A twenty-four hour vacation

 

Megan and Jacob at Walloon's

Well, maybe it was a staycation, but what made the last twenty-four hours so special was that Megan, my Austin daughter, came to visit. Confession: coming to see me was not her primary motive in coming to Fort Worth. She came to go to the TCU/UT football game Saturday night with her special TCU girls—those she was close friends and Tri Delt sisters with—gulp!—some thirty years ago. She did it all and had a blast—staying up late drinking wine and catching up, margaritas at Joe T.’s, a walk around Mule Alley, and, of course, tailgating and the game. Even though TCU lost, all agreed it was a great game.

Megan, who never plans far ahead, planned ahead for this one. She drove up with two girls, Veronica and Rachel, who live in Austin. But Sunday she sent them on without her so she could spend the day with me. Bonus: I got long overdue hugs from Rachel and Veronica. And then I had Megan all to myself—sort of. While I took my Sunday afternoon nap, she went of and drank champagne with Amy, who she went to school with since kindergarten—by the time they both got to UT law school, they were roommates.

For twenty-four hours, I didn’t get much if any of my own desk work done. I was glad to forego it for Megan’s company. Sunday night, we had dinner with Christian and Jacob at Walloon’s, the nifty new seafood place on Magnolia. Lots of fun and good food, though poor Jacob ordered barbecued shrimp, and it turned out to be an appetizer. Skimpy fare for a seventeen-year-old boy. I had the oysters Rockefeller which were good except the spinach was really heavy with garlic. Christian had a steak salad and said the dressing was oh so tart! I had done that the other night—made a dressing so tart I couldn’t eat it, so I sympathized.

Back home, Megan and I had more visiting, talked about family and holiday plans and all manner of things. This morning we had just a brief visit before she left to take the eleven o’clock executive bus back to Austin. But she snapped this selfie before she left. When I think back on the girls’ teen years, I am so grateful that we are such good friends today. I am truly blessed by my children.

Megan's selfie

I’ve said it before and will say it again—with four children, it is pure bliss to have them all together at once, with their families. When the grandkids were young and it didn’t seem like there were so many of us, I used to think one of my happiest moments was when they were all asleep under my roof. But there’s a reverse to that—it’s such a delight to have one-on-one time with any one of them. And that’s what I had with Megan today. So my cup runneth over.

Tonight I had a five o’clock Zoom meeting with a small group of writers, mostly one-book beginners. I was to talk to them about newsletters, blogs, and Substack. Not that I’m an expert on any of those subjects, but from their responses I apparently held my own. It’s a real jolt to feel, even briefly, that you have knowledge to share that will help others. And that’s what I came away with tonight after that meeting.

That Zoom event ended about 6:20, and I hastily reheated the cube steaks in gravy from the other night, cut up a salad, and ate dinner, trying to finish before the 7:00 HOA meeting. I didn’t quite make it and ended eating my salad on camera—not the best look in the world. Christian came out, got the rest of the cube steak dinner and salad but couldn’t be convinced to stay for the meeting.  Now I feel like whoosh—all the air has gone out of me, and I will sleep happily and well tonight.

Sweet dreams, y’all!

A Welcome Visitor

Jamie, Kosmo, and Sophie

An extra special treat – my younger son, Jamie, arrived yesterday afternoon and is staying through supper tonight. Much to Sophie’s delight, he is accompanied by Kosmo, a Pomeranian who never leaves Jamie’s side. We’ve laughed and talked and caught up, debated over what to eat, complained about politics, worried about lost money, and had a really good time.

Jamie was not much intrigued by the dishes I offered to cook for him—maybe his childhood memories are too much for him. So last night, we had dinner from Righteous Foods—salmon tacos for me, beef fajitas and meatballs and guac for Jamie. Then we watched the last night of the DNC together. Jame and I are on the same page about politics and our national crisis—our complaints are solely about how this country is being destroyed, and we tend to echo each other. But neither of us can refrain from commenting, so there is a lot of conversation, even as we listened to what we agreed was a powerhouse speech by Joe Biden.

Today, Jamie has done some chores—often things I didn’t know needed doing. He dismantled and cleaned the a/c unit in the living room. I’m never sure what to call it but I think a ductless split system describes it—it hangs up near the ceiling and functions as needed to heat and cool. Jamie found mold, though he assured me it wasn’t black mold—there are grades of mold? He’s emptied garbage, reached things I can’t on the shelf, and stepped in to give Jordan and Christian a break from taking care of me.

I never like to think of myself as needing a caretaker. That reminds me of a meme I saw yesterday that said, “It’s weird being the same age as old people.” That’s how I feel about it, and I would bristle at those who might suggest I need a caretaker or can’t take care of myself. But the truth is that being mobility challenged and needing a walker, there are things I can’t do—like reaching something from the top shelf of a kitchen cabinet or making a bed that’s, by space necessity, shoved against a wall. I can cook and, do a fair job of cleaning, but I can’t take my laundry into the house where the washing machines are—no space in the cottage. I realize more each day how dependent I am. So I am daily grateful for Jordan, Christian, and Jacob—and for occasional visits from Colin, Megan, and Jamie. Besides I enjoy their company so much.

