Looking out the window

Immediately to the right of my desk, there’s a large window that looks out to a corner of the yard toward the main house. It’s large and an odd size, because the cottage is old enough that none of the windows are standard size, and they vary wildly form this large one to a small one that seems crowded into a corner of the living room.

But I often stop and stare out my desk window. In summer, it is a happy view. I can see the blooming plants Christian puts on the patio, including a gorgeous bougainvillea, and the pentas blooming below it (except last year when our pentas took the prize for the most pitiful crop). I can also see the new native plant garden the yard guys planted for me last year.

Not so happy today. It’s one of those Texas days that can chill your bones even if the temperature is moderate. Damp, rainy, dull, and dark. Sophie woke me this morning just before seven to tell me that it was thundering outside, and she did NOT want to go potty. But she wanted to dance, clicking her nails on the wood floor by my bed, just to be sure I didn’t sleep through this danger from the gods of thunder.

It rained and thundered off and on during the morning—a nice gentle rain, but there was that thunder. A particularly loud crack would bring Soph off the couch frantically barking, and an occasional bolt of lightning startled me. But the view out the window was not inspiring. My pair of bluebirds haven’t been back in a couple of days, and I haven’t yet seen Mama and Papa Cardinal who summer here year after year. What I did see was a squirrel, industriously digging in the bed around my native plants. The plants themselves are bright green with spring growth, but I sure hope they fill out some.

It was a workday for me, and I made good progress with the editorial comments on the Irene/ Texas book. It feels like I’ve been with Irene in Texas forever, and I am ready to move on. But I want to do the best job possible with the manuscript, so I slog along. The editor catches remarkable small things that I never would, and I am so grateful, but I laugh a bit too. She is not, never has been a Texas girl. She wants to capitalize western as in western clothing; I will repeat to her my maxim learned in years of writing about the American West—the noun is capitalized; the adjective is not. People in the West wear western clothing. And since Longhorns were made a registered breed some years ago, the word is capitalized.

I wrote something about a norther sweeping cattle south as it roared down on Texas. She wrote that she looked norther up on Google and could not see that it had anything to do with cattle. Must I recount for her the story of the 1886-87 Big Die Up, when countless cattle were swept far south, trying to get ahead of the unbelievable blizzard. When they came to a fence, they stacked up and died. Ranchers lost cattle by the thousands. Not as bad these days, but cattle will still try to move ahead of a storm.

A word on my highly successful career: I got royalty notices today from some Amazon branches: Amazon Australia paid me twenty-two cents; Amazon Europe, eighty-nine. Will success spoil Judy Alter?

Something is alarming Sophie. She is barking and running from one end of the cottage to the other (not a far distance). Night before last, some low life kinds stole the catalytic converter from Jacob’s Toyota Sequoia, so now I’m a bit more cautious. We always knew that we have night-time visitors—folks who try the handles of the cars just in case. But now we’re on high alert—all cars will be behind the electric gate. And though I always lock the cottage and turn on the alarm at night, I have now started locking it when I nap in the afternoon. Jordan came out the other day and was frustrated that the door was locked. Sad that we live in such times.

If you’re in North Texas, stay safe tomorrow and be prepared to take shelter. Bad storms coming.

Thoughts on a dull evening

 

Summer storm in downtown Fort Worth

Storms are predicted for tonight, and barring tornadoes, North Texas will welcome them. We need the rain desperately. And I for one enjoy a good storm. My dog, not so much. But something popped up somewhere online today asking whether or not you enjoy storms, and that question took my mind back a lot of years.

When I was growing up, my family had a cottage on a high dune overlooking Lake Michigan at the very foot on the lake, in the Indiana dunes. Storms would roll down that lake from the north, churning the water into wild whitecaps. We were of course forbidden to swim on those days, but I loved watching those storms come in, and I felt secure in our little cottage with the lake to the front and the woods behind us. My brother and I both credit our mother for teaching us to enjoy rather than fear storms.

I enjoy them to this day, much to Jacob’s bewilderment when he was little and scared. One night when he was with me, a storm took the roof off a business down the street form us, and I did think maybe he was right. I should have been more concerned.

Another night, we watched large hail pelting us from the sky—and then we went to bed. At the time, the house was being re-roofed, and I didn’t realize that only a temporary tarp had been put over the flat-roofed add-on at the back of the house that served as a family room. In the morning when I woke up, the house smelled of rain and water. I nudged Jacob, because I wanted company, even if it was only a seven-year-old, and holding hands we walked through the kitchen to the back room. It was two or three inches deep in water. All my cookbooks were ruined, plus all the y/a books I’d written that we had put out for a special sale for parents and teachers from the school across the street. In no time, we had neighbors, our contractor, and the roofing company owner on their hands and knees mopping and sponging up water. Jordan, whose birthday it was, spent the day sorting books to see which could be salvaged. I was by then having severe hip problems and could do little except wring my hands.

But the storm memory that most remains in my memory is the night Jacob insisted we go to the long, walk-in closet in my bedroom. He had outfitted it with a chair, a flashlight, my book, and a glass of wine for me. For him, a puzzle or something, blankets and a pillow, and a sippy cup full of I don’t know what. I can’t remember how long we sat there until I finally convinced him the danger was past. Such sweet memories to treasure. I hope now, at almost sixteen, he enjoys storm as much as I do, but it’s not a subject you ask a teen about.

It's been a stressful week, and the odd thing is that it’s not just me. I’ve heard it from others, some in far parts of the country. The leaked draft of Justice Alito’s papers on the Roe case have profoundly shaken most of us, sending the abortion question to the states where in too many instances laws will be written without exemptions for life-threatening conditions, rape, incest, or a non-viable fetus (such as an ectopic pregnancy where the fetus lodges in a Fallopian tube and not the uterus). And these laws will be made by mostly white men with absolutely no medical background but a fiercely self-righteous piousness.

