Walking goals and a pleasant visit

Teddy walked me the length of the driveway today, but the gas people were replacing sidewalk, so we couldn’t go to the stairs. I suggested we do a toe touch to the street instead, which we did. But this meant I didn’t have stairs to get back up the incline. He warned me to lean into it and use my body to help me go up, but I didn’t realize how hard it would be. Teddy’s wisdom: going down the incline is a psychological problem; going up, is a physical problem. Apparently, I used new muscles or at least those unused for a long time. By the time we got back to the cottage, I was winded…and hot!

But now I have two goals: to walk with a walking stick (not a cane) and to make it to the end of the driveway to meet friends who can’t drive up—and then back down—my skinny 1920s driveway. Teddy says at least two or three weeks before we try the walking stick, and that’s fine—I view it as a step toward walking independently. I could make it to the end of the driveway today with the walker, but that incline remains a psychological barrier.

My good, longtime friend Fred came for lunch today. He was my major professor in graduate school and has remained a friend ever since—that’s a lot of years. He reads and critiques everything I write, and I always feel like he’s a cheerleader. We lunch about once a month, discussing everything but politics (we agree, but it’s pointless) and mostly we talk about our writing projects. A true scholar, he is writing articles and reworking a manuscript on pioneer women in aviation. He is also one who does not handle my driveway well, and I won’t ask him to do that

So today I made turkey burgers and a wilted lettuce salad. Did your mom make wilted lettuce? Mine did. She’d take fresh leaf lettuce from the garden, douse it with a bit of vinegar and then pour warm bacon grease over it. Of course, crumbled bacon went into it too. It doesn’t wilt the lettuce but simply coats it with deliciousness. The first time I mentioned it to Christian he said, “I’ll pass,” but when I fixed it he said it was delicious. Turkey burgers not so much—I really like them at the Old Neighborhood Grill but have not been pleased with my two at-home attempts.

We topped lunch off with frozen peach custard—a sweet end to a meal. And we had a most enjoyable visit. Having had to stand me up for lunch two or three times, Fred tells me he’ll take me anywhere I want to go. So that’s my goal—to walk the driveway to his car so he can take me to lunch.

Goals are great. So far, I’m doing well with my thousand words a day goal, in spite of other things going on in my life. Christian paid me a great compliment the other night, and I wish I could remember the way he worded it. But he essentially said I have the best of both worlds—the world of the mind, because I work at my computer every day pretty much alone, and the world of a social life, because I love being with people. I am lucky, and I know it.

Compassion as a state of grace

A friend of mine posted about an incident the other night that brought to my mind the few people I know whose lives are lived by compassion for others. Heather teaches cooking classes, and the other night when she had a small class, an older man on a cane wandered in. They tried to welcome him and make him comfortable, but when she looked in his eyes she saw only blankness. There was no way to reach the man, the soul inside that body. It turned out the man’s daughter was shopping, and he wandered away from her. Heather said that blank expression brought tears to her eyes, and she could barely hold herself together to finish the class.

She’s like that. Right now, she’s collecting school supplies for a program called Communities in Schools which provides basic backpacks and supplies to needy children. She’s been known to take a homeless person under her wing, and she says one of the jobs that made her happiest was working in the kitchen of a homeless shelter. We talked about her outreach, and she said, “I see people and faces. A car could crash in front of your house, and I wouldn’t notice, but I see people.”

I have a firm faith that most people are kind, generous and caring, even though tensions in our country seem to have brought out the worst is many of our fellow citizens. But there are many more good people than angry, bitter, defensive, and un pleasant—or prejudiced. I see that daily as I shop and go to restaurants on my walker. People hold doors for me, ask if I need extra assistance, go out of their way to make sure I’m okay. Still people like Heather, for whom compassion is the ruling operative in their lives, are few and far between. They have my undying admiration. I think it’s a quality that is inborn, not learned, but I suspect we all can cultivate it. I’m trying.

