Summer, wildfires, and cabin fever

After an extended and unusually pleasant spring, it's a shock to realize that summer has come to North Texas with some of the vengeance of last year's horrific season. The top stays up on my convertible, the windows closed, the a/c on--not the way I like to drive. Yesterday, when it hit 106, the air felt like a smothering blanket when I ventured outside. My dogs spend the hottest part of the day inside. This afternoon Sophie acted like she wanted to go out, so I started toward the back door. She followed for a bit but then sat down firmly in the middle of the kitchen, as if to say, "I'm not going back out there!"
I've spent most of this week at home on my computer, and I'm beginning to get cabin fever. I had a bunch of errands that could easily have been done in one day, but I chose to do the little ones today, saving the grocery for tomorrow, so that I get out each day. The grocery is not exciting, but the clerks are pleasant and you get to talk to people. I value my solitude, and Lord knows I have plenty of work to do, but I am not a loner. I need people. To my delight Jordan and Jacob stopped in about eight this morning--Jacob demonstrated the new break-dancing techniques he'd learned at yesterday's lesson.
Being at my computer has meant that I've been glued to the reports of the apolcalyptic fires in Colorado, particularly Colorado Springs. Years and years ago (in the '70s) my brother lived there and we visited often. Then seven or so years ago, Colin and Lisa lived there, and we visited again. Both John and Colin lived close to the Garden of the Gods, and I treasure a picture of my whole family in front of the rock with Garden of the Gods written on it. From this distance, it's easy to feel dismay over the possible destruction of the Air Force Academy and the Broadmoor; it's harder to comprehend the tragic loss to so many families, with countless homes burned, the trauma of rapid evacuations, the desperation of first responders. I read that police directing evacuation traffic wore T-shirts over their faces so they could breathe in that smoke-filled air, and hospitals have treated many people with respiratory problems. I've thought of a line from Anna Quindlen's book, Lots of Cake, Plenty of Candles. "Catastrophe," she wrote, "is numerical. Loss is singular." We can pray and worry over the catastrophe, but we can never share the loss experienced by so many. Makes it seem petty to complain about 106.
I read with amusement a newspaper article about Texas food, with recipes, that purported to give author Dan Jenkins' recipe for cheese enchiladas. I emailed Dan with a comment to the effect that I didn't realize he cooked, and he wrote back to say that he doesn't. About the only cooking he does is to open a can of Wolf Brand chili. But you know, the recipe sounded kind of good. Jordan plans a Mexican potluck Friday night, and I think I might go and take an enchilada casserole. The article gave a chili recipe, but it occurs to me you could fill the enchiladas with Velveeta, as suggested--I'd add onion--and top with Wolf Brand. I'm debating whether I can do it the new way I've discovered for enchilada casseroles of any kind, by layering flat tortillas instead of softening in grease and rolling. At the least, I'll soften them in the microwave.
Life should get busier this weekend with a signing, some cooking (always fun), church, Jacob on Sunday afternoon, and company for Sunday supper.
And so the summer settles in, and so does my summer routine. Back to the manuscript I'm editing.

This 'n that

Half the population of North Texas is on Facebook commenting on how wonderful the weather is today, and I'm among them. When I took the puppy out at seven this morning, I was almost a bit chilly--and it was great. A breeze, good temperatures, a great day. I've opened the vents over my greenhouse windows in the kitchen--always a sign of good weather to me. And this pleasant temperature will stay for at least a week. But many parts of Texas are in real trouble. Until about five years ago, I thought southern California had an exclusive on wildfires. It never dawned on me that they'd make their way to Texas. In recent  years, fires have popped up all over the state. Possum Kingdom has suffered twice this year, and there's that terrible fire in East Texas that killed a woman and her baby. But now, the worst of all is the fire in Central Texas, so bad that our governor even came back to the state and said,sagely, "These things pop up with no warning." No kidding? (I liked the Facebook message that said, "Welcome back, Governor. We hardly missed you.") But it's a terrible fire, too close to Austin. Over 400 homes destroyed and it's not, last I heard, at all contained. There's a big push to rescue horses and cattle, and a lot of people from all over the state are working night and day to fight this monster. Pray for them.
You know those young girls who take razor blades to their arms and mutilate themselves? Well, no one will ever mistake me for a young girl, but they might think I've been busy with the razor blade. Puppy teeth are sharp and make deep if small cuts that bleed freely and heal slowly. Somehow when bitten I manage to wipe my arm on whatever T-shirt I'm wearing--last night there were blood speckles and one big smear on my MacBain Clan T-shirt. Can't have that. I've developed a foolproof (I think) removal method, combining hints from my ex-husband and my mom. Soak the garment in cold water; let it hang dry and treat the stain with hydrogen peroxide and then spray it with Spray 'n Wash or some similar product. I've had really good  luck.
At lunch today a friend told me that mysterious charges, not hers, had appeared on both her debit and credit cards. The banks took care of them efficiently, but since she still had the cards in her possession it was puzzling. I'd been about ready to put a big charge on my credit card, so I came home and checked my account--there were all kinds of charges on my account, most of them little, to places I never go: Target, Macy's, Tom Thumb, five small ones to the grocery where I shop but I go once a week and run up a whopping bill. I called, gave the Citicard folks the account number on my card (mind you, it's a new card since I lost my wallet a couple of weeks ago and I haven't comitted the new number to memory), and my zip code. They were puzzled: the computer brought up a totally different account. They asked the cardholder's name and I was about to give my name when I looked: Betty Boles. My friend Betty and I had dinner last Wed. and apparently switched cards. I was still waiting for my new debit card, so that's why I used the credit card--usually I never do. She on the other hand uses hers all the time. I asked her to look, and she said, "Sure enough. Judy Alter." I could have waited till we had dinner Wed. but she flew over to the house to trade cards. In the meantime I printed out the charges, added them up, and figured she'd charged $351.11 to my card! I'm glad I looked before I charged $670 to her account.