Time Out

 

Sophie was mad at both Christian and me over
the small matter of flea medication. So she
was very glad to see her best friend, Jean.

Do you ever just take a day off? No, I don’t mean a day off from your job. I mean a day off from your life. Yesterday morning, I decided to cancel the world for the day. I didn’t feel sick, but I felt awful—exhausted, no ambition, not hungry, didn’t’ know what I wanted, but sleep sounded good. So about eleven-thirty I crawled back in bed and slept for an hour and a half. When I woke, I ate a piece of toast, cancelled the German potato salad dinner I had promised to cook for Christian and the friend who was coming for happy hour. I went back to bed and slept the afternoon away. Dinner was two scrambled eggs—and even that sat uneasily on my stomach—and I went to sleep early for me, about ten. Slept ten hours, if you don’t count getting up twice with Sophie and a couple of times for the bathroom. This morning, I had my groove back—hungry, ready to work, looking forward to cooking dinner tonight.

What happened to me? I think that old word, stress, covers it. I had about decided that the book I’m working on, which is projected to come in at 75,000 words would probably be 20,000 at best and that’s a stretch. The back of my legs hurt because I’d leather-burned them and taken a top layer of skin off during the extreme heat—so much for shorts when you have a leather seat on your walker and your desk chair. And, most of all, the world around me made me tired.

Do you read Heather Cox Richardson’s almost-daily column, “Letter from an American?” If you don’t read it, I highly recommend it. When I looked at last night’s column this morning, her words jumped at me: she wrote that it’s been a difficult week and called it “freaking exhausting.” And then she signed off. That was it for me. “Freaking exhausting.” Yesterday, was the first I read about the probable decision of the rogue SCOTUS in the fall which will hand control of elections to the states. I read a complicated article that projected that such a decision effectively threw out the popular vote, handed the choice of electors over to state legislatures, and rigged the election for the Republicans. Today I read a fantastical projection on that scenario that forecast riots in the street with rogue militia groups shooting protesting citizens, thousands of our citizens dead, and the president (projected to be DeSantis if the law goes into effect) declaring an emergency and ending all elections. Fantasy? Hopefully so but remember (most of you are probably not old enough) how fantastical George Orwell’s 1984 seemed when it was published in 1949. And much of it has now come true.

I am truly scared beyond belief. Someone has to do something about this out-of-control court which breaks precedence with every decision. Their decisions go against popular opinion, but I don’t know that it’s written anywhere that they must listen to the people. But it is established that precedent dictates the law of our land. And they are flouting it.

Beyond that, if I can get beyond it, today was a good day. I worked on the book but without the sense of urgency I’d felt all week. I’ll take it bit by bit—and some days those bits come hard—and see what happens. Only when I’ve exhausted all the notes I have and the new research I can do, will I begin to worry about the length. Maybe I can add a whole lot of pictures.

Tonight Jean came for supper, and Christian joined us for happy hour. Wide-ranging conversation about many topics including Christian’s experiences as a child model and TV actor, politics, and I don’t know what all. He elected to go to the movies with a friend and so didn’t stay for supper. If he had, I’d have fixed the potato salad I didn’t fix last night, but Jean and I had green shakshuka—poached eggs on a base of spinach flavored with onions and garlic and topped with queso fresco, avocado, and cilantro. Served with squeezable limes. So good, even if we did get the eggs a little harder than either of us wanted. Traditional shakshuka poaches eggs on a seasoned tomato base, but the green is a lovely alternative. Jean chided me when she looked at the recipe because I left out the jalapeno. I always do.

And here’s my nostalgic look back at Jacob’s young years. I am quite sure he was heartily singing, “Who Let the Dogs Out?” because we sang that over and over until I thought I would scream. The rest of the family thought it was hysterical, but I was weary. Today it’s a memory I treasure.