Heather is also my cooking buddy. She’s line cook at one of the major museums in town, one with an elegant restaurant. She brought me lunch today—a wonderful green salad with blue cheese and figs, deviled eggs with a flip of smoked salmon on each, and a blueberry/strawberry scone. Delicious, and pretty, as you can see above. She confirmed my suspicions about how to use the mandolin I was given, taught me how to change temperature and time on my toaster oven, and suggested ways I could fix a couple of recipes I had trouble with. Plus, we had fun.

The company of women

I like men—a lot. Not to be trite, but some of my best friends are men. And, yes, in the day I’ve loved some of them. But there’s something about the company of women. Something indefinably comforting. I’m not talking about gossip sessions or those heart-to-heart talks where you confide your deepest secrets and all of your problems to your best friend. No, just ordinary talk.

The Book Ladies met for breakfast this morning. I found myself with women talking about travel, books, and writing. To my right was a preservationist and librarian, and beyond her a bookseller who still works in semi-retirement at Barnes & Noble. A retired teacher and an author sat across the table.

One woman had recently been to Iceland, and someone else piped up that she’d been there years ago and longed to go back. The one who was just in Iceland is going to Australia soon—it will be spring there. The teacher just returned from Dublin. I’ve taken some memorable trips in my life—Scotland comes first to mind—but I’m pretty much an armchair traveler, and I enjoy the detailed accounts these ladies send home.

There was talk about writing and digitizing books and then a writer who has suddenly “broken out,” the phrase for one who has just found success and recognition for her books—broken out of the pack, as it were. One of this writer’s books apparently has to do with the torture of women. We all frowned—we won’t be reading that.

All this while enjoying the kind of breakfast I don’t often allow myself—egg, toast, hash browns. It’s a great way to start the day. One woman wrote me that she was unable to be there this morning but looked forward to talking to me next time about her recent re-visit to downtown Chicago. I have a hankering to return to Chicago and visit the new writers’ museum.

Came home, wrote my thousand words for the day, and spent the rest of the day culling recipes. I have always had what I called an appalling collection because whenever a recipe came near catching my fancy I clipped it and put it in a drawer which eventually overflowed. I went through it once before the move to the cottage, but I demonstrated to myself today that I kept a lot of recipes I’d never cook.

I discarded a recipe for spaghetti for twenty-five. My days of feeding such a crowd are over. I discarded recipes that called for full ovens, though I discovered last night that my toaster oven will easily accommodate two individual casserole dishes. But that’s a far cry from a standing rib roast. Others went in the recycle bin because they just didn’t suit my taste today or because I now cook better versions, but I kept some for sentimental reasons. A few in childish handwriting—Jamie carefully wrote out a recipe for a small chicken loaf, and Megan copied directions for Play-doh. There was the recipe a friend gave me for chicken enchiladas when I barely knew what an enchilada was—mushroom and cream of celery soups. Not quite authentic.

I pulled some to use soon, particularly that I thought Jacob and/or Christian would enjoy—red beans and ground beef, a sausage and cheese casserole, and others. I’ve said it before, but there are just too many good things out there to cook. Life is a feast.

Cooking and friends, the things that keep us grounded in the present and enable us to go about our lives while President Trump and Kim whoever-he-is rattle their sabers. A crazy world.

Cooking up a storm

Oh, wow! I think I used every pot and pan in my tiny kitchen tonight. On the menu: fireplace trout, squash casserole, broccoli with anchovy/garlic butter. The company was my longtime friend Linda who lives in Granbury but travels so much it’s hard to catch her. I did tonight and even sent her to Central Market for trout filets. Another night when I learned a lot.

About the trout: when I unwrapped it, I was astounded by how much there was. I asked Linda how much she bought, and she said she told the fishmonger two filets. What she got was two trout, fileted. One trout was plenty for us to split. Christian got the other one. I had found a recipe called fireplace trout that called for cooking the fish in an iron skillet in your fireplace. Showy, but the magnetic skillet on the hot plate turned out just as succulent a product. Salt, pepper, a bit of flour so they didn’t stick, and sauté in a combination of butter and olive oil. Cooked just barely underdone—delicious.

