Sushi, Sophie, Agatha, and bureaucracy

 

Spicy tuna tower, with sushi rolls
Pretty food

Been a busy couple of days. Jean and Jeannie picked me up last night for sushi supper at Tokyo Café, one of my favorite places. We went early but still waited almost an hour for our dinner—as the server explained, sushi slows everything down, and the kitchen was behind. I had salmon crudo which was good but not enough to eat; Jeannie had some kind of roll—and tried Kirin, a Japanese beer, which she said was terrific; Jean had the prettiest dish of all—a spicy tuna tower. She said it was both spicy and good. Fun to get out for dinner.

Sophie is coughing again. Poor dear started with a few coughs a couple of days go, but I am alert to that sound now and vowed not to let the problem develop. Jordan took her for an allergy shot yesterday, but she’s still had some coughing spells. I think though the steroid did to her what steroids often do to people—hyped her up. She woke me at 4:15, dancing in a manner that says she’s desperate to go out. You always hate to refuse in case she really does need to go, so I got up—and watched her disappear into a far and dark corner of the yard where I cannot see a black dog. She finally came back and lay on the patio, as if ready to begin the day—I enticed her in with treats which she then refused. Five-thirty came too quickly, and she had to go out again. This time I dished up her breakfast, and she reluctantly came in but was not interested in eating. At 6:45 we made one more trip; after that I refused, loved on her, and gently told her to go take a nap. It was nine o’clock before I woke up. Tonight she ate her breakfast, asked for more, doesn’t seem to be coughing. It will be a watchful weekend.

Yesterday was National Cozy Mystery Day, in case you missed it—a day in honor of Agatha Christie’s birthday. Confession: I am not especially a Christie fan; in fact, I’m not a fan of British mysteries, as are so many of my friends. I have enjoyed the two books about Christie’s mysterious temporary disappearance, but I’m not much schooled in her actual mysteries. It makes me feel a bit guilty, as though I am masquerading by calling myself a mystery writer when I don’t have the right credentials. Like those people who fake their academic degrees. Oh, I’ve read some of the books, but a long time ago. I need to buckle down and re-read. Jean particularly recommended the one in which Poirot dies—wonder which book that is?

I rarely diss on businesses or companies, but I’d like to issue a warning here: do not deal with Cigna insurance. Six months ago, when TCU cancelled their dental insurance for retirees, I took out a policy with Cigna. I paid each month, and each month they returned the check to my bank. SO each month I called to find out what was wrong and was given a variety of fixes, like a code on my check, none of which worked. And each month I would get an overdue email statement. This week my bank called and was told I need to put P.O. before Box on the envelope—is not the lamest thing ever? But this week, when both the bank and I talked to Cigna, the representative acted as though I had an active account. A note on my account on the website made me nervous, and I asked my dental office to call. Cigna had cancelled the insurance as of July 1 without notifying me either through a website message or email. Upshot: I have cancelled my dental appointment for next week and applied for new insurance. In retrospect, I think the problem was that I didn’t let Cigna automatically debit my bank account, but I am leery of having many automatic debits. I want to be in control of what happens with my banking.

Now waiting for Jordan to arrive with supper—for me, veal caprese from Macaluso’s just down the street. It was a hectic day, with Jacob playing 36 holes in a golf tournament, and nobody thought about dinner until too late to defrost anything. And Jacob will be in a hurry to get to the Paschal homecoming game. Meantime, I’m hungry!

Happy weekend everyone.

World horror overwhelms the trivia of cold weather and hobby cooking

 

The national flower of Ukraine

Cold, wet days have become the norm this winter, and today was yet another one. I so wanted to crawl into my bed and hide there, and I did take a longer nap than usual, just because I was so warm and cozy. I just might slip back into bed earlier than usual tonight. The low is predicted to be 29, and tomorrow is not going to be a lot better.

Tomorrow is the Cowtown Marathon, and sometimes I think it is as predictable a weather forecaster as the stock show. All those years ago—1978—I remember sitting in our bedroom and hearing my then-husband swear forcibly, followed by, “Sleet. I did not want to hear sleet.” He was one of the lead organizers of the new venture. Next morning I piled four little kids into the car and headed for the Stockyards, over icy roads, to be part of the support crowd. I look back on that and wonder where my brain was. Oh to be young and fearless again.

As it is I did not poke my head out of the cottage today. Nor did I cook as I usually do on weekends. Still, it is sort of a foodie weekend. Last night I made a skillet of sauteed mushrooms and sweet onions. I honestly think I like the onions as well as the mushrooms—a new revelation for me. I sauteed them in olive oil and butter, added garlic and the white wine. After they were off the heat, I added lemon juice and zest. Jordan and I are the only ones who like mushrooms, but we enjoyed them.

