A memorable weekend

 

My four loves

I have been silent and out of pocket because we went to Austin for a long weekend and a long-delayed get-together with most of the Alter clan—all four of my kids, five of the seven grandchildren, one wife, and one husband. We were missing two grandchildren, one wife, and one husband—and they were sorely missed.

The minute we arrived Thursday night, Jacob was swept up into who knows what with his two Austin cousins, and the same happened the next day when Kegan arrived from Tomball. The four reminded me of classic pictures of the Beatles as they trooped in and out of the house. Sawyer, now 17, drove them everywhere, and I know they loved being on their own. Two of my three granddaughters could not come because of other commitments, but when Eden, the only girl among them, arrived, the boys happily included her in their activities.

The grands--four boys and a girl

We ate extraordinarily well—no surprise there. A fish dinner at a neat restaurant called Monger’s, another supper of grilled pork sandwiches with aioli, and a Mexican night with Bob Armstrong dip from Matt Martinez. And cake—chocolate with chocolate icing, yellow with chocolate icing, and some kind of coconut (obviously I stick to double chocolate).

Megan found sleeping space for most of us--the teenage boys bunked together, I got a bed in the office, and Jordan and her brothers stayed in the cabana. (Jamie's wife and daughter only stayed one night and the three of them were in a motel, but Jamie stayed in the cabana after they left.) Jordan reports many hijinks--the boys had a drum contest with snares and bass, seeing how much noise they could make, and Jamie threw on a sheet and tried to scare Jordan as a ghost. It didn't worked, but she laughed a lot. This was all at one a.m. So much fun that my grown kids can still hang out and fool around--and no, nobody else heard the drums.

We were celebrating all the birthdays and graduations we missed during pandemic, but because my birthday was the most recent, I got extra gifts—what every girl wants for her kitchen: a new garbage can. But its one of those where you wave a hand and it opens like magic, and I think it has a charcoal filter. I am so tired of smelly garbage. But I am doubly proud to announce that I am now a Scottish landholder—I own one square foot in Dumfermline Parish in the Scottish Highlands—yep, I have a fancy certificate to prove it! You may now call me Lady Judy.

A highlight of the trip for me was seeing Megan and Brandon’s new house. They tore down their 1940s cottage which had been randomly (and inefficiently) added to and built a new and very modern house on the same footprint. Stucco outside and white walls inside with lots of large windows, it has clean, smooth lines, no clutter, lots of art, separate bedrooms for the boys and a common room for them to watch TV or hang out with friends. The kitchen, much like the one they had installed ten years ago or so, has a long marble slab which seats at least six—perfect for gathering and talking while Megan cooks, which she does often and well. 

Most remarkable to me though were small architectural touches for efficiency—light switches that are at the height of fingertips and not up on the wall where they interfere with artwork (and there is new, stunningly modern art work throughout the house, including a skateboard painted silver and bearing one word: Impeach), window shades that automatically go down at a certain time in the evening, desks that can be raised to a standing position or lowered to the traditional seated height with the touch of a button, a guest bath with a shelf under the sink for towels, etc., and a neat bar for hanging towels—perfect also for hanging my travel kit. Hidden storage spaces are everywhere, and a laundry chute lets the boys drop their clothes right on top of the washing machine. Everything is designed for efficiency—perfect for a busy family with two high schoolers and two working parents. And yet it is as attractive as any layout from Architectural Digest. I'm strictly an old-house person, but I loved this--as did Jacob who is drawn to modern.

Megan's house, from my favorite perch
with Megan at her computer
That's my computer in the foreground--I set up an office

Home today. We came the back way—183 to 281 to Cleburne and up the Chisholm Trail—to avoid the construction traffic jam in Waco. And unheard of for Texas in August—we ran into rain. Brief but intense cloudbursts, with threatening skies all around us. We could see rain in the distance when we weren’t right in it. Jordan did a masterful job of not only driving but figuring out which way the storms were headed and pretty much skirting them.

And so we are home, hungry and happy, after a truly great weekend. I know I’ve said it before, but I am so blessed with family.

