Taking time off

 

Haven't read the Irene books yet?
Here's the first in the series.

My great good news is that my longtime mentor wrote me today that the forthcoming Irene in Chicago Culinary Adventure is, in his opinion, the best of the Irene series. I laughed a bit—he seemed to think my writing is maturing. If so, it’s about time. But I am pleased, so watch for Irene Deep in Texas Trouble this spring. Take a diva faux French chef and set her down in the midst of Cowtown—what could possibly go wrong? A wedding supper interrupted by murder, kidnapping, a runaway couple—and Irene is in the middle of all of it, the prime suspect in the murder. Once again, Henny and Patrick must save Irene.

Having sent that manuscript off, I’m taking a break and have been social—until today when I reverted to recluse status. Wednesday, in all that rain and fog we had in North Texas, friend Carol and I drove to Dallas for lunch with Fran Vick, our longtime good pal on the Texas publishing scene. It was a great reunion—Fran was one of the world’s good people, and I am happy now to be able to envision her in her new setting, a retirement community in Dallas. We had lunch, met one of her friends, and gabbed about good times and old days. Fran can always make me laugh, and she is as full of good spirits as ever, in spite of hard times. I will admit being on the freeway in the rain made me a bit nervous, but Carol is a cautious and careful driver who goes to Dallas at least once a week and knows the city. Where I would have been hopelessly lost, she delivered us on time to the front door of Fran’s building. Fran was waiting with a transport chair for me—only trouble was it had no footrest, so while Carol pushed, I had to hold my legs straight out in front of me. Fran said she hoped my legs were a lot stronger than hers. But it really worked out okay.

Lesson learned: I have truly become addicted to my routine. The trip to Dallas didn’t disturb it all that much—I did a little work before we left, got my nap when we came home, but the truth is I did not do much else the entire day, unless fixing dinner for the family counts.

Thursday I broke my routine again but for another delightful social hour: my friend Subie had knee surgery, and her sister Diana came to help for a few days. Thursday morning Diana walked over to my house for tea, and we talked and laughed and had a good time. Subie and I have been close friends for years (like forty?) but I never knew Diana well. Just before our awful ice storm—was it ’20 or ’21? —Diana was here for a visit, and she and Subie took me to Arlington where I gave a talk to a women’s group. That somehow sparked a friendship, so now when she visits, I find we have lots in common. She and her husband live in a cottage (converted garage) on the property of one of their children, just as I do. So we have on-site grandparenting and tiny houses and all kinds of things to talk about. Such fun. Again, my routine went out the window, but both days it was well worth it. I probably should do that more often.

Today I was back in my routine but taking it slow and easy, with no deadline pressure. I lingered over the online news of the day, cobbled together lunch and dinner from whatever was on hand. We are overdue on groceries—I thought I placed a Central Market order yesterday, but when Jacob went to pick it up, they didn’t have it. It was still sitting in my computer. I have an explanation, but I’m sure my children will whisper about the onset of senility. Tonight, I pretty much confronted an empty refrigerator, but scrambled eggs are always good. Somehow, with the current panic about eggs, I have two dozen in my fridge. Egg salad, anyone? Tonight, I will read a bit.  

How will you spend Super Bowl Sunday? I plan to look for the Puppy Bowl in the early afternoon and in the evening, I’ll channel surf looking for a Souper Bowl. Was it PBS that used to have those programs opposite the football thing? I read tonight that Chef Gordon Ramsey will have a new competition show with amateur chefs immediately following the game, but I’m thinking that may be a little late to watch a cooking show. At any rate, I am not one to watch the whole game, which interests me not at all, just to see the commercials, though I always love the Clydesdales. I remember some fairly raucous Super Bowl parties way back when and look back in wonder—was I really part of that? These days I’m so glad to be home with my books and maybe my TV.

Taking part in life

Busy days

I knew it was a busy week, but I didn’t realize quite how bad until I got up one morning and discovered the breakfast dishes from the day before still in the sink! And then there was the day I took a nap, woke with a start and wondered, “Why am I in bed? Did I forget to get up this morning?” Some weeks go by without my feeling that I am engaged with the world. This week was definitely the opposite, and I loved it.

Part of what kept me busy and distracted, of course, was the impeachment hearings. I wouldn’t say I was glued to every word—I tend to wait for summaries I trust. But I kept it on, watched the way people talked and held themselves, and listened intently only occasionally. I am in awe of the quiet, calm professionalism of the career people from the state department, and I am mightily impressed that women made such a strong showing. Maria Yovanovitch, Jennifer Williams, Laura Cooper, and Fiona Hill were unflappable, knowledgeable, self-confident, quite a contrast to the sloppy posture and presentation of their Republican antagonists. I saw a cartoon depicting Devin Nunes as Dopey, Gym Jordan (somebody buy him a jacket!) as Sleazy, and Castor, the Republican lawyer, as Sleepy—he was slouched so far down in his chair, he was almost horizontal. Not a pose that bespeaks alert intelligence. In fact, I read somewhere that he elicited damning information, on trump, from people he questioned.

