Missing church, a frustrating day, and a fun dinner

 

Brinner

For the first time in forever, I didn’t make online church this morning, and I suppose it wasn’t even for a very good reason. I hope the Lord understands. I was frustrated with the computer world.

All day yesterday I tried to order online from Central Market and always got an “Access Denied” response with security cited as the issue. I’ve had this problem before and customer service has been responsive and quick. Not so today. I think the lady lost patience with me because I told her I was hard of hearing and elderly—so she thought “dementia.” She was helpful but not very. So then I called son Colin who took over my computer and spent an hour figuring things out. Finally, he made Central Market a trusted site, and I was in.

But meantime I ordered by phone, which has its own perils. Dealt with a nice woman who really tried, but now I have God’s quantity of ground rosemary—don’t ask!—and an equal amount of dried parsley flakes, which I will eventually use if I live long enough. I got most of what I want, but ground turkey instead of beef—oh well, turkey burgers will be good one night.

In fixing Central Market, Colin left other problems, a couple of which I finally solved. But there was a huge blank white screen in the middle of my screen saver and I couldn’t get into Twitter, which I know should not be a huge problem these days when people are bowing out of Twitter in droves. But there are some left-leaning columnists I like—David Corn, David Frum, Rick Wilson. Tonight, after yet another session with Colin these seem to be solved. Wish all of life’s problems were so easily fixed. But the whole things left me exhausted.

Tonight we had brinner—breakfast for dinner, a potluck affair with three sets of friends. We used to do this more often before pandemic, so it was fun to rehook. And we had an amazing supper—sausage and cheese on a biscuit, potato casserole, baked egg casserole, bacon and sausage, French toast casserole. Not the meal if you’re struggling with your waistline. Conversation tended to be mostly about food, both cooking it at home and restaurants. At one point, neighbor Jay (the good looking one) asked, “After we’ve had such an amazing meal, why are we talking about where to eat next?” But in a big way, it was talk about keeping up with how much our city has changed and grown, even since pandemic.

Sophie and I survived the first night of standard time. She slept until six, daylight savings time, which means she ate at five, which she often does. I had dreaded the thought of a four o’clock demand for food. (Why do we do that? For a few days after a time change, we measure everything against the time it “should have been”—five o’clock a.m. is really six o’clock, etc.) I also survived—slept until 8:15 (new time, with several interruptions), had a good nap, but now I’m so sleepy.

The week ahead brings a dinner guest, a doctor’s appointment, and, I hope, a lot of time for Irene’s adventures. I keep living them in my head, particularly when I sleep, so I really need to get them on paper.

What about you? How are you handing the switch from daylight to standard time?

Not my favorite day

 

Oh, Texas was sunny and pretty enough today, and the temperature just a bit on the chilly side. A perfect day for football, and the Frogs did it again—beat Tech to add to their unbroken streak. I’m not particularly a football fan—in fact, I am known for resenting TCU football because of all the money it gets while my poor publishing division was constantly threatened with closure to save money. I know all the conventional arguments, so that’s neither here nor there.

But I had a total, at best, of five minutes of human contact today: two driveway visits with the dog groomer while we discussed how long the fur on the top of Sophie’s head should be. I thought shortening it a bit might cut down on her tendency to look like a poodle, and Nathan agreed. Tonight, it’s shorter, but she still looks like a poodle. And Jordan blew in and out of the cottage about five o’clock, so rapidly I hardly knew she was here. Sophie and I had some long discussions, if somewhat one-sided.

The computer world didn’t like me either today. I need to place an order for Central Market—Jordan will go to Albertson’s tomorrow, but there are some things I can only get from CM. Every time I try it tells me “Access Denied” for security reasons. It’s done this before and eventually rights itself, but I can’t wait too long. Jacob can go get groceries tomorrow or Monday afternoon, and I’d like to have them for a guest Monday night.