Christian took great care of the dogs, and Sophie got to be in the main house.
The first day he sent this picture with this explanation: Reporting for duty, Sir. 8:30 a.m.
The house is secure, but I will continue to monitor the situation.

A golden day

Make New Friends, but Keep the Old

Those are Silver, These are Gold

I had a golden day today. An old friend came to visit. Carole was in town for the weekend and slated herself to spend the morning with me and stay for lunch. I met Carole in the early eighties when she moved to Fort Worth to head our city’s sesquicentennial celebration. The way she tells it I was at an event where she spoke, and I went up to her afterward to ask if she’d like to have Sunday supper with my family. She said she’d love it.

Husband-to-be Bill joined her shortly afterward, and their daughter—my godchild—was born here. They were regulars at my Sunday dinner table--which is a whole other long story. Thanks go to their daughter Kate for the nickname Juju by which all my grandchildren and half the world knows me. As a toddler, Kate couldn’t say Judy.

But in 1995, Bill’s work took them to the Chicago area, then Atlanta, and finally the D.C. area where they still live. Visits were scarce—they came once when Kate was a teenager, and I visited them in Atlanta for an afternoon once on my way home from the Caymans—a long story. They missed the Alter family occasions, though they almost came to Jordan’s wedding. And then, a few years ago, Carole and Bill came for a visit. We had dinner on the deck and talked of old times. I have to say this: Carole is not a good communicator—she doesn’t write, and she doesn’t do Facebook—though I did find out today she sometimes reads my blog.

There is a W. B. Yeats poem entitled, “Speech After Long Silence,” and that’s sort of how I felt today. She was no more in the door than she was on her knees, burying her face in Sophie’s coat and loving her. Once we settled with cups of tea, we talked non-stop, catching each other up. I heard about Kate’s boyfriend and her travels, and about Carole’s mother’s death (at ninety-nine, I believe) and its impact on Carole, which I understand thoroughly because after thirty years I still want to call my mom with a question about cooking or an unidentified person in a photo. Carole, having known my mom, brought all that back. And I heard about their travels and their dog—a Wheaten terrier, which is sort of a ragamuffin dog like Sophie.

Carole asked for a rundown on each of my kids and their families, and I was glad to oblige. She was on the spot for their growing up years—all those Sunday dinners and all the stories they spawned, We talked about people we’d been close to twenty-five years ago and where they are now—alas, some gone. The subject of my health came up, and she said she’s been worried but will now stop worrying—and I’m glad. We talked a lot of politics—Carole and I have always agreed, and we do to this day. She said she and Bill talk about politics a lot, and she can speak for him. And she promised to come back soon and bring him.

I served a smoked salmon and potato salad for lunch, and she took the recipe and vowed to make it this weekend. You can watch for it Thursday on my Gourmet on a Hot Plate blog—because I took a great picture of it. Dessert was sacher torte parfaits that I picked up at La Madelaine. Decadent and good.

Carole left at one, saying in advance that by then I would be tired of talking and so would she. And I think I was. But I wished she was just a jump away and not half way across the country. I hope she comes back soon.

And, yes, Carole, I took my nap—in a golden haze of memories and friendship.

The nicest thing happened this morning

Really, it was nice. I wrote a novel before lunch. Well, it’s a bit more complicated than that, and no, I don’t have a title yet. But as I was dozing in bed and working hard to keep Sophie from realizing I was awake, I plotted out a novel. The thing is, I kind of thought I was through with the cozy, but I found myself thinking about mysteries.

First, I thought of a new Blue Plate Mystery—an aside, did you know that Murder at the Blue Plate Café is on sale for $2.99 today through Monday on Amazon, Kobo, and maybe other platforms? Anyway, I thought about having Kate, the star and café owner, kidnapped, but I didn’t know why or by whom and the prospect of writing the emotions of a kidnap victim, left to die in some isolated cabin, was daunting, although her dog would have engineered her rescue—maybe that’s far-fetched. I don’t like to write about psychological pain. I know authors, some good friends, who can do that, but I can’t.

Then I thought that I seem to be getting more and more involved with cooking and food, and maybe I should write a new mystery that takes off in a new direction. A culinary mystery. And I came up with a central character who is an assistant (read gofer) for a diva TV chef. Suddenly I had a whole cast of characters, a victim, a villain with a credible motive, and even some side issues.