The squash: I found one of those recipes that said it was absolutely the best you’d ever eat. I believed it, but for two I had to cut in down (Jordan and Christian won’t eat squash, though I may teach them better). I thought it would involve complicated steps but when I actually got to it, it wasn’t bad at al. Sauté the squash and some onion; mix together grated cheddar, egg, mayonnaise, sour cream, salt. Stir the squash into the creamy ingredients, and top with buttered cracker crumbs. Baked nicely in my toaster oven. I used two squash and have one small casserole left for tomorrow.

The broccoli: Linda loved it, but I didn’t, and it was my own fault. The recipe was quite clear about using butter, garlic, and a bit of anchovy, but Jordan pointed out she still had the anchovy/caper butter I’d made for salmon the other night. Why didn’t I just use that? I did, and for me, the flavors were too strong. Takes a lot to say that. Now I need to go back and try the recipe the right way.

Linda and I collaborated on cooking, though she, poor dear, ended up washing a lot of dishes. It’s not easy for two people to cook in a tiny kitchen, and I fear I rolled my chair over her toes more than once. But we had fun, and as she pointed out, cleanup in a tiny kitchen is pretty easy.

We sat on the patio tonight briefly. Lovely evening, but large, splattering raindrops drove us inside—and then came to nothing.

I had anticipated a busy day, but it was only sort of. The groomer came for Sophie about 8:30 this morning. Sophie thinks being groomed is a great adventure and loves it. Then Teddy came to walk with me around eleven—as always, he boosted my confidence immensely. I did what for me was a marathon—down the driveway to the sidewalk, including the incline, over to the stairs, up to the porch, down the side steps and back to the cottage. I was tired, and my back hurt, but neither was unbearable. And I was pretty proud.

Really a good day.

Chickens, dogs, and a working Sunday

The neighbors behind me have chickens. When I say behind me, my cottage sits as close to their property line as allowed and two windows from my living area look directly into their back yard. Amy came yesterday to separate a bromeliad and take some of the pups and said they are suddenly, unexpectedly the owners of three hens, abandoned by a renter on her father’s country property. Jason has been busy for weeks converting a playhouse into a henhouse, but they weren’t quite ready.

This morning, Sophie discovered the chickens—not sure how. She couldn’t see them, I couldn’t hear them—maybe a dog’s sixth sense. But they required her to go barking to the fence line and then come in barking frantically at me, so that I’d understand her need to get to those critters. Later, I looked out the window and saw a small gray cat sitting outside the fenced run for the hens, staring intently and not moving. So cute. I rather like the whole idea and hope they get lots of fresh eggs—such a treat. For now, according to Amy, the hens are traumatized by the move and three days of abandonment, so they’re not laying yet, but hope springs eternal.

My brother and his wife have chickens on their ranch, and I’ve learned a bit about fresh eggs from them. When sister-in-law Cindy wants to give me eggs, she goes to a wood chest, not refrigerated, in the garage and hands them to me with the warning, “Be sure to wash them before you use them.” I’ve seen this online too. In Europe, they don’t refrigerate eggs, but neither do they subject them to all the cleaning processes we do here which washes off their natural protective coating. Left in their natural state, they will keep a long time unrefrigerated. And nothing tastes better.

Stormy night here. It was dark by 6:30, but the storm was a long time coming, with lots of distant thunder rumbling. Now at 8:00 it’s raining but not pouring. Thunder is still rumbling, and the air is much cooler. I aril have the French door open to enjoy that rain smell and the cooler temps. Sophie, always nervous about thunder, is right next to me.

My brain is exhausted. I didn’t have a way to church this morning, so stayed home and worked. Got an incredible amount done—wrote over a thousand words on my work-in-progress, wrote a guest blog, proofread my novella and one other for the collection Sleuthing Women II: Ten Novellas, due out digitally in September at a bargain price. I’ll post details here when it’s available.

