Cottage full of kids

I have been in languor all day. The dictionary says that’s a state of tiredness or inertia. I say it’s exhaustion from worrying about my eye surgery, enduring it, and taking one pain pill. The surgery was not the walk in the park that I anticipated, but at least it’s over. Tomorrow I get the patch off, and all should be well.

Both my daughters and my younger son are here, which brightens the day immensely. We have just ordered food, and the girls have gone to get it. They will no doubt linger for a glass of wine while it’s bring prepared.

I have not done a lick of work again today. Yesterday, I was too worried; today I was too sleep. Tomorrow, most of the day, both girls will be around, I have the doctor’s appointment, and we sort of want to do a grocery run. No work again.

But then I’ll get back to my regular life. Gladly. This languor business is no fun.

Worn Out and Plumb Tired

That’s how I feel tonight—worn out and plumb tired. Ever feel that way? I tried to reconstruct my day to see why I’m so tired. Went first thing this morning to the bank to sign the loan papers for the remodeling of the cottage—no we still don’t have a permit. I signed on the dotted line for what is to me a whole lot of money, so maybe that in itself was tiring.

Then Amy, my travel companion, and I ran errands—mailed eight packages, which took a lot of time standing on my feet, and then went to Staples for file folders, hanging folders, and the like so I can start loading my new file cabinet—a task in itself which seems daunting. By then, my ankle was beginning to bother me—it is now swollen and a rainbow of colors, with bruises up my calf and down my toes. Staples has rearranged yet again—I wish stores wouldn’t do that. So I sat in the office furniture section while Amy scoured the store for what we needed. The one clerk we asked must have been new—he didn’t have a clue. But we got what I needed eventually.

Came home to eat an early lunch and take a long nap. Jordan emailed all her plans for organizing things this afternoon, and that convinced me further that I needed a long nap. She comes in bustling with energy—not sure how she does that after a full day of work. But she arranged my office pretty much to her satisfaction, brought all the bed linens in from the cottage to be washed, started on books in the dining room. I mostly sat and watched, though while she worked in the office I put together a flyer for her private book sale. Other than that I watched.

And now I’ve piddled away the evening and am ready to go to sleep.

Long text exchange between my children. Last year we went to Lubbock—just the five of us—for my induction into the Western Writers Hall of Fame. There was some talk of a similar family trip to Chicago but I thought it had faded away. Now it’s come up again with a certain dedication. I had been content to let it fade away, not sure I felt up to the trip. But tonight I scolded myself—go now or never. And with the kids I feel I can be dependent. This time around, at least until my ankle heals, I have no objection to a wheelchair or walker. (That’s a huge admission!) And I know I’ll be in good hands.

So I’m thinking of places I want to go, things I want to show them. One is the architectural tour of Chicago from the Chicago river. The University of Chicago; the hospital (now condos) that was the center of our lives. The house where I grew up; the nearby house President Obama owns. The Lake Shore—although I think Lake Shore Drive has changed so much I’d be lost. I don’t care so much about Marshall Field’s but I’d like to eat at Berghoff’s. And of course tour Hyde Park and Kenwood with the wonderful architecture, and the grounds of the Columbian Exposition. Oh, my. I’m getting excited just thinking about it.

Maye I just got my second wind, but tomorrow will come too soon. Sweet dreams, everyone.

Living in chaos

My dining room; if you look hard, you can see a table

This morning I was reluctant to get out of bed. After my sleep marathon on Sunday, I’ve noticed I’m slow to get out of bed and anxious to return to it. So of course my mind leapt to the extreme conclusion: I’m depressed. Isn’t that what they say about people who spend their days and nights in bed? In truth, I’d get impatient lying abed if I weren’t so darn tired.

I lay there and thought about it and decided that of course I want to avoid the world—specifically the house—I’m living in, because it’s chaos.

Jordan and I have three challenges—downsizing, hail damage, and a weekend garage sale. She does the lion’s share of the work but goes home at night to a relatively organized home and goes to work. She’s not with this mess 24/7. When that realization came to me, I got out of bed and went about my day, but it was a hectic day.