The Ukraine invasion wages on, and though we admire the Ukrainian bravery and resolve, there is no way to avoid horror at the butchery and barbarism. And closer to home, the wildfires of the West blaze on. The Hermit’s Peak/Calf Canyon fire has now burned something like 160,000 acres. That’s a lot of people displaced, and a lot of animals, both wild and domestic, either killed or traumatized.

The good news around here is that I, all by myself, fixed my hearing aids by re-pairing them to the phone. Directions are online. It just took me a bit yesterday to remember that. And Sophie seems some better. Sje refused to eat this morning but ate tonight and took her pills. Pill pockets seem to do the trick. She still has some ferocious coughing fits, but they seem less frequent. And she was chasing squirrels today—always a good sign. Maybe we’re slowly working our way out of the smaller traumas at our house.

Rain would help. So join me, please, in praying for a benevolent storm tonight. The last couple of nights I’ve seen lightening about three in the morning but have gone back to sleep too quickly to know if it rained or not. Both mornings, though, the streets were wet.

Sweet dreams of rain, everyone! And may it rain heavily in New Mexico.

My musings after a musical church service

 

Church has been iffy for me of late, even though I consider myself a regular churchgoer. For several reasons, some good, some not so much so, we have not gotten into the habit of physically going to church since quarantine, though I livestream the service almost every Sunday. Even that became iffy for a bit because the church had sound problems and listening intently became a strain. Now those problems are solved, and this morning I “attended.” A wonderful Sunday to be in church either physically or virtually.

The rituals of the service were interjected between movements of Vivaldi’s Gloria, which was, as our minister said jokingly, the best sermon he preached all year. It filled the entire worship hour. As a violin drop-out (when I was seven my parents recognized I had neither the ear nor the talent for it), I still am transported by stringed music, and what Vivaldi does with strings is beyond glorious. The choir out-sang themselves, and the entire experience was transforming. And thought-provoking.

The ministerial prayer focused on the terrible storms that have devastated many states and the solace that God can bring, in churchgoer’s eyes, to the victims. Once, a friend asked me how I could believe in a God who lets such devastation happen (after a terrible tsunami), so I asked our then-minister how to respond, and he said bluntly, “Shit happens.” But he went on to say that it is when shit happens that God is there for us.

This morning on Facebook, someone posted, “We can do nothing about these storms,” and I wanted to shout “Oh, but we can. We can take climate control seriously. We can pass the Build Back Better legislation. We can become caretakers of the earth instead of exploiters.” Science has demonstrated that climate change has intensified the severity and frequency of devastating storms. So it’s not simply a matter of faith. There are practical steps we can and must take. Remember when in Sunday school they talked about being God’s helpers? Not just for little kids.

And from there, of course, my happy little liberal mind went straight to politics, and I mixed politics and religion. If God (insert the deity of your choice) is our savior, he/she will not let the bad guys win. I know the world today is full of skeptics, yet there is no reason I should feel naïve or apologetic about saying, “I believe,” so here it is: I believe God will not let insurrectionists and fascists and perverted religion take over our world again as they tried to do in the Holocaust. That’s not to say we can sit back and say, “God will take care of it.” We have a big, huge role to play (think God’s helpers) but in the end, as we are taught, love will triumph. Not cruelty, nor punishment, nor greed for wealth and power.

Meanwhile, in Texas, it is clear that a whole lot of Texans despise our governor, lt. governor, and attorney general. I’ve seen estimates that if all who are inclined to vote blue turned out, we could defeat them despite voter suppression and gerrymandering. But pundits, who supposedly know whereof they speak, say that Republicans will retain control in Texas and retake the country in 2022. They cite the pattern for mid-term elections, blah, blah, blah. I am tired of politics as it always is. I want to see something unheard of and wonderful happen as people turn out in droves to speak for equality, diversity, kindness, and, yes, love. We simply must not dismiss what’s happening with a shrug and, “That’s politics.”

I don’t often write about religion—it’s a purely personal thing for me. But this morning’s service moved me in several ways. I’ll step down from my private pulpit now.

On a more ordinary note: we (Jordan and Christian and I) were expecting guests tonight for a birthday happy hour, and we planned a wonderful charcuterie. Then one of our guests reported in ill. A disappointment, but we had our own happy hour—nice family time in front of their almost-decorated tree, lots of catching up. Good food, but I’m going to scramble a couple of eggs in a bit. A comfortable Sunday night.

The Great Fish Rescue

Compassion overcame reluctance tonight as Christian and Jacob hurried to rescue a fish before the predicted storms hit. The story begins few days ago. One of Jacob’s friends caught a lovely striped bass, took it home, and put it in his fish tank, where it proceeded to terrorize the other fish. He offered to sell it to Jacob but Christian intervened and suggested we were not paying to help the boy get rid of a fish he wanted to be rid of. Long story short, the fish ended up in a kiddy pool, with an aerator, in the back yard—with an umbrella to shield it from the sun. Christian announced that the fish would return to its fishy home in the Trinity today. That didn’t happen.

But tonight, with storms approaching, Christian said they had to return it because it was inhumane to leave the fish unprotected in the shallow kiddy pool. In storms, fish go to the bottom of the river. So the plan was, with dark approaching, to return it to the river.

The transfer from kiddy pool to cooler for the ride was accomplished, although with some loud voices. But the car is gone, so I presume the fish is headed back to the non-briny depths. I wish him a long and happy life and hope he’s learned some lessons about lures and avoiding them.

Earlier today we went to church for an emotional service during which the congregation said ‘Fare Thee Well’ to a beloved minister who is retiring after more than thirty years. Cyndy Twedell was, I believe, the first woman minister at University Christian Church and a real pioneer in women’s ministry. She was an inspiration to all of us, whether she was leading a mission group in Central America or delivering the eulogy for someone we valued. I turned to her several times for advice and comfort, and always found her spot on. Among her many duties, she led the women’s book club which gave us something in common, though I didn’t often attend..

This morning, the ministerial staff each took a turn thanking Cyndy for her many roles in our church. It was an amazing service. She cried-and I found myself getting teary.