The men were no less remarkable—confident, knowledgeable, unshakeable. Bill Taylor got most of the accolades, but I was impressed by David Holmes. He seemed almost amused by and a little disdainful of some of his interrogators. All in all, it was quite a show. The question is now, what next? Republicans are crowing that they will never abandon trump—they apparently recognize his guilt but don’t care. Will they hold firm when push comes to shove? Will they take into account the various signs that indicate trump and his cronies are Russian puppets, the abandonment of the Kurds being he most blatant. The Ukraine affair may easily be tied to Russia too—just listen again to Dr. Hill’s testimony.

My week beyond watching TV was one of sociability—lunches at Black Rooster and Nonna Tata, where I discovered that my favorite dish, braseola, is still available if no longer on the menu; dinner at the Tavern, where I discovered my good friend Betty does not eat artichokes, even grilled and slathered in butter and lemon. Last night, while Jordan went to a work event in Dallas, Christian and I went to a Connections Dinner at church. The point is to get members to dine and visit with new faces. At our table there was only one face new to me, but the others were people I rarely talk to more than to say “Good morning” on Sundays, so it was fun. The food was delicious, prepared by Louise Lamensdorf, formerly of Bistro Louise (there are perks to belonging to UCC and Louise’s occasional dinners are one of them). It was a beef stew kind of dish but with distinctive seasoning, a little bit sweet and sour, and a wonderful vegetable and white bean soup. I believe she said the dishes were Tuscan.

So today, chilly and wet in the morning, was a perfect day to stay home and regroup. I did odds and ends at my desk—how did I get so many of them? And began to get things together to go to Tomball for Thanksgiving. I’ll go Sunday and be gone most of the week, leaving behind Jordan and Christian to host their first big holiday meal. Oops, no—I remember that we had Alter Christmas at their house  in Hulen Bend one year, but it was a long time ago.

And tonight, it’s me, a copy of Food & Wine, and a new cozy mystery. Life is good.

The Blessing of Friends

Jacob in the wheelchair a friend brought today

News on the health front is encouraging tonight. This morning I had a thorough sponge bath from a private duty care nurse. Do you know how luxurious it is to sit there, hold out your warm, and essentially say, “Here, wish it.” The nurse had recently broken her foot and had a three-month experience in a boot, so she knew where I was and what I was feeling. And I felt so good after my bath.

Jordan’s news was that tomorrow at 2:15 I have an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon—something I’ve been waiting for so we can find out what’s next, what’s the treatment, how long is recovery, all those good things. And she found a home health care service that takes my insurance. A lesson I’ve learned: private duty care people are not necessarily highly trained, and their services are not paid for by Medicare; home health care provides professionals, and Medicare pays the bill. I’m particularly pleased about this their services include a physical therapist when the doctor gives his okay. They also clean your house, do your laundry, really whatever you need. Five weeks after my colossal fall, we may be headed in the right direction.

Today was a lovely day and is perhaps the first day I don’t feel like rushing back to my bed. Friends have really rallied to my side—Linda, who I’ve known for over thirty years, brought lunch—delicious tuna salad. She assembled the sandwiches fresh in my kitchen, so they weren’t soggy or anything. And we had a great visit. Tonight, Amye, a friend of Jordan’s that I’m known for a long time, came for happy hour and brought lovely flowers, and Betty, my longtime dining pal, brought homemade cheeseburgers and fruit.

Efficient supper

Saturday friends Sue and Teddy are bringing lunch, and Monday Sue is bringing supper—it’s Jacob’s birthday and everyone will be off to Joe T.’s to celebrate. I’m sad that I can’t go.

I think Jordan is arranging for someone to come visit every day, and I’m most grateful to her. But I’m also most grateful for the friends who care enough to visit and drink wine and chat and distract me. Some come expecting me to be transformed into a little old bent-over lady and are pleasantly surprised. I am who I’ve always been, and my ankle doesn’t hurt more because of the diagnosis  Monday. Yes, my disposition and outlook took a hit, but they’re back to normal, and I’m as happy a camper as I can be in these circumstances.

If I were isolated here in my house, I’d be really miserable. And without Jordan, I don’t think I’d have made it. The Lord is good to me.