Computer complications

The Christmas decorations are still up—we leave them until Epiphany—but otherwise I’m almost caught up from Christmas. Today, December 30, is one of those in-between days—not a holiday but a nothing day sandwiched between holidays. Hard to tell yourself to buckle down to work when the next holiday looms. But I have made a dent on the pile on my desk and am ready to get back to my various projects.

I had a tough lesson the other night about how much my daily life revolves around my computer. I tried to log on about ten o’clock at night but couldn’t get in. The screen showed the space for my code already filled in and flashed to the message that the code was incorrect, but it wouldn’t let me erase the incorrect code. It just kept entering strings of the number 2. Luckily, I had enough sense to know that it was late, I’d had a bit of wine, and things would look different in the morning.

But I sure had a sleepless night, worrying about the computer. At one point, I convinced myself I’d been hacked, and someone was making off with all my banking information even as I tossed and turned in bed. Then I thought it was malicious hacking—someone unknown who gets jollies from messing up people’s computers. What if it wiped out everything? I began to catalog what I’d lose—the final version of my current work-in-progress is with my editor for safe keeping (thank goodness!), a lot of my work is backed up in Dropbox, the blogs are available online. But all those family pictures from the last twenty years! And the manuscripts of my cookbooks—now I’d have to go to the actual book and retype to fix a dish. And a host of individual files I didn’t remember and wouldn’t miss until I wanted them.

Finally towards morning I slept fitfully and dreamt—of computers, of course.

Next morning, I avoided the computer. I didn’t want to know if it was going to do the same thing over again. But there was a glimmer of hope. Just before I turned it off, I got a message that said, “Something went wrong. Please try again later.” Well, morning was for sure later. I made tea, straightened the kitchen, talked to the dog—and finally took a deep breath and booted the computer. It started! I had to change my password—took a couple of tries—but finally I was in.

Still, it was wonky, still giving me strings of the number 2 and jumping all over when I tried to scroll down a list of files. In a moment of inspiration,  I abandoned the remote keyboard and opened the laptop to work on the real keyboard. Magic! Everything was fine. So now I’m working on the laptop, with the lid only partly open so that I can see the remote monitor—it’s like taking a blind typing test all those years ago in high school typing class (probably the most useful class I ever took anywhere). A new keyboard is scheduled to arrive today or tomorrow, so my computer complication was not the end of the world. But it was a close call.

I don’t necessarily want to become less dependent—I don’t think that’s possible—but I want a better insurance program. There are two experts in the family and several who are knowledgeable. One son-in-law  has a graduate degree in software engineering, and my oldest granddaughter works in the genius bar at an Apple Store. I guess I should ask for help. I don’t want any more sleepless nights.

To sleep, perchance to dream. …

Exhausted, I tell you, simply exhausted. That’s how I woke up this morning. No, it wasn’t the change to daylight savings that did me in, although Sophie did not sleep as late as I’d hoped. No, it was the dream.

You see, my daughter Megan’s house will be demolished tomorrow, to make room for a new house on the same spot. Preparation for this day has been intense—sorting out twenty-some years of accumulations, deciding what to keep and what goes, planning for life n a two-room guest apartment for her, her husband, and their two teen sons. It’s going to be tight, and as of Saturday there was still some furniture in the house, though a cabinet-maker had dismantled kitchen cabinets and granite. She assured me they were almost ready and would be by Monday morning.

A part of me feels I should be in Austin with her—for moral support. The sensible part of me knows I would be in the way and just be one more thing for Megan to worry about. So early this morning I was in Austin in my dreams—oh, those early-morning dreams! Most of the family was there, and the house still held way too much, including some of my best pottery (which I don’t have anymore anyway). Dogs and a goat were underfoot (they have one dog and no goast), and I was badgering son-in-law Brandon (me? badger?) for value estimates of some items so that I could file my income tax (a problem that has nothing to do with Brandon and everything to do with another of my brood).

Then I had to go find Scooby (poor Scoob crossed the Rainbow Bridge some seven years ago so I have no idea what he was doing in Austin). Jamie went with me, and we met with bankers and lawyers (back to the tax question, I guess) and all my old anxiety disorders came back to haunt me.

