Politics, food, and writing—what else is there?

Truly, I have little else to write about today, except politics, food, and writing. Oh, and then there was that wonderful rainstorm this afternoon about 5:00 p.m. By 4:30 the sky to the north and east looked blue-gray but not dark enough to promise rain. Gradually, however, everything darkened, and I began to hear distant thunder.

When the storm came, it was a nice, gentle summer one—we had no lightning here, though nearby areas did, and the thunder was soft and distant enough that Sophie was not overly alarmed. But the good, healing rain came down heavily enough to water things but not so heavily as to damage blooming plants. There was wind, blowing sheets of water across the back yard, and I did fear for the bougainvillea, which is just beginning to bloom again and which was battered a bit. But it seems to have survived. I know in North Fort Worth there was more damage, and I am sorry—but for us, I am grateful for just the right amount of storm. I’ve said it before, but my mom taught us to love a thunderstorm, and that stays with me today.

I’m avidly following the news of the Democratic walkout in Austin today, and I am most angry at Ryan Rusak’s opinion piece in the Star-Telegram where he says Democrats just need to win more elections. How can they, the way Abbott is stacking legislation against them? Although Rusak claims the exodus to D.C is a gift to Abbott, I don’t see it that way. I think this extreme move will spotlight the ways in which Abbott is trying to create a fiefdom here in Texas—and will turn thinking voters against any 2024 presidential hopes he is harboring. Yes, I think there are enough thinking voters in our country.

As for the constitutionality of what the Democrats are seeking—whether or not the DOJ can help them—I am not a constitutional scholar and can’t comment. But I bet that holds true for a lot of those who are commenting.

Abbott has, of course, not commented on the overwhelming numbers of Texans who waited hours in line to testify against his voter suppression bill. But they did, and I hope they were effective, some not testifying until the wee hours. I haven’t heard who testified in favor of it, but I can guess—Abbott, Patrick, and Paxton, the triumvirate of evil in Texas. I’m holding my breath for what happens next.

And on to food. We had ribs last night—with a sauce made of apricot preserves and soy. Awfully good, though there was talk that we should replace baby back ribs with beef next time. I’m not sure the same sauce would work as well on beef—big difference in flavors of the meat.

We must be on an Asian kick, because tonight I fixed an Asian salad—and had a real learning lesson about rice noodles. Watch for it in my Thursday blog from Gourmet on a Hot Plate. Now that I know how to do it properly, I’m anxious to do it again. Maybe I’m hooked on soy.

From a writerly point of view, it was a good day, a satisfying one. The phrase work-in-progress is common among writers, though in my case it was really a misnomer: it should have been something like work-in-limbo. Saying I’d put it aside to simmer in the back of my mind was an elegant excuse—I’d really ignored it, because it puzzled me, and I filled my days with other, less ambitious chores. But today I went back to the rough draft of Irene in Danger, with new ideas for working out a plot point that had been a stumbling block and creating a new conflict between characters. I began, of necessity, at the beginning and am about halfway through re-reading the 27,000 words I had already written, editing and re-writing as I go. It feels good. Please cross your fingers for me.

And that, folks, was my day. How about yours?

 

Rain, rain, go away

Remember that childhood verse, “Rain, rain, go away/ Come again another day”? Nobody in Texas ever sang that. We are always grateful for rain, even in July. But I’m getting a little weary of this nightly occurrence. My patio floods, my dog is terrified, and I’m terrified she’ll get muddy when she goes out after it stops. Some patio plants are wilting from too much water. The wonderful fresh air is a real treat though.

Such a richness of rain always makes me think of the late Elmer Kelton’s classic Texas novel, The Time It Never Rained. One critic called it one of a dozen or so outstanding novels written in the 20^th century. Elmer grew up in West Texas ranching country, and he understood drought. But he also knew there came years when too much rain that meant weeds grew unbounded, sheep got burrs in their coats, livestock got diseases. He once wrote an article, “The Time It Always Rained,” about one of those wet years. But the novel about the drought of the ‘50s is his premiere work, winner of many awards. If you haven’t read it, do so—you'll be the richer for having read it.

A pleasant lazy Sunday. Jacob was an acolyte at the 11:00 o’clock service. In the car on the way home, he was bemoaning that he was told to do his reading and math after lunch, because he hadn’t kept up with his homework while at his grandparents. “No kid wants to read on a Sunday afternoon,” he said. I was sitting there thinking to myself, “Oh good, I get to go home and read all afternoon.”

I did read much of the afternoon but also cooked a Boston butt pork roast for supper. I’d had the butcher cube it (the butcher’s idea of cubes and mine don’t mesh, and I always have to cut the cubes into smaller pieces but at least it’s a start.). You boil the meat in salted water for an hour and a half or more until the liquid cooks away. The meat will be pale, and you keep it on the heat so the pieces brown. Serve with garlic/lime juice. I also made a radish salsa that turned out to be too heavy (literally) for chips. Christian grilled corn, and Jordan made a salad. Lovely supper.

Storm over and the lights go out. Now? Really? Everyone bustled around, made sure I had candles and flashlights, and then the lights came on. Ah, Texas!

A flood and some trivia

Remind me to be a little cautious next time I exult about how much I love a good storm. Last night, rain which had been all around us final came—first big drops and then a really heavy rain and dark skies too early in the evening. The thunder continued, but we had no wind, no lightning. My kind of storm, and I was a happy camper. Sophie not so much. She was by my side, even if I went from desk to kitchen, a distance of maybe fifteen feet.

But then I happened to glance out the French doors—the patio and the back portion of the yard were under about three inches of water. I wasn’t afraid it would rise and come into the cottage—it still had about five or six inches to go before that. But the portion of the yard that was flooded became a sea of mud—it’s under trees, shady so no grass will grow, and we just hadn’t decided what to do with it. I was afraid Sophie would be desperate to go out, and I didn’t want her in the mud. My fear was reinforced by Jordan who texted from Dallas, “Don’t let Sophie out.” Long story short, Jordan came home, let her out, and watched to be sure she only went on the grass. This morning I called a landscaper for mondo grass.

We have two sinkholes in the yard where Atmos dug great, deep holes and then filled them in. With the rain, they’ve sunk several inches below the sidewalk. Of course, they aren’t yet covered with grass. Atmos will come back and do that. So far, the dogs have not gone near them.

Do you know about the Manitou Incline? Only a mile long, the arduous trail gains 200 feet from beginning to summit, a 68% grade. It was built years ago as a track for a cable car to carry pipeline supplies. No longer needed for that purpose, it has become a tourist attraction. My daughter and her family climbed it a couple of days ago. There are some things I’m grateful my lack of mobility won’t allow me to do. This is one of them, though I’ll probably never be faced with the opportunity gracefully decline.

Festive and fun supper tonight with Betty and Christian at a new wine bistro. We ordered scallops—they were out; we ordered ceviche—the chef didn’t like the look of the ingredients. We ate a charcuterie board and deviled eggs. Delightful!

Why did all this work pile up on my desk, while I was at dinner? And is that really thunder I heard in the distance?