Lewis, the contractor, came to look at the claims adjustor’s report; the restoration company delivered 47 cartons (the inventory says 37) of supposedly salvaged books—we will have to examine all of them. Jordan said she’d do it tomorrow, and I hooted. It will take weeks! I made appointments with AT&T—the U-Verse box is out due to water damage—and with an exterminator because the claims adjustor said we have rat (live, not dead) the size of a small dog in the attic. My day was full of busy stuff like that.

Last night Jordan went through lots of cupboards pulling out things for the garage sale, so they are now on every available surface in the house. Plus things from her house are scattered all over, in bags, in the dining room, my bedroom. And then there are those cartons of books in my dining room. It’s a freakin’ disaster.

My guest room; no, the antique trike is not for sale

 

Using my cane, I wend my way through boxes and piles. This afternoon I sorted two bags of books and determined that most can go to Saturday’s garage sale. That’s another thing—I hate garage sales and hide in the house during them. This is a project for Jordan and neighbor Jay—I suspect Christian is fervently hoping that Jacob has a Sat. morning baseball game.

And remodeling speculation and anticipation goes on. Lewis delivered an estimate yesterday and it is high, as I expected, but we found some places where we could cut corners. He’s waiting for an okay from all my children before he spends the money for a city permit.

Lesson I’ve learned from this: when I was 40 and 50 I served dinner to 20, more or less, every Sunday night; in my sixties, I entertained frequently, with elaborate dinners like coquilles St. Jacques; I’m now in my late 70s and I can’t do it anymore and shouldn’t beat myself up for not doing it. Nor should I nurture my guilt over feeling tired. I am tired. Chaos wears you out. I’m going to bed early, with the sure knowledge I got a lot done today.

One early Easter morning

Easter breakfast

When I was in children’s or youth choice back home in Chicago, we sang an Easter song that began, “One early Easter morning, I wakened with the birds/And all around me lay silence/Too deep for earthly words.” That’s about what happened this morning. After a restless night—I don’t sleep well when I know I have to get up—the alarm went off at 5:30. I turned on the TV waiting for weather reports and was rewarded with paid programming. But finally a weatherman came on, said it was 58 degrees and a cold front with rain was expected about ten. Super! Substituted the warm sweater and shawl I’d laid out for a lighter cotton sweater and a vest. It was comfortable and calm when we set out, though a series of mishaps made us almost late—I couldn’t get into friend Linda’s car because it’s high and has no running boards; once in I couldn’t find the handicapped sticker—I was sitting in it.

By the time we arrived at the church garden for the sunrise service, most chairs were taken. A lady and her son graciously moved over so we could sit. We were barely in our seats when the front hit—wild winds that blew the lilies about in a wild dance and made the microphones sound like thunder. The temperature dropped at least ten degrees, maybe more. But the ministers persevered, and the congregation stayed put. I was reminded of the winter Sunday when the heat in the sanctuary went out and the then-minister said, “Instead of God’s chosen, you are God’s frozen.”

Nonetheless, even when you’re miserably cold, there’s something magical about watching the world go from dark to light while the sermon is about going from the sorrow of Good Friday to the joy and hope of Easter morning. It was a lovely service.

Jacob with his Easter haul. The Bunny at our house was unimaginative and
brought mostly money. Jacob was delighted and looked forward to another haul at
his other grandparents' later in the day. I told him I thought he had maybe missed
the meaning of Easter.

We hurried home, lit a fire, and, joined by Jordan and family, started breakfast. Other guests arrived about eight, and we sat sipping mimosas and bloody Marys, finally ate about 8:30—a cheese strata (need to rework the recipe), sausages, fruit salad, and some hot cross buns because I can’t resist them on Easter. All of a sudden, nearing 10:30, everyone left but Linda—and she and I faced the kitchen. I cannot say enough about what a help she was—my back hurt enough (after a weekend of cooking) that I had to stop and sit, but she worked away and the kitchen was soon to the point that I said, “I’ll take care of that…and that…later.” She left about 11:15 for her 30-miles drive home, and I slept for two hours.