I am not a big contributor to political campaigns, but as is evident, I am pretty desperate about the mid-terms. Pleas from Raphael Warnock, John Fetterman, and Tim Ryan have especially gotten to me. So I decided to send each a small amount. But Act Blue greets me with FORIDDEN. And I’ve gotten twenty-eleven appeals to renew my Democratic membership, which I did five times until I gave up. I’m still getting those begging emails.

Tonight I was on my own for supper, so I decided to defrost a chicken thigh that’s been in the freezer too long. I used to season thighs with soy and pepper and lemon and roast them until they were cooked through and the skin was crisp for the kids. To my dismay when I defrosted this one it was boneless and skinless. Since I’m such an advocate of bone-in, skin-on chicken, I can’t imagine I ordered that. But I decided to roast it with salt, pepper, and a couple of pieces of onion—good flavor. Then I made it into chicken salad.

There are two schools of thought about chicken salad: chunks of chicken or flaked meat. I often do chunks just out of laziness, but tonight I flaked it, added lemon, green onion, and some celery for crunch. Then just enough mayo and sour cream to bind. It was okay but not great. My takeaway: white meat makes better salad. But there was also something watery about this that I haven’t figured out yet.

Tonight is the night all dog owners dread—the switch back to central standard time. Sophie woke me at five this morning, so I assume she’ll wake me at four tomorrow. How do I explain to her that even though her stomach tells her she’s hungry (when isn’t she?), it’s too early. I am not hopeful, and this transition always takes days.

I read today that in ancient times people slept in shorter periods. After four hours or so, they’d awaken, put wood on the fire, use the restroom, do whatever and then go back to bed where, refreshed after their earlier sleeip, they would make babies—honest, that’s what the source said—and then sleep for another four hours. They called it First and Second Sleep. So, if you routinely wake at four, it’s not insomnia—your body is following an ancient rhythm. And I actually find that my Second Sleep is often deeper and more satisfying. What you do with the interval is up to you!

An interesting note I found today: An eclipse on election night will result in a blood-red moon all across the country for a brief time. Before you take that as an omen, you should know that history or legend tells us that feminine power surges with the blood-red moon. So, ladies, use your power! Get out and vote!

A rich dinner, kitchen goofs, and more football

 

There’s a meme going around on Facebook asking what food you think of when you think of your father. My instant answer, with my Canadian father who was an Anglophile—leg of lamb. Some time ago I was given a generous gift certificate to Whole Foods, and I blew the whole thing on a butterflied leg of lamb. So tonight we ate high on the hog—leg of lamb, twice-baked potatoes, and salad. I should/could have marinated the lamb overnight, but I didn’t get to it, and this morning the day started off so oddly with the time change that it was late morning before I got the marinade made. So I put it in the fridge until late afternoon and then marinated it at room temperature. I haven’t made twice-baked potatoes in a long time, so I printed out a recipe to get the proportions right. Then I figured out what I was doing and threw the recipe away. The result was a truly magnificent meal. The lamb was tender and just done right—pink, so it was neither over- nor under-done. Kudos to Christian, our grill master. Shh. Don’t tell, but I put a bit of buttermilk in the potatoes. Made them creamy and gave them just the slightest tang. I am ready for a nap. But then, my biological clock hasn’t adjusted to the time change.

It’s a good thing I made a good dinner, because maybe it counterbalances all my kitchen “oops” moments of yesterday. I started out to make apple crisp for me and Jean. I will never ever work with Granny Smith apples again. I know, they’re recommended for pies and desserts and the like. But they were the hardest things to cut that I’ve ever encountered. I finally ended up nicking a finger, which bled all over half of one apple. Finger pricks always bleed a lot, and I am on blood thinners, so it was a gusher. I got a band aid, finished cutting the apple into chunks instead of the recommended thin slices and gave up. Then I started on the artichoke/spinach pasta, a dish I’ve wanted to make for a long time but haven’t because of the tastes—or non-tastes—of some of the family. Problem: no artichokes. I always have a can in my pantry drawer. Took it completely apart—no artichokes. Jean stopped at Target to buy a can and met a bewildering array of choices—large, medium, small, quartered, whole, etc.