So I’m grateful to have Jamie here—and Sophie is grateful to have Kosmo, although he doesn’t play as much as she would wish. Tiny as he is, he thinks he’s a cat and walks around on tables, sleeps on the back of the cough. Sophie, who cannot get to any of those places, is a bit frustrated. And I cannot help thinking how horrified my germ-conscious father would be were he with us.

Meantime, a patio disaster. My patio is shaded by a beautiful, spreading, sprawling pecan tree. It provides lovely shade and a wonderful home for birds such as the pair of cardinals who have taken up residence. But it has drawbacks—those pesky yellow tassels—worms, Jordan calls them—at some times of the year, and recently we had to have it trimmed away from the power lines before Oncor came to do it. And now a new problem: for the first time that I can remember the tree has pecans—and the squirrels are going wild, cracking nuts and dropping the shells. I can sit and my desk and hear the ping, ping, ping as they hit. And the patio is a mess, littered with shells. Maybe Jamie will blow it tonight, though it will probably be littered again immediately.

And low water pressure problems popped up today—the sprinkler system is not working efficiently, and one patch of grass is turning brown.

The worries of a homeowner are many and seldom solved all at once. It’s always something.

Megan and sophie

Taking a vacation from vacationing

My older daughter and her thirteen-year-old son arrived last night from Austin, where they’ve been strictly quarantining to assure that they did not bring the virus with them. We are observing distance and other precautions—no hugs, only air kisses. Still it is a joy to have them here, and the girls and I stayed up too late last night talking about everything and nothing.

If I was happy to see Megan and Ford, Sophie was ecstatic. She has a wide circle of admirers among my family and friends, but she somehow senses which ones are family, and she is wildly crazy about each of my four kids. She could not stop jumping on Megan, begging for her attention. Then she pulled her Border Collie trick of running in circles at top speed. It’s what those energetic dogs do sometimes to work off steam—and joy. When she was a puppy, Soph ran endless wide circles in the back yard. Now, we have put in ground cover and some beds, and the area for her to circle is smaller, but she has found that she can run a loop in the cottage—down the bathroom hall, through the bedrom, and back through the kitchen, out the patio door, and then do it all over again and again and . . . all at top speed. Middle age in dog life has now slowed her down. Woe to anyone who gets in her way!

They didn’t arrive until we, out of hunger, had gone ahead with dinner. Jordan and I planned an experimental menu—corn pudding, which I don’t think I’ve ever made before, and Indian-ish nachos, a recipe from Sam Sifton at the New York Times. It turned out to be sort of complicated, so we roped Christian in on what turned out to be a truly collaborative meal. Afterward, I thought what fun it is for me to cook with both of them, and how fortunate I am to be quarantined with them.

The nachos were a double layer of chips, smashed black beans, chopped tomato, red onion, and shredded cheddar. It was the sauces that made it complicated—a chutney made of cilantro, chillies, lime juice, sugar and salt; a tamarind sauce for which we were instructed to add a bit of lime juice to maple syprup; and a chhonk—olive oil heated with cumin and red pepper. These were drizzled over the nachos after baking, in the order given. Once we did it, it didn’t seem so complicated, and I’m sure we’ll keep the recipe—like a lot of things, the prep, chopping, was the time-consuming part. I tasted an occasional bit of sweet, but I am not sure the sauces were distinctive enough to add a whole lot. Then again, the entire thing was delicious and might well have fallen flat without sauce. The corn pudding was generous—four cans of corn—rich, and delicious. A great meal.

I am taking a vacation while they’re here—pretty good trick during quarantine. It’s like taking a vacation from a vacation. Megan, a lawyer who works from home these days, had to spend her day at her computer, so I had my day to myself. But knowing she’s here altered my sense of schedule. I caught up on emails, spent too long reading about various political developments—don’t ask, today I feel like the bad guys are winning—and finished the book I was reading about American culinary figures in France and their changing attitudes, a la 1970, toward French and American cooking. Enjoyed it thoroughly and learned a lot. I did not work on my novel. I think anything I do now would be sporadic, so I’m on vacation until Monday, when I will focus again.

Happy days, everyone!

The Gift of a Day

This is last night’s blog but perhaps you’ll understand why I didn’t get it written. Jamie, my third child and second son, called about 8:30 yesterday morning from downtown Fort Worth. I knew there was a possibility he’d come from Frisco for supper that night, but I didn’t expect him so early. I scrambled to get dressed and cancel a morning appointment, because downtown is only ten or fifteen minutes from the house. Jamie can take longer to get from point A to point B than anyone I know—it was a good 30 minutes, because he stopped to make a business call.