I was late—but not too much so—for dinner with nearby friends at two. All my favorite foods—lamb chops, twice-baked potatoes, asparagus, avocado salad, blueberries and raspberries for dessert. And a thoroughly pleasant and relaxed meal with just four of us.

But Easter, with all its promise of hope and renewal, did me in. Came home and went back to bed. I have since finished the kitchen, done my yoga, fixed the alarm system I messed up as I tried to leave at two, and generally restored the house to whatever order it will be in for the next few months until garage sale is over and repairs are done. No dinner. Not even hungry. But now ready for sleep again.

If you celebrate Easter, I wish you all the joy of the Risen Christ. If you don’t celebrate, I wish you the joy and promise of the arrival of Spring with its many celebrations.

Tired, so tired—and bizarre news items

Ever since the holidays I’ve found my days eaten up with errands and doctors’ appointments, grocery store trips and household chores like laundry and kitchen things. I look around my house and see all the things that need to be done. Physical therapy twice a week also takes a chunk out of my week. And sorting papers for the tax return looms as a big chunk of time. The result of all this is that by Friday night I’m exhausted and ready to sleep all weekend, which of course I won’t do. At seven in the morning, I’ll be wide awake.

Every night I swear I’ll go to bed by ten—I have yet to make it before about 11:15. I seem to get a second wind in the evening, get lost in whatever I’m doing, and keep thinking that any minute I’ll go to bed. It won’t happen, especially tonight when I have Jacob who likes to stay up late on weekend.

His mom comes home from a travel agent “fam” trip to Costa Rica tomorrow night. His dad is going to a party, although reluctantly because he has to go alone. So I’ve promised to fix Jordan salmon—which Christian won’t eat. I’m loving getting back in the kitchen more, even if it does make my back scream at me.

I’ll be glad to have Jordan home for lots of reasons, among them the fact that she wants to pack up my Christmas decorations herself—she’s tired of my grocery sacks and has brought plastic bins—one is already full of all the greens I took down. I doubt the rest will fit in the second bin, but I’m ready to have Christmas off my dining table. I think it’s all the first baby steps toward our consolidation or merging households—as we sort, things inevitably get messy. And I, who used to swoop through the house, picking up empty coffee cups and other detritus that bothered me, don’t have the energy for that. I note things that need to be done and think, “Tomorrow.” Really welcome the three-day weekend coming up.

Lest this sound like whining, I’ll admit that bizarre news items have convinced me we live in an age of loons. There’s a legislator in Tennessee who want to inspect the privates of every child before they use a restroom to make sure they go into the correct one for their gender. Apparently he’s concerned about transgender transgressions. How many transgender school children do you know? And I’m quite sure that’s against the law. We spend hours teaching children and grandchildren about inappropriate touching, and then this nut job comes along. I’ve noticed that Republicans seem particularly concerned with our privates and what we do with them.

And now, in Texas, it’s legal to open-carry a weapon into a mental institution. How safe does that sound to you? We can’t do background checks but we can give mental patients a chance to snatch someone’s gun and open fire. Our Fort Worth Southwestern Exposition and Stock Show now also allows open carry with “certain restrictions,” though I never did see what those restrictions are. Sounds like a recipe for disaster, and one of the friends I had lunch with said sometimes she likes to go to the stock show but not this year. She has made a promise to herself not to enter any business that says “We welcome open carry” and to leave immediately if she finds herself in a business that allows it, signage or not. I so agree with her. It’s not that guns scare me—the people who parade them that scare me.

The same friend wondered aloud today if people were as crazy 500 years ago and concluded they probably were. We’re just seeing the 21^st-century spin on it. I’m not so sure.

Okay, I’m going to bed and wake up in a happier frame of mind. Everyone needs to kvetch once in a while.