Think I might spend the rest of the evening in frivolous reading. Maybe my bedtime novel, A Pain in the Tuchis. If you don’t know what a tuchis is, you might not enjoy it as much as I am.

Watch the eclipse--safely

Thanks to friend and meteorologist Bill Proenza for hints on watch the eclipse safely and where to go to understand it better, find out more about eclipses and this particular one in August. Bill sent this out as an email and was kind enough to say share it with others. One thing I've heard from him and others: if you plan to look directly at the eclipse, get your safety glasses now--they're selling out quickly. Here's his message:

In the next paragraph, please find the link to NASA's video map animation depicting the temporal and spatial movement for our nation's upcoming, August 21, 2017, solar eclipse.  It also shows the percentage of the sun that will be moon blocked for anywhere in the USA.  For example, the DFW area will experience about a 75% to 80% solar eclipse! 

Remember, this event will be a total solar eclipse for a path across the US and not just an annular (or partial).  It is the first solar eclipse to cross the entire contiguous USA since 1918.  Watch this video to determine what your area will experience and if necessary, how far you need to travel for the full 100% effect: 
https://svs.gsfc.nasa.gov/4314

For more background information, here is NASA's home page on the solar eclipse:
https://www.nasa.gov/eclipse

And more from a dedicated astronomical ".org" site:
http://www.eclipse2017.org/

Safety!  Here is a link on how to view the eclipse safely.  Believe me you can cause permanent eyesight damage without following these precautions in viewing this solar eclipse! So, please take the following advice from NASA:
https://eclipse2017.nasa.gov/safety

Very Important!   So, you need to buy the special solar filter eyeglasses following the above NASA safety precautions!  Here is a non-profit ".org" site with eclipse safety eyeglasses at a reasonable cost (from less than $2 to $4 each) fully meeting the "2012 Transmission Requirements of EN 1836:2005 & AS/NZS 1338.1:1992 for Eclipse filters":
http://www.eclipse2017.org/glasses_order.htm

Weather?...oh yes!  I wouldn't forget to share the following with you about the weather, especially the cloud factor!  So here is the climatology of clouds across the USA for this solar eclipse time:
http://www.eclipse2017.org/2017/weather/2017_clouds.htm

And last, here is a brief summary of humankind's accumulated eclipse history:
https://eclipse2017.nasa.gov/eclipse-history

Cooking, food, and delightful guests

Food on my mind today all day long. This morning, Jordan and I went grocery shopping. I’m getting to be a pro at the motorized cart, and we went to the store I like best—wide aisles few people. I’m comfortable standing in the car to reach items on the top shelf—a graduation mark for me. In spite of great cooking plans, I did not buy nearly as much as last week.

And I cooked. Company for dinner. I made five dishes, all of them experiments for me—the way I love to entertain. We had ham and pickle roll-ups and a chipped beef spread for appetizer. Turkey burgers, cucumber salad, and a vegetable medley for the main course. I learned something by cooking each dish—I’d use thicker slices of ham and only one slice in making the roll-up. You spread cream cheese on the ham, plot a pickle in the middle, roll, and slice. Easy. But the two slices of ham recommended don’t work—the outer layer peels away. I cut the spread recipe in half and then in half again and was glad I did—still have quite a bit left over.

Turkey burgers met with approval, but I would add more spice to them, even salt and pepper, and make each patty smaller. The recipe called for mixing in buttermilk, mayonnaise, and sour cream—the result to my mind was a patty that was too wet and hard to deal with. The vegetable medley was good, I thought, but too heavy on the corn side. The cucumber salad included pickled blackberries (good) and the blackberry vinegar that came from the pickling, along with mint leaves. Good, but I sure couldn’t taste the mint.