Today is also my oldest grandson’s fifteenth birthday. I foresee a learner’s permit in his future, but for his birthday he wanted some kind of high-powered computer (beyond my comprehension) which he and his father built. He sounded so exited on the phone. The one thing he told me was that it’s really colorful, and he sent a picture that confirmed that. But I still don’t understand why it’s so special. Probably he’ll explain it, and I still won’t understand.

Oops! The breeze just picked up, and I think we are about to get the predicted storms. Jordan just stuck her head in to say, “it’s coming in real strong,” and Sophie has headed for the bedroom. Guess it’s time for me to crawl into bed, pull up the covers, and listen to the storm.

And the rains came….

           

Texas needs a replica of Noah’s ark. There is one in Tennessee, at a theme park, and one in Kentucky, where the owner wants to collect insurance for—wait for it!—rain damage. We need one in Texas. Yesterday was sunny and lovely, and Sophie and I were enjoying a pleasant afternoon with the French doors open. A distant bit of thunder? Not to worry. It’s not going to rain.

But suddenly, the rain came—steady and unrelenting for almost two hours. Mostly it was a calm straightforward rain but there was a brief spell of darkness with heavy wind and thunder directly overhead, which set Sophie to barking in dismay. She opted to spend most of the time under my desk, her little body leaning against my ankles. I think the physical contact comforted her.

Jacob and I were home alone—he in the house, and me in the cottage. At one point I saw him at the back door, waving frantically at me. I had no idea what he was trying to tell me, so I picked up my phone and gestured. He bustled away to find his phone and call me because he wanted me to know it was hailing and he was worried about the trees swaying in the wind. I did not see or hear hail, but I read reports of it not far from here, and I’ve since heard tales of much worse storms and flooding in the immediate area as well as trees down near the zoo and Colonial Country Club, so maybe we didn’t get the worst of it—just the longest. In a wonderful irony, his parents were at a pool party. Life has its little jokes.

I spent much of yesterday reading Sugarplum Dead, a Death on Demand Bookstore mystery by Carolyn Hart. Friday, some new projects landed on my desk, but I was already engrossed in Hart’s book—part of one of my favorite series. So I felt I had to finish it and leave that fictional world, before I could turn to worlds of my own making. It’s hard for me to juggle fictional worlds.

Late last night Jacob came out to visit, and we had one of the good talks we haven’t had in a while—about school, fishing, his upcoming birthday, even sex trafficking of children. I know I’m prejudiced, but I think for just a couple weeks shy of thirteen he has a remarkable grasp of the adult world.

It’s been a weekend of taking care of business too. Got my car back from VW (at a hefty cost), got myself a Fort Worth library card (I need it for online research), and did some of the “busy” work involved in preparing a manuscript.

Tonight Christian grilled steak, and I fixed potato salad and baked or “northern” beans. A great summer meal. And so another week begins, this one a busy one for me.

A dark and dreary day

In Texas in the spring, weather determines your day’s activities. It sure did mine today Last night having goofed in submitting my Central Market order, I checked the weather forecast, found that the severe storms predicted were to be over around noon. I scheduled my curbside pick-up for 12:30.

This morning all that changed. By noon, it was almost night-time dark, with thunder rumbling. We were under a tornado watch until five o’clock, a flash flood warning until three-thirty. Sophie refused to leave my side and looked abjectly miserable. I called Central Market and asked if they would keep my groceries until tomorrow, and they agreed.

By coincidence, I’m reading Widow’s Tears, by Susan Wittig Albert, a China Bayles novel with flashbacks to the devastating Galveston Hurricane of 1900. Fiction has the ability, through focusing on particular individuals, to make the generalized horror of such a storm very real. For those who don’t know, it was and still is the worst natural disaster in U. S. history. Eight to ten thousand people died or were lost—the figure is approximate because nobody knows how many were swept out to sea. The city was totally destroyed.

Susan’s chapters describing the storm, particularly those in which fictional character Rachel Blackwood fights to protect her home and children, are graphic and compelling. You feel yourself in the storm, feel the floor and walls shaking, watch the water rise ever higher, hear the wind scream. At one point, Rachel looks out and sees a woman lashed to a door being tossed by the gale-force waters. She is sure the woman is dead and knows the horse behind is as its body rolls over and over in the water. Susan has told me that these scenes were terrifically hard to write, but she’s done a masterful job.

I know of course that I am on high ground—I actually do live on a slight hill—and that we’re far from the Gulf and unlikely to meet such a fate. But it’s still spooky to read about that storm while a milder version rages outside. We were spared the possible hail, and the storm passed.

The weather gods smiled on us in the late afternoon, and an al fresco dinner party went on as planned on the huge deck at the home of good friends. They have a new really long table—seats twelve at least—of 200-year-old beams, so we were celebrating not just spring but that new/old table. Interesting people, good conversation, and tasty food.

Lots of remarks about how the sun had come out just in time. A shift in the breeze sent one guest scurrying to check the radar, but it was reassuring. Then, after most had finished supper, suddenly without the warning of thunder or anything, it began to rain.

Everyone scrambled to get inside, but I did hear Phil Green say, “What about Judy?” My walker was across the deck. Hostess Sue held out her hand, but I said I needed the walker. Bless her, she got wet herself getting it for me, but we both made it inside only a bit damp/

Weather does indeed call the shots in Texas.

Ho, hum! Another stormy Saturday.

My German supper

You’ll know what kind of a day I had when I tell you the two highlights: one was watching the ferocious storm that hit just a bit before noon, with some light hail. I have been apprehensive about hail ever since the great hail storm in the spring of 2016. The roof on my house had been replaced, all except the back add-on which we used as a TV/family room. That flat roof was temporarily covered.

When I woke up that morning, I smelled wetness—you know, like the smell after a good rain, only it shouldn’t be in the house. I woke Jacob who was with me, and we ventured through the kitchen into the family room—which was ankle deep in water. Because we were downsizing my library, there were books spread out all over the long, wrap-around couch, and cookbooks lined one very long bookshelf. All ruined. The couch had to be sent out to be baked, though it is fine today.

