Life in the big city

I ran a thousand and twelve errands today--well, not really, but it seemed like it. Breakfast with a friend, the office to wrap a book for mailing, the post office (whooppee! my passport is not expired!), Central Market, the vet for dog and cat food, and finally gas--figured I'd get it now before prices went any higher (should have gotten it last week). My VW can go a long time on a full tank of gas, with the local errands I run. But as I did all those errands and was cheerfully greeted as a friend in the breakfast restaurant, the office, the vet, even Central Market, I thought about the prediction that Fort Worth may grow bigger than Dallas. I don't want that, thank you. Oh, I know civic leaders boast about population growth, attracting new industries, etc, But I like Fort Worth just the way it is; maybe I even liked it better twenty years ago--though we sure do have more restaurants to choose from these days.
I moved to Fort Worth in 1965, as a fairly new bride. It was a small city then, but we were told not to worry--we'd be going to Dallas for restaurants and entertainment. We never did. We had come from a small college town in northeastern Missouri--12,000 I think if the schools were in session. The arrival of the Dairy Queen was as big deal! There were two, maybe three, restaurants where we liked to eat. My ex was a Bronx boy and I grew up in Chicago, but we thought Fort Worth, with two classic restaurants, several country clubs, and a really friendly atmosphere was just about the perfect compromise between big city and small town.
Today, Fort Worth is still a small town to me in many ways, but  that's because I don't live all over the city. Most of my doings are in my own corner of inner southwest Fort Worth, around TCU. I eat in restaurants where they know me, I shop at stores where they know me. I tried a new cleaners the other day and found the owner had gone to school with my oldest son. It's a very comfortable world. Oh, yes, I venture afield some, and that's fine, but I like my small world. A friend of mine always says there is no six degrees of separation in Fort Worth--two at the most. You always run into people who know people you know, and the connections are fun and funny. A friend of my daughter friended my by-marriage-sister-in-law (I guess that's what she is) on Facebook and asked how Patty knew my daughter. Patty replied that we're all related by marriage. Small world.
Will population growth change Fort Worth, or will I still have my small corner of the world? I don't know, but I view the construction of the new tollway with concern and trepidation. I don't want it to change my back roads around town.
And speaking of restaurants, Betty and I tried The Tavern on Hulen tonight. The menu is different--pork nachos, brisket tacos, a BLT salad with blue cheese, a crab cake salad--so many choices we were hard put. But we split the brisket tacos, with black beans and guacamole so good we asked for an extra side. Moderately priced. And the crowd was our age--saw several tables splitting entrees, so we were right at home. We agree we're going back. The waitress tells me it is not a chain, although the owner has two places in San Angelo.

Good friends, good food

I fixed the best spaghetti ever tonight--pardon my modesty, but it was so easy and so good. I got the recipe from Mystery Lovers' Kitchen, where I believe it came from guest blogger Wendy Lyn Watson, author of ice cream shop mysteries who lives in North Texas and will be visiting TCU this spring. I'm looking forward to meeting her. The original version was vegan with Gimme Lean sausage, but I used grass fed beef.
I discussed the meatballs in the last post. The sauce is simply diced and crushed canned tomatoes (a large can of each), a small can of tomato paste, 1/4 cup red wine, and basil and oregano. True plain Italian taste without fancying it up. Made the sauce last night and refrigerated it. This afternoon, I stirred in the meatballs and put the whole thing in the oven to cook. My guests munched on provolone, Genoa salami, and gherkins (maybe an odd combiantion) until I boiled the pasta and called them to dinner. Served a huge green salad, bread that no one ate, and that was it. Good dinner.
Better conversation. Bright, literate, involved people. We talked about everything from cats (all cat lovers, which Wywy took advantage of) to constitutional theocracies and a lot about the current state of the Episcopalian church, since they are all members and Katie is active on the national council. We laughed and told stories and generally had a good time.
Note the new picture on my blog (how can you miss it?). Taken at the Botanic Garden by my friend and neighbor Polly Hooper, who was dismayed that even the evergreens at the garden are brown. She took lots of shots, but I liked this one because I thought it made me look happy, which I am.
Wywy gave me a scare today. I left the office to find he'd thrown up between the living room and dining room. When I went to clean it up, I saw him (and heard him) lying on his side in the door to my bedroom on the wood floor--totally unlike him. This is a cat who likes soft surfaces. He was meowing pitifully. I picked him up and found he left behind two pieces of poop (fortunately not on me). I loved on him, then set him down to see what he'd do. He was wobbly, but then seemed to get "at himself." After a bit, he was asking to be fed, and I noticed he jumped up for his food and then up to my bed. Tonight he's the same old self. One possibility: a tummy distress, though I can't think whate he ate. But I'm also wondering if cats have mini-strokes. He showed all the symptoms. I'll call the vet in the morning just to ask. Wywy is almost nineteen, and I know his time is limited.
Good day. I'm tired and going to read a bit, then go to bed.