My guests thought it was a successful meal and offered to let me experiment on them any time. I hadn’t visited with Katie Sherrod, local journalist, TV reporter, and activist, and her husband, retired Episcopalian priest (do they ever retire?) Gayland Poole, for over a year—they were people I missed during my long year out, so it was special to have them here tonight. They hadn’t seen the cottage and really raved about it, which of course pleased me. Conversation was about politics and the state of the country a bit, but more about kids and grandkids and dogs and food and Texas geography and all kinds of things. A delightful evening, and I hope now that they’ve found their way to the cottage they’ll return. Sophie thought them both among her favorite people.

Darn! Why don’t I remember to take pictures of the food I cook? A picture of Soph will have to do.

A day of adventures

These days, it doesn’t take much for me to call something an adventure. Carol and I went to Bentley’s on Magnolia today and were absolutely charmed—and well fed. For those who don’t know, Bentley’s has a strange menu—hot dogs and crepes, an unlikely pairing. Several versions of each are offered. I went with my mind firmly fixed on the goat cheese/mushroom/spinach crepe, but when Carol ordered a chili dog, I said, “Oh, that’s sounds so good,” and changed my order. Carol said, “You’re too easy.” It was delicious. But I’m still going back for that crepe. They even have breakfast offerings that sound wonderful.

Kaycee waited on us. She is apparently not the owner, but has some involvement with building and opening the business. She told us she doesn’t really work there. I gathered she’s part of the owner’s family. She was ready to visit and delightful. Bentley’s is sort of bare bones—they rescued a tiny building that might well have been demolished and turned it into a sort-of restaurant. Not much room but a counter with a few stools and a bar with more stools along one wall. But there’s a patio between it and a building where Kaycee’s father-in-law sells jewelry. Hemmed in by those two buildings, the patio is shielded from the sun, and with a big fan, was perfectly comfortable. Part One of a good adventure.

Part Two was a trip to the Dollar Store. A friend is involved with Communities in Schools and sent me a list of supplies needed to fill backpacks for kids who can’t buy their own supplies. So list in hand we went shopping—I truly thought I was beyond shopping for school supplies, but not. Carol had to do most of the work, because with the walker I couldn’t push the cart (I did a bit at the end and discovered I might be able to do that) and the print on the list was blue and small, so Carol had to read it with her glasses on. But we got crayons and markers and erasers and paper and Kleenex and lots of other stuff, and loaded it into a backpack. I also discovered I could get some items on my grocery list. Came home and realized I could have gotten even more. I may start to do some weekly shopping at the Dollar Store—great savings, and great sales.

Tonight, was a culinary adventure. Christian has learned that fish is good for rheumatoid arthritis, which he has, so he’s ready to cook more fish. He grilled salmon, and I made an anchovy/garlic sauce—absolutely delicious. With asparagus and pasta salad. Wonderful meal.

I did not fritter away the day. I spent much of the morning and a bit of the afternoon still reacquainting myself with my novel-in-progress and got quite enthusiastic about it. I feel myself being drawn back into that world. This weekend, or Monday at the latest, I’ll be ready to forge ahead with new copy. Oh, and I found the two thousand words I thought I had lost. Yippee!

Rain, and a surprising work day

I want to say that the Lord is confused—rain and temperatures in the 70x in early August? Never happen in Texas. But I suspect that man’s carelessness with earth has caused that confusion, whether it’s the deity or nature’s forces or a combination. I would contently say I’ll take it, whatever the cause, but the current extreme violation of the environment is a great worry, always lingering in the back of my mind. That fantastically expensive wall between the U.S. and Mexico is not only dumb, it’s going to do terrible damage to the land and critters in a wide area. I wring my hands in despair.

Nonetheless, I was almost chilly in the cottage this morning, sitting still and working at my desk. When I napped, I didn’t turn the a/c on as usual but slept heavily under a cover. Sophie decided to be loving and affectionate—head on my chest, tongue busily telling me how much she loves me. I think she was hungry.

Two service people today. It cost me eighty-six dollars to have a technician tell me that my refrigerator is fine. It does not need a new water filter—he showed me how to read that option. And the reason it keeps freezing expensive asparagus is that I let plastic, etc., poke out of the vegetable drawer. That keeps the exterior door from closing tightly, warm air sneaks in, and the refrigerator works harder. He also showed me how to adjust the air flow to the vegetable drawer and, when the time comes, where to replace the water filter. Most important he gave me the model and serial number. Maybe it was worth the cost.