And then Sophie barked at me in a demanding tone, and I was back in my cottage bedroom. Got to call Austin today and check on them.

I just learned tonight that the demolition tomorrow will not be the great dramatic event I expected. I asked if they would bulldoze or implode, and Megan said neither. They will take it down piece by piece to save the foundation. The contractor has done a great job of protecting trees, etc.

For some reason I feel very sentimental about this demolition—there go twenty years of memories. Megan said tonight after all the work they’ve done to empty the house, she’s more than ready. She’s not as sentimental.

After my exhausting sleep, I really needed a nap this afternoon. Settled down, and not ten minutes later Sophie barked at me. I sat straight up in bed and in my meanest voice said, “No! Absolutely no way!” For good measure I shook my finger at her (can’t you just see the mean old lady?). She left, but turned around to look at me with an expression that clearly said, “Don’t you think your reaction was a little over the top?” Yeah, it was. These are tense times. Isn’t it great that I have no bigger problems in my life?

It is, in spite of all else, Sunday night. Dinner was steak hache with porcini butter and salsa verde, tiny oven-roasted potatoes with rosemary, and salad with blue cheese dressing. A collaborative effort--I did all the prep, Jordan watched over the potatoes as they roasted, and Christian cooked the steak patties. I worried a bit about this great and complicated experiment, but it turned out great.

Storms and bridges--a lesson in anxiety

 

This picture of me was taken tonight by friend and neighbor Susan Halbower after we attended a dinner and concert at TCU. I post it because I am usually so un-photogenic. My grandfather once told my mom the only place he'd hang her picture was in the barn. She was a beautiful woman, but she didn't photograph well, and she passed that gene on to me. So I'm grateful to Susan for this picture.

It was 81 and sunny today, the best of all fall days. When I stepped out to get Jacob at school, I thought how pleasant it was to be comfortably warm but not hot. So why did I wake up at 5:00 this morning obsessing about sleet and freezing rain? Because by Friday the temperature is to drop 50 degrees and the weather will bring us that dreaded “wintry mix.”

When my brother lived in Colorado and we’d tell him schools were closed, he’d laugh and say, “What you got, guys? An inch?” But snow is one thing; ice is another. And North Texas gets ice.

Anxiety is pandemic. Everyone goes into anticipation mode when the weathermen (weather persons?) first mention ice, sleet and freezing rain. We talk about it for days, dread it, stock up on groceries, act as if the end of the world is coming. Yes, I’ll go to the grocery Thursday morning—my list includes a new flashlight (which I forgot on the hardware run today).

I told Jacob today that this weekend we would use the iPad sparingly (to save some battery for Juju to read) and we might have no TV and no lights. “You and I might spend a cozy time in front of the fireplace,” I told him. “Well, that sounds exciting!” When did seven-year-olds get so sarcastic?

Tomorrow I’ll bring in plants and water those I leave out heavily—most of the herbs should make it without any trouble, but the fern and plumbago I’m trying to save need to come in, as do the bright red cyclamen that Greg planted today for the front porch. He also brought four perfect small poinsettias—just what I wanted for my Christmas decorations. It’s beginning to look like the holidays around here.

Back to worrying. How will I get Jacob at three if it starts sleeting? Jordan assures me neighbors with kids at the school will help, and she’s probably right. I’ll be glad to have my grandson as company Friday and Saturday (his parents are going to a John Mayer concert in Austin). The last time I set my mind to being housebound (the storm that wasn’t), I was alone. I much prefer company! And I know that by Sunday or Monday at the latest, we’ll be moving freely about the city.

I used to know a man who said to me, “Go on. Bring that bridge right on up here.” I’m dragging that storm bridge as hard as I can. And me a kid who grew up in Chicago and lived in the “icebox corner” of Missouri. But still I feel that dread in my bones