Within minutes it seemed, the roofing contractor and my contractor were on their hands and knees, mopping up water. Neighbors formed a chain to transport books to the front porch, where Jordan separated salvageable from throw-away. I was by then using a walker and not very mobile, so not much help. And it was Jordan’s birthday, though definitely not the way she wanted to celebrate. I think I stood around and wrung my hands. It was surely one of the most dismal days of my life.

Having lived in old houses all my life, heavy rain always makes me a bit nervous. I am grateful that my cottage is tight and dry. And after that storm three years ago, it’s natural that I’m apprehensive when hail begins. Today’s though was small and brief, but the wind was high, and rain blew in sheets.

The other highlight and the only human I’ve seen today: my accountant brought my tax returns for me to sign. Although he was quite cheerful, it was not a cheering visit. I wrote two large checks—one for 2018 and one for the first estimated quarterly payment for 2019. I posted about this on Facebook, because I am glad to pay my fair share of taxes, grateful to live in this country, but not happy that my taxes enrich the wealthy and support a mega-military presence that could be more efficient, slimmed down, less wasteful, and less costly. I want my money used for the poor and sick, education, infrastructure, environmental causes, care of our veterans, etc.

Otherwise I spent the day re-reading a manuscript I wrote thirty years ago. Yes, it had a public life—serialized in the Fort Worth Star-Telegram—but I was worried that my writing would seem immature, clumsy, you name it after all this time. It’s not as bad as I feared, if a little over-written and sentimental. In fact, I’m sort of enjoying it. I’m doing this for research and not quite sure how to wrap my head around what I want to come out of it.

Tonight I made myself a German dinner—what my mom called cottage potatoes, fried kielbasa, and kraut with caramelized onions (okay, I burned them a bit), white wine, brown sugar, and a pinch of thyme. I fried things in batches—only one skillet—and kept them warm in the toaster oven (in retrospect I’m amazed I didn’t blow a circuit breaker). But the neat thing was that I ate out of the small pan I put in the oven, so I had very little clean-up to do.

Apparently, the storms are gone but we will have high winds for a couple of days. Spring in North Texas.

Storms, daylight savings, and insomnia plus a nice dinner

Hard to get out of bed this morning. It was a rough night. Somewhere between three and four, the warning sirens went off, the thunder rolled, the wind blew—up to 70 mph we’re told. I’m not sure why, but in the cottage, everything has an amplified sound—the wind and the rain, although I didn’t hear the sirens. But I lay awake listening to the moaning of the wind, the drumming of the rain. Sophie stayed right next to the bed. Of course, by six it all quieted down, and I slept again. But by 7:45 my conscience pulled me out of bed.

Today was one of those days that gives Texas a reputation for, “If you don’t like the weather, wait a minute.” It stayed damp, dark and chilly early this morning, and I thought sure Jordan would cancel our errand/grocery run. But she didn’t. She said ten o’clock, and by ten it was “fairing off,” as one of my children’s nannies used to say. By eleven, left alone in the car on one errand, I shed my fleece jacket and complained that I was getting a sunburn.

I have been the big cheerleader for Daylight Savings Time, proclaiming my love for dark mornings and long light evenings. I think I have to eat a bit of crow here. I have found I am longing to linger in bed in the mornings, just burrow in and stay there. I have to make myself open my eyes and get on with the world. And in the evening, I’m unbearably sleepy at too early an hour. My inner clock is out of whack.

Worse yet, even without storms, I wake about four and sleep restlessly from then on. I read something about insomnia that identified nap insomnia—napping uses up your sleep need, and you don’t rest as well at night. Guilty! Some days when I nap (which I do every day religiously), I think I haven’t slept but then I realize that I have come from some far country and, indeed, I’ve slept and dreamt. The other insomnia cause that hit home with me is wine—a bit of the grape at night helps you go to sleep but you tend to wake in the middle of the night and can’t go back to sleep.

I do, however, expect things to be better in the morning, when it will be sunny, and I will bounce out of bed ready to dig into the edits on my Alamo manuscript. Ah, don’t hold your breath.

Tonight, a lovely supper with Betty and Jean at the Tavern—delicious sole, mashed potatoes, and spinach. And talk—about Better Angels and politics, about 23andMe, and Alzheimer’s and what we know, and always, about food. I think I’ll abandon that wonderful-sounding butternut squash recipe. Too hard to peel a raw squash. Life’s big problems.

I am my mother’s daughter

My brother and sister-in-law came to see me today to check on how I am doing—and he to reassure himself, for he brought his stethoscope, listened to my lungs and heart, declared lungs fine, heart strong but irregular. Lots of people live with irregular heartbeat, as the cardiologist told me, and I was not concerned, at least not more than I already am.

At one point Cindy commented that I was bright and happy for just getting out of the hospital, and I said, “It’s a choice we each have—we can be happy or we can choose to be unhappy.” At which point, my brother said, “Thank you, Mother.” And it’s true—that’s an approach to life that our other gave us in daily doses.

She was a wonderful woman who brought light, laughter and love to her world and often reached beyond it to those she deemed in need. I am forever grateful for all that she gave me, including a love of cooking. And reading.

Mom was passionate in her political dislikes.The mere appearance of Richard Nixon would transform my gentle, refined mother into a screaming harridan. I can hear her still, “Look at him! Look at his eyes! You can see how dishonest he is.” I shudder to think how she would react to the current pretender (I heard him referred to that way recently and thought it the perfect nomenclature).

But Mom was a nurturer. Stories abound of her taking care of others. She would be distressed today at the dissolution of DACA and wringing her hands over the fate of 800,000 Dreamers, worrying about their future, trying to figure out how she could help. Were she in Florida, she would be helping nail boards over windows, all the while making plans for how to feed storm refugees. The same if she were in Houston. And if she were still among us, she would wonder how she could help those in peril from the wildfires in our West and Northwest.

