On Garlic Bread and Mixed Bags

My friend Jeanne made wonderful garlic bread. I first watched her make it on a shared vacation at her beach house by Los Osos on the mid-coast of California. The place is just as lovely as it sounds, with tide pools nearby to explore and the stretch of the Pacific Ocean just outside the front door. Jeanne was generous with everything, and her garlic bread was no exception. Lots of butter, garlic, and parmesan cheese creamed together and slathered on long loaves of crusty French baguettes cut in half and then into quarters. Grilled under the broiler until the cheese became browned and bubbly, and the aroma of garlic filled the beach house.

A happy memory. I’m delighted that I’ve lived a nice long time and collected lots of these. I hope to do so for another nice long stretch. The balance to lots of good memories made with friends is that sometimes they get effing cancer and die. They diagnosed Jeanne not much more than a year ago with skin cancer on her scalp that spread too far and too fast to her insides. She passed away a few days ago with her daughter, who is the same age as my boys, at her side holding her hand.

This past week also saw my high school swim coach who changed my life for the healthier and better pass. Now, I will say it is just like Coach Spahn to go to his heavenly reward during a master’s swim meet swimming a 1650 (that’s a mile, for you non-competitive swimmers out there, or 16 football fields and a bit for you visual learners). Active and vital is how I will always remember him, along with his brutal workouts and his insistence that I was a distance swimmer. I tried and tried to talk him out of that. Distance swimmers had even longer workouts than the rest of us did. I did not want to be team distance.

I’ve swum two 1650s this past week. Finishing Coach’s race for him. Negative split them too, which is proof that Bill was right about me being an effing distance swimmer. Negative splitting means I swam the second half faster than the first half.

So, I’ve been a little sad this week. Yet… I had fun too. And that is where the “mixed bag” section of this blog comes in. We had a Sunday brunch cooked by our son and his girlfriend (eggs and fruit and waffles!) and a trip to the fantastic Fort Worth Zoo. I fed a giraffe there. They are lovely creatures with a sort of doggy vibe to them up close. I petted its cheek. The giraffe didn’t seem to mind. There was also a baby elephant romping around, playing with a stick. I don’t even need to tell you how cute that was.

I won cookies in a contest and sold some of my books. I got a lot of writing done. My husband brought me flowers. I chatted with two long-time pals on the phone and got caught up. Got word that another one of my plays is going to be produced this year and that I get to work with wonderful friends in the process. Did a gig as a theatre critic for the first time in two years. It was nice to go out to the theatre again. Accompanied my dad to another doctor appointment. Went for a few long walks at the lake.

So, there was certainly a lot to be grateful for, and enjoy. A mixed bag.

This week, I expect to get more writing done and pick up directing “Wait Until Dark” at a local theatre. We were due to go up in early February, but Covid postponed us. I’m a lucky gal in that my entire cast and crew stayed committed. I’m looking forward to going back into it and creating a show that will scare the pants off people. I’ll take a meal to my folks, and have some more nice long talks with long-time friends. Might bake something.

I’ll send that recipe for garlic bread to Jeanne’s daughter. And swim another 1650 or two for Coach. Their presence blessed me. Sure is hard letting them go.

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