Then two men came to give me an estimate on cleaning my area rug. They walked in with great confidence that they were taking it to clean, and as they rolled it up I asked about the price. Expensive but not out of line. It will be back a week from today. Meantime my living area looks bare.

The big deal for me today was that I read to reacquaint myself with the manuscript I’d been focused on until publishing chores and stuff distracted me two or three weeks ago. An instructive exercise—I caught typos and misspellings, of course, but I found contradictory facts and things that plain didn’t make sense. But as I read I got a better sense of my characters, and the way the novel will work out became much clearer in my mind. So it was worth it. Downside is I edited out a lot of words, going backward instead of forward. And having figured things out, I have to go back and do the reread one more time. Will Judy ever get past Chapter Six? Stay tuned for the next installment😊

Lucile’s, a local restaurant that bills itself as a stateside bistro, is having a crab festival, and we went tonight. Betty had a soup she said was spicy, which I wouldn’t have wanted because of the spice but also because I thought a heavy base, with meat, would hide the delicate taste of the crab. They offered a crab and shrimp Louie salad, and since I’m allergic to shrimp I convinced them to make it crab only. So good.

Home, reading. Rain has stopped, but it still has the feel of a cooler than usual rainy day.

Walking with Teddy and Fun in the Kitchen

Teddy Springfield came to walk with me this morning. He is half of a wonderful partnership—the other half is my Canadian daughter, Sue. Those two are so happily together it makes your heart sing. Teddy is a fitness buff and a retired chiropractor, two things that matter when I’m trying to learn to walk again. His strength is comforting—I know he’s not going to let me fall. And his knowledge of body and bones is helpful—he told me one evening recently that I had to hold my wrist stiff. He could feel the bones popping, and I was going to have trouble with that wrist if I didn’t change the way I held it. Since it’s my right wrist and essential to typing, I can’t afford to have trouble with it. Holding the wrist stiff and straight puts more pressure on my legs, which is good. Even I could tell that. Today, when I said my back hurt, he said it was because I was using muscles I hadn’t used in a long time. I’m going to ask him about that dreaded subject, spinal stenosis.

We walked the driveway to the point where it takes a sharp downward incline. Teddy was ready to try the incline but I wasn’t. Still, it was a longer walk than I’m used to taking, and I was tuckered when we got back to the cottage. The thing about Teddy is that he’s also one of the most positive people I’ve ever met. As we walk he utters soft words of encouragement, and when we got back, he was enthusiastic about how well I’m doing.

I don’t want to diminish the importance of the walking Jordan and Christian do with me, but there’s a difference—Teddy comes specifically to walk. The kids try to fit it into their busy schedules. Tonight, we had happy hour company—about 8:30, they all left the cottage to retreat into the house, but I didn’t get my nightly walk. Ideally, I’d like to walk twice a day—not on the walker, but holding on to someone—that requires more effort on my part.

Chandry and Lee, our guests tonight, brought wonderful snacks—cheese and apples, hummus and a dip. My contribution was an egg dish that a treasured friend gave me years ago. I never tried it because, well, I just wasn’t sure how it would work out. But I’m experimenting these days, and I decided it was time to either try it or pitch it. Tonight, I say it’s a keeper for sure. Essentially you hard-boil eggs and then make a pesto of garlic and parsley, olive oil and a hint of vinegar to go over the sliced eggs. Refrigerate. Delicious!

I also pickled blackberries today. Who ever heard of pickled berries? Yet in one week I read two recipes for them and decided I had to try. It was really so easy, and the cool thing is you get blackberry vinegar as a result. I’ve refrigerated the berries and vinegar separately but will make a marinated cucumber salad with them for company later in the week. Cucumbers with blackberries? I’ll keep you posted.

Yes, I did work on my writing today, but not as much as I should.