Mom would agree that in the face of such overwhelming tragedy widespread across our hemisphere, not to mention the floods around the world, North Korea’s ongoing threat, instability in Asian governments, the world sometimes looks a grim place. Petty disagreements, arguments between friends, colleagues, and lovers—all pale in the face of what faces the world now. Even the bathroom bill looks pretty silly in the face of these disasters.

Thanks, Mom, for arming me to live in these times.

Stormy weather

 

Where is Lena Horne when we need her? Supposedly we had stormy weather last night, though I didn’t hear it. I do know we had rain, and now we are due a few days of respite before the next round of storms hits. It was one year ago today that the Central Texas town of Wimberley flooded so badly, sweeping homes and people away. Today, southern Texas is getting it again with record amounts of rain in the Houston area and flooding in Austin. My oldest son in Tomball reported that some of the school children had to spend the night at the school---they couldn’t get home, and their parents couldn’t get to them.

Colin reported it was so bad he came home mid-day yesterday and had to find this road and that to avoid water—you know the world is ending when Colin comes home early from work. Their lake is as high as he’s ever seen it, but I want pictures—he assures me the house is well away from it, but they’ve only lived there two years. How does he know how high it can get? It is probably flooding the stables next door, which means the water is badly polluted. He  will tell you I’m doing what I do best—worrying about my children.

I wonder when Texans will learn the lesson about not driving into standing water. We hear it preached every spring—and every spring people are lost because they thought they could drive through that puddle. There have been several lives lost in the flooded part of the state, and several high-water rescues. Colin and his family were going out around noon to have lunch and do errands, and I heard myself repeat it: Don’t drive into standing water. It didn’t earn me the exasperated sigh it should have—he is one well-rooted person with a lot of common sense, and I know he would never put his wife and kids in danger.

Meantime in soggy Fort Worth I spent the day inside at my computer, where I am perhaps happiest. I sit here working and think I can do anything. But when I got up to fix some lunch and put wet rags in the dryer, I had only energy enough for the lunch. Jordan came and made me a wonderful pasta salad for my supper—spinach noodles, mushrooms, hearts of palm, lots of butter and lemon. She knew I am getting tired of tuna (is there a title there? A song title: “Tired of Tuna” Maybe we could apply it to Tuna, Texas).

Although they didn’t go today, the Burtons have been busy with the Dean & DeLuca Golf Tournament (which we all call the Colonial); tomorrow they will  take Jacob, whose pretty much a fan of almost any sport. The other night I called him to my office, and he stood across the room, that bored stance and expression that says, “What do you want now?” I told him Baylor had fired Art Briles and Ken Starr, and he perked to attention, all nonchalance gone. Then he called his dad, and I didn’t hear much of the conversation except this line, “Yes, Dad, I know what rape is.” Oh my, what a world we live in.

 

 

The Perils of . . . Judy

My ugly boot on my ugly foot
Jordan insists she's going to paint my toenails but
that reminds me of perfuming a pig

Rough night last night at my house. I shared my bed with a scared dog and a scared grandson. The gods were bowling and great rolls of thunder came at us, with lightning that sounded close by (Jacob was convinced) and heavy rain. When the storms really hit, he looked out the window a long time and then went to call his mom. Then he turned the closet light on, and when I told him to turn it off, he said, “I’m not going to.” Obedient child. The closet is his go-to place in storms. The final indignity was that he shined his flashlight directly in my face. None of us slept well.

All night I kept thinking that if I could get this child off to school, I’d go back to a bed that I would have all to myself. I didn’t care if I slept all morning. Got myself settled, and the phone began to ring. Three calls from my doctor’s office telling me it was urgent I go to the orthopedist today because I have a displaced fracture of the little finger on the right hand. There went my lovely day in bed, so I got up and did some work at my desk.

My friend Carol brought lunch from the deli, and we set out for what proved to be slightly over two hours at the doctor’s office. More x-rays, more waiting—I admit my anxiety level was high, really high.  The doctor was a nice guy, said my finger is healing well, and he was tempted to just let it be. Ultimately he decided on a splint for three weeks, but it is removable so I can type with some ease.

We decided the best explanation for this fracture is that I must have flung my hand out in the night and hit the high headboard on my antique bed just right. If Jacob had been there, I’d have blamed him, but alas, he was not. This type of fracture is called a boxer’s fracture because it is what would have resulted if I’d hit someone with a closed fist.

Came home exhausted, finally crawled into bed about five, Jacob appeared at six to do evening chores, and I went back to bed until 7:30. Now I need to catch up with myself. The doctor said one nice thing that boosted my ego—he said I was tough if I had a fracture for almost two weeks without knowing it. I told him I’d walked on the one in my ankle longer than that, and I thought I was clumsy not tough. (My mother would have said, “Why do you always run yourself down?”)  Truth is I’d been feeling despondent about getting old and breaking bones, and his words cheered me a lot. Watch out, world! Here comes one tough old lady.

Dogs, Storms and Not Much Sleep

 

Scooby and Jacob

I never thought much about dogs being afraid of storms—I guess over the years none of mine were. Until I got an Aussie ten or twelve years ago. He was three-and-a-half and had been what the Humane Society called a junk dog. He lived in a yard with other dogs, was fed and watered by that was it. The Humane Society got him because the people had way over the legal limit of animals on their property. Scooby was gorgeous, with a disposition to match. Probably the sweetest dog I’ve ever owned.

But he was terrified of storms. The first storm that hit after he came to live with me, he hid under my desk and pawed at my thighs until I had big painful bruises on both legs. I learned in time that he preferred closed spaces during storms—once I couldn’t find him and finally located him in my closet. Smarter than I was about taking shelter.

The vet gave me tranquilizers—for him, not me. The problem with that was you had to give them to him when the storm was west of Abilene or even Midland. Otherwise it didn’t kick in until the storm had passed, and then he was a zombie. As he got more comfortable and secure, his fear gradually abated.

