Getting out of the bubble

On Thursday, Freda went with Luci and me to a livestock show on the Southside to see Elena show her two lambs.  It was a beautiful dusty day and we were immersed in the sounds and smells of animals. 

"This is like another world," Freda said.  It was, we agreed, fun to get out of our bubble for a day. 

Elena stood in a row of kids waiting for their lambs to be judged.  Whether their lamb won or lost, the kids smiled and shook the judge's hand.  Our girl got 7th place on one of her lambs, which qualifies her for the auction in January.  

Listening to the judge explain his reasoning (broad here, narrow there, muscular or not so much) I was glad to be sitting beside Nathan who interpreted the qualities of lambdom.  Who knew there was so much to know about a lamb?  To the uninitiated, they all look pretty much the same. 

Here's Papi, Elena, Veronica, Will, Nathan, and me:

Papi, the Pritchetts, and me

Mateo and Elena 

  

Two Lambs Destined for an Auction in January
With Freda and me

Today I got out of the bubble again, driving solo to the rodeo, where Elena competed in barrel racing.  

Her ride was flawless, smooth and beautiful.  She's such a natural on horseback she makes it all look easy. 

These are 4H events.  I loved listening to the parents talking about all the events their kids were competing in.   

One man told us that his daughter competed in rodeo, livestock, cooking (pies) and chicken.  To make the winning chicken recipe, she grilled chicken in a Green Egg and won first place.  

Another family announced that their dog had just had puppies, and Elena is now hot on that trail!

"Please please, Daddy!  I will give you all my Christmas money if you'll let me have one!"

The positivity and freshness of these nature-loving kids was an inspiration.  The support of their parents was even more so.  What a beautiful bubble, kids loving their animals, their competitions, and each other. 

Here's Elena, kissing her horse Yancy, thanking him for a great rodeo ride: 

Christmas Week

The Hill Country Herb Farm in Fredricksburg--a place not to be missed whether you're a Texas dweller or a visitor.  Our meal there last night was super--as was the drive to Johnson City to see the blue and white lights....

While in Fredricksburg, we stopped in at the original James Avery store and I added a horse charm

to the horseshoe charm and bracelet she picked out Wednesday night when she visited. 

Wednesday night, we saw WONKA and she picked out her first charm bracelet for an early 12th birthday present, January 16th.

She gave me a private violin concert and loved the little red radio I gave her. 

Luci on the nature trails, half a block from our house. 

The Leary pictures from their week in Savannah and Tybee Island--

the four Learys and Jackson's girlfriend, Deanna

"Always carry a plant. Always be rooted to somewhere."

Pam forwarded this story by San Antonio's beloved poet, Naomi Shihab Nye, published in her book Honeybee.  I'd read it years ago, but never has it been more timely:

Richard Rohr's Daily Meditation From the Center for Action and Contemplation     Week Fifty: Moving Toward Greater Love   Becoming Agents of Change   Arab-American poet Naomi Shihab Nye recalls a transformative, unexpected occasion of generous acceptance: Wandering around the Albuquerque Airport Terminal … I heard an announcement: “If anyone in the vicinity of Gate A-4 understands any Arabic, please come to the gate immediately.” Well—one pauses these days. Gate A-4 was my own gate. I went there. An older woman in full traditional Palestinian embroidered dress, just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly. “Help,” said the flight service person. “Talk to her.… We told her the flight was going to be late and she did this.” I stooped to put my arm around the woman and spoke to her haltingly. “Shu-dow-a, Shu-bid-uck Habibti? Stani schway, Min fadlick, Shu-bit-se-wee?” The minute she heard any words she knew, however poorly used, she stopped crying. She thought the flight had been cancelled entirely. She needed to be in El Paso for major medical treatment.… I said, “No, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just later, who is picking you up? Let’s call him.” We called her son and I spoke with him in English. I told him I would stay with his mother … and would ride next to her.… She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it. Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and found out of course they had ten shared friends. Then I thought … why not call some Palestinian poets I know and let them chat with her? This all took up about two hours. She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life, patting my knee, answering questions. She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—and was offering them to all the women at the gate. To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the mom from California, the lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same powdered sugar. And smiling. There is no better cookie. And then the airline broke out free beverages … and two little girls from our flight ran around serving us all apple juice and they were covered with powdered sugar, too. And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing, with green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere. And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought, this is the world I want to live in. The shared world. Not a single person in that gate—once the crying of confusion stopped—seemed apprehensive about any other person. They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women, too. This can still happen anywhere. Not everything is lost.