My mushroom skillet

Not so good were the salmon balls I impulsively bought from Central Market. They had Parmesan, which I thought sounded good but now think made them dry. And they had too much of some herb—oregano, maybe. I kicked myself, thinking I could have made my regular salmon patties and we’d have been a lot happier.

Doris' casserole
with one serving out for guess who?

Today Jordan made family favorite Doris’ casserole (think American lasagna or something similar) to take to a neighbor who has just had surgery. I got some for my dinner, and it was delicious. Also a pretty casserole. The Burtons meanwhile have gone to an upscale sushi restaurant for a fundraiser. My sushi palate is not wide—I love salmon sashimi and I’ve had some lobster rolls I exclaimed over, but I’m not adventuresome—and they are downright stodgy. Far as I now, they stick to California roll because neither wants raw fish. The restaurant where they are going is so much for an “in the know” crowd that I had no idea how to order the one time I went. I will be interested in their report.

After a week of distractions ranging from doctor’s appointments to Zoom meetings and a Podcast interview, I am glad to say that I wrote 1300 words on Irene’s latest adventure today. But I find it hard not to watch the TV with one eye or check the news feed constantly. I am waiting of course for what will probably not happen—Putin returning to the negotiation table. The invasion he apparently expected to be a walk in the park has not turned out that way.

So many stories coming out of Ukraine to inspire us: the Russian battalion that surrendered because they thought they were on an information-gathering mission and had no idea they were expected to kill people; the old woman who gave Russian soldiers sunflower seeds (the national flower of Ukraine) to put in their pockets so that when they die on Ukrainian soil flowers will bloom; the families with young children who are making Molotov cocktails; the street signs that have all been changed in order to confuse Russians—now, in Russian, they read “Go f--- yourself.”

I’ll leave you tonight with one thought that came to me today as I contemplated the international condemnation of Putin and support for Ukraine: what would have happened if trump were still president. Nothing would have played out the same. President Biden has been the point man in organizing international sanctions and resistance, and he has done it with wisdom and grace. Just my opinion, but trump having alienated most of our allies, wouldn’t have known how to begin to get them to pull together and given his loyalty to Russia, probably wouldn’t have tried. Resistance would have been scattershot. As it is, with Biden at the helm and joined by other NATO allies, the reaction has been unified and forceful.

My mom always told me the gods work in mysterious ways their wonders to accomplish. Perhaps this is another instance. Pray for the people of Ukraine tonight, but also pray for the people of Russia who are innocent pawns in this mess and who are risking life and freedom to protest. Hardly a night to wish everyone, “Sweet dreams.”

 

Let the celebration begin!

My birthday is in another week, but celebrating began today, when Jamie and my second oldest grandchild, Eden, came over from Frisco for the afternoon and dinner. It's not a major birthday, so I didn't expect much of a celebration, but Jamie will be out of town next weekend. Mel and Eden will come over for family birthday.

But first Jordan and I went grocery shopping, which has become a real adventure for me. I drove a motorized cart again. The first time, when I moved but did not destroy a display, the woman who fixed it was grumpy, never looked at me nor acknowledged my profuse apologies. Today we went to a different store, and an employee brought the cart out to the car. After she saw me settled in it, she said, “If you knock something down, don’t worry about it. Happens all the time. Just holler.” I had a great time driving around this store which had wider aisles and fewer dump displays. I didn’t bump into anything stationery nor any customers, and the same woman came to collect the cart at the car. She told me I should have backed up to the car door (I explained I’m not yet good at backing); she scolded me about keeping hydrated in the heat, and when I turned in my seat and reached to close the car door, she said, “Get back in there You don’t need to be doing that!”

Jamie and Eden arrived about one-thirty. They intended to leave Frisco at eleven, but some things came up. Jamie is always later than his original plan and will be the proverbial man who’s late to his own funeral. They were on target for twelve-thirty but didn’t like my lunch options and went to the Mexican Inn on their way in. He had said they’d shop in the afternoon, but he really didn’t know where, Edie wasn’t much interested in Tyler’s, and I’m not much of a shopper, especially now that I’d be using the walker. We pretty much hung out at home, which was better anyway. Swapped “Remember when” stories and had a good time. Jamie wanted to take a Black Forest cake home with him and went to pick up the only one they had—serves 20 and cost a fortune. We had a nice dessert after our dinner.

We had supper at the Tokyo Café—Edie, my favorite vegetarian, loves sushi. I thoroughly enjoyed lobster roll and salmon sashimi, and Jamie ordered three different rolls, pronounced it a good place to go. Nice dinner, and a bit of serious philosophical talk, mostly about the place of religion in our lives. When I said I didn’t believe in hell, Edie’s eyes lit up and she said, “Neither do I, and all my friends do.” Score points for me as a grandmother.

They’ve gone back to Frisco now, and Jordan is in the house watching two little boys. I’m catching up on the odds and ends of a satisfying day and more than ready to go read in bed.