Sophie at ease--no storms that night

Sophie the unstoppable has never been afraid of storms. Ignored them completely. Until this spring, when the storms have turned her into a Velcro dog, attached to my side. I’m not sure what time the storm hit last night—maybe three—but I was suddenly aware that Jacob got out of bed and walked through the house. When he came back I asked what he was doing, and he said, “I wanted to see the storm.” This from a boy who’s always worried about storms even when I said I loved them. This time he brought Sophie back to bed with him, and she snuggled down between the two of us.

Every time lightning struck, she jumped. Or sometimes she made the whole bed bounce because she had to take care of an itch. But she stayed put the rest of the night. Toward morning the storms eased and she jumped to her bed next to mine. But then the lightning and thunder started again, and she was back up on the bed.

I’m not sure if it was the crowded bed, with a nine-year-old and a dog, the stormy weather, or what, but I didn’t sleep well last night. Looking forward to an early bedtime tonight.

Are we dogs’ best friends?

Sophie

I heard today about an older, small dog (chi mix) that ended up in a shelter’s care. Somehow they knew the identity and phone of the owner, so they called to ask her to pick the dog up. She said she would but when she didn’t show up after a day, they called again. “Don’t you get it?” she asked. “I’m not coming. Send the dog to the pound.” So much for love and compassion for animals. Too many people believe that dogs have no feelings.

Today in particular I can testify about dogs’ feelings. My Sophie has been my shadow all day. Everywhere I went, she tagged along behind. She even napped on the bed with me, although she’s a restless napper—there this itch to be tended to and that to scratch and hark! Was that a noise in the attic? I get the sense that she thinks she let me out of her sight and I disappeared for four days and it’s not going to happen again!

Facebook is full of dogs and a few cats lost and found in Rowlette, Garland and other areas devastated by the storms. Many pet owners who have lost their homes seem to feel it will all be better if they can get their beloved dog back. And kind souls have rescued animals from debris, wet and shivering, and taken them into their homes. The problem of course is matching them.

For those who have taken dogs in, I have one request: please be sure to get definitive i.d. of the person and the dog before you turn an animal over (I have a persistent and terrible fear of dog-fight people who will use even small dogs as bait). And when you do reunite owner and dog, watch the animal’s reaction. If you can’t find the owner and can’t keep the dog, take it to a shelter (preferably no-kill) where anyone claiming or adopting it will be properly vetted.

If you’ve lost a dog, check with shelters, both the city kennel and private shelters in the area. They are overcrowded with storm dogs, and yours might well be there. Here’s another hint: put a large poster, with a picture, in front of your house. If, God forbid, you lost your home, put the poster where it was. When allowed, curiosity seekers will be driving through the area and might help; chances are also good that the dog will return to the home it’s known.

The goal of course is to see all these dogs in loving homes, reunited with their owners; if that’s not possible, then let’s get them into safe new homes. The elderly girl above? She was rescued and hopefully is settled in a much more welcoming home than the one she came from.

From drought to floods—overnight

I was mesmerized this morning, watching the eleven o’clock news report—pictures of flooded streets, reports of closed highways. It rained much of yesterday afternoon but overnight a gentle rain turned into downpours which continued all day. Newscasters advised people not to drive unless they had to and particularly not to head south out of the Metroplex.

Just as Jacob headed for school, a horrendous clap of thunder hit right over my house. Impressive thunder continued off and on throughout the morning. Sophie usually is not bothered by storms, but this morning she needed frequent reassurance that she was safe. She spent much of the morning at my feet in the “safe spot” under my desk. It made me think of my Aussie, Scooby, who was terrified of storms and hid there often, raking my legs with his nails in his fright. I wondered if it rains and thunders on the Rainbow Bridge—probably not.

So where was my Fort Worth family headed during all this? Waco. Straight into the worst of it. They were going for the Baylor homecoming, and I knew it was useless to try to dissuade them. I didn’t even try. Just said a prayer for them, fed them lunch, and sent them on their way. This afternoon, after a late nap, I woke up to a message that they had arrived safely, and pictures on Facebook testified that they were enjoying the activities.

It all sounds like a miserable experience to me, but I am neither a Baylor fan nor a football fan. I am mildly interested in TCU football, but I wouldn’t go to a game in the rain. It’s supposed to rain all day tomorrow too. Thank you, monster storm Patricia. We wanted rain, but not like this. I worry about the people in Mexico, many of whom are ill prepared to deal with the worst hurricane in history…and the people in Puerto Vallarta, who thought they were going on a carefree vacation.

Meantime I spent the day playing the recluse—mostly at my desk. Sent off a guest blog, made great progress on formatting Desperate for Death for publication, sending in an insurance request. Periodically it pours and then all is quiet. Kind of spooky.

I’ve enjoyed allowing myself time to read mysteries this week. Just finished A Dish Best Served Cold: An Italian Kitchen Mystery, by Rosie Genova. Recommend it highly. Looking forward to starting a new book tonight—quite a selection on my iPad and choosing will be hard.

Y’all stay safe and dry. Don’t go out if you don’t have to.

 

In the news...

