, and Jordan, with the help of others, put out a grand spread. Friends brought spinach dip, sausage, brie, chicken salad, love dip, etc., and I don’t know what all. Jordan made her bean dip and quesadillas for the kids. She talked of ordering pizza, but I doubt they needed it. I went in for a drink and some snacks, because I enjoy the company, but I was soon encouraged to go to the back room where the carving was. Once I got back there, the adults all went into the front room to visit. I was left with teenagers (and one younger) who really didn’t want to talk to me, and I had little to say to them. “What do you think about the congressional impeachment investigation” probably wouldn’t have gotten me much response. So I asked Jacob to rouse himself, which he did cheerfully, to help me out to the cottage, where I finished my supper with meatloaf and hearts of palm—an odd combination but good.

Tomorrow is Halloween, predicted to be cold (we’ll have our first freeze tonight) but dry. I’ll go in for the trick-or-treating, but I expect a repeat of tonight, and I’ll soon find myself back in the cottage eating meatloaf. It’s a lucky thing that it’s so good—made with onion soup—and I like it so much.

Halloween, dinner parties, and breaking news

Didn’t get this finished last night, so it’s first on my morning agenda. There was a pumpkin carving party on the front porch last night. The kids were funny and squeamish about cleaning out the inside of the pumpkins, and, sad to say, no one thought about saving the seeds to toast. But the breeze came up and after the sun went down, it was cool. I didn’t last to see the finished jack-o-lanterns. Tonight is to be rainy and cool, so I think I’ll stay cozy in the cottage.

My cooking over the weekend was moderately successful, enough so that I’ll keep trying. But it was with a touch of sadness that I read a New York Times cooking column recently on giving dinner parties. I have no dinner table around which people can gather—only a wonderful coffee table made out of a cut-down old oak kitchen table. It’s hard to imagine people bending over a coffee table set with your finest china (I gave it all to the kids anyway) and crystal. So I’m reluctantly admitting that those days are over. No prime rib with au jus gravy, no whole roasted duck, not even a whole roasted chicken, let alone turkey.

And when we gather for family Thanksgiving, the girls banish me from the kitchen—except when it’s time to pull the liver and gizzard from the bird. They’re all too squeamish to do that. Some of my traditional dishes have been replaced by their versions, and no one will eat my cranberry sauce. The girls who married into the family cling to that shimmering jelly stuff sliced from a can. Jordan does make great mashed potatoes, and Megan’s apple pie is killer.

So I guess I’ll stick to happy hour entertaining, or dinners for two or three. And, hey, cooking for one is sometimes rewarding!

I didn’t get a lot done yesterday—who can pull their eyes from the television or their nose from Facebook? Fascinated, I watched and read about the unfolding scene caused by Mr. Mueller’s revelations and indictments and had the sense that I’m watching real history. I remember Watergate, of course, but I wasn’t as intense about politics then. I was more occupied with changing diapers and the like. Today as I remember my mom’s intense dislike of Nixon, I wonder if intensity doesn’t come with age, with a sense we’ve got to get this world right for our grandchildren. Now I’m waiting for the next shoe to fall, the next sealed indictment to be opened. But I have work to do. As my mentor always says, onward and upward!

Mr. Casual

Halloween has come and gone

Like the buildup to Christmas and other major holidays, the run-up to Halloween is too long and protracted –all those cooking shows and ads and store displays and then, poof! It’s over. At least that’s how I felt about it this year. We anticipated the event with hamburgers and pumpkin carving—about ten of us. And I ended the evening at my desk with two carved pumpkins glowing at me from the deck. I notice tonight that they’re gone—presumably to the front porch.

Yesterday, the day, I was isolated from the festivities, including the approximately 1300 children who came trick or treating. My cottage proved ideal—no one found it to trick or treat except grown girls who came begging a glass of wine. And I was back here in solitary quiet, enjoying it.

I am not usually such a curmudgeon. Usually go to Jay and Susan’s for a bowl of stew and to watch them hand out treats. No kidding—we get about 1300 tricksters on our block. Most are small, sweet, and oh so polite. In the next block over, Medstar brings handicapped children and allows them a rare chance to participate. I’m proud to live in a neighborhood that welcomes so many and such diverse children.

But last night I was not myself. All day I had noticed that I tended to fall asleep over the keyboard—in fact, I had noticed it a few mornings during last week and of course my brain immediately went to brain tumor. When Jordan said to me last night that I looked like I was about to fall asleep, I said that was because that was how I felt. She suggested—being oh so reasonable—that perhaps I was overtired. Since I slept 10.5 hours last night I suspect she was right. I still fell asleep a bit this morning but nothing like yesterday.  Maybe cumulative tired, like six months of it, has caught up with me.

But now it’s over, and I think we can settle down to a few peaceful days—If Jordan doesn’t invite half the world for another function which she has yet to dream up. I am not falling asleep over the keyboard but I am weary tonight.

I did wish at 3 a..m. this morning I’d had my camera at hand. I was in bed, thinking those black three-o’clock-in-the-morning thoughts about things that didn’t really need to be worried about. I decided to go to the restroom to sort of break the cycle, but I forgot to turn on the bedside light. When I came back I could barely make out that there was something large, black, and rumpled in the doorway between the bedroom and kitchen. Sophie never bothers towels, but that was what it looked like. As I inched toward the light, half of mass moved several feet. Sophie had gotten her color caught in the afghan that covers her chair and was doomed to drag the blanket with her wherever she went. She gave me the most pitiful look that said, “Help me, please” I scooted into the kitchen, got scissors and freed her.

It was one of life’s little lessons—don’t fret and stew over things that are not here yet, if ever, but help your dog. Priorities.