Best of all, I got up and captured it all on the computer before it left my brain.

Sometimes I am really enthusiastic about a new idea, and I ride the crest of that excitement for a few days and then the idea falls apart. It may happen with this one, but I don’t think so. As the kids say, I’m pumped. For one thing, this mystery will give me a chance to talk about food and include some recipes, which will help my tendency to write short. I’m even thinking I’ll set it in Chicago. It’s been fifty-plus years since I lived there, but I can find a lot about my old neighborhood online, and some things never change. The Loop is still the Loop, the lake is still there, the city still has the energy that so captivated Carl Sandburg.

And I had a wonderful lunch today, with an old friend. Ray lived down the street from the kids and me at one point—we agreed today we’ll always remember the incident that brought us together as friends. His dog, a shih tzu I believe, ran into the open door of our house and jumped into bed with Megan, then a teenager. Ray says he can still see Megan coming out the door in pajamas, complaining, “That dog woke me up.”

Times and lives change. Ray moved to Dallas and then to Granbury, and we lost touch. I tried a few times to email him and got a canned response that said, “I can’t answer right now.” Since he’s a few years older than I (imagine that!), I feared for his health. Then a few months ago, out of the blue, he called. We chatted. We made plans to get together. But he fell and broke his leg, and then I was in that spell where an infection made food absolutely unappealing—I wouldn’t have been much fun at lunch.

Today all that is behind us, and his partner and he met me and another author at a local Mexican restaurant. The other woman was someone Greg, Ray’s partner, has known since high school—he even took her to their senior prom. I know her because she writes mysteries. So there you have it—no six degrees of separation. I got to brag about my kids, and he was astounded when I said my oldest is about to be fifty (I’m astounded too!).

But it was great to see Ray again, banter with him, and recall old good times—there were some not so good, but we skirted them. And we agreed to keep in better touch. He asked me if the deli is still there, and I assured him it is, so I’m pushing for the next lunch to be at the deli.

So wonderful to relive the past and also find out that you’re just as comfortable and happy with that person as you were twenty years ago.

Old friends and an old restaurant

What if I told you I was going to take you to a restaurant the has been in business without changing the menu since 1935—that’s not too far short of a century. One that has only two dinner entrees, covers almost a square city block, doesn’t take credit cards, doesn’t take reservations, has long waits, and seats almost a thousand people? If someone told me that, I think I’d say, “No, thanks,” and head for the nearest chain Mexican restaurant.

Yet as Fort Worthians, that’s often the first place we take out of-town guests. It’s where we flock for graduations, wedding rehearsal dinners, reunions, birthdays, and family occasions of all sorts. It is of course Joe T. Garcia’s.

Back in the late 1930s Jessie and Joe Garcia had a small grocery store where workers from the packinghouses often came to buy lunch fixings. Mama Garcia began to serve them her enchiladas and homemade tortillas, and finally Joe Garcia opened a small restaurant—six tables. Longtime Fort Worth residents will remember when the wait line took you through the kitchen, and it was custom to grab a beer as you went by the refrigerator. Joe T.’s has changed a lot since the early days. The health department long ago quashed that walk through the kitchen. Every year until this year a new patio or room has been added. The patio (really several patios) with lush gardens are a main attraction in good weather, and in winter temporary structures on the patio often accommodate the large crowds. The menu never changes—the family dinner or fajitas (more choices are served at lunch).

What also never changes is the charisma.

We went there tonight as a party of eleven—my family and that of a longtime friend. Our kids knew each other when tiny but long since parted ways. One of Linda’s daughters brought her family back for vacation, and Linda and I decided it would be fun to get the girls together. Joe T.’s is of course the place you go for such reunions, and it didn’t disappoint.

There was reminiscing—Megan remembers going to Linda’s house where the girls got into the makeup, and Molly remembers playing in the driveway at our house. There was getting acquainted—Molly’s two daughters are eleven and fourteen and were forthcoming about their schooling. And it was just a good time to be together—at an old familiar restaurant.