The news is interesting lately. A Seattle couple left their entire estate--$847,237+ to the U.S. Government in gratitude for the opportunity of living in this country. Both were immigrants--he from Nazi Germany, she from Ireland--and had no family at all. Many of us, myself included, spend so much time moaning about what's wrong with this country--tax cuts for the rich, cuts on all kinds of aid to the poor, silly laws about food stamps and groceries, guns all around us--that maybe we should stop and take a break to think how lucky we are to live in this country. Most of us have food and shelter, we're safe, and as a friend reminded me today, some people would kill for a chance to come to this country. I for one am going to work on gratitude while continuing to fight to make our country the best it can be for all citizens. There is a discouraging note: some economist or such authority noted that at the rate the U.S. spends money, that legacy will be spent in 31 seconds. But it's the gesture that matters.
In new from France grocers are now by law not allowed to discard outdated food--they must either donate it to feed the poor or to be made into animal food. This was on Facebook, and most comments were enthusiastic. I was a bit dismayed by one that said it made so much sense it will never happen in America. That's the attitude I'm talking about above. I do actually know a man who buys industrial waste for conversion into animal food. It's a small step but a start.
And in news that I find really important, Nebraska lawmakers have voted to ban the death penalty, on the grounds that no one has the right to take another life. Maybe we're moving toward being more humane.
The Maldives is (are?) being taken over--by the ocean. The tiny group of islands in the Indian Ocean may be the first country to disappear into the ocean. It has 200 inhabited islands, and tourism is the biggest business--it's lush and tropical. I saw nothing linking this to global warming or climate change, but one can't help but wonder.
Meanwhile, we in North Texas share their concern. We're being taken over by storms, torrential rains, and floods. Major highways are under water, some lakes are above their capacity, river are overflowing. In central Texas, hit particularly hard, a family of four disappeared when the house they were staying in was swept away by water; the father was found and is intensive care. The mother and two young children have not been found. Others in that some town had to be rescued by boat. Be careful out there folks--and don't drive into water. It amazes me how many people you see being rescued from low-water crossings and flooded intersections, in spite of all the warnings. Sometimes people who try to beat low-water crossings aren't lucky enough to be rescued.
Jokes abound--I saw a picture of an ark, and there are lots of pleas for whoever is praying for rain to please stop. Of course, by August, we'll wish we had it. Meantime, we wish there was a way to send it to California.

Distant thunder

I just heard, I think, distant thunder. We're supposed to get storms tonight, with the greatest likelihood between 11 p.m. and 1 p.m. Jacob is here, and I'm going to try to get him asleep before that--we both tend to stay up late when it's not a school night. But if he's asleep he won't be frightened by the storms. I on the other hand may stand at the front door and watch in fascination.
There's a nice companionship about having Jacob here. He ate his dinner at the coffee table, and I ate at my desk. We don't talk much--his conversation consists of "Is there anything more to eat?" and "I'm hungry." I surprised him with three Girl Scout thin mint cookies, and his eyes widened, "Three?" He sorely misses the Blue Bell ice cream that came in individual servings. But even if we don't talk much, we each know the other is there.
There was a video on Facebook of my Austin grandson, Sawyer, playing guitar with a band. Jacob decided Sawyer was really good, the singer not so much. We also decided we can see Sawyer's future, and Jacob insisted on adding "To be continued" to the message I sent. My grandchildren are all so different. Morgan in Tomball just skipped a level and advanced in her karate training, and her eight-year-old brother, small for his age, tried out at the coach's suggestion and made the 11-year-old soccer team. He's a killer on the soccer field, and that coach knows it. Jacob's baseball team lost last night but aren't out of the playoffs yet--at least one more game to go.
I fixed his kind of dinner tonight--corn on the cob and broccoli, and he ate two helpings of each. Our meat was Taylor's Pork Roll. I recently rediscovered it. Colin used it for eggs Benedict (instead of Canadian bacon) over Mother's Day, and it was delicious. I had some one evening later, sautéed. So I thought I'd try it on Jacob--fixed two pieces for each of us. He ate one and said he liked it okay, but he didn't want any more. I ate his other one. Somewhere in my past I've had Taylor's Pork Roll, but I can't put my finger on it. I want to say in graduate school in Missouri, but my brother doesn't remember it, and we were in the same small town in those days.
Which brings me to a coincidence: at the postal station in the local hardware today, the clerk was complaining her plants were drowning. "I'm from Missouri, and this is Missouri weather, not Texas." So I said I'd gone to school in Missouri, and it turns out we were about thirty miles--and a lot of years--apart. I told her the one thing I remember about her town of Macon, a restaurant, and she said it had re-opened after a fire. Small world.
It's been a lazy day, and I've enjoyed it. Some work, but not much. A grocery trip plus post office plus cleaners. Long nap. I love weekends, which strikes me as funny since I'm retired and theoretically weekends are no different than weekdays. Doesn't work out that way.
And that, my friends, is enough trivia about my life. Hope you all have a good weekend. Stay safe, those of you in the path of storms.

Twas a dark and stormy night

In North Central Texas, we've had welcome predictions of rain all week--but nothing. Tonight it finally materialized. Predicted for six o'clock, which made Jordan rush home at five to be sure her car was in the garage and she wasn't driving in a storm. Nothing at my house (maybe 20 minutes away) until seven, when there were a few rounds of thunder and some drizzle. And then the heavens opened--not a storm but just a nice heavy rain. We can use it, although we've been blessed with rain quite a bit lately--something like nine inches opposed to a comparable period last year with three inches. Our lakes are filling up. But it will take more to end the drought in West Texas, and I worry about California--though I can't worry too much until they stop letting Nestle (a foreign-owned company) export bottled water under a contract that expired several years ago.
I see by the TV that the threat of severe storms has already moved east of us, and I can hear the rain slowing to a gentle drizzle. It's a wonderful night to be safely at home, tucked in with my Sophie, and about to write what  I hope is the last scene in Murder at the Mansion, the book I seem to have been working on forever. Wonder if I could work in the phrase, "Twas a dark and stormy night"? Naw, too corny.
When I was a kid, we had a summer cabin high on a dune at the very foot of Lake Michigan, and I used to love watching storms roll down the lake, with the water dark and roiling with huge whitecaps and the sky almost equally dark. I never feared storms--somehow my mom convinced me tornadoes didn't hit cities near water, and since we lived in Chicago we were safe. Now, of course, I know that's not true.
But I learned to fear tornadoes in Texas. I remember once when the sky turned green and my ex and I were running errands, with all four children at home with the nanny. At the time, we lived in one of those rare Texas houses with a basement. So I called and asked, "You do know what to do if there's a tornado, don't you?"
"Oh yes, ma'am." Long pause. "What?"
We hurried home.
The closest I ever came to a tornado was one night when restaurant adventurer Betty and I were having dinner at Pappadeaux. The sky turned black and then green, and rain poured down. So though we'd finished our meal, we ordered more wine. Later her husband would say "I can't believe the two of you just sat there and drank wine." What were we supposed to do? Go out in it? It turned out the great tornado of 2000 which leveled parts of Fort Worth and even damaged the downtown area had passed less than a mile from where we sat. I was sort of surprised the restaurant didn't tell us to take shelter under tables or something, but there was no change in pace.
When I got home, the phone was ringing. Jordan was living with me at the time, and she said, "I'm okay." Far cry from tonight when she has already emailed to see if I'm all right and warned me to charge my phone, get out candles, matches and flashlight.
Just while I wrote this, the rain has stopped and the thunder is distant. I wouldn't be sorry if it rained all night--thunder and lightning allowed but no tornadoes, please.