I’m happy to report that both the pasta dish and the apple crisp turned out great. My leftover half of the crisp was particularly good for breakfast this morning. But I have a gentle reminder—a finger that is slightly sore when I type, from the nick.

Sophie also hasn’t gotten her biological clock in order. She has been a pain all day—wanting in, wanting out, wanting in again, not sure what she wants. I leave the door ajar just a crack because she knows to paw it open—when she will, which is not all the time. Sometimes she throws herself against the door, which does nothing but securely close it. Then she barks, whine, growls, and mutters until I get up to do her bidding. This morning she slept until 8:30 on the old time, which was 7:30 on the new, but I was able to entice her in after a few minutes so I could go back to bed. Praying she adjusts soon.

Gary Patterson continues to be prominent in local headlines and on Facebook. A few people posted today to say, in effect, “We won without him.” The truth is, of course, that yesterday’s triumph over Baylor was his win. He worked with those kids all week, though officially no longer coach, and he planned the game. I think that’s called integrity. Those who didn’t recognize that mostly got slapped down for being rude, inconsiderate, etc. Tonight, between Christian and Jacob, I finally got some idea of what NIL means and why Patterson said he would lose kids when it became effective. Name, Image, Likeness—the new ruling means college players can be compensated and give endorsements. It’s a huge step toward making professionals out of amateurs or college kids, and I can see how it will weaken programs. Once more, money is ruining the intent of college football—kids play for money, not the glory of the school or a post-graduate career. And schools pay exorbitant sums to shine on the football field. I admit I was astounded when I first heard Patterson’s salary. I’m old school, but I do think money is ruining college sports.

And so we begin another week. I hope it’s a good one for each and every one of you.

The blues of time change and computers--a frustrating day

 

Sophie on her princess pillow
looking a bit pensive
maybe it's the time change

I can adjust fairly well to the spring and fall time changes. Sophie cannot. Apparently she has a rather rigid interior clock that tells her when to do what. At seven this morning, she thought it was eight and wanted to go out. At three she thought it was four and I should get up from my nap—never mind that I didn’t even lie down until two-thirty. At four, she thought it was five and I should feed her. I’m hoping she’ll adjust, as she always has eventually, but it may be a rough couple of days.

I have my own problem with the time change. Apparently re-setting my Apple watch is beyond my pay grade. I don’t remember ever having to do this before, but now it is giving me messages about pairing it with my phone. On the phone, there are two options: automatic or manual. If I’m reading it correctly, the automatic requires a position only a contortionist could achieve. So I tried manually—zipping right along until it wanted my Apple username and id. And of course Apple didn’t recognize my log-in. Knowing my fingers are clumsy I had Jordan try. Still no luck. I am convinced that if you don’t log in frequently, web sites erase all your information, because this happens to me a lot. I have sent an urgent message to the granddaughter who works at an Apple Genius Bar, but she replies via text that she isn’t getting my emails. The internet gods are against me.

I did have one small victory. I was stymied getting to all the ancillary files offered by the Sisters in Crime subgroup, the Guppies. In fact, when I went to groups.io, it didn’t even show that I belong to that group. I put out a help plea, the president answered, tried to help, referred me to the web-guppy. Turned out to be so easy. I logged out and when I logged back in of course io didn’t recognize my password (another of those mysterious disappearances). But I hit change my password, corrected it, and all is well.

That was a small victory in the face of overwhelming obstacles in another arena. I am trying to upload audio files of Saving Irene to two platforms—with luck, it will someday be my first audio book, but I am not holding my breath. Again, I sailed along entering metadata, and then came to uploading files. It simply wasn’t going to work—neither platform could get beyond the zip file to the individual files. I kept getting the message that my files were not MP3. But they were—if they could browse beyond the zip file. I have written for help to both companies. Meanwhile, I am gnashing my teeth.