Sawasdee Adventure

Sawasdee's is, in mine and Luci's opinions, the best Thai restaurant in town.  (They are closing and later moving in late January--so if you've not tried it, it's on Blanco Road near 410.)

First of all, the food is unfailingly delicious.  

Second, the owners welcome Luci.  Sometimes one of the sister-owners lays her apron on the floor for Luci to lie on.  "It's too cold on that floor for Luci Lou," they say.  Sometimes they bring her a little bowl of cooked chicken.  Always they tell her, "I love you, Luci Lou."  

As I was paying for my late lunch there today, a man asked me, "What kind of dog is that?"--and I told him a few of my guesses.  "I just had to ask you because I have her twin," he said. 

Josh drives all the way from Medina Lake at least once a month to eat at Sawasdee's.  He didn't bring Dolly (Luci's twin) along, but we had a long conversation about the two.  When he showed me her pictures, it was obvious that these two could have been litter mates--both have big fluffy tails, both have one ear up one ear down, and their faces are remarkably similar.  Dolly is a tad heavier than Luci, and her coloring is different, but their resemblance is striking.

When Luci jumped onto Josh's leg to stretch, Josh said, "Wow, Dolly does that all the time."

So he took a picture of Luci and showed me how Google can guess the breed of a dog from a picture.  For both dogs, the Greek breed KOKONI came up; second-runner up was DORGI--a combination of Corgi and Dachshund.  

We traded phone numbers.  Next time he comes in for his curry, we're going to share lunch--and dogs.  

The History of Jell-O

Today I did something I haven't done in decades. I made a congealed salad.  

I used a faded recipe from Carlene: peach Jell-O, buttermilk, a can of crushed pineapple, chopped pecans, and Cool Whip.  

I'm waiting patiently for it to jell.  But in the meanwhile, I'm licking the bowl.  It is so delicious! 

In the fifties, our mothers made congealed salads for luncheons and company fare.  Sometimes it was as simple as adding a can of fruit cocktail and some banana slices to the partially jelled mix. But for a company meal, it usually included a milky addition, like whipped cream, cream cheese, Cool Whip or buttermilk, along with fruit and nuts.  

It's more like a dessert than a salad really.  Since Will, Veronica and Elena are coming for dinner tomorrow night, I wanted to make it ahead of time, so I'll only need to make the chicken piccata and roasted vegetables tomorrow night. 

I wondered: how long has Jell-O been around? According to Wikipedia: 

In 1897, a man in Leroy, New York, mixed up some gelatin (patented in 1845) with oranges and lemons and berries, attempting to create a cough syrup.  I'm guessing it sat on a cold counter a while and jelled.  His wife loved the taste so much they decided to create a dessert and call it Jell-O. 

For a few years, it was marketed under the name Mr. Wiggly, but later it returned to the name we've known it by all these years. 

Growing up, I loved choosing my favorite flavors from the row of colorful boxes in the grocery store.  When we went to S&S Cafeteria in Macon, I'd chose orange, lemon or strawberry Jell-O as dessert.  

One year, the manufacturers tried coffee flavor, but it was discontinued within the year.  Same with white grapes--"the champagne of Jell-Os."  

Tomorrow night's dish is called "Buttermilk Salad"--though I had to substitute orange for peach, the flavor options fewer than what I remember.