Waiting for thunderstorms...and going through recipes

We've had wonderful warm sunny days--in the high seventies and low eighties--the last couple of days. A little bit of heaven. Everything seems to have come out at once--redbuds all over town, that beautiful light green of new leaves on trees, the white blooms of pear trees. Even the air smells fresh. But tonight they say we're due thunderstorms with possible high winds and hail. If God would reach down and promise us no tornadoes I'd delight in that forecast. I love waking in the night to thunder and lightning but the possibility of a tornado lurks in my mind. Before it grew dark, I didn't sense that ominous quiet nor see that gun-metal gray in the sky to the west. Who knows? My car is in the garage, my dog is inside, I've done what I can.
Meantime, having written my requisite thousand words for the day, I spent a bit of time going through recipes, looking for something to cook Sunday night. I love the concept of Sunday dinner, always have, but my audience has dwindled (when my kids were at home it wasn't unusual to have 16-20--I don't think I'm p for that now), and sometimes I'm afraid my guests will tire of dinner at Judy's. Still I'm thinking ahead. Some of my possibles for this weekend:
Grilled chicken pan bagnat--those wonderful French pressed sandwiches, originally tuna but this one calls for chicken (I might do tuna sometimes if Christian isn't here)
chicken chilaquiles casserole--think I've made it before and it was good
King Ranch chicken--always a favorite, though I think I've learned that it has no relation to the King Ranch
Greek baked pasta with ground lamb--I have a hard time resisting anything with lamb
chicken enchiladas with tomatillo-cilantro sauce--really good, but ho, hum, I've made it a lot
Sunday chicken with two soups, white wine, rice and onion soup powder
Foil pack chicken--think I've about discarded that
If only my children come, I'll cook Dead Man's Bones--ribs cooked with garlic, apricot preserves and soy sauce--so good
I'm leaning toward the pan bagnat, which is a lot of work but can be done a day ahead. Which would you choose?

The glories of rain in a Texas summer

Normally in North Texas we have rain in April, maybe May, but we didn't get much this spring, not enough to do any good. But this week, we've had glorious rain, almost unprecedented in a Texas summer. Yesterday it was gentle steady rain all morning. I took a nap and woke up to a sunny afternoon. This morning was sunny, and I thought they were fooling about rain, but this time when I woke from my nap, it was storming (did I mention I come from a napping family?). And I mean storming big time. Some thunder and lightning but not a lot--apparently in surrounding areas there was a lot of lightning. But oh, my, did it rain in sheets and blow--I watched my old elm tree, which anchors my property in front, and it swayed but held firm. Friends nearby have two limbs down in their backyard. And it kept raining--I can't remember the last time it rained that hard for that long. Apparently we got about two-and-a-half inches. And they say there's more to come in the next two days.
About forty miles from us, the level of a lake rose five feet overnight--of course with the damn system they'll release some of that, but it was so sad to see piers and docks sitting on bare ground and boats dry-docked. I hope they keep enough water for water sports this summer. I doubt this has broken the back of our drought but it's sure a help.
My week started off peacefully but has gotten complicated for the next few days. Jacob is visiting his grandparents in Coppell and I miss him a lot--suppose I have to share. He's still is afraid of storms, so I hope he's safe and happy tonight. On the other hand, I enjoy a good storm, though I am leery if tornados are possible (they weren't mentioned today).
When I was growing up my family had a cabin high on a dune (three flights of stairs above the beach--from which we got our pure drinking water). It sat right at the bottom tip of Lake Michigan, and one of my fondest memories is of watching storms roll down the lake bringing dark and thunder and enormous whitecaps on the lake. I guess that's why I still enjoy storms, and I sat and watched the one this afternoon in awe. Then I went in my backroom to do my yoga workout--something lovely about doing yoga with the wind and rain blowing outside a wall of windows.
Glory and praise for the rain be to God.

Texas weather and family tidbits

It's sunny and a pleasant temperature outside, a lovely evening. Jacob has asked three times if it's still too wet for him to go outdoors, and I've assured him it is. The weather must have had a grudge against school children today--it rained steadily as they scurried to school, but quit soon after. By then, though, Field Day was off. The day was dark and dismal but barely any rain. I went to lunch with friend Mary Dulle who worried about getting her new/old Porsche Boxter convertible back home before hail hit. Hail never hit here, but it rained again fairly steadily just at three when it was time for the kids to get out of school. I chickened out and asked neighbor and good friend Don Lee to get Jacob when he got Max. He arrived wearing Max's coat over his head and announced he look like a flying nun, said one of the boys offered to call him "Sister." Once everyone was safely home, it stopped raining again, and is now pleasant again. But I hear--hope--there's more rain to come.
But it made a nice morning. I loved staying home, watching the slow steady rain, even enjoying the darkness that came with it. In the afternoon, one loud clap of thunder startled Jacob, though he said "I'm not afraid of tornadoes anymore." There followed a discussion about the difference between being afraid of tornadoes and of thunder.
East of us there were heavy storms and property damage. I am grateful for the gentle, nourishing rains we had.
My family never fails to amuse. The Austin family no longer had mail delivery. This fearsome dog has driven off the mailman. Brandon called to thank me for the birthday present he should have gotten two weeks ago--Megan had to go to the post office to collect their mail. As one who watches daily for the mail, two weeks without would drive me crazy but they are wired differently than I am. Anyway Edie is a loveable sweet ten-pound thing, and I can't imagine what occasioned this. I've always believed you should trist a dog who doesn't like a person but never trust a person who doesn't like dogs.