And, yes, it was dusk and gray far too early today. Like when we were just beginning to think about dinner. Grilled chicken because I bought bone-in breasts by mistake (the perils of drive-by pick-up grocery shopping—I never can figure out what kind of chicken I’m getting!) and asparagus the way Aunt Reva used to make it. A sauce of sour cream, mayo, and lemon juice, topped by buttered bread crumbs. Aunt Reva (no real relation but much beloved) was a good Missouri farm girl, and oh boy, could she cook. But that’s another story for another day.

Stay safe everyone. And buckle up for an unpredictable week. If you can stay home, please do. There will be ruffians—nay, terrorists—abroad.

Hello, winter and dark dinners

       

Change is always hard on us humans, and no one ever said it was easy to go from Daylight Savings Time to Central Standard. I for one am among those who would like to have Daylight Savings all the time. I feel a little less joyful when it gets dark at five o’clock in the evening, and I wish for the long twilights of summer. But change we did, as we must, and I think everyone was a little off today.

In fact, Sophie was the only one unaffected. Listening to her biological clock, she awoke promptly at seven this morning, which yesterday would have been eight. Fortunately, she is inclined to go out first thing in the morning, do her business, and come right back in, at which point she heads for the warm bed I have just vacated. But this morning, I didn’t vacate—I went back to doze and linger.

Time change is always hard too because of clocks. We are fortunate today that all our internet-connected clocks change automatically—computer, watch, telephone—but I have a digital bedside clock and a wall-hung thermometer/clock that have to be changed manually. And from season to season, we all forget how we did it last time. Tonight, Jacob and Christian worked long and hard and finally got it done, though we have not been able, since last spring, to restore the part of the thermometer/clock that tells the outside temperature. The clock in my car remains to be changed, but I can do that easily.

With all this change, church this morning was soothing. It being All Saints Sunday, the traditional parts of the service—prayer, offertory, communion, and scripture reading—were fit into the nine parts of the Duruflé Requiem. It was a service of music, no sermon, and, as usual at my church, the music was magnificent. As I sat there, surrounded by glorious sound, I felt the words of that old hymn, “It is well with my soul.” The musical petition for eternal rest everlasting was reassuring, somehow diminishing the fear of that great unknown.

Of course Christian and I got our wires crossed even about church. Jordan was out of town, but I had told him the service was all music. He somehow thought I meant we shouldn’t go, whereas I told him because I was really looking forward to it. We somehow got that straightened out but not until nine this morning.

My big accomplishment this weekend: baking homemade chocolate chip cookies. My friend Carol asked at least twice if I did then “from scratch,” and I assured her I did. I used the stand-by Nestles recipe and, ironically, read yesterday that Nestles has had to recall their ready-to-bake chocolate chip dough. Great timing. But everything went wrong—I didn’t have quite enough white sugar, so I eye-balled increasing the brown; having measured out the dry ingredients into a bowl, I turned to unpacking groceries, and cavalierly flung an orange toward the fruit bowl—knocking over the dry ingredients, part of which landed on the floor. Aside from cleaning the mess, I was left with the dilemma of figuring out how much flour, salt, and baking soda I’d dumped. I finally decided to ignore the salt and soda and judge the flour by the stiffness of the dough. I ended up not adding any more, and the cookies got the ultimate compliment tonight: Unasked, Jacob volunteered, “Juju, the cookies were good.” When I quizzed, he admitted to liking oatmeal/raisin, so that’s next on my list.

Last night, Carol and I had dinner at La Madeleine—beef in gravy with Parmesan potatoes—and tonight I made carnitas—pork roast cubed and boiled with seasonings, served with cilantro, onion, sour cream, avocado. Once again, a bountiful weekend.

And I have my work on my desk all in order in my mind for tomorrow. Going to sleep feeling blessed. Hope you are tool

How Far Do You Bend?

We seniors are always being admonished to stay flexible—and I don’t mean physically. What we’re warned against is getting so set in our ways that any disruption in schedule or routine sends us into a tizzy/ Adaptability is the key. My adaptability has been tested twice in recent days.