A Warm and Wonderful Reunion

Life is funny. Friends come and go in your life. I read somewhere—maybe Anne Lamott—that when a friend disappears from your life it’s because their part in your life story is done. I had a wonderful brunch today with three friends whose part in my life story is definitely not over, much to my joy.

Gayla Christiansen, marketing manager at Texas A&M University Press, Frank Vick, former director of UNT Press, author, past president of Texas State Historical and Texas Institute of Letters, and Fran’s daughter, Karen, were in Fort Worth for a meeting yesterday, came to see my cottage and take me to brunch.

When I was at TCU Press, I was in almost daily contact with Fran and Gayla. They were my “go to” people in publishing, and when I turned seventy they presented me with a certificate about the three world-problem-solving publishing women of Texas. Retirement and life in general has taken us in different directions, though we are sporadically in touch.

Today, over a marvelous lunch of eggs Benedict and roast brisket hash, we picked right up where we left off—catching up with publishing, health, gossip, families, you name it. We lingered over a long brunch—well over two hours. And we’d still be there probably if Gayla, our hostess, hadn’t announced she needed to head for College Station.

I came home on wings of air, much buoyed up to still be a part of the Texas publishing scene. The rest of my day has been a lazy Saturday. Spent much of the afternoon exploring Scotland—how I wish it was in person, but, alas, it was on the internet. Found I had sent a “blatant self-promotion” article to my clan newsletter, The MacBean Clan Register (after all, if you don’t toot your own horn, who will?). In the early early stages of exploring the possibility of a novel set in Scotland. Of course, I’m sure it would require in-person research.

I’ve set myself a goal tonight of finishing a book I’m reading for evaluation for an organization I belong to, so I’m off to bury my nose in the book.

Shirt-tail relatives

As a child I had many shirt-tail relatives--people who were connected not by blood but by love and shared experiences and mutual affection. Today, as an adult, I am still blessed with several such relationships. People have told me they don't understand or have never heard the term, but to me it makes perfect sense.
Jacob is also blessed with several such relationships--many of his parents friends adore him but a few stand out as special. One is Elizabeth, who has been my friend for well over twenty years and who lived in my garage apartment for a year. Jacob's first question every day coming home from school that year was, "Can I go see Elizabeth?"
A year and a half ago she moved to Pennsylvania to be with the man she loves, and we all grieved. But last night Elizabeth was back for a visit, and we had a party. I fixed dinner for neighbors she'd been close to, and Jordan and Christian came by on their way to a fancy party. We had a joyful dinner, but for Jacob the best part was when everyone else went home, and he and Elizabeth had a lively conversation--I was strictly an outsider. But they chattered and giggled and had a wonderful time. At one time they tried to Facetime Brian, Elizabeth's love, but I don't think they were successful. When Jacob left the room briefly, she said, "I wish I could just put him in my pocket and take him home with me." And as he drifted off to sleep last night Jacob said, "Tonight was really fun."
Elizabeth came into my life twenty-some years ago when as a non-traditional student she applied for

a work-study job in my office at TCU Press. It wasn't instantaneous bonding but almost that quick. Over the years I've watched her transform herself from an overweight, maybe a but insecure person into a svelte yoga instructor, highly skilled and certified, and a confident person who enjoys life. If beyond my own children, I have a success story, she's it, and I couldn't be more proud of who and what she has become.
Oh, dinner! Elizabeth is gluten- and dairy-free--not a diet I fully understand or am sure I agree with but it works for her, and I am glad to follow her rules. Except it makes menu planning difficult. I was more into it when she lived here. But last night I served corned beef and cabbage (my belated tribute to St. Patrick's Day) only with a twist--it was a cold salad--cubed corned beef, blanched haricort vert, cubed potatoes (I cheated and put a bit of salad dressing on them), and sliced raw cabbage, all with a mustard vinaigrette. To our amazement, Jacob loved it and asked for seconds. I wish I'd learn to take pictures of food before I serve it, because it really made a pretty platter.
This morning the sermon was on joy, and I'm not sure I agree that happiness is transitory and joy is permanent, because for me--and I think for Jacob and Elizabeth--last night was one of those moments of joy, a memory to treasure, in the midst of lives of happiness.
Photos by Jay Mitiguy.