But there he was! We went to Ol’ South for breakfast--he loves the German pancake, and when I was first recuperating from surgery, we shared many breakfasts there. I think he was a bit disappointed that I ordered a blueberry waffle instead of the corned beef has which has long been a part of our tradition. But I’ve noticed my tastes changing lately. I never had a sweet tooth, except for chocolate, but lately I want more sweet things, especially at breakfast.

Jamie brought his laptop and his guitar—and barely left his dog at home. He was all set for the day, and his business lunch never materialized, so we spent the day in the cottage. There is going to sound awfully “mother-ly,” but it’s a joy for me to see him hunched over the coffee table, buried in papers, working (he owns a toy manufacturer’s representatives’ company). I sat at my computer working, though I admit I was so glad to have him around I never fully focused on my work.

In the late afternoon, Jordan came out, and we shared wine while Jamie demonstrated his new guitar—a Taylor, as if I knew the significance of that, but he was proud of it—and showed us the improvement in his playing. Then Jacob came out, and they were off discussing fishing. I had to get quite firm to get us out the door for supper, because we were meeting Jean, and I didn’t want to leave her sitting alone in a restaurant. Sushi and good conversation for supper. I was glad Jean got a chance to know Jamie because Lord knows she and other friends listen to me blather on about my children often enough.

Jamie got caught up in his work again when we came back to the cottage, and I had to gently remind him it was eight o’clock…eight-thirty. Finally, he was out the door about nine, happily carrying the Black Forest cake and coconut chiffon pie he’d bought at Swiss Pastry, the pie a special gift for his wife.

My intention, writing this blog, was not to chronicle every minute of the day, which I somehow ended up doing, but to say what a wonderful gift Jamie gave me—a day of his time. I have read elsewhere that when looking for gifts for an older person (I will not call myself elderly, though my kids do!) who has everything they need, you should consider a gift of yourself—the time for a cup of coffee, a visit, a meal.

From a motherly perspective, there’s another point. I have four children, and I treasure all of them equally (in spite of their squabbles about who I love best), but any chance to have time alone with one of them is a gift. We talk about our lives, our hopes and plans, in ways that we don’t on those joyous occasions when we’re all together.

Yes, yesterday was a gift. Thank you, Jamie.

Trying to avoid looking at the awful right in front of us

I hate to go too long without saying hello to my blog friends and posting something, anything. But tonight, I’m afraid of lapsing into yet another rant about immigrant children. The problem, the criticism, the agony, the horror are all over Facebook, and I confess I’ve spent too much time on that website. It cheers me to see the outrage because it reminds me that most people are indeed good souls with compassion. On the other hand, I am reminded of what one TV news anchor said—was it Chuck Todd, one of my least favorites?—that Trump takes up all the air in the room, indeed all the air in the country, until we are forced to focus on him. Which is probably part of his plan.

In spite of the cruelty of Trump and Sessions and the heartbreaking situation of all those children, daily life does go on for most of us. We are tonight awaiting the arrival of Megan, my oldest daughter and second child, with Ford, the youngest of her two sons. They were to arrive tomorrow but decided on the spur of the moment to come tonight. Ford and Jacob will spend the week attending TCU basketball camp. In previous summers, they’ve done the baseball camp, but the little wimps decided they didn’t want to be out in the heat. Then again, who can blame them? It got hot early and stayed there this year. Today was 95, but the week ahead is predicted to stay in the lower 90s. I’ll take any bit of relief.

A working weekend, and I got quite a bit done. The Kelly O’Connell novel is at Amazon to have advanced reading copies made. I must be learning because what I submitted met their criteria the first time around. Yippee! And the cookbook is off to the designer, although I’ve already sent a revised version. Today I was making fromage fort (strong cheese) for happy hour tonight and realized that the recipe in the cookbook lacked a key ingredient—garlic. So I added it and added the pasta salad I’d forgotten and sent it off again. I have promised not to do that to the designer any more, so someone will have to help me with restraint. Now about that recipe for Sauce Gribiche . . . . My trouble in proofing the cookbook is that I came across so many things I want to cook.

The newlyweds from last weekend’s wedding came by for a glass of wine tonight7, and Subie was here too so we had a jolly, impromptu party. Lots of re-living the wedding, tales I hadn’t heard or noticed, identification of people. Fun, except when they get together they all talk at once, and I am never sure of the conversation. Still it was lovely to have them here and see them looking so happy. The bride is a thoroughly modern woman—but she couldn’t wait to take her new husband’s last name. Good for her!

Tomorrow, church, yard work, laziness. In the evening, Jordan and Christian are taking the two boys to Concerts in the Park—it’s Christian’s Father’s Day treat. Megan and I will have dinner in the cottage, and I’ll cook scallops with mushrooms in a lemon sauce. Should be a lovely day.

But in the back of my mind, I still see that Palestinian boy, so terrified, and now that two-year-old Honduran girl whose crying picture has gone viral on the net. How can we be so content, enjoying our daily lives, when there is so much misery in the world, some of it so close to home? I need to go to church tomorrow.