The first was a test we all share, young or old. Our bi-annual adjustment from Daylight Savings Time to Central Standard and back again. I handled Saturday’s night switch quite admirably, thank you, by sleeping ten hours. But by Sunday night I was exhausted at 9:30. I told myself that my body thought it was 10:30 and it was really all right to go to sleep. But eight hours later, almost to the minute, my eyes popped open, and I was awake. I did not want to getup at 5:30 no matter if I’d had my eight hours or not. That sounded awful to me. I did sleep for another hour but was forced out of bed by both Sophie and needs of my own.

Sophie worries me every time the time changes, especially when we fall back. In her mind, when it’s daylight, it’s time to start the day, and she comes gleefully into the bedroom at a full run with a bark that says, “Get up.” She doesn’t even necessarily want to go outside, she just thinks I should be up and keeping her company.

I’ll adjust. We all will. We always do. But it takes a few days.

My other test came this weekend when I spent three nights at my daughter’s house. She went out of her way to make sure I was comfortable and taken care of. For instance, I didn’t take my gadget that helps me put on my left sock nor the stool I use to put on the shoe. So I’d go limping into the kitchen, one shoe on, the other in hand, to ask for help.

Going to the bathroom was a challenge because my walker wouldn’t fit between tub and sink, and I inched along holding on to the sink. Then I had to go to the kitchen to wash my hands because the guest bathroom sink has a problem.

There were other little things, none serious, that made me realize how Jordan and I have shaped my cottage around what I can and can’t do. Out of my own environment, I’m at a disadvantage.

I will brag that I handled the bus trip well. Couldn’t take the walker on board with me, so I walked holding on to one seat back and the other. With Jordan’s help, I even managed to go to the restroom without falling. (On my first Vonlane trip, solo to Houston, I had a spectacular fall—no immediate consequences but I’m sure the incident contributed to the overall deterioration of my hip.)

And I managed the walker on Austin’s hilly streets, though not without effort and frequent stops to rest. Uphill is not good.

How do I grade myself? Medium flexible but room for improvement—physically and emotionally. How about you?

Cold and blah

My day started off badly as you may have read in an earlier post. I got up at 5:15 by mistake. I washed my hair and did some other stuff and waited for the 7:00 news, which turned out to be the 6:00 news. What a bummer. I’m pleased to say I did read a project I was reading for someone else and made good use of the time, but I was still out of sorts—and by lunchtime I was sleepy. At least now, thanks to Christian, the clocks in my cottage are all fixed. Probably tomorrow I’ll wake up, look at the clock, and think it’s an hour ahead—then I’ll go back to bed and be an hour late with everything all day!

Today was an appointment with the retina specialist. Every new office insists on doing the full eye exam like you haven’t seen two other doctors in the last two weeks. If anyone comes near me wanting to dilate my eyes, I will probably throw a screaming fit and collapse in a puddle on the floor. Nothing new today, although I liked the doctor and felt confident about him. Long story short is the same old story—I will have surgery, but I don’t know when.

Ever since I’ve been old enough to go to the eye doctor, I’ve dreaded it. Mostly, the doctors I’ve seen have been knowledgeable and kind; one is even an old friend. So I don’t know why I dread it—dilation? Could be. Anyway, an appointment drains me and I’m off kilter for the rest of the day. Today, the combination of too-early-to-rise and the eye appointment really got me, and I slept for two hours in the afternoon. Brightened for happy hour company, a jolly gathering, but still feel sort of out of sorts. Fragile? Not how I like to think of myself.

I am cheered by early voting returns—it appears that the governorships of Virginia and New Jersey have both gone to Democrats. In Virginia, that seems to demonstrate that racist propaganda doesn’t cut it with the voters. What a comforting thought in these times that one minister referred to as our period of darkness.