 

Sometimes life throw you a curve

July 26, 2015

My guardian angel

Sometimes life throws you a curve, and it did me this morning. I woke up with my left foot twice the size of my right. I’d been having trouble with the foot for five nights—weird, acute but brief pain during the night. Yesterday via phone my brother confirmed my diagnosis of neuropathy. This morning, when I reported the swelling, he said “There goes the neuropathy diagnosis. Go to ER to be sure you don’t have a clot.” I called Jordan, and she was here in record time. We spent the next three hours in the ER, where by x-ray and ultrasound they ruled out a clot—the good news. Best diagnosis: an arthritic flare-up with possible gout. I’m off my feet for at least three or four days, except for what little moving about I must do.

Not my best picture--no makeup
sloppy clothes hastily grabbed
and an attitude

Here’s a paean to Jordan. She has been my absolute guardian angel all day (not that she doesn’t take good care of me every day). In the ER, she handed me everything from banana to green tea to my phone and the newspaper. She asked the questions I forgot to ask, and she kept her uncle and big brother up to date. The other two siblings were traveling, and she decided not to worry them.

Once we got home she went to the drugstore for a prescription and a compression sock, fixed lunch—Christian and Jacob had joined the party by then—and she and Christian made the salad I was supposed to make for supper tonight.

Because here’s the kicker—we had fifteen people to celebrate my birthday and that of Susan Halbower, my neighbor and close friend. A salad buffet—everyone brought a salad, and Jordan made a wonderful antipasto. Good meal for a summer evening. Jordan cleaned the kitchen and started my new dishwasher on its maiden run. My house is in almost perfect shape, my plants watered (thank to Jacob), my dog fed and happy.

It was a lovely evening, and I sat on the couch, with my ugly foot on a cushion on the coffee table, the entire time while people brought me food and drink. I know in 24 hours I’ll be itching to be on the go, but tonight I felt like a queen and was quite content. And now am very tired.

 

 

The pleasure of being an author

Nothing is quite so much fun for an author as to speak to a small but responsive group. I had that fortunate experience today when Betty Bob Buckley invited me to speak to her PEO Chapter, a group of about twenty women. I asked what I should talk about and was met with a vague, "Your books." So I told the women how I got started writing--age ten--and my mis-steps and small triumphs along the way. And then I told them the story behind each of several books, ending of course with my two current mystery series. They laughed along the way and asked intelligent, pertinent questions afterwards. I sold several books--a goodly number for that size or audience and that occasion--and when we adjourned for lunch, conversation at my table was still lively--and still mostly about my writing. Lunch, made by the hostesses for the day, was delicious--chicken enchiladas served with Fritos (which I put on the enchiladas for a crispy contrast--so good!), guacamole, and Black Forest cake--my favorite ever dessert. And I got to visit with Betty Bob on the way over and back, so it was an all around plus event.
Some authors may think a group that small isn't worth the time, but I firmly believe it is. Some of the women who didn't buy today may show up at my book signing in a week--I passed out flyers. At least one woman told me she'd be ordering for her Nook, and others may well spread the word of mouth. Besides, I enjoyed myself.
After getting to the doctor at 8:30 this morning and then the luncheon speech, I was beat and wanted to crawl into bed but no such luck. Jacob brought a friend home--bless them, they cleaned the dog poop out of the back yard and gathered up the bottles left from the broken bottle tree (thank  you, Sophie!). Then I fed them ice cream and sparkling grape juice. They took turns being the bull and the rodeo clown, all of which was very noisy. The other grandparent and I sat and had a good visit as much as possible in the midst of the melee. When the boys went to the other end of the house and it grew too quiet, I went to investigate--they were at my desk (a no-no without me there) and Jacob was on the phone to his mom.
Max and his grandfather went home, Jordan arrived for a brief visit, and when they all departed, I felt like a deflated balloon. Treated myself to a tuna fish sandwich for supper--ah, heaven. I don't know that I've been all that busy but I do feel like I've been on a roller coaster.
Tomorrow is yet another busy day. I'm going to bed early--I always say that and never do it, but maybe tonight.
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