It’s really not that cold tonight, though I have the heat on. Tomorrow the high will be in the forties. Now that’s winter in Texas. It’s 51 and falling out right now. I view this with mixed feelings—I love keeping the patio door open and bringing the outdoors into the cottage, but honestly, folks, it’s time to get rid of this head.

‘Night. Sweet dream, sleep tight. I’m going to crawl under the comforter with a good book.

Time Change, Computer Woes, and Where did My Energy Go?

There’s something nostalgic, sweet but sad, about the waning twilight as we approach the shift back to Central Standard Time. The air seems to take on a golden glow, as if mimicking fall colors, and the sunlight is less harsh than summer’s direct rays. I for one would stay with daylight savings all the time. I dread the early darkness.

My record so far this week: full days with a working computer: 0; partial days with a working computer: 2; days without a computer: 2. Not a good record for a writer, nor is it good for my peace of mind. Being compulsive, I always have a to-do list—and information for getting it done is locked in my computer. Everything from today’s grocery list to my calendar and notes for a thousand projects. Writing last night’s blog this morning because the computer refused to put down letters last night. And when I tried to type the word “Time” (above), it instead merrily told me it was 8:41. I have p in frustration.

Highlight of the day: an hour telephone consultation with a TCU tech who took over my computer, got rid of a bunch of malware and generally got me back in working order. It’s a delight to work on the computer without fearing it will do something weird in a minute. So much to do from the weeklong backup

At ten o’clock last night Jordan was out blowing leaves off the patio. Watering olants and arranging five small lit skeleton heads outside my window for my viewing pleasure. I was collapsed at my desk in fatigue. I read a post from a neighborhood mom who had three kids with three simultaneous practices and her husband was out of town. She took it all in stride. I remember those days when I didn’t get out of the car until ten and then spent the next two hours doing chores. I hate to admit this but it’s apparently true that energy and enthusiasm (for some things) generally diminish with age.

Today, however, is already a much better day because my computer works and because it's a lovely sunny day. Looking forward to the weekend.

This, that and nothing

Sunday is the day I post Potluck with Judy and usually don't do Judy's Stew, but I have to say something about how amazing the service was this morning at University Christian Church. The entire service was John Rutter's Requiem with full choir and orchestra--all as background for the offering and communion, with the usual prayer and a brief homily. I'm not a good listener--movies, concerts, events which require me to sit still for long make me antsy. But I went to church alone this morning, resolved to let the music just wash over me--and it did. It was, of course, an All Saints Day service of remembrance for those we've lost, and many people went forward to light candles. Heartbreaking to see one young woman, holding the hand of a child, come back down the aisle in tears. I didn't light candles but I thought about two friends who lost their husbands this year, and then I thought I haven't been touched much by death, except for losing my parents. But as I meditated, with that glorious musical background (The Twenty-Third Psalm was part of it), I realized that over the years I've lost many people who were important and special to me. It was indeed a good day of remembrance, to hold treasured memories close.
And a beautiful fall day, though I still found it chilly. I had the sinking feeling I may be too cold all winter. Sophie has reacted to the cold weather by spending the day sleeping in her favorite chair--I've given up the battle of telling her to get down, because the minute my back is turned she's up there again. So now she can get on three pieces of furniture--the chair in my office, Jacob's bed, and the couch if Jacob invites her.
A bit of unpleasantness--turns out there was a dead possum behind the garage apartment. A neighbor called both me and Jordan, afraid that Sophie would chew on it--I suspect she's far too refined a dog. Jordan suggested I call the next-door neighbor, but I said he's more squeamish than I am. I called Greg, my friend/yard guy, and he came down and disposed of it while I was at church. Grateful for good friends and concerned neighbors.
Depressing to me to have it turn dark at 6:30. I fixed a comfort meal--scrambled eggs and bacon, a roasted slice of cabbage (see Potluck with Judy for this amazingly easy treat), and a Clementine--I bought a whole bag of them and it turns out Jacob won't eat them.
Off to write a book review and maybe turn on the fire in the fireplace. Good night to feel cozy.